Finding the Spark (Pathfinder 1E Quest)

27th of Lamashan 4707 A.R. (Absalom Reckoning)

As you wait for the pair to finish their business with the Boro the Smith, a surprisingly thin man with wispy hair that was either black or soot stained, you discover a few interesting tidbits: that horses rather enjoy being shod despite how disconcerting it is to see someone hammer steel into a living foot, that thirty armed lancers go through even the most sturdy of supplies at a frightening pace, enough that most larger outfits have their own smith... and that Boro himself thinks you are on a fool's errand. He's not shy about saying so despite the growing frown on the face of the man whose custom he depends on.

"Dwarfs call it the Deep Metal, or the 'deep stuff'. You know dwarfs and their tongue, a thousand words for steel, ken you imagine? Finding that in the middle of the forest with naught a mountain for a thousand leagues around? Nah, that's just faeries playing tricks on your boss. You make sure you're paid in advance, you hear? That's how proper work's done."

"And just why do you think you know where we're going?" Leontas asks, his tone a dire promise as he leans in close.

"Well... that is... I assumed... you had all those dwarfs..." the smith starts to babble. "There's all kinds of rumors coming down from up in the woods and you have all these dwarf folk... I thought... Ithought you'd be chasing them. Beg pardon for assumin'."

"Let that be a lesson you then, not to call your customers fools or they might think it folly to cross your threshold." The sellsword snapped up the coppers he had been given as change for his gold and marched out.


"Do you believe in coincidences, master Akorian?" he asked once you were well away from the smithy, thankfully still sheltered from the worst of the rain by the buildings that had started leaning on each other over the years of haphazard additions.

"In principle, yes. Sometimes that crack echoing above your head is just stone settling better, but sometimes it heralds a collapse and those who assume the latter over the former are more likely to live long lives."

"So how do you think news of our purpose got ahead of us and ended up the talk of Carpenden?" Moira finally deigns to ask a question of you.

I can think of two ways, but only one of them is safe to speak of, you reason, thinking of the magic mirror you had not used yet to send news back to the Lodge in Almas. Aloud you only say: "Gavhaul's allies might have been loose lipped, either by accident or... well lets just say he does not have the best taste in friends."

"Is that experience talking?" From the tone you'd guess he's asking you how closely you are bound up in the Consortium yourself.

"Not the kind you mean..." As you try to figure out what is and isn't safe to say, you spy what looks like a relatively new tavern growing like a wooden barnacle out of the side of an old watchtower atop the hill for which this part of the town is named. "Time enough to warm our bones and share a drink and a tale while the rain passes. I'm paying."

Lost 18 sp (Drinks) -> Now at 342 gp 7 sp 21 cp

He looked like he might have said no right up until the last part. "Who are we do deny such generosity, eh Moira?"

Inside is heavy with the smell of flyleaf smoke and sour wine, but at least it's noisy enough that it would be hard indeed to eavesdrop and harder still to notice a whispered spell of good fortune.


"So what's this mysterious tale, eh?" the captain asks over a cup of the local wine which has more the virtue of abundance than taste.

"I think we have time for two, don't you?" you counter with a challenge. "I'll trade you one for one, a story of your exploits for one of ours."

"Eavesdropping's an exploit now?" he asks, though without the bite the words might have had coming from his companion.

"Was that all we did in Almas?" you wonder in faux-surprise. "Strange, I don't remember it that way, but there you have it. No need for me to share anything then, is there?"

The jape draws a laugh. "Alright then, a tale for a tale and hope you've got the coin to pay. About three years ago there was a warlord by the name of Hartor Heart-Eater who gathered up an army of wretches in service of the demons. Clans he called them, but the word's too good to be defiled with their lot; freaks, mutants, and demon-kin. The reason they all followed him, other than being a mean fucker with the power of the Pit in him who'd tear off your head and boil your brain in your skull for dinner, is that he managed to tame a rift drake somehow. Or maybe be drake tamed him. By this point he'd been causing real trouble, luring out crusader armies to deal with him only to have demons show up out of thin air and catch them between a hammer and an anvil, but we couldn't ignore him either since the longer he kept his head the more the hoard swelled with fresh recruits and slaves taken from across the river."

Taking another long drink he shook his head sadly. "Plenty of knights challanged him, but the son of a whore knew to pick his fights and he never took on a challenge too tough for him, and that beast of his ate well. So me and a friend, Sir Vornic he was then, came up with a plan, disguise some of the man with faster horses as cattlemen trying to sneak in some grazing by the bank of the West Sellen positioned just so most of the horde wouldn't be able to wade across, but the Heart-Eater and his drake could of course. It being a greedy beast and him being a demon-addled lunatic, they did. After all, what was the worst we could do, shoot arrows after him?"

"You poisoned the meat?" you guessed.

Both of them laugh, it is not a happy sound. "Maybe there's poison foul enough to kill a rift drake somewhere in the world, but we sure as shit didn't have it.... so we just filled those three cows with bags of alchemical resins wrapped around blast jars. Worked like a treat, covered them both head to toe and the drake had its mouth filled so it couldn't breathe any shit at us to slow us down. I pinned one of its wings to the ground with my lance for good measure and then I just lead the Heart-Eater on a merry chase while we filled him full of bolts."

"You outran the drake?" you ask impressed.

"Course not," the sellsword shakes his head. "It was grounded and covered in resins, so the mad bastard tried chasing me down on foot. I did turn around to fight him once he had a few dozen bolts in him, but it turns out even being 'two thirds demon' isn't enough to fight with when most of your blood's been painted over half a mile of scrubland."

You nod thoughtfully. "I only have one question."

"What's that?" Moira asked, suspicious as ever.

"How would one become two thirds demon? I know things are different up here, but that's some odd counting."

"Demon-shits don't count so good, they have to use their fingers and toes, but it doesn't work on account of having the wrong number. At least that's..." The newborn smile slides off Leontas' face. "That's what Vornic said then when he heard that one." He tips the whole cup back. "Your turn," he says harshly.


"Well, it started when Gavhaul took me to meet one of his contacts in the last city and informed me, in passing mind, that she had imps on watch. Turned out that was the least of it..."

The pair of them listen to your acount stone-faced, only the speed at which they are drinking, and thus spending your coin, giving some sign as to their feelings on the matter until you get to the end, the fight which you describe in some detail, from the vampire's charm that had almost doomed you to Cob's final deadly slice.

"Fair's fair... that was some telling." The sellsword's voice drops lower. "I know it's not a popular opinion 'round here, but if it was just the devil-calling I'd give it a pass. I fought with a Hellknight Signifer for magic support a time or five and they're as hard as nails, same as the rest of that lot. If the devils want to go stab a demon I say let them, but the rest of it, the stuff with the girl... fuck that runnin'. What was her name again? DeVorge? I wonder if the Houses are making trouble again with this talk of marriage and the bloodsuker wanting in."

"The Houses?" Presumably he does not mean the brick and stone ones.

"Oh yeah, there's this rumor going around that the old Andoran aristos are organizing to take the place over from within. Most people think it's bullshit, but if anyone could do it it's them. Old blood gets trained in plotting starting around the time they're trained not to shit their pants."

"Oh, is that why they shit their pants so often?" Moira japes to lighten the mood. "Come on, I think that's enough wine in you."


As you leave the tavern you catch sight of a familiar tail darting out of sight... Pepper on the trail of rumors. A look to the pair shows them not paying any attention to the cat. You could ask him to look into rumors about your caravan, particularly about you being on the hunt for adamantine. More danger, but more worthwhile answers as well.

What do you do?

[] Ask Pepper to keep a close ear out for rumors about your expedition. Start with that smith you just spoke to

[] Let him continue looking for general rumors

[] Write in

OOC: I was not expecting this to get so long. Still, hope you guys enjoy.

27th of Lamashan 4707 A.R. (Absalom Reckoning)

Houses in Carpenden were built differently from Barstoi, huddled together not in fear, each window barred, sometimes with bells or garlic flowers. Here narrow cobblestone streets wind their way amid elongated buildings of rosy brick and dark wood. The highest stories sometimes actually lean against each other like old comrades, making rooftops a thrilling playground for the city's children and other smaller folk. No one paid much mind to the small black cat jumping from ledge to ledge, tavern to inn, brothel to sowing circle, listening for rumors... other than that nice lady who let him inside out of the rain and gave him a whole fish head, but as far as Pepper was concerned that was nothing less than his just deserts.

Yet the more he listened the stranger it got. It was as if the rumors of their purpose had rolled into town hours ago piping hot like the evening's chamomile tea, of which the locals were so fond. He was starting to wonder if someone on the caravan itself had loose lips, but who? The sellswords had been mostly kept to the camp outside the walls to avoid just this issue and their captain would not have been surprised to hear of the rumors if he'd been spreading them himself, plus Akorian would have heard him. The dwarves? What business would a dwarf from the Bellows have gossiping with Carpenden melon farmers, especially when it can cost them tens of thousands of golden sails? Of Gavhaul himself Pepper had no accounting, but he could think of no reason why the man would make his expedition the talk of the town.


That left just one logical option, thought the cat as he jumped from laundry to clothesline to someone's tight little balcony and then down the to the wet slippery ground. Someone wasn't who they said they were and that someone had an interest in every would-be ne'er-do-well and cutthroat in Carpenden catching their trail. So, darting after a wagon returning from the market, Pepper was filled with new purpose, to find the traitor and mark them.

They'd have had to slip past the sentries, iruxi and sellsword both, and even though Gorok was still resting that was no mean feat, but he noticed a group of young poplars to the east of the camp. That, thought the cat, is where I'd be sneaking through if I had but two legs and no pads on my feet. But as he darted through he smelled no human had passed though here, which isn't to say he didn't smell anything. Knowing he'd be on the hunt he'd sharpened his nose today. That fish head had been hours ago, and he smelled a rat. Heading right for the camp? How strange, must have been addled by the roar of the passing storm.

That's when he saw a curious sight indeed, a bit of old cloth pulled from some tent seemingly by the wind, moving on its own near Gavhaul's garish tent. No wind was moving it, instead inside was the glimmer of tiny rodent eyes too-bright with intent. Too late Pepper realized that he'd been noticed right back, cat and rat frozen in place, before the latter darted out at full speed away from the tent.


Wererat, it had followed them all the way from Almas if not Augustana, Pepper was sure of it... and just as sure that all he'd get for following it would be replaying the experience of death, which he didn't fancy. Kori, Mina, and Sirim had not returned yet, which left help between risking Gavhaul's eye and the still recovering Gorok

What does Pepper do?

[] Warn Gavhaul, the wizard should be too busy dealing with the rat to wonder at his good fortune

[] Fetch Gorok, he's sure the iruxi can track rat and deal with him when he finds it

[] Write in

OOC: Congrats to @zxzx24 for guessing 'wererat', I thought you guys might have forgotten about that enemy.