The Journey South & the Beating Drum

Highhelm

There are many beginnings in the land of Golarion, and quite a few get their impetus from the call to adventure.  Others seek the fortunes far afield while others look only to the possibility of glory.  Drogan Anvilsong's story holds these things, but the first beats of the drum hold the rhythms of an error.  One that sees a dwarf stepping away from the duties of an Archivist in Highhelm to take up the more unlikely mantle of Traveling Bard.  Drogan's heart is bent towards singular goal, but along the way if he can spread the legend of the dwarves...and his own exploits, so be it.

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Drogan's initial meeting with Agidor engenders a curiosity about the human guitarist that the dwarf finds hard to deny. Ever the hunter of grand, sweeping arcs traditional to dwarven lore, the intricacies of Agidor’s personality and history is like running his eyes over the finely carved lines of his ancestral drum.  These were the kinds of stories he'd hoped to find outside Highhelm.  That and the book...

So Agidor, a human of entertaining persuasions, convinces the dwarven bard to accompany him on his performances in the Admiral’s Fen for the next month. In doing so it becomes readily apparent that the human could gain audience with just about any establishment in the cleaner districts. The question in Drogan’s mind is ‘why’, and the first mystery about the man. Why does he insist upon staying in the wretched warrens of Admiral’s Fen? Time reveals much. Drogan, an observant dwarf by nature, is lent an eye into Agidor Lim'ehl’s life in the Fen. There are very few in the sodden slums that don’t know him, and few taverns that are willing to turn him away at the offer of a performance. In fact the accommodations while in Agidor’s company are downright clean...a boon if ever there was one to be had in the Fen.

If pushed into a position where his words and charms can’t extricate him, Agidor’s good in a fight. He keeps a short sword handy, hidden in his pack among sheet music and tools to care for his guitar. And he’s got the knack of producing a dagger or two from up his sleeves in a pinch. Those occasions when combat is necessary have been in the exclusive purview of Agidor’s ‘other’ job. The bard traffics in information, serving as an equal opportunity merchant when it comes to local scum or the destitute eking out an existence in town or in the surrounding serfdoms. The men and women of ill-repute need information on the movements of Taldan Phalanx...and while Agidor somehow provides this he exacts a price not in gold, but in equal service. A bandit group avoiding a patrol may encounter notions of the next shipment of hard tack or cotton and provide a few names friendly to the beardless half-castes of society on how to acquire a bit for themselves.

Cassomir

Drogan quickly knew Agidor was a good performer, a virtuoso with a stringed instrument and a gravely tenor perfect for the sometimes darker and baudier songs requested by their audiences. But the dwarf wondered at how well the man danced socially. The human walked a fine line of danger, making sure one side didn’t think he was betraying the other by reassuring them he was simply a broker...a middle man...and conduit.

The days and nights pass in the Fen. Drogan coming to acquaint himself with the strange ethos of the district. He marvels at the number of halflings and gnomes that populate the area and comes to an unfortunate realization that there’s not a good number of dwarves with the ranking example being the owner of the Scarlet Knuckle, the foul mouthed (in more than one sense) Outhouse. Other’s he’s run across seem keen to keep to their own, a behavior Drogan continues when it comes to his secretive past. That he doesn’t press or pry is a characteristic Drogan enjoys about Agidor.

30 days is a long time spend with someone. Time enough to know a person’s quality, and in the Fen, time enough to know he’ll stick by you in a fight. A particularly nasty group of human sailors found that out the hard way after getting a bit zealous on their estimations of Drogan’s heritage. One lost an eye, another a hand...and well the duo gave a lot more than they got by the end of that little vignette.

Now, the two are performing in the Scarlet Knuckle for the second time in the month. A few of the faces are familiar, two in particular belonging to another human named Karl Marsh - a hardcase and a foul-tongued loner but someone Agidor indicates can be trusted. The second a Halfling with more than his fair share of human pragmatism to mix with his innate guile and wits name of Linkah. Both of which are now seated at a table with Linkah’s brother and a newcomer, another human of steady gate and steadier gaze.

Earlier in the evening, Agidor had told Drogan that he’d managed to gain a meeting with Marcum who had a line on a few individuals looking to deal in small carvings and books, the end goal being to ship something to Absalom. Agidor also mentions that this Marcum has found a person in the City at the Center of the World who is willing to take on a few students and even make an opening into the White Grotto should they prove themselves worthy. And Agidor has made the extra effort to ensure Drogan - should he be up for it - is included in the ‘travel plans’.

But Agidor warns in his customary full disclosure, that the arrangements for travel to Absalom will come with a price not of coin, but of service. So before they agree, they should hear out the offer Marcum has concocted. This Marcum, he cautions, treads a more dangerous line than even Agidor, for he also must balance the waxing and waning violence of the Dog’s Teeth and its ruler, Tarik the Unclean.

Drogan taps along the hide surface of his drum and considers the possibilities...

Soon the dwarf finds himself plunging into the dredges of Cassomir, a dark quarter called the Dog's Teeth.  He's joined by an unusual band of companions with the task of escorting Linkah to Marcum's Shop.  There, Drogan hopes to find answers to a few questions of his own.