Chrysagon, Dellrak, & Rodrigo
Having finished their shopping, three of the allies make their way to the home of Alistair Bol, Paladin of Elturel. The wealthy foreigner's villa was up the steep stairs of Mount Sibasa (the top of which held the Temple of Waukeen, the Hall of Gold), not far from the public Bathhouse. The light rain and oppressive heat, combined with the efforts of climbing the stairs, made the small group damper on the inside than they were on the outside, now that they had their impressive light raincoats. The door was answered by a young servant, who offered to take their coats and provided much-welcome towels and clean drinking water, before they were brought before the man himself.
The Order of the Gauntlet representative sat on large cushions on a covered balcony. It was the coolest spot that the group had experienced since arriving in Chult, but still the large man sweated profusely while being fanned with large fronds by two servants. A beautiful but practical suit of amour was in the hall on the way to the balcony, and while it was clear that this man had once worn it to distinction, it was also clear that he would no longer fit in it if he tried. At any rate, it was far too warm to wear such a heavy suit, and servants must have polished it every day to stop it from tarnishing.
"Welcome friends! Have some cold meat, goat's cheese, fruit, and more water." he offered, trays of the food being passed around by servants. "I trust you are finding it as excessively hot here as I do, damn the place."
He took a long drink of water and wiped his brow, "Thank you for coming. Our attempts to solve this riddle of the Death-Curse have hit dead-ends, I'm afraid, and I have no leads to give you. On the other hand, I have many tasks that may (or may not) help you to finding new leads. Both of the tasks I have in mind may involve undead in some form: The Order of the Gauntlet has committed considerable resources toward keeping the undead that plague the depths of the jungle from invading the city. We would destroy them all if it were possible! But the effort is made to drive them back, in the very least. To that end, we founded Camp Righteous about a hundred and fifty miles up the River Soshenstar. I received regular reports on their progress. Several weeks ago that stopped, and I sent a loyal squire named Perne and a small force to discover why. She has not returned."
Alistair Bol shook his head sadly, "This seems to be my curse lately! More recently, there were reports of people going missing in the Old City. One of the men who went missing was drinking Tej with friends when he suddenly stood up and said 'Death calls to me!' and left the group. They, thinking the man was joking and meant to urinate, did not follow him. He did not return. I sent a hired agent by the name of Derio to look into it. That was three days ago. He, also has gone missing, it seems."
He ate a large slice of meat and washed it down with some cool water and continued, "So, if you are brave and willing, a jungle expedition to Camp Righteous would be most helpful. I can provide guides, or the money to hire your own. (I can understand the desire to interview any potential companions yourselves.) If you are not ready to leave the city, then I ask that you see if you can discover the fate of Derio. My associates in the Alliance of the Open Hand may also have other tasks for you. All of them are urgent, so I respect that you will choose what you think suits your skills best, and I will have to find others to attempt whatever you cannot."
