In the middle of the night, you are summoned to the Grand Lodge. It is unusually crowded, with various teams leaving for parts unknown or reporting in from their missions. The Lodge is abuzz with rumors of something monumental happening in Oppara.
A formal briefing has been arranged for you in one of the meeting rooms that make up the Grand Lodge. Weems, one of the assistants to Venture-Captain Ambrus Valsin ("He is detained in an important meeting right now") advises that you are to head to Oppara and that transport has been arranged.
There are some formalities to complete and a few of the Pathfinders have been requested to linger for meetings of their own. As a result you are left to your own devices to talk to each other for a period of time.
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A weary, lithe form of a gray-skinned half-orc towering above the crowd pats his pockets for something. Come on. Ah! The half-orc rejoices to himself as he pulls a stash of tea leaves from his person and quickly stuffs it in the deep corner of his mouth. He acknowledges individual glances with a smile as munches the stimulating effects from the chewed leaves.
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The first to arrive to the meeting is Ernest Kalthet. As he waits, he appears to be in a state of ecstasy, on the verge of giddiness. Ernest is a big-boned individual whose Garundi features are contrasted by his pale, Chelish skin. Seated next to him is an adult pig who is adorned with a glasses and a wig, which has be styled to appear as aging, gray hair.
"Oh man, oh gods! My first actual mission! I knew my EXCELLENT paperwork would wow the Decemvirate enough to actually dispatch me somewhere! Where are we headed," the man asks as he turns to Weems. Without even waiting for a response, Ernest turns back and gazes at the roof to continue his "conversation." "Oh I bet we're gonna go to some dungeon! Like a crypt! Probably one from an old war Taldor was involved in!" Ernest looks to his animal companion and adds "Oh boy! I bet we'll see all kinds of undead and stuff! And pits! I'm so excited! I bet I'm more exited than you, Snouts!" After the Professor responds in near-equal excitement, he then turns back to a state of inflection, attempting to remember the Qadiran/Taldan wars.
"Oh wow, we're gonna come across stuff like Dervishes and full-on knights! I BET THEY'RE GONNA BE UNDEAD, OH MAN, THIS IS SO AWESOME," Ernest exclaims.
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After composing himself, he tries to isolate and extract pertinent information from the extraneous rumors and idle chatter heard throughout the room. Why am I here? Of course, it must be important to gather all of us at such a late hour. He stands still and monitors the entirety of the room by turning his head listen and sort through all the conversation and noise.
Perception
Insight
Is that a pig I smell? A live pig?
The tall and emaciated half-orc looks down at his feet to confirm his presumption. He stoops over to pickup the animal that's sniffing at him.
I'm sorry, little pig, but you'll find no extra foods on me. Let's find your owner.
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A tall, melancholy and dour looking elf walks in to the room. Though his face is emotionless, his eyes are bright and darting, examining everything and everyone. He nods to Weems and goes to a corner of the room with his back to wall continuing his examinations. behind the mask... Oh man,oh gods my first mission. Did he say undead?
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"Ah, maybe Eutropia needs a personal guard! That'd be heroic! I wonder who'd get the girl at the end of that chronicle? I bet I would; everyone LOVES Snouts I mean just lo--," Ernest says, right up until an abrupt stop. "Oh, Professor! Come on! I just fed you a few minutes ago..." Ernest reaches in a bag on his belt and retrieves a stick of some sort, wrapped in a cloth. He then looks around to find his missing accomplice.
He looks around for a few moments and barely spots his friend in the hands of 9 Eyes before nearly drifting off into thought again. Ernest gently squeezes his way around the table, bumping people with his girth if need be, to retrieve the Professor. As he accepts the pig, he asks "Professor! What're you doing over here! Did you smell something?" He lowers the pig from his fact and and sniffs the air around himself, in a very pig-like manner. He then hoists the pig back towards his face to make eye contact. "...'Cause I don't. Silly piggy." After a few too many awkward moments, he sets down the interjecting pig then acknowledges the half-orc; "Oh, I'm sorry. The Professor does this sometimes. One time, back in Sothis, there was this baker who was selling goat meat pot pies. We were in the middle of a market visit..." Ernest continues his story of how his pig illegally immersed himself in a pie unless interrupted. During the story, he sets down the clothed object. It is a half-eaten stick of butter, with obvious bite marks of different sizes at each end.
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A dark haired kelish man walks in, bright eyed and ready for adventure. An odd smelling mixture of perfume and the stable hangs in his clothing.
Ah my fellow Pathfinder brothers! We really should have a talk with Valsin about getting us up in the middle of the night. The ladies don't like eating breakfast alone, am I right? Zantir looks at Earnest, Oh, well, never mind.
Upon seeing the pig, Excelent, someone brought meat to share for our journey!
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Urthain stands in a corner leaning against the wall. The hood of his green woollen cloak is pulled low almost over his eyes. This is unnatural, so many people out at night! Wait, does that man have a stick of butter?! he pushes off the wall adjusting his hood, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and stroking his long black beard. He nods along at Zantirs comments about getting everyone up in the middle of the night until he mentions the ladies at which Ur suddenly looks uncomfortable. He walks over to Ernest and says " Hello I am Urthain, How is it that you travel with a pig? Of all the things I've seen since leaving the plateau this may be the strangest... "
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...Oh, well, never mind.
Ernest point at the Professor and clicks his tongue twice.
" Hello I am Urthain, How is it that you travel with a pig? Of all the things I've seen since leaving the plateau this may be the strangest... "
"How? It's actually pretty easy. He's a really smart pig, and he helps me focus on my magics," Ernest says as he starts to get excited. "Definitely more of a help than a hinderance. By the Constants, I wouldn't even think he's even a minor problem! Well, except that one time in that Minkai raw meat bar..." He starts to gaze at the ceiling in inflection as if to start another story, but realizes something and says the following; "Oh, right. I never gave any of you my name. Apologies!"
Ernest enters a heroic pose with his unheroic frame. "I'm Ernest Kalthet, of the Kalthet Tomb Protection Family/Company! Our job for hundreds of years has been to provide the best traps for the Pharaohs and other honoured dead!" He drops the pose and gets a slightly more sour demeanor and scratches his head. "Then again, there hasn't be a lot of dead worth being being honoured getting stored in tombs as of late," he says until he perks back up as quickly as he fell. "But that's why I'm here! I'm gonna find the best magics to make our traps BETTER! More EFFICENT! I mean, I've seen scrolls of spells that dig a hole below a standing individual! Sadly, I've only figured out how to make one that's about one foot, but can't be used in an offensive manner. Want to see?"|
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The elf slowly paces over to the group.Greetings, my name is Anders Jotum. It appears that we will be apart of the same mission party. He turns to Ernest.I am a fellow practitioner of the Art. I hope you would be agreeable to discussing the Art sometime. I also would be curious to see that spell you spoke of sometime in the future. I do not think I am familiar with it.. He turns to 9 Eyes. Could I find you a handkerchief or... He trails off and turns to others. And your names?
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" Want to see? "
" Ah, I don't think that is a good idea, the Society may not like magical holes in their floor. Even if it is a temporary one. Once we are outdoors though I would be interested. "
" Wait! " Ur calls out after 9 eyes. What a strange man, a little uncomfortable perhaps like me " I think we could really use your help. "
" And your names? "
" I am Urthain Shardspear a shaman of the Shriikirri-Quah clan. Please, call me Ur. I want to travel Golarion and learn about the world. What better way to do that than to join the Pathfinder Society? "
Ur is careful with his words pronouncing each with care, trying hard not to make a mistake. It comes off a bit stilted and jarring.
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Come now, brother, there must be something else we can call you other than 'Oracle'. Like Foot-In-Mouth-Gus, or Tall-Green-and-Handsome?
I am comfortable now being referred to as "Oracle." I don't wish to offend anyone here. But growing up as part of my nomadic orc tribe, the right to be acknowledged by name is earned and donned very much like symbol of honor and respect.
In his native orcish tongue, the oracle strongly says, "The Way of The Valashmai Tribe demands that I do so."
If you would please honor my request, then I would like to earn my name as part of this group.
The half-orc stands erect and attempts to exude an air of confidence.
While you talk among yourselves a clerk periodically enters, counts numbers, scribbles names on parchment and so on. This is nothing unusual.
A servant unobtrusively enters with a tray and coffee pot.
Fresh Coffee morning and night is good for health, he announces.
Zantir Only
Zantir will recognise this as one of the Qadira faction phrases... maybe he has a message for you?
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To the half-orc, Just to be clear, is it us who earn the honor of knowing your name, or you who earn the honor of being called by it? I want to be sure who's honor is in need of proving here.
Zantir approaches the servant. Than drink we shall, for health and wealth, dear brother.
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I hope you would be agreeable to discussing the Art sometime. I also...
"The... art?" Ernest says with a quizzical look on his face. "You mean... magic? That's an weird thing to call something so practical, but yeah; if there's two things the Chronicles talk about, it's ghouls and long boat rides. We should have a moment at some point."
...I want to be sure who's honor is in need of proving here.
"Now, now, there's plenty of honor for us when we're either old and/or dead. There's more interesting interesting things to discuss in the present! Like the Shriikrri..." he adds as he looks towards where the sky should be, again.
"Off the top of my head, I know they're a Shoanti tribe, which most likely means you're from Varisia," he states as-a-matter-of-fact-ly, motioning toward Ur. "My great-great-great-great grandfather was actually minorly involved in the Chelish push into Varisia that caused the Shoanti to take to the Cinderlands, back in the 4400's. He was actually learning local trapping tricks from the one of the local tribes when the armies started marching over the border. Needless to say, the armies weren't going to be able to keep morale up in a desert like the Cinders." Ernest puts in a smile and adds, "Luckily for that specific tribe, however, there was a Kalthet there to teach them about the wonders of desert living. He brought back a good number of secrets that he got in trade that we continue to hold to this day."
He also appears to have immersed himself in story so much that he has forgotten about Professor Snouts, whom has made his way over to wherever the coffee is being served and makes pains to beg for some.
Zantir approaches the servant. Than drink we shall, for health and wealth, dear brother.
Zantir only
As Zantir drinks his coffee Weems re-enters the room.
Ahhh Pathfinders - you are booked on the 'Star of Terys, a Merchantman heading to Oppara at first light tomorrow - likely better to have your dunnage aboard sometime during the day and sleep aboard tonight. If you require anything I have woken one of our Grand Lodges Quartermasters to assist you in getting whatever equipment you need to purchase.
I can't tell what exactly will be needed - suffice it to say the Society needs you. Oppara's Venture Captain Muesello will brief you on arrival. He has arranged a pick up for you the moment you make landfall.
He turns to Ernest and gives him a sour smile.
Be so good as to accompany me Pathfinder Ernest. Pathfinders Ander and Urthain? It seems you are also required for a brief meeting. There is a funny inflection in his voice - possibly diapproval as he speaks to Anders and Urthain. He motions for the selected Pathfinders to leave the room and follow him...
The Coffee Server turns to Zantir.
Follow me my Lord - I will guide your path. I believe there is also a package for you, something you ordered the other day....
Sent a PM
And soon there are just two half orc sitting together in the room.
Co-incidence?
Maybe not. Just as the atmosphere verges on uncomfortable and possibly prompts you to leave, a smartly uniformed young woman enters the room and sits down smiling at the pair of you.
9 Eyes Dragon? Harboth? I am Ensign Yolanda Riggs - I work for Captain Maldris...
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" Off the top of my head, I know they're a Shoanti tribe, which most likely means you're from Varisia," he states as-a-matter-of-fact-ly, motioning toward Ur. "My great-great-great-great grandfather was actually minorly involved in the Chelish push into Varisia that caused the Shoanti to take to the Cinderlands, back in the 4400's. He was actually learning local trapping tricks from the one of the local tribes when the armies started marching over the border. Needless to say, the armies weren't going to be able to keep morale up in a desert like the Cinders." Ernest puts in a smile and adds, "Luckily for that specific tribe, however, there was a Kalthet there to teach them about the wonders of desert living. He brought back a good number of secrets that he got in trade that we continue to hold to this day. "
" Yes thats right, My Quah lives on the Storval Plateau in Varisia. You appear to have much knowledge, could you tell me something of where we are headed while we travel on the ship?... Ah! I think your pig is trying to get some coffee?! "
Ur follows Weems out of the room with the others. I wonder what I have done to earn this disapproval he worries as he walks along with the small group.
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Reflecting on the promising opportunity to indulge in his two favorite pastimes, the oracle smiles to himself.
Oppara, he has heard is the largest city in the realm thriving with many people. And where numerous people reside, his vices exist. He will fill his pockets with coin from betting and sunder the virtuous layers of plenty wanton women.
I will save my purse to spend later within the walls of Oppara. Presently, I am invested with duty to the Society.
He nods his head towards Ensign Yolanda Riggs.
That is us. He is Harboth. I am not. Pleased to meet your acquaintance, Ensign Riggs.
He bows his head towards the junior officer, averting his eyes to the floor, and sneaks a quick ogle at Ensign Riggs' form as he meets her eyes.
How may we serve the Society?
Somewhere in the Grand Lodge
Led by Weems, and accompanied by Oinkerton, the trio is led through the building by many twists and stairs, eventually entering a magically lit room with elaborate and costly wood paneling covering the walls. Expensive and very likely antique chairs surround a felt covered table. The floor is covered in rich thick carpeting. Fragrant cigar smoke (and possibly the smoke of other substances) fills the ceiling, moving in strange currents.
Several Venture Captains are seated at the table but none are as impressive or stand out as much as The Sapphire Sage, Otoneraphim, the erstwhile mover and shaker of Osirion 'interests' within the Pathfinder Society.
He smiles at Ernest but says nothing... instead waving one of his exquisitely garbed servants towards the group. You notice Otoneraphim returns his attention to the table itself as he busies himself gathering a pile of disorganized coin, and the task of stacking them neatly in front of him.
I trust you have had cool and pleasant winds of late, O' Master Kalthet, the servant says bowing, using a popular Osirini phrase for greeting travellers.
The Honored Scribe of Our Master, The Ruby Price, capital letters falling into place with each title, rounded and enunciated, by the servants impeccable pronunciation, has honoured you with this opportunity to serve. It would be pleasing if you could perform a small task or two should opportunity allow.
He hands over a sealed note to Ernest.
Despite being busy with his counting, Otoneraphim clears his throat meaningfully.
A sour faced Ambrus Valsin, heavy cut crystal goblet in hand, approaches Urthain and Ander, moving from an impressive drinks cabinent set against the far wall of the room.
Ahh - Weems told me I may have some friends close to hand. I need a small favour. Your friend there has certain directions. Please assist him as much as you can in fulfilling his commission.
Valsin glares back at the Sapphire Sage with an unspoken challenge, who gives the Grand Lodge Venture Captain a nod and subtle if smug smile, even with his attention seemingly focused on counting the considerable pile of coin.
Weems sighs reproachfully.
Valsin scowls then looks back to the pathfinders.
I won't go into details but the situation is not good. Be careful and work smart. Come back in one piece.
He briefly clasps hands with each of you and then waves you off, turning back to the drinks cabinet.
Weems will show you out.
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PM coming your way
How may we serve the Society?
It is not for the Society I have come to ask favours of, but for Andurian and for the Cause of Freedom, she exclaims in a fervent if muted voice.
You have been friends to Freedom and so Captain Maldris, has sent me bearing a missive asking for aid
She hands over a piece of folded paper, stands, salutes and leaves the room.
PM heading your way.
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"I trust you have had cool and pleasant winds of late, O' Master Kalthet."
Ernest bows back and responds, "I have, and I offer my thanks to the ancestors that smile upon us." He then listens intently to the entire dialogue.
After leaving the meeting, Ernest earnestly tears open the letter and starts pouring through the page.
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Valsin scowls then looks back to the pathfinders.
"I won't go into details but the situation is not good. Be careful and work smart. Come back in one piece."
He briefly clasps hands with each of you and then waves you off, turning back to the drinks cabinet.
"Weems will show you out."
Ur nods to the venture captain as they clasp hands. "I will do my best." he says simply and then follows the others out.
Ur gets his equipment together carefully going over each piece before he slings his pack on and heads to the Star of Terys to stow his pack and get some sleep before it sets sail.
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Man, how did I missout on coffee? Did not get enough sleep.
His missions obtained, Harboth gathers his things, stops by the quartermaster to requisition One wand of Cure Light Wounds, please, and goes aboard ship early.
As befits his race and rank, he nods and grunts to his companions, downs a mug of grog, and takes a nap.
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Ernest shows up at the ship only minutes after those not shopping, Professor in tow. He is playing with the Light button on his Wayfinder and trying to jam a collection of mundane rocks in the Ioun stone slot in his Wayfinder. He appears far too invested in these rocks and does not notice that the figurehead is, in fact, living.
For now, Hiram (unless he makes himself known) has avoided hearing a tale about a knowledgeable Abadar cleric, a frequently inattentive Wizard, and his Wayfinder that he didn't know was more than a compass and symbol of status.
Hiram looks to the sea, wind lashing his face and thinks back...
This is a rather sensitive issue old boy, said Tyrone Cranburst, a mid level functionary at the Taldan Embassy and ostensibly retired Pathfinder. He sucked thoughtfully at his lips as he poured Hiram a class of Sherry. It involves, well, a family member of Baron Jacquo Dalsine... his cousin, Chalfon... very nearly a pathfinder until we found he was paying people to do his assignments and tasks while he pursued lechery and wine.
We saw him off - and good riddance, but he's gone and stirred up quite a fuss... quite a fuss indeed. Now young Hiram, its a delicate matter. The rotund man frowned and pulled at his mustache awkwardly. You see what makes it difficult for young pathfinders is knowing where one's loyalties lie and seeing the big picture. Our man in Oppara has been forced to make friends where the Crown would prefer the Pathfinders did not. Such a revelation could be damning to our standing in Taldor and by Aroden, the Pathfinder Society IS good for Taldor! Too valuable a tool for a return to our Glories past; for it to be thrown aside in a fit of royal pique.
I am counting on your discretion here and your maturity to understand the 'Greater Good' he said sternly as he handed you a slip of paper from the Baron himself.
PM on the way
A swift boat ride, a quick trip through Taldor’s gilded, capital, and a coded knock at the front door lead to the unassuming, windowless Pathfinder Society lodge masquerading as a bait and tackle shop called Rods and Reels. The strong smell of old fish permeates the dwelling, which has somewhat of a ill cared-for, haphazard appearance. The light of a single, whale-oil lantern forms strange shadows on the floor among the nets and buckets that fill the lodge’s ground floor.
The middle-aged venture-captain who runs the lodge—a ruddy-skinned and pockmark-faced man named Muesello—emerges from the narrow spiral stairs to the lodge’s second floor and addresses you all.
You've arrived at last - Capital!
Thank you for coming on such short notice, Pathfinders. Let me bring you all up to speed. It seems that I may have gotten myself, and by extension the Society, into a bit of hot water. You see, lately the Taldan government has been growing particularly protective of what it considers its national treasures. Grand Prince Stavian seems to have taken a personal interest in anything older than last week’s fish stew, imposing heavy tariffs on any antiquities being sent out of the country.
The grey-haired man lets out a deep sigh and his shoulders slump. This is where my own idiocy comes in. I thought that I could save the Society a few pieces of gold by smuggling items out of the city, using my contacts in a secret cult of local Sarenites known as the Dawnflower Blossoms. They receive significant support from people in Qadira, and oversee regular shipments to and from Katheer.
Everything went very smoothly until last night. A group of local guards known as the Porthmos Militia conducted a violent raid on one of the cult’s safe houses here in the neighborhood of Westport. A man named Chalfon Dalsine, a minor noble who was himself nearly a Pathfinder in his youth, led the attack. This gang slaughtered half the members of the cult, even those who didn’t fight back—it was horrible. A few members were able to escape, but the rest were either slain or captured and dragged away for interrogation.
Its a terrible business but while the deaths were tragic, my primary concern is that I had given the Sarenites several parcels for transport just last week. The parcels included a number of notes written in my personal cypher, but anything involving codes eventually makes its way to the Lion Blades, the secret spies of the Taldan government. It’s only a matter of time before they crack the code or use some divination magic to track me down.
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Hiram tsk's while shaking his head. "You ought to have known better than to circumvent the will of the Grand Prince in such a way. No good comes of such sloppy actions, and to trust a Cult of Sarenrae with such treasures? Unheard of. Nevertheless, I have pledged my support to the Pathfinder Society and needs must defy my very own ruler for the sake of your mistake. Your very, very unwise mistake. As the Pig-Wizard said, where can we find the headquarters of the cultists?"
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Anders nods to Ernest and Ur. Then makes his way to the Quartermaster. He returns to his room to gather and carefully pack his things. Anders then makes his way to the ship. After boarding the ship, he walks its entirety, checking it for seaworthiness.
Perception
He notices a figure standing in the front of the ship.
Perception
He appears to be fellow Pathfinder. Anders approaches Hiram and flashes a Pathfinder hand signal. Good day to you Sir. Are you sailing to Oppara as well?[
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Keeping mostly to himself and reserving his energies for the mission, the oracle makes brief acquaintance with each member learning only their names and role.
Slightly sickened from the travel to the Taldan capital, the oracle interrupts the uncouth human named Hiram.
Holding his hand up in an objectionable manner. We barely know enough about these Sarenites to pass judgment on them. Your words, Hiram, are rude and unwarranted. By your own admission, you have insulted not only this secret cult, but the individual who has employed our help. I deem this mission already at risk of failure by your conflict of interest, Hiram.
What assurance could you provide that you will not sabotage our efforts? I submit that having an agent belonging to the Taldor faction will have serious consequences to the Society resolving Muesello's problem.
Sternly the oracle stands uncomfortably close to Hiram gathering any hint of mistrust and breathing an accusation of contempt.
I also believe that you're not a complete fool, human. Why else would you divulge to us that you lay at ease with the Taldan crown?
Bard, indeed. With heavy tone of sarcastic emphasis.
The oracle turns to Muesello and asks. How would you like for us to proceed?
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"Accuse all you wish, half-breed. By the Captain's own admission he made poor choices and now we are stuck with correcting them. Now, before I lose all patience with your rudeness, kindly step back. You reek of sick and I would rather not catch whatever rude bug you carry." Hiram looks calm, but his hand is on his sword hilt, clearly ready should the smelly half-orc make any hostile gestures.