Dramatis Personae
Name: Temperance Tasgal, the Hallow-Horn
Race: Tiefling (Demon-blooded)
Class: Slayer (Deliverer)
Prestige Class: Crimson Templar
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Name: Asaf Yasin, the Worldwalker
Race: Aasimar (Azata-blooded)
Class: Magus (Eldritch Scion - Celestial Bloodline)
Prestige Class: Chronicler
"Farewell, mother, and pray for me, for I fear our cause is doomed.
Farewell, father, and weep for me, as I bleed here in the Wound." - excerpt from "Crusade Remembrances: A Collection of Verses Written by Valiant Veterans", compiled by Jubilost Narthropple
12th Sarenith, 4721 AR
Absalom, Isle of Kortos
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
A mechanical clock on the Venture-Captain's desk continued to tap out its quiet metronome as they scribbled with an expensive looking fountain pen. They were a gnome, their hair an eye watering violet that would have required fierce amounts of dye on any other race. The gnomes had such extreme colors naturally, though these would fade to the white ravages of the Bleaching if they did not keep themselves mentally stimulated.
Temperance could think of few things more mentally stimulating than being a Pathfinder, if the stories he had heard and those he had met were to be believed.
Venture-Captain Zenith Bandobras had an office that would have made a king or two green with envy. Their walls had ancient weapons and other treasures, such as a great golden platter and a stuffed edict dragon wyrmling's head, mounted in rows. Zenith themself was dressed in a fine silken doublet and breeches of vivid green and silver. They were slender, even for a gnome, with a strong jaw and attentive eyes.
Across from them, impassive in the painfully quiet room, was a tall, broad, crimson-skinned tiefling clad in half-plate armor. Two goat-like horns jutted up from his forehead over long, black hair. The left horn was broken off halfway up, the broken end topped with a steel cap. A bastard sword was sheathed across the tiefling's back. The only sign of his hidden discomfort at the silence was the way his spaded tail flicked back and forth.
"Well, you've certainly lived a full life already, for one so young." Zenith finally mused, looking up from their notes and papers.
"Didn't realize twenty-five was young, Captain." Temperance Tasgal replied.
"It is when you live as long as I have", Zenith said with a smirk.
"True." Tem said, unsure if he had insulted them or not, somehow.
"You certainly have what it takes to join the Pathfinder Society. Six years in the Worldwound, three in the Scar? That takes a certain set of skills that would serve a Pathfinder well." Zenith reasoned, leaning back in their chair, steepling their fingers. "Tell me, Temperance. What are you hoping to get out of the Society?"
Temperance had expected the question. He just hadn't thought of an answer that would sound good. So, he went with honesty instead.
"My entire adult life was spent as a Crusader." Tem began. "Every day, I woke up and knew what I had to do; fight demons, support the Crusade, close the Worldwound. When the Worldwound closed and became the Sarkoris Scar, it was to cleanse Sarkoris, make way for resettlement. The Wound has been closed for three years now. The Scar is…well, not safe, but it's pretty damn close. The folks handling resettlement and revitalizing the land obviously had it well in hand. So now I'm a Crusader without a Crusade."
"It's my understanding a lot of former Crusaders are going to the Gravelands to battle the Whispering Tyrant's undead." Zenith pointed out.
A twinge of guilt stabbed at Tem's innards. "Yes. They are. A lot of them. Not a lot of them are helping elsewhere." Temperance met Zenith's eyes. "I know a lot of Pathfinders do good in the world. That's what I want to do."
It was, essentially, a very long way of saying "because I don't know what else to do with my life." Zenith nodded as Temperance spoke, resting their chin in their hand as they listened. When the tiefling finished, the Venture-Captain silently thought for a good thirty seconds.
"While it is unfortunate that there are no convenient openings in any of the teams operating out of this Lodge, I believe I have an assignment that would suit you." Zenith said. "Have you heard the name 'Asaf Yasin?'"
Temperance shook his head.
"Not terribly surprising, given you've been in the far north all these years. Around the Inner Sea, however, he's built up a reputation. You see, not every Pathfinder operates in a team. Some operate on their own, or with bodyguards and hired help from outside the Society. Asaf is one such person, and was under the protection of a family bodyguard ever since he first joined the Pathfinders. However, it's my understanding this bodyguard has just recently retired. Asaf is good at what he does, but I believe he operates at peak efficiency when he has someone to watch his back and keep him on task. And you, Temperance, are clearly someone with experience in that regard."
"As long as he doesn't expect to order me around like a manservant." Tem grunted. All in all, his first impression of the idea was pretty good, as long as this Asaf character was on the up and up. Besides, it's not like Tem could be picky. He'd come in here asking for something to do, after all.
"Well…he might, full disclosure. But if you don't allow yourself to be ordered around like a manservant, there's not much Asaf will be able to do about it. Given you spent almost a decade facing down actual demons, I'm sure that won't be difficult." Zenith chuckled. "Ah, to be frank with you, Sir Temperance, I've been waiting for this chance. Asaf is a damned good Pathfinder, but he needs a balancing force. What little discipline his old guard did provide is gone now. I believe you can, not as a bodyguard, but a partner, be that needed discipline. The question is, are you up for it?" They slid a piece of paper across the desk and held out their pen. "If you are, I have a contract bringing you under the banner of the Pathfinder Society's charter that needs only your signature. What do you say?"
Tem looked down at the contract, taking the pen. He, however, took the time to read it all over, even the fine print. He didn't want to get duped by the legalese. The nomadic Varisians who had raised him often had to work out contracts for seasonal work or simply moving through the lands of others. A few extra minutes of reading could save a person years of trouble.
Everything looked in order. Tem scribbled his name at the bottom of the page and dated it.
"Excellent." Zenith said, taking the contract and shaking Tem's hand. "Welcome to the Pathfinder Society, Sir Temperance. You should be able to find Asaf at the Courtier's Cork. It's where he stays here in Absalom, off Aroden's Plaza. Room Seven, I believe. He'll almost certainly have a lead or two he's chasing."
Tem nodded, not quite excited, but glad to have purpose once more. "Understood. Thank you, Captain. I won't let you down." With that, he stood from his chair, grabbed his shield from where it leaned against the wall near the door.
"Oh, before you go, Temperance, here." Zenity said, offering a rolled piece of paper. "Give this to Asaf if he proves…difficult. He's been luxuriating for even longer than usual with his newfound freedom. I want him back out in the field."
Tem accepted the paper, said his thanks, and left Zenith's office.
Absalom was called "The City at the Center of the World." It had been created by the now dead god of humanity, Aroden, when he raised the island of Kortos, and the legendary Starstone, from the depths of the Inner Sea. The presence of the Starstone had been enough to draw an entire city around it over the centuries. Any person who succeeded in the Trial of the Temple of the Starstone and touched the magic stone would ascend to divinity. Any who failed would find death. Even though only three people had ever succeeded in this task, hundreds, if not thousands, attempted the Trial every year.
Absalom was situated in almost the very center of the Inner Sea, where the trade routes of every major nation of the region intersected. One could find Chelaxian nobles brushing shoulders with Mwangi traders, Keleshite mercenaries in negotiations with Varisians. There were elves, dwarves, halflings, gnomes, hobgoblins; the list went on and on. On those wide, bright streets, even a tiefling like Temperance could blend right in.
Of course, it was far from a utopia. Crime was rampant in Absalom, finding fertile ground to grow in such a massive city. The legal slave trade had only just been abolished a few years ago. Away from the buildings of sandstone, marble, and granite, one found shantytowns and slums inhabited by longshoremen, sex workers, and laborers.
No, Absalom was definitely not a paradise as Tem had been led to believe by his fellow Crusaders, but he could see some of the appeal, at least. Spices, scented oils, and cooking food blended into a constantly shifting olfactory experience. Absalom's main thoroughfares must have had good plumbing, given it didn't smell like excrement.
The walk to the Courtier's cork became a series of brief encounters. A Vudrani human women in a bright orange sari reached out and lightly touched Tem's arm, a dazzling smile on her lips. "My good sir, your horns have a wonderful gloss, but look awfully bare. I have a fine selection of silver chains that would compliment them perfect."
A halfling man with broad shoulders and callused hands pointed at Tem. "You there! Warrior! You need a sidearm you can rely on! You won't find better daggers and shortswords than the ones coming from my forge!"
A robed elven man with a wispy beard gestured at several portable shelves full of books. "Need something to pass the time for the ship out of Absalom? I have the latest from Tethras, Mullocren, Falte, and more."
Temperance did not stop to buy anything. He had money saved up. There had been a lot of loot and not much to spend it on during the Crusade. But living out in the corrupted wastelands of Sarkoris had a way of teaching a person how little they could get by with, and how little it took to be happy. So, the tiefling kept going through the crowds until he reached Aroden's Plaza.
The Plaza was centered around a huge statue of the dead god himself. The Last Azlanti, as he was called, stood fifty feet tall, with shoulders back and sword held high, gazing out over the city of his creation. Yet, even this great statue was likely nothing compared to Aroden's true presence. The idea of a living god walking around Golarion would have blown Tem's mind at one point. However, he had seen Aroden's successor, Iomedae the Inheritor, manifest on Golarion to speak to the Commander of the Fifth Crusade in the city of Drezen. Naturally, that moment had blown his mind.
Looking around the plaza, Tem quickly realized he was out of place. This was a nicer part of Absalom. He was guessing what the people around him were wearing was considered fashionable. There was a lot of jewelry in various forms, lots of silk, furs, lace, and cloth-of-gold. It all looked rather stupid to Tem. He was sure the feeling was mutual. Rather than bother with any of them, he found the Courtier's Cork and walked across the plaza to enter it, passing through the shadow cast by Aroden's sword.
The interior of the Courtier's Cork may as well have been a palace to Temperance. A wagon that was so big it required a larger team of horses to pull was considered luxurious growing up in a Varisian caravan. In the Cork, the air was full of sweet incense. Gauzy, dark drapes were hung from the walls. Around every table were either soft leather chairs or thick cushions on the floor. It was too early for a large crowd, it seemed. Only two tables were occupied in the main room; one by a pair of half-orcs in Taldan suits complete with lace ruffs, and the other by a trio of Tian-Hwan humans in bright, voluminous robes.
Temperance was greeted at the door by a short Vudrani woman that was probably a year or two younger than him. Her sari was a deep blue, trimmed with gold and white. A golden chain ran from a hoop piercing her left nostril to the earlobe on that side. She had to lean back slightly to look up at the towering tiefling, but was undaunted by his size.
"Good morning, sir." The woman said cheerfully. "My name is Jyoti. Tell me your pleasure and, if I can provide it, you won't want it from anywhere else after today."
Surprised he wasn't being thrown out, or at least questioned, for not looking like he had the money for this place, Tem said, "uh, neither. I'm with the Pathfinder Society. Looking for a guy named Asaf. He's in…"
"...Room Seven, yes. Upstairs, fourth door on the right." Jyoti informed him, bangles on her wrist clattering as she gestured to the stairwell.
"...a lot of people come looking for him, I take it?" Tem asked.
"For many reasons." Jyoti said, strictly neutral.
"Right. Thank you, Miss." Tem said, heading that way. The tiefling trudged up the stairs, heading to a wooden stained with a dark lacquer marked "7". He listened at the door, not hearing any voices or, Sarenrae be merciful, the creaking of bedsprings. Therefore, he knocked on the door.
Then waited.
And waited.
And waited some more.
Tem knocked again.
"I'm fine, Jyoti. You may be on your way." A voice with a Keleshite accent said from within.
"I'm not Jyoti." Temperance said at the door.
A pause.
Footsteps approaching the door.
The door opened. The first thing Tem noticed were the man's eyes; they were solid gold and incredibly lustrous. His short, curly hair and meticulously trimmed goatee were the same gold, standing out against his dark bronze skin. The only thing the man was wearing was a bedsheet around his legs, showing off a trim, wiry frame.
"If I owe you or your boss money, give me a half hour or so…", the man started to say. He was interrupted by two voices laughing behind him. "...an hour or so, I'll pay it in full, rest assured." He tapped Tem's breastplate in a condescending way.
Tem's eyes flicked down to the hand, then back up to the man himself. "Asaf?"
"Obviously." The aasimar said.
Oh boy. Tem thought. Aloud, he said, "no. I'm here because Zenith sent me."
"Kind of them, but you're not my type. So sorry." Asaf replied, closing the door in Tem's face.
Tem felt his eye twitch as he suppressed an angry growl. He knocked on the door again. This time, his response was both voices and the sound of bedsprings creaking.
Right, then.
Temperance turned around and headed back downstairs. He approached Jyoti.
"Is everything alright, sir?" She asked.
"Yeah, fine. Say, who owns this place?" The tiefling asked.
"That would be me, sir." The young woman replied.
"Really? Huh." Tem said, surprised and impressed at her apparent youth. "Well, Miss Jyoti, then you would be the person to ask; how much do those doors cost?"
The proprietor of the Courtier's Cork raised an eyebrow. "Uhm…between parts, labor for assembly and installation, the lacquer…it's imported wood from Jalmeray…twenty gold pieces?"
Temperance handed her two platinum and five gold coins, which was the equivalent of twenty-five gold.
"Oh. What's this for?" Jyoti asked as the tiefling turned around and headed back up the stairs.
"For damages." Tem's voice echoed down the stairwell. "And the trouble."
He didn't stop or brace himself, merely lowering his shoulder and slamming into Room 7's door with his full strength. Temperance was a large man, his barrel-chested frame strong from years of training and combat. The lock shattered, the door swinging inward to reveal a room that many minor nobles across Golarion would probably envy. It was a continuation of the soft luxury of the first floor, but concentrated into a smaller space. Across from the door, currently looking wide-eyed and in shock, Asaf sat up from the embrace of an elven man and a human woman with Taldan features. His two bedmates were covering themselves and panicking.
"What in the Hells are you doing?!" Asaf cried, rising from the bed. A platinum band around his right wrist made a quiet cracking sound, then suddenly there was a spear held in the aasimar's hand. He seemed utterly unbothered by the fact that he was completely naked.
"I'm your new partner, assigned to you by Venture-Captain Zenith." Tem explained calmly, not terribly worried about this man's weapon. "Get dressed and let's get to…whatever Pathfinders get to."
"You think you can just come barging in here and giving me orders, do you? Do you have any idea who I am?!" Asaf barked in anger.
"Should I?" Temperance asked, feeling a small measure of satisfaction as Asaf recoiled like he'd encountered a bad smell.
"I am Asaf Yasin, the Worldwalker, renowned of the Pathfinder Society." A bright halo fizzled into life around his head. "I am the one who delved the Bleak Pyramid of Khemrotehp, the one who found a way to the Sky City of Lokagos, the one who defeated Ururg Thunder-Blade in single combat to recover a fragment of Aroden's own sword." The aasimar listed off. "Tell me, you low-born brute, who exactly you think you are, and why I should even bother with giving you the time of day?"
Tem grit his teeth
Slowly, unnaturally scarlet flames started to spark to life around Tem. A little of the swagger went out of Asaf as the fire outshone his halo.
"My name is Sir Temperance Tasgal, Crimson Templar of Ragathiel, and I don't boast. I act. Send your companions away and let's get to business before I decide to take offense to the way you're talking to me." The tiefling warned in a thundering voice, allowing the magic flames to die away.
Asaf, to his credit, seemed to finally realize he wasn't just dealing with a random blaggard in big armor. The spear in his hand reformed into a bracelet and his halo faded. He turned back to his bedmates. "I'm sorry, my dears, but it seems business is calling a bit sooner than expected. Shall we reconvene at a later time?"
The pair climbed out of bed, hastily dressing enough to be decent, then gathering the rest of their scattered belongings and leaving the room. Asaf pulled on his smallclothes and a pair of pants with a sigh, going over to a basin and splashing water on his face.
"Zenith assigned me someone. That can't be right. We had an agreement that I would hire my own help." The aasimar said, letting water drip from his nose and chin into the basin.
"I'm not 'help.' I'm your new partner." Tem reiterated. "And did you actually have that agreement with them, or did you tell them what to do and expect them to listen?"
Asaf scowled over at Tem, then sighed again. "Listen, Terrence…"
"Temperance." The tiefling corrected.
"Right. Temperance." Asaf said. "Listen. This is a mistake, one way or another. I have money, as do my fathers. How much will it take for you to consider le-..."
"You're not going to bribe me." Temperance cut him off.
Asaf closed his eyes. "At least leave while I get dressed."
"So you can slip out the window? Nope." Tem said.
Asaf reacted like a child caught raiding the sweets jar.
Tem produced the scroll given to him by Zenith. "The Venture-Captain told me to give you this if you were proving to be…disagreeable."
Asaf dried his face, then snatched the scroll, unfurling it with a plaintive sniff of one nostril. His eye flicked back and forth across the page, a look of horror slowly dawning on the aasimar's countenance.
"This…is…an outrage…", Asaf tried to exclaim, but couldn't muster it.
Tem shrugged. He hadn't read it.
"I am to accept your assignation and set out at once or have my status within the Pathfinder Society suspended until further notice." Asaf breathed, crumpling the paper in one hand. "Sweet Desna, all because I wanted some time off of adventuring…"
"How long has that been?" Tem asked.
"Only about a week…", Asaf began.
Tem stared.
"...a couple of weeks, perhaps." Asaf amended.
Tem kept staring.
"Alright, fine, a little over a month. Thorath retired and I figured I'd earned myself a bit of relaxation." The aasimar snapped.
Something clicked with Tem.
"You're scared to go out there without your old guard." Tem said, trying to make sure it did not come off as an insult.
Asaf did not seem to notice the attempt. "Me? Asaf the Worldwalker? Afraid? Hah! You clearly don't know much about me. I fear nothing."
"Then you'd be the first person I've ever met who can say that. I was scared shitless pretty much every time I went into battle against the demons in the Wound and the Scar." Temperance said easily, leaning against the doorframe, rather shocked Jyoti hadn't come up to investigate yet.
Asaf didn't respond to this.
"Tell you what", Tem said. "Since you know they'll boot you out, you can either meet me downstairs or try to slip away. I'm sure they'll just reassign me. You've got fifteen minutes. I'm getting a drink."
With that, Temperance left Asaf alone, heading back down into the Courtier's Cork's main room. The half-orcs remained, but the other table was empty.
"Changed my mind, Miss Jyoti. I'll have a spot at the bar for a little bit." Temperance informed her.
"Splendid. I have a wide selection of spirits, from ale to wine, but the libations from my homeland are my specialty." Jyoti said warmly. "Might I suggest a cup of chilled handia? Perfect for a hot summer day like today."
"Sounds perfect, thanks." Tem answered, having no idea what handia was.
Tem reached the bar and took a seat with a tired groan. A few moments later he looked up to find a large mug made smoked glass floating through the air to gently land on the bar in front of him. He blinked, looking around, listening for footsteps. There were none.
"Is there anything else I can get for you?" Jyoti asked.
Slowly, Temperance shook his head. "No, thank you." Figuring such a wealthy and well-traveled establishment wouldn't still be in operation if such obvious magic was nefarious, he picked up the mug. The liquid within was milky white, but had a thinner consistency than milk. Never one to shy away from trying something new, Tem picked up the mug and took a sip. It went down smooth, and the chill was pleasant. He couldn't really describe the flavor. It was…not earthy, not sour…he really couldn't think of the words.
"Is it to your liking?" Jyoti asked.
"I think it is." Tem decided after a moment. "What exactly is it?"
"Well, the recipe is a family secret." Jyoti informed him with an impish wink. "But handia is, simply put, a rice beer."
"Rice beer." Temperance repeated quietly, taking another drink. Yes, he decided he liked this spirit. "It's good. I can see why you'd want to keep the recipe a secret."
Jyoti laughed, a musical sound. "You're too kind, Sir Temperance. And, before you ask, yes, I heard you upstairs."
"Oh." Tem blanched. "Going to be honest, kind of surprised you're so calm about me smashing your door."
Jyoti shrugged one shoulder. Another mug of handia had appeared, which she sipped from. "You think you have the honor of being the first person to smash that door down? At least you compensated me for it. And in advance, too. This 'Ragathiel' holds his paladins to high standards, I see." She chuckled.
"I'm no paladin, Miss Jyoti, though I have been devoted to Ragathiel ever since I learned about him." Tem explained. "I fought in his name in the Worldwound. For that, the General of Vengeance reached out to me and made me one of his Crimson Templars."
"I see." Jyoti hummed, leaning on the bar with one elbow, holding her mug with her other hand. "And what sort of god is Ragathiel?"
A question Temperance got a lot. "He's an Empyreal Lord", the tiefling explained. "A Celestial creature like an angel or azata that gained enough power to become a demigod. He was born to the archdevil Dispater and an elemental demigoddess of fire, Feronia."
Jyoti blinked. "An…angelic demigod born to a devil and an elemental."
Tem snorted a single laugh, taking another drink, then, "yes. Feronia took him out of Hell when he was born. There's a lot of speculation by those in the know on what made him fight to become an angel. Dispater is a fallen angel, after all, so there could be something there", Tem shrugged. It was all above his head. "Point is, after hundreds of years of trials, Ragathiel was accepted into the ranks of the angels. Now, he's a patron of knights, soldiers, chivalry, and righteous vengeance."
"Do you know his stance on smashing the doors of innocent tavern keepers?" Jyoti asked innocently.
"It depends on what's on the other side of the doors." Temperance replied sheepishly.
Another laugh from Jyoti. She held out her mug. "To Ragathiel, then."
"Aye. To Ragathiel." Tem agreed, clacking his mug against hers.
Footsteps coming down the stairs stopped their conversation. Asaf was dressed in a shirt that was completely untied at the chest, the same pants he'd pulled on back in the room. The boots he wore, made of dark leather, were polished to a sheen.
A glass of dark wine was placed on the bar in a spot two seats down from Tem. Asaf hauled himself onto the barstool, looking utterly grumpy, picking up the wine, downing it to the dregs, and watching as the glass floated away in the air to be refilled.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" Temperance asked.
"Uhm…no?" Asaf responded.
"You didn't thank our host for the drink." Temperance pointed out. He had not been lying when he'd said Ragathiel held chivalry in his domain, and courtesy was a paramount tenant of it.
Asaf looked over at Temperance like the tiefling had just sung an Undercommon romance ballad. Frankly, he wouldn't normally be such a stickler, but Zenith had asked Temperance, essentially, to be a positive influence on the aasimar. Improving character started with the small things.
"It's her job, isn't it?" Asaf asked bluntly.
"Aye. And don't people thank you when you do your job saving them from bandits and monsters and all that?" Tem asked, the question rhetorical.
Asaf looked like he might just burst a blood vessel in one of his eyes. His refilled glass set down before him, and he raised his voice to say, "thank you, Jyoti", in a tone like a misbehaving child who had been told to apologize.
"You're welcome, Lord Yasin." Jyoti responded.
It was a start.
"Hm. Didn't know you were a lord." Temperance said, with no intention of changing his behavior with that information. Should've been obvious, in hindsight. He thought to himself.
"My fathers rule the Emirate of Al Tamaya in Qadira." Asaf explained in a monotone.
Silence for a few moments. Tem drank the rest of his handia, politely asking for a refill.
"Alright. Alright." Asaf said quietly. "Let me finish this wine, then go upstairs and get all my equipment. I have several contacts here in Absalom who I can ask for leads. I expect you to keep up with me, partner. I won't have you slowing me down after making all this fuss."
"You don't need to worry about that." Tem said easily.
"And I won't have you questioning my methods while we're out there. Crusader you may have been, a Pathfinder's life of adventuring is far different." Asaf said, regaining some of his fire.
"As long as your methods are just, I won't have a reason to question them." Temperance gave a non-answer to the challenge.
"Mmph." Asaf grunted in confirmation.
Temperance was quite familiar with people like Asaf. No small number of wealthy young lords from across Golarion came to Sarkoris, hoping to win fame by fighting in glorious battle with the demons. They often showed up expecting to be put in charge of units, something that did not occur. Usually, these noble youths fell into one of three camps. Many simply turned around and went home. Many others got themselves killed trying to be heroes. A select few actually learned a thing or two and came out the other side of the experience as better people. Tem could only hope his new partner would be among the latter.
When Asaf came back down the stairs later, he was clad in burgundy leather armor that was studded with dark grey-green adamantine. A bag of holding was slung over one shoulder. The aasimar yawned as he came down the stairs.
"Alright, partner. Let's be about this." Asaf gruffed.
Temperance drank down the last of his handia, laying out coin for Jyoti. "Miss Jyoti, thank you for you hospitality. I'll make sure to tell anyone who's coming to Absalom to make this a stop."
Jyoti scooped up the coins, playing one of them across her knuckles in a dextrous display. "And you didn't even try the food. A wise choice. If you had, you wouldn't want to leave, either."
Tem laughed lightly, nodding to her and heading for the door with Asaf. The two Pathfinders stepped out into the busy plaza.
"By the way, one last thing." Tem said.
Asaf's glare said he was already quite done with Tem's terms and conditions.
"Call me a 'low-born brute' or anything like it again and I'll break your face." The tiefling informed him..
Asaf's glare dissipated. He said, "yes. Forgive me, that…was an unworthy thing to say."
"It sure was." Tem said, gesturing ahead as if to say "lead on." So, the lordling's sense of self-importance wasn't completely all-encompassing.
They passed beneath Aroden's gaze, walking even deeper into the upper class quarter .
"That Jyoti is a good sort." Temperance said broke the silence.
"She is, indeed. Make no mistake, though; she could put the both of us in the ground without breaking a sweat." Asaf replied.
"Like I said; a good sort." Tem said, wondering how exactly one so relatively young had become so powerful. To be able to use such fine-tuned telekinetic magic, or manage that many unseen servant spells at once, and entirely manage a tavern by oneself with it, spoke of a great deal of magical ability. He changed topics. "So. Where are we going?"
"The Westgate District." Asaf explained. "I'm on good terms with the nomarch of Westgate, Lady Seleenae Damaq. She spent time at the court of Satrap Xyerbestes with Ahtasaf, one of my fathers. In fact, she was almost my surrogate mother. She'll have a lead on something."
Tem nodded. He assumed Westgate was a district of Absalom. The only name he knew that Asaf had just said was that of the Satrap, the man who ruled Qadira on the eastern shore of the Inner Sea. Xyerbestes' warmongering was legendary, kept in check only by the Padishah Emperor of Kelesh, to whom Xyerbestes was a vassal. Temperance had fought alongside a unit of Qadiran Dervishes of Sarenrae in the Worldwound. They had brought healing to the wounded Crusaders and swift, radiant death to the demons.
"Oh, Dawnflower's mercy, today just keeps getting better." Asaf sighed.
"Eh?" Tem grunted, wondering what the aasimar was going to complain about now.
"That big Kellid who's suddenly interested in the tent selling carpets between the Courtier's Cork and the spice shop next to it. The one with a cane. He's following us." Asaf said.
Temperance looked back, seeing the man in question. He wore a long leather coat that reminded Tem of how pirates dressed in stage plays. Tem wouldn't call him big; while he was tall, the man was thin as a rail. A pair of round framed spectacles were perched on his nose.
Tem looked back ahead. "You sure?"
"Positive. He was sitting under Aroden's statue until we walked out." Asaf said, his golden eyes darting back and forth at the surrounding crowd as they left the plaza down a wide street.
"Think we can lose him?" Tem asked.
"It's hard enough for a man with hair that quite literally shines like gold to fade into a crowd. While walking with another man who's bright red and looks big enough to be part troll? I'll let you answer that question." Asaf rattled off.
Tem let out a wordless huff of confirmation, then, "so, what then?"
"We figure out if he's alone. Then we act. This way." Asaf said, turning down a narrow footpath between an upscale tavern and a rose draped brothel and taking off at a jog.
"Now he'll know we know he's following." Tem pointed out, keeping up with his partner.
"Yes, indeed. And if this man knows anything about me, he'll know that for the longest time, I have had a bodyguard with me wherever I travel." Asaf said. "So, when he comes around the corner and sees you waiting there, with me nowhere to be found, he'll assume you're staying to hold him back while I flee." The aasimar stopped at a downspout on the side of the brothel and started scaling it with the easy dexterity of an ape. "When, in reality, I'll be waiting to strike him from above. You understand?"
"You'd better actually be waiting to strike from above, then, instead of just running away." Tem said as he watched Asaf go.
The aasimar scoffed as he climbed. "I understand we have not gotten off to the best start, Sir Temperance, but I request you acknowledge the fact that I have earned my reputation for a reason. I am no coward."
Temperance didn't reply, watching as Asaf disappeared onto the roof. With a sigh, Tem took the heater shield from his back. The scratched and worn face of the shield depicted the faded image of a red wing crossed over by a silver sword; the holy symbol of Ragathiel. Tem didn't draw his sword yet, waiting beside the downspout. Within a minute, the Kellid had turned into the alley, pausing to see Temperance standing there waiting for him.
"Afternoon", Tem said.
The Kellid tilted his head to one side, long, brown hair draping over his shoulder. "Where's your friend?" He asked in an eerie, uncanny voice.
"Gone. You can deal with me instead." Temperance said. "Who sent you?"
"Oh, no one sent me, Temperance Tasgal. Or do you prefer 'the Hallow-Horn?'" The Kellid asked.
Tem's brow furrowed. So. It wasn't Asaf he was after.
"How do you know me." Tem demanded, reaching up and drawing his bastard sword, Forbearance. The blade hummed as it cleared the scabbard, the magic within it waiting to be unleashed. It had gained its magic by being washed in the blood of the countless demons it had slain, purified by Temperance's purpose, then sanctified by Ragathiel's will upon the tiefling's ascension to the ranks fo the Crimson Templars. Along the blade were Celestial characters spelling out a divine oath.
"How could I forget you? I watched you cut down my son in Kenabres." The Kellid said, gripping the head of his cane. Its top was a locust trapped in an oblong prison of amber. The Kellid twisted the handle, drawing out a long, thin sword from the cane. He kept a hold of the body of the walking stick in his left hand; Tem could tell at once he intended to use it as a magic focus.
"And who was your son, eh? Ragathiel would not bless me if I killed the good or the innocent." Tem challenged him. The tiefling glanced back quickly enough to see no one was behind him. He'd have to trust Asaf to ensure he wasn't ambushed from above, unfortunately. He took a few steps forward.
The Kellid did the same, his rapier held before him like a fencer would hold a weapon. "Does it matter? What kind of father would I be if I let the murder of my son go unpunished?"
"I see that locust in the pommel of your sword." Temperance growled. "Let me guess; your son served Deskari, just as you raised him to."
"And even in death, the Lord of Locusts blesses me one last time, now that I have a chance to kill you." The Kellid sneered as the two fighters closed. "Know this, Temperance Hallow-Horn; you face Cormac Blight-Needle, the last high priest of Deskari, and you shall be my final sacrifice to him."
The two lunged at each other, Cormac striking with blinding speed. The rapier rang off of Tem's shield. An arrow of acid erupted from the sheathe-wand in the Kellid man's other hand. Tem slid to the side, scarlet fire shrouding his sword as he made a backhanded slash at the demon priest. Cormac leaned backward into a handspring, landing on his feet and bringing his rapier to bear with ease. Behind Temperance, the acid smoked as it ate into the alley floor.
A high priest of a demon lord would have powerful magic. A cleric of a dead patron should have no magic at all. Did Cormac have sorcerous blood, perhaps? Or had he simply studied the arcane to regain some modicum of power since the death of Deskari at the hands of the Fifth Crusade's Knight-Commander? Whatever the case, Tem remained on guard. There was no telling what this man was capable of.
One question remained: where the Hell was Asaf?
Asaf Malid Tuqqash Yasin the Worldwalker, Heir to the Emirate of Al Tamaya, Pathfinder with a decade of service, was having a very, very bad day. Somehow, the fact that the man who had been tailing the two of them had been there for Temperance rather than Asaf only made it worse. This tiefling barged into his life barely an hour ago and had done nothing but cause trouble from minute one.
But, grumpy and bilious as Asaf was feeling, he was not so petty as to leave his unwanted comrade in the lurch in the middle of a life or death struggle. The aasimar had been preparing to launch a bolt of lightning at the man calling himself Cormac Blight-Needle when Asaf had heard the scrape of a boot behind him on the rooftop behind him. He didn't bother turning to see who was there. Asaf merely hurled himself to the side, hearing the clang of metal against stone.
The brothel that Asaf stood upon was called the Savoured Garden, named in honor of the goddess of lust and vengeance; Calistria, the Savoured Sting. It was actually a courtyard of sorts, with low couches and cushions spread about, a hip-high wall topped with a carven wooden rail running along its perimeter. Asaf was an occasional patron of the Garden, and had known the roof would be unoccupied during the daylight hours of the scorching sun. This was why he had known that, in all likelihood, his unknown companion had not been an employee or patron.
Rolling to his feet and summoning his silver spear, Asaf fell into a combat stance and waited for a renewed attack. His assailant was a hooded elven woman in dark leathers that must have been stifling. She had a dagger in each hand, the triangular stabbing blades etched with the motif of thorny vines.
"Saerwen, what a pleasant surprise!" Asaf said in a saccharine voice. "Would you mind waiting a minute? Rather terrible timing you've got, I'm in the middle of something you see, and I…"
The elf attacked, saying nothing as she advanced at speed. Asaf used his spear defensively, thrusting at Saerwen, keeping her at bay with the weapon's superior reach. Saerwen rolled under one thrust, coming up with a twin-fanged slash aimed at Asaf's face. The aasimar leaned back, feeling the point of one dagger nick his left jawline. Asaf summoned a flare of light through the spear's blade, which dazzled Saerwen and gave Asaf a chance to slip backward and stab forward at the same time. It was a defensive maneuver, not meant to be a killing blow, but he still succeeded at piercing the elf's leather armor and inflict a shallow wound to her left hip. The elf made no sound, giving no sign of being hurt even as blood oozed from the injury. She did move with noticeable favor on her uninjured hip, however.
"Sweet Desna's wings, you're still so bitter over a professional disagreement? Temper, temper, Saerwen." Asaf said, mentally preparing another spell.
Saerwen reversed her grip on her daggers, taking a lunging step forward. Asaf launched a trio of scorching rays at her, chasing the elf as she sprang aside and ran for a single stride along the railing of the low wall around the roof. She leapt over the third and final ray, intent to come down upon Asaf with both blades. Asaf stepped into her leap and thrust upward, feeling grim satisfaction as he felt the spear skewer through the elf's midsection.
Saerwen slid down the haft of the spear, her attack thrown off, slamming into Asaf. The aasimar was knocked back, falling through a chaise lounge under a limply hanging awning. He lost his grip on the spear, still embedded in Saerwen's body as it was. Drawing a curved dagger from the small of his back, Asaf rose to his feet. Saerwen was moving like a marionette with half its strings cut. Her eyes went completely black.
Asaf raised a magical barrier as beams of necrotic energy lanced from Saerwen's eyes. The barrier cracked and Asaf was knocked back several steps, but the attack was stopped. It was not a long lasting spell, and as the barrier came down, Asaf's spear came soaring in, slamming into the aasimar's right breast. He was lucky, the adamantine studs and enchanted leather stopping the worst of the attack, but the agony lancing through his right shoulder and arm caused his dagger to slip from his fingers.
Saerwen, still trailing blood, came forward for one last attack, intent to kill Asaf. However, she seemed to be missing a critical piece of information.
Asaf focused on the spear stuck in his chest. With a flash, it returned to its bracelet form on his right wrist, and a moment later it reformed into a spear in his right hand. He didn't have time to switch hands, the spear coalescing just as Saerwen was upon him. Asaf fell back, angling the spear up.
The tip pierced up through where Saerwen's chin and jaw met, up into her brain. Asaf landed hard on his back, the braced spear holding Saerwen in place as blood ran down the weapon's shaft. With a final violent twitch, the life went out of her eyes, her daggers falling to the roof. The body then dissipated into ash, along with the blood and the daggers, being taken away on the wind.
Letting out a ragged breath, Asaf lay back.. He really was going to have to track Saerwen down one of these days and figure out where these ash clones were coming from.
The clang of metal on metal stirred him from his torpor. Right. He wasn't the only one fighting.
Just as Asaf was diving aside to avoid Saerwen's initial attack, Temperance and Cormac resumed combat after their initial exchange. Cormac struck with a rapid series of thrusts, each one rocking Tem's shield. Such a method of rapier fighting was absolutely perfect for uselessly blunting the blade's point unless the blade was strengthened by magic. Tem could only assume that was the case. Either way, Cormac was clearly skilled with that sword, and one had to wonder just what he had been capable of when the Lord of the Locusts was still alive.
Temperance parried a thrust aside and swung Forbearance in a wide, burning arc, which Cormac ducked under. Tem threw a kick that struck a glancing blow off Cormac's hip, then lashed out of the rim of his shield. He struck Cormac square in the chest with the shield, which should have broken ribs, but something absorbed much of the attack's force. Cormac likely had a mage armor spell, or a ring of protection.
"I've dreamed of the ways I'll make you suffer." Cormac said, one eye twitching. "Won't be able to do that here. I think I'll just be happy with your death!"
The Kellid struck. Tem raised his shield and braced, preparing to counterattack.
Cormac blinked out of existence.
Tem let out a confused, "wha-...?" Before realizing what was happening.
The Templar tried to swivel, but was too slow. Cormac's sword found a weak point in Tem's half-plate and slipped into the gap, scraping against a rib in the tiefling's right flank. The high priest let out a triumphant, maniacal bout of laughter as he braced to drive the rapier in deeper.
With a quick flick fo the elbow and wrist, Tem bashed his enemy in the face with the diamond-shaped pommel on the end of Forbearance's hilt. He felt something break under the impact. A few teeth and a spattering of blood flew from the Cormac's mouth. Temperance tried to keep turning, to use his own body to wrench the rapier from Cormac's hand, but the priest withdrew the sword as part of his temporary retreat.
Temperance slashed twice more, pursuing Cormac, trying to bring him down before he could regain his focus. The priest rattled out a quick spell. The stone of the alley floor raised. It was not tall or wide, but it was enough for Tem to stumble over it.
Then it was Cormac's turn to go on the offensive once more. He spoke a few more arcane words. Necrotic energy shrouded his sword as he rained attacks against Temperance's defenses. The tiefling was forced back, blocking some with his shield, parrying some with Forbearance, letting his armor deflect the rest. His luck wouldn't last if he didn't do something. Eventually, Cormac would find another gap, or strike the tiefling's head.
"Be honored if Deskari greets you in death!" Cormac roared.
Temperance finally managed to parry with his shield at a good angle, giving him an opening to deliver and overhead swing at Cormac. The cultist raised his rapier and proceeded to block the attack, but was bowed under the impact. The two magic blades remained in contact, flares of arcane and scintillating sparks shooting off and pattering against the alley walls.
"Unlike you, cultist scum, my god still lives. And he fights with me!" Temperance exulted, channeling his will through Forbearance.
The flames of Ragathiel were no ordinary fire. They were the primordial flame of the elementals in brilliant union with the holy radiance of Heaven. The flames shimmering along Forbearance kicked up as if stirred by a whirlwind, becoming a raging inferno. Cormac's sword, enchanted it may have been, became red-hot, then orange, then…
It gave way, bending back.
Forbearance chopped down into Cormac's torso, overwhelming the man's magical defenses. The sword crunched through the cultist's collar bone, continuing on its grizzly path until it became lodged in his ribs. The burning blade caused flesh to singe and char, blood to boil and hiss. Not about to give his enemy a chance for a last, desperate attack, Temperance planted a foot against Cormac's ribs and shoved, ripping Forbearance free as he did. Cormac flopped to the floor of the alley, gasping as blood pooled around him. He choked, trying and failing to speak the verbal component of a spell.
Temperance stood over his enemy, raising Forbearance high, foot planted on the wrist of Cormac's wand hand.
"'Upon my blade, sinner, find peace'", Temperance intoned the oath that was etched along Forbearance's length. With a final downstroke, Cormac's head came free from his body. The cultist shuddered, then fell still.
With a sigh, Tem watched as the flames of Forbearance burned away the blood and offal of Cormac's body that still clung to the steel. His wound pained him but in his heart was righteous satisfaction.
The cult of Deskari had caused untold suffering to Golarion, for Locust Lord was the primary driving force behind the opening of the Worldwound, alongside foul Baphomet and the now redeemed Nocticula. Tem could do nothing about the other two; Baphomet's following had been reduced by the Crusade, his power shaken, but the conniving Lord of Labyrinths remained. Nocticula, once Queen of the Succubi, was now a full-fledged goddess who no longer gave magic to evil followers. Temperance harbored mixed feelings toward the Redeemer Queen and her followers, having battled against servants of Nocticula for years.
But here, in this alley between a tavern and a brothel, Temperance had cut down the last high priest of Deskari, gotten to see the cultist fight in so reduced and desperate a state. True justice was all too rare on Golarion. Here, Tem had meted it out, and in his heart, he could feel the approval of Ragathiel's gaze for a few moments.
"This victory is yours, General of Vengeance." Tem muttered, bringing the crossguard of his bastard sword to his lips before sheathing the cleaned blade. Finally, he looked up toward the brothel's roof. "I can see how you earned that reputation of yours!" The tiefling barked, a new rage building in him.
Asaf emerged, disheveled and with blood running down his shoulder. Tem's anger died away as he saw this.
"I am going to let that pass." Asaf retorted, reaching into his bag of holding. "You have any healing potions?"
Tem shook his head. "Was going to buy some before we left."
"Here." Asaf said, tossing a small, clear bottle of pink-red liquid down, which Tem caught. He produced another for himself.
Tem drank the potion, which was much sweeter than the mass produced ones he was used to choking down. At once, he could feel the flesh in his wounded side knitting together.
"Thanks", the tiefling said. "What the Hell happened? He have an accomplice?"
"No", Asaf replied as he began scaling down the downspout. "An…old acquaintance of mine chose a very, very poor time to show up. Was likely also waiting for me, just as your friend Cormac was for you."
Tem looked to the headless cultist. Past him, bystanders were gawking into the alley. The guards would arrive soon.
"This demon worshiping filth was no friend to me." Tem said, resisting the urge to spit on the corpse. The man was dead, the battle won, justice served, vengeance achieved. It was time to move on.
"Clearly." Asaf said as he observed the butchered and burned remains. "I suppose we shall have to speak to the guards."
"Aye." Tem said, not relishing the idea.
"Well, let's get it done, then." Asaf said, passing around the congealing pool of blood around Cormac and walking on, Temperance following close behind.
As the two of them left the alley and almost immediately encountered a group of guards, they were unaware of a quartet of individuals watching them from further back. Their leader, a gaunt looking gnome, had a humorless smile across his face.
How popular you two are. The gnome, called Valisthas, thought to himself. How unfortunate you are not alone as I was expecting, dear Asaf. In truth, it been the gnome's doing to let slip to Saerwen that Asaf had been without his always present bodyguard. It was deeply frowned upon for a Pathfinder to move against another Pathfinder. One had to be careful unless one wished to lose the connections and benefits that being part of the Society provided.
"What now, boss?" A half-orc woman, Korta, asked the gnome. For a half-orc, she was short and thin, wearing dark, light chainmail.
Valisthas sniffed. "The tiefling's presence changes things. A supremely bad turn of luck for us."
"Or Desna favors him." Suggested a Taldan human woman, Theadocia. She wore clean, sleeveless hides and leaned on a staff of pale wood.
"As I said. Bad luck." Valisthas muttered, turning on his heel to pass by the fourth and final member of the group.
Tracker-Slayer Model 54 frowned as Valisthas walked by. She looked like a dark-skinned human at first glance, average in height with a stocky build. There were bright blue, angular lines beneath her skin, revealing her nature as an android.
"I can take him with one shot. No one will know." TS said, reaching back to touch the Alkenstar-forged rifle across her back.
"Ah, yes, and when they find Asaf Worldwalker with a bullet in his body at the same time as his well-known rivals are in Absalom, one of whom fights with guns, it won't be suspicious at all." Valisthas shook his head and scoffed. "I am a patient man, TS. Asaf will pay for what he has done, rest most assured. Now, come. Vengeance is more easily obtained with the coin to fund it."
13th Sarenith, 4721 AR
Absalom, the Isle of Kortos
The meeting with Lady Damaq had been awkward, to say the least. Tem was helpless in a situation that required formal etiquette. Luckily, Temperance had not been expected to do any of the talking. Lady Damaq had given them a good dinner and a place to rest and recover from their ordeal earlier in the day, pointing them in the direction of the recently formed nation of Ravounel. The leader of Ravounel, Domina Jilia Bainilus, was constantly seeking ways by which it might further ensure its freedom from Infernal Cheliax. Temperance had been all for this option. Anything that hurt the ambitions of that nation run by devil summoning tyrants was a good thing.
Temperance and Asaf walked along the docks of Absalom. This was, almost certainly, the busiest part of the city at any given time. Thousands of people were embarking or disembarking, loading cargo, checking manifests, inspecting crates, haggling prices, hauling in fish. The number of languages one could hear was only outnumbered by the variety of ships in the harbor. From the Lands of the Linnorm Kings came the drakka longships, infamous for raiding and famed for trading. Swift dhows from the Mwangi nation of Senghor bobbed up and down, their single sails slack. A single powerful Taldoran galleon, bristling with ballistae and even a couple of cannons, stood imposingly over its neighbors.
Asaf had stopped and spoken to a few of the spokespeople standing near their ships, ready to negotiate on passage or cargo rates or to sign on new crew members. One of them had even been bound to the place they needed to go; the Ravoun capital of Kintargo.
"Won't any of these ships do?" Temperance asked as they walked along.
"We must find the right one, Sir Temperance." Asaf responded as if it was obvious.
"Then we should be stopping to ask them all where they're going so we can figure out if we're going to the same place." Tem said.
Asaf looked back at Tem like the tiefling was moon-touched. "How many shipborne journeys have you made in your life, Sir Temperance?"
"Uhm…the one I took to get here." Tem replied.
"I have taken more than I can count. And trust me; there are certain things one must take into account before one throws themself on the deck of the first ship that seems serviceable." Asaf assured him.
Tem found himself more curious as to what exactly Asaf thought these "certain things" were than actually trusting of the aasimar's judgement. He held his peace, for the moment.
A short time later, they reached the gangplank of a three-masted brig. The hull was painted black below the waterline, the sails solid sheets of dark fabric. Below the gunwales on either side of the prow were painted the words "Godray", which seemed like a strange name for a ship with so much dark color. Standing at the foot of the gangplank was a Mwangi human woman in a bright vest and loose pants. Nautical tattoos covered her exposed arms, stomach, and lower back. A red bandana held bushy hair from her face.
Asaf saw the woman, a smile forming on his face, and he approached her.
Temperance rolled his eyes. It turned out "certain things" meant "pretty crew members."
Asaf dipped his head and said. "A lovely afternoon to you, miss. May I ask your name and your position on this lovely example of shipwrighting. Looks to me like something whose keel was laid by Durnfel and Associates in Oppara, unless I'm mistaken? The Selpicaeus Shipyards in Westcrown produce a similar profile, I know, but I don't believe the angle from bow to keel is so sharp on them."
"You've a fine eye for ships, sir. She was laid down by Durnefls' lot, indeed." The sailor said, beaming with an approving smile. "My name is Kidist. I'm first mate aboard the Godray, under Captain Valonqar."
"Lord Asaf Yasin, but please Asaf will suit perfectly. Tell me, good Kidist, where is Godray bound?" Asaf said as he approached.
The sailor spoke cordially. "Ravounel. Bound to go with the next tide, up through the Dismal Nitch to the capital at Kitargo."
Asaf held out some coin. "Is there room on your vessel for two passengers?"
"Sure is, if you're willing to share a billet." She nodded towards Tem. "Who's your…friend?"
"He's…" Asaf began, stopping himself. He had been about to say not my friend, Tem was sure. Understandable.
"Sir Temperance Tasgal, Crimson Templars." The tiefling said. "We're on Pathfinder Society business."
"Ah." Kidist said. "Well, you're welcome aboard the Godray, if that's your wish. Five gold for passage there. Lowered to two silvers if you plan on working on the way. Swabbing the deck, tarring lines, peeling potatoes in the gally; that sort of thing. No cost if you do the work and sleep with the crew."
Asaf started handing over a platinum piece, worth ten gold coins. However, Tem waved him off, passing two silvers to Kidist.
"I'll work." The tiefling said. "But I admit, I spent enough time in barracks and bunkhouses for one lifetime."
Kidist looked from the platinum piece up to Temperance. She grinned, taking Tem's silver. "I'll have the bosun assign you a watch."
"I work people hard on my ship, Sir Knight. I hope you don't regret this choice." A new voice said from above.
Tem, Asaf, and Kidist all looked up, towards the rail. A woman in a long, bright yellow coat looked down at them with a rakish smile. Her skin was the same blue as the clear sky behind her. Shoulder length, glossy hair the color of kelp in sunlight spilled from beneath her tricorn hat. Sunlight glinted off the many steel rings piercing her ears. Tem thought her to be a sea elf at first, but her finned ears weren't long enough, her features not sharp enough. A half-elf then, the other half of her parentage appearing to be one of the Tian peoples, likely Tian-Shu or Tian-Hwan.
"Yifeng Valonqar. Captain of the Godray." The half-elf with with a slight wave of one hand, gesturing to herself with a flourish. It was a Tian-Shu first name.
"Hard work's fine by me." Tem replied. "Idle hands would drive me nuts at this point."
"Well. I think we're going to get along just fine, then. And you, sir?" Yifeng asked Asaf.
Asaf put his platinum away, producing five gold coins. "I shall gladly pass. Have research to do, you understand."
Yifeng shrugged. "Makes no difference to me, sir. You're paying, after all." She gestured to the gap in the gunwale where the gangplank led. "Welcome aboard the Godray."
Tem adjusted his own bag of holding across his shoulders and started onto the ship.
"Mistress Kidist. Would you do me the honor of a tour of this vessel?" Asaf asked as he ascended himself.
"I'd be glad to after we cast off, my lord." Kidist replied easily.
"Splendid." The aasimar enthused.
Doesn't seem like there's much to tour. Temperance thought as he walked up the gangplank, coming up to Yifeng's level. She appraised him with one eye of seafoam green. The other, her right eye, was covered by a leather patch with the image of a stormcloud emitting a lightning bolt burned into it. A broad, single-edged sword hung from her hip. The blunt side had nine steel rings threaded through it, while the bladed side was protected by a leather guard. Somehow, the rings did not rattle as Yifen moved.
"You're a devotee of the Duke of Thunder, I see." Tem noted as Kidist and Asaf came up behind him, the first mate showing Asaf to the billet he would be sharing with Temperance.
Hei Feng was widely worshipped by mariners and coastal dwellers in the continent of Tian Xia. Famous for indulging in wine and for his wild mood swings, Hei Feng was the god of sailors, storms, wine, and the race of humanoid avians known as the tengu. In fact, Hei Feng was most often depicted in a art as a tengu.
Yifeng's smile was broad and proud. "That's right. I was named for Hei Feng by my father. He's a ship captain, too, and both of us know the wisdom of staying in the Storming Tengu's good graces while in his domain. Not many people know about him outside of Tian Xia."
Tem shrugged. "I am devoted to Ragathiel. Few know of him anywhere, compared to other gods. I encountered a lot of different faiths while in the Worldwound. I've made it a point to learn as many as I can. I was good friends with a paladin of Angradd the Forge-Fire, brother of Torag, and a swordswoman dedicated to Shizuru, Empress of the Sun." He thought for a moment. "Do I have time to go to a wine merchant? It's my understanding Hei Feng likes an offering of wine before leaving on a journey.
Yifeng nodded, and there was appreciation in her voice. "I give one to him each time we cast off. The Duke of Storms would like it if you would join me, I'm sure."
"Good." Tem said, turning around.
"I'll have to hear more about this Ragathiel of yours. And the Worldwound." Yifeng said before Tem could walk away.
Tem smiled at her, feeling the beginnings of an easy friendship already forming. "Then I guess I'll have to buy a second bottle of wine. We'll have to trade some stories of battles won and deeds done."
"Sagas and wine without being asked. Your friend Asaf better watch out. I might end up keeping you on board if you're not careful." Yifeng said with a wink.
Tem chuckled, walking down the gangplank, feeling good about the journey that lay ahead.