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A goblin enters, wearing armor, a shield, and a rapier sheathed at his hip. Oddly, he has what appears to be a keg strapped to his back, along with a standard adventurer's backpack.
He puts down his shield, then removes the keg and backpack. Grabbing a mug that was dangling from his belt, he fills it with ale from the keg, drinks it all in one long chug, and then refills it. He turns to look at you, as if noticing that other Pathfinders are present for the first time, raises his mug in your direction, and begins singing.
"Mighty Cayden, god of drunks,
Chose his champion - Me! I’m Grunk!
Wine and ale, I try ‘em all,
Drown myself in alcohol,
No need to read my god’s decree,
Everyone, everywhere must be free!
When evil slavers try their tricks,
I run ‘em through with pointy sticks!"
His song ended, Grunk laughs like a maniac for a few seconds, before taking a smaller drink from his mug. He then turns to look at you with his beady red eyes.
"So... who are you?"
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"Nĭmén hăo"(Hello everyone) I'm Zhūquè from Tianjing."
Zhūquè is a Tiān-Shu sorceress with dark red hair. She's wearing a bright red Hanfu dress with what looks like a red peacock embroidered into the lower portion. She has a dagger with a red hilt and a bandolier with healer's tools. Elemental(Fire) bloodline. Merchant background. She speaks Tien and Common(Taldane).
"I met some Pathfinders a few months ago while me and my family were selling goods in Amanandar. They got into a fight with some of those Aspis people and I aided them and kept one from dying. They told me about the Society over here in Absalom. So, I decided to come to the Inner Sea, visit family here in the city and see what kind new remedies I could find out about.
"Grunk and Xzerrion, I'm happy to meet you."
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"Hello all. I am Marko Treller, charmed I'm sure. Emissary of the Envoys' Alliance, currently assigned to the Grand Lodge here in Absalom and assisting with some of our current needs as Agent on-boarding continues to rise."
The voice is cheerful and bright, in stark contrast to the utilitarian cut of the mans simple black and brown clothing and the dull unadorned mask that covers everything except the area around his mouth leaving only a wisp of a brown beard revealed.
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Chewing on a coin, a goblin dressed in red robes decorated in makeshift butterfly pins and patches walks in. Sleeves a bit too long, and the robe a bit short, stumbles a bit before noticing the others.
"Ah, friends! Calisro told me there be others here, and the Captain was right! The tribe called me Grick, because I helped the sick!"
Spinning around, flailing his arms and sending his sleeves flapping about.
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A little gnome with bronzed skin and a shock of hair the color of green sea foam comes forward. "Hello, I'm Pip from the Envoy Alliance Pathfinder Society Legal Fund. I'm here to be your defense attorney in your upcoming tri--"
She breaks off. "Oh, you don't have a trial scheduled yet? That's okay. I can help you on your mission still, and be around in case you need my particular level of courtroom expertise. Everyone needs a lawyer from time to time!"
She claps for Grunk. "That was an excellent song!"
Not to be out done, she offers one of her own.
♫ The law's an important gnomish field
Setting the court's rules and precedents
Sometimes the verdict is appealed
Sometimes it's treated with reverence!
Here truth and deceptions's revealed;
Rely not 'pon persuasion or expedience.
Sometimes Pathfinder records are sealed
And sometimes treated as evidence.
So let us banter in legalese
Like 'habeus corpus' and 'I object!'
We'll argue nonsense as we please
Showing off our very legal intellect
With longish gnomish treatises
Tangentially related in each aspect!
Here's the bill for my firm's legal fees
Really, there's no need to interject!
(And if you think this song's a tease
You've earned this barrister's respect!) ♫
★ --- ★ --- ★ --- ★
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Armor clad Goblin walks in, looks everyone up and down and spends an extra second looking at how similar he looks to Grunk.
"Nogtiff like the look of Grunk. Grunk like Cayden too. Me thinks Grunk could go fight bad long shanks together.
Pulling out a few mugs from his back pack, Nogtiff looks between his empty mug and Grunk's keg with puppy dog eyes.
"Nogtiff have song too. Everyone shut up and listen."
Taking a deep breath, Nogtiff begins to sing his song.
"Nogtiff poke and Nogtiff block
Nogtiff make sure you can talk
Nogtiff hate both chains and rope
Nogtiff always smash the yoke
Slavers mean and slavers dumb
Nogtiff stab slaver in the bum
Any slaver who take my friend
Will swiftly meet their slaver end
Cayden drink and Cayden fight
Cayden guzzle through the night
He spread the word of liberty
Drank too much and gots to pee. "
Afterwards, Nogtiff looks around for applause and more drinks.
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Zhuque looks confused after seeing so many goblins enter the room. She gives a small hand clap for Nogtiff and Pip.
"Alright, so first there was you, Grunk. Now there are Grik and Nogtiff. Are all the Goblinfolk this musical?"
"Grik, Nogtiff, Marko, Pip, happy to meet all of you too."
She gives Marko a raised eyebrow at his simple dark toned attire in comparison to the gaudy display of vibrant colors from the rest of the room.
She looks as if she is comparing Grik's red robes to her own.
"Grik, where did you get your robes?"
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"Much thanks Zhūquè-lady! It's tale begins long ago, as Grik remembers."
Looking about, the goblin finds a small box to stand on. Climbing up, he adjusts the robe and takes a few deep breaths before raising his head.
"There once was a town,
In a far away place,
That everyone seems to know.
A gob in a cage,
To be sold as a slave,
Or worse, who's to know?
Yet along came a lass,
Who came with a task!
Freed all those to be sold!
I followed her 'round,
Laid feet on the ground,
And traveled far and wide.
She gave him her coat,
Put him on a boat,
Told to follow Desna true.
So the goblin flitted about,
As a butterfly would,
Asked as what he could do.
Absalom he decided,
Is where he thought would be best,
To put his devotion to the test!"
Finishing up, he bows before putting the box back to where he found it.
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Resplendently dresses in a mix of high Opparan and the "new" fashion of New Thassilon, the slender spell caster speak in a proper Taldan accent with the bearing of a friendly if prim nobleman.."Scion Avoren Nelantius, heir of the Magics of Imperial Humanity through the Taldan line to the Empires of Azlant and Thassilon. It is my pleasure and honor to serve with the Pathfinder Society at the directive of her Grace Runelord Sorshen, may her reign be long and filled with peace"
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Coming in through the Grand Lodge gates, a dwarf with fire-red hair, breastplate, a larger axe made of dwarven design, and... And anvil strapped to his back? He looks around before finding a sandy spot to sit down, making some room before saying in a gruff voice, "Now, my name is Balrok of the Stonedoor Thaig, and I am a smith. Nothing more, nothing less..."
He looks, and sets his waraxe down next to his anvil, before pulling out two ingots of metal, and working on them. One seems to be a classic Dwarven alloy, the other is... Bronze. He starts to work them together, and as the small forge that he set up starts to blaze, the bronze lining in his gear shines out, himself not being affected by the intense heat of the forge.
"Now, do any of ya need some hammering done?"
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"Isn't being a goblin kind of ...bad? The preconceived perceptions that lay at the feet of those with thousands of years of life or culture make a heavy burden to carry, but Runelord Shorshen wishes to rebuild a New Thassilon that is not mired in the mistakes nor wanton cruelty and slavery that those such as Krune, Karzoug, and Alaznist reveled in." he carefully make sure to acknowledge each new arrival in a friendly manner as they enter.
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Taking a step back from Aaroven's mention of the Runelord.
"I do agree that my kind arent known to be the most hospitable sort, yet some of us are trying to turn them to kinder ways. Also, I thought all the Runelords were dead! If what you say is true, then perhaps....."
Trailing off into thought and walking about, the goblin bumps into the large back of Balrok.
"Ah! Sorry, sorry! I didn't mean to bump into you sir! I hope I wasn't interr..... Is, is that an anvil?"
Peering over the dwarf's shoulder, Grick's eyes widen as he watches the blacksmith's work.
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Turning his head towards the wizard, showing a toothy smile, "That is true! I'm just glad that if what you are saying is true, Miss Shoreshen could be a great ally to all good folk. As for death, it is just another journey to go on, though I would like a choice in my destination and not have to wait in line for the boneyard."
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He turns his head and looks at the Goblin, muttering softly something about no privacy for a working man, and says, "Ya, its a bloody anvil, much like the shape of ya head. Now, do ya want something forged or upgraded? I know how much ya gobs like shiny things, so I will inlay some shiny bronze into your weapon, how does that suit ya?"
He holds out his hand to the goblin, as if expecting a weapon to be put into it.
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"Now now, anvils come in many shapes. Not just craniums." Interjects another dwarf coming in, a heavy belt at his belly but otherwise wearing light cloth. His backside however, is hidden by an enormous shield, rigged for quick and easy slinging forward. "For instance, Discipline is the anvil upon which Torag can shape one into a warrior as strong as a mountain."
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"Aye, that be true. but one does not interrupt a craft, as it is paying homage to the Father of Creation. And as Torag uses his forge to shape everything, we use our forge to shape our craft."
He stands up, patting his leather apron off from any soot, and holds out his hand to the other dwarf, "Balrok Stonedoor, of the Door Clan, at ya service."
Venture-Lieutenant, Nebraska—Bellevue
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A gangly and somewhat awkward human man enters the room.
Err, pardon me. I understand this is a reception for newly initiated Pathfinders? I hope I'm in the right place.
I'm afraid I may hold the record for being stuck in training the longest. Mr Kreighton was quite peeved with me for a long time. I spent a long time mopping floors and rewriting scrolls.
It's just as well, I needed that much time to earn the money to restore my teeth.
Oh, yes, there is a story here. I kind of sneaked into an archive I wasn't technically supposed to. Then there was this fox, and a giant fish, and sadistic tooth fairies and lots and lots of water. Lots of water. Mr Kreighton said it was my fault. I guess it kind of was. Did I mention there was lots of water? Err, I guess I did.
Anyway, at some point, I guess I picked up something from exposure to the fey realm that day. I didn't really notice until I had most of my teeth restored. Did I mention the sadistic tooth fairies? I did? Oh. Well watch out for them. They're not very nice.
Oh, my name? Hello, my name is Virmil.
/// Sometimes there's an odd mention of an incidental figure in PFS scenarios. If you've played the right one, perhaps you remember poor Virmil. I decided that he'd make a great "sad sack" fey sorcerer. ///
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"Is was to be good to be free again of again! Boris is sad is to take ten or four years, but is the fine. No more torturing from Derro person. Boris stand again! Playtest knock him down much, but is to be the expect. No was Magus playtesting. Now Boris use the multiclass archetype. Of Love" quasi-bellows a frenetically smiling Ulfen man.
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"Please excuse him. I've been asked to chaperone him for a bit. He just got freed from one of our old mission sites in the Aspodel Mountains" elaborates the Chelish man guiding him gently. "He's harmless, and noone knows what in the god's names he is talking about. Even an expert such as myself." He brushes off a bit of dust before adding: "Did you know that lemurs only come from a few islands of the Shackles, and nowhere else?" He nods to himself, as if this piece of information was both riveting and crucial.
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Oh, yes, there is a story here. I kind of sneaked into an archive I wasn't technically supposed to. Then there was this fox, and a giant fish, and sadistic tooth fairies and lots and lots of water. Lots of water. Mr Kreighton said it was my fault. I guess it kind of was. Did I mention there was lots of water? Err, I guess I did.
"Lots of water you say?" asks a thin but weathered half-orc with dark skin. "Falling? Swirling? Spraying sideways?"
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Statuesque at a height of at least six feet tall, a tanned half-elf woman strides confidently with an enormous blade on her back. A collection of scars on her limbs and exposed navel paints a life of gritty combat across her form. The multitude of weapons, pouches, and tools convey a woman prepared for anything.
A steely gaze in her Elven eyes carry a look that cared nothing about the impressions she left and what others thought of her. A brief moment passes as those same eyes stare appraisingly at the many unusual characters carrying wayfinders as the one she does. Finally, she took steps towards the bar, seating herself while glancing over her shoulder at the other Pathfinders within stride-and-striking range.
Her hands felt along her belt and roamed among the many implements of death at her disposal. Just as the hand approached a recently sharpened dagger, the warrioress took a thick book into her grasp and laid it on the counter in front of her, equipping her other hand with a quill pen.
"This place have anything non-alcoholic? I prefer to be sober when I'm preparing my spells," said the half-elf amazon while elegantly writing arcane equations into her tome. "Put the tab under Aikena Mai."
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Yet another goblin in heavy armor walks into the room.
"I am Smoog of Zarong... I mean Sarenrae!
Everyone of course has heard of the great Zarongel,
father of goblins, Great Wolf with fire for fur!
But Zarongel is a mean stupid-head, and I don't like him any more.
Did you know that there is a good and kind god of fire?!?"
Smoog looks around the room at the puzzled faces. Misunderstanding the quizzical and disbelieving looks he continues.
"I know, I can see from the look on your faces that you were as surprised as I was to learn this.
Yes, her name is Sarenrae!"
♫
Zar-on-gel is in hell
Now Saren-Rae lights my way
Saren-Rae is the Best
Smoog is her bless-ed Pest
Smoog say, slavers stink
That is what Sarenrae think
Smoog the Goblin, slavers prey
Torch them good the goblin way!
♫
Smoog then laughs mischievously and scuttles over towards Grunk and Nogtiff, looking to join them for a round of drinks.
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An adorable halfling woman swishes into the room dressed in black adventuring garb with goth lolita stylings, skull patterns and a holy symbol of Pharasma. Her makeup is pale white and blood red. The halfling cocks her head at an odd angle and gives a creepy smile.
"Hi! I'm Black Penelopie. And I'm here to talk about your death. In most cases, I will make sure you do not go to meet Pharasma until it is your appointed time. And if it is your time, I will help to make sure you have a peaceful passing. Don't fear death. Remember, you will spend far more of eternity dead than you will alive. So death should be at least as important to you as life. I've always been fascinated by it."
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Contrasting the halfling another Pharasmin enters. This one though eschews the gothic black of her peers, matching her holy symbol in heavy plate armor dyed a irridescent blue with bone trim. Rather slight for a dwarf, she carries a scythe with matching ferrules. Though she also smiles, it seems off, as if it was forced on to disguise trauma.
"And I'm Grynn." she hissed while staring intensely. Though she didn't seem out of breath, she had a strange pattern of taking a new breath during each sentence. "I work for Pharasma. To kill the undead."
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The doors to the tavern swing wide, and a burly dwarven woman strides in, bearing the obvious scarring of a sell-sword on her hands and face. She carries a wickedly sharp waraxe at her side, carved with runes of power that glow a soft blue, but she is lightly armored for a warrior, bedecked in scale rather than a heavier means of protection. She's short, not even cresting four feet tall, but her demeanor is one of wariness. Her hair is cut with a fade on both sides, but she wears her hair long in the back and braided, capped with a silver band, matching the ring in her left nostril.
She heads straight for the bar, slapping down several copper. "A pint of whatever you lot call ale in this s**thole," she says a bit too loudly. "And keep them coming. Pathfinding is dangerous work, but it pays well."
