Origen responds, "I'll do it. I'll even waive the fee, but only if the Society takes me off the suspended list."
For GM
Origen is expecting it to be harder that just doing this mission. I'm assuming that his Pathfinder status is still in limbo because of the expedition's failure: He can be "reinstated" as an initiate in good standing about the time the other PCs qualify for membership. Let me know if I should modify this.
Knowledge (History) (untrained)
Knowledge (Local) (untrained)
"Venture-Captain, what precisely are the mist's effects, and how long do they take to manifest?"
Origen tries to remember if he's heard of any similar magical effects.
Knowledge (Arcana)
"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?"
“Trantos. Indeed that is a name I’ve heard.” Torden’s hand absently moves to his drum, his fingers caressing the aurochs skin pulled across it. “Just a night ago I sat around the fire with a lore-teller here in Absalom. He relayed to me what our friend Frick has told us and more. It seems that Trantos’s letters told of three idols of dark wood, carved in the shape of bearded monkeys. His last letter was somewhat incoherent and filled with wild sketches. After the man returned—some days ago—all of the apes in Absalom’s Menagerie attacked their keepers and fled into the city.”
Torden’s realizes that he is fondling his drum and places his hand back on the pommel of his warhammer. “In all my travels I have seen many monkeys, but never a great ape. I believe they can be the kindest and gentlest of animals, but I also hear they can tear a man’s limbs from his body when the mood strikes them.” Torden lowers his head , looks at his weapon, and grunts.
Origen grimaces a bit when Torden mentions apes. It's clear that he doesn't enjoy visiting the Monkey House at Absalom's zoological gardens.
He mutters, "Apes. Naturally."
"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."
Bran looks up at the rogue with hard eyes and says in a low voice, "I assure you...I am nothing like my father, and you know nothing of my family. Seems all you know to do is flap your hole...like a woman."
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?"
"I'll gladly go," Bran says, standing up and walking over to shake the big man's hand. "I am Bran - we'll take care of business for you. But if all of us don't make it back," Bran glances at Jonagher then back to Hestram, "we get his share of the payment, right?"
"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."Bran looks up at the rogue with hard eyes and says in a low voice, "I assure you...I am nothing like my father, and you know nothing of my family. Seems all you know to do is flap your hole...like a woman."
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?""I'll gladly go," Bran says, standing up and walking over to shake the big man's hand. "I am Bran - we'll take care of business for you. But if all of us don't make it back," Bran glances at Jonagher then back to Hestram, "we get his share of the payment, right?"
Frik bursts into honest laughter at Bran's comment towards Jonagher.
"Seems this one's got you pegged, mate!" he exclaims to Jonagher before shifting his gaze to Bran. "Well said, Bran, and for my part I hope I haven't offended you. That being said, needs must that you and Jon here get along well enough to watch each other in a fight. I'll watch all your backs, and I don't want to have to worry about one of you not watching mine.
"Can we be in agreement that we are all in this endeavor together? Cayden's blessing we'll be friends someday, but today we must be brothers-in-arms."
Cayden's blessing we'll be friends someday, but today we must be brothers-in-arms."
Origen tenses at Bran's angry response, his hand raising to begin a spell if needed. He relaxes slightly.
Frik is right. We're all professionals here, are we not? We have a mission to complete.
Besides, a little banter may be Jonagher's way, but I'm sure that he meant no offense.
Jonagher blinks, temporarily stunned into silence by Bran's over-reaction.
"Clearly, I've struck a nerve," the half-elf responds and bows his head in apology, "And you're quite right, Bran. I know nothing of your father nor your family and only assumed to make light of things. You have my sincerest apologies if I've offended in some way. I assure you it was not intentional on my part."
Then the rogue looks up.
"And, at the risk of flapping my...hole?...like someone a bit more useful than a...woman," he adds, "I'll add that I'm somewhat well-versed in history...a by-product of the education my mother granted me growing up."
"I've also heard of these wooden idols Torden describes," Jonagher explains, "I read about them in a treatise from my mother's library when I was ten. They're called Tik Taan. And they originate in the Mwangi Expanse, courtesy of a bunch of tribal cultists who worship Angazhan, a demon lord of primordial darkness that breathes prophecies of blood to apes and madmen. It is said his followers could capture the souls of monkeys and bind them in the idols, their tormented spirits becoming Angazhan's slaves and playthings. The demon would replace their whimsy with deep-seated hate and madness."
"The Tik Taan are rumored to shred the sanity of anyone who spends too much time in their presence," he adds, "This might explain the madness that's afflicted those still inside the museum. And it might also explain Lugizar's erratic behavior, too. Legends say a brave Mwangi tribe called the Jambala Jaeg hunted down Angazhan's cultists and put them to death. They also used ritual knives made with bone handles and obsidian blades to slay the demons inside the Tik Taan."
Jonagher draws the dagger belted at his waist and holds it up. "If that's what we're facing, steel blades might not avail us very much. And we'll need to take care that we don't spend too much time in close proximity to the wooden idols, or we'll risk the same madness as everyone else."
"I hope you find my words on this subject a bit more useful?" he finishes with all seriousness.
"That certainly sheds a bit more light on things. I knew some of what you speak of, but much of that is new to me."
Frik rubs his temples before continuing. "These people who have succumbed to madness...Trantos included it would seem...are these effects and loss of sanity you speak of permanent, or can these people regain the parts of their minds that they have lost? If they can be saved, we must remember we are not fighting creatures from the abyss, but rather sick men and women who need our help."
Bran takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly as he looks around at his new companions. "Trust me, I do not offend easily. It's just...well...I need you to know that even though my father was a Pathfinder, it is not the reason I am here today. I am my own man - I am not trying to walk in my father's footsteps - far from it."
He then rests his palms on the heads of the axes at his belt and says, "Let's start over, okay? Well met - I am Bran Morigon of Oregent. I worked all my life either in a sawmill or hauling timber. I'm a mean sonuvab&&#* and I love a good fight. And I promise you if we go into battle together, I'll have your back."
He nods to Jonagher and says, "Deal?"
Frik yet again bursts into infectious laughter.
"Bran, my good man, I think I like you even more now!"
He nods to Jonagher and says, "Deal?"
"Oh, most certainly," the half-elf offers with an encouraging smile.
"These people who have succumbed to madness...Trantos included it would seem...are these effects and loss of sanity you speak of permanent, or can these people regain the parts of their minds that they have lost? If they can be saved, we must remember we are not fighting creatures from the abyss, but rather sick men and women who need our help."
"If there's any cure, I don't recall it from the book I read so many years ago," Jonagher returns, "But, if the Jambala Jaeg had the means to slay the demons within the Tik Taan, perhaps ending their presence in the idols also frees those they've afflicted with madness? We can but hope that is the case."
"I do much prefer your words on the idols and the dangers to the south," Bran says, smiling at Jonagher. "What type of wood is used to make these idols?"
"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.
The Venture-Captain nods, giving his assent to the description of Lugizar's recent activities offered by the others present. "Aye, you've got the right of things, dwarf...and quite a way with words too, if I do say so! Trantos wasn't reporting to me directly, so I can't offer much more about why he was in the Mwangi. But it's true that he has been out of contact for many months, and to be sure, we did fear him lost. As to why he would report straight to Nigel at the museum, and not here to the Grand Lodge? Your guess is as good as mine. Perhaps he was not in his right mind either, as you say."
Origen responds, "I'll do it. I'll even waive the fee, but only if the Society takes me off the suspended list."
"Suspended? What are you...?" Surprised, Hestram narrows his eyes and takes a closer look at Origen's features. Then, in sudden recognition, he bursts out, "You're a Leanthris? Aurelien's son, aren't you? By the gods, I didn't even recognize you! The last I saw of you...well, it was some time ago wasn't it?" Hestram looks suddenly uncomfortable, not wanting to dredge up old hurts, or make a larger issue of Origen's changed appearance. With a shake of his head, he continues, "You ask too much of one Venture-Captain, son. That's a matter for the Decemvirate. The best I can do is put in a good word for you. And this I'll surely do, for old time's sake. Your father was a good man, and a good friend."
Knowledge (History) (untrained) 1d20+3
Knowledge (Local) (untrained) 1d20+2
"Venture-Captain, what precisely are the mist's effects, and how long do they take to manifest?"
A deep chuckle emanates from behind Hestram's coarse beard. "If I knew that, I wouldn't need the lot of you to investigate, now would I?"
Origen tries to remember if he's heard of any similar magical effects.
Knowledge (Arcana) 1d20+6
"I'll gladly go," Bran says, standing up and walking over to shake the big man's hand. "I am Bran - we'll take care of business for you. But if all of us don't make it back," Bran glances at Jonagher then back to Hestram, "we get his share of the payment, right?"
The Venture-Captain returns Bran's handshake with a grip of iron. "If all of you don't make it back, I suspect we'll have bigger problems on our hands than quibbling over a few gold measures. Best if you all return alive and well, and he can buy you a drink to make amends."
Frik is obviously anxious to leave. He has no further questions, but is waiting patiently for the more scholarly types to get their facts straight. He does listen intently, though, nodding as he picks up new pieces of information.
Venture-Captain Hestram steps back and casts an appraising eye once more over the motley assemblage. "Hrmph. Still don't look like much, do you? But, mayhap you'll prove me wrong. I've one more thing to give you before you're off."
The burly man unfolds a parchment on the smooth oak tabletop, revealing a map of the museum's interior.
1.Entrance/Atrium
2.West Exhibit Hall
3.Offices
4.East Exhibit Hall
5.Storage
6.Bathrooms
7.North Exhibit Hall
Quickly, he leans over the table and identifies each room, then follows up by saying, "I'd suggest looking for Nigel in his offices, first off. He may be able to provide you with more information. If there's anyone still in full possession of his wits inside, let's hope it would be him."
Standing again to his full height, Hestram concludes, "So, times's a wasting. Let's be off with you."
Heart thumping in his chest, partly from nerves, partly from excitement, Torden gathers the map from the table and heads for the door. Forgetting his lack of training in the comedic arts, Torden calls back. "Well c'mon lads. Let us not stand here monkeying around."
After his new companions' groans die out he calls over to Bran. "You there, stay close by me." Then he turns and marches out--trying valiantly to appear brave.
"Suspended? What are you...?" Surprised, Hestram narrows his eyes and takes a closer look at Origen's features. Then, in sudden recognition, he bursts out, "You're a Leanthris? Aurelien's son, aren't you? By the gods, I didn't even recognize you! The last I saw of you...well, it was some time ago wasn't it?" Hestram looks suddenly uncomfortable, not wanting to dredge up old hurts, or make a larger issue of Origen's changed appearance.
"Yes, I'm Aurelien's son. But don't worry about not recognizing me, Hestram. I'm used to it by now."
With a shake of his head, he continues, "You ask too much of one Venture-Captain, son. That's a matter for the Decemvirate. The best I can do is put in a good word...
Origen nods, clearly not surprised. "That's fair. More than fair, really--I know the procedures. I'm just getting tired of waiting for their decision."
"I've also heard of these wooden idols Torden describes," Jonagher explains, "I read about them in a treatise from my mother's library when I was ten. They're called Tik Taan. And they originate in the Mwangi Expanse, courtesy of a bunch of tribal cultists who worship Angazhan . . . ."
Origen listens intently. "Fascinating. I'd heard similar rumors about Angazhan, but nothing about the Tik Taan."
"We should try to avoid killing any victims of these spirits if we can. Perhaps they can be saved."
"They also used ritual knives made with bone handles and obsidian blades to slay the demons inside the Tik Taan."
"We may want to buy an obsidian weapon or two if we can find them quickly, but they may also have some in the Blakros Museum's collection. I'm sure that Nigel wouldn't mind us borrowing them."
The burly man unfolds a parchment on the smooth oak tabletop, revealing a map of the museum's interior.
When Hestram unfold the map, Origen quickly walks over to scrutinize it.
He points at the back of the building. "Windows? Perhaps we can avoid a frontal approach."
Standing again to his full height, Hestram concludes, "So, times's a wasting. Let's be off with you."
Origen nods. "I'll hold onto this until someone else needs it." He rolls up the map, stows it in a bone scroll tube, and shoves it back in his pack.
He picks up his hat. "Shall we?"
Origen nods. "I'll hold onto this until someone else needs it." He rolls up the map, stows it in a bone scroll tube, and shoves it back in his pack.
He picks up his hat. "Shall we?"
Bran grabs his pack and his sword, chuckling at Torden's "command" as he walks out of the room. While he checks his gear he says, "A knife of obsidian would be nice to have; might come in handy in more ways than one. Besides," he looks up and claps Frik on the shoulder, "you can never have too many knives. Ain't that right?"
"What type of wood is used to make these idols?"
"Darkwood, I believe," Jonagher offers.
Once Hestram spreads out the map, the half-elf does his best to take all of it in, committing as much as possible to memory before Torden rolls it up.
"We should try to avoid killing any victims of these spirits if we can. Perhaps they can be saved."
"I expect they'll surely be mad enough to attack us," Jonagher notes, "So, we should take care to try and knock them unconscious. I don't know if you have any spells capable of doing that. But use them if you can. In the meantime, if Frik can distract some of them, I might be capable of knocking them out from behind. In fact, it might be worthwhile for me to purchase a sap on our way there."
"We may want to buy an obsidian weapon or two if we can find them quickly, but they may also have some in the Blakros Museum's collection. I'm sure that Nigel wouldn't mind us borrowing them."
"If they have any there, we should certainly make use of them," Jonagher agrees, "Given the condition of anyone left inside the museum, it's unlikely they'll care. I'll perform some due diligence, however, when I go shopping for the sap. If I can find an obsidian blade, I'll do what I can to 'borrow' it, if necessary."
"...Perhaps we can avoid a frontal approach."
"I doubt it matters," Jonagher replies, "We're going to have to deal with those who've fallen to the madness one way or another. Might as well take them head-on. We're not going to fool anyone by sneaking in through a window."
"I'm ready to go when you are."
Bran grabs his pack and his sword, chuckling at Torden's "command" as he walks out of the room. While he checks his gear he says, "A knife of obsidian would be nice to have; might come in handy in more ways than one. Besides," he looks up and claps Frik on the shoulder, "you can never have too many knives. Ain't that right?"
"Too right, my friend, too right," Frik replies.
Frik spends the rest of the planning session listening and absorbing what everyone says. He knows he isn't a master tactition, but he pays attention to whatever plan is formed.
Frik spends the trek to the museum keeping the mood light by joking, telling anecdotes about Cayden Cailean, and chatting with the group about their usual battle tactics and such. Only when the museum comes into view does Frik's usually jovial demeanor diminish. He is silent by the time the group arrives at their destination.
Jonagher is quite the opposite. He stays silent for most of the trip, letting Frik entertain everyone while he mulls over what he recalls about the Tik Taan and Jambala Jaeg, making sure he hasn't missed anything that might give them an advantage. Once the museum comes into view, however, he perks up with excitement.
"Yeah! Will you look at that?" he says to everyone, "We'll all be heroes if we pull this off. Buck up, guys! Let's focus and bring our best stuff to make sure we find Nigel, isolate these wooden idols, and save anyone who's been driven mad. We do this right and not only will we make some coin and have the bards singing tales about us, but the Society just might help us achieve some of our personal goals, too."
He adds that last part for Frik and Origen's benefit, as well as to remind himself of his own reasons for approaching the Pathfinders in the first place. 'Make a suitable impression on them now,' he tells himself, 'And reap the benefits later...'
A bit stunned by the bard's sudden departure, Origen puts away the scroll tube and tries to keep up.
For Torden (Not Secret)
"I don't know if you have any spells capable of doing that. But use them if you can."
"I do. It's a blast of light that blinds and stuns those directly in front of me, but it's unselective." Origen explains the properties of Color Spray.
"I'll stay near the front. If we see a group of two or more next to each other, try not to charge till I've had a chance to cast."
"In the meantime, if Frik can distract some of them, I might be capable of knocking them out from behind. In fact, it might be worthwhile for me to purchase a sap on our way there."
"A good idea. And, on second thought, I think that you're right about avoiding the windows. That seems a natural place for the museum to place wards."
Torden remains taciturn.
Tactics in battle? Remain behind the swordsman and his armor, he thinks.
“Me mother provided me with some training in the ways of magic. I can’t say that I’ll be near the front, I think my skills require me to remain back a bit.” He hesitates and then draws out his warhammer. “Though I’d like to get in tha mix a bit.
I can’t say that I’ve ever thought of going through the window, though I can see Origen’s point. ” I can see I have a lot to learn from these men if I’m to continue seeking knowledge outside of libraries and museums.
Thinking of their journey and the possibility of a curse with origins in a dark jungle begins to spark the memory of a tale Torden heard some time ago. He contemplates the tale as the group arrives at Blackros.
With the business at hand concluded, Venture-Captain Hestram ushers the party from the Grand Lodge, with one final, rumbling, exhortation. "Go with the luck of Desna and the courage of Iomedae. I'll be here awaiting your safe return."
The group heads across the Foreign Quarter as quickly as possible, with only one quick stop for Jonagher to make his small purchase. The group then proceeds north through the Ivy District, and then to the Wise Quarter. The walk is a tense one, despite Flik's attempts to lighten the mood. After what seems a much longer journey than it actually is, the group at last pulls up to a halt...its destination has been reached.
Ahead, the Blakros Museum rises into the night sky, its single black spire severing the full moon in twain. The black iron gates surrounding the exhibition hall grind in protest against the wind. Beyond, the museum’s large oaken doors stand wide open, a silver-gray mist belching forth from the cavernous darkness within.
Ahead, the Blakros Museum rises into the night sky, its single black spire severing the full moon in twain. The black iron gates surrounding the exhibition hall grind in protest against the wind. Beyond, the museum’s large oaken doors stand wide open, a silver-gray mist belching forth from the cavernous darkness within.
Frik chuckles softly, saying to the others almost under his breath, "Almost ridiculous how foreboding this place is. Bran? Do you care to lead the way?"
"Any last-minute preparations?" Origen checks to make sure that his crossbow and case of bolts are within easy reach. He keeps his hands free for spell-casting.
"I can carry a light if we need it. That mist may be hard to see through."
Origen stares at it for a moment to see how bad that it will be.
Perception
Knowledge (Arcana)
Torden grins. He fondles his warhammer, adjusts his grip, and peers into the mist.
“No sense in lingering out here on the street. If memory serves, there’s an atrium right inside.”
He stands to Frik's left and behind Bran.
Origen stares at it for a moment to see how bad that it will be.
Perception 1d20+4
Knowledge (Arcana) 1d20+6
Torden grins. He fondles his warhammer, adjusts his grip, and peers into the mist.
1d20 +3
"Well, do we want to live forever...or live well?" Jonagher quips. With a deep inhale, he holds his breath as he passes through the mist, hoping to see if it gets any clearer on the other side...and that everyone else follows behind so he doesn't get in over his head.
Frik chuckles softly, saying to the others almost under his breath, "Almost ridiculous how foreboding this place is. Bran? Do you care to lead the way?"
"No problem," Bran says, walking ahead. He has his shield in his left hand and a throwing axe in his right. "How you expect to see inside?" he asks Frik. "I got some torches in my pack...if someone wants to carry one."
Not waiting for an answer, Bran strides right up to the entrance of the museum, pauses for others to catch up, glances over his shoulder, and with a nod, walks inside.
Origin squinks, trying to see through the mist. "I think that there's a light in there. This mist is not any spell that I remember seeing before, though."
He follows Jonagher into the mist.
Curse it, I can’t see a thing, Torden whispers as he follows Bran through the museum’s doors.
Frik walks slightly behind and to the left of Origen, his greatsword in hand and scanning the area for any threats...seen or unseen.
Jonagher and Bran lead the way into the museum's atrium, with the others close behind. Within, an unnatural cold permeates the chamber; the tendrils of silver-gray mist flowing out the front archway into the courtyard beyond seem to effortlessly pierce the flesh and gently caress the bone in a cold embrace. The grand entranceway’s vaulted ceiling is supported by six great pillars of hewn black stone. Braziers mounted on the pillars cast white radiance from balls of continual light. The light glimmers eerily in the silvery haze that fills the atrium, giving the impression of something alien watching from the glowing fog.
Leofrik grits his teeth and gathers his willpower as the group enters the eerie atrium.
Origin looks from side to side, then up at the ceiling.
Will
Initiative