=^.^=
The card game seems innocent enough. You play a few hands, learn the local house rules, and generally relax. In the back of your mind though, you know this won't last.
You're not wrong.
Suddenly the backroom door shuts and the game’s mysterious host appears—the enigmatic Osprey, an agent of the Pathfinder Society with unclear objectives likely known only to the Decemvirate. Two strangers accompany the lean-featured Chelaxian—a tall man wearing dark robes and a black mask that conceals his face, and a grizzled, prune-skinned gnome, with a slight facial palsy. With his typically cordial but informal manner, Osprey requests everyone be seated, and offers all a mug of Absalom’s worst grog.
“My fellow Pathfinders, I appreciate you making yourselves available on such short notice. I trust the accommodations here are sour enough to keep others from our business. As usual, I prefer to get right to the point.”
Osprey slams a large sack down on the table, a high-pitched yelp bursting from within the bundle as he does so. He quickly reaches into the sack and drags out a tiny pestilent-looking creature by the throat. He beats its head against the table a few more times, and yells, “Settle down before I get careless and snap your damn neck!” Then he pins it down against the table, where it flounders weakly, a bony clump of glinting scales, hollow-eyes, and leathery wings. With his hands still locked on the creature’s throat, he raises his eyes, looks across the table and says, “So, what do you know about demons?”
It's a quasit! The quasit is perhaps the least powerful demon, yet it is not the least respected—even quasits hold themselves above the dretch horde, and true to their natures, dretches lack the courage or drive to prove the quaits wrong. A quasit’s first role in life is that of a familiar to a spellcasting master, but those quasits who escape from this humiliating servitude become free-willed and much more dangerous.
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A heavily bearded man in his thirties addresses Osprey. He speaks with a thick brogue. "I know a lot about demons and other dangers on a good day. I've been warding off peasants from the dangers of the Cave of Aeteperax for some time, and before that I warded off silly knights from the Cave of Caerbannog. That quasit you have though is just a wee thing. A wizard's familiar, maybe?"
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Enjoying the previous rounds, and no doubt cheating their way to victory more than once, one of the bar's patrons eyes the Quasit with interest. Swivelling on his stool, a half elf with a dark complexion, sporting long brown hair roughly tied with string and piercing blue eyes. He wears a white shirt open across the chest in a deep V with a jerkin over the top. Brown trews are tucked into knee high boots and a fine Rapier sits at his hip.
"Well well, got yourself a familiar? I know plenty on demons and recently spent some time in that Kyonin place." the man informs. "I am Arathorn by the way."
Looking Osprey dead in the eye, with a dry smile he adds. " So Osprey and Xersus was it? What would you TWO want from gamblers like us?"
Osprey nods at your knowledge, then turns to the monster, "You WILL reveal to all present some very important information. Won't you?"
Osprey then takes a breath and turns back to explain, "First, I apologize for my forgetfulness. Let me introduce the others before I explain."
He gestures to the decrepit-looking gnome. "This is Xersus Abergris, an expert demonologist and historian."
After handshakes, he nods to his second companion and adds, “Please, offer your complete attentions to my most esteemed guest.”
The cloaked man steps forward and addresses you with an eerily dry monotonous voice, “I represent the Decemvirate. I’ve come to oversee these proceedings as they are of personal interest to me. Osprey and Xersus shall speak on my behalf, unless I find it necessary to intervene. As far as you are all concerned, you have never seen me. Do I make myself clear?”
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A long, sibilant staccato comes from the doorway - after a few seconds, you realize it is an incredibly esoteric and meticulous lecture on all things Quasit.
It is coming from one of the most freakish things you have ever seen: A striped serpentine entity, chiefly black-and-white in color, with intense, wild eyes and needle-like teeth, hovering in the air. Occasionally this thing's lecture is interrupted by a smaller head popping out of its mouth to add a comment, or just a wisecrack.
While this is going on, a somehow imposing-looking Gnome in elegant dress strides into the room as if she owns the place.
"You will forgive us for being late," She says. "We are worth the wait, after all."
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"Demons bleed, so demons can die. Is all I need to know."
Katya's accent is distinctly Ustalavian. She is strikingly gorgeous, but in the way that kind of makes you hate her because she clearly knows it. Something about her features is...off...almost bat-like. Because she is a were-bat. Also, her eyes are blood red.
The gnome, Xersus, smiles and chimes in, “One of the problems with demons is their complete lack of organization. We sages have very little to work from when investigating and cataloging them. Devils of course, keep lengthy records, but with these things,” he pauses to disdainfully poke the quasit, “these things couldn’t tell you the name of their own mother. This makes the job of studying and cataloging them very important. Many years ago, I used to work with a cleric and expert demonologist named Baldimar Trud. Trud was also a revered cleric of Cayden Cailean, and guided all of his research to assist in the fight against these infernal brutes. Still, the church had few available funds for his elaborate studies, and thus he sought out and received funds from other investors, including significant patronage from the Society. Over the course of several years, he built a research laboratory and compiled an extensive archive. Unfortunately, we have seen none of his work since he died before revealing its location. After Cayden’s Hall burned down the last time, I thought his works gone forever. Though a few days ago, I came upon this little fellow going through my personal notes—notes concerning my old friend Baldimar. I don’t believe this is a coincidence and strongly believe this fellow shall soon tell us why he was in my possessions. After that, I’m sure Osprey has a plan for you.”
Osprey nods, and opens with a slap on the demon's head, "Any questions for the beast? I'll beat answers out of it if you'd like."
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Spying the serpentine creature step through the door, the Brown haired Half-elf rolls their eyes. "There goes the neighbourhood he thinks to himself as the Gnome follows. Turning once more to regard Osprey, he raises his booted feet to the table and leans back casually. Seeing the others know plenty he relaxes somewhat.
"Well we all seem to know a bit about what we are doing, almost bodes well!" he remarks. "So Quasit, what's the game? Where you this Cleric's familiar or a spy? Please answer slowly, i'd wuite like to see Osprey thrash something for a change."
The quasit looks up at each of you and gulps in an exaggerated, and rather human, fashion. "After long years, I recently heard my master’s voice again— Graz’ith Ur Maurgith! He is a powerful demon to whom I am bound for all eternity."
His shoulders and wings droop, "I am obligated to serve my master, BUT I will serve YOU instead! Yes! The voice of Graz’ith came from somewhere within Cayden’s Hall. Go get him. I'm tired of him. I'd rather not go back..."
Osprey's right eyebrow lifts up as he listens to the groveling. He starts to say something, stops, takes a deep breath, and starts again, "Go to the hall and investigate— preferably by finding the High Priestess Saphira and asking what she knows first. Should you find anything, you would do well to contact me immediately, especially if you get in over your heads."
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"Hold." Nym looks at the quasit. "Tell me more about this master of yours. Graz'ith Ur Maurgith. What sort of demon is he? Describe him."
If this demon talks, maybe I can understand more about the dangers of its master. Nym thinks to himself. It can't be worse than the Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog.
The Quasit gives a spectacularly unhelpful description of a Lord made of craziness, anger, and fear without form. He describes mutually contradictory things that defy logic and reason, and even make you a bit uncomfortable to hear...
To Katya Osprey replies, "If you've never been to the Hall, then you're in for a treat. You need not be secretive, but too much noise and questions will invariably result in a massive and very drunken brawl."
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Arathorn nods and knocks back a drink that seemed to appear in his hand. Mulling over Osprey's words over he frowns slightly, having not heard of the High Priestess.
"So, the High Priestess, what is she like?" he enquires after a moment. "Any angles we should avoid when questioning her? Or anything specific you want out of her?"
"I don't know her personally. One of the reasons I selected agents of your skill and experience is that I expect you to be able to read the situation."
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Feeling a bit irritated by how unhelpful the quasit is, he opts for some magical nudging.
Sibilant sounds escape Nym's lips as he incants a spell. His fingers wriggle and writhe in a way that looks... strangely friendly.
"Oh friendly quasit, please try and describe your master again, as accurately as you can. I'm only trying to help you after all."
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The Magus shrugs at the response. "Sure, sure. Being forewarned is forearmed and all." Sure there was something more to this entire thing, hence the direct overseeing by the Decemvirate. Drumming his lithe finger against the tabletop he eyes the masked figure cautiously and without making it obvious.
"So first we pry, yet not too far. Then we delve, yet again not far enough that we get over our heads. There may well be A powerful Demon running the place. I get it."
The quasit turns, bends over, and waves his butt in your general direction.
Osprey smacks the quasit before answering Kai, "That's the base of it. Now, less talk and more do!"
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Seeing his drink empty, the Half-elf nods and drops his mug, effortlessly hopping to his feet and arranging the sword-belt around his waist. Waving casually to the Experienced agents and his colleagues, Arathorn makes his way to the door.
"Sure thing! Lets blow this pub for another! See you two soon!"
Cayden’s Hall is a massive, open fest hall of rough-hewn timbers. The latter have been replaced many times over the years thanks to their predecessors being burnt to cinders when the large, celebratory bonfires often burning within the wooden structure mixed badly with the very large and very inebriated crowds frequenting the establishment.
As you approach a pair of mildly inebriated guards greet you, "Greetings! To nights you'll never remember with friends you'll never forget! How can we help ye?"
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Saul laughs heartily and answers in a booming voice.
"I have had much experience with fiends... In fact I personally have led troops to defend from an incursion from the wound... A demon in a drinking hall will be child's play. Why you suffer this pitiful scum to live is beyond me, but I have heard of your great deeds and will trust your judgement sir Osprey."
He cracks his knuckles and glares at the Quasit.
"But do know that should we find ourselves walking into a trap that you were a part of, even Osprey's glorious career will make it hard to resist crushing you and sending you back to the abyss."
"Here for drink and song! And I'd be happy to provide the song... although I must warn ye... the more I drink the more the audience will need to drink too." He taps the side of his nose, then lets out a booming laugh. He pulls a flute out of his pack and lets out a quick flourish.
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Swaggering down the undoubtedly busy Absalom streets, Arathorn takes a moment to check out the unique decor of Cayden's finest temple. Smiling broadly that the night may well get interesting yet he strolls up to the guards with a smile and eyes bright.
"Now now, don't get too hasty!" he laughs, directing his comment at Katya, "Ustalavs eh? Far too serious but a grand gambler and boy can they knock em back! We are here for the finest entertainment Absalom can offer of course! What are you having fellas?"
The guards listen intently, or rather, as intently as they can.
The guard on the left says, "Seem's legit."
The guard on the right says, "I'll allow it."
Before you enter, "Not sure where she'll be, just poke about and ask around, we're all friends here."
And the fabled doors open...
...To an antechamber which serves as the Hall’s main entrance. It consists of a long hallway flanked on either side by rows of barstools facing parallel oaken bars that run the length of the hall. Massive kegs set into the walls behind the bar allow clergy members to quickly address the needs of their patrons and petitioners. About half the taproom’s stools already seat drunken revelers at the long oaken bars. The boisterous patrons hoist their tankards, raising slurred toasts and praises amid the tall tales of wild adventure.
Before you can even step foot inside a pair of much more sober clerics great you, "Sorry friends, the high priestess isn't accepting visits. You'll have to try again another day. We'll see you out."
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Taken aback by the abruptness of the sober clerics, Arathorn pulls back his jerkin to reveal a polished silver symbol of Cayden Cailean. Shock on hai face, he retorts.
"Ah, but we are already expected you see, my kinsman. You see we have travelled far to visit these fabled halls and would care to drink and enjoy the ambience. I am sure no true brother of the Drunken Hero would deny us such comforts?" he laughs, keeping his voice light. "You seem all too sober for such a joyous occasion, please join us in drink and we can toast his Holiness in only the proper manner for pilgrims such as ourselves!"
The guards outside seem to be uneasy about this whole thing, but the clerics seem stern, and Kai (at the least) can't tell why.
The clerics reply forcefully, "You're not expected, and I know that for a fact. Go home."
The clerics draw rapiers to drive home their point. A point, which for the moment is figurative....
Katya, Nym, and Kai all know this whole scene is weird, but can't put their fingers on why.
"No, what time is it?"
The laymen guards outside frown and drop their tankards....
The clerics have no idea what Katya means, but when she moves to push past, they drop into sword fighting stances!
The guards shake their heads, "Sorry mates, the clerics set the rules."
Extra +2 as bat
Round 1:
Kai: Go
Nym: Go
Varian: Go
Katya: Go
Baddies: TBD
Solomon: TBD
Lucija: TBD