The Seven Seasoned Pathfinders (Core) (Inactive)

Game Master caps

And so it starts.

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dot

Fresh off their induction into the Society and the completion of their basic training within the organization, You find yourselves in the office of Ambrus Valsin, the venture-captain in charge of daily operations in and around the Grand Lodge.
The efficient and straightforward chamberlain greets the all of you curtly and motions for you to sit before jumping straight into your assignment.

“All right, Pathfinders! Listen up. I know you are new recruits
eager to make names for yourselves in the organization, but first we need to make sure you are up to snuff and won’t get yourself killed out there. I have a number of small assignments for you and your team, and it would be best if you could finish them before the day’s end."

"I’ve prepared a list of things I want you to do. They’re not arranged in any particular order of importance, but I want them all completed as quickly as possible. Only report to me once you complete them all. Included in the envelope you hold in your hands is the list, complete with the name of your contact, and directions to the meeting location."

As he looks at you.
"I know that you have being in some scraps and that this isn't the first time for you but still, don't get too bigheaded."

At work. Dot.

"You will not find me wanting, Captain Valsin." Says a towering, broad-shouldered Ulfen man. A flaming red beard frames the friendly smile on his handsome face and tumbles down his chest, Hair of the same bright hue escapes the back of his helm and hangs midway down his back. A Longsword rests at his hip, and a large wooden shield, featuring a large metal spike and emblazoned with a red sea-dragon over a turquoise sea, sits on his back. Three Javelins and a Crossbow peek over his shoulders from beneath the shield. A faded red cloak hangs from his neck, and a plain scale mail suit of armor provides him protection.

He turns to introduce himself to the other Pathfinders-in-training, extending a hand for a firm clasp to the nearest one. "My name is Ēoswulf, son of the wise and strong Lord Gērmwyn out of the north. I am come to be a Pathfinder so that I might inspire men, make my father ever prouder, give the skalds a tale or ten worth telling," he adds with a wink, "and extend my clan's trade network throughout the Inner Sea."

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A cleanly dressed young man in chainmail armor, Neit grins at everyone assembled and wanders among them attempting to shake everyone's hand.

"Nice to meet you all."

"And what is this, dearie? A shopping list?" a voice says, from beneath a hooded cloak. As he lifts the hood back with gold-skinned, delicate looking hands, you see a face not even a mother could love. You think he's an elf, but the shiny, crinkled skin and the bad teeth in an overly wide smile are hard to look past.

"Greetings, Ēoswulf, son of the wise and strong Lord Gērmwyn out of the north. That's quite a mouthful! I am simply Geoclunicus, perhaps you have heard of me? No matter, as I am sure we will be great friends." While he seems to speak pleasantly, it just gives off a creepy vibe.

Ēoswulf clasps the elf's hand firmly. His friendly smile spreads wider "I've heard of you now! Ha ha ha!" He throws his head back in a hearty laugh, then bends over and slaps his knee, still laughing. He takes a calming breath to stop his laughing and says, seriously but with a smile, "Indeed, I'm sure we'll get along grand."

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"Yes Sir!" is curtly and clearly snapped out of the the thickly muscled, straight backed soldier.
Dunbar Brasstwister is an impressive sight, despite the shortened stature of his dwarven race. From his antler topped battle helm, to his brass ringed braided beard, through his Regimental Scale mail, down to his iron caped boots, Dunbar exudes the bearing of a professional fighter. Whether he is wielding his Masterwork dwarven great axe or his heavy crossbow, first opinions would unanimously be he knows how to employ these weapons, and employ them well.

if one of you more experienced guys would care to look to see that everything seems to be ok with Dunbar's stats and that he is 'Core' to the core I would be extremely appreciative! Mike Garlington

A high pitched voice calls out from the floor. "Hinkle Mikrinkleberry at your service." A gnome with a short trimmed blue beard extends his hand upward. "I'm an aspiring adventurer and blacksmith. I look forward to working with you and my hammer and the blessings of Torag are at your service." The enthusiastic gnome is dressed in work overalls which he wears over his chain shirt. on his hip is a small warhammer.

Hinkle's eyes light up when he sees Dunbar. The small gnome eagerly walks up to the dwarf and starts to shake his hand. "Blessings of Torag be upon you friend. I am excited to be working along side an honest to goodness dwarf."

three meatshields paragons of strength in this party! We'll walk all over our early encounters.

Ēoswulf extends his hand to the Dwarf. "A soldier I see. I'll be glad to have someone with your discipline beside me on the front ranks."

--

Ēoswulf releases the Dwarf's hand and turns to look down at the gnome for a second before extending his hand to him. "I've known servants of Torag to be a worthy lot--I'm sure you'll prove the same."

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A gnome, a clear practitioner of the arcane arts, that has been perusing a book pipes up, "Are you serious! Errands! One of the greatest minds in all of Absalom and you are sending me to run your errands ... yes, yes, I know thirty-two point seven-eight-nine percent of society missions fall into the category of courier, escort, or other errands but ...", the little gnome's ranting continues as he takes the note, reads it, and hands it to another party member.

Earlier the party was able to get his name, Maximos Jax, but mostly he talked in seeming riddles of math, science and arcane theory.

Ēoswulf takes the gnome's interruption from his book as an opportunity to shake his hand. "Now, little friend, don't take it too hard. Me da always said 'he who can be trusted with little can be trusted with much; he who can be trusted with much can certainly be trusted with little.' Just think of us as the ones who can be greatly trusted to do the little things." He pauses for a moment, giving the gnome a broad smile. "I am glad to have you with us. A master of the arcane--a veritable walking book of knowledge--will be greatly appreciated in the course of our work, I'm sure of it."

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"My, oh my, what have we here? A learned gnome can teach us much, but can also be lost to us in his own thoughts! He can do magic, so it seems. But can he take a joke? We shall see! We shall see!"

"I was taken aback to accept a mundane task, but now I can see how much fun this might be!"

Well now that we are acquainted, where shall he head to first?" Hinkle asks, clearly excited to start his first mission.

Just curious, but has anyone else played or run this one?

No, this one is new to me.

"So, what is on this list, dearie?"

Geoclunicus opens the envelope and examines the contents.

"Yes, let's see it." Ēoswulf stands behind the Elf, looking over his shoulder at the envelope.

I've never played it. I skimmed it after I bought it in prep for running it, but haven't seriously gone through it yet, nor run it. I vaguely remember the things we need to do, and that I'm not prepared for at least one of them, but that's about it.

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"Torag's Blessing's to you as well, Master Hinkle..." the soldier responds to the gnome with an approving smile. He continues to the group, "...and to all of you here assembled. I am Dunbar Brasstwister, former Captain of the King's Axes, and I am very pleased to meet your acquaintance." His baritone voice is deep and pleasant to the ear, but his starched staccato hints to a more brutal tone when necessary. "I am but happy to be in employment, and excited to test my mettle for the society's benefits. Let's now make haste, as time musn't be squandered."

Unless this turns out to be Wounded Wisp, I haven't played it! Do we have the approved list of adventures? I would like to add a spreadsheet or some way to keep track (maybe even start assigning GMs etc) for edification.

That's all happened on the recruitment thread, yes?

"I find it best to start at the top and work my way to the bottom, but I am welcome to any other suggestions. For example if one task looks more interesting then the others." Hinkle says as he gently tugs on his beard.

"oooh ... rare books! Yes, the first one! Assuming an average duration for each quest of thirty-three point seven-eight minutes as figured from ...", Max continues to rattle off numbers and calculations, but most of the rest of the party quit listening at "ooh".

"To the docks!"

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Ambrus watches in some amusement as the rather mis matched group of recruits head out with a spring in some of their step.
"They'll be ones to look out for. They look like a promising batch." as he watches them leave his sight.

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Their next destination leaves much to be desired.....

This creepy shop contains myriad odds and ends, most bereft of any discernible use. A number of malformed creatures and creature parts bob in jars on a long, prominent shelf, a tiny fetal devil centered in this macabre lineup. The shopkeeper, a greasy-haired Varisian with a thin mustache, shouts from behind the cluttered counter:

“Ah yes, I see the Pathfinders have arrived. I’m glad Ambrus was able to lend a few of his new recruits to help me. Please come in and let me tell you what I need.”

Looking around as if to be absolutely certain no customers are browsing the aisles of knock-off Thuvian burial urns or supposed Azlanti porcelain, he begins again.

“Well met. I am Guaril Karela. A friend of mine has a warehouse near here and he received a parcel on behalf of me and some of my associates, but there’s a problem. See, Master Gelbane had to leave town in a hurry and our shipment is still waiting at his warehouse. Rumor is he ended up in trouble with the law and the place was seized. I heard tell from someone down at the docks that some creep was snooping around his warehouse just the other night, so I want to make sure nothing of mine was taken. He keeps all kinds of things, from beer to nails, in that old pelican, but every now and then he stores something really special. This is one of those cases.

“My associates and I often work with the Pathfinders when it comes to special relics and documents, getting them in and out of ports and across borders where the authorities ask too many questions. Most people don’t realize what they have and frankly many don’t deserve to have it, so sometimes we help take the goods off their hands. If things work out well and you get this done, I’d be glad to talk with you more and help you out with any future endeavors, as long as you help me out too. I’m good at returning favors, trust me.”

So, what do you do, recruit? This seems like one of those 'moral dilemmas' the instructors at the military conclave loved so much... Look at the entire problem, think of what is best for the greater group, understand your authorities and imitations, think not of yourself but the mission...
Dunbar's head swims of lessons from his past as his perplexed look betrays his conflicted emotions at executeing the task at hand.

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Hinkle scratches his beard as he ponders the situation. "So you are sure we have this friends permission to enter his warehouse? If questioned we can say you sent us?" The gnome asks not to sure he'll like the answer.

Ēoswulf's open friendly smile melts into a reserved, diplomatic smile as he hears the man's words. At the end, he nods and says "We will retrieve the books for you, as Captain Valsin requested."

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Guaril's eyes travel upon each of you before he breaks out into an oily smile at Ēoswulf's words.
"Ah someone who knows when to take action as needed. Well now off with you then, the day grows shorter and I do believe that a such a simple task should not take so much time and you have other places to be...I'm sure." as he smiles brightly and you find yourselves guided towards the door.

"A favor now for a favor later, sounds like a deal well struck to me! Away we shall go on your merry quest, and see what we can see!"

Geoclunicus follows along.

Dunbar inquires about directions to Master Gelbane's warehouse, looks to his companions, (secretly taking a head count to ensure that all in the party are still accounted for) and suggests, mostly to Ēoswulf, then to all "Shall we be going, then?" and then strides off towards the warehouse district, quietly chanting a rather filthy, yet amusing, marching cadence.

Ēoswulf walks beside the good Dwarf to the warehouse. "So you served in a military, I see."

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"For as long as I can remember... or more precisely, as long as I want to remember!" The proud dwarf trails off with this, and for a few strides of their march he uncharacteristically hangs his head.
But in an instant, he recovers and counters with, "Son of a Lord, eh? Must be a lot of pressure to perform, I would imagine? What with all of the matters of court and the like." This time, Dunbar stares off, as if remembering some old, painful, locked away memory.

Ēoswulf lets the dwarf have his thoughts to himself. At the dwarf's question, he shrugs. "My father was the lord of the mead hall, but it was not really a court like the one of which you speak." He lets the silence sit as they walk for a few moments. "There was pressure to be as strong as the bigger men, and to fight bravely when we raided other halls, or they raided us, but not much more than any of the clan would feel." He shrugs again. "Beyond the childish acts of my youth I never felt a reason to be ashamed. Now, though, I would be ashamed if I did not establish good trade relationships for the clan while I am away."

"Pardon me for interrupting," Hinkle says, "but it looks like we are here."
The gnome points to a run down warehouse at the end of the pier.

map has been updated.

"Ah, so we are." Ēoswulf approaches the door. "Let's see if anyone's 'home.'" He raps on the door. Several times, if necessary. If that gets no response, he tries to open the door.

Hinkle follows Eoswulf up to the door, looking around nervously. "Don't think anyone is going to be inside. Best to get inside quickly before we draw to much attention."

perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (10) + 4 = 14

Ēoswulf looks at the gnome with a serious expression. He opens his mouth to speak, but then closes it again and looks back at the door.

Was going to say something about "if this is suspicious we shouldn't do it" but decided against it. In and out of character.

Muttering calulations most of the way, Max is clearly excited to be so close to the books they are to retrieve ... "ah, to catch a glimpse of these books!"

Max then utters an enchantment, detecting magic on the door and inspects for traps. perception: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 2 = 19

Dunbar assists Hinkel's search of the immediate area, his eyes scanning for anything out of place.
aid another, perception: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (10) + 2 = 12

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A Quick scan of the place reveals the warehouse is deserted and obviously abandoned.

The few people not busy with their own tasks on the docks largely ignores you.

There is an moored boat, a dinghy to be exact, still sea worthy with a pair of oars. It's big enough for a crew of six.

Leading up the to the warehouse is a a dirty looking abandoned warehouse that has seen better days. The doors leading to it from the wharf where you are are closed. The double large docking doors are sealed tight, facing towards the sea, presumably for unloading and loading of goods.

The windows are tarnished and seem blackened.

What's more, the doors are locked but not barred or trapped as if someone must have thought it wasn't worth the effort.

A Dockworker pauses to look at you as he adjusts his load before coninuing on his own merry way.

"Geo, might ye have the ability to...", the fighter glances at the lock, then back to the Rogue, "...you know, gain entry?"

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"That I might, dearie, that I might!"

Geoclunicus squats down to look at the lock, and rummages through his pockets for a few seconds to pull out the tools he needs. Then he examines it careful (check for traps just in case), and then proceeds to pick the lock.

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (8) + 8 = 16
Disable Device: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (19) + 9 = 28

Ēoswulf watches the docks while the other party members work on the door.

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Struck with an unusual lack of conversational zeal Neit wanders over next to Eoswulf and watches as well.

I've been at a complete and utter loss for an in character voice/attitude for this guy. Please bear with me. Hopefully soon I'll figure him out.

"Ah ... very proficient ... from what I have read in the chronicles concerning lock picking it appears as if you are performing in a manner that will yield a high probability of success."

Deft fingers swiftly make quick work of the lock and the door is longer an obstacle as Geoclunicus makes it look easy. The door longer locked opens with a slight squeak revealing the inside of the warehouse.

The place is dirty and grimy with crates stacked hapzardly in an order only the most order seeking scribe would despair off. There a damp scent of mildew in the air indicating roughly how long this warehouse has being sealed.

Some crates has obviously being opened exposing their rotting contents and in the dim light provided for, there seems to be a crane of some sort.

Of more interest though is the sight of a chest as described by Guaril, balanced precariously over a pair of thin narrow planks, somehow without following the rest of their companions panels into rotting and falling through the gap made.

I am on my phone, would someone please move my icon up to the door, or just inside
Dunbar cautiously enters the warehouse and attempts to identify any choke points or potential ambush spots...
"Aggh, smells as if something died in here... And be wary of your footing, these floorboards appear to be quitting!"
Perception: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 2 = 14

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"Ugh, ou would think they could have someone clean this place up!"

Geoclunicus enters, a little past Dunbar in case something jumps out at them, but looks carefully for traps or points of failure in the floor.

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (18) + 8 = 26

Ēoswulf follows the Dwarf inside and lights a torch. "Now we can see a bit better, eh?" Preception, aid geo: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (14) + 3 = 17

"Huh. That looks like our crate over there." Ēoswulf walks up to the hole. "How should we try to get it off without it falling in the water?"

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Hinkle will step into the warehouse and pull his small warhammer from his belt, casting a light spell on it to add more illumination. "Nice work with the lock Geoclunicus. Any chance you're skilled with a crane?" The gnome asks as he points to the crane over head.