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About a week after your successful day of service to the Society, you each receive invitations to a party being held that evening at the Lantern Lodge, the beautiful and exotic estate of the Tian venture-captain, Amara Li, in Absalom’s Petal District.
"Tonight is the Snapdragon Festival, a traditional Gokan holiday
featuring fireworks and rich plum wine. Dress to impress, and seek out
the hostess and head of the Lantern Lodge, Amara Li, upon your arrival."-AL
Many in the Society have heard of this event, and it is common knowledge that only the luckiest or most influential Pathfinders receive invitations. Wise recipients take advantage of them.
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Haris stands half naked in the master suite at his regular inn. Arms crossed and foot tapping, he looks down in admiration at his freshly delivered sundries - the latest fashion from Aeorgio Garmani of the Silk District: a crimson silk jerkin, grey breeches, a black velvetine cape, a gold-pearl pendant and matching ring. Next to them lay the reason for such a splurge - an invitation to lots of rich people. Be seen, Haris. Be seen.
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Unless you spend some gold, your nice clothes will not be much better than your adventuring outfit.
GM Roll
Falyf finds a shop with many brightly colored robes and hats in the style of Tian, where a merchant offers to dress him in an outfit with a price of 15 gold. Does he accept the offer and pay for the outfit?
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The shopkeeper talks circles around Falyf. His accent is thick, and he resorts to speaking another language more often then not.
"For you friend, is ok. For me, is kokachen." He spits the word like he has a lung disease. "I would not be seen dead! But for you, is perfect! Like Golarian king!"
In the end Falyf believes he's getting a deal on the equivalent of courtesan clothes rather than getting cheated.
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That evening a carriage makes the rounds, picking up each of you in turn before heading to the festival. Entering the estate, you can't help but feel that the event has been thrown with no expense spared. The aroma of blooming orchids and flowing wine mixes with the acrid tang of recently exploded fireworks, and the sound of strangely discordant music comes from a duo of Tian women playing an unusual stringed instrument and a reed flute. The crowd mingles calmly, most guests clearly hoping to be seen more than actually paying attention to those with whom they converse, though the plum wine seems to have affected many who now move about the lodge’s grounds waving sparkling wands of fire and shooting whirring, whizzing fireworks into the sky above the koi pond.
More than a few of the attendees scoff at Adamus, Curraine, and Falyf, one going so far as to comment that "casual adventurer is not a style of fashion." Most seem split on Taurus' choice to wear armor with fine clothing - some raise an eye at a big man dressed for combat, though a few of the more militaristic guests seem impressed. Only Haris makes a strong good impression with his appearance and is especially congratulated on getting in the spirit of the festive occasion.
After enjoying the party for a short time, you are invited into Amara Li’s private study, where you find her seated on a reed mat before a low table set with an exquisite porcelain tea set. She motions for you to sit with her around the table, and once the door is closed behind and you have taken your seats, begins talking in a low, hushed voice without even the hint of a Tian accent:
“Well met, Pathfinders, and welcome to the Lantern Lodge. I hope you find the Snapdragon Festival and my hospitality worthy of your time and energy. I have not brought you here for mere pleasantries, however, and wish to ask you to partake a dangerous mission on my behalf.
“Long ago, one of my most esteemed ancestors, who was rich in power but poor in sense, gave a gift to a foreign prince, a gift that prince did not deserve and my foolish ancestor had no right to give—a ceremonial jade katana. At the time the gift was sent, its recipient was invading this island. He laid siege to Absalom from his fortress in the foothills of the Kortos Mounts. Like those who came before him, the warlord failed to take Absalom and perished in the attempt. On the very day of his defeat, his castle crumbled to dust in a violent earthquake and has been lost to the centuries ever since. My family’s heirloom was lost with it.
“A recent report by a group of Pathfinders gives me hope that they have finally found the ruin, and I might finally recover my family’s treasure. I’m looking for an intrepid group to retrieve it for me, and I’m hoping that is you. The fame and wealth you will doubtlessly recover will bring you much honor within the Society, and if you deliver the katana to me, you will have my favor as you begin your careers as full agents of the Pathfinder Society.”
Sense Motive
Taurus
Adamus
Curraine
Falyf
Haris
Both Adamus and Curraine suspect Amara is intentionally leaving out some details.
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Haris had been beaming wide all night, so much that his jaws hurt; though not hurting as much as the punch delivered last week by the barmaid after his failed innuendo. Still, he can’t remember ever being as joyous and euphoric in his life as he’d been in the past few hours. He was drinking it all up – the wine with his lips, the opulence with his eyes, the perfume with his nose, the music with his ears, the flesh with his hands - complete rapture. The entirety of which was instantaneously and psychically destroyed when the women said, ‘…here to partake in a dangerous mission’. He could only keep an unnatural lockjawed smile through the brimming tears as he held indignant words back and listened to her complete story.
When she finishes, “That…sounds…great.”, is all Harris able to mutter out through cheeky-clenched teeth.
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Falyf is enjoying his time, this is brilliant, sipping from his plum wine he looks into the nightsky at the fireworks. Being asked into Amara's office, he empties his wine and puts the cup back, hm, not such a good idea as the wine rushes into his head.
Entering the office he listens to the conversation, nodding, "sure enough, we will retrieve your heirloom for you."
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Amara smiles at Curraine's offer, but shakes her head. "The only herbs I am partaking of tonight are those in the tea. A good host must not enjoy their own party too much, unfortunately. However, if you are looking for a new experience, and have no important plans for the night, ask one of my servers for a little milk of the poppy. You might enjoy it."
Standing from the table, she gestures back to the festivities. "I believe our business is concluded. I Thank you for your assistance in this matter. Now please, enjoy the rest of the festival, and keep your eyes to the stars around midnight for the fireworks display."
******
You spend the rest of the evening mingling with well-known personalities, eating and drinking excellent food and wine, and watching the fireworks light up the sky over the Petal District of Absalom. Many of those present at the festival seem aware of your recent deeds performed in the service of the Society, and you are asked to repeat the tale often. Two guests however, reveal knowledge and more than passing interest in your next mission.
At one point in the evening you are all introduced to Major Colson Maldris, a member of the Andoran faction decked out in the military fineries of an Eagle Knight’s ceremonial uniform—a bright blue overcoat with polished gold buttons, gold eagle epaulets, and a fine, black felt tricorn hat. The handsome man is a charmer who clearly thinks very highly of himself and speaks loudly and confidently, as if he wants the entire party to “overhear” his conversation.
“Greetings, Pathfinders! I hear you’re headed out into the Cairnlands on official Society business. Best of luck outside the city walls, though you look like sturdy enough adventurers. Perhaps not Eagle Knight material, but qualified for the work of a Pathfinder.
“A word of warning, though, friends—beware the walking dead. The crumbling ruins surrounding the city are rife with them, and you’re likely to run into more than your fair share over the course of your career. Undeath and the undead are more than just a physical peril, however. Undeath is the worst kind of slavery. And it should be eradicated like all servitude, whether to aristocracy or to mental control. Being enslaved to the flesh beyond when Pharasma calls one’s soul to the Boneyard is a fate I wouldn’t wish upon my greatest enemy.
So while you plumb the depths of Asad’s Keep, remember your solemn duty to your fellow man—both living and dead. Any undead you encounter along the way should be freed of their earthly shell.
“If you prove your dedication to freedom, the resources of Andoran will be at your disposal in your future endeavors.”
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Stoned and enjoying the hell out of the party, Curraine asks in a way too loud manner, Set who free? Man, with undead, don't ya just cut thier domes off? A loud Woooo!!!! booms across the party as he bounces off in another direction.
In the back of Curraine's mind he keeps thinking about the Poppy Milk and occassionally stops his hard partying to ask a random servant about Amara's offer.
Roll a Knowledge Nature Check for what he knows about Poppy Milk
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"That's the spirit." The Major responds, grasping Adamus and Falyf's hands in a firm shake and doing his best to ignore the high elf as he swerves away like a leaf in a whirlwind. Stepping back, he snaps his heels together and gives a slight militaristic bow. "May your journey bring honor and glory to your names."
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As the party winds down a well-dressed Keleshite man approaches your group and asks for a quick word. A softspoken and subtle man, quite the contrast to Major Maldris’s ostentatious pomposity, he introduces himself as Trade Prince Aaqir al’Hakam. He draws you to the side, away from any crowds or activity, and addresses you in a slow, level voice with a strong Kelish accent.
“Like a fast-spoken djinn, I’ll get to the quick. I know where you are going. House Damaq of Qadira claim the ruin, but we are willing to allow you access for the price of a small deed easily accomplished during your adventure. You will be wellcompensated, I assure you, for profits are most rewarding when shared. I assume treasure-seekers like yourselves are interested in such a proposition?”
Without waiting for an answer, he continues, his eyes intent and his posture rigid. “The ruin is Qadiran, which is why we claim it, and we are willing to defend it, but there are really only certain things left in Asad’s Keep we are interested in: trade agreements, of which we believe there to be many within the ruins. All we ask that you do is to turn over all trade agreements you find to us as soon as you return to Absalom, as we will be able to hold the signers to them - even centuries after their signing.
“The satrap of Qadira — nay, the entire Padishah Empire of Kelesh — has much to offer the Pathfinder Society, and I personally have no qualms about sharing those resources with you, specifically. Shall we shake on this agreement?”
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Haris's mood had turned dour since the disenchantment bestowed by Amara Li. "It's like having a great job, except what to do if you hate working." he had mumbled to anyone of his group listening. Then came the successive introductions which sailed mostly over his head like his own fantasies.
Stiffer than a corpse, Haris gives his best salute, "Yes, Major!"
I hate your kind, Haris firmly shakes the man's hand, "Absolutely."
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Travel to the site of Asad's Keep is arduous; the terrain is rocky and marred with the scars of millennia of wars, making it thirsty work for your group to get to your destination, but you encounter no resistance. The directions they have lead to a small gully.
At the end of the gully, about fifteen feet above the ground on a cliff face, is an ancient, ironbound door. Its wood is dried and cracked. Directly in front of the door is a steep slope of
rubble and dust-crusted debris that, as luck would have it, provides a path—albeit a rough and difficult one — right up to the door.
Taurus and Haris hear a scrape of stone and look up to see a figure scramble across the cliff top before leaping down in front of the party. A face, marred by blood and dirt is female, but her one good eye is frosted over and dull like a corpse.
“How long will it take you all to cure, I wonder?" She says with a voice gravely and dry like one suffering from some kind of sickness. "You seem so full of life, and I am oh so hungry.”
Perception
Blind Roll
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Looking over your group like Curraine looking over his stash of herbs, the woman's head jerks and seizes on Haris. Her expression softens as the foul light in her eyes drains from her somewhat. She straightens from her crouch, and calls out to you. “Friends, it is I, Maurit Zergo, a Pathfinder as well, even in this horrid form. I can help you, if you will take the help of someone as damned as I.” She almost seems normal and living for a second, but soon shambles back to her crooked slouch.
Sense Motive
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Haris shrinks back for more than a moment, confusing the gaze of dinner from the gaze of recognition. He drops his shoulder in a sigh, then ponders two thoughts. First, the Pathfinder pin isn't getting him killed, in fact a boon,...so far. Second, would he have to give the crone some sort of secret handshake, contracting leprosy in the process? "Maurit", Haris calls out and vouches for the others, "We're all Pathers, be at ease."