Djoser watches as the thugs flee. He shakes his head, then turns to his companions with a glint of righteous fire in his eyes and says in a calm, deliberate voice. "Waukeen’s coin flows to those who deal fair, not to those who steal what they did not earn. Let me tell you: there was once a thief who stole a scale from a shrine to the Lady of Trade. Every time he tried to use it, his goods spoiled, his deals soured, and even his shadow fled him. When he died penniless, his spirit went for judgement. When weighed, it was light on one side and heavy with shame on the other."
"Thieves cheat not just their victims, but themselves. What is taken without consent carries no blessing. Waukeen turns her face from such hands, and her favor is not easily regained."
"To protect trade is to protect civilization itself. Let no one ever say we stood idle while coin was stolen and honest work threatened."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * Serge Marshblade - Human - Lvl 5 Eldritch Knight - Hoard of the Dragon Queen
DM -(Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown *Red Dead Annihilation: ToA *Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War
((Awesome RP all - from Tahlia's lyricism to Vic's roguish solo act to Archael's benevolent noble act to Djoser's righteous tirade! Inspiration points all around!))
((Vic enters a chase sequence. Her first stealth roll fails and the Thugs attempt to evade her with a 7 Stealth roll at disadvantage due to their leader's wounds. In addition to her 9 she rolls a 21 Perception and easily keeps track of where they duck off to and stealth twice more as she continues to tail them: 27 and a 10 - both successes. [in log]))
What Vic encounters:
Vic slipped into the shadows like she was born there, boots silent against the soot-streaked stone. The thugs spotted her at first, glancing nervously over their shoulders as they hustled their wounded leader through the alleys. They doubled back twice, ducked through narrow service corridors, even paused beneath a cargo crane hoping to lose her.
They thought themselves clever. They weren’t.
Dragging the heavy, barely-walking thug leader slowed them, and Vic quickly read their rhythm—how they moved, where they checked for tails, how they adjusted course as if trained to evade pursuit. Once she caught the pattern, it was like reading an open ledger. They couldn’t see her, but she saw them clearly.
The trail led her deep into the industrial underbelly of Duragaaz, where the smoke hung thick and the air tasted like burnt copper. Here stood their destination: a ramshackle compound pressed tightly against a vein of exposed, glittering ore, its sharp edges lit by dull red work-lamps.
The Compound
The structure sprawled across several linked buildings, each made from stacked shipping containers, bolted scrap metal, and salvaged stone, forming a mismatched patchwork of habitation and storage.
A makeshift fence circled the entire perimeter — not proper fortifications, but a crude barricade of sheet iron, rusted beams, and cargo pallets lashed together with wire and chain.
Watchtowers—little more than raised platforms with mounted ballistae—stood at three corners, manned by thugs wearing piecemeal armor and heavy goggles against the smog.
The only proper entrance was a battered sliding gate, reinforced with riveted plates and guarded by four armed enforcers who scanned the streets with lazy suspicion.
Along the upper scaffolds, oil lamps flickered, revealing glimpses of movement behind dirty cloth banners stamped with a crimson serpent insignia — likely the mark of whoever these thugs served.
Vic watched from her vantage point as the bruised gang approached the gate. The leader grunted something under his breath, and one of the guards laughed, opening the gate just wide enough for them to slip inside.
The gate slid shut behind them with a deep metallic groan, leaving Vic alone in the smoky half-light, unseen but watching.
What the other's learn from the dwarf at the dock:
The dwarf adjusted his pince-nez with trembling fingers, his face pale beneath his bristled beard. Scrolls clutched to his chest, he offered Archael a quick, grateful nod.
“Ah, y-yes, many thanks, my lord… truly.”
His voice lowered to a whisper, eyes darting nervously toward the far alleys as though expecting the thugs to return at any moment.
“But you must understand… they were only runners. Underlings. The real power here—the Ravagers—they run Duragaaz now. A mob of bullies, extortionists. They’ve got their hooks in every trade, every shipment, every dock post.”
He swallowed hard, voice tightening.
“You’ve done right, standing up to them—but also made yourselves visible. No one crosses them without paying dearly. They’ll come... or send others. You may find leaving here, or trading, far more expensive than you hoped.”
His eyes dropped to the scrolls, his voice growing quieter.
“It wasn’t always like this. The miners, the traders — we built this port. But now we just... endure.”
The dwarf sighed heavily, defeated but too afraid to say more aloud. The unspoken words hung heavily between them.
The young white-haired waterdhavian noble nods and gives the dwarf a concerned look, bjt there is also a glint in his eyes. Perhaps this was also a a business opportunity for the newly formed franchise. "It would seem you deserve better here, having these uncouth bullies running things can't possibly be good for business. Perhaps we can somehow help you with that if we knew more about these Ravagers and whoever is their current top bully."Archael offers, glancing over at Tahlia and Djoser for their thoughts on this prospect.
Tahlia sighs, listening to the dwarf relay the situation here on this asteroid. She wondered were things like it was here on many inhabited areas? What was law out in realmspace? Whoever dealt the biggest blow ruled them all?
The elf nods when Archael glances over and then looks to the dwarf, "What's your name? We are here to get some material for our ship, if you could point us in the right direction so our mechanic can get started on that, we would like to hear more about what is going on here."
Djoser listens as the others speak, asking more questions about these Ravagers. Then he listens to Vic's report. At last, he folds his arms across his chest and says, “The Ravagers are not our mission. Trade is.”
He glances toward the harbor, where their ship waits for repair, then back to the others. “We protect merchants when we can. We do not topple syndicates. That’s not commerce... that’s conquest.” He pauses only a beat before adding: “It is noble to consider helping in a more meaningful way. Now is not the time. We get what we came for. We leave. Then, if the Golden Lady wills it, we return stronger.”
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * Serge Marshblade - Human - Lvl 5 Eldritch Knight - Hoard of the Dragon Queen
DM -(Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown *Red Dead Annihilation: ToA *Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War
"Well, while I fully agree trade is out mission, at least gathering some more information while we wait for reparations can't be a waste of time. While possibly not able to topple any syndicates at this point it could lead to profitable business in the not far future I believe. And to be clear, it wouldn't be a conquest, merely supporting a better and more reliable trading partner to have control over this place, one that would be grateful enough to sign for our franchise beneficial trading agreements for our future trading network." Archael suggests, but not seeming insistent on any specific course of action at this point.
Tahlia listens to the exchange between the two men, then heads over to Bramble. "How long do you anticipate needing to be docked here before we head out?" Then back to the rest of the group, "I do feel our priority is to make sure we can leave safely.. I didn't like how we were brought in, not getting a warm feeling that we will be able to leave at our own free will."
"Indeed, our priority should always be our safety, I'm merely suggesting using the time until we can leave for something that might prove useful later on. If you feel it to be too risky to leave the ship I won't argue any further."Archael says calmly.
Tahlia sighs, listening to the dwarf relay the situation here on this asteroid. She wondered were things like it was here on many inhabited areas? What was law out in realmspace? Whoever dealt the biggest blow ruled them all?
The elf nods when Archael glances over and then looks to the dwarf, "What's your name? We are here to get some material for our ship, if you could point us in the right direction so our mechanic can get started on that, we would like to hear more about what is going on here."
The dwarf adjusts his pince-nez and clears his throat. "Name's Marzel Vyne. I’m the senior dock clerk here, or at least I was before those Ravagers came crawling out of the slag pits. Look... you might want to speak with Chief Engineer Yorrick Grunthane—he ran this place when it worked like it ought to. Knows the old systems, the ore contracts, the local guilds. He might have a line on the parts your mechanic needs. If he’s still got any clout left... well, maybe you can make a deal."
Tahlia listens to the exchange between the two men, then heads over to Bramble. "How long do you anticipate needing to be docked here before we head out?" Then back to the rest of the group, "I do feel our priority is to make sure we can leave safely.. I didn't like how we were brought in, not getting a warm feeling that we will be able to leave at our own free will."
Bramble, rubbing soot from his palms with a kerchief, gives her a firm nod. "Not wrong there, miss. I've patched what I can, but we still need that part to make the helm reliable. I can’t just conjure it up from copper shavings. If this Yorrick Grunthane’s got a stash or knows a foundry that can help, we’d best see him first. No spindle inverter coupler, no proper flight—simple as that."
The party follows Marzel Vyne, the harried dwarven dock clerk, through soot-stained corridors and across metal-plated catwalks that tremble underfoot. The station is dimly lit with flickering arc-lanterns, and the deeper they go, the more the industrial clamor gives way to muffled silence. Finally, they reach a broad iron door etched with old guild symbols.
Marzel raps twice, then ushers them in. Inside, the air is thick with pipe smoke and the scent of machine oil.
Behind a cluttered desk sits Chief Engineer Yorrick Grunthane — a broad-shouldered, gray-bearded dwarf with burn marks on his gloves and a thick leather apron crusted with dried flux. His expression is tired, but sharp eyes scan the group with curiosity as he rises.
"Hrmmm, merchants bold enough to come here on their own legs,” he grumbles with a wry grin. “Or foolish enough, I s’pose. Don't get many of either.”
He gestures to battered stools around a drafting table and sets down a thick cogwheel he’d been inspecting.
“You’ve heard some, I’m sure — Ravagers. Thugs, pirates, mercs — they came two cycles ago, pushed out what passed for our station militia, and made themselves lords of the rock. They don’t want to run trade, mind you — just bleed it. Toll every ship, seize half the cargo, take bribes just to let repair crews work in peace. Every honest merchant’s either been run off or bled dry.”
He lights a long-stemmed pipe as the party describe their landing, their long term trade mission for Volo and the part they need for their ship. Yorrick takes a slow puff, then continues.
“Your mechanic’s lookin’ for a coupler. Proper one for a helm system like yours needs an archsteel chassis. There might be one intact in the old scrapyard. Place is crawling with salvaged junk, good place to lose old parts — and maybe some newer ones the Ravagers have lifted and dumped there.”
Yorrick leans in, voice low and earnest.
“But listen. That scrapyard? It’s in Ravager hands. You go pokin’ around there, someone’s bound to take notice. Still, you look like the type that don’t scare easy…”
He taps ash into a tray, then fixes them with a serious stare.
“If you were to deal with the Ravagers — permanently — the miners and traders down here would see it done proper. We’d sign your company on as our official trade syndicate. Favorable terms. Long-term contracts. Supplies, repairs, ores — all locked in. This asteroid could host a proper franchise for you, holding in the stars.”
The party can:
Attempt to sneak into the scrap yard and liberate any parts they find.
Take out the Ravengers at their base, securing a foothold for their franchise.
Try to deal with the Ravengers for the parts they need.
or, try to leave the asteroid and find the parts elsewhere.
As they step inside the young white-haired noble briefly wrinkles his nose at the odor but then takes on a polite if somewhat strained smile as he listens to the Chief Engineer. "While we are certainly interested in doing good business here we would need to know much more about these ravagers before we make this decision I think. What can you tell us about them? Who leads them? How many are they? Do they have spell casters among them?" Archael asks with calm confidence.
“Aye, smart of you to ask first — wouldn’t want to go knockin’ on doors without knowin’ who answers ‘em. The Ravagers aren’t one crew. They’re a patchwork of ex-mercs, privateers, even failed adventurers. But they all bow to one now…”
He glances around nervously before lowering his voice.
"Aye... Cragbrow’s the name that holds this asteroid in its iron fist. Grinn Cragbrow. Dwarf, if you believe it—though nothing about him’s right anymore. Word is he used to run with mercs out in the Sea of Swords, took a siege stone to the jaw and laughed it off. Metal plates now hold that ugly grin together, and he lives for control. Doesn’t bark orders, mind you—just stares, and folk do what he wants like they were born to it. I haven’t seen him in weeks, but his captains... aye, they run the place day-to-day."
He sighs, kneeling to roll out a worn map of the station. Ironfound Map
"First you’ve got Korga 'Spineshank' Thuln. Half-ogre with a spine like a butcher’s rack and a temper twice as sharp. Thinks he’s funny, always jabbing folk with his serrated cleaver and calling it ‘foreplay.’ He runs the ore yards and scrapyard on the west rim. That’s where your part might be, if it hasn’t been stripped or melted down already. The junkyard's locked tight—Korga don’t let anyone near it unless you’re one of his brutes or a corpse."
He taps the northwest quarter of the map.
"Then there’s Saphra Vexx. Elf, maybe half—twitchy as a kicked wasp’s nest. She’s fast, smart, mean as anything, and dangerous in the dark. Runs the docks and controls incoming cargo and bribes from traders still desperate or dumb enough to dock here. No ship lands without her say-so, and she’s got a crew of sharpshooters and smoke-bomb freaks keeping eyes on everything. She’s usually holed up in the east tower with her spies."
He moves a thick finger to the high stack near the eastern platforms. Vic thinks this might be where she followed the thugs to.
"Last is Brother Vult. Human, or was. Tall, bald, always wears red and black—preacher of some gutter faith about flames and 'cleansing rot from the stars.' Don’t mistake his muttering for madness though; Vult’s clever. Runs the slag furnaces in the lower foundry—where they burn waste, bodies, and sometimes prisoners. He’s the one the others won’t cross. If they’re Cragbrow’s fist, Vult is his whisper—and his leash. He’s got fanatics down there... and not just human ones."
He points at the south-end industrial sector, where pipes and smoke thicken into a labyrinth of steel and soot.
Yorrick rolls the map back up slowly.
"You take one of them out, Cragbrow notices. Take two, he moves. Take all three? You might just draw him out of that bunker of his. And if you do..." He looks up with grim resolve. "Then this place might just breathe again."
Tahlia is silent as she takes in all this new information and studies the map that is laid out before them. "Well, I think we need to deal with Korga at the very least. Take out one of these captains, get the part we need and see how that effects this Cragbrow. That would settle two things, the part and get an idea how strong these guys are. As Djoser said, we might have to come back when we're stronger... but, if we can handle it and it secures a foothold for our franchise, it's a win-win!"
She smiles at this, obviously looking forward to some confrontation with the way these dwarves here were being treated.
((Archael listens to the response, gleaning details between the lines, succeeding an insight check (3d6 roll equaled 10 rolled in log is < 13 (10+ his 3 insight bonus))))
Archael's Insight:
Sounds like these are mostly brutes of strength, speed, and in some cases intelligence. At the same time, he recognizes the likelihood that they are augmented by magical items the Ravagers likely have picked up over time - (e.g. who commands without giving orders?). There are also likely some low level spell casters in the crews, but mainly of the non-wizard type as they don't sound like the sort of group that has had opportunities to support someone who takes the time to study magic. This Brother Vult though sounds a bit more likely to have magic at his aid - possibly necromancy or transmutation? possibly a warlock or a sorcerer of some kind?
Djoser watches as the thugs flee. He shakes his head, then turns to his companions with a glint of righteous fire in his eyes and says in a calm, deliberate voice. "Waukeen’s coin flows to those who deal fair, not to those who steal what they did not earn. Let me tell you: there was once a thief who stole a scale from a shrine to the Lady of Trade. Every time he tried to use it, his goods spoiled, his deals soured, and even his shadow fled him. When he died penniless, his spirit went for judgement. When weighed, it was light on one side and heavy with shame on the other."
"Thieves cheat not just their victims, but themselves. What is taken without consent carries no blessing. Waukeen turns her face from such hands, and her favor is not easily regained."
"To protect trade is to protect civilization itself. Let no one ever say we stood idle while coin was stolen and honest work threatened."
PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * Serge Marshblade - Human - Lvl 5 Eldritch Knight - Hoard of the Dragon Queen
DM - (Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown * Red Dead Annihilation: ToA * Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War
((Awesome RP all - from Tahlia's lyricism to Vic's roguish solo act to Archael's benevolent noble act to Djoser's righteous tirade! Inspiration points all around!))
((Vic enters a chase sequence. Her first stealth roll fails and the Thugs attempt to evade her with a 7 Stealth roll at disadvantage due to their leader's wounds. In addition to her 9 she rolls a 21 Perception and easily keeps track of where they duck off to and stealth twice more as she continues to tail them: 27 and a 10 - both successes. [in log]))
What Vic encounters:
Vic slipped into the shadows like she was born there, boots silent against the soot-streaked stone. The thugs spotted her at first, glancing nervously over their shoulders as they hustled their wounded leader through the alleys. They doubled back twice, ducked through narrow service corridors, even paused beneath a cargo crane hoping to lose her.
They thought themselves clever.
They weren’t.
Dragging the heavy, barely-walking thug leader slowed them, and Vic quickly read their rhythm—how they moved, where they checked for tails, how they adjusted course as if trained to evade pursuit. Once she caught the pattern, it was like reading an open ledger. They couldn’t see her, but she saw them clearly.
The trail led her deep into the industrial underbelly of Duragaaz, where the smoke hung thick and the air tasted like burnt copper. Here stood their destination: a ramshackle compound pressed tightly against a vein of exposed, glittering ore, its sharp edges lit by dull red work-lamps.
The Compound
The structure sprawled across several linked buildings, each made from stacked shipping containers, bolted scrap metal, and salvaged stone, forming a mismatched patchwork of habitation and storage.
A makeshift fence circled the entire perimeter — not proper fortifications, but a crude barricade of sheet iron, rusted beams, and cargo pallets lashed together with wire and chain.
Watchtowers—little more than raised platforms with mounted ballistae—stood at three corners, manned by thugs wearing piecemeal armor and heavy goggles against the smog.
The only proper entrance was a battered sliding gate, reinforced with riveted plates and guarded by four armed enforcers who scanned the streets with lazy suspicion.
Along the upper scaffolds, oil lamps flickered, revealing glimpses of movement behind dirty cloth banners stamped with a crimson serpent insignia — likely the mark of whoever these thugs served.
Vic watched from her vantage point as the bruised gang approached the gate. The leader grunted something under his breath, and one of the guards laughed, opening the gate just wide enough for them to slip inside.
The gate slid shut behind them with a deep metallic groan, leaving Vic alone in the smoky half-light, unseen but watching.
What the other's learn from the dwarf at the dock:
The dwarf adjusted his pince-nez with trembling fingers, his face pale beneath his bristled beard. Scrolls clutched to his chest, he offered Archael a quick, grateful nod.
“Ah, y-yes, many thanks, my lord… truly.”
His voice lowered to a whisper, eyes darting nervously toward the far alleys as though expecting the thugs to return at any moment.
“But you must understand… they were only runners. Underlings. The real power here—the Ravagers—they run Duragaaz now. A mob of bullies, extortionists. They’ve got their hooks in every trade, every shipment, every dock post.”
He swallowed hard, voice tightening.
“You’ve done right, standing up to them—but also made yourselves visible. No one crosses them without paying dearly. They’ll come... or send others. You may find leaving here, or trading, far more expensive than you hoped.”
His eyes dropped to the scrolls, his voice growing quieter.
“It wasn’t always like this. The miners, the traders — we built this port. But now we just... endure.”
The dwarf sighed heavily, defeated but too afraid to say more aloud. The unspoken words hung heavily between them.
Eryndor - Red Dead Annihilation | GM - Volo's Trade Franchise - PF2e Adventures set in the Forgotten Realms
The young white-haired waterdhavian noble nods and gives the dwarf a concerned look, bjt there is also a glint in his eyes. Perhaps this was also a a business opportunity for the newly formed franchise. "It would seem you deserve better here, having these uncouth bullies running things can't possibly be good for business. Perhaps we can somehow help you with that if we knew more about these Ravagers and whoever is their current top bully." Archael offers, glancing over at Tahlia and Djoser for their thoughts on this prospect.
Tahlia sighs, listening to the dwarf relay the situation here on this asteroid. She wondered were things like it was here on many inhabited areas? What was law out in realmspace? Whoever dealt the biggest blow ruled them all?
The elf nods when Archael glances over and then looks to the dwarf, "What's your name? We are here to get some material for our ship, if you could point us in the right direction so our mechanic can get started on that, we would like to hear more about what is going on here."
After assessing the compound and the defenses, Vic steals back to the group and reports her findings.
Djoser listens as the others speak, asking more questions about these Ravagers. Then he listens to Vic's report. At last, he folds his arms across his chest and says, “The Ravagers are not our mission. Trade is.”
He glances toward the harbor, where their ship waits for repair, then back to the others. “We protect merchants when we can. We do not topple syndicates. That’s not commerce... that’s conquest.” He pauses only a beat before adding: “It is noble to consider helping in a more meaningful way. Now is not the time. We get what we came for. We leave. Then, if the Golden Lady wills it, we return stronger.”
PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * Serge Marshblade - Human - Lvl 5 Eldritch Knight - Hoard of the Dragon Queen
DM - (Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown * Red Dead Annihilation: ToA * Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War
"Well, while I fully agree trade is out mission, at least gathering some more information while we wait for reparations can't be a waste of time. While possibly not able to topple any syndicates at this point it could lead to profitable business in the not far future I believe. And to be clear, it wouldn't be a conquest, merely supporting a better and more reliable trading partner to have control over this place, one that would be grateful enough to sign for our franchise beneficial trading agreements for our future trading network." Archael suggests, but not seeming insistent on any specific course of action at this point.
Tahlia listens to the exchange between the two men, then heads over to Bramble. "How long do you anticipate needing to be docked here before we head out?" Then back to the rest of the group, "I do feel our priority is to make sure we can leave safely.. I didn't like how we were brought in, not getting a warm feeling that we will be able to leave at our own free will."
"Indeed, our priority should always be our safety, I'm merely suggesting using the time until we can leave for something that might prove useful later on. If you feel it to be too risky to leave the ship I won't argue any further." Archael says calmly.
The dwarf adjusts his pince-nez and clears his throat. "Name's Marzel Vyne. I’m the senior dock clerk here, or at least I was before those Ravagers came crawling out of the slag pits. Look... you might want to speak with Chief Engineer Yorrick Grunthane—he ran this place when it worked like it ought to. Knows the old systems, the ore contracts, the local guilds. He might have a line on the parts your mechanic needs. If he’s still got any clout left... well, maybe you can make a deal."
Eryndor - Red Dead Annihilation | GM - Volo's Trade Franchise - PF2e Adventures set in the Forgotten Realms
Bramble, rubbing soot from his palms with a kerchief, gives her a firm nod. "Not wrong there, miss. I've patched what I can, but we still need that part to make the helm reliable. I can’t just conjure it up from copper shavings. If this Yorrick Grunthane’s got a stash or knows a foundry that can help, we’d best see him first. No spindle inverter coupler, no proper flight—simple as that."
Eryndor - Red Dead Annihilation | GM - Volo's Trade Franchise - PF2e Adventures set in the Forgotten Realms
Vic has rejoined the party.
Eryndor - Red Dead Annihilation | GM - Volo's Trade Franchise - PF2e Adventures set in the Forgotten Realms
"It seems we should visit Chief Engineer Grunthane then." The young white-haired waterdhavian noble suggests to the others, ready to go.
"Agreed.. I'd like to see if we can help in any way to get things in order here, and then what a great partner this could be". Vic says.
The party follows Marzel Vyne, the harried dwarven dock clerk, through soot-stained corridors and across metal-plated catwalks that tremble underfoot. The station is dimly lit with flickering arc-lanterns, and the deeper they go, the more the industrial clamor gives way to muffled silence. Finally, they reach a broad iron door etched with old guild symbols.
Marzel raps twice, then ushers them in. Inside, the air is thick with pipe smoke and the scent of machine oil.
Behind a cluttered desk sits Chief Engineer Yorrick Grunthane — a broad-shouldered, gray-bearded dwarf with burn marks on his gloves and a thick leather apron crusted with dried flux. His expression is tired, but sharp eyes scan the group with curiosity as he rises.
"Hrmmm, merchants bold enough to come here on their own legs,” he grumbles with a wry grin. “Or foolish enough, I s’pose. Don't get many of either.”
He gestures to battered stools around a drafting table and sets down a thick cogwheel he’d been inspecting.
“You’ve heard some, I’m sure — Ravagers. Thugs, pirates, mercs — they came two cycles ago, pushed out what passed for our station militia, and made themselves lords of the rock. They don’t want to run trade, mind you — just bleed it. Toll every ship, seize half the cargo, take bribes just to let repair crews work in peace. Every honest merchant’s either been run off or bled dry.”
He lights a long-stemmed pipe as the party describe their landing, their long term trade mission for Volo and the part they need for their ship. Yorrick takes a slow puff, then continues.
“Your mechanic’s lookin’ for a coupler. Proper one for a helm system like yours needs an archsteel chassis. There might be one intact in the old scrapyard. Place is crawling with salvaged junk, good place to lose old parts — and maybe some newer ones the Ravagers have lifted and dumped there.”
Yorrick leans in, voice low and earnest.
“But listen. That scrapyard? It’s in Ravager hands. You go pokin’ around there, someone’s bound to take notice. Still, you look like the type that don’t scare easy…”
He taps ash into a tray, then fixes them with a serious stare.
“If you were to deal with the Ravagers — permanently — the miners and traders down here would see it done proper. We’d sign your company on as our official trade syndicate. Favorable terms. Long-term contracts. Supplies, repairs, ores — all locked in. This asteroid could host a proper franchise for you, holding in the stars.”
The party can:
Eryndor - Red Dead Annihilation | GM - Volo's Trade Franchise - PF2e Adventures set in the Forgotten Realms
As they step inside the young white-haired noble briefly wrinkles his nose at the odor but then takes on a polite if somewhat strained smile as he listens to the Chief Engineer. "While we are certainly interested in doing good business here we would need to know much more about these ravagers before we make this decision I think. What can you tell us about them? Who leads them? How many are they? Do they have spell casters among them?" Archael asks with calm confidence.
Yorrick Grunthane nods grimly, puffing his pipe.
“Aye, smart of you to ask first — wouldn’t want to go knockin’ on doors without knowin’ who answers ‘em. The Ravagers aren’t one crew. They’re a patchwork of ex-mercs, privateers, even failed adventurers. But they all bow to one now…”
He glances around nervously before lowering his voice.
"Aye... Cragbrow’s the name that holds this asteroid in its iron fist. Grinn Cragbrow. Dwarf, if you believe it—though nothing about him’s right anymore. Word is he used to run with mercs out in the Sea of Swords, took a siege stone to the jaw and laughed it off. Metal plates now hold that ugly grin together, and he lives for control. Doesn’t bark orders, mind you—just stares, and folk do what he wants like they were born to it. I haven’t seen him in weeks, but his captains... aye, they run the place day-to-day."
He sighs, kneeling to roll out a worn map of the station. Ironfound Map
"First you’ve got Korga 'Spineshank' Thuln. Half-ogre with a spine like a butcher’s rack and a temper twice as sharp. Thinks he’s funny, always jabbing folk with his serrated cleaver and calling it ‘foreplay.’ He runs the ore yards and scrapyard on the west rim. That’s where your part might be, if it hasn’t been stripped or melted down already. The junkyard's locked tight—Korga don’t let anyone near it unless you’re one of his brutes or a corpse."
He taps the northwest quarter of the map.
"Then there’s Saphra Vexx. Elf, maybe half—twitchy as a kicked wasp’s nest. She’s fast, smart, mean as anything, and dangerous in the dark. Runs the docks and controls incoming cargo and bribes from traders still desperate or dumb enough to dock here. No ship lands without her say-so, and she’s got a crew of sharpshooters and smoke-bomb freaks keeping eyes on everything. She’s usually holed up in the east tower with her spies."
He moves a thick finger to the high stack near the eastern platforms. Vic thinks this might be where she followed the thugs to.
"Last is Brother Vult. Human, or was. Tall, bald, always wears red and black—preacher of some gutter faith about flames and 'cleansing rot from the stars.' Don’t mistake his muttering for madness though; Vult’s clever. Runs the slag furnaces in the lower foundry—where they burn waste, bodies, and sometimes prisoners. He’s the one the others won’t cross. If they’re Cragbrow’s fist, Vult is his whisper—and his leash. He’s got fanatics down there... and not just human ones."
He points at the south-end industrial sector, where pipes and smoke thicken into a labyrinth of steel and soot.
Yorrick rolls the map back up slowly.
"You take one of them out, Cragbrow notices. Take two, he moves. Take all three? You might just draw him out of that bunker of his. And if you do..." He looks up with grim resolve. "Then this place might just breathe again."
Eryndor - Red Dead Annihilation | GM - Volo's Trade Franchise - PF2e Adventures set in the Forgotten Realms
Tahlia is silent as she takes in all this new information and studies the map that is laid out before them. "Well, I think we need to deal with Korga at the very least. Take out one of these captains, get the part we need and see how that effects this Cragbrow. That would settle two things, the part and get an idea how strong these guys are. As Djoser said, we might have to come back when we're stronger... but, if we can handle it and it secures a foothold for our franchise, it's a win-win!"
She smiles at this, obviously looking forward to some confrontation with the way these dwarves here were being treated.
((Archael listens to the response, gleaning details between the lines, succeeding an insight check (3d6 roll equaled 10 rolled in log is < 13 (10+ his 3 insight bonus))))
Archael's Insight:
Sounds like these are mostly brutes of strength, speed, and in some cases intelligence. At the same time, he recognizes the likelihood that they are augmented by magical items the Ravagers likely have picked up over time - (e.g. who commands without giving orders?). There are also likely some low level spell casters in the crews, but mainly of the non-wizard type as they don't sound like the sort of group that has had opportunities to support someone who takes the time to study magic. This Brother Vult though sounds a bit more likely to have magic at his aid - possibly necromancy or transmutation? possibly a warlock or a sorcerer of some kind?
Eryndor - Red Dead Annihilation | GM - Volo's Trade Franchise - PF2e Adventures set in the Forgotten Realms
Due to page flip, reposting a summary of Yorrick's description of the ravager boss and his captains:
Grinn Cragbrow – Ravager Boss
Dwarven warlord with part of his jaw replaced by metal plates.
Commands obedience through intimidation and mysterious influence.
Rarely seen; operates from a fortified bunker deep in the station.
Only moves when seriously threatened — likely to react if all captains are eliminated.
Ravager Captains (Zone Lords)
Korga “Spineshank” Thuln – Scrapmaster Brute
Half-ogre with a brutal sense of humor and a serrated cleaver.
Oversees the Scrapyard and Ore Yards (northwest zone).
Keeps salvage locked down and only allows trusted enforcers near it.
The likely location of the needed spelljammer helm component.
Saphra Vexx – Dock Enforcer and Spy Master
Half-elf rogue, clever, cruel, and tactical.
Controls the Docks and Eastern Watchtower.
Manages all incoming cargo, bribes, and shipping surveillance.
Commands a team of sharpshooters and infiltrators.
Brother Vult – Fanatical Foundry Controller
Bald, red-and-black clad human with a cult-leader aura.
Controls the Lower Foundry and Slag Furnaces (south industrial zone).
Leads a fanatical group of Ravagers who enforce order through fear.
Seen as the ideological arm of Cragbrow’s rule — keeps the other captains in line.
Eryndor - Red Dead Annihilation | GM - Volo's Trade Franchise - PF2e Adventures set in the Forgotten Realms