The Blakros Museum. It has been home to the Blakros family's oft-changing collection of relics and oddities for many years. Carved from a solid block of volcanic stone, it's an imposing building of gothic architecture that looms menacingly over Absalom's Wise Quarter even on the most cheerful of days. Today is not one of those days.
The rumors that something was amiss at Blakros started in the Wise Quarter in the early morning. By afternoon, the streets and taverns of the entire Patchwork City were ablaze with wild tales, flying back and forth like birds on the wing, each more fanciful than the last.
"The Blakros, it's been overrun by demons! Demons, I say!"
"Living mists leaching from every door and window, snatching innocents off the street! I saw it with my own eyes!"
"Nay, it's a curse! The artifacts within have come to life and claimed the lives of the curator and his entire staff!"
Rising above all the conflicting reports and unsubstantiated guesswork was one fact that couldn't be denied: Adril Hestram, one of the most prominent local Pathfinder Society Venture-Captains, was looking for some help. The reason for the Society's direct interest in the Blakros matter was anyone's guess, but the prospect of a cash reward helped suppress any questions swiftly enough. By sunset, several interested parties had stepped forward to lend their aid to the cause.
Now, in a comfortable meeting room in Absalom's Pathfinder Society Grand Lodge, five disparate individuals anticipate an audience with Hestram himself. The air of excitement in the room is palpable, and as the five wait upon the Venture-Captain's entrance, introductions would seem to be in order...
Now, in a comfortable meeting room in Absalom's Pathfinder Society Grand Lodge, five disparate individuals anticipate an audience with Hestram himself. The air of excitement in the room is palpable, and as the five wait upon the Venture-Captain's entrance, introductions would seem to be in order...
Looking around the room at the other four volunteers, Jonagher draws forth a slim dagger from a calf-length leather boot, leans back to prop his feet on the table, and begins cleaning his nails. The light flashes and glints off the blade as he stares past it, measuring the newcomers as well as his recently-made friends.
'Origen,' he mentally notes, 'Ready to follow in his father's footsteps as a Pathfinder...and literally, as well, if he still intends to find out what happened to his father's expedition.'
The half-elf's eyes moved on to the next seat.
'Flik...' he surmises, 'Handy in a fight. As brave as the god he worships. And, hopefully, stalwart enough to help get to the bottom of the troubles at Blakros Museum. After that...he's got his own family to track down, too...a twin brother missing since the riots. Maybe if we impress the Society enough, they'll help him out with a divination or something to find the boy's trail.'
"You...and you," Jonagher finally states, jabbing with his knife in the general direction of the other human and dwarf at the table, "I don't know you two. At least not yet." He flips the dagger and catches it hilt-first, a twitchy habit for whenever he felt a bit of nervousness when interacting with someone for the first time. But, also a pragmatic ploy in case he needed to throw the knife and make a quick getaway.
"My name's Jonagher," he offers, "In Absalom by way of Andoran...and Kyonin before that. I've some business with the Pathfinders and thought I might lend a hand with this Blakros mystery while waiting for their counsel."
"Him and him..." he points again with his knife at Flik and Origen, "...I already know. But what's got you two interested in this opportunity?"
To the casual observer, Jonagher appears elven, his features a close enough match to his father's kin that it's difficult to perceive his mixed heritage. His hair hangs long and white around his shoulders, pierced by the elongated points of his ears. He has startlingly blue eyes, as vibrant as the tropical waters surrounding Absalom. Dressed in studded leather armor and clothes of mixed browns and greens, he also carries a variety of weapons: a short sword, a dagger, a slender mace, and a shortbow.
Torden Ironcask considers each of the other men in the room. They are much different from many of the folks he's been around during his 30 first years. Amongst diplomats and high-level traders, etiquette and extravagant clothing was the norm. To be sure these, men are not scruffy ruffians, but they are no nobles. Torden considers himself in light of their appearance.
Being the shortest in a room full of humans--and in this case, one half-human--isn't a new feeling for Torden. The feeling of this studded leather armor and the buckler strapped to his back is a bit awkward. He'd also swapped the garb provided him by a Kelishite spice-trader for a simpler, though still blue, outfit purchased in Absalom, and that made him fit in a bit more. As he had departed, his uncle--a more experienced adventurer than either of his parents--advised him to keep his otherwise wild beard neatly bound by an iron ring.
Torden's heart races. This would be his first foray into the less academic areas of history. He would be searching for history's clues in dark and dangerous places. These men seem much more comfortable with the situation and he did his best to hide the tinge of unease that pecked at him. He took some solace in knowing that it appeared they were to be dispatched to a museum. Torden was comfortable in museums. Moving slowly so as not to draw attention to himself, Torden shifts his drum to rest on his back hip, while clasping his hands in front of him on the pommel of the warhammer--another gift from his uncle--which stands business end down. Perhaps this pose would not cause his fellows to question his being grouped with them.
"Torden Ironcask of Highhelm," Torden replies. "I am intrigued by the Seekers of Secrets." His introduction is awkward. He's unsure how much to reveal, worried his inexperience will come through.
Origen nods in response to Jonagher's greeting and sets down his hat. "I suspected that I might see you here, Jonagher." He tosses the half-elf a silver piece. "For yesterday's lunch."
Except for the silver streaks in his hair, Origen looks much like an icon of Aroden: tall, handsome, and slightly unapproachable. He wears sturdy, but faded black traveler's gear with a crossbow and case of bolts slung over his leather backpack. He has just put his wide-brimmed black hat on his seat, but continues standing.
"Please excuse my rudeness, ser dwarf. I am Origen Leanthris of Absalom." He smiles ruefully. "Recent circumstances make it necessary to prove my trustworthiness to the Society. Well met."
"I suspected that I might see you here, Jonagher." He tosses the half-elf a silver piece. "For yesterday's lunch."
Jonagher smoothly catches the coin before it can hit the table, and then holds it up to the light. A smirk plays across his face as he recalls he didn't actually pay for their lunch that day. Instead, he'd lifted more than a silver piece from that loudmouth merchant sitting next to them who berated one of the serving girls for watering down the wine. In Jonagher's world, if anyone deserved dressing down for that kind of breach of service, it should have been the owner of the establishment and not the poor girl delivering it to the table. So, he'd made sure to rebalance the scales of justice, using the man's money to not only pay for his lunch with Origen, but also to heavily tip the serving girl for putting up with the lout.
With the fond memory receding, the half-elven rogue nods to Origen, still with an amused half-smile as he puts away the coin. Then, he listens to his friend's introduction to the dwarf...and a curious member of the stout folk that one seemed...not that Jonagher had much experience with dwarves. His father's people certainly didn't care for them. And he could count on one hand the number of dwarves he'd actually seen pass through Greengold. Still, this one seemed even more odd with a warhammer and drum by his side.
'Perhaps he's some kind of traveling minstrel?' Jonagher wonders, 'Or at least...whatever passes for one among the bearded folk.'
Leofrik turns from the bookshelf he was examining. He unslings an old, beat up greatsword from his back and lowers his huge frame into a chair, resting the sheathed blade across his knees.
"Leofrik Forthwind at your service. Just Frik to my friends," rumbles the big man with a wide smile. "So it looks like I'm Frik to you folk. Well met." He nods to each of the men, the half-elf, and the dwarf in turn.
"Jonagher, good to see you, mate," he continues. "As to why I'm here, to be honest I'm hoping for some information. I do Hestram a favor, he points me in the right direction. That's the plan anyway, but the plan is usually the first casualty upon meeting thine enemies, or so says someone wiser than I."
Frik rubs his eyes and runs his fingers through his mousey, shoulder length hair. He cuts quite an imposing figure, standing well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders, and a handsome face who's broken nose somehow improves his look. Smile lines around his eyes belie a man quick to laugh, even though his manner seems somber at the moment. After a few heartbeats, he stands and begins pacing the room, scale mail jingling and holding his scabbard loosely at his side.
"Regardless, it truly is good to meet you all, save that scoundrel I already know," he indicates Jonagher with a grin and an unsubtle conspiratorial wink, obviously cracking a joke. "Cayden Cailean smiles on all of us, so long as our hearts are true and our courage holds."
"Now I wonder what sort of trouble we are about to get ourselves into?"
"Now I wonder what sort of trouble we are about to get ourselves into?"
"The best kind." Jonagher grins back. "One man's trouble is another man's opportunity, I always say. And there should be something in this for all of us, I'm hoping. Not that I've ever met this Hestram fellow. But, assuming he's got connections with some of the higher-ups in the Society, maybe he can lend us both a hand in getting the information we need."
Jonagher nods with his chin at Torden. "Frik here's got a brother he's trying to find," he shares, "The more people that can help locate him, the better." The half-elf looks back to the priest apologetically. "Assuming, of course, you don't mind me sharing that bit about your situation. If either of these two were around during the riots, maybe they saw your brother."
"They're twins, you see," he offers, "So, if you've ever seen an overgrown bear of a man just as ugly as this one, do let him know..."
The rogue barely manages to stifle a laugh at his own joke, but can't suppress the grin.
"Frik here's got a brother he's trying to find," he shares, "The more people that can help locate him, the better."
"They're twins, you see," he offers, "So, if you've ever seen an overgrown bear of a man just as ugly as this one, do let him know..."
"Mmm," Torden grunts, his deep voice coming through. "Missing family. To be sure that is a sad affair."
The Jonagher fellow seems a bit shifty, but two of the others have some bond with him and a pleasant bond at that, so perhaps while crafty, he shouldn't be classed with the bandits of the road.
"I hope to assist you in your endeavor Master Frik." He nods to the large man, but retains his stoic pose.
"Ah, but Jon, we can't all be blessed with the sightly pointed ears and the cornsilk hair, so like a maiden fair," he says, returning the smile. He shifts his gaze to the dwarf and lets his smile fade.
"Aye, Master Ironcask, 'tis a sad affair indeed. Jon here exaggerates a bit, though. We call each other "brother," but don't know if we share parents or not. We were both abandoned at a young age, and in fact don't look much alike at all. He's tall, as am I, but lankier, blonder, and...well...frankly better looking. I do appreciate the concern, friend dwarf, and I'll take good help where it is to be found. I hope to return the favor to you as well, if good old Cayden decides we both are to succeed.
"But needs must focus on the task at hand, first. I do hope this Pathfinder doesn't keep us waiting long. It's too late in the day to not have had a proper drink yet." He pats a hefty looking battered steel tankard at his belt. "And all this talking is working up a mighty thirst, no offense brothers. A strong drink at the end of a good day's work is its own reward, after all."
"Ah, but Jon, we can't all be blessed with the sightly pointed ears and the cornsilk hair, so like a maiden fair," he says, returning the smile.
"Oh, come now..." Jonagher returns the jibe in a self-mocking manner, "I believe we all know who attracts more ladies than the other. So, jest all you want. I can't help it if you're jealous of my success and good looks."
"...Jon here exaggerates a bit, though. We call each other "brother," but don't know if we share parents or not..."
"I apologize," Jonagher interjects, waving between Torden and Frik as if to suggest the dwarf should listen to the priest for the full truth of the matter.
"...It's too late in the day to not have had a proper drink yet....And all this talking is working up a mighty thirst, no offense brothers. A strong drink at the end of a good day's work is its own reward, after all."
"I'll be happy to drink to that sentiment," Jonagher agrees, "And surely a dwarf such as Torden here would feel the same!"
"Leofrik Forthwind at your service. . . . Well met." He nods to each of the men, the half-elf, and the dwarf in turn.
Origen nods in return. "Well met, Frik."
He listens closely to Frik's story, his lips tightening when he hears about Frik's brother. "I was . . . traveling at the time, but I have heard of that riot. A bad business. I hope that you can find him."
"I'll be happy to drink to that sentiment," Jonagher agrees, "And surely a dwarf such as Torden here would feel the same!"
Torden hesitates in responding, hoping not to offend, but desiring to be honest.
"Though I've been in Absalom but a short time, I've yet to find a quality dwarven brewer. I've stomached much of your thin brews in the past few nights, but I'm uncertain how much longer I can endure. Most clear elven springs spew heartier drink."
"Though I've been in Absalom but a short time, I've yet to find a quality dwarven brewer. I've stomached much of your thin brews in the past few nights, but I'm uncertain how much longer I can endure. Most clear elven springs spew heartier drink."
Frik bursts out laughing and slaps the dwarf heartily on the back.
"Well said, my stout friend, well said!" he manages to get out between guffaws. "You and I...we'll get along just fine."
"Thank you as well, Master Origen. It was a bad business, for sure. All hope isn't lost, so long as I draw breath."
Frik straps his greatsword back on its shoulder harness, and begins pacing the room, stopping to look at any curiousity that strikes his fancy, patiently waiting on the arrival of his new patron.
A good bunch here, he muses, and maybe my best chance to find Leopold. I hope so...I'm running out of ideas on my own...
"Thank you as well, Master Origen. It was a bad business, for sure. All hope isn't lost, so long as I draw breath."
Origen is quiet for a moment.
"We may have something in common, Frik. My father and sister disappeared on a Pathfinder expedition to Sargava over a year ago. Perhaps you've heard of the Venn Expedition?
"I'm not surprised if you have not. Melancthus Venn and my father Aurelien swore all of us to secrecy about its goal. I embarked with them, but was separated from my family and forced to return here."
"We've had no word for months. I haven't given up hope, but . . . ." He looks down.
For Jonagher
If he were at all interested, Jonagher would know the information about Aurelien and Elliandra in Origen's background. He'd probably not know the expedition's true goal unless he's made a point of digging up the information with his Diplomacy skills. Your call.
"We've had no word for months. I haven't given up hope, but . . . ." He looks down.
"My sincere condolences. Maybe our paths might lead to the same place. I've heard rumors about my brother that could point that direction. Regardless, stay strong. You'll find what you seek."
Frik puts a large hand on the man's shoulder as he speaks.
Frik puts a large hand on the man's shoulder as he speaks.
"Thank you. I hope that you're right."
The only person not to speak is a rugged looking young man of about 20 years sitting near the dwarf. He has listened to all of the banter about missing family members and has wondered more than once how his mother and sister are faring. Once there is a moment of silence, he clears his throat and says in a low, deep voice, "I am...Bran. Bran Morigon from Oregent. It is good to be meeting you all. I came to Absalom to see if it was as big as they say...and wound up here. My father...was once a Pathfinder..."
The burly young man fiddles with his fingers as he talks and tugs on the collar of his chain shirt. His brown hair is straight, but disheveled and his hands and forearms bear numerous thin scars; his fingers look rough and creased from hard work. His longsword leans against the table with a dented steel shield and two throwing axes are tucked into his belt. His clothing is plain like the rest of him; he probably wouldn't stand out in a crowd.
"I am...Bran. Bran Morigon from Oregent. It is good to be meeting you all. I came to Absalom to see if it was as big as they say...and wound up here. My father...was once a Pathfinder..."
"By Desna! You do talk, don't you?" Jonagher says with a wink at Bran's first statement, "And here I half-thought you might be mute!"
The half-elf looks over at Origen. "Another lad with a Pathfinder for a father," he states, "Looks we've got more than a few following in their paternal footsteps. Wish I could say the same! But, though my father has had dealings with the Society in Andoran, I fear he's far too busy for gallivanting about the Inner Sea exploring ruins and recovering ancient artifacts. That doesn't mean I can't do it for him, though!"
"So...where's this Venture-Captain?" Jonagher wonders aloud, "Seems to me if this problem at the Blakros Museum is all that important, he wouldn't keep us waiting here so long. And the way the locals have been going on about the place, you'd think half the legions of Hell had suddenly appeared inside."
The rogue gestures at Frik. "You say you've lived in Absalom all your life? What do you know about the place?" he asks, "Anything?"
For Origen & DM:
If he were at all interested, Jonagher would know the information about Aurelien and Elliandra in Origen's background. He'd probably not know the expedition's true goal unless he's made a point of digging up the information with his Diplomacy skills. Your call.
Jonagher is enough of a conversationalist, and skilled at prying information out of people, that I'd suspect he knows at least that much provided he and Origen have spent some time together. Plus, it gives an immediate reason for him to strike up a friendship with Origen. Basically, Jonagher needs someone skilled and knowledgeable in ancient Azlanti lore to help him understand the secrets from his mother's book. If Origen's father headed up an expedition to try and reach an ancient Azlanti city somewhere near Sargava, you can bet Jonagher would want to keep close to Origen in the event he or his father might be able to aid his own investigation. After all, he's starting to get tired of waiting on an answer from the Pathfinder Society and the Decemvirate.
"To be perfectly honest, most of my experience in Absalom has been the Coins district. I hear things every now and then...but..."
Frik shrugs his shoulders. "At this point your guess is as good as mine."
"And well met, Bran. Pleasure to meet you."
"To be perfectly honest, most of my experience in Absalom has been the Coins district. I hear things every now and then...but..." Frik shrugs his shoulders. "At this point your guess is as good as mine."
"Hah! For a moment there I thought you were going to say most of your experience has been at the bottom of a cup in the local tavern," Jonagher jests, and then adds for Bran's benefit, "Oh...and it's nice to make your acquaintance, as well, my friend. You look to have an air of experience about you with all those weapons. Between you and Frik here, I have no doubt the rest of us will be well-defended if any of these rumors about the Blakros Museum prove true."
Torden looks at the forlorn man who has introduced himself. Strong and quiet, and with a big sword that has seen some miles. "Well met, Bran." Torden intends to stay close to the man.
"This name, Blackros, I think I've heard it before."
Knowledge History
"This name, Blackros, I think I've heard it before."
Knowledge History 1d20 + 7
"Well met, Bran. What was your father's name? Maybe I've heard of him before."
For Jonagher, But Only Spoilered for Narrative Continuity
Okay, I think that the Azlanti connection makes sense, but I want to have a reason why a horde of Pathfinders isn't scurrying to Sargava in search of the city.
Why don't we say that the two PCs met shortly after Jonagher came to Absalom? Jonagher eventually managed to infer the object of the expedition from your research combined with some things that Origen let slip. When Jonagher revealed what he found, Origen asked him to keep it quiet, as he wanted to go after the expedition without a horde of other Pathfinders muddying the trail. However, he promised that he'd do everything that he could to help Jonagher find the book.
Given that Jonagher knows about Saventh-Yhi, he would probably be one of the few people that know about Origen's amnesia and physical transformations.
Bran smiles at the half-elf's declaration and gives him a simple nod of recognition when he officially introduces himself.
This man talks more than my sister!
He greets Leofrik and Torden with the same smile and nod, but to Origen he says, "His name is Bronson, but his old friends named him Bronson the Brawler - a name he earned in the Society and one...he lived up to afterward."
For Origen and GM:
Okay, I think that the Azlanti connection makes sense, but I want to have a reason why a horde of Pathfinders isn't scurrying to Sargava in search of the city.
Newsflash: Even if there are a bunch of Pathfinders scurrying to Sargava in search of Saventh-Yhi, I can tell you as someone who's privy to the entire adventure path, that the ancient Azlanti city isn't in Sargava. Close. But no cigar. ;-)
Why don't we say that the two PCs met shortly after Jonagher came to Absalom?
Fine.
Jonagher eventually managed to infer the object of the expedition from your research combined with some things that Origen let slip. When Jonagher revealed what he found, Origen asked him to keep it quiet, as he wanted to go after the expedition without a horde of other Pathfinders muddying the trail.
Also, fine. Neither Origen, nor Jonagher will actually know that the city isn't in Sargava. They'll just know that's where the expedition headed. And, if they too want to pick up the trail for where the city might lie, they'll need to follow in Origen's father's footsteps.
However, he promised that he'd do everything that he could to help Jonagher find the book.
Jonagher already found the book. And he's turned it over to the Pathfinder Society at the Grand Lodge in Absalom, hoping for help in translating it. But now he has the sense that they too are hiding what it says from him. Lucky for Jonagher, he copied down the cryptic passages hidden within the text. So now he's interested in finding someone else who can aid him in deciphering it. Origen's father might fit the bill if he was skilled and educated enough in Azlanti lore to be seeking Saventh-Yhi. Thus, Origen is the means to an end from Jonagher's perspective. He helps you find your dad. And hopefully, your dad helps him interpret the text so he can understand why his mother gave her life to protect it from the man who killed her.
Given that Jonagher knows about Saventh-Yhi, he would probably be one of the few people that know about Origen's amnesia and physical transformations.
I'm fine with that, if you are. Origen could have shared the information about his father's knowledge of the Azlanti, the expedition, and Origen's amnesia. But the sorcerer might not have felt comfortable explaining his physical transformation just yet. Such a discovery might be more fun to roleplay down the road. And then Jonagher will have to make a choice on whether he trusts what Origen is becoming enough to continue helping him look for his father.
Just my two-cents,
--Neil
"His name is Bronson, but his old friends named him Bronson the Brawler - a name he earned in the Society and one...he lived up to afterward."
"Bran and Bronson...Bronson and Bran..." Jonagher says the names aloud, savoring them for a brief moment, "Well, I guess the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree, after all, does it? At least, as far as names are concerned, of course. And I suppose you have the look of a brawler about you, too. Between you and Origen, here, it sounds like you're both doing well in carrying on your fine family traditions."
"I can't say the same about myself, though," the half-elf confesses, "I've only known my father for the past couple of years. He's a diplomat for Kyonin, kingdom of the elves, and spends much of his time treating with the Andorens over trade issues. It was his idea to seek out the Pathfinders regarding some obscure lore we stumbled upon. I brought it here to Absalom and the Grand Lodge, hoping to get an audience with the Decemvirate. But I daresay, I think they've confiscated the book I brought them rather than talk to me about it. Nevertheless, I'm impressed enough with their philosophy...and the reclamation of ancient artifacts...that I'm considering joining them as well in the hopes I too might learn enough about such things to decipher the book myself. Provided they give it back to me, of course."
Jonagher flips his dagger once more, catches the blade, and places it back in his boot in one smooth motion. With a sigh, he lifts his feet off the table and stands up to stretch.
"By the gods," he complains, "Are they going to keep us waiting here forever? Not very punctual, these Pathfinders and their venture-captains..."
As if on cue, further conversation is forestalled by the sudden, forceful slamming open of the door. Into the conference room strides a great bear of a man, well over six feet tall, and seemingly as wide across. His face is covered with a long, scraggly beard that doesn't quite conceal his nearly toothless grin. He gives the five-man assemblage a quick glance-over and purses his lips in pause before muttering something that sounds suspiciously like, "Well, I suppose they'll have to do." Then, without further preamble, the man speaks in a loud, booming voice.
"Venture-Captain Adril Hestram, good eve and well met. Let's get right to the heart of the matter. The Blakros Museum has apparently been cursed. Some darkness has descended upon the place and those who enter are blasted with evil and left raving through its halls, more beast than men. The curator, Nigel Aldain, is an old associate of the Society, though he chose to leave our organization some years back after a disagreement.” Adril looks momentarily sheepish, as if remembering some distasteful incident from his youth.
He continues, “Nigel has long denied the Society access to the Blakros Museum’s considerable collection of relics and scrolls, using his extensive contacts to nab several excellent finds right out from under us... he always had a nose for the hunt. Whatever is past between Nigel and the Society, he needs our help now. Perhaps if we can come to his aid, he may think on rejoining the Pathfinder Society, or at least offering to share his discoveries with us.”
“Apparently the trouble at Blakros Museum began this morning, shortly after a wayward Pathfinder named Lugizar Trantos returned to Absalom after months spent in the Mwangi Expanse. Supposedly, instead of coming straight to the Lodge to report in, he went to Blakros, sold his finds to Nigel, and then disappeared with a hefty sum of gold. The few who glimpsed Lugizar claimed he was much changed by his time in the Mwangi... gaunt, his eyes yellowed and unfocused, a strange rasping cough that seemed to wrack his now wasted frame. Whatever he brought back with him, we believe it is the cause of the Blakros Museum’s ills. I need you to root it out. There's 200 gold pieces to a man if you can pull it off, and the gratitude of the Pathfinder Society besides. What do you say?”
What do you say?”
"I say that's quite a lot of money...and it should take all of about two hours to earn," Jonagher responds with a boastful smile, not the least put off by the immense size of the man before them, "Assuming, of course, we don't run afoul of the now-raving beasts who entered ahead of us...or fall victim to the self-same curse ourselves...and we find Nigel amenable to parting ways with whatever Lugizar sold him, despite our intention to turn it over to an organization he himself chose to part ways with a long time ago."
The half-elf then pauses for dramatic effect.
"Hmmm...you know, on second thought..." he adds, "Maybe 200 gold and 2 hours are a bit more conservative than I originally imagined. How about if we double the time and the offer...say, 400 gold to a man and 4 hours to pull it off?"
"It doesn't take a huge leap of thought to assume that whatever this Trantos brought back from Mwangi is responsible for this...curse," Frik says, almost to himself while Jonagher haggles with his new employer. "If we can find this item, we can get to the bottom of the mystery and perhaps even cure some of those afflicted."
"Very well," Frik booms with a grin after Jon finishes his negotiations. Staring the big Venture-Captain eye-to-eye, he continues, "I have one question for you, however. I seek information. I will aid you and these men with this endeavor, but I ask for access to the Pathfinder's considerable knowledge to help me find a missing person. I don't expect or demand results, but if I can be promised aid in good faith to the best of you and your lodge's abilities, my sword and aid are yours. What say you?"
Torden is taken aback by the sudden and forceful entrance. Absent are the niceties and pomp of diplomatic exchange. He doesn't share the half-elf's interest in haggling over price, the mystery that comes with this troubled museum is enough to interest him. Though to be sure, a few extra coins could buy a lot of information and access to Golarian's many archives and libraries.
"I think I can be persuaded to assist the society in this endeavor. I believe the museum's founders have been known to trade in relics, both legally and illegally. That, along with this current mystery piques my interest."
He hopes his commitment doesn't undermine the half-elf's attempts at gaining more gold.
"His name is Bronson, but his old friends named him Bronson the Brawler - a name he earned in the Society and one...he lived up to afterward."
Origen looks thoughtful. "I think that I may have met him. I was just a boy at the time, but I remember how much bigger he was than my father. You look . . . ."
He is interrupted by the Venture-Captain's abrupt arrival, and he seems to recognize the man. Origen raises an eyebrow when Jonagher makes the counter-offer for more money, but he does not interfere with his companion's gambit.
For Origen and GM:
Okay, I like those ideas. Origen has translated what he can of any writings that you have left from the book, but they are either too incomplete to make sense, encoded in some way, or both. His father or Melancthus could probably fill in the gaps even without the book.
Jonagher and Origen are probably not as close as Jonagher and Frik, but they respect each other. They regard each other as allies in their respective quests.
Perhaps some rumors have begun, especially within the society, but the full truth is not out (till, say, Pathfinder #37 publishes).
His family's rejection intensified Origen's fears about the transformation, so he's told no one about it save the Decemvirate, a few members of his family, and some mages or priest consulted in confidence. That way we can do an in-game reveal as you suggest with more interesting impact.
What do you both think?
"Hmmm...you know, on second thought..." he adds, "Maybe 200 gold and 2 hours are a bit more conservative than I originally imagined. How about if we double the time and the offer...say, 400 gold to a man and 4 hours to pull it off?"
1d20+5
Venture-Captain Hestram sighs and breaks into that big, toothless grin once more, perhaps in spite of himself. "You can take all night if you want...but, despite what you seem to think, the coffers of the Decemvirate aren't exactly so limitless. Tell you what, 300 gold for each of you...if you can find out what's going on, and put a stop to it, and try to get the Society back in Nigel's good graces. Ask for any more than that, and I might as well throw you all out of here and go and do it myself." Hestram is still smiling, but the huge man leans forward as though he might enjoy a five-on-one throwdown. "How's that grab you?"
"Very well," Frik booms with a grin after Jon finishes his negotiations. Staring the big Venture-Captain eye-to-eye, he continues, "I have one question for you, however. I seek information. I will aid you and these men with this endeavor, but I ask for access to the Pathfinder's considerable knowledge to help me find a missing person. I don't expect or demand results, but if I can be promised aid in good faith to the best of you and your lodge's abilities, my sword and aid are yours. What say you?"
After making his offer to Jonagher, Hestram inclines his head in Frik's direction, perhaps as a sign of respect at the younger man's boldness. "The Seekers are usually more adept at finding artifacts buried deep under the earth, not missing people. You'd get better results to take your case before the proper authorities, I'd reckon. Still, if you think it important enough to ask...I'll do what I can for you."
"How's that grab you?"
Jonagher unconsciously leans away from the venture-captain just a little. "Why...that grabs me just fine, sir Hestram! Excellent, in fact!" he replies, "It's a fair trade to forego 400 gold in place of 300 and yet also have all night to accomplish such formidable tasks. You clearly have a sense of wisdom and wit about you. And I, for one, would be more than happy to serve the Society's interests in this matter."
"I think I can be persuaded to assist the society in this endeavor. I believe the museum's founders have been known to trade in relics, both legally and illegally. That, along with this current mystery piques my interest."
Hestram nods graciously at Torden. "Excellent! You have my thanks, good dwarf."
Jonagher unconsciously leans away from the venture-captain just a little. "Why...that grabs me just fine, sir Hestram! Excellent, in fact!" he replies, "It's a fair trade to forego 400 gold in place of 300 and yet also have all night to accomplish such formidable tasks. You clearly have a sense of wisdom and wit about you. And I, for one, would be more than happy to serve the Society's interests in this matter."
"I thought you might be."
Hestram then rounds, bearlike, on Origen and Bran. "What about you two? In or out?"
Origen/Jonagher
I think that what you two have worked through should work out fine. Granted, when 'Skull' does come out, it could require us to go back and tweak some things, so we should try to remain flexible. In particular, I wonder if the existence/location of Saventh-Yhi is going to be a huge, important reveal over the course of the AP. If so, it might be better to say that Origen's father's expedition was in search of some big find (something really old and with ties to old Azlant even), but leave the specifics to be filled in later. For right now, though, I think we're in good shape.
And, as I've said, I think Origen's own big reveal should be really fun. :)
"Very well," Frik booms with a grin after Jon finishes his negotiations. Staring the big Venture-Captain eye-to-eye, he continues, "I have one question for you, however. I seek information. I will aid you and these men with this endeavor, but I ask for access to the Pathfinder's considerable knowledge to help me find a missing person. I don't expect or demand results, but if I can be promised aid in good faith to the best of you and your lodge's abilities, my sword and aid are yours. What say you?"After making his offer to Jonagher, Hestram inclines his head in Frik's direction, perhaps as a sign of respect at the younger man's boldness. "The Seekers are usually more adept at finding artifacts buried deep under the earth, not missing people. You'd get better results to take your case before the proper authorities, I'd reckon. Still, if you think it important enough to ask...I'll do what I can for you."
"Aye, these things I know, but I've learned not to pass up any opportunity," Frik replies, nodding somberly. "Thank you for your generosity."
To the rest of the group he says simply, "I am ready when you are."
Lugizar Trantos spent the better part of a year in the Mwangi. At first he wrote letters to his brother and wife, but after a few months these stopped coming and most gave him up for dead. His letters spoke of a lucrative find at one point, three idols of dark wood carved in the shape of bearded monkeys. The last of his letters evidenced an unhinged mind, and was covered in strange sketches of monkey paws. He described dark eyes glaring out from the mists. Shortly after his return to Absalom, the monkeys and apes in the Absalom Menagerie attacked their keepers during a feeding and fled the grounds into greater Absalom.
Much of the Mwangi’s darkest interior is ruled by a demon lord named Angazhan, who is described in an ancient text as a thing of primordial darkness, a foulbreathed demon who grunts prophecies of blood to apes and madmen. The jungle is his beating heart.
Also...
Lugizar Trantos spent the better part of a year in the Mwangi. At first he wrote letters to his brother and wife, but after a few months these stopped coming and most gave him up for dead.
Much of the Mwangi’s darkest interior is ruled by a demon lord named Angazhan, who is described in an ancient text as a thing of primordial darkness, a foulbreathed demon who grunts prophecies of blood to apes and madmen. The jungle is his beating heart. The Gorilla King’s dread city was founded hundreds of years past by cultists who bowed to Angazhan. It is said they captured the souls of monkeys in the wood-grains of strange idols called Tik Taan. The monkeys’ tormented spirits became the slaves and playthings of Angazhan, who murdered their playful whims and replaced them with a deep-seated hate and wild madness. These Tik Taan are rumored to shred the sanity of anyone who spends too long in their presence. The cultists who created the Tik Taan were hunted by a brave tribe of the Mwangi called the Jambala Jaeg. The Jambala Jaeg created ritual knives, crafted out of bone handles and obsidian blades, to slay the demons inside the Tik Taan.
"I am ready when you are."
"Well, not so fast, my friend," Jonagher holds up a hand, "Let's hold off boldly marching into the Blakros Museum quite so quickly, lest we also lose our minds like those other unfortunates the good Venture-Captain mentioned."
"Has anyone heard of this Lugizar Trantos before?" the half-elf asks, "What mission did he undertake for the Society? And what did he find there that he decided to sell to the museum's curator rather than turn over to the Pathfinders? I've heard that the Society's members always keep a journal to record their exploits. And, aren't they required to send back regular updates to their Venture-Captains? If so, what did Lugizar report before his return to Absalom?"
The rogue looks expectantly at Hezram, but it's clear he's also asking those who make their homes in Absalom if they know anything about Lugizar, as well.
"I am ready when you are.""Well, not so fast, my friend," Jonagher holds up a hand, "Let's hold off boldly marching into the Blakros Museum quite so quickly, lest we also lose our minds like those other unfortunates the good Venture-Captain mentioned."
"Has anyone heard of this Lugizar Trantos before?" the half-elf asks, "What mission did he undertake for the Society? And what did he find there that he decided to sell to the museum's curator rather than turn over to the Pathfinders? I've heard that the Society's members always keep a journal to record their exploits. And, aren't they required to send back regular updates to their Venture-Captains? If so, what did Lugizar report before his return to Absalom?"
The rogue looks expectantly at Hezram, but it's clear he's also asking those who make their homes in Absalom if they know anything about Lugizar, as well.
"I'm not marching out the door just yet," Frik says, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "I just mean I got what I need from Hezram.
"As far as Trantos goes, I know he spent the better part of a year in the Mwangi. At first he wrote letters to his brother and wife, but after a few months these stopped coming and most gave him up for dead." Frik shrugs again. "I'm surprised that he's back at all, to be perfectly honest. The Mwangi can be a dark, deadly place, although I'm sure you all know more about that than I."