You've all been requested to come to Skyreach, the center of Pathfinder activity, to be briefed on your latest mission. Standing in one of the myriad small rooms set aside for this purpose, you each take in the measure of you fellow Pathfinders. After a short time, of which you were able to introduce yourselves, the door to your waiting area opens..
Venture-Captain Alissa Moldreserva, a fiery red-headed woman who climbed from the depths of Galtan revolution to become one of the Society’s finest (and most well-connected) Venture-Captains, stands in the great meeting hall of the Grand Lodge in Absalom. She stares down her hawkish nose and sighs. “I ask for the best and they send me you. Lucky me. The Society’s best contact in Osirion, Grand Ambassador Dremdhet Salhar, informed me this morning that his lovely Chelish wife, the Lady Anilah Salhar, was kidnapped and sold into slavery." She shakes her head as her cheeks tint the color of her hair. “Normally, I wouldn’t care a bulette’s eyeball about who was or was not enslaved in Absalom, but Salhar is the Society’s best avenue for acquiring all of the necessary official paperwork to make our frequent delves into the tombs of Osirion, cheap and legal. This is a relationship we want to preserve and since the Ambassador made it clear that our status is in jeopardy, I’ve been instructed to send our best agents to find her and return her safely to Salhar."
She looks over the party again. “I guess you’ll do. She says with a sigh. “Salhar hasn’t sat idle since his wife was taken—his own agents are prowling the streets and dug up one possible lead. A one-eyed Andoren, a grit junky named Fredrik, is known for selling or helping to sell nobility into foreign markets that desire house slaves. Being enormously illegal, this trade makes Fredrik a fair bit of coin that Salhar’s agents assure me all go straight into the pockets of the Second Chance, a grit den dockside in Puddles. That’s all I have to get you started. Go quickly. The fate of our Osirian exploits is in your hands.”
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While i never heard of Grit before, we will help out. Fast and clean. Turning the umbrella over her shoulder, Hamailii looks around in the group. I´m sure the gentlemen gathered here are more then willing to help a damsel in distress.
Do you have any other information that could help us? Like a picture of the lady Anilah Salhar? Does she even speak our language or only Osiriani?
And what about those drug dealers? Are they dangerous? Does anyone care if they vanish?
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To Faldoc, slightly surprised: So you know what i specialize in? How come? Did we meet before?
Adressing everyone: If you ask me, the Andorans always dance on the edge to evil and corruption. There original goals might be good, but how they often achieve it is more then borderlining evil. They think the ends justifies the means, but if you become what you want to stop while stopping it, there is something heavily going wrong. The same if you have to give up everything that actually defines you. How can you defend freedom by giving up freedom? Questions not as philosophical as one might think.
Alissa becomes impatient and exclaims, “You will be responsible for the Society’s losses in Osirion with your incessant questions. I’ve told you all I know—if you desire further employment beneath these hallowed pillars, you’ll think twice before asking me inane questions. Be gone!”
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Surprised, Hamailii raises an eyebrow but tries not to let it show.
What a character. I wonder how this person made it that far.
The society will of course not loose something or someone in Osirion nor here and knowledge is the key to that. It looks like this Fredrik person might be dangerous or at least erratic. But let´s go find him.
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To Venture-Captain Alissa Moldreserva: "What is the maximum amount of coin we are authorized to offer for her?"
To the party: "I certainly hope we can pull this mission off without needless violence. I am obligated to report any deaths to the authorities, and I would like to avoid dealing with all that bother and paperwork if possible."
Alissa arches an eyebrow at Morgrim. Hard of hearing, eh? Look you r Pathfinders, whatever it takes. Though let me be clear, standing around here is not what it takes!
Asking around, Faldoc is able to easily locate the Second Chance in the the Puddles district.
Entering, the party sees, dimly lit by cheap oil lamps sputtering on walls punctuated by painted-over windows, the Second Chance reeks of unwashed humanity and pungent ash. Threads of sickly sweet smoke drift like smog from tin hookahs. Ale kegs lurk in each corner, and cheap clay mugs hang from nails on the walls. As the party enters, they are immediately aware that they are in the midst of a frenzied, grit-induced brawl.
Next to the bar, what appears the owner of the den, a thick scowling Keleshite, grips a bloody scimitar in one fist, blocking one of the den’s rear doors. At his feet lies a fresh corpse, blood slowly seeping into the floor boards from the dead man’s slashing wounds.
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Arryn's eyes, shrouded under the hood of his cloak, sweep across the chaos of the brawl before resting on the armed man at the rear of the shop.
'Murder is no rare event to the greatest city of Golarion but then again there are many reasons why there would be a dead body - self defense against banditry being one, another evil not in short supply', considers the holy warrior. Knowing that jumping to the wrong conclusion could cost his soul as well as the safety as an innocent woman facing slavery he pauses.
He focuses his senses and calls upon the discernment of Ragathiel.
He would enter the brawl armed with the best knowledge of whom should be smitten rather than blindly charge in.
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Hamailii looks around if she can see someone who might be that Fredrik.
I suggest we talk to that guy with the scimitar. He seems to have his senses together at least.
Trying to find a way that avoids the drug-crazed people she starts to move toward the Keleshite. Her long hair seem to move on itself all the while, as if anticipating a breeze that is not there.
Before the party left the Grand Lodge, Venture-Captain Alissa Moldreserva, handed each of you a sealed envelope containing a missive.
Hamaillii enters the tavern and sees a man laying on a table, surrounded by thugs and being pummeled by the same men.
Arryn enters the tavern, surveying the scene.
Vahn enters and throws a bomb, trying to defray the fighting. He tosses the bomb near the men around Fredrik.
Vahn's bomb explodes near the bar and splashes two of the men. The men men go down from the fiery droplets.
Morgrim moves into the tavern, readying himself for trouble.
Faldoc moves in, drawing his blade.
Seeing the bomb go off and the glint of naked steel being drawn, the owner of the bar puts two fingers to his mouth and lets out a long whistle. The party hears an angry bark from the back of the bar.
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In the absence of guidence of the Empyreal Lord of Good, Arryn makes his way directly for the barkeep, his weapon arm drawing his blade and pointing it at him.
You!, he bellows in stentorian tones. Stand and prepare to be questioned!.
He ignores the brawling, chaos and the bodies in the path of his intended target, striding through them like a Colossus of justice, unimpeded and inexorable as an ocean tide rolling in.
His mighty frame radiated pending wrath as if he were the dark storm cloud that preceded a hurricane.
Faldoc moves further into the tavern and attempts to calm the dog, but it does not seem to have any effect.
The dog charges Faldoc and tries to bite him, but the dog misses.
The standing thug continues to beat on the man on the table. The man on the table appears to meet the description of Fredrik.
Morgrim draws his axe and moves toward the table.
Hamailii moves in and attempts to attack with her hair, but misses.
The tavern owner dashes over and attacks Arryn.
The bartender strike a vicious blow on the paladin, opening up a large gash.
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Arryn screams.
The falchion cuts deeply into his less protected thigh, spraying bright red blood into the air.
The Holy Warrior grimaces and takes a moment to touch his thigh.
Healing magic courses out and takes effect.
The Paladin then cries out Thy wings shield me and then cutting down his foeman with a slightly wild attack that sacrifices accuracy for power.
Confirmation
Vahn loads his crossbow.
Arryn lays hs hand on his wound and heals himself, then strikes down the tavern owner, who crumples into a poll of his own blood.
Faldoc swing his longsword and silences the dog.
Thr remaining thug turns and swings his club at Hamaillii.
His club cracks the elf across her shoulder.
Faldoc and Arryn put the final thug out of his grit induced misery. As the fight ends, Fredrik jumps up and runs for the door, but in his grit induced state, stumbles over a broken chair and falls flat on his face, near the door.
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Arryn considers the debris around him for a long while before sheathing his sword and reaching into his pack for the wand he picked up from the Pathfinder Headquarters.
Some one want to make this Fredrik talk? I tend to be a bit extreme, he says somewhat laconically in contrast to his normal bombastic self.
He then looks around behind the bar (and backroom if any) for the drug stash.
[Take 20 Perception - 1 = 19]
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Hamailii ties up the miscreant if he should still be alive, then shifts her attention to Fredrik.
You there! I know you are Fredrik! We have some questions for you...we know how you earn your money to pay for your miserable addiction! We also know you had some busniess lately. Tell us everything about it! Did you see a osiriani Lady, called Lady Anilah Salhar? Where there Gnolls involved? Did you participate in any slavery activities with them?
As the party surrounds him, Fredrik begins to speak, words slurred from the grit. “I fobbed her off on Pardu Pildapush at his office
in the Pits. ’Nough gold for a whole week o’ grit!” As he finishes speaking, he starts coughing up blood, spattering the floor with it.