Finding the Spark (Pathfinder 1E Quest)

8th of Rova 4707 A.R. (Absalom Reckoning)

"You wish me to keep a secret from my companions? Why?" Even as you ask the question a part of you is wondering how you might overcome this strange unbidden visitor, or more likely call for help. Trying to be loud with magic has not been something you had given much thought to until this very moment.

"Companions?" Sirim seems to taste the word. "You trust them to speak and to be silent? Then no, perhaps the secret of my being can be shared with them. A risk, yes, but they are not of the same ilk as the others on this ship."

"You dislike Captain Caulker?" You wrack your brain for the names of the other members of the crew, they had introduced themselves you are quite certain, but besides the expansive presence of their commander they seemed to fade into insignificance.

"I distrust fanatics, of which the Eagle Knights are some of the worst for cloaking their zeal in the supposed wishes of the 'people', as though the mob can have wishes that were not insinuated into their mind by their betters. I do not like my secrets being shared, shadow seer, and at this time and place my very form is one such."

"Why do you need the medallion then?" Why is it worth revealing yourself to me? The second question is implied, but no less obvious despite that. By his own account Sirim had managed to slither his way onto the ship and coil into your room unseen, and that certainly was not among the easiest places to do so.

The answer does not come readily, it does not come all that willingly, but an answer you eventually receive: "To confirm my identity."

Wisdom: 1d20 = 10 (Failure)

Far from allaying your suspicions this only fans them. An identity confirmed might just as easily be false as true: "To whom? Why? Can't you just speak to them as you are now?"

A hint of anger enters the soft whisper, the smoke of his body growing more agitated as though moved by an unseen wind. "Do you think there are many Smokeshades entering the Lodge in Augustana unaccompanied? I have contacts, resources, means to escape this form, but all of them are locked behind me being recognized for who and what I am, not for what my final escape from the devil made of me."

Spellcraft: 1d20+7 = 8 (Critical Failure)

"Made of you?" You ask, more confused than ever. Assassin devils are not known for powers of transformation, according to Mina who knows more of such things, mostly they just transform the targets into corpses.

"Not the devil, the escape." For a long moment it looked like he was not going to elaborate further. "May you never pass through the trial I did, shadow seer, but know that I was born among the kayal, the shade-touched, not so different from your own kin. I made a study of wizardry, and with time and experimentation I grew in mastery of magic enough to gain the company of a smoke shade, a familiar of the plane that is named Nyclaxis, the Guarding Dark. It is the form of that very familiar, Iskal, that I now wear, for it escaped the eye of the Vengeance Devil and the noses of the hounds, and through it I escaped the flaying of mind and body which the devils had meant for me. "

Knowledge (History): 1d20+5 = 18 (Success)

Kayal, you know that name. Not to any more depth than the fisherman knows the caldera in which he casts his line every day, but you have heard of them. Traders and travelers out of Nyclaxis, bright-haired and smooth talking, sometimes trouble, sometimes of help. It does not help that the longest poem that includes one of them is the Dragon Trick Tale, the humorous account of Da'am the Dancer and his dealings with an increasingly irate Umbral Dragon who seeks his soul, only to finally be tricked into surrendering his own hide, supposedly the origin of the Bile Dragons of Orv. The kayal in that tale eventually betrays his draconic master when Da'am gives him a better deal, but then a few verses earlier said dragon is stymied by getting a block of dwarfish flint-cheese stuck in its throat, so probably not the best place to be getting your information from.

"Will more devils come then, for the medallion or for you?" you ask instead a more practical question.

"I know many things, but the mind of devils is not among them," Sirim answers quickly and, you think, honestly.

What do you do?

[] Give him the medallion, it is uncommon enough to find even distant kin in these bright lands

[] Hold onto it until you reach land, it's not like Sirim has any use for the thing until them and then these contacts of his can pay you for holding on to it and dealing with the devil

[] Refuse, you don't trust him enough to keep secrets from Captain Caulker on his own ship

[] Write in

OOC: Enjoy.

8th of Rova 4707 A.R. (Absalom Reckoning)

"It's not going to do you any good on the ship, will it?" You ask after a moment's thought. The answering hiss isn't precisely encouraging, but you stand your ground. It is one thing to agree to be paid in two tranches by the halflings or paid on delivery by Cauldron, and quite another to hand over the singular thing someone wants from you in the hopes that they will keep their end of the bargain.

"Very well, we shall speak again when the ship casts its anchor along the sandbars of the Great Salt Harbor." With these words your new acquaintance takes his leave, slipping under the door without a sound. If you weren't looking right at him you would not have noticed a thing.

Reaching around your neck you are very glad you decided to wear the talisman alongside the black ring rather than leave it unattended. Who knows, maybe the closeness of such a baleful thing had even convinced the spirit to try bargaining instead of thievery.


It does not take any great effort to make your way into Mina's cabin where, after a thorough search by Cob, you tell your tale. The others listen warily and wearily all at once, seeing as they prefer to be awake when the sky is on fire. Cob just generally does not trust snakes and one of them being made of smoke does not set his mind at ease, Gorok reasonably does not like that your visitor had initially asked that you keep it a secret from all of them, while Mina does not like lying to the captain when he had taken you in. Apparently 'stowaways' are a significant concern by the customs of the sea.

Cob takes 20 on Perception to make sure there are no spies: 34

"I think the being you spoke to is called a smokeshade, according to Pepper, and some wizards do take them as familiars, though not among the most reputable," she continues.

Mina Knowledge (The Planes; Nobility): 23; 14 (Success; Failure)

"We are hardly among the most reputable though," you interrupt. Once you might have felt some sting in her words, but you know her well enough to realize she's just missing the poison-lizard for the swarm.

"I guess so, it's just... Say his story is all true as far as it goes, what does it say about this Sirim that he was willing to sacrifice his familiar just so he might live on in some other form? I could never do that to Pepper. I do not think any of us would even dream of doing it to Warty."

She's right of course, but also the comparison moves Cob over from vague distrust of potential magic snakes in his bedding to narrow-eyed distrust, or maybe something a bit more thoughtful.

"How do we know it's wizard and not just snake?" the little goblin asks. "Familiar knows master, yep? Would know what to say to pretend to be wizard doin' mind-twist magic."

Cob Wisdom: 1d20+2 = 22 (Critical Success)

"Truth does not pay. Gold pays," Gorok points out

"It didn't look like it had pockets, did it?" Mina cuts in. "If we get involved in some kind of fraud with the Pathfinders we would have made enemies instead of friends."

"We could ask the devil," you point out, recalling the hollow-eyed Grave Dancer you met as a boy, how he had made the skulls jangling along his belt speak of their doings in life, but even as you speak the words a feeling of dread skitters along the back of your neck. Infernal things are not as mortals, they do not perish when their heartsblood is spilled, but pass on to the judgement of their masters. Harsh and painful though it may be, rarely are the higher forms cast down into oblivion of the mind, and if the devil should endure when one interrogates its corpse, it might yet meddle.

Akorian Spellcraft: 1d20+7 = 23 (Success)

What do you do?

[] Keep the Devil head to talk to it

[] The head is on the table to sell along with the pelts

[] Write in

OOC: Enjoy. I have to run.