You have been stationed at the Grand Lodge in Absalom, awaiting assignment for a mission of utmost importance. Things finally seemed in motion when Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng sent out a summons for available agents. Specialized in the history of Absalom, Dreng is known for putting off-duty agents to work on sundry tasks when he finds them resting within the city’s limits.
Coming to the meeting place—an odd choice of venue, as it is a street corner far from the Grand Lodge—a lone beggar garbed in baggy robes approaches. The only figure visible in the constant drizzle, the beggar sticks out his hands for currency.
"Have you any coin to spare, fine folk?"
The question hangs in the air for only a scant moment before the figure pulls back his hood to reveal the wizened face of Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng. He gives a crooked smile, soaked head to toe from his unprotected time in the rain. His clothes smell faintly of cabbage.
"Sorry about that," he says with a wink. "I always like to play a little joke on agents when I stumble across them during my jaunts into town. Now, why did I summon you fine folk here again…?"Dreng shakes his head from side to side, as though trying to knock water out of his ears, despite the constant downpour.
"Ah yes, the Wounded Wisp! I’m undercover now and can’t stray far from the site I’m watching, but I need someone to retrieve a package for me from that fine establishment. It’s among Absalom’s most storied taverns, you see, and one that holds a special place of privilege in the Society’s lore as the place where the organization began. Well, I could drone on and on about it, but standing out in the rain is doing none of us any favors." As if anticipating agreement, the bedraggled venture-captain produces a small slip of folded paper from one of his many stitched pockets. Dreng quickly shows a glimpse of the page’s contents: a map detailing the location of the Wounded Wisp bar.
"The bartender is a woman by the name of Heryn Gale, a fine lady who came to own the Wisp after the passing of her father from - oh, bah, it’s really getting too cold for me to give a proper history lesson! If you could just go to the Wisp, and tell Heryn you’re there to pick up my parcel, it would be most appreciated. I’ll be around here for several more hours at least."
A few of you may know something about The Wounded Wisp from your prior studies in the Grand Lodge.
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"Yes, the original location of the Pathfinders before it was even founded. An interesting relic of history," Silverback murmurs as they stand in the rain.
The druid seems uncaring that it is cold and wet, and his hair and beard are matted down and dripping.
"Package retrieval?" the druid responds. "What other questions could we have about this noble errand?" he says sarcastically.
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"Well if i must be the first to ask let me step up.
Drandle Dreng you ask us to retrieve a parcel, may we know what we are protecting? and well how far away is this storied place? Is the parcel being hunted or wanted by others? Lastly can we trust Heryn Gale
Willim stands ready for the answers as he watches for deceit.
When asked about the parcel, Dreng's eyes twinkle. "Before you judge, despite my current attire, I am still a man of taste. The parcel is actually a special vintage of wine from the cellar of The Wounded Wisp, I've been sampling their finer wines in descending order of bottling. I dare not disappear from my current role in this district, but I would also appreciate some comfort items. After all, I doubt anyone would judge a supposed beggar sipping from a bottle of wine."
"As for Heryn Gale. I will vouch for her personally. They---I mean she has been an operative of ours for a while."
Located in the Foreign Quarter, not far from the Grand Lodge the Wounded Wisp stands. Built from dark, discolored wood, the exterior is the image of an iconic dive bar. Stained and barred windows obscure direct vision into the establishment though a ruddy yellow light bleeds from the window in the front hall. A thick wooden sign hangs from the bar's entrance. A brass fitted onto the sign anchors a lantern - the wisp obviously.
Entering the establishment, the smell of smoke and spilled ale assails the senses in this wide open area. Walls of dark-stained wood make up the sides of the Wounded Wisp, while well-used wooden table are spread throughout the space. A raised area in the back of the establishment houses several additional tables and eating areas for groups seeking more than just a good drink. An austere bar supported by kegs instead of wooden panels commands the northern end of the room. A stained-glass cabinet stands behind the bar, its dark panes cracked in several spots yet not so opaque as to conceal the several dozen types of hard liquor within.
Two rather rough-looking half-orcs sit downing quick drinks at the bar. An older man, with a a comb-over covering his nearly bald head sits at a table studying a rather large and ominous tome, while sipping from an over-sized flagon of ale. A Kelish fellow wearing a sunburst symbol around his neck eats quietly at a table to himself.
From the near corner a voice calls, "Yoo-hoo! Max! Fellows! Come join me!" Looking over, you see the exuberant and studious Janira Gavix, your preceptor for the recently completed Confirmation. The scholarly halfling does little to hide her mad crush on Maximilian, and invites you to sit at her table, where a new group of initiate Pathfinders listens to her tales of Society founder Durvin Gest and the fabled Lens of Galundari. "It's my last class. What brings you fellows to the Wisp?" she inquires curiously.
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Orovan gets a bitter taste in his mouth as he sees Janira, remembering the events of their last mission together. "I'll be at the bar." he says to whoever in his group might be listening. He wedges himself near the two half-orcs and orders a cheap, strong drink, sure to burn away any memory of breakfast that morning. "You degenerates have any good stories?" he asks with a friendly yet gruff tone.
"No errand is too minor for the Society," Janira says in her schoolteacher voice. "One never knowns when a minor errand will turn into something much more. Like during your Confirmation...".
Orovan approaches the half-orcs at the bar and can see at a glance they are twins, one male and one female. They continue to slam drinks, glancing over at his approach. "Garl and Shrade Boartusk. At yer service!" says the male. "Pathfinders extraordinaire! There's nothin' our axes can't fix!" says the female extending her massive hand.
"We seen our fill of work with the Society," Garl, the male says again. "But it's only muscle work really. They don;t think we have the brains for anythin' more than babysittin' the scholars."
"Can I get you a drink," says the barmaid, a bright-eyed girl matching the description you have of Heryn Gale.
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Willim follows Max over to the table and observes the room and all in it. He tries to identify the Kelish fellows sunburst symbol from memory but not really sure.
This symbol is interesting but so too is the old man and his tome. What could it be he is looking at in an open bar room?
I MUSTN'T TRY SO HARD he scolds himself before deciding to greet the table.
"Good to meet you Janira. Maybe I will be in a future class."
He also gestures hello to the table.
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"It is good to see your wounds have healed," Silverback says in greeting to Janira. "You narrowly averted returning to nature," he adds awkwardly.
Obviously not one for much conversation, or bars and civilization for that matter, the druid stands near Orovan as he asks for the bottle they had come to retrieve.
Silverback would clearly be more comfortable back in the pouring rain than in the bar.
The book the man is looking at is quite old and voluminous. You can make out that it is not written in the common tongue, but with pictorgrams and letters that remind you of Ancient Osiriani. He is deeply engrossed in it, sipping from his ale occasionally, but mostly poring over the contents.
Janira smiles at Silverback and pats his arm. "Just like Rickard the Lion-Hearted, I am tougher to kill than I look. Thank you for your assistance with that unruly minotaur."
She stands next to Maximilian looking up at him dreamily. "Won't you regale us with the stories of your adventure in the gillmen's caves, Max? I am certain the young initiates would find tales of the confirmation experience so thrilling, especially when you tell it."
At the bar, the young girl's eyes snap open at the mention of Dreng, then quickly she regains her composure. "That particular vintage is kept in the cellar." she says coolly. "You will have to wait until my relief comes before I can take you downstairs and retrieve it. What are you drinking in the meantime? On the house."
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"Why, I'd be happy to!" Maximilian beams, relishing the attention and the chance to perform for an appreciative audience. "We were assigned to explore the caves known as Josnavaarin's Lament - though they had not acquired that name just yet..." he begins, launching into a
detailed and thrilling account of the party's adventures. There's barely a dry eye to be seen as he recounts the fall of their companion, and a few listeners are even perched on the edges of their seats as he describes Jainra's injury, despite the evidence of her recovery right beside him.
Max's stories keep the novice pathfinders enthralled, and the love-struck Janira looks on with adoration as he wends his story through with facts optional.
The bar-maid smiles at Orovan. "We may not have that exact concoction, but I will have something that you'll appreciate." She starts mixing and pouring and shaking, eventually delivering a dark red cocktail to the waiting half-orc.
Willem and Ruinor can both see the book the scholar is perusing is a history of old Osirion's attempts to invade and conquer the lands of Garund and Avistan, including several failed attempts at taking Absalom itself. As you sepak to him, he doesn't seem to notice at first, then slowly glances up his eyes slowly focusing on your faces. "Uh...what's that...oh, this book? It's nothing really, a bit of light reading. My research, it sometimes draws me in a bit. I am Yargos Gill, pleased to meet a fellow scholar. It is not often I run into men educated in such matters. Come sit, and let's discuss the trade agreement of Ket and the long-term ramifications of that treaty. eh?"
While Gill goes on laborious tangents about the smallest insignfiicant details, and Orovan consumes his fire-water, Max finally winds up his nail-biting account of the Confirmation. Silverback sits back taking it all in.
The relief bartender arrives in short order, and Heryn Gale whispers to Orovan. "I am ready to show you that vintage now. We must go to the wine cellars below. Are you ready?"
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Ruinor eventually notices Orovan and Silverback waiting near the bar.
"I can only hope that I'm as knowledgeable as you someday, Yargos. I'd love continue this conversation sometime, but I'm afraid I have some business to attend too. Enjoy your book and drink."
Ruinor then excuses himself and joins the others.
Heryn Gale leads the group to the back of the tavern, and then down a set of wooden stairs into a tightly packed storeroom. The basement of the Wounded Wisp is a stonework affair filled with barrels, boxes, and crates of assorted foodstuffs and drink garnishes.
The bartender leads you to a door in the south wall. The door opens into a dusty, disused meeting chamber. Sometime back, an earthquake shifted the floor here causing several deep fissures across the chamber. A broad wooden plank spans the largest fissure. Another set of stairs on the far side of the chamber leads further down below the ground.
Heryn stops and points at the plank. "This board is not as safe as it once was. Please use great caution in crossing, and move very slowly. Heavy weights may break it so be careful." she says, pointing at Orovan.
Waiting until last to cross, Orovan knows the unsteady board will be trouble. As he tiptoes across, he can hear the plank popping and snapping under his massive weight.
Suddenly, with a loud crack the plank splits in the middle sending the half-orc scrambling for a hand hold before slipping down the side of the chasm.
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Orovan is nearly turned upside-down as the board snaps beneath him.
He lands on his back and hits his head on the wall with a sickening crack. He stands up, holding his head and cursing, looking a bit unsteady.
"Priest man, bring my wand. My luck has turned against me." the half-orc states, pulling a blood-smeared hand from behind his head. He doesn't wait for the cleric, instead climbing up the side out of the hole.
-Posted with Wayfinder
. With the plank trap behnd them, the group continues on to the cellar. Here many dusty bottle of wine are stored, most of which may not have seen the light of day for decades.
Heryn Gale seems to search for a particular bottle while the rest of you stand around either watching her, or looking at the valuable collection laid out in front of you.
"Help me search," she asks. "The bottle is here somewhere."
As Willem spies the bottle in question, he reaches for it. He is a bit surprised when the bottle doesn't come loose, but the instead acts as a lever that slides open a secret panel in the south wall revealing a stone tunnel beyond that leads to a secret room.
Following the short tunnel, the group looks into the room beyond where a sturdy silver chain juts from the ceiling. The chain ends in a glowing orb that radiates yellow light across the rectangular room. A simple desk of polished wood, stacked with documents and scattered notes, shelters a pair of wooden chests against the south wall. A series of cracks along the eastern and western walls form makeshift entrances into exposed caverns.
Lost Chamber - Surprise Round
19 Scorpion 1
19 Scorpion 2
18 Willem
16 Ruinor
14 Maximilan
11 Silverback
9 Orovan
A pair of hungry cave scorpions, claw clacking, enter the chamber from both sides, threatening the group.