Fórmula y marcador como estructuradores del discurso

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aison crinkled his nose in reaction to the cleaning solution’s caustic fumes. He thought he’d gotten used to the tear-generating vapors, but as he rubbed the cloth over the plaque, it smelled stronger than the first time he was introduced to it. Persh had been ordered to overpower the solution under the supervision of Dolan, to enhance the punishment.

Assistant Sword Master Dolan always had Caison pay off demerits in Sky Reach’s Grand Hall, so everyone could witness him doing the same chore over and over. Pathfinders and dignitaries would pass by and openly chortle or snicker, while maintaining their appearance of aloofness. Caison had cleaned the hall so often that they nicknamed him “Buff.” Dolan held a personal grudge for the Initiate and despised his willful defiance toward instructors. He knew Caison deemed his instructors’ deeds feeble, demands petty, and lessons lacking. Nothing infuriated Dolan more than the Initiate’s insolence, and he took unwarranted pleasure with his excessive punishments. Caison conceded years before he would take whatever chores the petulant instructor doled out.

Despite these hardships, Caison was thankful to receive hot meals and sleep under a dry roof in the grand city of Absalom. He’d spent his first twenty years in The Narrows of Oppara, living in squalor, fending off threats and getting by on the streets. Family and personal ties led to trouble, and when the opportunity arose, he cut those bonds.

Joining the Pathfinder Society afforded Caison the possibility to become a world explorer. In training, he kept to task, pushing for his full member status. Every trial he passed was one step closer to his goal, but his disrespect for authority was leading to his downfall. The Narrows of Oppara taught Caison much about authority, and if he had followed the rules, he either would have starved or become a slave. The only reason he was standing in the Grand Lodge was purely due to his disrespect for rules and the people who benefited from them. Caison hoped his deeds outweighed his faults, but he was beginning to doubt himself.

A dry voice cracked from across the long corridor, “While you’re in here, use this feather duster and get the cobwebs off the statuary.” Persh dropped an

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feathered implement to the ground and departed.

“Aye, sir.”

Persh didn’t warrant a sir, but Dolan had put the caretaker in charge of Caison so often he was like a commanding officer. Persh enjoyed the role and appreciated the respect. Caison reflected on the irony; despite his disdain for authority, years of training had planted the word sir in his vocabulary, and now it flowed off his lips meaninglessly.

Caison completed his polishing and corked the solution bottle. The feather duster waited across the hall. Though he’d been in Sky Reach’s Grand Hall countless times, he never tired of looking at the objects it contained. He paused in front of a silver goblet to read the etching on a placard. It told the tale of Irik Elinder, the pathfinder who brought the goblet from Usaro. The curious object exhibited designs of the Linnorm Kingdoms, but was found far from its home in a deserted Garundi temple. No one cared to know, but Caison meticulously polished the plaque so many times that he memorized every word.

He grinned, thinking that one day his own conquests would be etched in silver.

His mind daydreamed of a sultry jungle in which he clung to the edge of a stone pyramid, searching for a hidden door. His mates waited below, watching anxiously as he crept along, searching for the next handhold. If he couldn’t find another entrance, their week-long journey through the dense foliage would be for naught. Beads of sweat trickled into his eyes and his muscles ached from exhaustion. He felt for a hidden panel and rejoiced in the feel of a mechanism. He then slid the panel’s cover and worked a tiny lever with his nimble fingers. A shudder and a puff of dust, and the door swung in. “Huzzah!” yelled his companions, and Caison’s heart filled with pride. But suddenly, a swarm of hostile natives streamed from the trees surrounding the group. Outnumbered, his companions surrendered to the cannibalistic savages.

Again, it was up to Caison the Unmatched, world renowned Seeker of Secrets, to rescue his doomed comrades.

Stomping feet and loud discussion startled Caison back to reality. He double-timed to the feather duster and swept it off the floor as three men hurried into the hall:

the Master of Lore, the Master of Swords, and Venture Captain Adril Hestram. They paid Caison no mind as they strode past. The Master of Lore was a bespectacled grey haired half-elf who Caison found rather stuffy and full of himself. Behind, trailed the Master of Swords, Dolan’s direct superior. He was a broad-shouldered man, burdened by a severe limp and carried a cane to offset the difference. They chattered excitedly about some matter with Venture Captain Hestram arguing in the middle. Hestram grumbled about poor timing, poor choices, and poor luck.

Caison gathered what information he could from the rapidly moving group. The discussion was about a shipwreck, lost cargo, and missing Pathfinders. The three men disappeared through a door further down the corridor. Caison stood still, considering all he overheard. They spoke so hurriedly over one another that he couldn’t put the pieces together, though individually each part of the story could seed a row of tales.

The initiate began dusting the relics. He frowned as the lint fell on silver plaques that he had just polished. Dolan would find it lacking. Caison continued but took no care dusting, knowing well the outcome. He flicked the ostrich feathers quickly over each detail of the item, making for the center hallway and then the heavy oak door. He could hear muffled voices and occasionally one that rose above all others. Caison knew it to be Hestram’s. Ever jovial, the Venture Captain’s voice never ceased to

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boom, but when he was angry, he could shout down an angry troll.

Caison lingered near a single-eyed wooden idol on the left side of the door until he feared the duster’s feathers would strip. He then moved to a mounted jeweled broach that lay on the right and cursed no eight-foot statue was there to mask his dalliance. He strained to discern any speech, but the door was designed to prevent such eavesdropping, and just as he considered placing his ear against the door, the voices ceased. Quickly, the initiate jumped back, skipping over the next two items to put distance between himself and the conversation.

“I suppose I’ll just grab the first one I see,” Hestram shouted as he threw the door open. “You, you there. What’s your name?” Caison kept his head down, feigning focus on his work.

“You’re ridiculous, Adril.” The Master of Lore relaxed as an amused grin cracked the old half-elf’s wrinkled face. He removed his glasses to polish them at length, shaking his head.

“What’s your name?” Hestram bellowed as he walked toward the initiate, ignoring the derisive Lore Master. Caison had been hazed before and wasn’t sure if this was a test or a trick. Nonetheless, Hestram was not a man one ignored. The Venture Captain’s thick arms and meaty hands were as strong as a sailor’s. “You! I asked your name.”

“That’s Buff,” the Master of Swords snubbed as he hobbled after the Venture Captain. Caison bristled at the use of his hated nickname.

“Buff? That’s an odd name. You look Taldoran. Never heard of a name like that from Taldor.”

“Buff’s a nickname.” The Master of Swords smirked wryly. The battered veteran leaned heavily on his cane. The Venture Captain glared at the cripple, irritated as he spoke for the Initiate.

“Name?” the Venture Captain repeated curtly.

“Caison, sir.”

“So you speak! Good, get your bag—you’re leaving.”

The Master of Swords stomped his cane.

“Venture Captain Adril, listen to me! He’s a boy, not even prepared for his final trial. He’s cleaning this hall as a ‘third year’ because he’s washing out. My assistant Dolan has told me repeatedly this boy has no respect for his . . .”

“I’m no boy!” Silence filled the hall as the three men’s voices hushed.

Caison had the misfortune of being short, a mere five feet tall. His stature didn’t bother him and even proved advantageous at times. However, it pained him that so many treated him as a child. Back in Taldor, he wanted to grow a beard to bring the point home, but social codes forbade it. Ironically, being away from Taldor allowed the opportunity to prove his manliness, but his heritage revealed facial hairs that looked comical at best.

The Master of Swords glared as he lifted his cane to slap down the boy’s indignant behavior, but the laugh of Venture Captain Hestram stayed his hand. “Your assistant Dolan couldn’t even find the Grand Hall as an initiate. Not a good sign for a Pathfinder.

That’s probably why he’s an instructor here.”

“Venture Captain!” the Master of Lore cried, aghast by the insolent remark.

The half-elf shook his head in disapproval, and Hestram could see his colleague considering just how this ill behavior could benefit him. Hestram cared little for political maneuvering.

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“Caison,” Adril’s voice softened, altogether ignoring the Masters’ protests. “I need someone who is perceptive and quick on their feet. You were trying to listen at the door, and I’ve no doubt you heard things you shouldn’t. Yet, you were quick enough to move away when our voices died.” The initiate stared open-mouthed as the Venture Captain strolled over to wipe a finger along one of the pieces Caison skipped.

With a small laugh, he held up his finger, revealing dust.

“Sir,” Caison stammered, “why me? There are others of my echelon available, and they’ve received far more accolades.” The thought of being dispatched on a real mission excited Caison, but uncertainty over why he was being chosen remained.

“You, Caison Poriat of Oppara’s Narrows, lack discipline. You’re disagreeable, work poorly in concert with your peers, and irritate those under whom you serve.” Caison stood, dumbfounded at the Venture Captain’s knowledge of his background. “But your skills are well known to me and your marks exemplary. You have no lasting ties, here or elsewhere.” He tagged on the last remark pointedly.

“S-sir, you knew my name the whole time? You know me?”

“You’re not the only perceptive person within the walls of the Grand Lodge. I like to put on a good show for the Puppet Masters. They take me for a dolt.” He turned and glared at his colleagues. “Get your bag, you’re leaving with me.”

The Master of Swords shook his cane at the Hestram. “This is very unwise and Venture Captain Valsin will be displeased.”

“You’ve made the mistakes and I’m cleaning it up,” Hestram shot at the two. “Chief Venture Captain Ambus isn’t here to consult, and our ranks are scattered across Golarion. I’ve a shallow pool from which to fish, and I can’t afford to throw back even the small ones. I’ll deal with Ambus’ objections when he returns.”

The Venture Captain looked down, his toothy grin separating his mustache from his beard. “You still here?”

Caison dropped the feather brush and rushed for the door, but turned back with his usual audacity, “Could one of you return that feather duster to Assistant Master Dolan?”

Hestram looked to the Master of Swords. “Dolan’s your assistant—pick it up.”

The Master of Swords sneered, stomping away with his cane. “I don’t have to pick it up! That’s why I have Dolan.”

Adril Hestram’s booming laugh followed Caison as fled the building.

o~O~o

With a stroke of a quill, Hestram drew up the papers, giving Caison temporary status as a Pathfinder operative. And not even a day after his commission, he and three other Pathfinders set out from Absalom across the island of Kortos. The brief day and a half journey was destined for the coast as dark brooding clouds filled the horizon. To Caison’s surprise, not a drop of rain soaked their camp and by morning the sky cleared. As the sun reached noon, Caison put his hand on his sheathed sword and smiled at the sound of light waves in the distance. The warmth of the midday sun bathed the four travelers with an anxious hope that soon they would reach their objective.

“Hold here.”

Caison halted as their leader held up his hand. The sleek warrior moved forward alone, scouting the immediate area. After a moment, he signaled the “all clear” and

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motioned the group forward. Caison respected the man and recognized his true leadership qualities. Helstram introduced him as Aramed at the Grand Lodge, but the other companions called him Amed. He was a devout warrior, and prayed often to his god Iomodae.

From the top of a ridge, the four overlooked a crescent shaped beach. Jagged rocks jutted on both sides of the tiny bay’s entrance, making for a narrow passage. Waves hurled against the rocks and exploded into white spray. Blinding light from the sun reflected off white sands. The glare was nearly complete, except for the dark shape of a three-masted carrack that leaned heavily on its port side, just beyond water’s reach.

“So there it is.”

Caison turned in surprise of hearing the heavyset Garundi speak. Seldom did the man say a word, detached and distant from everyone. Hestram had introduced him as Jun, which was short for Juniper; it was the tree his order named him after.

Caison wanted to learn as much as he could from these men, but couldn’t resist the beautiful woman who completed their number. Her name was Nadilia, and Caison was smitten the moment he laid eyes on her. She was a wizard and held power that could kill a man dea—but to Caison, she was graceful and soft with a voice as gentle as a breeze. When she wasn’t noticing, he would glance at her exquisite form, enchanted by her stunning presence. Sometimes she would catch him staring and when she turned to look, he would switch to something else, shying away from her eyes. Nadilia’s beauty garnered Caison’s respect but it went further than appearance.

To him, she was an organizer and a follower of strict routines. Caison admired how she made clarity of every detail she was handed. She also appreciated him for the skillful way he expedited the tasks she gave him.

The afternoon sun waned and Amed studied the ship carefully from the bluff. He was a tall man, and his posture and carriage made him taller still. Calling Caison to his side, he knelt down so he could look the initiate in the eyes. Caison clenched his teeth as the larger man gave him a pitying look a child deserved. On the verge of condescension, he gently spoke.

“Before we left, Venture Captain Hestram gave me this sealed note. He instructed me to give it to you upon our arrival.”

Caison reached to take the parchment and noticed his other companions watching. He could see their surprise as the secretive letter passed from Amed’s hands to his. The note was folded and sealed in a wax of impossible swirling colors, bearing the stamp of Adril Hestram. Caison moved to break the seal, but Amed shook his head.

“No, lad. Continue to the beach. We will remain up here and set up camp. When you get there, open it. Then scout the ship and report back. Hestram gave strict orders for you to go alone.”

Caison understood; the Venture Captain sealed it so the others wouldn’t know its contents. The initiate noticed how the unopened letter cast a gloom upon the group’s mood. Amed had carried this secret letter all the way from Absalom, and it shamed him that he wasn’t trusted to speak for Hestram. Caison sat his pack on the ground and removed some items and a knife. He gave a final look to Nadilia and began his descent to the beach.

“Go with our full faith, Caison,” Nadilia spoke softly, barely audible over the crashing waves. Caison smiled but feared the letter would say something he didn’t want to know. Since their departure, Nadilia constantly reassured Caison on his

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skills, but now he couldn’t tell if she was truthful or merely trying to gain his trust.

“We’ll have dinner prepared for your return,” Jun yelled. Caison knew the large man’s remarks were made in hope more than pledge. Not interested in food, Caison nodded in acknowledgement and slipped from sight.

The climb down proceeded quickly with the aid of sturdy-rooted plants, and when he reached the bottom, Caison took his first step on the beach. The waves and the sounds of birds made it difficult to hear, but he adjusted after a while and scouted

The climb down proceeded quickly with the aid of sturdy-rooted plants, and when he reached the bottom, Caison took his first step on the beach. The waves and the sounds of birds made it difficult to hear, but he adjusted after a while and scouted

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