You find yourselves in the office of Ambrus Valsin,the venture-captain in charge of daily operations in and around the Grand Lodge. As of yet the venture-captain has failed to make an appearance and you are alone with your fellow pathfinders. While you wait for the arrival of the venture-captain brief introductions are initiated.
|
When the others arrive they find a squat, hunched man of horrible countenance busily dusting, and straightening the office all while humming a popular show-tune.
"Oh! Hello there. I am Igor. Make yourthelveth at home. Anyone want thome tea? Coffee? Caketh?" He says, dabbing those closest to him with a small towel. He smiles horribly, looking as if he were grimacing in pain. All this horror is however mitigated by the jaunty maid's bonnet, and frilly apron the man(?) is wearing.
Seated in one of the chairs in the room is a doll of even more hideous mean. It seems to be a crudely sewn together pastiche of every creature ever put in an bestiary, as a sort of collected crib note of fauna-kind. If ever you needed a remembrance of some mammal, insect, reptile, or cephalopod you need only look at this thing for a hint. The figure would stand about 3-feet-tall were it not slouched like a hemp-bag of potatoes in the otherwise fine chair.
Ambrus Valsin storms into the meeting room and sits down.
"All right, Pathfinders! Listen up. I know you are eager to make names for yourselves in the organization, but first we need to make sure you are up to snuff and won’t get yourself killed out there. I have a number of small assignments for you and your team before your first real mission, and it would be best if you could finish them before the day’s end."
He slides a envelope over to the party, looks at the group and shakes his head. "Every day we get some doe-eyed hopeful or some sniveling bootlicker willing to do anything to join up with the Pathfinders. Most of them are good kids, but not all of them have the salt to make it in a world like this. It’s rough out there and I’m not just talking about the ruins, tombs, and wilderness Pathfinders find themselves in on missions."
He takes a deep breath as he continues, "We’ve got people who look down their noses at us, folks who think we squander our resources, and agents who want to take everything we have collected. For every friend of the Society, there are two enemies. So we got to make sure we treat our friend with respect and help them out from time to time."
He looks at each of the assembled Pathfinders in turn. "Your first mission, is to test your mettle and loyalties. It sends you to meet a few people very important to the Society, living here in Absalom. These are other venture-captains or close allies of our organization, so follow their orders as you would mine."
He stops and eyes the party to make sure everyone was listening. "That list of tasks are not arranged in any particular order of importance, but I want them all completed as quickly as possible."
He gathers the rest of his paperwork and stands ready to leave, "Only report to me once you complete everything. Included in the envelope is the list, complete with the name of your contact, and directions to the meeting location." With a nod he heads for the door. You only have a moment to ask any questions you might have before he is off to attend other business.
|
Petr's human heritage shows on his face, with only a little of the green of his orcan mother and larger canine teeth.
He thumbs at his greataxe, hoping to get to use it sooner than later, and cringes at the sight of the "dog". He thinks to himself, "Seems this man's over exuberance for cleanliness may be exceeded by his irrational pets. But we all must be accepting of others' fetishes."
Out loud he roars, "Me smash dog!!!" and he sits down gruffly in a chair.
|
|
Igor hands the Venture-Captain his coffee and then stands off to the side like a member of the help staff while Valsin gives the briefing.
As he moves to leave Igor asks: "Ethcuthe me Mathter, but where do thethe other 'hopefulth' find their 'doe-eyeth'?" Then he pats down the Venture-Captain with his towel.
|
A halfling with auburn hair and lambchop sideburns examines his fingernails in the corner.
"Greetings, all," he says with a wry smile and a nod to Igor. "I'm Roscoe Elring. I'm accustomed to dealing with, shall we say, uncouth individuals," he says with a glance at the half-orc who had neglected to introduce himself but threatened to smash the homunculus.
"In fact, I should say that it is my specialty," he adds.
"Before we head out, I will introduce you to one of the most uncouth. Let's just say that I am a vessel containing some of the world’s most evil spirits so that they cannot inflict further harm. Should you note anything unusual, please rest assured that I have everything under control."
|
|
"Before we head out, I will introduce you to one of the most uncouth. Let's just say that I am a vessel containing some of the world’s most evil spirits so that they cannot inflict further harm...."
"'You are a vethel containing thome of the world’th motht evil thpirith tho that they cannot inflict further harm.'" Igor recites (sort of).
|
|
The young Tian woman enters into the room. She notes the doll but no expression crosses her face. She steps forward as the half orc roars and places her hand on his shoulder. Calm yourself. she says simply but with a tone of leadership and authority. Looking around she introduces her self. I am the Kwannon she says with a bow.
Roscoe pats Igor on his hump. "Exactly...what you said..."
Whatever he said...
"Before we go...I told you I would introduce you to an evil uncouth individual. I just need a few moments before we go," he says. "You all go ahead and talk for a moment."
The halfling goes to the corner and lights a few candles. Closing his eyes, he begins talking to himself. The lights in the room flicker, and Roscoe says "Arachno, are you there? Yes, I'm talking to you, you vile, murderous doppelganger assassin."
Roscoe jolts a bit, then shudders. "Ah, I thought I recognized your vile stench. I have need of your skills...well, not all of them. Enough to help me, but without you gaining influence over me. We wouldn't want you taking control of me."
Roscoe shudders again, and a sinister voice, not the halfling's own, says "GET IN...KNIFE TO THE HEART...GET OUT..."
The halfling opens his eyes and spits. He looks...different...a little darker or more subtle.
"Hopefully these skills will come in handy," he says. "GET IN...KNIFE TO THE HEART...GET OUT..." another voice finishes.
Roscoe shudders again. "Sorry about that...I have it totally under control."
Roscoe pats Igor on his hump. "Exactly...what you said...""What hump?"
|
|
Petr didn't trust the Roscoe/Arachno. How could anyone be another person and still stay themselves? He kept his angry eye focused on the halfing, "Arachno come too?"
His other, more suspicious eye still watched the dog thing, wondering at what point it would fall in to a mass of sludge.
While cross-eyed, he spoke to Ambrus to add his encouragement and query whether there was anything specific the Grand Lodge wanted beyond what was on the list, "Missions go boom!"
Before exiting the room Ambrus hands his coffee back to Igor with out a second thought.
As the venture captain was crossing the threshold of the door Petr makes his inquiry, bring a halt to his exit. As Ambrus turns back towards the pathfinders they notice, for a brief moment, a flicker of doubt creeps across his face.
"Yes, boom." responds Ambrus before directing his gaze to the other pathfinders "The list is straight forward, get it done."
The venture captain than departs the room with out further comment.
Roscoe nods as the venture captain leaves. He turns and raises an eyebrow to Petr.
"Yes, Arachno will be coming," he says. "Along with five of the other most vile entities to ever befoul Golarion."
"GET IN...KNIFE TO THE HEART...GET OUT!" the other voice says.
"Would you stop doing that!?" Roscoe blurts. "I'm in control here, and you're not allowed to simply use me to talk like I'm a puppet! Now shut up, or I'm not going to channel you for a long time!"
The halfling rolls his eyes and holds his hands up to the others. "Sorry...sometimes there's this tug-of-war thing going on, but it won't be a problem. I have everything under control."
He looks at their list of tasks. "I usually like to start at the top of the list...any objection to trying the Pickled Imp first?"
|
|
Ailey came running in, panting and trying to catch her breath. A raven followed closely behind her, perching on her shoulder as she sat down.
"I missed the captain didn't I? Cursed!"
She caught the end of Roscoe's seemingly-blathering and raised an eyebrow, but paid no mind. She figured he "I am Ailey, pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Catching a glimpse of the list she nodded. "It appears simple enough," she said as the raven cawed in her ear.
|
|
"Pickle Imp Now!" Petr was used to be patient, but this crowd was testing his limits. He stood up and slung his great axe over his shoulder, unconsciously keeping it untangled from the other tools of war hooked to his attire. He waited for the dog to go first, but was afraid that his side-step looked more like a kick.
Roscoe's five viles sounded interesting, though Petr wasn't sure he could trust anything coming out of the raucous midget, "Drink vials?"
You make your way to the seedy harborside of the Docks district and easily find Guaril Karela at his curio shop, The Pickled Imp.
This creepy shop contains myriad odds and ends, most bereft of any discernible use. A number of malformed creatures and creature parts bob in jars on a long, prominent shelf, a tiny fetal devil centered in this macabre lineup. The shopkeeper, a greasy-haired Varisian with a thin mustache, shouts from behind the cluttered counter:
“Ah yes, I see the Pathfinders have arrived. I’m glad Ambrus was able to lend a few of his new recruits to help me. Please come in and let me tell you what I need.”
Looking around as if to be absolutely certain no customers are browsing the aisles of knock-off Thuvian burial urns or supposed Azlanti porcelain, he begins again.
“Well met. I am Guaril Karela. A friend of mine has a warehouse near here and he received a parcel on behalf of me and some of my associates, but there’s a problem. See, Master Gelbane had to eave town in a hurry and our shipment is still waiting at his warehouse. Rumor is he ended up in trouble with the law and the place was seized. I heard tell from someone down at the docks that some creep was snooping around his warehouse just the other night, so I want to make sure nothing of mine was taken. He keeps all kinds of things, from beer to nails, in that old pelican, but every now and then he stores something really special. This is one of those cases.
“There’s a big crate marked with three crows arranged in a triangle. Inside that crate is a smaller container with a few books and papers in it. That’s the only parcel I’m interested in, and as far as I’m concerned, you can help yourself to the rest of the crate. Honestly, anything else you want in the place too. I’m sure the once things get sorted out, the city will seize most everything else anyway.
“My associates and I often work with the Pathfinders when it comes to special relics and documents, getting them in and out of ports and across borders where the authorities ask too many questions. Most people don’t realize what they have and frankly many don’t deserve to have it, so sometimes we help take the goods off their hands. If things work out well and you get this done, I’d be glad to talk with you more and help you out with any future endeavors, as long as you help me out too. I’m good at returning favors, trust me.”
|
|
"Yes, boom." responds Ambrus before directing his gaze to the other pathfinders "The list is straight forward, get it done."
"Yeth, Mathter."
She caught the end of Roscoe's seemingly-blathering and raised an eyebrow, but paid no mind. She figured he "I am Ailey, pleasure to make your acquaintance."
"Yeth, A true pleathure for uth ath well. I am alwayth happy to make new friendth." Igor smiles horribly.
Once the introductions are out of the way and he has visually taken the measure of the newcomer's cranium he says: "Thall we be off?"
You make your way to the seedy harborside of the Docks district and easily find Guaril Karela at his curio shop, The Pickled Imp.
This creepy shop contains myriad odds and ends, most bereft of any discernible use. A number of malformed creatures and creature parts bob in jars on a long, prominent shelf, a tiny fetal devil centered in this macabre lineup. The shopkeeper, a greasy-haired Varisian with a thin mustache, shouts from behind the cluttered counter:
“Ah yes, I see the Pathfinders have arrived. I’m glad Ambrus was able to lend a few of his new recruits to help me. Please come in and let me tell you what I need.”
Igor inspects the merchandise with an eye toward Scraps. It has been far too long since the homunculus had had a significant upgrade.
"Excuthe me." Igor calls to the shopkeeper. "Do you thtock Abbie Normal brand partth?"
Roscoe listens to their mission instructions with an annoyed look at his companions comparing axes.
"So you want us to just sneak in and grab the parcel? That sounds easy enough."
His face contorts a bit.
"GET IN...KNIFE TO..."
Roscoe shudders and clears his throat. "Excuse me. Shut up! That sounds like something we can do. Is everyone ready?"
The shopkeeper looked taken a back by the strange creature called Igor and his inquiry, he quickly summarized from his many years of experience dealing with the strange and unusual it was simply best to just ignore the creature.
Turning to the rest of the pathfinders he witnesses the conversation quickly devolve from the task at hand to the comparison of awful large and quite deadly looking weapons. Which did not sit to well with Guaril, special considering he was not sure how mentally stable the halfing and half-orc could be given their random and bizarre outbursts. The shopkeeper thought it best he get the pathfinders out of his shop as soon as possible. At this rate it was only a matter of time before damage befall him or his shop. He would have to just hope they were more capable than they looked and could recover his lost books.
"If we know the same Ambrus, we know he isn't a very patient man. You best get going or risk his ire for dolly-lagging about."
Roscoe, for one, is impressed with Igor's creation.
"What did you make this out of? Is it a construct?" the halfling asks as they walk toward the docks.
"Could you make more of them?"
Called Pelican Warehouses, these buildings perch at the end of piers, allowing a ship to load and unload farther out from the busier docks.
Many of them either accommodate smaller vessels that are in a hurry or larger ships unable to find an open dock. Rare these days the Pelican docks lie in disrepair, withered by storms and salt, and every year it seems another one falls into the harbor. An increased tax on this type of property keeps many owners from rebuilding and some have even relinquished the titles allowing them to fall into the hands of squatters and smugglers or even the bay itself.
Smugglers have been known to use small boats to slip underneath the warehouses, sawing holes in the floor and prying boards off at night to sneak in to loot the place or just drop a crate into their boat and row away in the darkness.
The pier that you are directed to sits on a stretch 100 feet from the boardwalk and the docks proper, standing 15 feet above the water. The planks on the pier are sturdy but weathered. A few local fisherman and some kids sit along the pier casting nets and bobbing lines into the murky waters below.
The building looks abandoned and in disrepair. The windows are dark and dirty. A small boat bobs in the waters below, tethered to the pier by a stout, salt crusted rope. Perched on the end of a long pier fifteen feet
above the water, the warehouse appears to struggle against its own roof, threatening to sag into the bay below. No light shines from the building’s windows and only the movement of gulls and pelicans stirs the scene.
"Restrain yourself," Roscoe says to Petr. "This is a breaking and entering," he says. "Trust me...the spirit I'm channeling has done this...a lot of times. Smashing the door in is the last thing we want to do, especially if we want to keep the guards away."
The halfling begins by examining the door and the area around it for anything of interest.
He looks at the door for any signs of weakness. "I don't have any thieves tools with me..." he begins.
"FOOL!" another voice says.
"...but I think I can get in anyway..."
|
|
Looking slightly doleful, exasperated, and melted all at once, Scarps makes a burbling noise. A pair of bifurcated giant dragonfly wings emerge from beneath the construct's chitinous, beetle-like back shell. They beat quick enough to be hardly visible and Scraps takes to the air his wings producing a loud buzzing drone.
Roscoe moves up to the warehouse door taking his time to examine the are carefully and finding a hidden key that was sandwiched between two rickety slats near the doorframe.
However, at the moment Roscoe goes to use the key in the door Arachno asserts his influence over the halfling and compels him to throw the key in the water, than guides Roscoe's hands in disabling the lock and opening the door. A malevolent laugh escapes Roscoe's mouth in the "other voice".
Darkness fills the warehouse, the ambient light from outside blocked by a filthy, oily film on the structure’s few windows. Darting illumination comes from light reflecting off the water through a splintered hole in the floor. Throughout the warehouse, crates, boxes, and barrels lean against each other in vaguely sorted stacks. A lingering smell indicates some of the contents are certainly spoiled.
Perched in the middle of the hole, teetering on split planks, sits a large crate stamped with three crows arranged in a triangle—the very crate the Pathfinders have come to find.
Handholds cut into the stout wooden crate ring the rim. Other barrels, boxes, and crates sit stacked along the walls of the warehouse. Just inside the door sits a handful of crates and kegs of beer. Most of these smaller crates and barrels contain foodstuffs in various states of freshness. Some crates reek of rot. Stacks of simple coffins sit against the east wall. The rest of the crates stacked along the north and south walls contain simple sundries including, but not limited to beer, blocks of clay, coffee, coils of rope, dried fish, lead ingots, nails, nets, raw cotton, rough wool, spare sails, timber planks, various pulleys and tools, and cheap weapons.
A crane, used for loading and unloading boats, clings to a rail running the length of the warehouse, hanging 5 feet below the high ceiling, and can slide out to extend past the loading doors along the west wall.
Roscoe smiles and says "All too easy...who needs keys, right?"
He enters the abandoned warehouse and looks around. "Oh...great. The crate we need seems to be hanging precariously by a thread. How should we get it down without spilling it in the drink?"
|
|
Petr lowers his axe, a little sad not to have used it, but glad things are going so well. Roscoe really did seem to be pretty good at this. Maybe they could use the crane to grab the box.
"Petr Fish!"
Petr begins stacking boxes so he can climb up, pull the crane off the tracks, and use the crane like a fishing pole.
Petrs attempt to re-appropriate the crane into a fishing pole causes quite a disturbance and stirs awake several rodents of unusual size.
Round 1 Initiative (bold may act)
Roscoe
bads
Kwannon
Ailey
Petr
Thorur
Igor/Scraps
"We made too much noise," Roscoe says, apparently influenced by the spirit he is channeling.
The halfling draws a javelin and casts it at the lead rat.
The large rodents are further enraged about the intruders presence when a large rod falls from the sky and takes a chunk out of one their own. The smell of blood now permeates the air and they charge the pathfinders.
The first two rats head directly towards Petr, but only taste the Half-Orcs armor when they try to bite in to him.
The last Rat sets its beady eyes on Scraps, hoping to tear the construct into its component parts, but finds the homunculus to be far to nimble.
Round 1/2 Initiative (bold may act)
Roscoe
bads
Kwannon
Ailey
Petr
Thorur
Igor/Scraps
red -3
blue
yellow