Finding the Spark (Pathfinder 1E Quest)

The Season of Still Stone

At first you think this is no more than one bother trying to kill another, but trolls are not known for their deft tongues anymore than they are for deft fingers. He must means something is the matter, but what? You teeter on the edge of agreeing outright. Curiosity is a dangerous itch to scratch with both hands though so you decide to be a tough circumspect. "What is it that ails your brother? I..."

"Wut? Ye don't know?" The giant-kin squints, you swear you can hear his brows grinding in confusion. Looking back at the dancer he rumbles: "'E's not with ye is 'e?"

"We have much..." you scramble to try and safe the gambit, but the dancer clearly does not have much confidence in your ability to do so.


"He is not, my mistake." The word has an edge of familiar disdain that sets your teeth on edge. But you are still curious as to what she is doing here, entertaining a troll of all beings, if an uncomfortably insightful one who now returns his glittering treasure to its hiding place. Just before it was hidden out of sight you opened your eyes to the Unseen only to see it blaze with ward-fire stronger than anything you have ever witnessed before.

The gem has a strong Abjuration Aura

Once you have found your voice again you manage to get out: "Perhaps we could speak later."


Later finds you again inside the Belly of the Beast, though without any food set out, only thin beers that could not get a mouse drunk. Something tells you the dissatisfaction in Khole's name, as she had introduced herself. Before you can spend too long considering the ways in which her name and yours sound alike she sets down her mug asking: "Well, that's this about?"

"It seemed to me that you wished to speak with me before I and my companions set out eastwards last," you explain blunt as an old stone knife, seeing no reason to play games.

"I was curious about you. We Dancers never see others of the People who travel abroad alone. Most think the company of outsiders is too perilous without the protection of kith and kin. Are you envoy, exile, or lost soul?"

"I might echo the question. Would you answer it?"

The Dancer is quiet for a moment, her eyes reflecting the faint embers of the stone lantern set on the table. "No." She seems to come to some decision. "The stone you saw before, it is precious to an organization within the People concerned with mentaining trade and connection between enclaves in Var Voth and the deeper reaches. We do not have the steel shields and rune-carved walls of the Children of Droskar, nor will we see ourselves lost as so many others have been in these tunnels, prey for those who would devour their neighbors: the ghouls of Nemret Noktoria, the Ulat-kini of the Dying Sea and more whose names I will not lightly speak."

"An organization?" you ask, intrigued, but not entirely convinced. It sounds too giving, too concerned with the protection of others over itself. The tribes of the People rarely go to war against one another, that much is true, and new blood is welcome by all sensible chiefs, but one's loyalty is ever for those of the Hall, from cradle to pyre.

"The Circle of Twilight, don't spread that name around, we are traders, procurers of unique services, should the People be lost or enslaved, we would be no more."

Now that makes a bit more sense. "One of the things you wanted to procure is that gem. You want to sell it?"

"After a manner, though paid in a currency other than silver or gold." Khole sinks back into her seat. "I was promised the aid of an agent of the Circle who is known to Grom, that is the troll," she rolls her eyes slightly as she speaks his name. "By reputation but not by sight. They are late, far too late, soon I will have to move on my task unfuffiled. When we first met I would have contracted you and your friends to seek them out by the down the Winding Way from Fellstrok, but it is far too late for that now."

"Surely if even the sight of this fixer is enough to make the troll give up his treasure than it is not too late until the very moment when you must leave Cauldron," you point out, watching her reaction carefully.

The response seems to take her aback. Khole stops to think far longer this time, making you wonder if all the times before had been more for the sake of being seen as giving up something she was hesitant to do rather than actually doing so. "I have reason to believe the fixer shall not be walking any tunnels but those of the otherwold, they are dead and I am not skilled in open battle against trolls or worse."


"So you need help," The words are not a question. "What's it worth to you?"

"For one as interested in travel and as willing to take on uncommon companions I think this will interest you..." So saying she pushes a small black square towards you, black glass finer and than any you'veseen before, etched in swirling drow script... which you cannot bloody read. Is this some kind of test? Is she assuming you are more experienced than you are? Whatever the case all you can do it shake your head in incomprehension.

"That is a Writ of Free Trade from the Court of Blood in Zirnakaynin, a blank one. With it one might freely walk the caverns of Sekamina as well as see off most drow raiders one could find in the higher reaches. Their lowblood commanders do not want to find themselves on the wrong side of a grudge with the Noble Houses." Khole's laugh is not a pleasant one, though given the tales of what drow raiders get up to you cannot find fault with it. "Or," she adds. "I could pay you in favors, the reach of the Circle is far, or even knowledge."

"Pay for wh..." Before the words are halfway out of your mouth the Dancer starts to cough, clawing at the table, eyes rolling back in her head.

Poison, but both of you had drunk the same beer, so someone had to have known which mug she would get.

What do you do?

[] Use the last vial of anti-venom to save Khole

[] Get out of here, you do not want to make more and worse enemies
-[]... and take the Writ of Free Trade, its not like the dead would have any use for it

[] Write in

OOC: The plot thickens, but the beer is still thin as hell.