[IC] root's Burnt Offerings

[root]

Sandpoint, the Light of the Lost Coast. A small town in Varisia, barely worth notice in its short history, is hosting a great celebration and everyone's invited.

On Equinox of Autumn, the yearly Swallowtail Festival began. It is a significant day for Desna's followers, but for Sandpoint it's even more auspicious. The town's church has finally been rebuilt after a disastrous fire took the old building away, and it is to be consecrated on this holy day.

The festivities take up much of the day as people revel in the town's square, sharing food and drink graciously provided by the town's taverns, free of charge. Throughout the day, many of the town's biggest and most powerful families come up on the podium to make speeches, glorifying and congratulation this fantastic occasion.

It is several hours past noon, and the sun is still far from setting. The large decrepit tower on the west side of the town is starting to cast an encroaching shadow, slowly reaching for the town's square. Even from the outskirts of town, it's not hard to notice its age and state of disrepair.

As you home in on the town's square, several speakers are still waiting for their turn on the podium. From afar, you can hear the end of the welcoming speech by the town's mayor, Kendra Devern. Her voice barely cuts through the assorted mirthful noises of scores of people cheering, eating, drinking and celebrating. You can notice a tall, tanned man standing near her, dressed in a not-so-festive combination of leather armor barely covered by civilian clothing.

The town square itself is a fairly large swath of empty space before the majestic stone cathedral. Or rather, it would be on any different day - today, it is teeming with what seems like hundreds of people. There is a mixture of random furniture and many crudely built wooden tables set to accommodate as many people as possible. Several cooks are working hard to prepare the food, and it's not hard to notice carts bearing wooden barrels and assorted foodstuffs surrounding the square. This is a whole town affair, and it is simply chaotic.


OOC: The books assume that everyone gets to Sandpoint for the festival. Some of you may have unique motivations here, and I'll do my best to indulge them. This may be a good time to introduce your characters and tell me what you might want to do. I'll be proceeding with maybe one more bigger post with some more basic background information that would be obvious to visitors after a few hours in town but I don't want to simply write down a list of names, likely on Thursday morning. Until then, I'll be largely confined to my smartphone so I'll be improvising.

[SneakyZombie]

*sigh*
Another day helping at dad's store ...
The small general goods shop was empty, which was not unusual considering the current situation.
The whole town was either out in the street or drinking their guts out, celebrating.
"daaaaad ?"
"yes darling ?"
"you probably won't have a lot of customers todays, mind if go to main square ?"
"*grumble* as long as you stay away from that Ven Vinder crook... "

Seyica hastly slip by the door, smelling the foul stench of the docks by the "pirate's rest", only to hear something about, boys, booze, and a rusty knife.

She then makes her way to the White deer Inn, to enjoy a well deserved beer, and go to the town's square to listen to the local public figues speeches.

[Lt Gravemind]

Lak'nah expected to be accosted by guards when he reached this "Sandpoint" - as he had at other villages in his trip south - but to his surprise wasn't as he passed through the northern gate. Did they not have anything to fear this close to the ocean? He momentarily removed his bone mask to wipe the sweat off his brow from the beating sun. The Shoanti didn't know the name of the individual he had claimed it from, but they were a worthy foe whom did right by his ancestors. Lak'nah smiled and slipped the mask back on before continuing down the street.

The road was quiet too - barren of life - but he could hear the sound of a gathering in the distance. He followed it, and it wasn't long before Lak'nah saw the people gathered together in a large open square, moving about with food and tables and drink.

He simply stands there for a moment, taking it all in and unsure exactly how to proceed.

[Mornings]

Bechal Rossfield - The Misbegotten Auspex


The speeches of Mayor Devern and the respected members of the town-council had brought a lull to the heart of the festival, a near tangible change in pace as half of the citizens and visitors in attendance divided their attention between their words and the festivities. It afforded him time to do the one thing he had tried to avoid as he tuned his mandolin - Think.

It had been over a month now since he had returned to SandPoint. A month of quiet. A month of peace. A farcry from the prophetic visions of pain and suffering which had given him cause to venture back to Varsia's eastern-coast once more. Though he had not visited in many years, it still felt like home, somehow. The days had passed without incident, and a question begun to prickle his sensibilities - a thought that tickled the back of his mind. What if he had lost 'the gift', it had been so long since he had received a true vision - a real, legitimate flash of divine insight. He had been playing pretend for so many years, peddling his charade as a diviner, he had forgotten what a real vision had actually been like. But this time everything had felt different - everything was different. After his vision, it had begun to become difficult distinguishing what he saw from the fantasy he sold to naive merchants and drunk Pathfinders. It had changed him, made him... different. Distinguishing from the lies and truth was so hard. For some reason, he actually believed it, the lies of his own invention. The periods of lucidity had diminished drastically, most times he couldn't tell apart what he had fabricated from what he had seen. It could perhaps be easily attributed to the large tax each event had upon his mind - to glimpse a small fraction of the future, he lost a length of time in the present. The clerics in Absalom had taught him of the Curses which plagued the Oracles, with their limited sight. It was not incomprehensible that perhaps he too had been Cursed - Cursed in disillusionment to believe in his own lies. It had been his way of turning away and putting it behind him for so long, making a mockery of his 'gift'. What had become of him? Had his life become some sort of divine comedy? It was laughable, an almost pitiful tale - Who had heard of a genuine tradesman pretending to be a fake? His life had been left in ruin by this bitter cycle - He had languished in the mire of his own bitterness and self-hate for so long, and now he was old. His hands plucked the strings of the fine ebony fingerboard of his masterfully constructed instrument. The haunting complex stream of notes were like nails across a chalkboard in the mirthful atmosphere. He had at least found some respite in the smiles of the women and children he entertained. It truly made him think; perhaps he could give it all up. Perhaps he could let go of all the pain he withheld in his heart, if he could bring smiles to the faces of the young and old. He didn't need to peddle lies, nor linger, surrounded by pain in his misguided sojourn to find some length of catharsis in misery which was not his own. He wasn't that man anymore - he didn't want to be. He could be better, no. He would be better. A man cleared his throat next to him - he realized he had been playing a rather dark Magnimarian tune, The Dirge of Lords - it had been the same song they had played for his father's funeral. He had achieved a lesser lordship before his death for the many great things he had done for the city... the things he had done without him. Though the man had cast him out so long ago, with fear and a wounded heart - he couldn't hate him. He had just wanted to make him proud, but he never got the chance.

Over a month, and nothing terrible had befallen the town, no fire, no screams, no ring of steel. God, that sound shook him to his bones. He had never fought before - not really. He'd feigned 'combat' - a simple ruse to lure in some well-meaning sod and pick a few pockets. His 'combat experience' had amounted to being beaten mercilessly in the back-allies by some Scarnzi filth, and the Gallowed over in Magnimar... Leaf Grechel for some reason had a strong dislike for him... He thought more on the matter, he did have that run-in with The Dusters too, and the Rat's Teat Boys - they beat him bloody, and those were just the ones that actually liked him. He cringed - then there was that incident he tripped during that one job and pulled off Marlessa Hygne's trousers... that one itty-bitty mistake had put him on The Catsdew Lofties's BlackList for life. He really couldn't go back to Korvosa... He could easily blame half of it on Malcolm, he was possibly the worst thief he had ever seen - but together they had been 'the dastardly due', the thought brought a smile to his face. They had done some impossibly-dangerously-stupid gigs together over the last decade, and some of them actually paid off! That was a long time ago... though technically only 5 weeks, it was a long-time ago in his mind. He was a new man now! He was Ross now, he put his old name behind him, and there was only two people in the entire town who remember who he was: the lovely Alissa Harrinway, and his old acquaintance Aldern Foxglove. The Magician, Performer & Entertainer - Ross, was no petty criminal! He was an adventuring journeyman from Korvosa - he'd spent more time there then any place else, it really wasn't a lie. His visions had never taken so long to come to fruition - perhaps it had all been wrong? He'd like to think so, or perhaps some message to bring him back to the Varsian Coast, away from all the lies and crime, to start over. He liked that, he could accept that - he could leave it all behind to bring joy to others. He sharply changed his rhythmic tune, snapping out a bounding-upbeat arpeggio.

He looked at those about him within the town square, he saw some familiar faces - the lady at the bakery, that guy from the inn. He didn't know their names, but he could remember their faces, he could feel their personalities. Nothing alike those bank doll-eyed killers that surrounded him, or the hard-eyed Scarnzi scum, they weren't criminals, thieves, and killers. The dredges of society were nothing like these people - he could smell the wonderful aroma of an easy-mark... He shook the thought from his head. Drink, laughter and merriment - yet there was no song, no minstrel besides himself to be seen. He glanced at the stage where a number of once-familiar-faces spoke absently, their words falling mostly on deaf ears. He wouldn't have even remembered Kendra's name had she not introduced herself - which was somewhat difficult to make out with the loud clamor of the crowd. Her 'diplomatic performance' was lackluster - after all, all politicians and men serving an official function of State were performers, she didn't strike him as a great one. It would be no crime if he intervened with his own performance. After all, this festival needed some music, Varsian music! -and he had just that. He slipped his hand into his belt taking a handful of powdered chalk and hiding it in a clenched fist. His mandolin hung off his chest from its doe-leather strap. He begun sliding aside the tankards at his table, clearing out the center. He would have loved to play on stage, but he wasn't so boarish as to commandeer it from the mayor... well, that wasn't true, but this was a festival. A minstrel on a stage was passe, a performers true place was among his audience. He climbed on the table with a grunt, his left knee had been acting up since the trip here - he had considered having it looked at, after all he had to stay limber. He looked out to the crowd from the top of the table, drawing more then a few stares - namely from the people still sitting at his table. He unleashed a stunning chord with his free-hand and then touched the end of his ebony mandolin, tipping it with a glowing orb of light, drawing even more attention.

Bechal casts light on his mandolin

Without missing a beat he brought both of his hands crashing together over himself, unleashing a vaporous burst of white 'smoke' in a little display of 'stage magic', drawing gasps from those nearby. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. BOYS AND GIRLS. BIPEDAL HUMANOIDS, OF EVERY SOCIAL ORIENTATION! - I AM ROSS BECHFIELD, YOUR SONG-WEAVING ENTERTAINMENT FOR THE EVENING! WELCOME TO THE SWALLOWTAIL FESTIVAL! " He'd pass the crowd back to Kendra, but he'd warm them up a bit first - then maybe she'd actually be able to hold their attention.

False Name: Bluff - Take 10 [20]

He begun to unleash a blinding and blissful streaming series of notes, sweep-picking across his fret-board with maddening skill. "I WOULD LIKE TO THANK YOU ALL FOR COMING OUT TODAY, AND THANK OUR FOUNDING HOUSES. THE KAIJITSU. THE SCARNETTIS. THE VALDEMARS, AND THE DEVERINS!" He gestured over to the mayor on stage - descended from the original four founding families. He was Varsian-born, and well taught - of course he knew SandPoint's history, perhaps better then even many of those who lived here. " WITHOUT YOU, THIS SWALLOWTAIL RELEASE WOULD NOT BE POSSIBLE! ...SO HOW ABOUT A SONG!? WHAT COULD BE MORE FITTING FOR AN OPENING Of CEREMONY, THEN A SONG TO DENSA!? ENJOY THIS CLASSIC PIECE: 'THE STARSONG & THE SWALLOWTAIL' !" He paused, rearing back and rising the pulsing light-tipped end of his instrument to the sky - offering a short prayer to Densa's Lillend master of song.

"Sorrowbrand, bless this song!"

Perform (Strings): Take 10 [21]

With a sudden burst of motion, he set free a frenzy of notes, an intense whimsical roiling melody, a strange rendition of a classic-tune - those devout followers of the goddess were more then familiar with the original melody, and those who had been to a Swallowtail Release knew the classic retelling of Desna's battle with Lamashtu. This rendition, was much faster - with wild-spinning melodies and blinding streaming notes, truly sounding like a song of divine battle, rather then a calm tavern song. He begun pounding his foot on the table with each pause, beginning to leap and stomp with each line, bringing the crowd up into a rocking melody as if it was a war-song or some tavern drinking song. The classic pitch released for something much more involved and moving - threatening to sweep them all away in his mesmerizing-catchy tune.


"CURCHANUS! CURCHANUS! CURCHANUS HAS RELEASED ALL HIS BEASTS!"
"THEIR THUNDEROUS CRY ECHOES TO SHAKE ALL HIS PRIESTS!"

"CURCHANUS, CURCHANUS! DO NOT LOWER YOUR HEAD!"
"LAMSHTU HAS DECEIVED YOU! ALL MAN WILL KNOW YOUR DREAD!"
"STILL WITH BOUNDLESS STRENGTH, THE GREAT ONE TRED!"
"STILL WITH BOUNDLESS STRENGTH, THE GREAT ONE BLED!"

"OH, GREAT ONE RISE!"
"THE STARSONG CRIES!"
"Cries to wake you from your slumber!"

"OH, GREAT ONE RISE!"
"THE STARSONG TRIES!"
"The gather the stay souls who wander!"

"YOUR EYES ARE WISE, LIKE A MAN WHO TRIES!"
"To bring a better world for man!"

"WITH YOUR LAST BREATH, UPON YOUR DEATH!"
'You grant wings to The Great Dreamer!"

"FAREWELL DEAR FRIEND!"
"BUT UPON YOUR WINGS DOES SHE ASCEND!"
''THOUGH HER HEART HAS NOT THE TIME TO MEND!"
''WITH THE NIGHT TO GRANT FLIGHT SHE COMES TO SEND!"
''- LAMASHTU A STARKNIFE!"

''FLY, STARSONG! FLY!"
''BEYOND THE HEAVENS SELF-FORGED!"
''BEYOND THE SKY!"

''THUNDER STRIKES, LIGHTNING ROILS - THE GODS EMBATTLED, THEIR BLADES DO CRASH!"
''ALL DIVINITY TO WATCH, THE GODDESSES'S FREY!
''ALL HEAVENS DIVIDE IN DEATHLY DANCE: TO DASH, LASH, AND CLASH!"
''ALL IS SUNDERED BEFORE THEIR BLOWS LIKE BRITTLE CLAY."

''WITH FINAL BLOW LAMASHTU SCATTERS THE STARS!"
''OH, STARSONG!"
''FROM THE UTTERDARK ROVAGUG REARS HIS UGLY HEAD!"
''FROM THE DEEPEST DARK ZON-KUTHON WISHES YOU WERE DEAD!"
''WITH VILE WORDS THEY CLAIM 'THESE NIGHT'S WERE OURS!' "

''OH, FALLEN STARSONG!"
''Wounded and broken."
''THEY WERE ALL WRONG!"
''I will mend your heart and wing!"
''FOREVER WILL WE TRAVEL, THOUGH THESE NIGHTS WERE LONG!"

"I AM THE SWALLOWTAIL! SILVER AND PURE!"
"FOREVER OF MY LOVE, EVER I AM SURE!"
"TO YOUR WOUNDS, AM I THE CURE!"
"EVER AM I THE SWALLOWTAIL!"
"BLESSED AND FREE TO WANDER!"

He brought the performance to a grand and crashing end with his rhythmic stomps, as he let his melody trail off into the distance - wearing a satisfied smirk, pleased with the performance. Bringing the song to a close, fairly certain he had thoroughly captured the mobs attention, he cried out over the gathering. "THANK YOU! THAT WAS MY RENDITION OF 'THE STARSONG & THE SWALLOWTAIL' - AGAIN, I AM ROSS BECHFIELD, YOUR MINSTREL THIS EVENING. NOW IF YOU'D ALL BE SO KIND - PLEASE TURN YOUR ATTENTION TO THE STAGE AND MAYOR DEVERN FOR OUR OPENING ADDRESS!" He took a sharp bow, and jumped off the table, putting out the Light spell on his mandolin as if snuffing out a candle. 'That is how you gather your crowd Kendra...'

[root]

I'm going to use green as a default colour for NPCs, with arbitrary colours picked if there are more people speaking.
This post is going to somewhat segmented, but I've kind of asked for it haha


Re: Seyica

As you left her father's shop, you heard him add, "And one more thing! Stay away from Ven's daughters! Those harlots are up to no good."

He sighed, and returned to the lonesome shop.


Re: Lak'Nah

As you approached Sandpoint, the only thing resembling an "accostment" was a sign with a large metal mirror attached. There were words etched on the wooden board above, proclaiming "Welcome to Sandpoint! Please stop to see yourself as we see you!"

Several guards stationed around the town did little but nod and wave, if give any notice at all, as you walked through the emptied streets towards the commotion. They seemed unphased by your visibly tribal garb - indeed, you may have noticed that at least one of the guards at the gate had heavily tattooed wrists and neck, with twisting Shoanti designs.

As you enter the square, the richly dressed woman finishes her welcoming speech, stepping off the podium. The dark skinned man behind her locks his eyes with yours, seemingly singling you out in the entire crowd. Despite being formally dressed as some kind of a guardsman, with chainmail and leather armor barely adorned with festive items, this man is unmistakably Shoanti.

He coughs, and recites the speech in a powerful, if dour, voice. You can't help but notice slight unease, this is a man unused to fancy speeches or large public venues.

"Well said, Kendra. While today is assured to be a most mirthful occasion, do not let your guard down. With the new cathedral, we recover some of what we lost 5 years ago. But the lives lost in the great fire, or to blade of evil men, must not be forgotten. Not every debt can be repaid fully, and not every wound healed."

Re: Bechal

You've walked into the square at a very opportune moment, just as the apparent captain of the guard finished his speech. His dour words have disrupted the joyful atmosphere, somewhat, as several people visibly reminisced about the awful events of the past. Making a good use of the lull in speeches and suddenly all-too-quiet atmosphere in the town's square, you get out the mandolin and play an invigorating song familiar to all followers of Desna, "The Starsong and the Swallowtail". A classic retelling of Desna's heroic battle with Lamashtu, the mother of monsters, this melody brings much needed energy to the lazy afternoon.

As you finish, much of the crowd erupts in ovation. Several people attempt to hand you petty change, and a small argument erupts on the podium. You can't hear much of it in the great commotion as people surround you. A tall man with an immaculately groomed mustache elbows and pushes his way through the crowd,
yelling "I must absolutely have you! Good sir! I'm the proprietor of Sandpoint Theater, and you're HIRED!"



Heh that's one way to make an entrance.

Your performance greatly cheered the crowd, and as you make your way through the crowd, several people yell for more. Others attempt to hand you money in appreciation. If you choose to collect, you gain about 15 silver coins in total, in assorted coinages (mostly copper coins, so there's quite a handful)



Everyone:

An unusual number of butterflies still circle around the square. You're not entirely sure what to make of it, but it's Desna's day after all...

As all of you make your way to the square, you notice several makeshift stands filled with delicious food. There are crude wooden boards, advertising what seems to be the names of the establishments. You can read "Hagfish", "White Deer", "Cracktooth's" and "Rusty Dragon" among the many stands. Soon after the Bechal's performance, the people behind the stands take advantage of the awed silence, yelling things like "Come to Rusty Dragon for your favorite spiced rice and salmon! Great beer and food!", "!Get yer lobster at Hagfish! See if yer can beat the Hagfish challenge, if yar dare, har har!" and largely succeeding in drowning each other out.

There is still plenty of assorted food, beer, and mead at the tables all around. Following what seems to be a brief argument at the main podium, the crowd's attention is still mainly focused on Bechal.

[Mornings]

Bechal Rossfield - The Misbegotten Auspex


The opening speeches and ceremony had seemingly concluded in short-order. Looking up he saw the Swallowtails had already been released - and he'd not even noticed their carriage had even arrived, or that the crowning event had already concluded. He scratched his head with some confusion, perhaps he had been too preoccupied with his own matters to even had noticed.

The enthusiasm of the crowds ovation and the shower of coin caught the entertainer off guard. In Riddleport, the crowd didn't throw money - they threw rocks, and that was only if they liked you. The degenerate-filth of Lubbertown could find much worse things to hurl at a traveling performer then stones - so he made it a point not to perform in their grime-covered grace. Korvosa wasn't much better - at least in Old Town. He was quite the memorable figure, and the gangs of Old Korvosa had a habit of bullying and intimidating him and his audience, making quite the unpleasant experience. He gathered the coins with a massive grin - for all his suave and dashing grace... he was dirt poor. He'd been living off bread and water, spending the last few coppers he'd saved paying the rent for his room. He took a few more bows giving thanks to his captive audience. Oh, yes. He could do this - getting paid for his well practiced art was more then enough to leave the matter all but decided.

The sizable man who shoved through the crowd and addressed him made him raise an eyebrow incredulously. His well-versed cognitive-vault of useless facts and local lore spit out a stream of information into his thoughts. He smiled at the man, shaking his hand - "My! That is a wonderful proposition - one I would gladly accept! Indeed, by some measure of fortune you have found me before I you. I had intended to come onto The SandPoint Theater for the new production. I had heard the theater would be debuting 'The Harpy's Curse', a program I've wanted to participate in for quite a long while. Ah, but where are my manners? I am Ross Bechfield, traveling musician, entertainer and magician. I hail from Korvosa, but I have played in many cities, to include Absalom, RiddlePort, Magnimar - and a number of other less glamorous theaters as far as Caliphas. Though perhaps the most significant was for goodly-Caliphas itself. Surprisingly the Haraday Theater delivered a performance besting even Kaer Maga's Lakeside Amphitheater with their production of the classic High Chelish Opera, 'Beneath Frozen Stars' - unfortunately, true to it's origins it was written in Azlanti and I understood not a word of it... but I digress. You must be the one-and-only Cyrdak Drokkus. It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance - I have heard you are quite the splendid musician. It would be my honor and privilege to play a ballad for your theater." It finally seemed things had begun going his way - he'd planned on applying to the theater after the festival concluded, but it seemed a measure of self-advertisement went a long ways here, though the man himself brought a large number of notions with which he had considered... Cyrdak Drokkus, Oh, he knew him alright. In part, for exactly the reasons he had expressed. But that was only part of the entire explanation. Cyrdak had fled from Magnimar years ago for illicit activities. That much was known to most individuals that knew anything about the man's past, but as to what those 'illicit activities' were - most didn't know that much. Much like himself, Cyrdak had a run-in with bad-luck. Luck which became all the worse when the man had his first encounter with The Gallowed. Fronting the bill for his failing business, left the performer in drastic debt - one which he managed to pay his way out of. Unfortunately what the naive man had not understood at the time, was how gangs like The Gallowed worked. Something Bechal had also learned from a hard life of experience. It didn't matter if you paid the bill or not, once you put your hand in the gang's pocket - they put you in theirs. There was no 'cutting ties', once you had a taste you didn't get to leave. Cyrdak got in over his head, got involved with the wrong people and wanted out. A story similar to his own. But Bechal never did get out, not then and not now - but he kept the old-boys at arms length and stayed out of the city as best he could. The man reminded him of himself in many ways and it was no lie that he truly did intend to play for the theater.

Looking out upon the crowd, seeing he mostly still had their attention - he considered simply beginning another performance, or taking the stage. Though the argument between some of the figures still on the podium seemed to dissuade him from that trail of thought. He glanced by at his new employer, "My friend, It seems there is some commotion upon the podium - surely my performance could not have been so abrasive as to elicit such a disruptive response... What might that be all about?"

[root]

The man who approached Bechal was momentarily taken aback by your sudden burst of knowledge. With a quick sweep of his hand, he removed the sweat from his forehead and laughed.
"I see my reputation preceedes myself! I am indeed Cyrdak Drokkus! It's good to have fans from even as far as Korvosa."
Shifting his eyes slightly, he added, in a quieter voice, "This may not be Magnimar, but Sandpoint Theatre is a pretty big deal..."

Noting your comment about the commotion on stage, he looked over his shoulder and waved it off. "Ah, it's our own little crop of 'nobs arguing over a speech or some other. I'm sure your magnificent performance had nothing to do with it. They were planning to have Lonjiku Kaijitsu speak and I don't think he could make it... Speaking of which, this is my cue to go! Do meet me at the Theater later once this whole thing blows over, we'll have a nice chat."

Cydrak winks at you as he pushes his way back through the crowd, shouting greetings and blowing kisses at several people barely noticeable in the surrounding chaos. He climbs onto the podium, authoritatively pushing the people away as he takes the center. Performing a quick gesture with his hands, he begins to speak in a loud, booming voice, easily drowning out the crowds.

"HELLO SANDPOINT! I am Cyrdak Drokkus, as I'm sure you all know, and tonight is a very special day indeed. Poor ol' Lonjiku of the Kaijitsus couldn't make it today, it seems, but have no fear. I'm sure he's just too busy blowing his glass! I will gladly take his place here." He coughs slightly and fingers his mustache, inserting a much needed pause. "We sure have been through a lot in the past couple of years... The great fire, the horrible ol' Chopper, but we've come through it all - stronger and happier in the end! I could speak for hours and hours about how hard we all worked to gather the much needed support and finances to rebuild this luxurious cathedral. But you're all here for a good time, so I won't. This is a day for celebration!"

Cyrdak turns theatrically, ready to leave the stage before coming back on and shouting, "Oh and before I forget - do come by the Sandpoint Theatre for an amazing new production of the Harpy's Curse! The queen Avisera will be played by none other but Allishanda herself! And there may be a certain local talent involved... Don't forget! It's tomorrow evening!"

[Mornings]

Bechal Rossfield - The Misbegotten Auspex


The bard nodded at Cyrdak's words taking a mental note. He wasn't sure how he felt about the whole thing - Lonjiku Kaijitsu was doing well, though in truth he really did not wish to see him. Kaijitsu Glass had played an important trading commodity for The Rossfield Trading Co. during its height and he oft attended to his father during his business meetings with the man long ago. The last time he had seen the man was nearly five years ago during his wife's funeral - to pay his respects. It had turned into a messy ordeal after a family argument erupted between himself, his son Tsuto and his daughter... He pushed the thought from his mind. The pained look on the boys face after Lonjiku struck him with his cane soured his mood. He wasn't fond of Tsuto, actually, he really didn't know him - as he had been cast out of his family since his birth, rumored to have been a product of Atsuii Kaijitu's infidelity. True or not, he had no idea - he made it a point to try and keep an arm between the Kaijitsu family's discord and himself. There was only one reason why he really bothered remembering the Kaijitsu name though - and The Rossfield's and The Kaijitsu partnership was not it. Ameiko Kaijitsu. Lonijiku's eldest child. Just thinking her name made his face warm up. He'd had something of a crush on the willy-women for some time... years in fact. He coughed. He'd never found the courage to court her directly... and they had only talked a handful of times. Often he'd avoid eye-contact. Hide behind someone else... or generally try to look inconspicuous. She was the finest bard he knew - well, he was of course very biased... and he might not have been judging his endorsement on her performance alone. He turned his finger around-and-around in his red-locks which were so drastically discolored from the rest of his dark brown hair. It was his natural color. Supposedly he may have possessed some misbegotten Azlanti blood, but even if such was true, it was diluted beyond recognition. Ameiko had two-toned hair too... So did he... So did she... One word: DESTINY!

He smiled to himself sheepishly, grabbing the tankard he'd left on the table and taking a large swig to calm his wild-raging thoughts. Perhaps he was too much of a romantic. It might explain his bad luck with women. He didn't have any children (that he knew of), nor did he have any significant-other - most men his age would have an entire family, have settled down and done... things. He was still a wandering-song-singing-bachelor. He didn't have a problem wooing the fairer-sex, but for whatever reason. They tended to be... well. Not what he expected. Typically thieves, murders, or just evil - his last shot at romance had been ruined when he found out she was an Ustalavian Necromancer. Charming girl, but much like dogs - undead frightened him like nothing else! It just wouldn't have worked out. Still he had to credit The Whispering Way in finding such a lovely evil cultist. Cyrdak prattled on atop the stage as he discussed his venue. This was why Ameiko was perfect for him - Bard's weren't evil. Who'd heard of an evil bard right? Mistrals were wonderful peopl- He sprayed ale out of his nose, coughing in a violent fit as Drokkus's last words caught him squarely. "....Allishanda. He said Allishanda!? Queen Avisera being cast by Allishanda!?" He spun in a circle, jumped back and danced a merry-jig on the table's bench. The cast for the production hadn't been announced yet! Who would have guessed Magnimar's premiere Diva would be casting the lead role herself! Yes! Yes! Amazing! Allishanda was a theatrical legend in the Inner Sea! Her renown even crushed the respected Chelish Diva, Shensen in her wake. Men traveled from as far as Rostland and Okeno to see the Diva on stage! - Just last year he himself had snuck back to Magnimar, risking life-limb-and a chance meeting with Ayala Javeski, again... solely for the purpose of seeing the Diva perform at The Triodea. Tickets had been sold out, but Starsilver Plaza had been beyond crowded, thus he made use of his slippery hands. He stole the ticket off some young Alabaster-born lordling who had spent the last five-minutes moaning and complaining about being forced to attend the performance. The little-sod didn't deserve the privilege, so he took it upon himself to liberate him of his burden. It had been one of the finest productions he'd seen - now he'd have the chance to perform a balled with The Allishanda!? He would have done a back-flip if he knew how, fortunately he didn't - so he danced. It would surly be the highest profile performance he would take part in - who knows how much tickets would be sold for or who would attend! Perhaps his name would be catapulted into fame - this was the beginning of a new life. He ceased his danced and hopped off the bench with a beaming smile. At last things were looking up, he didn't need to think about his past anymore - not with such a bright future almost literally before him. "Densa be praised..... Surly nothing could ruin this day now."

[Lt Gravemind]

Lak'nah made note to find the other Shoanti later, but it looked like he was busy with his own duties. The loud noisemaker took to the stage after and he stopped paying attention.

The masses of the crowd caused him as much unease as it must have to the man on stage: people weren't clustered in these numbers often, except for battle where he was from. Their clothes, their buildings, their people, the smells were all so very... different. He wasn't sure what to look for when the shamans sent him down this way, but perhaps the other Shoanti would be able to help him once they were satiated from their own festivities.

He heard the call for competition at this "Hagfish" and Lak'nah's stomach roared in protested. He didn't know how to participate in their festivities, but he understood challenges.

"What do they consider challenge?" Lak'nah asked himself in Shoanti as he made his way to this "Hagfish" stand.

[root]

The man behind the Hagfish stand smiles at Lak'nah, noticing his approach. He is a stout man, just under 6 feet in height, with wide shoulders and thick dark hair covering much of his exposed arms. He grins widely, revealing yellowed teeth with many shining fillings.

"Yer don't seem from around here, young man! Think yer up for tha Hagfish challenge? Yer gonna have to see ol' Norah at my bar fer that..."

The man walks out from behind the table, with a wobbly gait. It's plain to see that one of his legs is wooden as he approaches the young barbarian with a plate of assorted seafood in hand. Lobster tails, shrimp and unidentifiable white fish fillets. The food looks delicious, if not at its freshest - the banquet has be going on for a while, after all.

"Or perhaps such a fearless young man such as you would like to know just how Jargie Quinn has lost his leg? I was an adventurer once, you know... A truly harrowing tale... "

[Lt Gravemind]

"I hunger, but I will hear your tale Elder." Lak'nah responds, placing his hands together and giving a slight bow.

[Hattish Thing]

Haldavyr the Red:

From beneath the shadows of a Church Street shop, an old man glowers towards the podium some ways away, his thin and wrinkled arms crossed over his chest, a stern look of disapproval on his twisted face. Beside him, a dense looking staff of burnt steel leans against the rather lonely shop's wall. With nearly everyone closer to the podium waiting for the speeches to finish, the shop was left relatively untended, which suited Haldavyr's needs well. The maimed wizard preferred to be left alone, where the biting stare of little children couldn't pierce his consciousness. As the performer plays his song and sings his tune, a dark fire burns low in his good eye. The nerve of the youth never failed to astound him, the disrespect. This festival, or any, was no place for him. The sooner he could get back to his work the better, for there was much to do and only so much time to do it. His frown deepens into a glare, and for a brief second the red wizard feels envy as the young minstrel is offered work at the theatre nearby.

"Fool."

The man quietly utters a word under his breath, before turning his back to the podium and fetching the Steelscorch Stave off the wall, making a left, and beginning his slow walk towards the nearest inn. Damn the first of Rova, this festival was nothing more than a miserable waste of time, another obstacle in the way of his research. It was intolerable, how many people were around, crowding the square as the wizard attempted to leave. "What does that boy know of monsters, of thunder and lightning, of true power." As the old man thinks to himself, he gazes down at the scar on the palm of his right hand, his accursed 'tattoo'. Wrath. It ached, the scar did, more than ever now. He was getting closer, ever closer, he could feel it in his old bones. It was coming, the breakthrough he needed, the final piece that would finally unlock the infernal puzzle that plagued him during sleepless nights. "Nothing. Nothing at all. Not yet." As he walks, a breeze picks up, and the wizard pauses, seeming to have heard something. However, a jolt of pain rushes through his body. Another migraine was beginning, it seems.

"No, not now." He suddenly spits out the words like fire, before raising a hand up to press against his temple.

---

As he grimaces, Haldavyr begins to gaze off at sea, stave in hand, before shaking his head and continuing on his way.

[SneakyZombie]

The show and speech left seyica mostly unimpressed, Cyrdak was as pompous as usual, although that Bechal fellow sure knew how to make an impression.

Seyica spots an aged man in the crown, drawing her attention. He looks ... out of place in the festival, filled with bitterness and pain. She had a bad feeling about this man, but he was obviously in pain, and she decided to offer him her help anyway.

"Is everything alright sir ? May i be of any assistance ? I'm no doctor, but you look like you could use some help and i got some herbs and ointments that might help you" She said, with a cheerful smile, reaching out for the man.

[Mornings]

Bechal Rossfield - The Misbegotten Auspex


With all that had happened this day - he felt like he could take on the world, and perhaps even old challenges. He downed the last bit from his tankard and picked up another, still frothy and full. Perhaps another song? No, no. I should make the most of this good fortune... but how? There really was only one answer. The Rusty Dragon. The calls from the various merchants and employees supporting the half-dozen taverns of the town dropped the thought right into his lap. He'd tried to avoid The Dragon whenever he could - he didn't have the fortitude for it, after all Ameiko owned the establishment, she'd of course be there. Perhaps this was the day, perhaps he'd find the courage to march through those heavy oak doors and actually do something. Thoughts flooded into his mind, hypothetical's of what he'd do; the fantasy that settled in his mind was simply marching through the door, downing a full tankard of the hardest stuff he could find before snapping his mandolin off his back and crushing the audience with a flawless performance of 'The Baelis Strand' it was the hardest song he knew, he'd only played it completely once. The old bard Hagevald used to play the song nearly two-decades ago at the old White Deer tavern... well, before it burned down during 'The Late Unpleasentness'. Hagevald had died quietly in his busted old chair in the tavern, with an empty tankard in one hand and a smile on his face - like any old-and-grey minstrel should. But before he passed on to pay Pharasma a visit, he taught him his song. An insanely complex balled about the first battle of SandPoint during its founding, telling the story of Alamon Scarnetti's attack, but from the perspective of Baelis Scarnetti, one of the three cousins Alarmon left behind to die after he and his-own were overwhelmed by the Varisian natives. He'd always suspected that Hagevald had been there, at the battle - simply because a dead-man couldn't write his own song, but the salty geezer never did confess. He'd always retort with the same line; 'Listen, and let the song tell the tale'. With nothing but free-time on his hands during his father's business ventures, he dedicated the countless hours to mastering Hagevald's command of stringed instruments. Yet, still - 'The Baelis Strand' had always seemed nigh impossible to play like the wily-old-coot, unless he grew a third arm and a hand with seven fingers... Even today, he didn't feel comfortable playing it due to its difficulty - yet today, he felt like he just might be able to pull it off, maybe. It was an obscure song which hadn't been played in over a decade, but a few old faces would probably recall it. Garridan Viskalai probably would, Hagevald had practically lived in the man's tavern after all. But then again, the song was old enough to have perhaps been forgotten entirely. He sat up from the table he had slumped into while lost in thought, standing as his confidence begun to mount. He was going to do it. He would do it. He was going to play for The Rusty Dragon! His stomach growled, interrupting his surmounting conviction - he'd only been drinking during the festival... Best not play on an empty stomach.

He kicked up Telles Riddle from its leaning place against the table, catching his long cane in the air and giving it a small spin before sliding the stick into his long baldric hanging by his thigh, as if it was some child's wooden sword. It had a somewhat stylish flare that he enjoyed to sport while not actually using it as he walked - but he didn't need the cane right now, this was a festival! Festival's needed music! He played a simple series of chords, bending over his mandolin, plucking with one hand, while pressing bar-chords with one finger with his other hand as he held a full tankard of ale, taking intermittent sips from the mug as he bobbed through the crowd to his own music with tender steps, occasionally spilling ale. Music. People. Free food and ale... He loved festivals.

He gingerly nudged his was through to get his eyes upon the various food-stands of the different vendors. The cries of The Hagfish caught his ear. He chuckled to himself thinking of old Jargie Quinn. That salty-one-legged-coot never changed, and his tavern still smelled like scum-water and fish, but the place was so damned old it was the most popular drinking-establishment in town. Still, he had to admit - Jargie did have some fine seafood, but most importantly you could always find some good company and new friends. He stepped past a sunburned child, bit-down on the lip of his tankard and spun around a well-endowed maiden - taking two or three extra glances down her loose blouse, and slid past a group of mottly looking boys fighting over something-or-another. He frowned, they looked like just the kind of kids who'd get suckered into damned Jubrayl's game and end up as fresh Sczarni-scum. He shook his head in disappointment as he finally came into view of The Hagfish's stand and free seafoo-
His clay tankard fell out of his numb hands, shattering at his feet, spilling ale on his fine shoes and pants. His eyes were wide in horror, as if they would fall from his skull - his knees shaking in silent terror at the sight before him. Some massive beast of a creature stood lumbering in front... Nay!, lumbering Over! The Hagfish stand. His mind raced, looking for answers - a few hundred books and mental notes exploded open within his cranium, spinning through pages and pages of useless and and random information. His terror was made all the more real as the metaphysical tomes in his head closed sharply with no answers... He felt a seeping moisture run down his legs, his trousers gaining some weight and sticking to his legs...

At first he had thought the thing a Shoanti, that wasn't so uncommon, but aside from the Shiikirri-Quah traditions, Shoanti were just normal people! He'd never heard of a creature like this wandering the Storval Plateau, or even the Cinderlands besides giants and orcs. The man-beast easily stood seven-feet off the ground, and weighed close to half a ton - his massive mit's were the size of Cornish Hens! He felt dizzy. He'd seen orcs... he'd never seen a giant, but the strange skull-masked, scarred, axe wielding murder-beast made a giant seem so much more... mundane. His legs finally begun to respond, though it felt like they were weighed down with blocks of lead. He pulled one foot up, awkwardly, then placed it down behind him. He pulled his other foot, and dragged it into place underneath him as if he had stepped in a tanglefoot bag - skulking backwards into the crowd... his stunned wide-eyed expression burned into his visage. His mind wildly jumped to extraordinary conclusions, looking for some explination. He had to have an explination - something to make it all make sense, to make it... real.

It wasn't an orc.. probably. A half-giant? He knew nothing about those. It didn't look like any kind of giant. A Jadwiga! He nodded to himself vigorously, while hiding under a table, pulling his knees to his chest - deciding to himself, for himself that was the truth they, he, would settle for. 'Yes. Yes. A Jadwiga... that makes sense. Some strange creature, that. Quite frightful, but no one's screaming yet... so we'll be okay. Right?' - Right. He clawed his way out from under the table, Who was he talking to? He shook his head, he wasn't good under pressure. But he had to wonder, what was a Jadwiga doing this far south? They were a very long way from Irrisen. It didn't matter... Jadwiga or not, nothing was going to ruin his day!

He looked down at his soiled pants with a frown. Well, who wouldn't have... complications? It was only natural, after all, he'd never seen such a ferocious creature in person before. He was a minstrel, not some ungodly fiend-slaying hero. He clenched his fists a few times to get the feeling back in his hands then strummed a short series of chords. A glimmering sparkle of dim shimmering sapphire light sprinkled down from his instrument, the arcane energy vanishing as it touched the ground leaving his cloths dry and, once again, clean.

Cast: Prestidigitation

[root]

"I hunger, but I will hear your tale Elder." Lak'nah responds, placing his hands together and giving a slight bow.

"An elder, huh? Yer really not from 'round here..."

Momentarily taken aback by the giant's strange manners, Jargie shrugged and bounced back with greater vigour.

"Yer might wanna start eatin', the grub is free after all, for this will be a mournful tale of the beast of Sandpoint Bay..."

"Twas a fierce storm one night, three years ago from this very day. Gozreh herself was throw in' all she got against th' shore cliffs! A great time for fishin.

Me and me poor late nephew braved the' seas, for the storm brought a hidden boon. All tha bestest an' biggest fish from tha sea, stunned by tha storm, served to us on Gozreh's own platter. Yer could just reach into the' water an' pull out a salmon half as big as you!

We din't bother with tha fishing poles. I've had a spear, an' Timmer had a net. Our lil boat bar'ly kept above tha' waves, filled to brim with bounty of tha seas.

Then Murdermaw struck. Enraged by man's great fortune, the gods have sent a horrid beast to punish us. Tha first blow took our boat to pieces...

But Murdermaw was not satisfied. He lept from tha seas as we swam back to the' shore, a horrid thing of teeth, an' fins, an' scales, and gobbled Timmer whole.

Jus' like that, one moment there's a man, the next - a giant fish in his place, wit' hunger for man flesh.

Jargie's no fish food! I jabbed th' beast, righ' in its eye, an' boy was it enraged. Wit' shore in sight, there was finally hope fer me.

An' then, with a sickening crunch, Murdermaw got me leg. I figured I was done for, but ta' spite the beast, I gave 'im one final kick in tha' snout.

An jus' like that, ol' Murdermaw fled. Perhaps I was blessed tha' day, or perhaps me poor nephew was enough fer him, or perhaps he din't like the taste o' me... Nobody may know.

I got out of it with me life intact, and Murdermaw still lurks th' bay on stormy nights... Missin' an eye an' more angry then ever."

[Mornings]

Bechal Rossfield - The Misbegotten Auspex


No screams... Screaming was bad. Party and laughter good. He slapped himself in the face sharply, snapping himself back into focus and regaining his wits. His courage mounted, building to perhaps levels they had never seen - for truth be told, and he knew it well. He was a coward at heart. But this man... this dashing bard he found himself to be today, was fearless, Nay! Dauntless. It was as if Hagevald had possessed him. He played a powerful chord and stepped through the crowd back in sight of the Hagfish and cracked his knuckles. Something he'd never done before - ouch. He shook his hand painfully. Something he'd never do again. Jadwiga, half-giant, troll, bugbear! He didn't care. This was his day! And right now, for all intents-and-purposes Densa had blessed him, he was unstoppable. Jargie still had his other leg, and he was shooting-the-breeze with the Jadwiga like he was just another big-dumb-fish.

He made up his mind. Then and there, as if his very will somehow imposed itself upon the world and made it reality. He was going to eat some damn seafood. He was going to explode into The Rusty Dragon in a sliding-knee-dive. He was going to play that goddam song. He was going to woo Ameiko: This was happening! He marched over to The Hagfish stand with a smirk on his face, listening to the last of Jargie's tale. He leaned on the counter with one arm. "Jargie, I didn't know you had a nephew named Timmer. Hey- Last time you told me you jumped off the boat and stabbed Murdermaw in the eye! Haha." He actually couldn't remember what old-Jargie had said last time, the story was always different - but he might have actually had a nephew... he made a mental note of that. "It's good to see you're still kickin', sorta. It's me, Bech. The old Rossfield kid. Changed my name sometime back after my old man bit the dust - didn't want to be all tied up in the business and whathaveyou. Can I get some of 'yar ol' fish', going to go play over at The Rusty Dragon." He leaned over the counter, keeping his voice low "You wouldn't happen to know if Ameiko is over there would you? Going for a surprise visit."

He leaned back from over the counter taking a gander at the massive murder-beast. He cleared his throat "Why, hello.... friend." He saw the man did indeed have features under that mask. Whew, he had started to expect he'd be looking at a skull with only black holes in its face. He lifted up his hand awkwardly, gesturing at the man's entire face. "So... that... All that... the mask... Is that a common, uh. Tradition? in Irrisen? I've heard the Jadwiga and scarred-witch doctors at The Crown of the World sometimes wear similar masks. I've never been so far past the Kodar Mountains before... or even to them, So i wouldn't know. Uh, so you're from.... Whitethrone? No-no-no... Don't spoil it, I'm good at this. Uh.... Algidheart? No, Waldsby! Right? I'm right arn't I." He crossed his arms triumphantly, he could see the confused-inquisitive look in his eye, wondering how he'd known, probably. He was so good at this game.

[root]

"You callin' me a liar now? A poor ol' one legged man? Shame on yer..."

Jargie laughed loudly and reached out to slap Bechel on the shoulder, almost dropping the plate of assorted fish in the process.

"I was wondering' why yer seemed familiar... Bechel, was it? Yer always welcome at Hagfish, just don' try the Hagfish challenge..."

He winked knowingly.

"I'm getting ta' far ahead of meself here... Yer looking for Ameiko? She's here, too. All the finest bars an' eateries are here tonight, think she even brought her bes' dish! Jus' across the crowd, righ' there, I don' even know how yer missed her."

Jargie waved his hand in the general direction of Ameiko's stand.

funny thing, I rolled perception check to see if Bechel noticed Ameiko in the crowd, a while ago... He didn't fare so well...

[Mornings]

Bechal Rossfield - The Misbegotten Auspex


He laughed at the old man, shoving a few shrimp in his mouth as the plate hit the counter. "Haha, even I'm not crazy enough to and stomach-down a tankard of that old grimy-sludge. I'd probably be wretching that up for a good hour!" He bit down into a lobster tail, trying to make quick work of the thing so he could shove off to The Rusty Dragon, talking and almost drunkenly gesturing at the titanic barbarian as he tried to guess which frozen wasteland he hailed from. Jargie's words flushed his thoughts away like a Magmarian latrine. He sharply turned back to Jargie with a lobster tail hanging from his mouth and followed the old man's hand out towards where he had come. He squinted his eyes, looking out past the crowd to the stands... his face went limp, the lobster falling out of his mouth, before he snapped to and caught the morsel. "Wha-whaaaa!?" He turned back to Jargie, sharply. "Wait... wait... wait-wait-wait. Pause! - That mean's I stood on a table, and played 'The Starsong and Swallowtail' in front of her already!?" His face begun to flush. He smashed his fishy hand and lobster-clenched fist to his red face to cover his shame. AAAAHHHHHH! THAT!? THAT WAS HOW I MADE MY GRAND ENTRANCE!? THE GODDAM STARSONG AND SWALLOWTAIL!? He brought his face crashing down to the counter with a resounding thump.... defeated.

He thought and thought... no-no-no... this can't be happening, maybe she didn't see it!? who was he kidding, everyone saw it. Jargie saw it. Right? - It was a heavily altered rendition of the song, but it was so.... so simple! He'd played that damn song countless times when he was still learning to play with Hagevald. Maybe he should get up on stage, and play something better... but how could he muster the courage now to play, knowing she was watching. He shook his head. His amazing plans... ruined! He felt deflated, but maybe this was good... after all, he'd managed to actually play something. He lifted up his head, he got a job offer, a standing ovation from a standing crowd.. okay maybe that didn't count - but they did throw money at him. Money was good. He could do this...

"Hey, Jargie. How'd you like my last song? I got another performance to play, but not sure what it should be yet. Have any ideas?"




Loooools. Well, that's good then. Bechal probably would have choked if he knew Ameiko was that close haha.

[Hattish Thing]

The show and speech left seyica mostly unimpressed, Cyrdak was as pompous as usual, although that Bechal fellow sure knew how to make an impression.

Seyica spots an aged man in the crown, drawing her attention. He looks ... out of place in the festival, filled with bitterness and pain. She had a bad feeling about this man, but he was obviously in pain, and she decided to offer him her help anyway.

"Is everything alright sir ? May i be of any assistance ? I'm no doctor, but you look like you could use some help and i got some herbs and ointments that might help you" She said, with a cheerful smile, reaching out for the man.

Haldavyr's forlorn gaze out to the horizon is interrupted by the young sounding voice of a woman behind him. Well, that was unusual. Perhaps she hadn't yet seen his face from beneath his crimson hood. No one was kind to Haldavyr, and he preferred it that way. Made things easier, it was a pattern familiar to him. You can trust the fearful, who knows who this friendly individual could be? Perhaps another spy from Nidal, come for him yet again. With the luck he was having, it might just be the case. The red wizard turns slowly to glare at the girl with his one good eye, before shaking his head slowly, a curt sign of clear distrust. He gestures with a hand forward, as if to dismiss her. As he does so, a small symbol can be seen burnt into his hand, scarred. A sickly tattoo. Most likely it would be a sign utterly unfamiliar to the young woman, and Haldavyr quickly pulls it back if he notices her staring.

He speaks a sentence with a cold and rushed tone in his voice, before aiming to walk right by her and beyond. "No, thank you, I'm fine, I don't want what you have to sell, good day."

http://i1051.photobucket.com/albums/s440/Singingnoodle/adee1655-7578-4c3d-ab76-14b3f0a9749e.png

[Lt Gravemind]

Lak'nah simply remained attentive at the story of the elder man, taking the moment to grab a lobster tail and devour its contents. One thing he did note was that Outsider food had the propensity to be more flavorful. It wasn't home cooking, freshly hauled in after a kill, but it was good in its own right.

When the Elder finished his tale, he replied "A good tale, Elder. The beast saw your worth if it permitted you to live."

Lak'nah was actually starting to feel less tense at this moment among the crowd until the loud thing of twitchy demeanor sauntered up and began making loud noises. When asked about his origin, he simply responded "Shadde-Quah, Burshket."

The Bursket was a loud, colorful bird of cowardly demeanor up north. It was popular to hunt for it's feathers, but the meat was terrible. This boy reminded him on one. Regardless it seemed to lose interest in Lak'nah quickly enough, thankfully, and move its attention to some prospective mate.

"I would take your challenge Elder." Lak'nah stated, returning his attention to Jargie.

[SneakyZombie]

Seyica stays a bit baffled.You offer help to a man obviously in pain, and you get treated like a damn peddler !
"Whatever, old man, good day to you too ! " she blurts, storming off through the festival's crowd, obviously upset by the exchange.
" Stupid codger ... still, i wonder what is this tatoo means"
She walks it off, quickly calming herself, wandering through the streets, and trying to enjoy the rest of the festivities.

In insight, she might just caught him off guard, and she shouldn't have reacted so vividly.
Meh.
It's not like they will ever cross path again ...

[Mornings]

Bechal Rossfield - The Misbegotten Auspex


After a moment's pause, the towering man's brutish words caught his attention. He looked at the man - then at his axe - then at the man again. Oh... Thinking more on it, it did make sense - but the man-beast didn't look like any Shoanti he'd ever seen before. Nor were Saddle-Quah nomads - they were perhaps one of the few clans you never saw, because they actually had permanent homes... He sighed, digging his chin into his fish-smelling palm. He could have sworn he was right - heck, he'd still believe it, maybe the big man was just playing a joke on him because this was Varisia and he happened to be carrying an axe. "Huh. Shoanti, eh? I must admit my beefy-friend... you are like no Shoanti I've seen - and they are quite common in these parts. Your stature alone is unlike anything which wanders through the Cinderlands, and your uh... mask. Well, that's just unique this far south of the mountains. I've traveled south of Magnimar to the westen coats where many of your people still dwell. But as perhaps the finest seafaring-folk to walk Varisia - I can't say I've ever seen a Saddle-Quah warrior who wears skulls. Not to say it's not done, truly I'm unfamiliar with perhaps the more obscure of your clans traditions. I'm a minstrel by trade, I know a great deal of nothing and a little of everything."

"At the least, allow me to explain my previous train of thought - it might interest a man such as yourself. You see, your mask is actually quite common - in another place, far to the north. A cold and wicked land known as Irrisen, far-far to the north, past the impassable Kodar Mountains - buried deep within the Crown of the World. The songs paint its dark history quite clearly - but there, massive and great warriors roam dauntless through eternal freezing winds, wearing a skull-mask. Much like yourself. They are The Jadwiga, The Children of The Witch-Queen... so they say. The Jadwiga are the most fierce of warriors, and wrestled their independence from The Land of The Linnorm Kings close to a thousand years ago." He figured by now he had the big-man's attention, and he was starting to run out of actual facts to work with, though he used the term 'facts' somewhat liberally - he figured mixing in the bits he knew from the songs with the two-or-so pages he'd read over the shoulder of some grouchy mage at the Golemworks was more interesting though. "It is said there are no new Jadwiga, that they are unnaturally long-lived juggernauts of battle wielding weapons larger then a grown man! -Though it is simple rumor, the songs sing of their three greatest; said to be immortals. Though nameless to any south of the Kodar-Wall, they are known as The Red, White, and Black Riders for the great frozen beasts they mount while riding through the wastes. So great their battle prowess, it is said they enforce the rule of The Witch-Queen with their own hands and lance, judging their subject's loyalties and slaying any who attempt to flee from Irrisen's frozen grasp!" He nodded to himself with a smirk, now that was a good tale - far more interesting then some dusty book. He cleared his throat. "By your... Um, physical appearance. You looked much like one of these famed warriors. After all - I'm sure they are truly just increadibly hardened men... probably... It really was... is, a very good match. It's almost hard to believe you're Shoanti... but even so, I won't pry further. " Most of that was true... well, as far as he knew anyways. As for what he'd pulled from the songs, that was any-man's guess. Minstrel's did tend to take quite a bit of artistic license when it came to their stories. There was even songs about The Riders riding Linnorms... but that was a little too far-fetched even for him. Either way, it didn't really matter how much was true or not - he wasn't a historian! It was about the story, and that one was very interesting. He'd have pat himself on the back if it didn't look so strange.

...And what was a Bur...shket, wasn't that one of those colorful dresses? He wasn't sure how he felt about that, but maybe it was a compliment. Lets go with that, Burshket.... Burshket. Yes, he liked it. Maybe it'd make a good stage-name. He made a mental note of that.

[root]

As the people of Sandpoint continue to lazily while away their afternoon, gorging numerous foods and guzzling vast amounts of mead and ale, the sun continues its unstoppable trek to the west. The Old Light's shadow begins to stretch towards the town square, hungrily reaching towards the cathedral. The crowds have been slowly thinning out in the past hour, having partook of all the festival brought. There's still a fair number of people left in the square, however.

The lull of festival slowly dying down is suddenly interrupted by a loud bang accompanied by a flash, high above the podium. A new arrival has taken place on the barren stand, a middle aged man with well groomed beard. He's adorned in a ceremonial-looking white robe, accompanied by a noticeable glint at his side - a star knife.

"My dear friends and family, old and new! Desna surely smiles upon this day. But let us not forget the reason we are here today." He chuckles, his voice obviously amplified. "Yes, the delicacies brought onto us by the gracious hosts today are a reason enough to be here. I am quite fond of Ameiko's salmon, myself. But I digress. We are here today not only to celebrate Desna's blessings, but to renew her sacred touch upon our town's newly rebuilt cathedral."

You hear whispers in the crowd, "Father Zanthus?" "It must be time for the consecration!", "We can still finish the food, yea?" and "What was that noise!?"

The man on the podium, Father Zanthus, cleared his throat, and is suddenly interrupted by a woman's scream. A few moments later, another scream rises, then another. Beyond them, a sudden surge of strange new voices rises high-pitched, tittering shrieks that sound not quite human. The crowd parts and something low to the ground races by, giggling with disturbing glee as the stray dog gives a pained yelp and then collapses with a gurgle, its throat cut open from ear to ear. As blood pools around its head, the raucous sound of a strange song begins, chanted from shrill, scratchy voices.


This is going to be the first combat encounter of the AP. It's a bit wonky as presented in the book but I think I figured out a way to do it reasonably well.
There are several groups of goblins currently in the square. I will be using a single initiative roll for each present group to speed it along.

I've rolled perception and initiative in my DM rolls thread (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?473208-root-s-not-so-secret-roll-thread&p=20239579#post20239579) probably jumped a bit too far ahead, was intending to roll initiative for players in IC but oh well. You don't need to concern yourself with that thread, I'll mostly be doing "behind the screen" rolls there when I don't have any dice on hand. Feel free to make your rolls in IC or OOC, preferably spoilered.

Currently the players are basically split up into 2 groups (Lak'nah and Bechel are near the Hagfish stand talking, and Seyica pretty much just spoke to Haldavyr some way across the town square)


Results of rolls from the thread linked above:
Seyica and Haldavyr surprisingly both made the perception check, despite like 9 point difference in their scores. They're aware of the goblins that just ran past them, and are able to act.
For group near Seyica and Haldavyr, initiative order is: Seyica, Haldavyr, goblins.

Lak'nah and Bechal both managed to fail the perception check. Goblins get a jump on them, but since you're literally in a crowd of people without making yourself much of a target, there's not much to worry about... yet. Initiative order after surprise round: Goblins 2, Lak'nah, Bechal.

Initiative overall: Goblins 2, Seyica, Lak'nah, Bechal, Haldavyr, Goblins. But since players start in 2 groups somewhat apart, might as well treat this as 2 different combats or whatever.

Will be posting a map in next post alongside more tactical details.

[root]

http://i.imgur.com/ihIyaYv.jpg

Legend:

The black rectangles are tables. They're largely empty and flat, with only some food and leftovers on them. About 3 feet tall on average. Not necessarily continuous but small details in paint are a pain.

The black spray represents difficult terrain due to crowds. While quite a few people left the festival already, many were expecting to see the consecration ceremony. They're non-combatants and will attempt to flee combat. Will not be tracking them individually unless a goblin decides to take a slash at them, but there are still at least 50 people left on this map.

The groups labeled as "Goblins 2" and "Goblins 1" are self-explanatory. Individual goblins are marked with numbers. Goblins will act on initiative as groups (G1 and G2)

Black circles with initials are players. (B - Bechel, L- Lak'nah, H- Hadavyr, S - Seyica) Disregard other black circles for now.

Initiative order: G2, Seyica, Lak'nah, Bechal, Haldavyr, G1. Treat it as true initiative - don't wait on people before you if you don't want, just post what you want to do and it'll be tracked according to initiative order. Include an alternative action if you think yours' might be obsolete by your turn. Keep it within the same round though.

If you want to move to a spot, refer to the coordinates on the sides of the map.

[root]

http://i.imgur.com/IqK0de5.jpg

Momentarily after the loud bang accompanying the start of Father Zanthus' ceremony, Seyica and Hadavyr noticed blurs of movements through the crowds and under the tables. By the time the screaming started, several seconds later, they were well aware of the cause.

Goblins. Violent, utterly unpredictable, and quite insane, have flooded into the town square. Through the screams and yelps of panicking denizens of Sandpoint, you could hear what appears to be a crude song, sang by many screeching voices, in Goblin and Common alike.



Goblins chew and goblins bite,
Goblins cut and goblins fight.
Stab the dog and cut the horse,
Goblins eat and take by force!
Goblins race and goblins jump,
Goblins slash and goblins bump.
Burn the skin and mash the head,
Goblins here and you be dead!
Chase the baby, catch the pup,
Bonk the head to shut it up.
Bones be cracked,
Flesh be stewed,
WE BE GOBLINS YOU BE FOOD!

As the panic starts, the goblins seem happy about the reaction. The three goblins on the north end of the square, just behind the Hagfish stand, scream loudly waving their crude weapons. Two (1 and 2) jumps up on Hagfish' stand, one taking a slash at Lak'nah and another attempting to fill its pockets with remaining seafood on the table. The third goblin (3) attempts to slash at Jargie's wooden leg with his dogslicer, cackling madly.


ROUND 1
Initiative order: G2, Seyica, Lak'nah, Bechal, Haldavyr, G1

Goblins in group G2 (near Bechal and Lak'nah) move closer (will update map) and attack.
Goblin 1
[roll0]
[roll1]
(against Lak'nah's Flat-footed AC of 14)

Goblin 3
[roll2]
[roll3]
(against Jargie's flat footed AC of 11)

Goblin 2 just tries to stuff as much seafood as possible into its pouches and pockets.

Actions left in ROUND 1:
Seyica, Lak'nah, Bechal, Haldavyr, G1

[SneakyZombie]

"GOBLINS !" yells seyica in an assured voice. "Everyone get to safety !"
Look, mom, i know this party isn't for you and stuff, but please give the strength to keep the innoncent from your ream another day.

Seyica does her best to remember Kora's teaching, and empty her mind, still shaking off her confrontation with the burned man.
She makes a series of quick gesture in the direction of the first goblin she sees, and two blue bolts of energy quickly fly towards her target


Pretty sure the goblin 4 of group 1 got cover from the crowd, so that's a -4 to hit for me, and i get Point blank shot
Rapid shot being used (Full round action)

+5 base (-2 rapid shot) (-4 cover) (+1 PBS) = 0

[roll0]
[roll1]
[roll2]
[roll3]



Given the amount of people, if she can't shoot at the goblins, seyica ready an action to attack the first goblin she can (use first roll in this case)

[root]

Don't expect such quick updates every time but since I'm still up, here it goes.

I will do a large detailed recap at the end of each round, with updated map. If possible, I'll post small notes on whether or not someone is dead so people don't have to worry too much about alternative actions, whenever, like right now.

Goblin 1 of goblin group 1, now relabeled "4", is dead like a doorknob.

I've re-labeled the goblins to make it less confusing now; group 1 goblins are now labeled "4, 5, 6" as opposed to "1, 2, 3".


Just as the marauding goblin leaps out from behind the tent, he gets hit by Seyica's soulbolt. Pierced, he falls, lifeless as the rest of his companions scream what appears to be insults in Goblin.


http://i.imgur.com/aD4e5yY.jpg

[Lt Gravemind]

Lak'nah snarled as the goblin's blade cut into him. Suddenly his eyes widened, his pulse quickened as his vision turned to red and he let out a roar, snatching the greataxe off his back and taking a powerful swing at the goblin.


Lak'nah enters his rage.

Power Attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]

[root]

Lak'nah's mighty axe blow splits the opportunistic goblin in half, covering much of the Hagfish stand in gore. So much for the seafood...

The second goblin on the table yelps in horror as it sees what happened to its companion. Jargie swears profusely, trying to shake the third goblin off his wooden peg leg, bleeding from a deep cut on his good leg.


Goblin 1, goblin 4 dead.
Remaining turns this round: Bechel, Haldavyr, Goblins 1 (5 and 6)

[Mornings]

Bechal Rossfield - The Misbegotten Auspex


The momentary clatter of the roused crowd in the square caught his attention, then was shortly dismissed as Father Zanthus made his way up onto the podium. The man was already late, he really should have performed his little show during The Release. Now it was something of a stale act with half of the gathering filtering away and the other half gorged and half asleep. He clicked his tongue at the man's passing comment about Ameiko, somewhat irate. He didn't like priests, but who could blame him. He hadn't exactly had the most wonderful history with the sisters of the cloth during his tenure in Absalom. However, short lived...

The crack and crash in the distance hardly drew his attention, nor do the loud 'bang'. Around this time the drunks had a habit of crawling out from under their booze-laden tables to find something to break. It drew a slight chuckle from him - he could watch drunk people all day. Then came the screams, an alarming jolt made him sit upright, as if his spine snapped stiff. His head frantically darted about. Something was wrong - a cold sweat begun to bead on his brow. He had a bad feeling - What was going on. Frantic cries. Frenzied steps. The flash of blood. No. No. No... this can't be happening. But it was... it was happening. The vision. Amid his own fortune to herald the chaos - doom had come to SandPoint. Had he not come to stop it? To face it? - No. That hadn't been him, right? That couldn't have been... It was someone else! He was Bechal! The musician, the boy, the coward! ...Right? He turned frantically to Jargie "Jarg, we need to get ou- " A spray of blood on the ground and twisted cackling, followed by the man's screams shook him to the core. He sharply turned to the big man "Beef-cake, HELP!" He'd not even seen the creature, how'd it get so close!? The goblin-song filled his ears - the raucous gibbering laughter of the demented horde of little freaks surrounded him from all corners like some infernal choir. Blood coated his coat's arm as the monster hacked into the great man with its worn-twisted blade. The goblins hacked at poor Jargie, slashed at the Shoanti - chanting insistently, insolently! This was not music! It was all so surreal... No. It wasn't real. This couldn't be real, he was dreaming. It had been such a good dream - he might have finally confessed his feelings to the woman he'd been so found of... but now it had become some nightmare. His body froze in place, his knee's shaking. "....Wake up. Wake up. Wake up... It's not real." Then the giant warrior ripped his great-axe from his blade, reeling back with a mighty howl and brought the blade to bare. A brilliant crimson blossom bloomed in the evening light - it lashed out angrily at the waning sun with its petal hands, slapping him in the face, painting his horror-branded visage with the thick spray of gore.

"AAAGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!! - AHHHHHHHH!!!" THIS WAS REAL! He kicked off from the stand's counter, screaming like a madman, flailing wildly at the air and whipping the thick foul-smelling goblin sludge from his face. What was this madness!? He hit the ground behind him in a back roll, tumbling through the dirt with a hard crash - pain ran through his shoulder as he came to, landing on his feet in a crouch. Tears ran down his face, perhaps in terror, perhaps from the terrible filth that burned his eyes - or maybe... He struck a chord, his hands seemingly to move of their own violation. A series of plucking strings crying out, as if to deny or contest the chanting chorus, that was both profane and out of key. He wasn't the boy he was! He'd chosen to be here - this was his final affirmation. He wasn't mad! -and all the pain had not been meaningless. The stream of plucking notes turned into powerful hammering chords that carried out with magical energy, amplified and twisted to some tone unnatural to the world by some arcane power. His hand's quaked as a dim blue light begun to manifest - The sound became like a pulsing wind, carried by the notes of his song. He lifted himself from the ground, as his song built in volume and intensity, his blood-caked hair danced wildly about him giving him the appearance of some musician driven past the precipice of his own sanity. He hit a crashing chord, crying out over the song about him, as if to drown it with his own in some battle of ballads.


'Herbstwind Schlaf' (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1dLmSVcyxtw)

"The storm is rising... and night comes to fall."
"All alone... you're drifting off."
"...And none will come to hold your hand"

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING!?"
"THIS COLD SEA IS SHORELESS!"
"The autumn wind blows..."

"THE AUTUMN WIND BLOWS!"
"BLOWS, TO STEAL THESE TEARS!"
"The storm creeps upon us, soon to forget..."

"FORGET THE PAIN OF THESE HOURS! FORGET THE PAIN OF DAYS PAST!
"THESE DAYS ARE NEW AND FLEETING! FLEETING AS THIS SUN'S LIGHT!
"SO STAND ANEW BEFORE STORM'S WIND!"

"THIS AUTUMN WIND BRINGS RENEWAL... A LIFE TO CEASE!"
"A LIFE TO LIVE YET LIVED!"
"SO GRASP THE SKY'S FLEETING LIGHT, AND MAKE DUE WITH TODAY!"
"THIS NIGHT BRINGS STORM, WHICH KNOWS NO DAY!"
"DARK BRINGS REST, BUT NO TOMORROW! THE STARS FOREVER GLEAMING IN DANCE AND PLAY!"

He reeled back the neck of his instrument and leapt up. Screaming the last of the song's lyrics at the sky, he came down with a final crashing chord unleashing an explosion of sapphire light that sizzled in the air with a thousand sparkling star-like lights. The blast of energy erupted directly from the goblin before him and washed over the other short-beasts.



MISC: 5-ft Step to J-9
Standard: Bechal Casts Sleep: 10-radius burst from Goblin #2, hits all goblins in area. DC16 Will Save to negate.

[root]

As Bechel completes the spell, the shrieking goblins slump down on the ground with a dazed look in their eyes. The goblin on the table is peacefully snoring into a plate of gore-covered lobster tails and fried fish and the goblin previously attacking Jargie's leg is similarly affected.

Unfortunately, the arcane slumber overcomes Bechel as well. He falls on the ground, asleep.


Everyone but Lak'nah failed their saves. Jargie's unaffected because of his HD and spell mechanics.



http://i.imgur.com/k3zsYrA.jpg


Shaking off the slumbering goblin, Jargie swears "Yar got ta be kiddin' me!? Who invited tha damn goblins!?" while trying to staunch the bleeding from a cut in his leg.

Lightly misted in goblin blood, he looked over his stand and sighed "Too bad 'bout tha fish. But looks like yer got this under control, aye? I'm gettin' outta here! Do pay me a visit at Hagfish when this blows over."

He breaks into a hobbling gait towards the cathedral, his wooden leg loudly clacking on the pavement. As he reaches the doors, he is grabbed by one of the guards and taken inside as the other stands guard over the entrance with his sword at ready.

[Mornings]

Bechal Rossfield - The Misbegotten Auspex


The crashing explosion of sapphire gleam and twinkling lights blinded him. He staggered backwards a step. He could feel one eye lazily roll back in his skull. His lungs felt heavy, but it all seemed to not matter as the green little freaks flopped face-first to the earth and in a bowl of seafood. "H...a...... Take da' ya... frak'ish... lil mutants...." His face was numb, he'd lost feeling in his appendages and even his tongue. A stream of slobber ran down his shirt from his mouth, fighting with every fiber to just stay standing. He raised his hand in the air triumphantly, as if to a crowd even though everything had long gone dark...

"Da'' ...on' fer... ya.... 'Meko..... Be 'er' all...wek'....heh."

His legs buckled and he crashed to the ground in a crumpled heap.

[Hattish Thing]

Haldavyr the Red:

As the wizard walks forward, grinding his scorched quarterstaff into the dirt with every step with the violence of an ogre bashing a man's head in with a club, seeming to take his frustration out on the ground before him. He pays no attention to the Desnan man on the podium preaching the words of his faith and making his clever little references to whoever it was he was talking about. No doubt some local wench, apparently with a penchant for salmon. By all the gods above and below, Haldavyr was tired of fish. The smell, the taste, even hearing the word. The day had been an awful waste of time so far, and the woman that approached him put him on edge. She didn't look like what the Umbral Court would send after him, nor an agent of his father's, but then, it never did the scarred wizard any harm to be too careful. The red wizard looks over his shoulder, as if thinking the very words "Umbral Court" would somehow summon one of their agents nearby, but of course, there was nothing there at all. However, as he faces forward once again, there's a shrill scream that rips through the air, startling him.

He reflexively grips the Steelscorch Stave close, and raises his tattooed hand, looking towards the direction of the scream and stepping back. As he does so, the scream is joined by several others and the deformed caster notices the same woman that had walked up to him offering herbs earlier, nearby. As the crowd suddenly parts and canine blood begins to spill, Haldavyr reaches up to ensure that his hood remain over his face, before turning to gaze upon a little green creature that had taken a spot for itself just ahead of him. His lips part in a look of obvious disgust before twisting upwards to form a hideous grin, yellowed and worn teeth glinting in the sunlight. He looks down to his wrinkled left hand and stares at the tattoo, the terrible burn there, before his gaze once more reaches the goblin ahead, and his burnt hand begins to glow with terrible magic, shadowy tendrils of black electricity sparking from his palm. Perhaps, for a brief second, the little creature can make eye contact with the wizard.

Just before he charges.

Suddenly, in a burst of movement and a show of strength most would find unusual in a robed man such as he, Haldavyr begins to rush through the sand, staff in his other hand. There's malevolence in every step and cruelty in his eyes, and as he moves forward his eye grows thin and he lets out a terrible roar of ferocious anger, wrath coursing through his body. Halfway there, his spell grows even fiercer, his tattoo almost seeming to burn and release steam as the black tendrils of shadowy electricity grow larger and larger. Haldavyr arrives in front of the little goblin, and moves to wrap his hand around the goblin's neck and lift the thing briefly off the ground, attempting to force enough dark magic through the creature to simply cause it to instantly perish. He makes eye contact with the creature before him and lets off a terrible cackle as he does so, seeming to take great joy in the release of his arcane rage.

---

[root]

Grasped by the mage's hand, the goblin painfully perishes, smoking profusely. The remaining goblin, unaware of his sudden solitude, screams "Git the longshanks!" as he swings his crude implement at Haldavyr.


[roll0]
[roll1]



By sheer luck, the goblin sword connects with Haldavyr with a telling blow.

[root]

As several painfully long seconds pass since thunderstone detonation, the Sandpoint town square is basically unrecognizable. The crowds, however drunk and emburdened by drink, are largely gone. Unlucky few lie on the ground, bleeding profusely from cruel cuts and rubbing many bruises. Several tables were knocked down, the uneaten food and leftovers scatter the crude cobblestone and dirt. Several of the little attackers lie trampled on the ground, having stood no chance of against dozens of panicking men and women several times their size and weight.

Most of the crowds have run off to the south and west, fleeing for their homes. Quite a few took refuge in the Cathedral, it's gates defended by two nervous looking guards.

You can still hear the sound of battle from blocks away, loud goblin shrieks, barks of dogs and clangs of iron. Loud screams and agitated barks come from further north up the Church street, accompanied by goblin chanting and cackling.


Map legend (mostly self-explanatory):

Large green circle represents radius of Bechel's sleep spell, ignore it.

Red circles represent enemies; "X" if dead.

Black circles labeled with party's initials are players.

Green circles are villagers still present on the map; "P" signifies that they're prone and likely hurt.

http://i.imgur.com/ld6Rvq4.jpg

http://i.imgur.com/s0JHx0g.jpg





Multiple goblins litter the square. Out of the 6 goblins engaged by the players, 3 lie utterly dead, 2 magically slumbering (2 and 3, labeled on map) and 1 alive and scrapping with Haldavyr (5)

The crowds have left the square, with only few prone stragglers behind.

Lak'nah took 5 damage, Haldavyr got crit for 6 damage, Bechal has succumbed to his own Sleep spell, Seyica is unharmed.

Health: L 10/15; H 2/8; B 9/9; S 11/11

Resources expended: 1 lvl 1 spell slot for Bechal, 1 Shocking Grasp for Haldavyr.

Edit: Just realized that I cut out the Cathedral from tactical map. Its entrance is literally about 20 feet to the east from the middle of the podium. Two of the Sandpoint's finest guard the door with swords at ready, one bloodied.

Round 2 start: Seyica, Lak'nah, Bechal * currently asleep, Haldavyr, goblin #6

[SneakyZombie]

"Is that the rude graybeard ?
Well maybe now he won't treat me like a wench when i offer him a hand"
"Let me assist you, grandpa ! Don't worry, it's free of charge !"

Seyica takes a few steps back to get a better sight, a takes a carefully aimed shot at the goblin engaged in melee with the burned man.


Move to N22
Attack the goblin (i assume i get a clear shot)
[roll0]
[roll1]

[root]

The shrieking goblin, momentarily excited by his apparent success, gets obliterated by Seyica's soulbolt before it is able to inflict any more harm.


4 goblins are dead, the only still live ones are asleep (2 and 3).

Remaining actions this turn: Lak'nah, Haldavyr, (Bechel still asleep for 1 minute).

However, for all intents and purposes this combat is over. All the present enemy combatants are dead or disabled, and while battle still rages on in other places in Sandpoint, you're too far to participate.

[Mornings]

Bechal Rossfield - The Misbegotten Auspex


...Lobster tails .... Music, butterflies. It was the same traditions every year, old memories that never changed. It was not a good memory, it only served to remind him of where he came from and where he'd been. Things he didn't want to remember. But this time... it was different, he was different.

He stood neck deep in the calm waters of the Varisian coast. The screams echoed in his mind - he'd come here. Home, because he couldn't let go. Not the good nor the bad. This was where he was from - he knew the faces of those who had fled past him, those who cried out and those who died. He might not remember their names, but he couldn't forget the faces. They plastered the walls within the labyrinth of his consciousness. His song was the song of these people, he didn't want to forget.

The waves crashed over him, plummeting him down to the murky depths. The unfamiliar chords of a song he'd never heard filled his ears, illuminating the black reaches of the harbor's bay. He hated water. He didn't know how to swim... This serene sunken hollow was more real then anything he could remember from recent memory. For once, life hadn't spit in his face. For once, the bridges he'd built weren't on fire, and all was well - at least until the darkness came to wash over the town. That was real, it was too grim to not be. He drifted further down into the abyssal breach, the fish passing him, his hair waving wildly in the sub-current. Perhaps this had been the sight of those few thrown into the bay to die. It wasn't so bad... though perhaps an iron ball, or brick chained to his legs might alter his opinion. Maybe he would die too. He wondered what the name of this song was, it was clean, somber and painted some austere memory within the mind - as if descending into its creators thoughts. A sorrowful place, filled with a great vastness and crushing weight that would not let the mind find ease. He'd have to remember it... He waved his hand, a vast stream of colors gleamed and sparkled to light the gloomy cavernous depths of the ocean. The translucent fluid world about him shifted, spiraled, twisted and changed - a dismal darkness, filled with terrible-monstrous silhouettes. So this was a dream as well... It was difficult to tell at times when he was awake. What was a dream. The fantastic and otherworldly seemed to pursue him in both realms, with a lack thereof of joy and mirth. Even in his dreams, he was ever drifting through a world of dark, so scarcely filled with light. He tried to hide behind the songs and laughter, but just like the seasons - the nights grew longer, the days, harder. He'd come to stand for Varisia, even if that would mean he would stand alone. He'd forgotten that, forgotten what it felt like to truly be alone again. He wrapped his hands around himself. He didn't want to be alone again.

The thought returned, SandPoint had come under attack. Though not as he had imagined, now, in this place he could feel it. This was it. There was more then he saw at play, something to dance at the edge of his conscious thoughts. He'd never reach it, not alone. The nameless hatred that had brought fire and death would come again. He'd stood against these passing raids, these masquerading raiders. The town had been attacked a great deal of times in the past by all manner of goblinoid and gibbering creature - but those attacks had been fought and stopped further from the heart of the town, and why today? It was impossible to know, but someone did... someone had to know. Misfortune had a habit of being cast out and returning to these shores. Just like him. He'd find out, he'd put the pieces together. After all... Talking was his best attribute.

The sweeping haunting howl of the void of aquatic-dreams washed over him. It was a a maelstrom of haunting cries, of voices both familiar and foreign - rasping out as if to devour him amid a nightmarish storm. The chords of the voices song were so strange, twisted... Apparently D-Tuned... He didn't know such a song was possible, even in the confines of ones own dreams! It was redemption. It was malediction. It was ascension... The perdition of some dreadful infinite world consumed by some corrupted light. Hope. Turned to dust. Poison in the veins. The ethereal chorus carried on in three-fourths, common time, while the melody struck like an earthbreaker. Faster then one could even hope to recover, the melody crashed down in sharp and brutal blast-beat chords in perhaps a five-twenty fourth, irrational meter. It was unlike any meter signature he'd ever heard in music... It was so strange, it begged the question, was this even music? It was something... arcane, forlorn. From some world foreign to here. To everywhere. Music from the world of dreams. It was like some haunting fae melody which captured some part of those who heard it. Each song painted something within the hearts of those who listened and birthed something into the world - painting some reflection of their creator's vision into being, if even for a short while. This was the magic of song, and the arcane power he learned to wield - yet this was unlike that. Music buried within the deepest expanses of some abyssal dreamscape, literally realms apart. It was haunting. It was the bleakness of spirit somewhere deep within him, and much like the depths - it was dreadful and crushing... Fearsome and surreal. He had to have it.

[Hattish Thing]

Haldavyr the Red:

The wizard lunged to his target, his long fingers wrapping around the goblins throat with no small amount of malicious intent, his eye glittering in sadistic glee mixed with a burning fire, and within a second there's a terrible crack and a crunch as the goblin's neck is shattered and crushed, dark tendrils of shadow electricity racing through the small creature, causing it to shake and shiver until finally, it's eyes burst out from within, and the creature's heart explodes in it's chest. Haldavyr cackles loudly, his terrible laugh clearly audible. He lefts the still quivering body of the goblin in the air before squeezing one final time, the neck now utterly mangled, blood dripping from it's ears, eyesockets, and mouth.

The goblin had been utterly destroyed in a foul display of dark and exotic magic.

Just as the old man drops the corpse of the little creature, the other sneaks up behind him, before delivering a painful stab to his thigh, slicing through the wizard's faded crimson robe. Haldavyr drops to a knee in sudden pain, his cackle turning into a howl of rage. The blade had slid directly between a few bones, slicing through tendons and severing muscle in a show of incredible luck.

---

He stumbles about, gritting his teeth angrily, as the tattoo on his hand begins to cease it's glow. He calls out weakly, reaching for the wound and feeling blood trickle through his fingers.

"I, I... I'm too weak, ahg... Help me. I can't... Rghhh..."

[root]

As the furious fighting dies off in the town's square, people begin to peak out from behind various covers. Still cautious, hearing the shrill cries of goblins within the city and the sound of battle, most are not particularly willing to make themselves exposed. Several shapes, however, emerge from within the Cathedral, cautiously reaching the middle of the square as the guards exchange brief looks and nods, unwilling to leave their posts at the doors, but ready to charge should a new threat emerge.

Father Zanthus, his ceremonial white robes marred by blood, but otherwise unaffected, channels the divine energy of Desna to provide immediate aid to the fallen revelers. Several begin to move, dusting themselves off and looking around in a bewildered fashion before running for cover. The other person, an ancient woman with much of her features covered with a long colourful varisian shawl, hobbles around the square, using a gnarled walking stick to poke several of the prone bodies outside the priest's reach. She mainly focuses on the goblins and perhaps uses a little too much force to ascertain their state. A tiny hedgehog follows her every step, trying its hardest to catch up without looking overly undignified. It sniffs the air as it examines the square, picking up minor scraps of food left behind in the scuffle.

Glaring back at the Cathedral's half-opened portal, she yells out in an authoritative voice, "Could use some help 'round here! The priest boy can only do this much. Why doncha two of you dolts at the doors come down here an' help? Much good you are at guardin'". Having reached the north end of the square, she's stared directly at gore-encrusted Lak'nah before dismissing him with "Oh my, what a mess" as she came across the limp body of the bard. Noticing his complete lack of wounds, she pokes Bechel with a stick in the ribs sharply. She sighs, muttering under her breath "Youngsters. Teach a man to summon a fire an' next day he'll set 'imself on it."

Raising her voice, she calls out "An' don't think I haven't seen YOU there, Seyica. For once I'm thankful that somebody is taking care of this whole situation, unlike Hemlock's finest... Ain't a reason to dawdle around, though." She shot another glare at the guards left behind, and the younger one of the two, barely an adult by any standard, seemed visibly embarrassed as he began to walk down the steps into the square.

A cart sparks into fire just about 200 feet up Church street, not far from the Sandpoint's northern gate. Those of you who live or have visited Sandpoint before, might realize that White Deer inn faces the northern gate...


I'm not tracking in-game time down to every round outside of combat, but let's say that less than a minute has passed since the goblins were put to sleep. About 2 combat rounds would be more than enough for Zanthus to run out the doors and reach the middle of the square and Channel positive energy, and that's really the bulk of what's going on here.

Bechal is awoken with a rather sharp poke to his ribs to see an ancient crone of a person standing above him, looking down with what appears to be slight derision.




You find the screaming voice rather familiar. It's no other than Aldern Foxglove, a once client of now defunct Rossfield Trading Company. You can't really ascertain the words at this distance, or whether there are any.

[Mornings]

Bechal Rossfield - The Misbegotten Auspex


Get up boy. Or you planning on just laying there til the dust buries you under? - He knew that voice. A deep and somber timber that held a certain aged melody. As if his very words and common phrases were telling a story. His eyes fluttered open, pushing up from the ground. Hagevald. This was either a dream, or he was dead... of course, there was the off chance perhaps, this was real. The town was burning, the cries of the chanting little beasts could be heard all about. Sometimes he was him. In passing crowds, in the corner of his eye. Lurking in the dark - like some haunting specter. He wondered all too often if it was even real. If Hagevald had ever been real. Perhaps he never had been.. like some dusty photograph he could not remember, taken with a figure which did not exist. He wanted to scream...

"You're dead old man..." The old silvered man crossed his arms. He still wore the old and battered duster he died in, the coat he'd lived in. Oh? Well then, I think you're the one with the problem - talking to a dead man, eh? He was right, after all, if he truly was dead then he no longer had problems with which to concern himself. Told ya once, then told ya again kid - ya can't wander in The Deep. It'll eat ya alive. Chew ya up an' spit ya' out like an ol' Barghest. He spoke like he'd wandered so far by his own violation. He couldn't control this - he didn't know where this was going. There was no control here. You're always in control, kid. You've always been in control. You surrender by yourself, to yourself. You ain't the same kid, so grow a damn pair and stand up. No one told ya to come back. I sure as hell didn't - so why you here, kid? He didn't know. You know why. He forgot. You remember. He didn't want to know why. You wouldn't let yourself forget.

He turned away from the roguish old bard, clawing his way off the ground. He didn't want to hear this right now - he didn't want to see him right now. The burning of the town square and the bodies of the dead laid about to greet him. The crackling of flame and the ring of steel played out an ambient noise while the painful raucous clatter of goblin chanting choked his ears. Perhaps this was real, perhaps he had died - he didn't care anymore, he just didn't want to think about the hurt anymore. The droning monotony of a boring day and the mechanical lock-step predictability of his social cage - that was all his mind wanted to occupy itself with. He silently turned away from Hagevald, and marched back into the sea.


*****

The sharp blow to the head wrestled him from his slumber. He looked about to see the old-man standing over him, but it was not who he expected... "Ugh, not you too...", a second kick to the ribs had him up off the ground. What do you think you're doing, boy. He stomped his foot on the ground. He was 34! He wasn't a boy anymore! If you're not a sniveling-snot-nosed brat anymore, then act like it. No one made you come back - you could have walked away. Wandered as far east as east goes and never looked back, but you didn't. He knew that - better them him, better then anyone else. The burning sight of the town still plagued him, standing over himself, as himself. He couldn't tell what was a dream anymore. "You never did told me what happened to her." ...And I never will. He grit his teeth, he was right. Any chance at finding some measure of closure he'd sold with the time he'd idled away in Korvosa - he was dead. Perhaps one day he'd find out, find out what happened to her. He'd never even seen her face. So why'd you come back, boy. He turned away, to stare off at the black waters of the bay. Why'd he came back? After seeing the terror of the vision soon to come to pass? He should know as best as anyone. "You know why I came back, old man." The long-haired well dressed man chuckled - even in this place, it was as if the world censored his face. Hah, the girl, eh? He shook his head, then nodded. "Yeah...and no." He turned around to face the faceless man. "I don't care what's real and what's a dream - I came back for all of them." Then get up. The day's yet done. He knew. But he was also afraid - afraid of what... who, he'd rise to find next time and who they would be greeting. He didn't know who he was anymore. That's the trail only you'll face. The one test you'll have to confront alone - back within the dark of the sea. That was the part that frightened him - he wasn't sure he wanted to, and wasn't sure he wanted to know who he really was. He couldn't remember everything he'd done, or who he was, but he knew who he'd been. Wouldn't that all change when he finally confronted himself? Of course it will. But you're not the boy you were, nor the man you will be. Stop crying and face the world - or you'll drive yourself mad. Perhaps he was right. There was only forward now - only forward. "I never hated you, old man." - I know, son.


*****

The sharp jab to the ribs sent him flailing on the ground in frustration, throwing up dirt on the ground in a fit. The familiar incessant chanting. The all too familiar crackling of the fire and ring of sharpened steel. It was as if he'd lived this moment three lifetimes-ago. Get up, boy "...I know" If you've something to protect, get up! "I know..." He clawed his way off the ground, digging into the dirt for a grip to pull himself up from. The world was awash with twisting flames and.... cries. He staggered to the left, crashing into the Hagfish stand. The world seemed to rock-and-sway. Such a strange dream. He looked up at the gore-smeared twisting image of the large Jadwiga-fellow. "Hah..." He pushed off the counter, shuffling forward drunkenly. The new face he'd never seen before, some strange and wrinkled creature... "...My. You weren't kidding... A three-legged Barghest." He keeled over and vomited violently on the ground, choking on the stinking bile and second-time-tasted ale. He stuck a chord on his mandolin, reeling back, letting his hair fall behind his head as he nearly fell backwards before regaining his balance. Shuddering in place, as if he'd crash over of his own violation, caught between the numbing-disorienting strength of his magic and the sickened-condition of his drunken stupor capitalized by the bile and ambrosia running down his chin. His eyes occasionally rolled in his head and he rocked back and forth, his eye lids heavy as he fought for consciousness. "Fear not.... my Lupine friend. Like, the others... I told 'em. I'll.... I'll protect.... protect... everyone." He staggered back again, crashing into the food stand, grabbing a fish and tossing it at the 'barghest' crone, as if tossing a large dog a bone. "..Aye! Many thanks for your troubles. And... not eating myself! Ha!" He shook his head. "...I promised him, ya'know. Told him... it's not just fer' her... came back.... I came back." He struck another chord. The cries in the distance caught his disoriented wandering mind, lost between dreams, the magic and his drunken state. It was Aldern "...Aren't you going to help him!? Or are you just going to look at me!? - Fine... eat. I'm... coming... Foxy..." He planted a foot in the ground, "I won't stop.... I'll march on..." He played a crashing series of chords, magic spilling out into the world with the stream of sound augmented by the arcane energy... "Move.... stupid legs. Aldern, needs... music!" He took a heavy step with each heavy melody that came into the world, with a strange and twisted, almost-drunken not-so-in-tune stream of notes, that slammed out with sapphire smoke. The filth, and grime vanished - the dirt faded away. His eye's started to gleam with some awareness.



'We Marched Into The Sea' (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j2SNEKHxG7c)


"If food needed pleasing you'd suck all the seasoning off,"
"Suck it off!"

"Well treat me like the disease, like the rats and the fleas. A-HA-HA!"
"Bang your head like a gong 'cause its' filled with all wrong! A-HA-HA-HA!"

"If you think you know enough..."
"to know you know you've had enough."
"And if you think you don't, you probably will."

"Our tails wagged and then fell off, but we just turned back,"
"marched into the sea."
"Well treat me like the sea oh so salty and mean. AH-HA-HAH-HA!"
"Well treat me like the disease like the rats and the fleas, AH-HA-HA...Ha!"

"I'll be beating my heart's record for speeding."
"I'll be beating the record for hearts skipping in the dark."

"Our tails wagged and then fell off but we just turned back - marched into the sea, "
"well we just turned back, marched into the sea."

"Take all that you need like my sign says for free,"
"Till it's gone! TILL IT'S GONE!"
"Well discard whom you please like the leaves off a tree, A-HA-HA! A-HA-HA!"
"Let's shake hands if you want, but soon both hands are gone, OH, HA-HA-HA!"

"Well treat me like the sea, oh so salty and mean, oh-ha-ha."
"Oh, treat me like the sea oh so salty and mean... oh-ha-ha."

"Well, Treat me like the disease like the rats and the fleas."
"Bang your head like a gong 'cause you call it all wrong, move your tongue; "
"Klang klang! Klang klang! Klang klang! Klang klang!"

"Cut me down like a tree, like the lumber or weeds, "
"well discard who you please like the leaves off a tree."
"Drag me out of the sea and then teach me to breath. "
"GIVE ME FORCED HEALTH, TIL I WISH DEATH ON MYSELF!"
"GIVE ME FORCED HEALTH, TIL I WISH DEATH ON MYSELF! AH! HA! HA! AH! HA! HA!"

"Well we all stumbled 'round tangled up in the cords from our homes, visceral-stars, and our wordly woes."
"Ah! Ha! Ha!"

"March on!"
"March on!"
"March on!"
"March on!"

"OH, MARCH ON!"



- Bechal Gets off the ground
- Casts Prestidigitation to clean himself off
- Begins moving in the direction of Aldern's cries.

[SneakyZombie]

Haldavyr the Red:

The wizard lunged to his target, his long fingers wrapping around the goblins throat with no small amount of malicious intent, his eye glittering in sadistic glee mixed with a burning fire, and within a second there's a terrible crack and a crunch as the goblin's neck is shattered and crushed, dark tendrils of shadow electricity racing through the small creature, causing it to shake and shiver until finally, it's eyes burst out from within, and the creature's heart explodes in it's chest. Haldavyr cackles loudly, his terrible laugh clearly audible. He lefts the still quivering body of the goblin in the air before squeezing one final time, the neck now utterly mangled, blood dripping from it's ears, eyesockets, and mouth.

The goblin had been utterly destroyed in a foul display of dark and exotic magic.

Just as the old man drops the corpse of the little creature, the other sneaks up behind him, before delivering a painful stab to his thigh, slicing through the wizard's faded crimson robe. Haldavyr drops to a knee in sudden pain, his cackle turning into a howl of rage. The blade had slid directly between a few bones, slicing through tendons and severing muscle in a show of incredible luck.

---

He stumbles about, gritting his teeth angrily, as the tattoo on his hand begins to cease it's glow. He calls out weakly, reaching for the wound and feeling blood trickle through his fingers.

"I, I... I'm too weak, ahg... Help me. I can't... Rghhh..."

Seyica, Heir of Pharasma :

"Without my gifts, this poor old man would probably be dead already. Mother, i guess his time didn't came yet ..."


Hearing Kora calling out for her, Seyica replies "A bit busy here, 'mam, i'm coming as soon as i can !"
Seyica rushes to the wizards side, remaining calm and steady.
"Quite a wound you got here. I'm no doctor, but looks like nothing vital has been hit, you'll live to be rude to young girls another day" she says with a grin.
Tearing apart a piece of cloth to make a bandage, she continues ...
"I'm sorry, not the time to fool around.
I don't have anything to relieve the pain on me, but i'm pretty sure the towns priests can make you feel better, can you stand up ?"

[root]

Kora stared at the back of the running (and singing) man, with a slight amount of confusion. "A three legged barghest? That's a first..." she said "Jus' wait until you are as old as me, an' see what you look like"

Slowly walking towards Seyica, she added "Why would anyone run towards a bloodcurdling scream? It makes the least bit of sense... That man must have a truly good heart, it would be a shame if it ended up on some goblin's sword. Pharasma may know all fates, but I reckon this young man's not ready for th' final judgement yet."

"Think we got things covered down here. You've got the penchant for reckless action, don' pretend I haven't seen you practice with those gifts yer got... Why don' you go go help that musical fool, this town could use some heroism", she spoke upon approach. Eyeing the fried corpse of the goblin near Haldavyr, she added " an' why not take this ol' geezer. Clearly he's got some talents himself..."

Facing the old man, she added "I won't pretend to know who you are or why you are here... But in my old years, I've never seen an attack so blatant by these little scamps. Whatever's happening, the people of Sandpoint will be thankful for any help you can procure, an' clearly you have the ability for it"

Finally reaching him, she layed her hand on the bleeding man's wound and the flesh began to knit together.


Work in process. Going to have kora cast clw instead of zanthus, but there isn't significant difference between their caster levels so I'll just use same roll from ooc. Haldavyr is back to full health

[Mornings]

Bechal Rossfield - The Misbegotten Auspex


While not exactly, walking, nor running - Bechal pressed on in a zig-zagging staggering-jog. Not quite running sideways, but not exactly running straight either, while bobbing left and right in the disorienting haze. Suddenly veering to the left, he crashed into the side of a house while still playing his drunken tune. He spun in a side-long roll before getting twisted up under his own feet and falling over with a crash into a basket of laundry, abruptly ending his song. With heaving breaths he rolled over and begun to wretch multiple times, spewing out nothing but pure alcohol. He coughed and hacked, as the stream of foul smelling liquid finally ended. His eyes watered, his face was red - the tears running down his face were equal parts born from the lack of oxygen, the terrible smell, and the burning of the acidic bile. "....Uhhhhgg... my tummy." He shook his head, his vision finally clearing up and the haze filtering away.

He looked about himself... why was he in a laundry basket? He was out of the town square though, that was the furthest he'd come yet! "Ha. Third-time's always the charm." He whipped his chin in his sleeve, he'd definitely had a little too much of the drink. hell, he'd been drinking all day - since the moment the tap opened up and the first shout of 'free' was called, he'd enjoyed himself perhaps too liberally... He reached back into his oiled canvas messenger-bag and produced another bottle of ale, still sealed. He bit off the cap and spat it off to the side, taking out his flask and pouring the contents within while taking a swig. He wasn't an alcoholic, hell, he could quit anytime - most of the time it was simply that he couldn't afford the stuff. As much as he loved to drink, he didn't quite have the fortitude to hold his liquor. That was alright though, drunk songs were great. He hammered back the last bit of ale in the bottle and tossed it to the side while climbing out of the basket. He was ...well... here, where ever here was. Maybe it was another dream, what with the barghests and all. "Uhhhg... damn these little freaks - no offence Malcolm" He took another swig from his flask then stored it, while producing a lavish black-stick from under his coat. He was probably going to need this... He spun it in his hand and begun using it as a pick to play a melody just so he wouldn't have to hear the terrible-chanting that drove him mad. He begun slowly staggering his way on again towards the sound of Aldern's cries.

Falls prone, produces ale, fills flask. (giving party time to catch up)
-Produces Wand of Vanish

[Hattish Thing]

Haldavyr the Red:

As the wizard struggles to get to his feet once more, he groans and uses his burnt staff to thrust his weight upon and rise. As Seyica comes forward and kneels to heal him, Haldavyr temporarily recoils from her touch, before looking away with a resigned look on his face, attempting not to pay close attention to the rather nasty gash on his leg, nor the woman with the bandage.

He replies only with a quiet grunt and a well-enunciated trio of words. "I thank you."

---

That seemed to be all the young woman would get from the man.

As Kora comes closer and Haldavyr finds his wounds healed, he does take a good look at the old woman now, studying her just as thoroughly as she seemed to be studying him. While he would usually object to being called something as humiliating as "ol' geezer", he was still somewhat in shock from the severe wound he was just dealt, and instead begins to speak to Kora.

His voice is low and laden with distrust. "Indeed. Goblins tend to be the forerunners of much fouler things..."

"Perhaps some investigation would prove... valuable, to me."

---

He gestures towards Seyica, frowning, but seeming to have grown a bit more trustful of her. "Well don't stand there, lead the way, if you must, girl."

"We don't have all day."

[SneakyZombie]

Seyica, Heir of Pharasma :

Hmf. Still not the nicest guy i ever met, but we could have been in a lot more of trouble without him.
Seyica looks towards the now well being wizard, takes a deep breath not to say anything hurtful and goes on.
"well let's go then, this toper looks like he could use some assistance."


***

And I thought i had my fair share of drunkards back at home ...
Seyica strides swiftly towards the obviously inebriated man, ready to offer him her arm if he falls.
"Sir ? Ross is that it ? You probably won't be needing any more of this." she articulates clearly,as she attemps to take the flask back from the bard's hand.
Calling the old Kora a three legged barghests. Man, this one is really lucky he won't ever be needing a midwife
"Now let's go, try not to puke all over the place !"

[Mornings]

Bechal Rossfield - The Misbegotten Auspex


Seeing the young girl come over - directly bee-lining towards his direction, he felt a surge of panic. Anytime... every time, some young girl was storming in his direction. It was never good. It wasn't good when he'd gotten tangled up with the old Tower Girls in Magnimar, it wasn't good when he was running from the humiliated Catsdew Lofties, it surly wasn't good with Lady D'Artel from The Alabaster... and it was really-really not good with his last romance. He scurried out of the laundry basket, tripped, did a barrel-roll and tried to stumble his way away from the girl before he was caught. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! I told Marlessa I was sorry about the trousers!", shielding himself with his arms.

His gestures changed drastically after she reached for his flask - he promptly swatted her hand away. No Sczarni had ever tried to stop another man from drinking. He looked her over with squinting eyes. The dark hue, and blues of her dress were distinctly not Varisian. She looked more like some neophyte apostle who ran from a church in his book. Maybe Korvosan, he'd seen the old-nuns in The Grey District parade around in similar fashion. It was the home of The Grand Cathedral of Pharasma after all, but this far west - literally on the coast, it made for a very awkward appearance - contrasting the brighter styles, Varisian scarves and heraldic flags of the former Khellid-populated lands. "Aye, I'm Ross alright. Common curtsy to introduce yourself you know." He waved off her hand. "...Look girly-girl. I appreciate the gesture... but you're like, freaking me out right now. I don't have a very good track-record with young ladies, or acolytes... BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY!" He pushed himself up off the ground "I dunno what monastery you ran away from, but, see here! Around these parts - no king nor paracount goes without reprimand for trying to lay hands on another man's drink! If you've not the mind for loosing a finger to some Lubbertown sailor's remaining teeth, you'll stop the drinks from getting to his hand. Not take it from his oh-so-sacred possession, if you've a mind to cease his consumption! " He took another swig and put the flask in his bag, just to make a point. "If you've the mind to aid...aid..." He keeled over and vomited on the ground between them, coughing and hacking before whipping off his mouth and continuing on as if he'd gone uninterrupted "...The mind to aid someone, there are those more in need then I!" The cries rang out again somewhere in the distance. "..No time for this. There's men still needing saving!" He turned about, producing his black wand and stumbled off after the voice.

[Lt Gravemind]

Lak'nah seeing the clear square and people squabbling, will rush toward the source of the screaming with his own warcry. His own wounds burned with a fire that made him feel more alive than most of his trip down to this city.


Sorry, been a bit busy.

[SneakyZombie]

Seyica, Heir of Pharasma

*sigh* just like dad ... Seyica feels a jolt of tears to her eyes, but keep up a brave face towards the inebriated man.
"Name's Seyica, not like you'll remember it once you'll sober up" she reacts abrubtly.
"And a goblin attack isn't the best time to drink yourself to oblivion, ever thought of that ?" she continues, as she trots along the now foul smelling man.
"But yes, more people to save, though i doubt you'll be of much use in your current state ..."



***

In the corner of her eyes, seyica sees a towering figure running towards them, clad in leather in bone, wielding a bloody battle axe.
"HOLY MOTHER OF GRAVES !"She turns around, as the blue energy starts rushing towards her hands "Freeze !", she screams, a panicked tone in her voice, her hands obviously shacking in fear, towards the approaching man.

[root]

On your way towards the commotion, you note the emptiness of the street around you. Several unlucky dogs, street mutts by the look of it, lie cruelly slaughtered by goblin blades. Worried faces can be seen peeking out through the windows of the few houses by the side of the road, nobody willing to venture beyond the relative safety. From the southwest end of Sandpoint, you can hear the deep ringing of a large bell, radiating a sense of urgency.

As you approach the White Deer, the screaming that led you there has only intensified as the loud barking suddenly stopped with a yelp.

Aldern Foxglove, a once fancily dressed man, is covering behind a rain barrel, his clothes torn to shreds in several places. Apparently unarmed, he is screaming for help from his relative safety. Just several dozen feet in front of his impromptu cover, a fierce battle is at its end - a large hunting dog lies prone on the cobblestone, profusely bleeding from a deep wound in its neck. Before it, a goblin mounted on a monstrous creature that looks like an unholy crossbreed of an ugly hairless dog and a rat, raises a war cry as he licks fresh blood from the edge of his horse chopper. At this moment, he seems oblivious to your presence, celebrating his victory over one of goblins' most hated enemies, dogs.

Just around the bend of the road, a burning wagon is surrounded by 2 goblins. They chant and dance, seemingly too enthralled by their work to notice you.


Initiative
B [roll0]
S [roll1]
L [roll2]
H [roll3]

Currently the goblins aren't aware of you, so you get a surprise round.




Pick any spot in the green circle on the bottom of the map as your starting position. You've got the element of surprise, so there's move or standard action available to all of you.
Bechal is invisible, and likely ahead of the party (but it's your call, he's a coward after all)

Disregard the white geometric figures on either sides of White Deer inn's door, they're two wooden deers.




As per your earlier attempt to scout ahead (perception roll of 18) while invisible.

As you scout ahead a little bit, you notice that one of the goblins near the burning cart seems different from those you've seen on the square. Armed with a whip and a wearing a large pouch on its belt, it chants with greater aplomb than other goblins.


As you look at the gruesome scene before you, you note that you can hear more voices than you can see goblins. Unfortunately, you do not understand their tongue as you don't speak goblin - but it seems certain that there are several more of the little green buggers out of your sight somewhere.

TLDR: There are more goblins than you see.

[root]

Surprise round (pick your position as you please, and I'll add you to the map)

http://i.imgur.com/JWqw3ZO.jpg





Current initiative order (surprise round):
Lak'nah, Seyica, Bechel, Haldavyr (ouch)

Will add goblins as they become aware of you, already rolled.

B (1d20+3)[8]
S (1d20+3)[16]
L (1d20+6)[24]
H (1d20+1)[2]

[Lt Gravemind]

Lak'nah ignores the glowing woman, rushing past her with blood red eyes and drumming ears only to stop for a moment to survey the area. He immediately spots the mounted goblin and lets out blood curling roar as he runs at it.


Lak'nah starts in M23 and ends in P5 next to the mounted goblin as a full run.

[SneakyZombie]

Seyica, Heir of Pharasma


As the hulking figure runs towards her, seyica gathers her energy, ready to unleash the power of Pharasma towards the assailant. She closes her eyes, feeling the usual rush of power inside her.
For a fraction of second, she reminds seeing the drunkard with the gigantic blood covered man running towards her with his weapon drawn drinking together during the festival.
Mother, make it quick if i'm wrong ...
She forces her eyes shut, finding comfort the soothing freshness of Pharasma's Lance clenched in her fists.
Not dead yet ?
Seyica takes a peek at her surroundings.
Yup. Still alive. Thanks for the inspiration mom !


***


Her hands still shaking with fear, Seyica let out with a more reassured voice "Watch out ! I can hear more of them hidden somewhere !"

She quickly move to a spot where she can get a clear line of sight, and let out the energy towards a goblin.



Starting position : M23
Attacking goblin W : [roll0]
Damage [roll1]

[root]

Caught flatfooted, the goblin is hit with Pharasma's lance with concussive force. Left reeling, she's still standing, too stunned to react right away.


Goblins are now aware of you, waiting for Bechel and Haldavyr's actions and then everything proceeds in initiative order.
Updated and fixed map posted in OOC, will post again once I edit in Haldavyr and Bechel's positions.

Initiative order after Bechel and Haldavyr's actions:
Lak'nah, Mounted Goblin, Seyica, Other Goblins, Goblin W, Haldavyr (ouch, nat 1)

True initiative and all that, just post and it'll be applied at your initiative order, same story as in previous combat.

Also, if attacking the mounted goblin, specify whether you're hitting the goblin or his mount.

[Mornings]

Bechal Rossfield - The Misbegotten Auspex


The cries in the distance were swiftly encroaching upon them, he dreaded what he might find - they were getting awfully close to the town gate. It only made logical sense that much more of the buggers would be drifting about at the edge of town until the guards saw fit to dispatch them. He didn't want to be caught unawares again, he might not have the big-man to save his skin - in the company of a rogue little-tot and... He looked at the horrific looking figure lurking about with them, whatever that was supposed to be. The man looked like a Kobold who'd played with fire for too long. Half melted, and salty to be sure - judging from the perpetual scowl. Admittedly though, he scared him much less then the runaway-girl. He could deal with old men - he'd always dealt with old men just fine. It was the troublesome kids that had a knack for getting him in hot water. Judging from the... ash, or burns... whatever darkened the man's demeanor. He was probably some crazy alchemist, or a really bad chief. Both seemed just as likely - he didn't understand the whole, science'y thing, but he did know how to cook, somewhat. All he knew how to do, was make music with song - he really didn't know, mechanically how that functioned, or why, but it did. Because he was a great musician. He straightened his back with a large grin plastered on his face until the girls cry caught him off guard. Quickly glancing back, the roar of the massive Jadwiga, crusted over with dry-gore charged screaming brandishing his mighty axe. He... did not want to be on the receiving end of that log-splitter. Seeing the girl charge he magic defensively, he coyly took a wide step away from her, to pointedly imply his disassociation, in the event she exploded into bloody-bits too. He didn't want to get covered in giblets again. After a moment, she unexpectedly withheld her flashy sparkle-bolt and the big-man raced on by. He scratched his head inquisitively at the sudden change, and slide back into place behind the girl. Yes... he was hiding behind a child, but he didn't care. He of all people knew the ultimate truth - The minstrels didn't sing about the guy who died at the front, they sung about the one who won. Indeed, he intended to win, but that didn't mean he was some valorous-knight. Pfft. That was stories for children. The real world wasn't so forgiving. As the smoke in the distance came into view, and the path begun to open into the clearing of the western plaza before The White Deer, he spun the wand in hand and struck a chord using the wooden stick as a pick. The sudden grey mist roiled down over him, making him vanish into thin air. He stepped to the right side of the girl, still keeping her ahead of him. Battle had swept up directly in front of The White Deer. He wondered if Garridan was okay - he was a proud Shoanti, still honoring his time-old customs, unlike his brother. A good man in his own book. Hopefully the barbaric-warrior had a chance to deal with some of them - but if not, at least he had a distraction or two. His concern was for the people of the town, he didn't know these strangers, they didn't know him. He doubted either of them would lament the loss of some bard. Perhaps it was better that way.

The burning cart in the distance and the bodies littering the clearing painted a depiction of carnage, and illuminated the battle that had transpired. This was no marauding little group, it was a raid. SandPoint was being raided by goblins... The death cry of the hound as the massive Jadwiga met the goblin in combat momentarily held his attention, but then quickly shifted focus to those in dance at the cart. He hated their chanting, sure he knew goblin songs but those were much different then battle chants. Some of them were actually good. He grinned invisibly from over the shoulder of the girl as she unleashed a bolt of energy at one of the larger of the beasts. While striking surprisingly hard, it remained on its feet. "Tougher then they look, eh? I'll see what I can do about them." With a sudden chord, the minstrel became visible again. A sapphire light glowed in his hands as he played an impromptu instrumental piece, using his wand to pluck his chords. It wasn't overly complex, but it was a fairly impressive, with the speed with which he could play. With a finishing spin on his heel, he unleashed a small explosion of smokey-sapphire light, that then burst with a gleam of hundreds of small twinkling lights in rapid succession.

Without waiting to see the results, of his possibly successful spell... He quickly turned and hopped backwards directly behind his new-favorite-shield, in preparation for the likely event of charging goblins. He'd preferred to keep his escape route clear, and someone else at the fore. After all, those jagged swords were scaaaarry!


*Begin in Square N-24
*Standard Action - Cast Sleep (DC16): Focused on Goblin W (E-15)
*Misc - 5ft Step to M-25

[Hattish Thing]

Haldavyr the Red:



Bechal Rossfield - The Misbegotten Auspex


"I dunno what monastery you ran away from, but, see here! Around these parts - no king nor paracount goes without reprimand for trying to lay hands on another man's drink! If you've not the mind for loosing a finger to some Lubbertown sailor's remaining teeth, you'll stop the drinks from getting to his hand. Not take it from his oh-so-sacred possession, if you've a mind to cease his consumption! " He took another swig and put the flask in his bag, just to make a point. "If you've the mind to aid...aid..."

He keeled over and vomited on the ground between them, coughing and hacking before whipping off his mouth and continuing on as if he'd gone uninterrupted "...The mind to aid someone, there are those more in need then I!" The cries rang out again somewhere in the distance. "..No time for this. There's men still needing saving!"

He turned about, producing his black wand and stumbled off after the voice.

The wizard lurks somewhere behind Seyica, eyeing his surroundings with a hungry look in his working eye, seeming to entirely disregard everything the young man says. In reality, though, Haldavyr does listen intently, recognizing the boy to be the musician he had heard and watched earlier, before all the nonsense with the goblins began in the first place. Finally, as he hears yet another scream, he turns his head to the side to get a good look at Bechal, a cold look coming over his face as he studies every crease in the younger man's skin, assessing every feature, almost as if the old wizard was not looking through the bard, per se, but rather straight into him, his good eye appearing to look over every organ, every part.

Once Bechal takes out his wand, the old wizard raises an eyebrow before narrowing his eye. He wasn't going to spend the time to assess and discover what sort of wand the young man was using, for he was nearly certain he'd see what it did first hand quite soon, but instead, frowns deeper before looking away, muttering something incomprehensible quietly under his breath, using his staff to walk.

---

Finally, the assembled group reaches the road, and the red wizard notices the mounted goblin ahead. Ignoring the others once more, the old man makes sure his hood is lowered once more before turning the palm of his hand up, exposing the scar, his gorey 'tattoo'. He whispers something into the palm of his hand before his fingers begin to shake and pulse, as if he was struggling to maintain some invisible power.

Then, his hand ignites from the tattoo, jolts of powerful shadow electricity rushing from his palm to the tips of his fingers, enveloping the hand in a monstrous sheathe of magical energy.

He begins to silently, wordlessly walk forward, towards the goblin on his mount, murder in his eye.



Starts in M23, casts his second charge of Shocking Grasp, and moves 30 feet forward to J16.

[root]

Goblins near the cart are asleep, and will remain such for the next 10 rounds unless woken or killed.

Initiative order:
Lak'nah, Mounted Goblin, Seyica, Goblins, Bechel, Haldavyr

The goblins, having looked at their champion's battle with a scary dog, cowering, from cover, emerge on their initiative. At the moment, they're no longer actively hiding their presence but they have total cover/ concealment.

Round one begins!


http://i.imgur.com/eqpKf0i.jpg

[Lt Gravemind]

Lak'nah says nothing, simply letting out a another howl as he swings his axe overhead at the goblin in front of him.


Activate Rage

Attack the Goblin (Power Attack): [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]

Attack of Opportunity (if relevant) (Power Attack): [roll2]
Damage: [roll3]

[root]

The goblin rider, caught unawares, is cut down by the axe blow before he has a chance to celebrate his victory. Horrified shrieks can be heard from surrounding bushes as the goblins' apparent leader falls.
The hideous dog-rat thing shakes off what remains of its rider, and sinks its teeth deep into Lak'nah's leg, drawing blood.

Hopping away, it growls at you, showing its filthy, blackened teeth.


Yikes, I didn't think how much damage you were capable of doing =p

There go 2-3 rounds of playing hide and seek with 50 ft speed rider, hahaha... And the poor goblin was so close to dodging the blow :smalleek:

From my roll thread:
D
(1d20+2)[19]
(1d6+3)[7]

The goblin's mount, no longer burdened by its rider, takes a 5 ft step directly away.
Thanks to your superior constitution, you make your Fortitude save...


http://i.imgur.com/Dtwniup.jpg



Initiative order remaining:
Seyica, Goblins, Bechel, Haldavyr

(Removing Mounted Goblin since he's dead, going to keep his mount at his initiative. It's going to revert to its own basic instincts now that it's no longer controlled by anyone)

Lak'nah is now at 5 health (3 if he stops Rage)


http://cdn.obsidianportal.com/assets/242457/Goblin_Dog.jpg

[SneakyZombie]

Seyica : Hier of Pharasma

"Is he seriously hidding behind me ?"
"Real brave, drunkard !" she lets out, with an expression of contempt.
At the same time, with all the blossoming hatred she felt for the ... peculiar character, she wanted, as always, to protect her kin. Still, being used as a meatshield ... ?

***

Glancing towards the heat of the fight, seyica winces a little as she sees the blood and gore spilling from the now dead goblin.

Please don't take this one right now mother, i think you held me back for a reason ...

Seyica runs recklessly towards the injured warrior who just fell the mounted goblin, leaving an ethereal trail of power following her.


Run to O4

[root]

Finding courage in numbers, the goblins leap out of their hiding places. As they surround the noticeably hurt Shoanti, one of the goblins distracts him with aggressive swings that fall short of their targets while its ally stoops down to pick up a clump of horse manure from the street surface below. He never gets up as Lak'nah's axe meets his back, putting him down permanently. The last goblin, seeing their ruse fall apart, charges from its spot behind the carts with a warlike yawp, swinging its dogslicer at distracted man's back. With a not insignificant amount of luck, the goblin's crude sword strikes true. Bleeding from his wounds, the giant man falls on the pavement, unconscious, as the surviving goblins home in on the newcomer to their melee...

In the meantime, Aldern Foxglove takes advantage of the distraction, moving closer to White Deer's barricaded entrance and taking cover behind one of the carved wooden deer, peeking out with caution.

http://i.imgur.com/NNP87Fk.jpg


Goblin 1 emerges from (K, -1). Goblin 3 emerges from (N, -1). Goblin 2 charges in, with a war-like yawp, from (T, 7).
Goblin 1 performs aid another successfully to help Goblin 3. Goblin 3 attempts Dirty Trick maneuver to blind Lak'nah, eats Attack of Opportunity, dies. Goblin 2, taking advantage of the distraction, charges and cuts down Lak'nah from behind with a lucky critical hit, dealing 6 damage in total.
Lak'nah is now at -3 and bleeding out. (was at 5, went down to -1, Rage ended because unconsciousness so -3)


This turn:
Bechel, Haldavyr

Next turn:
Goblin's Mount, Seyica, Goblins, Bechel, Haldavyr

If Lak'nah gets stabilized and put on his feet before turn 2 starts, he acts before goblin's mount. If not, he acts immediately after whoever fixes him up. Otherwise, he's unconscious and can't make any action except for stabilize roll starting in turn 2.
Stabilize roll DC: 10+3; 13. Roll d20 + con MOD (3), success means you're not bleeding anymore, failure means -1 health which is added to Stabilize roll DC next turn.

[Mornings]

Bechal Rossfield - The Misbegotten Auspex


The bard cleared his throat at the girls off-hand comment. "I'm, simply... covering the rear. Besides, I am neither a drunk nor brave, nor can you say I've claimed to be either!" The half-melted old man begun stalking forward in a most unsettling manner. The shadowy sizzle and spark of magic from his hand inspired a great deal of disquiet. He was sure it was some kind of... well, burny-buzzy-killy- type of deal, but it did appear remarkably unpleasant. Still, gramps had to walk - Ha! He didn't intend to take another damn step closer - the Jadwiga man seemed to be thrashing the little greenies with ease. He started to get nauseous - all the gore, and blood. Uhg. He'd never killed anyone, sure he'd seen people die. A lot of them, but he didn't have to stand around and watch them be cleaved into bits. What kind of man enjoyed that? They weren't really people either, well... from simply a defensive stand-point, of course. Still, he'd never killed... anything. Why do that when, he could run?

The large man split the rider in two, tanked a blow from the vicious looking... worg? He didn't actually know what a worg was, or what it looked like, but he heard that goblins sometimes ride them... probably. His battle drew out the rest of the sneaking little goons, drawing a gleeful clap from the minstrel. He didn't want to get stabbed in the rear by some lurking beastie. The creatures overwhelmed the massive man as they swarmed upon him. Bah - he'd be alright, with a little patching up. The speed with which his personal shield took off though caught him off guard. She would make a better distraction anyways...

He glanced over at the mage stalking his way forward, then at the girl - now surrounded by little buggers. Then at Aldern sneaking towards The White Deer. The large grin plastered on his face betrayed the dire circumstances. He called out to the man while waving his wand-hand dramatically "HA! GLAD TO SEE YOU'RE ALIVE ALDERN! FEAR NOT - MY DARING COMPATRIOTS AND I WILL SAVE YOU....Probably." He released his instrument to let it dangle off his side as he drew his second wand - a spiraled glass-steel rod filled with twinkling flecks of mithril suspended within. He'd gotten by many tough pediments without otherwise fighting, by relying on his magic or wits. But this particular device had bailed him out of a number of close calls, and he was fond of the poems and song which he used to activate it. He waved his hand about creating a gleaming cloud of small sparkling lights. The words




"The night has a thousand eyes,"
"And the day but one;"
"Yet the light of the bright world dies"
"With the dying sun"

"The mind has a thousand eyes,"
"And the heart but one:"
"Yet the light of a whole life dies"
"When love is done"

"Only the stars see. "
"Only the moon hears..."
"Only the stars see. "
"Only the moon..."

He flicked out his magical instrument, unleashing a familiar blast of sapphire light in an unoccupied space near the gathering of malicious creatures. He'd considered just hiding, and letting his 'daring compatriots' just fight til... results. Either way was beneficial, but he wasn't exactly like those diabolical thugs he'd learned from. Sure, the girl might kill one or two before she was hacked to pieces, and sure the old man might obliterate one of the buggers with his powerful magics. But what none of them seemed to understand was... simple numbers. Lots of bad guys, means trouble, and right now each of them was a vital resource for keeping these attacking band of freaks out of his town. More of these things couldn't be allowed to come into SandPoint - and to ensure that, he needed them. He wasn't going to do it alone, that's for sure. The explosion of smokey-light razzled with a hissing buzz as hundreds of sparkling silver lights danced suddenly then vanished.


Free Action: Drop Mandolin
Move Action: Draw Wand of Sleep
Standard Action: Cast Sleep; DC16 (Again :smalltongue:), centered on Square Q-3
(If you get caught in the blast sowwies lol. If you don't make the save Seycia, someone will wake you up :smallwink:)

[root]

Bechal's spell failed to take a noticeable effect, only enchanting only one of the people in its area of effect. One of the goblins and the goblin dog barely manage a yawn, and Seyica remained resolute as well. The second goblin falls on the cobblestone, limp, without much of a chance to even celebrate his victory over the giant.



Saves:
L
(1d20+1)[5]
mount
(1d20+1)[16]
goblin1
(1d20-1)[15]

Goblin 2 and Seyica are at same distance, just gonna roll the dice and see which one gets affected.
1-50 - Goblin 2
51-100 - Seyica
(1d100)[54]

If goblin; (1d20-1)[2]
if Seyica; (1d20+6)[19]

DC 12 to all


Everyone made their save except for goblin #2. Goblin 2 falls asleep.

Moves left in Round 1:
Haldavyr

Round 2 initiative:
Goblin mount, Seyica, goblin 1, Bechal, Haldavyr.

Edit: I messed up, Sleep doesn't target unconscious targets at all. So I'll be using the roll for goblin #2 and at 2, he falls asleep.


http://i.imgur.com/5WpEKAB.jpg

[Hattish Thing]

Haldavyr the Red:

The old wizard shambles forward proudly, an air of both arrogance and command about him, and as the magical claws of his shocking grasp grew larger, his robes and cloak begin to blow in the small localized breeze produced by the powerful and inhumane combination of shadowmagic and something far older, and far worse. Haldavyr rams his staff into the ground harder and harder with each step, his face twitching as he attempts to manifest the powerful emotion of wrath in his body, using his anger once more to power his damned arcane powers. Finally, he stood in front of one of the nearest goblins, looking down over his large hooked nose at the poor, helpless creature before him. He studied the goblin, looking over it's person with an expression of annoyance on his face. How dare these little creatures show their hideous faces here, how dare their kin attack him!

One of these creatures made him bleed! No one made Haldavyr the Red bleed.

As anger coursed through his veins, the red wizard gazes upon his deformed and shadowy claw of a hand, frowning. It wasn't enough power, not yet, he needed more. The red wizard bites down firmly on his lower lip before reaching his other hand up to scratch at his own face, drawing little lines of pain across the more 'whole' side of his face, small droplets of blood forming. The pain powered him, it brought anger about him, through his emotions he drew terrible power, and now, with his face contorted into an inhuman combination of pain and rage, he kneels over the helpless goblin, before raising his 'clawed' hand upwards, ready to strike, whispering softly to himself in an almost reassuring way, taking strange comfort in the power he had over the figure below him.

It's life was in his hands. "Gaze upon my work... and despair."

[root]

Unable to gaze upon anything, the unsuspecting goblin continues his arcane slumber. His companion, quickly realizing just how alone it is, quiets down and looks over its shoulder at the goblin dog. A nervous expression passes over the goblin's face, quickly fading behind a sharp toothed snarl. Squawking a command in goblin tongue at his last remaining companion, the goblin settles into a cowering stance.

The goblin dog leaps towards Seyica with a bloodthirsty yip, its teeth snapping awfully close to the young woman's arm. Globs of saliva and blood exit its horrible snout, accompanied by smell of decay.


Goblin dog takes 5 foot step towards Seyica to (P, 3), attempts to take a bite. Fails.
(1d20+2)[10] vs 13
(1d6+3)[8]
(1d20+2)[18] fort if hit

Initiative remaining:
Seyica, Goblin 1, Bechal, murderous Haldavyr

[Hattish Thing]

Haldavyr the Red:

As his cheek bleeds it's few droplets down the wizard's creased skin, Haldavyr begins to smile terribly, chuckling lightly to himself as he feels the anger coursing through his veins. Through hate he drew power, for he knew that trough the emotional center of wrath, an understanding of the arcane so thorough could be had, that even a caster of as low prestige as he could brandish powers unlike anything imaginable. His cloak falls over his back, cascading down around the body of the goblin as well, before the red wizard reaches for the creature's mouth.

His muscles clench, and Haldavyr rams his claw deep into the mouth of the goblin before him, his arm shaking violently as shadowy tendrils of dark electricity beginning to push into the creature's throat, down as deep as it could go, utterly destroying the throat and the top of the goblin's lungs. As wisps of shadowstuff flicker around the wizard's claw like the spark of metal on metal, he digs his claws into the upper jaw of the goblin, before standing up tall. Electricity burns through the goblin, and it's eyes ought to flash open for a mere milisecond before the shady tendrils invade it's eyesockets from within it's own skull, causing them to pop.

Haldavyr begins to laugh louder and louder, gritting his teeth as he felt the power course through him, until finally he squeezed his claw one final time, the final burst of shadowy electricity exploding from inside the goblin's skull. The wizard barely reacts at all as bits of flesh and goblin chunks go flying off in all direction, the lifeless corpse of his victim dropping to the ground, still twitching from the overload of arcane energy that had so forcibly ravaged it's body.

The wizard's gaze slowly turns to the other sleeping goblin, before beginning to make his way towards the doomed creature, as blood drips down his now entirely regular hand.

"Goood... Now, I wonder if your innards smell as foul as your ally's did, my little green friend."

Haldavyr performs a Coup de Grace, dealing 44 damage, before five-foot stepping to the other goblin.

[SneakyZombie]

Seyica lets out a disguted yelp, and hastly move backwards, ramming her hands forwards as a wave of force strikes the repulsive creature



5 ft step backwards, rapid shot on the goblin dog.
[roll0] - 7
[roll1] - 4
[roll2] - 18
[roll3] - 2


http://img4.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20091110103223/desencyclopedie/images/f/f5/Ryu-cvs-hadoken-a.gif

[root]

The torrent of divine energies lands a glancing blow on the goblin dog, leaving a sizable bruise. The mangy beast yips, crouching down slightly, unthinking malice inhabiting its beady eyes. The remaining goblin leaps forward with a quick glancing blow before jumping onto the goblin dog's back, paying no heed to the blood of its comrade slathered all over its back. Grabbing the beast's sides with his knees, he lets out a warcry, hoping to attract more goblins.


Seyica's 1st shot misses, second does 2 damage.
Goblin 1 takes 5 foot step, swings his dog chopper at Seyica and leaps onto the goblin dog's back.
[roll0] vs 13
[roll1]
[roll2] ride
Goblin hits, Seyica takes 1 damage. Goblin is now mounted, will control the dog on his next turn if he's around.


http://i.imgur.com/DIQzOFg.jpg


This round: Just Bechal, I think.
Round 3: Seyica, (new) Mounted Goblin, Bechal, Haldavyr.
Lak'nah needs to make save against DC 14 to stabilize.

[Mornings]

Bechal Rossfield - The Misbegotten Auspex


The bard stomped his foot at the lack-luster results. Sure it looked the same, but the fiddlestick just wasn't as potent as his own magics, which had mostly been spent. He frowned as the creatures yawned amid the sparkling lights. They were yawning off some of his best material... Then one of the creatures teetered and smacked face-fist into the cobblestone. He shrugged. Wasn't all for show, or so he surmised. He sighed, snapping his black wand back into his belt beneath his large and ostentatious coat - glancing at the strange mage. The lightning-burn'y-thing had taken the form of some massive black claw of seething energy - he'd never seen something like that before. But the geezer wasn't even walking to the battle, the useless sod! Where was he going? "Hey gramps, why not put the light-show to work over ther-" His eyes widened at the grotesque display, as the no-doubt evil old-man slammed his electric-fist down the throat of the goblins he himself had already dealt with. His bowel's shuddered, and as the creature's eyes exploded from its skull like molten jelly, he wretched in disgust spewing down the liquor he'd drunken not so long ago. Ugh...

"....What the hell's wrong with you, you old coot!? Could have let the damned guards deal with that lot!" He shuddered again as the burning charred smell of goblin flesh, and the creature's evicted bowels filled the air. He gagged, fighting back the urge to loose the last of his liquor. ".....Sick old man. You're sick! Ya' hear!? ...And the son of a lamprey!" He spit to the side to try and rid himself of the foul taste, but the smell was horrific. He tossed the glass-steel wand into his other hand, loosing the will to continue his songs, he instead settled for just smacking his instrument on the side every now and then and spitting off random phrases strung together in another tongue he was familiar with...


(Words spoken in Goblin)
"Doggy dead, everywhere."
"Bash em up, rip their hair."
"Pony, horsey dance and play."
"Smash, slash, crash til they stay!"
"Sing, jump, hide til the snow."
"They give the yum yums, never know."
"Stab, stab, til they dead!"
"Now we full, go to bed."

A puff of smokey blue light lazily drifted around the goblin rider. It was only visible briefly before vanishing like the morning dew. It was not very impressive, but the lethargic aura it left behind was palpable. He hoped that might give his next song a bit more kick.

Move Action: Sheath Wand of Vanish
Standard Action: Cast Lullaby centered on the Goblin Rider (DC14 Will Save)
(Spell is ended immediately after use and will persist 1 Round - Duration: Concentration + 1 Round/Level)

[SneakyZombie]

Seyica redirects the flow of mystical energy towards the goblin , sweat starting to pearl to her forehead, as she moves sideways, trying to lure the filthy creatures away from the dying barbarian


Rapid shot on the goblin :
[roll0]
[roll1]
[roll2]
[roll3]
5ft step to M5

[root]

Bechal's enchanting lullaby fails to take effect, the goblins and Seyica easily shaking off the drowsiness in the heat of combat.
The goblin dog tries to take control but relents under its new rider, who takes it closer to his peacefully slumbering peer. With a loud scream, "Youse longshank songs are notting!" the mounted goblin drew his dogslicer across the sleeper's back, barely hard enough to draw blood but causing enough pain to dispel the enchantment. The goblin got off the ground, rubbing his eyes and giving the adjacent goblin dog a swift kick. "I wus sleepin! Why you wake me?!" before cluing up and taking a few shaky steps towards Seyica, his crude sword in hand.

Bechal, being the farthest away from combat, hears the sound of labored running behind him in the distance. Taking advantage of the continuing scuffle, Aldern sprints further south, taking cover behind the second wooden deer. He has now regained his voice, yelling back a response "Thank you, thank you, thank you! D-do I know you?". Having had a few moments to smell roasted goblin nearby, he gags, kneeling on the ground.

Lullaby fails to affect, everyone in effect makes their saves.
Looks like Lak'nah hasn't managed to stabilize this turn, but he's got until -16 when things get really bad. There's no way this takes -that- long, help will likely arrive before that.
Current DC to stabilize - DC 15, I think? It's 10 + hp below 0.
As far as goblins are concerned, he's dead - and they're too busy fighting to attempt to loot valuables or take a few bites for a taste.

Goblin 1 is now in control of the goblin dog, so it loses its place in initiative order and acts on his turn. He took it to (R, 5) and spent his standard action waking up his ally, doing 1 damage to him in the meantime.
Goblin 2, now awoken, is back in the game. He spends move action getting up and takes a 5 foot step towards Seyica, who's moved away on her turn.

Fake edit: Some bad luck with the rolls this turn...


Current round: Bechal, Haldavyr
Next round: Seyica, Goblin 1(mounted) and 2, Bechal, Haldavyr.


http://i.imgur.com/uMvkpCq.jpg

[Hattish Thing]

Haldavyr the Red:

The old man chuckles darkly to himself, before turning over his shoulder to gaze at Bechal, sweat causing his long strands of hair to cling to his magically wrinkled forehead, before reaching a gore-covered hand up to brush the hair out of eyes, causing specks of blood and brain matter to drip over his crimson robes. The wizard cackles before shouting out to the bard, while also reaching to grip his quarterstaff in both hands. Heh heh, keep your lunch in, dear boy, wouldn't want your pretty face made unclean. When you reach my age... you learn that sometimes..." His voice trails off and he turns towards the remaining goblin, before stepping a firm boot on whatever weapon the creature was wielding. Haldavyr raises his metal Steelscorch Stave high over his head, grunting loudly as he flexes his muscles, before bringing his staff down with a cruel look in his eyes, aiming to bash the little creature's head in rather than waste another valuable spell slot. His swing is true, and the blunt torch-like top will come smashing down into the goblin's face with a sickening crunch.

Haldavyr grunts again before bringing the blood-covered staff up and over his head, and promptly smashing it down on the goblin's horrifically crushed head, letting his rage steam away with each cruel swing, until the goblin's head is nothing more than a red paste and bit of bone on the floor.

"Sometimes... You've got to get your hands dirty."

[Mornings]

Bechal Rossfield - The Misbegotten Auspex


The old man was obviously insane. Pure and simple. No sane man could delight so in liberating slaughter. "...There's something wrong with you old man. Like something rusted away and broke - but you are right..." He begun to walk forward towards the battle, pushing his instrument behind him to free up his side. "Sometimes you do have to get your hands dirty." He was running out of tricks, the big-man was running out of blood, the geezer was running out of victims, the kid was running out of luck. They were running out of time.

The bells and cries through the city hinted at the turn in the battle, repelling the raiders. He wondered how long it would be before they received any aid. The footsteps in the distance just couldn't come fast enough... He walked down the bloody cobblestone path, placing his hand down on his cane hanging from his waist. If they didn't make their stand here, there wouldn't be anything left of the town but the ashes left from burned out buildings - hollow stone and toppled wood. He stepped over the gore and strewn bits of bloody flesh and animal corpses which laid about the street, stopping a short distance away from Aldern - his gace leering out at the battle being fought in the distance. "It's been sometime Aldern. It's me - Bech. The Rossfield kid. I go by Ross now, seems like you've gotten yourself in plenty of trouble this time. Did Garridan barricade himself in The White Deer? You might want to join him inside. We'll take care of the rest."

[root]

"Oh, Rossfield? What a place and time to meet..." Aldern responded, nervously eyeing the cackling wizard. "Think I remember doing business with your father. Whatever happened to your family?"

"But this is probably not the best place to talk. I haven't tried the inn, those scoundrels had me on a run for a while." He winced, giving the body of a large hunting dog a mournful look. "Poor Bertha..."

Lowering his voice a little bit, he added, "This... wizard fellow is on our side, right?"

The conversation got interrupted as Belor barreled his way into the scene, accompanied by the two guards from the Cathedral Square, their weapons already withdrawn. The youth, carrying a heavy crossbow almost as big as himself, drops down on one knee as they stop their frantic rush and takes aim at the melee before him. Taking a few ragged breaths, Belor renews his two-handed grip over the longsword, muttering "Looks like it's just the cart. The White Deer is not on fire..." and examines the bloodshed before him. "Come, we ought to give these people a hand!" he shouts at his men.

New combatants enter; their luck with initiative is... lacking.
Lak'nah makes his stabilization roll in OOC, no longer bleeding at -5 hp.

Order this round(4):
Seyica, Goblins, Bechal, Guardsmen, Belor, Haldavyr


http://i.imgur.com/g49rGcY.jpg

[SneakyZombie]

Seyica redirects the flow of mystical energy towards the goblin , sweat starting to pearl to her forehead, as she moves sideways, trying to lure the filthy creatures away from the dying barbarian


Rapid shot on the goblin :
[roll0]
[roll1]
[roll2]
[roll3]
5ft step to M5

Oblivious to the arrival of reinforcements or the slaughter of the helpless goblins , the young girl continues to protect her fallen brother in arms, in the hope he'll recover with proper healing and care.
The barrage of mystical energy continues, while seyica attemps some alteration to the flow to protect herself, forming a barrier between herself and the greenish humanoids, striking the first thing in its path, namely the goblin who just woke up.


Rapid shot on the goblin, -4 to Attack for +2 AC (15AC) :

[roll0]
[roll1]
[roll2]
[roll3]

[root]

Seyica's shots miss their target as she assumes a more defensive stance.
The goblin before her, too caught up in melee to pay attention to his surroundings, screams out "Git her!" as he leaps forward, throwing a sizable lump of dirt mixed with blood and all the assorted filth one might find on a busy town street. The improvised missile misses Seyica's face and the goblin shrieks with frustration, his overreaching throw leaving him barely standing on his feet. The mounted goblin, finally noticing that the battle isn't going the way he expected, kicks goblin dog in its sides and bravely charges in the opposite direction, out of the north gate.

[roll0] vs CMD 16 (Dirty Trick maneuver to blind, provokes AoO but Seyica has no melee weapon)
At 50 feet/round regular speed and running, the goblin dog and its rider are just a speck on the horizon after their turn.


Remaining:
Bechal, Guards, Belor, Haldavyr


http://i.imgur.com/CHp58SZ.jpg

[Hattish Thing]

Haldavyr the Red:

Haldavyr begins to move away from the grisly scene, stepping and crunching on several more goblin bones that had been strewn about after his violent attack on the goblins that had previously slept in the area.

He'll ignore the guards almost entirely, and double move to K8.

[root]

The young guard shoots at the goblin, scrambling for ammo and reloading without even watching the effect of his attack. The attack misses horribly, crossbow bolt flying well above the diminutive creature's head and falling into the sea several hundred feet away.

The older grizzled guard approaches the lone goblin, stopping well away from the combat, near one of the wooden deer. He hefts his pike and shouts at the goblin, "Where are your friends, little one!?" his voice booming and injected with menace. The goblin nervously looks over his shoulder, realizing just how alone he is - the worst place for a goblin to be. Taking advantage of the situation, Belor charges, slashing at the goblin with his sword. The goblin falls over dead.


Crossbow shot missed.
Pike guard moves to L 10, succeeds on Intimidate, goblin shaken.
Belor charged and landed a hit with his longsword, dealing 10 damage.
Goblin is dead, combat is over

[root]

Giving the makeshift battlefield a cursory glance, Belor focused on on the dead guard lying near the wide open North Gate. He cursed under breath, before focusing his attention on the badly hurt Shoanti before him.

Belor gave a nod to Seyica, saying "You are that Icata kid, aye? It would be a shame if I had to report your death to Sikan... But for once, I'm thankful. Your rapid response has helped us drive away the threat before more harm could be done. I'm sure even my brother is thankful that none of these green bastards have burnt down his inn...". He added, "And same can be said for the rest of you. I can't say I recollect ever seeing most of you here before, but on behalf of Sandpoint I thank you for your efforts."

There is a slight look of irritation on the guard captain's face as he hears the White Deer's thick wooden doors crack open. A tall dark-skinned man, looking not unlike Belor, carefully stalks through the doorway. He's wearing a dirty apron and holding a large frying pan in his hand. Several more people can be seen in the doorway behind him, similarly dressed and armed with various kitchen implements. A single crossbow can be seen as well.

Witnessing the bloody battlefield just mere feet before his establishment, he whistles appreciatively until his eyes fall onto Belor.

"Brother. I see that you remembered your blood ties at last - but it would seem that I will not in need of your... services after all. These valiant heroes already made quick work of these filthy beasts."

Turning to the adventurers, his demeanor changes "Thank you for your help, kind strangers. I am Garridan Viskalai" He pauses, shooting another dirty look at Belor Hemlock, "and I own the white Deer. You don't seem to be from around here, so allow me to extend my gratitude with free room and board for a couple of days."

Noticing the bleeding giant of a man in the road before him, he says. Inspecting his elaborate tattoes, he mused "A true warrior of the Shadde-Quah clan. He must have come quite a long way to end up here... Come on, stop starin' at him, this man is clearly in need of healing." Turning back towards the doorway, he selects one of the youths and instructs him "Come get Father Zanthus, quickly. This man is gravely wounded"

[Hattish Thing]

Haldavyr the Red:

With the battle appearing to be over, the old man will walk back to the goblin pile he'd created, kneeling down beside the gorey heap and taking out a small vial and some sharp looking pumping implement. He adjusts his cloak to cover a bit of what he's doing, and removes a small athame from his belt, before grabbing one of the goblin's little hands and quickly, quietly, with the skill of a surgeon, slices the creature's wrist. "Good... the blood is still warm. This will be ideal." As soon as a deep cut is made into the wrist, he'll jab the sharp tube-like end of his implement into the wound, before strapping it to the goblin's arm, dark colored blood oozing and dripping about, or spraying like a small crimson geyser. Once the implement has been brutally placed within the deep wound, Haldavyr begins to gently but firmly pump the goblin's blood out of a tiny faucet on the device, the blood flowing directly into the vial he had taken out earlier. Once the vial has filled itself up to the top, he produces a cork and tops the vial, placing the glass in a small pouch.

Upon removing the peculiar device, he'll store that in his pack as well, before also severing a trio of goblin fingers, the healthiest looking of the pair he had so viciously murdered. "Healthy fingernails, excellent." He'll quickly wrap dirty cloth around the fingers and stuff them beside the vial he had just collected, before standing up and adjusting himself.

With his blood-encrusted stave in hand, the crimson mage will stride towards the sheriff. He nods quietly in response, before asking the innkeeper a question, wiping a smattering of his own blood off his cheek.

"I require bathing." He raises a finger, almost forgetting something, before speaking again. "Could you also tell me where in town an alchemical specialist could be found?"

[root]

The tanned youth Garridan sent off quickly ran out of sight, perhaps a little too eager to be of use. There was a small dagger tucked inside his belt, more of a kitchen knife, really.

The wizard's bloody antics remained largely unseen as the guards took position near Belor, still vigilantly watching for trouble. Belor, with a visibly look of irritation on his normally passive and dour face, was exchanging barely subtle remarks with Garridan when Haldavyr approached and interrupted their family dispute.
"Good gods, those goblins must have nearly done you in!" the inn owner exclaimed while Belor merely gave an appreciative whistle. "Zanthus is coming soon, he'll take a look at your wounds as soon as he takes care of this warrior, I'm sure of it. We have plenty accomodations and baths, I'll send someone for hot water right away."

He added, glumly " There would be a lot more people staying here if not for that damn Tian witch and her damned Rusty Dragon..."

Belor spoke up "Alchemists? I don't think you'd find any doors open on a night like this. There are a few shops that might sell you a potion or two, and we've got our Nisk Tander at Bottled Solutions. In the interest of public safety, I don't reccomend the latter... I've heard some pretty strange reports from people. "

Turning to his retinue of men, he added,
"It looks like the goblins are routed. I need the two of you to run back to the garrison and get me more men to secure the gate. If any of the militia have shown up and aren't blackout drunk, get them something to do... Maybe have them move the goblin corpses and account for all the property damage."

~~~~~
(In earshot of Belor's conversation, but far enough to miss details without listening in carefully)
~~~~~~

Meanwhile, Alder Foxglove has been trying to primp himself to the best of his ability. He smiled nervously, saying "Here c-c-comes the brave captain, just in time. I wonder if he'll b-be willing to escort me back to the Rusty Dragon - if only to get aw-w-way from his brother. Have you tried Ameiko's salmon, uh-h-h, Bech?"

He continued, "I'm here in town for... b-b-business. I simply c-c-cannot thank you enough for stopp-p-ping those mongrels, you and your friends must absolutely be r-r-rewarded!"

Giving it a little bit of thought, Alder said "You m-must visit my m-manor some day. It's undergoing a r-r-enovation but once it's over, i'm sure it will be magnificent!"

[Mornings]

Bechal Rossfield - The Misbegotten Auspex


Bechal stood back next to Aldern as the guards made their entrance. "I'll be frank my friend, 'friend', might be a tad bit of a stretch for my handsomely-gnarled compatriot here.... Just... don't give him a reason to rip out your spine from your gullet..." He cleared his throat, as the guards rushed the square, shouting and firing their bolts carelessly. As Belor charged forward, he stepped around the corner to wave 'goodbye' to the goblin nuisance. It was strange. He didn't feel sick anymore - even as the little menace's head was cleanly cleaved open by the man's sword. Was he somehow different? Maybe once he would have prayed - closed his eyes and tried to forget. But it wasn't there - that feeling. He signed. He needed a drink.

Hearing the door to The White Deer open, he peeked around the corner seeing Garridan in good health. "Well, Garridan seems to be fine. Suppose it's not all bad." He eased his grip on his cane hanging from his thigh. His knuckles were still white and the wood left an imprint in his palm. It had been a long time.... but not long enough, since he had to use that. Gathering himself up, and brushed off the dust and dabbed the sweat from his brow. He considered stepping out from beside the inn, basking in the thanks - but right now, that didn't feel like him. Maybe he was different.... gods. He dug in his bag producing his flask and took a large swig of the stout ale. It started to take the edge off. He could have been in Oppera - dancing with Taldorian women and studying the mastery of heraldry and the arts at The Kith. God, he was stupid. He took another hard swig - his eyes darting about to the blood and gore littering the ground. If he just went to The Kitharodian Academy like he was supposed to.... He took another hard swig, looking at the corpses of the butchered corpses of the creatures the old man left. He wouldn't have to see - this... He pounded down the last of the drink and threw the flask over his shoulder. He'd had the money - but he let it all go. For this? For what? ...Was there even an answer, here? Anywhere? He'd prayed sometimes, but not to Aroden. Never him. He resented The Last Azlanti, but still claimed fidelity - it was familiar, it was impossible to not feign well. Because, once, it had been true. Now his god was that faceless deity called Luck. Though she wore a mask, her visage could be found in the bottom of a tankard. Her voice, in the laughter and dance of song and her hands... in moments like this.

He listened intently, closing his eyes. Free room and board? Only perhaps, what had been minutes ago, he couldn't have asked for more. But that had been a lifetime ago.... He didn't care. No... Ross, didn't care. He opened his eyes. "Hah. I've changed my name old friend. It's Ross now. I've made my peace and cut my ties with the family business. Now I'm a minstrel, I've been employed at the theater here for the new production - but I'll be returning to Taldor after this theatrical masterpiece concludes to resume my studies." He turned to face Aldern placing his hand on his shoulder with a suddenly serious, if not grim visage painted across his face. "My friend, I am very well traveled, and I assure you. This was no simple attack - goblins have never succeeded in penetrating this town even during the founding. I've no doubt this threat is dire indeed - perhaps a Storval raiding party or some other foul congregation has made it into The Hinterlands. If such were the case, and some raiding band of goblin-kin has made it through The Nettlewood, or across The Devil's Platter then even travel may be hazardous, and recurring attacks are only imminent... While I pray this is simple coincidence, I cannot in good confidence rest knowing I have left a friend to face this danger alone. Allow me to accompany you at The Rusty Dragon until you make for the road. If worst comes to worst - yet again..." He let his voice drift and let his gaze wander to the carnage surrounding them. "At the very least, I can assure your safety. I speak the goblin-tongue, as you've seen - and I specialize in defensive magics."


Bluff Aldern into believing a further attacks are imminent and further protection (aka, staying with him at The Rusty Dragon) is the best course of action.

(...This might be not far from the truth, but who knows? So Let's just see if it'll spook him into thinking it is)

Bluff: [roll0]

[SneakyZombie]

Seyica : Heir of Pharasma

The burned man was giving away chills down the spin of seyica. She was too focused on the combat to see what he was doing, but he looks almost ... thrilled after killing a bunch of goblin, and what she overheard during the skirmish between her and the drunkard made her even more concerned. Well. That and the fact he was casually defiling the goblins corpses.



***


I hope dad's safe back at the shop !
Seyica smiles to Belor, before answering "Thank you, i'll check on dad and let him know what happened in town today."
Looking down at the now stable towering barbarian, she continues "If Kora or the other priests are busy bring him to my place, we can give him a room where he can rest and i can provide him basic care for his wounds, he looks like he'll be back on his feets pretty soon, i'll meet you guys later at the White Deer, try no to black out Sir Ross !"

Rushing south to the dock, Seyica enters the "Pirate's Rest" hastily, before calling out for her father in a concerned voice.

"Dad are you okay ?
There was a goblin attack today in town ! We managed to fend them off, but someone got injured, is it okay if he comes here to rest for a couple of days if he needs to ?"

[root]

"You ssspeak goblin? How did you ever find a tutor, Ross? I ccant imagine one of these green horrors sssitting down with anyone to teach them."
Lowering his voice, Aldern added "You think this is only the bbbeginning? Good gggrief, we better leave this town at once! As much as I trust our valiant cccaptain here, if a handful of goblins brought the town to its knees, I dread to think what a more organized assault may do! I was planning to stay in Sandpoint for a couple more days but if an attack is imminent I better leave at once! Magnimar ought to be sssafer. We must go straight back to the Dragon!"

Aldern rushes to the south, beckoning Bechel to follow.
[roll0] health to Laknah; So that takes him from -5 to full.
Also Aldern bought the ruse, perhaps too much =p


Meanwhile... The youth from White Deer returns, with Father Zanthus in tow. The plump priest looks exhausted, still wearing same ceremonial robes from a few hours ago, splattered in dried blood. Catching his breath, he spoke to Garridan and the captain, "I came as... Fast as I could. There were quite a few injuries among the towns' people, and several deaths." Surveying the blood splattered battlefield before White Deer, he whistled. "Looks like quite a battle took part here. I'm drained of almost all Desna gifts for the night, but I might manage just one more spell. I saw this man fight in the town square earlier today, y'know. He is clearly of great strength and bravery. Could probably be more careful, though..."" He put his hand on the unconscious barbarian and a faint flash of light illuminated the man, his wounds stitching together almost instantaneously.

"That's it, I'm afraid. Welcome back to the land of the living, young man. I've seen dwarves succumb to lesser punishment than you took, the gods must be watching over you this blessed day."

Turning to Belor, Zanthus added "I guess the ceremony is postponed... The people are scared and few want to leave the safety of their homes or the church." Giving the surroundings a nervous glance, he whispered something into Belor's ear with a concern on his face. Listening to the priest, Belor nodded with concern and said "I'll be there momentarily. We can't leave any more of these scamps in town over night, who knows what kind of damage they could cause when everyone is asleep."

"I may need to speak with you and your friends on the morrow. I'd appreciate if you didn't leave town til' then... Since it looks like my dear brother is extending his gratitude, I will know where to find you tomorrow morning."



You discern the details of the whispered conversation perfectly, "I've got a disturbing report, Belor... Soon after the goblins were pushed out of town's square and was busy tending to the town peoples' wounds, an acolyte approached me. He was out in the boneyard soon after the goblins attacked, and what he told me was simply disturbing.He said that he noticed that the doors' to Father Tobyn's crypt were unlocked... Unusual, but not that out of place - wouldnt' be the first time we caught someone snogging in one of th' crypts. So he snuck up to the door an' took a peek. It took me quite a while to get him to calm down and talk to me, the poor boy was white as a sheet. He said father Tobyn's bones came back to life to walk among the living. I would have gone to check myself, but I reckon with this man's recovery I've used up all the gifts Desna provided for tonight. So... could you send some of your men to check it out? I doubt the acolyte's report is true, but I wouldn't be surprised if a few goblins got in there to cause some trouble. Father Tobyn has been through enough, there's no need to let these filthy little creatures desecrate his remains."


In the meantime, several militiamen reached the White Deer. They were armed with wooden clubs and shields, and one had an ancient-looking crossbow. Two of them lifted up the body of a guardsman, long dead and cold, and carried him in the direction of the church. Several arrows sticking out of his throat and back made the case of death pretty obvious. While passing by Belor, he stopped them briefly, looking over the body. "Poor man. His first day back from Magnimar..." He gingerly reached and pulled out one of the arrows. "Doesn't look like something a goblin would make, it's too good", he muttered, "must have stolen 'em from somewhere. Hell, doesn't even look like it would fit one of their bows. Stupid goblins"

Belor and Father Zanthus walked off alongside the dead guard carried by two militiamen, heading towards the Cathedral and the boneyards behind it.

[root]

Running back towards her father's shop, Seyica saw little damage from goblins on the streets. It would seem that the bulk of goblins struck the northern end of the city. As she ran through the town square, she noticed the militiamen dragging the dead bodies into piles, dumping them on several emptied carts. The darkened streets were still woefully empty, sunset turning the low wooden buildings orange.

The docks appear untouched by conflict. Several fishermen sit on the pier, surrounded by bottles and buckets of small fish, paying no heed to their surroundings. A young couple is walking by the water, whispering quietly, the man dressed fancily but with a certain amount of Sczarni swagger. You realize that the woman looks a lot like Shayliss Vinder as you enter the Pirate's Rest.

As you enter, you find Sican standing next to the empty counter and looking into a small but wide wooden chest. You remember seeing it before, it seems like it's been with him ever since he settled in Sandpoint. You've never managed to see inside the chest, even as a child, and your father always deflected the questions in a joking manner. Supposedly it was a deed to the shop, or some ancient paperwork, or even pirate treasures...

Hearing you come in, he slams the chest shut, grinning. "Almost caught me this time, kid. Did you have a good time?"

Hearing the concern in Seyica's voice, Sican responds with a more serious look on his face. "A goblin attack? So that's why the bells were ringing. That's... not good news. Are you ok?"
He sighed, with concern. "Looks like you're in one piece, at least. That's good. Can't say I've seen any goblins down here, but it did sound like a riot for a while. I suppose your friend can stay if he wants to, but he better not try anything funny."

[Mornings]

Bechal Rossfield - The Misbegotten Auspex


"......Err, yes. I've met a fair deal of interesting people....and.... "

The minstrel watched as Aldern took off down the path in the general direction of The Dragon. He blinked, momentarily taken aback. It very well could have been true, actually perhaps it was. He wasn't even sure if he'd been telling a lie himself. His eyes darted about, looking at the lingering shadows lengthened by the ebbing descent of the sun - as if a goblin or two would jump out to pay him a visit. He kissed the silver serpantine brooch on his collar - a linnorm which held a finely cut emerald in its mouth. Another one for the record.

The captain spoke and did his song-and-dance. He slid off to the side, trying not to draw attention. He turned about beginning to trot off when Belor mentioned not leaving town. To the hells with that! He was going to the dragon, then he was skipping town with Aldern. He'd take his chances with The Tower Girls back in Magnimar. He had resources and connections he could still pull - then, once his monetary-problem was in order, it was off to Taldor! That was the plan, and there was only two things in his mind that could stop him. Fate, and a charming Tian bard. Aldern had the right idea, things needed to cool off for a few days in SandPoint. This was more action then the town had seen since Alamon Scarnetti took matters into his own hands - Hagevald's stories seemed to always come full-circle when he was in this place...

He didn't bother looking back, and dashed away after Aldern to the southern bridge where The Rusty Dragon awaited. He wondered if it still looked the same... The rusting iron of its namesake mascot, and its weathered 'help wanted' sign left dangling at its fore. He'd stayed there practically free once, due to the patron's, and the benefactor's love for a good story and song. Even in a goblin attack, that memory felt like... home.

[SneakyZombie]

Running back towards her father's shop, Seyica saw little damage from goblins on the streets. It would seem that the bulk of goblins struck the northern end of the city. As she ran through the town square, she noticed the militiamen dragging the dead bodies into piles, dumping them on several emptied carts. The darkened streets were still woefully empty, sunset turning the low wooden buildings orange.

The docks appear untouched by conflict. Several fishermen sit on the pier, surrounded by bottles and buckets of small fish, paying no heed to their surroundings. A young couple is walking by the water, whispering quietly, the man dressed fancily but with a certain amount of Sczarni swagger. You realize that the woman looks a lot like Shayliss Vinder as you enter the Pirate's Rest.

As you enter, you find Sican standing next to the empty counter and looking into a small but wide wooden chest. You remember seeing it before, it seems like it's been with him ever since he settled in Sandpoint. You've never managed to see inside the chest, even as a child, and your father always deflected the questions in a joking manner. Supposedly it was a deed to the shop, or some ancient paperwork, or even pirate treasures...

Hearing you come in, he slams the chest shut, grinning. "Almost caught me this time, kid. Did you have a good time?"

Hearing the concern in Seyica's voice, Sican responds with a more serious look on his face. "A goblin attack? So that's why the bells were ringing. That's... not good news. Are you ok?"
He sighed, with concern. "Looks like you're in one piece, at least. That's good. Can't say I've seen any goblins down here, but it did sound like a riot for a while. I suppose your friend can stay if he wants to, but he better not try anything funny."

"Mom was with me the whole time, and she helped me save a lot of people !" She begins, emphasizing her first word, as always when she was refering to Pharasma. "As for my "friend", don't be afraid when you see him, he's somewhat ... tall. We didn't had a chance to talk a lot, but he seems like a good person and he'll be better resting here than in a crowded inn."
Seyica takes a pause, hesitates a little, then ask in a faltering voice :
"Dad ? What's in the chest ? I've always seen it in the shop, and i don't know what it is ..."



diplomacy to convinces him to be honest [roll0]
sense motive if Sika tries to bluff : [roll1]

[root]

"You were always so curious about that chest, weren't you? One day, dear, one day... Lots of ancient history is buried in that chest, and its probably for the best that they don't see the light of day."

Sikan winked back at Seyica, adding "I guess all that practice with Kora wasn't for nothin'. Although I'm not quite sure what's the connection between mewling babies and mystical powers, whatever keeps you safe can't be that bad."

"Your friend can stay, I suppose. You know there is not that much room under your old man's roof but hospitality is a virtue, after all."

Its pretty clear that Sican doesn't want to discuss about what's inside the chest. You don't detect any obvious deceit.

"Have you heard 'bout Vinder's latest problem? Har, lemme tell you, I admit that that landlubber is a much better businessman, but his blindness will ruin him. Always running around his daughter, Katrine, while Shayliss is seen all over the town with her Sczarni sweetheart! Once he hears of it, he'll be hitting his "special reserve" like never before, haha... Might even make some sales then, those lazy bums on the docks aren't what you'd call big buyers."

[root]

The quick paced walk to the Rusty Dragon was rather uneventful. After several minutes of Aldern battering Bechel with questions and concerns about the goblins, the relaxing hum of a late evening tavern was a welcome change.

The titular dragon was indeed still there, and still rusty, hanging above the door. It would seem that somebody has took off with the sign, however - or perhaps the inn was no longer hiring.

As the the two humans entered the heavy wooden doors, they were practically assaulted by the smell of food and overflowing beer. There weren't many customers still present at the bar, just barely a dozen of locals. Some wore bandages and clothes still soiled and ripped from the earlier incident. Looking at their pitiful appearances, Aldern gasped and said "I'll be rrrright back at once, my good friend. Sit, enjoy a drink for now, it's on me!"

He thundered up the stairs, to the visitors' suites, leaving Bechel to sit at the bar. Soon, a halfling waitress approached, smiling. Her gray hair betrayed her age even if her diminutive stature made for a confusing effect in a mainly human-dominated city.

"Evenin' handsome. You wan' anything? Our resident nob's paying your bill, as it seems, so go wild! I'm Bethana, by the way. You must be new in town, I recognize all those other drunks by smell already."

Several of the clientelle laughed at the maid's remark as she began reading out the food and drink available tonight.


Too sleepy to come up with anything menu-like, but it's basically same kind of food that was provided at the Dragon's stand during festival. Salmon curry, ale. Things were easier before refrigiration lol.

You don't see Ameiko as the owner and main cook, really, at her establishment, she couldn't be too far away.

[SneakyZombie]

"You were always so curious about that chest, weren't you? One day, dear, one day... Lots of ancient history is buried in that chest, and its probably for the best that they don't see the light of day."

Sikan winked back at Seyica, adding "I guess all that practice with Kora wasn't for nothin'. Although I'm not quite sure what's the connection between mewling babies and mystical powers, whatever keeps you safe can't be that bad."

"Your friend can stay, I suppose. You know there is not that much room under your old man's roof but hospitality is a virtue, after all."

Its pretty clear that Sican doesn't want to discuss about what's inside the chest. You don't detect any obvious deceit.

"Have you heard 'bout Vinder's latest problem? Har, lemme tell you, I admit that that landlubber is a much better businessman, but his blindness will ruin him. Always running around his daughter, Katrine, while Shayliss is seen all over the town with her Sczarni sweetheart! Once he hears of it, he'll be hitting his "special reserve" like never before, haha... Might even make some sales then, those lazy bums on the docks aren't what you'd call big buyers."

Seyica sighs and says in a downcast voice "Dad ... Always gossiping around. But well if that's good for our business it can't hurt."


***

"Do we still have mom's old armor and shield ? The attack might be over, but i'd prefer be ready if something new happens"

Without waiting for an answer, the young girl heads upstairs to go trough the old relics in the attic, looking for the armor her father shown her once or twice.

After fumbling around for a while, she finds what she was looking for. A light scale body armor, completed by a white helmet with multicolored metal plates covering the neck, and a large wooden shield, bearing a faded stylized symbol of Shelyn, and engraved with the words "I will see beauty in others. As a rough stone hides a diamond, a drab face may hide the heart of a saint."
"Strange, I never noticed the bearings on the shield, dad never mentioned mom was a worshiper of Shelyn ..."
The armor didn't fit perfectly, but it did enough for Seyica to feel unimpaired in her movements.
Strapping the shield to her back, Seyica went to her room to pick up some herbs and bandages, before going heading downstairs.


***

"Dad, was mom a worshiper of Shelyn ? You never told me much about her."


Armor and shield now equipped, healer's kit (5 uses) picked up

[root]

"Hmmm, Shelyn? No, I don't think so, kid. She would probably be happy that her old things can help you now, though.", Sican spoke, absentmindedly.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't, heh"

Now fully outfitted, Seyica is ready to face whatever the future might bring.

[SneakyZombie]

"Hmf, thanks the tip i guess ?
I'm heading out to see Kora, don't worry i'll be back for the night !"

Kora taught me that everyone is supposed to die, and i don't have to make judgment the righteousness of the soon to be departed, but with what happened today, i need some enlightenment about Pharasma's teachings.
Seyica head to the Boneyard, her head full of questions, hoping to some advice on Kora's location with Naffer, the graveyard's keeper.

[Hattish Thing]

Haldavyr the Red:

After a suitable amount of time has passed, and after the wizard has cleaned himself up properly, he'll head out of the White Deer, staff in hand with his hood pulled up high. The wash had been quite relaxing, and he often enjoyed his solitude. Wearing that damned eyepatch around so often grew quite uncomfortable at times, but it was better than enduring the horrified gaze of the average townsperson. He leaves the inn with his satchel filled and organized, ready to efficiently remove the many tattered scrolls and texts hidden within. The goblin attack was an unfortunate and thoroughly inconvenient occurrence, and it had cost him time, time he was not comfortable with wasting. He had research to do. Haldavyr moves through the streets quietly, ignoring any others encountered on the path. They were not worth his time, nor attention at the moment.

He's heading to The Old Light, to meet with Brodert Quink, a man who may know a bit more about what he seeks. Though it was just as likely that the man he'd heard about was entirely insane, there may be a shred of occult knowledge hidden in his brain that Haldavyr greatly desired to learn. It was a risk he was willing to take, anything for a new lead.

---

Haldavyr will make his way down Tower Street, until he reaches the small house that Brodert supposedly lived in. Before Haldavyr knocks at the door, he reaches into his satchel to pull out a small and worn item.

A seven-pointed star, with jagged and worn edges, small runes printed on each point.

He looked towards it for comfort, caressing the ancient symbol, his sihedron. His eye flashes with a temporary lapse of seething anger, the face of some unknown woman pulsing into his peripheral, her flaming red hair cascading over her face like hot lava over a cliff's edge. He recoils, pulling his hand away from the strange item, before setting it back into his satchel.

"Bakrakhan."

---

He needed to know more.

Haldavyr knocks.

[Mornings]

Bechal Rossfield - The Misbegotten Auspex


Bechal tried to comfort the man on the long walk back, the evening had come. The journey was uneventful, but as The Dragon came into view, it made his heart flutter just a-bit. Though it sung a step-and-a-measure to see the sign was gone. The old thing had been left up so long, it wasn't even about employment anymore. It was a calling card to the brave and daring adventurers who would wander up from Magnimar, or sometimes even as far as Korvosa. Many stories had been traded under this roof - tales he'd written songs about. Times changed he supposed. He held his breath as he walked through the door.

It was hardly the sight he'd been expecting, the dozen or so patrons looked haggard and worn. He sighed as Aldern dashed up to his loft, shaking his head and sitting down at the bar. He smiled warily at the halfling - Bethana. He'd avoided usually drawing attention when he was at The Dragon - except the times when he might find himself in drunken song. He nodded at the barmaid, seeing his host was not present brought mixed feelings - one of them was relief. "I've... been away, for a while." He averted his gaze, not directly saying it - He couldn't say it. Not very many people knew he'd returned for Atsuii's funeral. "...Haven't been back since The Late Unpleasantness, no real mystery why. Was a hard time." He looked at the liquor behind the counter - No teapanche... they never had the stuff. "Well, some ale will do - can't say I'm hungry after that mess in front of The White Deer... Looks like things were rough over here too. Looks like I can be of some use over here though."

He looked out and around the large foyer. It wasn't exactly the up-beat atmosphere he had hoped for. It was weighed down with worry and stress from a day of chaos under the threat of attack. He sighed, at least he could do something. He turned in his chair looking to a table in the corner. Years ago, he'd met a young man at the time, during his last visit here nearly 8 years ago. Hagevald had introduced him to the lad - with a challenge for the young bard to create a song about the story the boy would tell him. He would never had guessed that the young man was Casp Avertin's son. He didn't even know that the old sheriff had a son - but as he'd come to find out, the boy had been sent to Korvosa for study under the Church. The life of a clergyman wasn't for him, and he instead made the long venture to Absalom to train in becoming a Pathfinder. He had his father's knack for deductions, making a fine detective and Pathfinder Initiate. He rode back to SandPoint during the chaos of The Late Unpleasantness assisting his father with his investigation of the town's local serial killer - The Chopper. It was a tragic tale - and everyone knew how it ended. Casp was butchered while pursuing his suspect in the dark allies of the town, his tongue and eyes cut out from his head by Jervis Stoot - Calvrin's primary suspect, though he had not enough supporting evidence to support his claim; while the town guard feared Jarvis would be the next victim himself. The boy didn't stay in town long after the man's corpse had been burned upon the beach. He left in disgust. He never heard what became of the young man - but he did indeed write his song. He stood from the bar, pulling his instrument from his side. His gaze drifted to the ceiling - it'd been long...so very long since he'd played under this roof. Likewise, it'd been very long since he'd played this song. He wasn't overly fond of mellow and melancholy. He licked his thumb and struck a single slow chord - the strings vibrated and hummed their song, beginning to glow like lines of golden light. The magic danced from his fingers and illuminated his stringers, turning them into beams of vibrant energy. Slack. Stomp. Clack. His hand beat the face of his instrument, his foot came down swiftly after, his other hand smacked the bridge of the instrument while strumming. It sounded exactly like the gallop of a horse. Once, twice, again. As if some mare approached from a world contained within those golden strings. He pressed the narrow of his hand against the strings where they ran into the bridge as a mute while hammering on the 3'rd off beat of the 'gallop', creating a strange sobering melody. " 'To Rest Forever In The Valley of Flowers' " - He brought his hand across the chords in tapping and flighty sporadic cadence as if creating the sound of a flock of birds taking flight, dancing off magically from his strings.




To Rest Forever In The Valley of Flowers (Pt. I)

"He was born of sickness, and his hands moved. He can't resist."
They took flight to the sky. His children painted pictures that made him cry.
It was for The King of Sky, that made him try - to be more then this.

He sent me all alone, away from home.
I road in day, and learned to pray - but my soul longed to roam.
I could not stay, and held my tears at bay - The old man asked you of me.
His letters told me what you would say. I wondered what my choice would weigh.

He said:
You love him.
You love him more than this.
You love him and you cannot. Cannot resist.
You love him
You love him for yourself
You love him and no one. No one else.
...And he makes you miss him more than home.

The road I took. I road so hard.
I quaked and shook, and was left scarred.

Father I'm coming. I cannot ride any faster then this.
In my mind I hear the enemy drumming. A feathered snake waits with frightful hiss.
Waiting... Waiting, To deliver deathly kiss.

You love him
You love him for yourself
You love him and no one. No one else.

You love him.
You love him more than this.
You love him and you cannot. You can't resist.

I found him. He carves birds into your home.
While the lights were dim, you were left all alone.

He took all from so many, we wondered who might be next.
He cut down any, and you were left vexed.
I asked you to believe. For your pride I was left to grieve.

Father, can you see me? Though I beg and plea.
You have not eyes with which to see.

He said: You love him. Love him for yourself.
You love him, him, and no one else.

He did not hide in dark, but wielded blades of chrome.
Even the dogs would bark, and it was no mystery as to where he would roam.

It was all so simple. As you watched him move.
You were like the darkness in his room.
I took his badge.
The burden was now my own.

Across The Chopper's waves, I ventured on alone.
The caves and graves were mine to brave. I found the place where his bones where thrown.

You love him.
You love him more than this.
You love him and you cannot. You can't resist.

Follow me, I'll show you the deed.
His wicked spree, ended by his greed.

You love him
You love him for yourself
You love him and no one. No one else.

You love him.
You love him more than this.
You love him and you cannot. You can not resist.


He moved about the tavern's lobby, the streaming magic of his chords seemed to flicker with a life of their own. Gleaming stars of light slowly drifted from his playing hands. As they touched those around him, their cloths mended from the soil and wear. Tried blood and dirt dissipated and danced away as small glittering lights filling the air in a dizzying array. He continued on, combining his melody and the gallop of his improvised procession that made a simple beat that was simply contagious. A few of the patrons easily caught on to the beat, clapping their hands or banging on the counter to add to the rhythm of the powerful song. He played the lengthy song as his magic cleaned up the worn residents in his company.


Bardic Performance (Rolled OOC) [27]
Cast Light on Strings
Begin Casting Prestidigitation on all worn/dirtied patrons; clean/warm their cloths

[root]

Because everyone is separated, tracking time is a little awkward. It's getting dark in Sandpoint, it's already past sunset. For all intents and purposes, it's late evening or early night. Not going to be any more specific than that for now.


@ Haldavyr

The house appears utterly empty. No oil lamps or candles illuminate the darkened windows. Barely half a hundred feet away, the Old Light looms in the darkness.

After a few knocks on the door, you hear an elderly voice calling out from the ruins of the lighthouse. "Who's there and what do you want? It's awfully late for a visitor."

You can barely discern a silhouette of a man in the darkness. He emerges, coming closer, and you can tell apart the details. It's an older man in robes, his hair whitened by age.

"You must be new here. The locals care little for my knowledge - those fools would rather carouse and drink all night...
I, for one, like star gazing and imagining things of the past. Did you know that the Old Light has been here for thousands of years? And yet it's still standing. Do you think Sandpoint will be here in a thousand years? Hah, I think not!"

Finally by the door to his house, Brodert Quink has a chance to examine his surprise visitor. "Oh my. What happened to your face? And more importantly, why are you here?"

@ Bechel

The tavern's visitors come alive as you start playing your music. Mid-performance, you notice several of them whispering to each other and looking at you appreciatively.
Soon after you start playing, a new voice emerges from the Rusty Dragon's kitchen. You can hear it sing along melodiously until you finish the song. A youthful Tian woman soon exits the staff area of the inn, smiling and jokingly asking "Now what's this racket?"
You recognize her as none other but Ameiko, the owner of Rusty Dragon and descendant of Kaijutsu noble family.

"I thought I heard there was a new performer in town. I'm impressed", she offered.

One of the locals sitting at the table, his arm bandaged but his clothes meticulously cleaned by Bechel's spell, spoke up "I think he's more than just a performer. My brother and I were at the festival when the goblins attacked, an' he and his tall friend took down like a dozen of them! Poof, a single spell and a few swings of the axe!"

"Oh, is that so? I suppose we've got a hero on our hands! Lets raise our glasses to Mr Goblin Slayer right here, on the house! But where are his valiant friends, I wonder?"

@ Seyica

Finally fully outfitted in armor, you make your way to the Boneyard. The evening street is lit by lamps and torches, and there are few people out on the streets. In the distance you can see - and more importantly smell, downwind - a silhouette rolling a red hand-cart. Gorvi's boys... The much needed part of Sandpoint's infrastructure, these men and women tirelessly worked removing nightsoil and other garbage from the town's homes, in the dusk. Mainly vagrants and vagabonds, their work made life much more pleasant for everyone else in town, even if their boss was a complete *******.

Upon reaching the Boneyard, you find the gate curiously unlocked. You know that Naffer Vosk, the town's grave digger, is an old friend of Kora but you've never had much interaction with this deformed recluse. It probably wouldn't be out of place for them to be here in the night. As you enter the graveyard, you can't help but hear loud and unexpected sounds from one of the crypts. The heavy stone doors are ajar, and a lit torch lies on the stone beneath, as if dropped by someone.

There are loud sounds of impact coming from inside, as if someone is smashing a branch or a bone against something, hard.

[Hattish Thing]

Haldavyr the Red:

The red wizard glances towards the Old Light, gazing up at the tall structure. He assumed it was some sort of lighthouse, but obviously something terrible damaged the structure. Haldavyr takes a deep breath as he looks up at the moon high above. His Master had always been so fond of the dark blue tint of the sky at night, of the sparkling stars above, of the planets he knew existed far beyond. The wizard didn't want to think about his Master, not now. Instead, the old man takes a better look at the tall tower in front of him, thoughts running through his head. Haldavyr thinks back to a study he once made during a time of his youth when he was incredibly interested in clockwork. More specifically, he recalls creating a hypothetical blueprint to a Nexian-themed construct he had been somewhat interested in, long before the mysteries of Thassalon had dominated his life. Using his fairly in-depth knowledge of engineering, he'll attempt to think back to some of the architectural books he had to read through during his project, trying to theorize the cause of whatever it was that so clearly damaged the mostly ruined tower. Perhaps he'll learn something of importance as he waits for the other aged man to approach.

[roll0]

---

Once Brodert comes closer, Haldavyr will study him slowly, up and down, almost as if he was sizing up the researcher. He looked weak, physically incapable of resisting the wizard's power. Hopefully he would not need to test his hypothesis, but if the researcher proved untrustworthy, he might have to in the end. Haldavyr was about to trust him with quite the secret, after all. The researcher seemed mundane enough, Haldavyr knew that just by looking at the old, graying man. But perhaps there was something more about this Brodert Quink. Haldavyr's good eye will glow orange for half a second as he gazes at Brodert. He's detecting magic. No matter what the cantrip reveals, Haldavyr will then raise his free hand up to his Steelscorch Stave, causing a bright red light to appear within the sconce-like end. "New to town, yes." He looks around, now trying to see if anyone was watching. Should things be relatively quiet, Haldavyr speaks to Brodert once more, his tone quiet.

"The locals are fools, I assure you, Brodert Quink, I am no fool."

"I've heard of you, you are one of the reasons I am here. Though I am certain you have not heard of me. An attempt on my life left me scarred... burnt, and deformed. My appearance matters little here, however. You are a man of knowledge, are you not? Of great wisdom. We shall see."

"We must speak. Somewhere private. I have... something to show you."

"Something Ancient."

"Something dark."

Haldavyr snaps his free hand, using his Jolt cantrip to form the sign of the Sihedron temporarily in the air, an electric symbol that should tell more to Brodert Quink than any of the wizard's words.

"I want you to tell me everything you know about it... About them. The Runelords."

[SneakyZombie]

Seyica whispers a short prayer to pharasma, clears her mid, and let her gift take over her mind and body.
Her shield still strapped in her back, she pick up the still lit torch and calls out "Hello ? Is there anybody here ?"


Seyica "draws" her weapons, and moves to pick up the torch

[Mornings]

Bechal Rossfield - The Misbegotten Auspex


Bechal stood dumbstruck for a moment. At first, he considered if this was another dream. No... it surely wasn't a dream. After all, he'd risked life and limb just to get here. This was just horrible enough to be real. The singing had slightly caught him off-guard, but not enough to throw off his performance - which went surprisingly well. He took a curt bow after the performance. Scratching his head he listened to the dialogue. Honestly, he hadn't expected anyone was paying attention to him and the Jadwiga fighting in the town square - but more preoccupied with running for their lives. It was something of a shock. He turned to the bar and grabbed the tankard of ale, hammering down half. "Whew.... I think I'll need another drink if we're going to be talking about that. Honestly, I didn't even notice anyone watching during the battle... Appeared as if everyone had a chance to evacuate." He hammered down the last half of his drink then put the tankard down, scratching his head. "Honestly, I'm just a minstrel now. I've lived the Adventurer's Life, and traveled strange lands - gathered tales and song from all about The Inner Sea." He played a chord as he spoke, to add some flare as he begun to slowly move about his now captive audience. "I had only recently came into the employ of the SandPoint Theater for our newest production. Hoping indeed it was the beginning of a quiet life perhaps. But... Nay! Say the gods, and once more battle has found me. But I, Ross Bechfield, vowed not to turn my back to souls in need." He gestured dramatically to the door and all the chaos which had begun to diminish outside. "Thusly! Did I gather my allies a final time, to combat the foul creatures which had come to burn, slash and maim!" He struck a dark chord, sending shadows flickering to the far wall, and using the magical light from his strings to create shadow-pictures with his hands in shadowplay. He created a dark and sinister claw to leer down upon them. "..The first! A dark and wicked wizard! An old figure, scarred and mutilated by demon fire from the creatures of the darkest depths of The Abyss. He wielded dreadful claws of black-lighting! His twisted metal staff was little more then twisted molten metal, stained with the blood of untold enemies! " He waved his hands wide, casting twitching shadows to flicker a long the walls. "He rose once more, to join me in battle. Slaying creatures and rending limbs in wicked glee with his hellish umbral-light! Poor Alden came to close to The Dark One, and witnessed his terrible might, as he ripped the very spine from a creature! - I met him long ago, in the dark recesses of Ulstalav.... He was a great mage of The Whispering Way, commanding boundless power over the powers of death. With the strength of Tar-Baphon he led a dark coven of magisters in battle against Caliphas! With the Pathfinders of HavenGuard at my back did I meet him in single combat - his power was too great. I stood not a chance, but with the last of my strength did I show him the might of Aroden, and the true magics of The Inner Sea. Beside himself, he cast down his pursuits to uncover the roots of the ancient powers which my song gleamed. Indeed. I had not defeated him - nor are we truly friends. Yet, he has found a different path - one free of the destruction he once sought, and has saved my life more then once!" He turned in a quick circle, spinning a man in his chair before suddenly stopping him. "The second! A young child. Only but a young-girl, whom wields the power to shape the very fabrics of our fragile soulstuff into light! With unmatched agility did she meet the creature's charge head on - diving amidst the fray unarmed and unarmored! Diving through spear and blade, she unleashed untold devastation - with nameless intangible threads of her very spirit, crushing her enemies with valor benefiting the most steely warriors!" He side stepped, reaching over and grabbing an ashtray. "As from where she hails? Any may guess. Her history and origin are draped in mystery as is her strange and powerful magics. But magics which have thankfully been employed in the defense of us all!" He doubled back, putting the ashtray on the bar top while grabbing a small steel plate with a series of simple decorative holes and placing it besides the tray. "But of all my allies... and their strange and astounding stories. None is perhaps more thrilling then that of my partner this gentleman has mentioned...." He quickly dug into his bag, taking out one of his oil-soaked fuses, twisting it tight to drain out the oil into his empty tankard before peeling off 2 threads from the wick before putting it back in his bag. His hands moved quickly and unerringly as he continued his grand-tale. Like many, he was Shoanti, a great and mighty warrior of The Axe-Clan. Peerless among his peers. It was not enough. Each day, he sought to challenge himself. The thought ever in his mind. 'Surely I am greater then this' .... 'Surely I can be more'... and right he was..." He nimbly tied the string through the small ring-handle on the ashtray and fashioned it on the lower neck of his instrument, then similarly hung the metal plate from the body of the mandolin off the strap-pin. "...He left. Left The Inner Sea. He traveled north. As north as north goes. Across the world with blade in hand. The creeping cold, the terrible cry of the creatures of the winterlands. He cut his path through The Land of The Linnorm Kings. Venturing across The Kodar Mountains to The Crown of The World. He did battle with the armies of The Witch-Queen. He was beat down, broken, and left to die. He had found his limit. But as all seemed lost. At the precipice of Pharasma's gate.... He found something." He spoke in a hushed voice, sliding next to one of the men at the bar. "Do you know what it was? .....No?" He nodded as if affirming the thought. "Nor did I. But he told me - told me the story of his training. He was hardened and reforged into a Jadwiga warrior, wearing the skull of his geatest foe. The skull of The White Rider - Herald of The Witch-Queen. What he found.... was the teachings of a forlorn man, who spoke of a forgotten god." He snapped out his familiar clear-wand. He waved his hand grandly, casting the figure of a great tree in shadow to dance on the walls, turning in full circle while beginning to move about the bar with the plate and tray affixed to his instrument. "...And this is the tale he told."

He begun playing a rapid a wavering, magically amplified chord, jumping up and coming back down to provide a heavy bass-drum effect with the dense thud of his heels as they met the ground, before rapidly bursting into motion, slamming his heels down in alternating steps in a blast-beat patter. He held his wand in two fingers and used it to drum swiftly on the plates hanging from his instrument while he played. He spun into the counter, grabbing another plate and hitting that as well. Before he spoke out in a deep and haunting voice, casting out dancing shadows with his hands and plucking two-strings with a sudden silence.




" The Misbegotten God of The World Tree (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rntRDqpaY2g) "


"He hung on the windswept World Tree"
"Whose roots no one knows"
"For nine whole days he hung there pierced"
"By Gr'nir. His spear"

"Swimming in pain he peered into the depths"
"And cried out in agony"
"Reaching out he grasped the runes"
"Before falling back from the abyss"

"He gave himself unto himself"
"In a world of sheering pain"
"So that we all may live our lives"
"By the wisdom that he came"


Suddenly his song exploded into a powerful chorus of hammering beats and crushing chords that seemed to give the whole of the song a tangible frozen intensity, as if it were carried by foreign winds from The Crown of the World. It sounded like a war-song from the frozen-lands which none of them, including himself had ever seen, driven by the hammering pulse of his percussion.



"You doubted him, and spread their lies"
"Across the world, with sword in hand"
"You raped our souls, and stole our right"
"All for the words of mild-mannered man"

"You listened to mild-mannered god"
"And put your faith in deceitful words"
"Your powertrip was paid by blood"
"In kindness' name you spilled our blood"


He cried out the words as he lifted up the neck of his instrument, his hands moving faster and faster as he hammered off the blinding chords and struck his plates, until he jumped up and brought the melody into a reverberating wave of powerful sound. The lights spun off from his strings, his hands moving faster then he could see. Shivering blue light shivered outward, a cold creeped over their seats, as if the arctic winds from his very words brought within the ferocity of the northern-warriors to fill the room and the power of the Jadwiga-trained Shoanti he sung of.



"He shouted out:"
"I refuse to submit"
"To the god you say is kind"
"I know what's right, and it is time"
"It's time to fight, and free our minds"
"HAAAAAA!"

"Let me die without fear!"
"As I have lived without it"
"So shut your mouth and spare my ears"

"After a thousand years of oppression"
"Let the berserks rise again"
"Let the world hear these words once more:"
"Save us, oh lord, from the wrath of the North-men!"

"Our spritis were forged, in snow and ice"
"To bend like steel forged over fire"
"We were not made to bend like reed"
"Or to turn the other cheek"

"He grasped the runes. They're ours to use"

The final crashing beat released the last of his magics to dance like flakes of snow around him. Sweat beaded and dripped from his brow from the great amount of effort and strain with his improvised instruments as he sung his story. He took a long breath - before continuing. "...And thus did he emerge. A warrior of a caliber of strength and might... of a likeness never seen to the eyes of the southern-born." He waved his hand dramatically, before finally gesturing to himself. "...And I? I am simply a musician. Hero? Nay! Perhaps may I have rallied such extraordinary individuals - but I have only done what I can be done. Nothing more.... And now I share these tales of these remarkable warriors with you fine people." He stole a glance at Ameiko. He was feeling quite daring today - something surely had changed.






Perform: Take 10 [22]
Cast .... Spell. Make seats cold
Rock out. :smallamused:

[root]

@Haldavyr

"Runelords. Ah. Yes, you are definitely not from around here, my erudite friend. There is not much we know about runelords, Thassilon has not existed for millennia. I can only tell you that they were great rulers, mages of mystical power! There is not much information that hasn't been twisted and mistranslated over thousands of years... And original research proves difficult at best - I've spent half my life gathering stone tablets and shards from the ancient empire and all I have is theories, at best. My own peers have laughed at me, called me a lunatic!"

Brodert winked conspiratorially, adding "But it was not all a waste. I've taught myself to read the ancient cuneiform of Thassilonian, comparing ancient Varisian works with the few relics I've been able to locate. In my studies, I've learnt things even the so called esteemed experts in Thassilonian history know nothing about!"

Adding a pause for emphasis and to regain a few gulps of air, Brodert stated "I have reasons to believe that the Old Light is not an ancient light house, but remains of a magical weapon from the ancient empire, capable of obliterating entire armies. There, you can laugh at the foolish old man now."

@ Seyica
As you approach the tomb, you realize that its a vault housing remains of previous caretakers and priests, a squat stone structure near the Boneyard's outer wall. Kora told you about this vault, joking about being buried there one day.

As you bend over to pick up the torch, you notice that the soft grass before the way inside is trampled as if at least several people walked over it. You also notice droplets of blood, leading out of the tomb. The door is slammed ajar, and unmistakeable sounds of combat come from within. A short flight of stairs lead down from the entrance, and there is a sharp turn soon after.

Going down the stairs, you find yourself literally thrown into the middle of a scrap. Belor, his back to the wall, is swinging his sword, fending off 2 skeletal shapes in the near total darkness. Noticing the light, he shouts "Willem, by Cayden's mug, I told you to RUN and get help. This is no time for heroics!"

With help of the flickering torchlight, the town sheriff lands a lucky kick in one of the skeleton's midsection. The bones clatter to the floor, no longer bound by dark magics.


I'll post a map eventually, probably tonight as I get home. The tomb is a basically a small room, barely 15 by 15 feet. The walls are made out of stone, and multiple tiers of shelves are in every wall, each niche filled with remains of past priests and such.

#=wall, S= stairs, o=floor, each character is 5 feet
#######
#ooooo#
So#BEo#
#ooooo#
#######

The door is right on top of the stairs, a thick stone door on metal hinges. Its ajar and there is no visible lock on it. The torch you picked is pretty much in same square as the door..

Edit: B is Belor, E is remaining skeleton. You got a 1 on Initiative in OOC but the combatants already made their turns as you got down the stairs.

Next turn if it lasts that long will be Skeleton, Belor, Seyica


@Bechel

The Rusty Dragon clientele explodes as you finish your performance, clapping and cheering wildly. "Hail to the goblin slayers!", some of the drunker people start to chant, slurring the words. The owner, Ameiko, claps as well, smiling warmly. "Fantastic tale if I say so myself! You should have brought these heroic friends of yours here, they could probably use a drink." She winks at you, "and I just might let them stay here for free for a couple of days, such heroism ought to be rewarded. Say, have we met before?"

The conversation is suddenly interrupted as the door slams open. A grim looking man of Tian features walks in from the darkened street, his face twisted by anger. He yells something in Tian, and Ameiko's face pales for a moment.

you may recognize the man as Lonjiku Kaijitsu, the head of Kaijutsu family in Sandpoint. He wasn't present during the festival. You don't understand what he is saying as you don't speak Tian, but he does sound angry.

[Hattish Thing]

Haldavyr the Red:


"Runelords. Ah. Yes, you are definitely not from around here, my erudite friend. There is not much we know about runelords, Thassilon has not existed for millennia. I can only tell you that they were great rulers, mages of mystical power! There is not much information that hasn't been twisted and mistranslated over thousands of years... And original research proves difficult at best - I've spent half my life gathering stone tablets and shards from the ancient empire and all I have is theories, at best. My own peers have laughed at me, called me a lunatic!"

Brodert winked conspiratorially, adding "But it was not all a waste. I've taught myself to read the ancient cuneiform of Thassilonian, comparing ancient Varisian works with the few relics I've been able to locate. In my studies, I've learnt things even the so called esteemed experts in Thassilonian history know nothing about!"

Adding a pause for emphasis and to regain a few gulps of air, Brodert stated "I have reasons to believe that the Old Light is not an ancient light house, but remains of a magical weapon from the ancient empire, capable of obliterating entire armies. There, you can laugh at the foolish old man now."

The red wizard nods slowly in confirmation before interrupting the other man. "Yes, yes, I know. He breathes deeply before coughing lightly and pulling a handkerchief from a pocket. He dabs at his lips, wiping off some blood conjured by the harsh cough. [In Thassalonian:] "I consider myself an expert in that matter, after all, I'd make a rather poor researcher if I hadn't even bothered to learn the language, now wouldn't I?" Haldavyr seems to take great interest in Brodert's story about the Old Light, a flicker of both greed and fascination flashing in his eye before he looks down at the ground. After quickly stuffing his bloody handkerchief in his pocket, the old wizard moves forward.

As he walks past Brodert, he speaks back. "You're going to show me the Old Light, come, we haven't much time. My condition makes heavy physical strain quite... uncomfortable . This day has been long and hard enough for me, what with having to rescue your little town. Perhaps we can help eachother in the end."

"As for your hypothesis regarding this 'Old Light', I don't believe you mad. What you're describing was once known a Hellstorm Plume. An ancient Thassalonian weapon perfected by the Runelord of Wrath, Alaznist. A weapon I know quite well. They lie littered about Varisia, as far I know. I've been looking for them, for something important/ Perhaps this place, this ruin holds what I seek."

" Now, don't dawdle old man. I saved your town, so show me the way." [In Thassalonian:] "You do owe me, after all..."

[Mornings]

Bechal Rossfield - The Misbegotten Auspex


The bard laughed as the tavern exploded into cheers throwing his arm around one of the drunken men and discreetly finishing off the mans drink. The roaring chant of 'Goblin Slayers' came to life - he scratched his chin. He actually didn't kill any goblins... Minor details, after all it was to the praise of the true slayers that he sung his songs and weaved tales. After all, no true minstrel was self-glorifying.

He smiled at Ameiko as he pulled away from the drunken man and spun him around in his chair like a wind-up top. He gestured as if he were wearing an atypical bardic hat, though he worn none, taking an elaborate courtesy. "Many thanks - I strive that I may, if even in some small part, share a measure of the valor I have seen in others; And of course, share a rousing tale!" He begun untying the plates from his instrument, which proved quite difficult as his hand begun to cramp from the tax of his previous performance. Finally he got the thing off and placed the ashtray on the counter. "Most unfortunately, my brave friends have gone their own ways. The Young-One, restless, as all youths are opted to sally forth with the guardsmen and ensure the safety of our citizens. Affirming that the goblin threat has been expunged from our midst." He tried to untie the last two plates. The first came off easy enough, the second he gave up on - resolving to cut it off later. "The less-then-goodly-wizard... I'm actually unsure as to where he vanished - as he often does. Impossible to know where that one will turn up. As for my Jadwiga-friend..." He took a resolved sigh. "Unfortunately, he is in the care of Father Zanthus. During the chaos of the battle, he ran ahead while we were still securing the town square. He ran hard and fast to the fires which came from The West Gate - the guards long dead. He held out against a dozen of the creatures, and defeated their worg-riding chief alone. Before we could even arrive. Yet he suffered grievous wounds as he held the gate alone. No doubt saving The White Deer and its patrons from death in fire. Last the father spoke, he had already mostly recovered. The man is indeed amazingly difficult to defeat. No doubt you will see him once he has recovered - after all he wears a skull, stands easily 8ft tall and weighs half a ton. Quite difficult to miss." He unslung his instrument, making himself more comfortable as he wiped the sweat from his brown with his sleeve. "I'm sure they would all... well, mostly, be greatly appreciative for the honors. Can't account for that wizard, hah." He picked up the glass-oil sphere off the counter. His expression slightly betraying his shock, only for a second, as he heard Ameiko's words. He corked the vial and placed it in its place within his bag, turning to face her directly. He wasn't sure what to say. What should I say? She recognizes me? She recognized me! He wasn't sure what this feeling was. His throat had a knot in it, his face flushed. He'd always thought he'd stayed below notice. Unremarkable. Another bard. Another face. He stood, rooted in place for a long moment. His lips moved. Nothing came out. His throat felt dry... raspy. He cleared his throat. He tried again. Slowly the words crawled out from his mouth, like a salt-covered snail. Painful, but steady. He could feel his pulse in his head, throbbing, pounding. He'd never had stage-fright. He loved crowds and women - it was the first time he'd ever frozen, seemingly at a loss for words. "Oh.... W-Well.......yes." He coughed, trying to break up the awkward silence. "I'm..."

Suddenly, the doors behind him exploded open. The color in his face drained away. He couldn't see them, but he knew they were there. A full day of combat, and yet ever-still the enemy would find him. He couldn't escape. There was no escape. He would never escape. His presence had brought this. He was cursed. Born cursed. He'd feared for so long, his fears had become phobias. Now the greatest of them became his reality. - At his greatest moment. At the moment, all seemed like it could go well... The enemy had come to The Rusty Dragon. The world stilled. Then paused.



***** "You said you'd protect them. All of them." He looked up. Within the black expanses of his consciousness - that man remained. "I did... I will." His father scoffed, at the words, as if they were some half-hearted promise from a petulant child. "I can't tell if you're naive, or if your vanity truly has no bounds. - Do you really think you can protect them all? Without taking a single life? Or do you think you're god?" He shook his head. "There's always another way. I'll always find another way." The man vanished.

He was back again a moment later. His hands wrapping around Bechal's throat to lift him from the ground. "You're spineless words will kill them all! Take responsibility for what you've done! - It's your fault." He gasped, kicking and grasping the man's arms to release himself, yet failing. "It's your fault." The words seemed to begin a chant - a chant from a choir of disembodied voices lingering in the darkness.

From the shadows, he looked down upon himself as himself, emerging from the dark. He chanted the words. Lingering at the edge of the light - his features only barely illuminated. From the other side, Ameiko stepped forward to the edge of the ring of light - her voice chanting as well. It's your fault. From behind his father, Hagevald stepped forward - his voice adding to the hymn of condemnation.

He cried out, tears beginning to run down his face. The volume intensified. He screamed out, beginning to kick and thrash about as he was suspended in his father's suffocating grasp. He kicked at him, clawed at his expressionless face as he ceaselessly continued to chant mindlessly like some kind of dreadful simulacrum. He screamed in the man's face, clawing gory pits into his face and striking him with all his might. Still he stood unfazed. The volume rose again. His vision begun to tunnel off - his lungs near empty. With his last breath, he screamed out into the distant light above.


"I WILL.... NOT... !!!!"

*****


He was back.

His features suddenly hardened, as his mind viciously forced his body to move. He exploded into motion. As if everything slowed, both his arms pumped into motion, throwing his instrument and wand to either side of him. His left hand grasped the baldric at his thigh, while his other hand came across his body and grasped the hilt of his hidden blade. Without looking behind himself, he spun backwards sliding into a low spin as he screamed out with all his might as the blade was released from its scabbard. His volume was drowned out in deafening cacophony as a demonic and shrill voice screamed out with such volume, the plates upon the counter shook - a single word forming from the infernal cry...


"HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"

"OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH!!!! BETRAYER!!!!!"

He spun in a low slashing arc as his sword cleared his scabbard in a one-handed reverse bladed dash towards the door, and his waiting enemy. The words, barely audible, just begun to register. But his reaction he been so immediate, he couldn't stop it now. His blade slashed out, stopping at the last moment, as he fell into a slashing crouch, on one knee. A Tian swordstyle, known as Iai. The blade stopped just short, leveled at Lonjiku's lower abdomen, when a Goblin's head would be. The razor tip of the gleaming polished blade rested against him. A small 2 inch cut severed part of the man's cloths. He knelt down for a long second of silence, his eyes wide in shock. His highly polished Tian-stylized blade gleamed with a magical sapphire hue, lightly misting. Emblazoned upon the flat of the blade were fine glassteel words, boldly reading 'ROSSFIELD' - near the hilt of the weapon was a crest inlaid in horicalcum. A black seal, The Rossfield Mercantile League Union Crest. A symbol rarely or never seen these days, but still representing the support of Magnimar and the then emerging SandPoint Mercantile League.

He fell backwards on his rear in stunned silence, dropping the sword at his side. That was close. Too close. His mind raced, until the words finally stumbled out. "L-LONJIKU!?" He stuttered, "I'm sorry! I thought you were another of those creatures! What's happened!?"

His hand blindly tapped around on the floor looking for his sword, unable to break his gaze from the man he nearly gutted. He finally found it. He quickly grabbed the blade, turning it in reverse and sheathed The Telles-Riddle in its discrete scabbard. He hadn't drawn his father's blade since.... that time. He wondered, why now. Though inside, he truly know why. It wasn't so much a question as it was an inquiry to some faceless god why the time had come. Simply. He had something to protect.



https://www.colourbox.com/preview/2184819-emblem-of-justice-shield-sword-and-scales-symbol-isolated-illustration-black-and-white-silhouette-contour-on-white-background.jpg

[SneakyZombie]

@Haldavyr

@ Seyica
As you approach the tomb, you realize that its a vault housing remains of previous caretakers and priests, a squat stone structure near the Boneyard's outer wall. Kora told you about this vault, joking about being buried there one day.

As you bend over to pick up the torch, you notice that the soft grass before the way inside is trampled as if at least several people walked over it. You also notice droplets of blood, leading out of the tomb. The door is slammed ajar, and unmistakeable sounds of combat come from within. A short flight of stairs lead down from the entrance, and there is a sharp turn soon after.

Going down the stairs, you find yourself literally thrown into the middle of a scrap. Belor, his back to the wall, is swinging his sword, fending off 2 skeletal shapes in the near total darkness. Noticing the light, he shouts "Willem, by Cayden's mug, I told you to RUN and get help. This is no time for heroics!"

With help of the flickering torchlight, the town sheriff lands a lucky kick in one of the skeleton's midsection. The bones clatter to the floor, no longer bound by dark magics.


I'll post a map eventually, probably tonight as I get home. The tomb is a basically a small room, barely 15 by 15 feet. The walls are made out of stone, and multiple tiers of shelves are in every wall, each niche filled with remains of past priests and such.

#=wall, S= stairs, o=floor, each character is 5 feet
#######
#ooooo#
So#BEo#
#ooooo#
#######

The door is right on top of the stairs, a thick stone door on metal hinges. Its ajar and there is no visible lock on it. The torch you picked is pretty much in same square as the door..

Edit: B is Belor, E is remaining skeleton. You got a 1 on Initiative in OOC but the combatants already made their turns as you got down the stairs.

Next turn if it lasts that long will be Skeleton, Belor, Seyica



Skeletons ? well Birth and death are written in the bones, but bones can be broken, as the saying goes.

"Sir Belor ? I don't know where Willem went, but let the lady of the grave help you on this one !"
Seyica recklessly moves towards Belor, her torch casting flickering images on the crypt walls, and unleash a concussive blast of force at point blank range towards the sinful pack of bones.


Move to
######
#ooooo#
So#BEo#
#ooXoo#
######

Attack the skeleton
[roll0]
[roll1]

(I trigger an AoO from the skeleton, AC17)

[root]

@ Haldavyr

Brodert Quink, somewhat taken aback by your enthuasism, nods. Slowly, he answers,his voice struggling to pronounce ancient words "[Thassalonian] A great scholar indeed you are. The land Sandpoint was built on used to be called Bakrakhan, the domain of the Runelord of Wrath. We know little of it."

Opening the door to his house, Brodert crosses the doorway before turning and saying "There is little you can do this night. Whatever the Old Light once was, it is just an empty tower now, its floor littered with rubble and trash accumulated through centuries. There may be a wealth of information there if you're willing to spend hours on your knees, sifting through it. I've spent quite a few years of my life doing just that.

The staircase still stands, and you could probably get up some 30 feet off the ground before it is cut short. The walls have runic writings, but I suppose for someone as knowledgeable as you they may be of little use..."

With a sigh, the old sage said "If you've come here to learn more about the ancient empire, you may be disappointed. The ages past hold on to their secrets with a dead man's grip... We must talk again, my fellow lore delver, but for now you must depart. The night is upon us and my old bones need rest."

With an afterthought, he added, "You may find me at Curious Goblin if I'm not home. Sandpoint may lack in intellect, but you may still find some refuges of thought here and there. Say, what is your name?"



@ Bechel

The Rusty Dragon's clientelle suddenly focus on their food, doing their best to avoid eye contact with the noble.The shouted conversation goes on for several moments, Ameiko's answers brief and full with noticeable outrage that transcends the language.

Their argument is suddenly interrupted as Bechel performs an acrobatic roll, damaging Lonjiku's robes. The people present at the tables outdo themselves, performing great feats of concentration, focusing on their plates and mugs. You can still hear a few shocked expressions and curses said under breath.

Lonjiku, stunned for a moment, looks down at you, his face a mask of barely contained anger. Regaining his sense, he barks a derisive laugh and rolls his eyes, saying "Just what we need - a filthy band of vagrants to attract even more trouble to town. Trash like you ought to stay down where you belong and leave the fighting to professionals instead of endangering people with important things to do."

Noticing the cut in his clothes, he adds "I expect you will be paying for this. Minkaian silk isn't cheap... Not that a mongrel like you would know."

A cruel smile on his face, he turns back to Ameiko, adding "You've made your choice putting a disgusting pen for these drunken animals above your family, and I expect you to live it."

Turning around, he begins to leave the inn.

Ameiko is too shocked to respond right away, but finds her words as her father turns to leave, launching a tirade of what you can only imagine are the filthiest cursewords Minkaian can offer.

Oops turns out Tian is not a language, but Minkaian is.

[root]

The skeleton lashes out with its bony claws as you arrive. The cruel blow misses, falling short of your body as the divine energy shoots out from your hand. The glancing blow on the unholy abomination is sufficient, removing the dark enchantments holding the bones together.

As the bones clatter to the floor, you have a chance to look around. The flickering torch provides just enough light to see a layer of dust covering every surface, disturbed by the melee. Many of the niches in the walls are empty - the town hasn't been around for that long, after all, there were only this many priests and acolytes that went on to recieve Pharasma's judgement. Several of them are filled with bones, carefully laid down. Plates of brass with barely readable writing are beneath every bone-strewn shelf.

There's a set of discarded robes lying in one of the corners of the tiny room.

"Gods damn it. Does your father know what you're doing, girl? Wandering around the graveyard at night picking fights..." Belor spits out. He winks at you, smiling "But I'm very thankful. Fighting those damned things in total darkness was not my idea of evening entertainment."

Inspecting his sword for notches, he sighs before sheathing it. "Turns out those stupid things are not easily cut. If I find who animated these skeletons in the middle of the damn city, they are going to be..."

Looking around the room, Belor picks up the robes. "Strange thing to leave lying around in a tomb, don't you think? I don't think Willem told me anything about acolytes using this room to dry their laundry... I suppose Zanthus did the right thing asking me to come, those creatures could seriously hurt someone - one of 'em even got a good slash at Willem. I hope someone was able to help him at the Cathedral..."

"I don't think any of these skellies' are Father Tobyn... He wasn't so tall - or so violent, for that matter."

[SneakyZombie]

The skeleton lashes out with its bony claws as you arrive. The cruel blow misses, falling short of your body as the divine energy shoots out from your hand. The glancing blow on the unholy abomination is sufficient, removing the dark enchantments holding the bones together.

As the bones clatter to the floor, you have a chance to look around. The flickering torch provides just enough light to see a layer of dust covering every surface, disturbed by the melee. Many of the niches in the walls are empty - the town hasn't been around for that long, after all, there were only this many priests and acolytes that went on to recieve Pharasma's judgement. Several of them are filled with bones, carefully laid down. Plates of brass with barely readable writing are beneath every bone-strewn shelf.

There's a set of discarded robes lying in one of the corners of the tiny room.

"Gods damn it. Does your father know what you're doing, girl? Wandering around the graveyard at night picking fights..." Belor spits out. He winks at you, smiling "But I'm very thankful. Fighting those damned things in total darkness was not my idea of evening entertainment."

Inspecting his sword for notches, he sighs before sheathing it. "Turns out those stupid things are not easily cut. If I find who animated these skeletons in the middle of the damn city, they are going to be..."

Looking around the room, Belor picks up the robes. "Strange thing to leave lying around in a tomb, don't you think? I don't think Willem told me anything about acolytes using this room to dry their laundry... I suppose Zanthus did the right thing asking me to come, those creatures could seriously hurt someone - one of 'em even got a good slash at Willem. I hope someone was able to help him at the Cathedral..."

"I don't think any of these skellies' are Father Tobyn... He wasn't so tall - or so violent, for that matter."

"He told me not to do anything he wouldn't. If even half of his stories are true, that's some seriously messed up advice" she says, winking back.
"I was looking for Kora actually, and i hoped Naffer could tell me where she went after the attack. Is the whole undead thing a common thing around here ?" she says, trying to hide the tension in her voice behind a joke.
Suddenly, her faces goes cold
"The cathedral ? Do they need help ? Let's go !"
Without even looking back at the head of the local militia, the young girl rushes up the stairs to the cathedral

[Hattish Thing]

@ Haldavyr

Brodert Quink, somewhat taken aback by your enthuasism, nods. Slowly, he answers,his voice struggling to pronounce ancient words "[Thassalonian] A great scholar indeed you are. The land Sandpoint was built on used to be called Bakrakhan, the domain of the Runelord of Wrath. We know little of it."

Opening the door to his house, Brodert crosses the doorway before turning and saying "There is little you can do this night. Whatever the Old Light once was, it is just an empty tower now, its floor littered with rubble and trash accumulated through centuries. There may be a wealth of information there if you're willing to spend hours on your knees, sifting through it. I've spent quite a few years of my life doing just that.

The staircase still stands, and you could probably get up some 30 feet off the ground before it is cut short. The walls have runic writings, but I suppose for someone as knowledgeable as you they may be of little use..."

With a sigh, the old sage said "If you've come here to learn more about the ancient empire, you may be disappointed. The ages past hold on to their secrets with a dead man's grip... We must talk again, my fellow lore delver, but for now you must depart. The night is upon us and my old bones need rest."

With an afterthought, he added, "You may find me at Curious Goblin if I'm not home. Sandpoint may lack in intellect, but you may still find some refuges of thought here and there. Say, what is your name?"

Haldavyr frowns a tad as Brodert moves into the doorway of his home but offers no entrance to the wizard. It seemed that this old fool may yet hold some useful information in that head of his, but none he would be acquiring this day. Still, this was a dangerous path he was treading. Tell one man a name, and you may as well shout it out. He couldn't be too careful, he had no way of trusting Brodert after all. He could always fix any mistakes made later on, though. The cliffs are high, and the rocks below ought hide evidence well.

Hopefully Quink could be trusted with the sensitive information the wizard was planning on divulging, and no foul play would be necessary. Haldavyr seems like he's about to actually respond to the man who's murder he was contemplating, but remains silently for a second or two longer than socially acceptable. After a moment of pause, he responds, the wizard's grip around his staff tightening for a second, before a sigh escapes his lips. "Yes, yes, I suppose you're right. Thank you for what help you've provided, however. You've confirmed something I needed to know."

"We must meet once more, yes. Expect me in the near future. I intend to shed some light on the writings you mentioned, but it'd do me well to be accompanied by someone who knows the territory. Tell no one we met here, tell no one my name."

"Haldavyr."

---

With his cryptic warning given, Haldavyr turns, his cloak billowing behind him, hood drawn high. Perhaps something of interest may lead him elsewhere.

[root]

"He told me not to do anything he wouldn't. If even half of his stories are true, that's some seriously messed up advice" she says, winking back.
"I was looking for Kora actually, and i hoped Naffer could tell me where she went after the attack. Is the whole undead thing a common thing around here ?" she says, trying to hide the tension in her voice behind a joke.
Suddenly, her faces goes cold
"The cathedral ? Do they need help ? Let's go !"
Without even looking back at the head of the local militia, the young girl rushes up the stairs to the cathedral

As you rush out of the tomb, Belor yells "Hey! At least leave the light here."

On the way to the cathedral, you almost literally bump into Father Zanthus. He's had a chance to change into a new set of robes and get rid of the ceremonial star knife since the attack. Recognizing you, he looks up, with worry in his eyes, saying "What happened here?! And more importantly what are you doing in the graveyard in the middle of the night!"

Noticing Belor emerge from the tomb, still holding onto the robe he found, the priest called to him. "Willem ran straight into the cathedral, bleeding. Kora is with him now... So I reckon there was something to his words about the tomb, huh?"

Belor responded "Skeletons. And you don't have to be so discrete at this point, Abstalar, the girl saw everything. The moment we opened the door and went down there, two skeletons attacked us and Willem got the worst of it. Is he OK now? I probably should have been more careful about putting one of your acolytes in danger... I was sure it was just a fluke though."

"I have very grim news, however. Whoever left those skeletons there clearly took something away. I've had a chance to look at Father Tobyn's, uh, final resting place at the ossuary, and he... wasn't there. Why would anyone want his bones? He's been dead for half a decade, and it's not like he had any enemies."

"Father Tobyn's remains are gone? That is troubling indeed. I don't think this town has had any problems with necromancers since its founding..."

"You two probably don't want to talk about this to anyone. It's troubling enough that the goblins were organized enough to strike at the town, and now this theft? I'll get to the bottom of this, I promise. Father Tobyn deserved his rest, damn it."

Waving the found robe around, Belor added, "By any chance, do you have any idea what this was doing in the tomb, Abstalar? I didn't think your acolytes used Tobyn's tomb as a locker room..."

[SneakyZombie]

As you rush out of the tomb, Belor yells "Hey! At least leave the light here."

On the way to the cathedral, you almost literally bump into Father Zanthus. He's had a chance to change into a new set of robes and get rid of the ceremonial star knife since the attack. Recognizing you, he looks up, with worry in his eyes, saying "What happened here?! And more importantly what are you doing in the graveyard in the middle of the night!"

Noticing Belor emerge from the tomb, still holding onto the robe he found, the priest called to him. "Willem ran straight into the cathedral, bleeding. Kora is with him now... So I reckon there was something to his words about the tomb, huh?"

Belor responded "Skeletons. And you don't have to be so discrete at this point, Abstalar, the girl saw everything. The moment we opened the door and went down there, two skeletons attacked us and Willem got the worst of it. Is he OK now? I probably should have been more careful about putting one of your acolytes in danger... I was sure it was just a fluke though."

"I have very grim news, however. Whoever left those skeletons there clearly took something away. I've had a chance to look at Father Tobyn's, uh, final resting place at the ossuary, and he... wasn't there. Why would anyone want his bones? He's been dead for half a decade, and it's not like he had any enemies."

"Father Tobyn's remains are gone? That is troubling indeed. I don't think this town has had any problems with necromancers since its founding..."

"You two probably don't want to talk about this to anyone. It's troubling enough that the goblins were organized enough to strike at the town, and now this theft? I'll get to the bottom of this, I promise. Father Tobyn deserved his rest, damn it."

Waving the found robe around, Belor added, "By any chance, do you have any idea what this was doing in the tomb, Abstalar? I didn't think your acolytes used Tobyn's tomb as a locker room..."

Listening to the exchange between the Belor and Father Zanthus, the young girl is torn between the teaching of her father, who always told her to take every opportunity to discover more about the world, and the strict tenets of her mistress, who always told her, well, basically to mind her own damn business, in a less polite way.

"Hum... I was ... Well ... I should go see Kora at the cathedral !"

On the short path to the cathedral, Seyica notices the day has already ended, the town starting to be cast in darkness.

****, I promised to dad i'll be back before the night !

Seyica rushes to the docks, almost running through the narrow streets with her torch in her left hand, mystical energy still flowing through her right hand, as her dad told her never to wander alone without a weapon ready at night.

Once she arrive to the pirates rest, she takes a few seconds to breathe, and opens up the door

"I'm home ! Did my friend arrive when i was away ?"

Wrapping things up a bit to speed up the path now that Lac'Nah is back, Seyica will remain troubed and confused :smallbiggrin:

[Mornings]

Bechal Rossfield - The Misbegotten Auspex


Stunned silence was all he could find. He blinked in disbelief at the man. This was not the man he knew. Not the man he remembered. Lonjiku had always been a misanthropic-man, but he'd never seen the man in such a light. It was true then. He'd heard the man had changed after he buried his wife. The memories of that day befouled his mind - he'd beat his son. The fall out between the three of them which remained was a painful memory to even recall. He had no family left. To see one of the few he knew so intimately tear itself apart bled his heart. He knew well enough what came of poor Tsuto, and the derelict daughter of Westcrown. The man had everything. Everything he'd never had. His brother was dead. As was his father. His mother.... mother. As the man turned to take his leave, he rose from the ground, as he turned and retrieved his wand. "I don't know this man you feign to be. But I know the man you were. Like my father before me, Lonjiku. And that man carried a terrible burden - but he was never so empty, nor weak. He was the strongest man I knew. I respected him. The League respected him! " He kicked up his mandoline snapping it into his hand, turning to look at the man's back. "I refuse to believe this is the same man. Scorned by a son? Rejected by a daughter? And to leave another alone in The City of Twilight? Even still, that man was dauntless and unshakable - and Kaijutusu could only be called friends. I don't know what happened to you. But everyone's in pain!" He gestured at Ameiko. "I know the pain of loosing a brother. The regret of loosing a father. A mother. A friend, a lover? - But I'll never forgive the man who could turn that pain, his own emptiness, against his daughter, or cast her aside." He struck a chord. A gleam of light flickered off from the strings. "...I pray to the gods, before these days are done, I might see that man I once knew returned." He slid out a bar of the waxy soap he cept in his bag, the tacky stuff was hardly suitable for washing one's hands. He turned to Ameiko with a soft smile on his face as he deftly slid the bar along the strings before sliding it away. "...But even so. You can't hate him, because..... He's your dad." His voice was quiet. He'd fought so much with his old man. Been sent away. Dragged across The Inner Sea. Cast out. But still... he didn't hate him. He couldn't.

He looked about the tavern patrons, throwing an arm over the closest drunk's shoulder. "Right!?" He pushed off the man striking another chord, as he stepped up to her, "The pain won't lessen, but it'll only hurt more if you never find your peace with him - the kind I never will. But truly? ....He just want's to say... Something like."


"TWO... ONE.. ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR!"

He flipped his instrument on his shoulder and begun playing a fast, up-beat melody. Drawing his wand across the waxed strings while plucking creating a strange theatrical-like sound. As if he played some kind of poetic piece, or classical jeering tavern song. Before the melody erupted into magical notes that carried a slightly drawn-out sound. The words were contradicted the song, with terribly melancholic poetic song. His eyes watered as he played.




"Oh, Lovely Petals"

"The only girl I've ever loved"
"Was born with roses in her eyes"
"But then they buried her alive"
"One evening in '45"
"With just her sister at her side"
"And only weeks before the guns"
"All came and rained on everyone"
"Now she's a little boy, barely sane"
"Playing pianos filled with flames"
"On empty rings around the sun"
"All sing to say my dream has come"

"But now we must pick up every piece"
"Of the life we used to love"
"Just to keep ourselves"
"At least, enough to carry on"

"And now we ride the circus wheel"
"With my dark brother wrapped in white"
"Says it was good to be alive"
"But now he rides a comet's flame"
"And won't be coming back again"

"The Earth looks better from a star"
"That's right above from where you are"
"He didn't mean to make you cry"
"With sparks that ring and bullets fly"
"On empty rings around your heart"
"The world just screams and falls apart"

"But now we must pick up every piece"
"Of the life we used to love"
"Just to keep ourselves"
"At least, enough to carry on"

"And here's where your mother sleeps"
"And here is the room where our brothers were born"
"Indentions in the sheets"
"Where his body once moved but don't move anymore"
"And it's so sad to see, the world agree"
"That they'd rather see their faces fill with flies"
"All when I'd want to keep, white roses in their eyes!!!"


He played on, though his hands shook, his hand cramped and the tears ran down the side of his face. What was left of those he knew. If there was family truly left within the small city - it had been within them. They were the closest of those peoples with which he and his family had associated. Perhaps he had come to find something of his past - of himself. Something real. His heart ached, perhaps it had died - like the man he knew. His mind had wandered, he'd stopped singing. His notes trailed off, the mandolin dangling in his limp arm while his playing hand simply continued to strike a quiet, but calm series of chords as he leaned against the bar. The song was over... he had no words left. But he couldn't stop the performance... He didn't wipe his face, but his gaze drifted absently to the floor as he hummed.




"Oh comely, I will be with you when you lose your breath,"
"Chasing the only meaningful memory you thought you had left."
"With some pretty, bright and bubbly terrible scene"
"That was doing her thing on your chest."

"But oh comely,"
"There isn't such one friend that you could find here."
"Standing next to me,"
"He says 'He's only my enemy' "
" 'I'll crush him with everything I own.' "

" 'Say what you want to say' "
" 'Hang for your hollow ways' "
"Moving your mouth to pull out"
"All your miracles aimed for me."

"Your father made fetuses with flesh licking ladies,"
"While you and your mother were asleep in the veiler's dark."
"Thunderous sparks from the dark of the stadiums,"
"The music and medicine you needed for comforting."
"So I set all my fat fleshy fingers to moving,"
"And pluck all your silly strings, bend all your notes for me."
"Soft silly music is, Meaningful. Magical."
"The movements were beautiful, all in your poetry."
"Was all you were needing when you still believed in me."

" 'Say what your want to say.' "
" 'Hang for your hollow ways.' "
"Moving your mouth to pull out"
"All the miracles aimed for me."

"And I know they buried her body with others,"
"Her sister and mother and five-hundred families."
"And will she remember me, fifty years later?"
"I wished I could save her memory, in some sort of time machine."
"Father says, 'Know all your enemies.' "
"We know our enemies."
" 'Know all your enemies.' "
"We know who our enemies are..."


The notes died away, as did his words. Though he still hummed the familiar tune with an origin he couldn't remember. The memories weighed so heavily, yet there was so little left. It was as if he were haunted, haunted by the memories he had not the strength to forget. Their words lingered over him, defining him. He was so terribly alone... so terribly empty. Yet...


He was home.






Take 10 Perform [21]
Strangely Diplomacy Lonjiku (if he's even still there) [roll0]

[root]

Lonjiku slams the door behind him as he leaves the Rusty Dragon, leaving both insults and pleas behind, unheeded. Ameiko mouthes, "What jackass!", and storms away to the backroom.

Several minutes later, Aldern emerges, descending the stairwell with an unsure gait. Having changed into a high society suit and washed off all the blood and sweat from earlier in the day, he looks like an entirely different man.

Approaching Bechel, he says, slurring noticeably "Good evening my friend! Did I mmiss anything?"

Taking a seat by the bar, he yells for service. Soon after the halfling server brings his food, he nods off to sleep, smelling of spirits.

didn't want to leave Aldern as a loose end here. I'm pretty much ready to move on to next day, but if anyone wants to add something there's a chance.

[Mornings]

Bechal Rossfield - The Misbegotten Auspex


The slam of the tavern door left a resounding silence within him - It was the sound of a chapter closing in his life. The man was dead. He shook his head, wiping his face with his sleeve. That had gone about as well as he had feared and expected. He closed his eyes as Ameiko stormed away. He never said his name - Maybe he didn't need to, though the blade was remounted in its hidden scabbard, only one man had wielded the signature blade before him. His father hadn't trusted many men, but he had trusted Lonjiku, once. He was glad he had not lived to see such a day. He pushed up off the bar, sliding away his wand and taking a tankard from a man passed out at the bar as Aldern made his appearance again.

He'd forgotten the Foxglove family, what little remained, were still well off - while the Rossfield's had fallen from grace, though an empire still waited for the Prodigal Son within Magnimar's Alabaster District. That life was behind him now. He pat Aldern on the back as he sat down. "Missed a fair bit my friend. Stories. Song - But perhaps for the best. A man I once knew died this day as well, and such a terrible loss it is. Glad am I I've no family which may cover their face in shame. Now I've only found a ghost who fancy's himself a crownless lord. A paracount of no state. A man who values not the lives of his subjects nor the wellfare of his subjects - who peddles his dogma as principle, and whispers of the grandness of a commune, while all have nothing and give everything. A terrible thing. A tragic thing; I mourn the loss and curse the one who has slain him." He took a long draw from the tankard as the man ordered his food, waivered, then passed out at the counter. He sat next to the man placing down the empty tankard, humming. The bar was quiet. He turned in his stool leaning back against the bar. Talking to no one in particular, he plucked strings as he hung back his head to look at the ceiling. "...All the world, and every piece fall and stray. Though we plead and beg for them to stay. The crownless king brings his navy and sews disorder. Their taint seeps to every boarder. Though inside her tears will not cease to fall. Always will I have faith, and like the boy, never cease to crawl. Forward. Shoreward. Always, forever, shall we swim these bridgeless streams. And pray for beautiful dreams..." He strummed a quiet tune with a soft smile on his face.



"Sweet communist, the communist's daughter"
"Standing on the sea-weed water"
"The Seamen stain the mountaintops"
"Seamen stain the mountaintops"

"With coca leaves along the border"
"Sweetness swings from every corner"
"Cars careening from the clouds"
"The bridges burst and twist around"

"And wanting something warm and moving"
"Bend towards herself, the soothing"
"Proves that she must still exist"
"She moves herself about her fist"

"Sweet communist, the communist's daughter"
"Standing on the sea-weed water"
"Seamen stains the mountaintops"
"Seamen stains the mountaintops"



He closed his eyes, and prayed he would find rest, though he was restless.

[root]

Sunday, 2nd of Rova, 4707

The Sunday morning met Sandpoint slumbering, the foiled raid of yesterday hardly a pressing issue on most citizens' minds. Streets cleared of debris and goblin bodies over night, there were few reminders of the battle. The sleep deprived militia members were still bolstering the town guards, walking through the streets in twos and threes and doing their best to keep watch.

Few mourners gathered at the Cathedral, hoping to find consolation for the unexpected deaths of their loved ones the night before, but largely Sandpoint has survived unscathed.

@Seyica
You awake early, from loud hammering on your door. Sykan yells "Just what did you do last night? It's the city guard. Says something about Belor wanting to see ya."
Stiding back in your room, he rolls his eyes, mutterring "Y'know, when I asked you to not do anything I wouldn't..."

@Haldavyr and Lak'nah. (Assuming you both took Garridan's offer)

As you awake, you find a guardsman waiting for you at the inn. The old, grizzled pikeman from the night before is chatting to one of the youths working in White Deer as you enter the main room. He notices you both, waving and greeting you "Mornin'. Belor sent me to take you to the garrison, says it's urgent. Bet he'd come here himself if not for, you know..." He knowingly shakes his head, meeting gaze with the youth behind the counter. "Garridan and Belor don't exactly see eye to eye", he added quietly. "But yer shouldn't worry about that! The whole town apparently thinks you heroes, or somethin'. I bet the man in charge has a reward for you two."

@Bechel

This early in the day, the Rusty Dragon is almost entirely empty. Bethana was sitting atop one of the bar stools, her feet dangling in the air, eating an apple with applomb. Noticing you, she waved, saying "Oh, it's the music man. Surprisingly you're not the first one up this mornin'. Saw that nobby fellow rush out a whole hour ago, muttering like a madman! An' I don't think Ameiko's even here at all."

Taking another bite of the apple, the halfling said "There's a man waitin' for you at the front. One of Belor's boys. Says something about a reward, but only if you follow him to the garrison."

Through the window you can notice a gangly youth, massive crossbow still slung across his back. Standing at attention, he is taking frequent nervous glares over his shoulder.

[SneakyZombie]

Sunday, 2nd of Rova, 4707

The Sunday morning met Sandpoint slumbering, the foiled raid of yesterday hardly a pressing issue on most citizens' minds. Streets cleared of debris and goblin bodies over night, there were few reminders of the battle. The sleep deprived militia members were still bolstering the town guards, walking through the streets in twos and threes and doing their best to keep watch.

Few mourners gathered at the Cathedral, hoping to find consolation for the unexpected deaths of their loved ones the night before, but largely Sandpoint has survived unscathed.

@Seyica
You awake early, from loud hammering on your door. Sykan yells "Just what did you do last night? It's the city guard. Says something about Belor wanting to see ya."
Stiding back in your room, he rolls his eyes, mutterring "Y'know, when I asked you to not do anything I wouldn't..."



Seyica opens her eyes, finding herself in a crypt of colossal proportions. The crypt is filled with skeletons of goblins, dancing in circles around the corpse of a gigantic man. A silhouette, made of fire and lighting, joins the dance, burning his way through the creatures towards the fallen man, while a two faced man starts telling an epic eulogy for the gigantic man.
Suddenly, the roof of the crypt breaches open, with loud cracks and thumps.
"Sey ?" A familiar voice. Loud. Too loud.
"Hmf ? Let me sleep, the giant needs help ..." Seyica responds, as a reflex.
"SEY !" The crypt is falling appart now, and Seyica is starting to finally wake up. Sweating, as always, when she has this kind of dreams. Her room. Dad's voice. Still way too loud though.
"Just what did you do last night? It's the city guard. Says something about Belor wanting to see ya."
"Meh, nothing illegal i promise. I'll get ready ..." She says, in a sleepy voice.


***

Once ready and vaguely presentable, Seyica go downstairs to meet with the city guard.
"What's the matter, Sir ?"

[Mornings]

Bechal Rossfield - The Misbegotten Auspex


Bechal lifted his head off the counter - his forehead was red from the collar of his sleeve pressing into his face. He squinted at the window and the skiddish looking lad, sighing visibly. "Oh, now what's all this about..." He lifted himself from the bar seeing Aldern had departed with all haste - without him. He'd been hoping to catch a caravan back to Magnimar. It was the number one place to which he should not return - but he'd cause to go back. "Thanks Beth..."

He stood up, flattening his coat, and walked out the door and towards the theater not bothering to look at the guard. Pfft. Reward. He didn't do anything of merit - and he was fast becoming disenchanted of this miserable place. This terrible place. This was real; the dark looming confines of reality were all but tangible. He was done playing hero, finished wearing this mask, and dancing to the tune of his own farce. He'd lived poorly, and had grown into a harlot - peddling lies was his profession. Misdirection, his forte. Perhaps his vision had simply brought him here to remind him of this, and show him. There was nothing left for him on the Varsian Coast. He'd perform in the theater, use the money to reach the city - gather what resources remained in Naos, and make for Bravoy as fast as the winds would take him. He didn't plan to return.

He stopped dead in his tracks. Reward... Well, it was true. He would need every coin he could muster to fund his expeditious venture. He sharply turned on his heel. "Oh, hail valorous one. I hear Belor might have some business with me - might you be my escort? If so, let us be off at once."

[Lt Gravemind]

Lak'nah looks confused at the man and asks "Why would we be rewarded for killing the filth-born?"

[root]

Lak'nah looks confused at the man and asks "Why would we be rewarded for killing the filth-born?"

@Lak'nah

"Consider it a payment fer cleanin' up the streets" the guardsman offers, shrugging. "If Gorvi gets paid for shoveling ****, yer at least deserve somethin' for shoveling these 'filthborn' as you call'em. Boss never specified, either way."

@Seyica
As you exit the door, you come face to face - or more accurately face to empty space above the head of a dwarf wearing guard's uniform.

"Belor asked me to escort you to the garrison, m'm. He mentioned goblins an' said that you'd know. Are you ready to go?"

[SneakyZombie]

"Well let's go then !"

[Hattish Thing]

Sunday, 2nd of Rova, 4707

The Sunday morning met Sandpoint slumbering, the foiled raid of yesterday hardly a pressing issue on most citizens' minds. Streets cleared of debris and goblin bodies over night, there were few reminders of the battle. The sleep deprived militia members were still bolstering the town guards, walking through the streets in twos and threes and doing their best to keep watch.

Few mourners gathered at the Cathedral, hoping to find consolation for the unexpected deaths of their loved ones the night before, but largely Sandpoint has survived unscathed.

@Haldavyr and Lak'nah. (Assuming you both took Garridan's offer)

As you awake, you find a guardsman waiting for you at the inn. The old, grizzled pikeman from the night before is chatting to one of the youths working in White Deer as you enter the main room. He notices you both, waving and greeting you "Mornin'. Belor sent me to take you to the garrison, says it's urgent. Bet he'd come here himself if not for, you know..." He knowingly shakes his head, meeting gaze with the youth behind the counter. "Garridan and Belor don't exactly see eye to eye", he added quietly. "But yer shouldn't worry about that! The whole town apparently thinks you heroes, or somethin'. I bet the man in charge has a reward for you two.

Haldavyr slept quite well, having been quite tired due to the battle the day before. His was a dreamless sleep, and the wizard always slept on his back, his head facing upwards. It was too painful to sleep on his side, his scarred skin was still quite sensitive. When the wizard wakes up, he throws the blankets aside and stands with the help of the small table at his bedside. After enjoying a bland, saltless chunk of meat for his breakfast, he lies upon the ground of his room, a small exercise book in his hand. Yoga always cleared his mind, and it helped his body fully wake up. After fifteen minutes of stretching and properly aligning his body with itself, Haldavyr reaches for a different book. His spellbook.

He sits down at the side of his bed and stares at the seven pointed star at the cover. He rested his hand on the symbol, the sihedron, before brushing a bit of dirt from the road off the book. Taking a deep breath, he flips the book open, studying his spells with a calculated look on his face. As soon as he's prepared himself for the day ahead, Haldavyr packs everything up again and reaches for his staff.

The wizard is just about to leave when he's stopped by a guardsman.

---

A hero? Him? Unlikely.

Regardless, Haldavyr nods quietly and breathes deeply, unsure of what to say before muttering out a brief response. "I suppose it would only be polite of me. Lead the way."

[root]

The four of you make it to the Garrison building with little trouble. As you enter the squat brick building, you notice a guard escorting a brutish looking man with several noticeable bruises out of the cellar doors. "You know how it is, Gorvi. Can't win 'em all..."

On the wall near the doorway, there is a wooden notice board. A parchment on it proclaims in large, flowery script: "Militia training with master Gundering is canceled. Thanks to all of ye who helped guard the streets overnight. Regular practice resumes on 16th of Rova."

Belor waves at you through the doorway from inside the sheriff's office as he stands up from behind a large wooden table. His office is anything but spartan, with several weapons and paintings adorning the walls. Several assorted chairs and an old worn out sofa line the wall. On top of the table, enough room between assorted stained paperwork and empty cups is cleared for a set of worn robes Seyica saw in the crypt the day before.

"Good morning. I'm glad that all of you could make it here..." He waved the escorting guards away, shutting the door after everyone made it inside his now rather cramped office.

Taking the seat at the table again, Belor continued:
"The truth is, Standpoint is in a whole heap of trouble. We haven't seen an organized attack like this since the city was founded - and those were by our fellow shoanti." He grinned, meeting gaze with Lak'nah. "The mayor had a few words with me last night an' we decided that something bad may be in store. Goblins never band together like this unless someone is there to kick their lil' green asses whenever they start to fight among themselves. So I'll be leaving for Magnimar today, to request additional troops. And where does this leave you, you might wonder? Well, lemme tell ya..."

[root]

"Before we begin, I must ask of you all a certain amount of discretion. Kendra assured me that such honorable heroes as yourselves would not do anything that might put the public morale in jeopardy..." Belor grinned knowingly "but we all know how these things work"

The man produced 4 leather bags from the desk's drawer, tossing them lazily on the top. The purses impacted with dull thuds against the wood. "And now, for the meat of it all... It would appear that yesterday's raid had a more sinister purpose behind it. While the people of Sandpoint were busy fending off the goblins, somebody has infiltrated the graveyard and made off with Father Tobias's bones. Why? I haven't got the faintest idea, but it can't be good. Who in abyss steals a bunch of old dusty bones? The man wasn't even famous or particularly rich."

Belor slammed his fist on the table. "This better not be like all the things that happened 5 years ago. Gods damn it, sometimes I wonder if Garridan was right about Varisians after all."

Regaining his composure, Belor continued, "The people in this town have taken to you. Yeah, I don't know how it happened myself - but I heard rumours spread around town of some... Lets see... "Ancient twisted wizard", " Jadwiga", whatever they are, "Axe clan warrior" and "a young girl manipulating soul stuff itself". Great heroes coming to rescue Sandpoint from green twisted claws, sent by Desna herself on Swallowtail's day. Oh, and some guy with a good voice and a lute."

He glares over the table, his face utterly blank.

"Kendra thinks that your continued presence will help the town stay sane in the coming days. For once, I agree with her wholeheartedly. Whoever is behind this raid is still at large and might have further plots - and with me gone, Sandpoint is defenseless. Hell, even with me here, our dozen of guards won't stand to an army of a hundred goblins... And the militia can hardly avoid stabbing themselves in the foot.

I hereby ask of you to not leave the town, for at least a week or so while I'm busy licking boots and kissing ass in Magnimar to secure more manpower. The citizens of Sandpoint are peaceful folk - DO ignore Gorvi - and they need someone to look up to and protect them if need be. And if more situations arise, you can all clearly handle yourselves.

The mayor authorized me to offer you a payment should you stay, straight from the town's coffers, if that is what it takes for the three of you to remain in town. And I know you wouldn't leave your father behind, Seyica..."

"We found this robe, in the priests' tomb last night. Surrounded by damned animated skeletons. Seyica saw 'em, even gave a hand. Strange thing to leave in a tomb, if you ask me - and none of the acolytes ever saw it. Probably not much of a clue, but whoever took the bones hardly left anything else. Probably not a goblin if you ask me, they'd leave much bigger mess..."

Belor's speech is interrupted by a sharp rap on the door.

[Hattish Thing]

Haldavyr the Red:

The wizard travels along the road through Sandpoint with a sour look on his face, his heavy crimson cloak pulled over his shoulders, hood covering his face. The wizard ignores any townspeople that may cross his path, simply brushing them aside with his quarterstaff accompanied by a glare of annoyance or walking directly past any who would bother talking to him, his cold, stern, solitary aura doing the talking for him. People used to be so important to him, back when he had a face, a life, a respectable title. Sometimes, he regretted what choices were made, but he knew inside that the sacrifice was worth it. People were a waste of breath, of valuable time, of general effort. In his experience, people either wanted something from you and hid it, or they let their twisted, wrenching claws dig into you from the very beginning, using you, manipulating you, leaving you. What a miserable existence the regular people must endure, living with eachother, without the power he possessed. That young boy, the minstrel reminded him so much of a younger self. It made Haldavyr want to absolutely punch his smug, young face in. The wizard sighs quietly to himself, before frowning. He let himself get worked up over that. Enough of these pointless ruminations, people didn't need to be talked about or debated about. They weren't worth his time, he had work to do, research to continue. The faster this all got over with, the better. It meant more time could be spent at his work. His work was all that really mattered to him, after all.

As soon as he arrived within the barracks he sits down in a chair, his bones cracking as he slowly rests his weary body. He leans his quarterstaff against his chair and crosses his arms, muttering a quiet greeting. "Morning." From that point on, he'll remain fairly quiet, listening intently to what the sheriff has to say, paying very little attention to the others.

---

He notices the robe and stands up, moving over to look at the item. As he does so, he speaks to Belor. "Ah, so that's what the people are calling me this time. Hmph. It doesn't really matter. I will stay as long as you need, I have business here. I assume we'll be allowed to continue staying at our prospective lodgings, yes?"

"Let me look at this. If bones have gone missing I suspect there may be a magical aspect to the mystery."

His good eye glows softly, and he begins to run a long, bony finger down the robe.

Detect Magic, Spellcraft: OOC

[Mornings]

Bechal Rossfield - The Misbegotten Auspex


The bard quickly glanced about the small room after being led on by the guard-escort. Seeing the other hero's gathered did little to ease his anxiety. Listening intently to the sheriff's explanation brought some measure of clarity. It was true, this was the largest attack upon the village in a very long time - a truth which had fueled his own lie to Aldern, and now left him stranded... He sighed. Hearing his own words spat back in his face was not what he'd come here for, as if to add insult to injury, it was very likely his own lie wasn't a lie at all. According to Belor, someone was orchestrating this attack - and likely imminent future attacks.

He paced in a circle. It was true - it might be true. If it was true..., then the enemy was likely native to these parts; familiar with its people. He didn't like it, and he wanted no part of it. He'd come as a warrior, and intended to flee a coward. He'd seen enough. Lonjiku. Even Ameiko. His words had fallen upon more then one pair of deaf ears. It was too painful to remain, but he couldn't bring himself to look away, or turn away. He couldn't stay. If he did, he'd never leave.

He pat the Jadwiga on his shoulder, reaching up on the tips of his toes. "Yes. Yes. You've found quite the band of reliable, formidable and valorous warriors - nay. Hero's. No doubt, exactly what SandPoint needs in such a time, to bring some measure of stability... But alas, I am but a simple minstrel; the guy with a good voice. I am no Hero. Nor soldier. Nor militia. Nor arcane trickster. I've never killed a man, nor fought. What little training with a sword I have... well, is theatrical, or simply imitating previous... acquaintances." He picked up the bag of coin, lightly bouncing it in hand to take note of its weight before sliding it away. "I'll of course keep these dire circumstances from the public, but I can promise little else. I am equal parts victim and bystander - If not for, uh, Seyica, was it? Shielding me with her own body! I know not what fate may have befallen my person." He waved his hand dramatically before stopping to point at the captain himself. "You yourself Belor came in the nick-of-time, with your men-and-arms! No doubt you saw me and my dear-friend Aldern hiding at The White Deer for our very lives, while these valorous warriors fought the good-fight! I would be nothing of a hindrance to your dangerous mission, I assure you. To leave a simple civilian with such a charge, would be foolish and irresponsible. A role best reserved for trained-men, no doubt. I will be in town for several days, as I am under the employ of Cyrdak Drokkus for the theatre's latest performance. I will, of course, do all within my power to defend the citizenry and bolster the town's defense - though I fear, that will be such a minimal contribution when laid next to these valorous spirits. I know not how long I will have to remain within the town, as much as I wish to assist, after concluding my business I have quite dire matters to see to in Taldor. A sojourn, which will require both a great share of my resources - and of course, time. I do so hope you can understand."

He took a curt bow. Before gesturing at the robe. "Erm... I've some experience with The Whispering Way. I imagine the necromancers and cultists of Varisia are little in difference to those of Ustalav. If you've problems with the rising dead... Usually it is a fairly crucial priority to clear out the sewers, sluice systems, and catacombs or subterranean-burial sites. They attract troublesome dark mages like moth to flame, and allow them to move themselves and their deathless cohorts under the gazes of your men. If this, priest? Was as unremarkable a man as you claim him to be, then it may be simply coincidence. Or perhaps it is someone who knew him in life personally, now seeking some sort of vendetta or personal quest - This is just my speculation of course. Though in my experience, these matters usually begin and end under the ground. Caliphas has a network of trackless under-city that cause all manner of trouble, and such men... and women are oft found in these places."

"Now. If that'll be all Captain. I'll take my leave."

[root]

"Hmm, playing hard to get, are you? Very well, I won't keep you here." Belor responded to Bechel, gesturing at the door. "But surely you can understand that even a mere civilian can do a lot to protect places... and people... they're fond of. Look at our militia - commoners, fishermen, people from all walks of life. Sure, they're no great heroes - but they do their job protecting the town if need be."

As you open the door, you meet face to face with a rugged looking elven woman, dirt-splattered combat gear in tow.

"Shalelu? What an unexpected visit, if fortunate. But you rarely bring good news..."

Belor explained, "Shalelu here is what I'd call an unofficial member of the town's guard. She tends to her business in the wilds in Varisia - whatever that business may be - and visits me from time to time to bring news. She's been much help in certain cases in the past..."

He grinned, nodding at the elf. "And these four are Sandpoint's newest crop of goblin slayers. And a traveling minstrel of some kind, who claims no association. But let's not dawdle, what brings you here? Sandpoint has been raided by a whole army of goblins last night, and Father Tobias's bones were stolen."

[Mornings]

Bechal Rossfield - The Misbegotten Auspex


Bechal scratched the back of his head with a fake laugh looking back at the captain. "Of course, Good Captain. Every man can make a contribution - though a fishermen is much more strong in body then a simple musician. As I've expressed, I am more then willing to bolster the town's defenses as best I may, though I'm in skilled with sword and spear... virtually useless in combat actually, aside from perhaps with a bow. Minor experience hunting with my father, you see. Though, I've own not even a bow, haha." He gestured at those behind him; pointedly at Seyica. "Jokes aside. Truly, I do not jest. Those you've summoned are nothing short of witnesses to this 'battle prowess'. A valorous display, hiding behind a child. I might even be ashamed, were I not a coward - and rightfully so. I've survived far worse then a goblin raid, and it was not made so by my sword-arm. A tactician perhaps, but no soldier... Now then."

This was getting, a little too intense... He knew the face of a desperate man - and one sat across the room from him. He'd be willing to bet Belor would be willing to rope in farm animals if it solidified his position - after all, he'd already wrangled-in a child. A young-naive-bright-eyed-girl. Another victim upon the alter of the god named Society. There'd be no point in fleeing immediately to Magnimar, he'd never make it to Taldor. He needed gold... His hand fumbled with the door-knob, finally opening it and spinning into the hall nearly bowling into Shalelu. "GAH! Pugwampi's Beard!!!" Like a frightened cat, his startled reflex carried him nearly 10ft back and into the room with a leap. Bechal was a lean and tall man, over 6ft tall - yet he found himself eyeing a quite tall and dirtied elf.

He looked back to Belor, then back to the elf. Shalelu? He knew that name - that was the name of that ranger that wandered everything between the coast and Conquer's Bay. If he recalled correctly, Ameiko sometimes ventured with the ranger - or had, once upon a time. Aside from that, he knew very little - but he could guess. Another wandering elf adventurer with little-or-nothing to loose? No known residence? No social or economical ties? Ugh. It was the living archetype of the kind of person he hated being around the most. He had nothing to employ, to use, for or against tree-huggers and thistle-crawling outdoorsmen with virtually nonexistent relations to the civil world. No. No. No. This would not do. He turned around to Belor as he finished his introductions. "Oh, very close, Good Captain. No relation... Anymore." He gestured at the tall elf. "Surely you've been thrice blessed to be in the company of such an elf of great.... stature. Ketephys himself no doubt guides this one's arrows!" It was evident how serious Belor was. It was unlikely he'd just be able to walk away from this one. Somehow... for whatever reason - he'd been associated with this lot of fools as some suicidal hero. He pointedly made the greatest efforts not to paint such pictures, that was the last thing he wanted. Yet, by some miraculous event - it was exactly that which happened. He was trapped. The theatre wouldn't make him the money he needed, but maybe this unfortunate incident could...


***

Changing gears. He moved over to the captain's desk taking a seat in one hand and spinning the chair away before stepping on it, then lifting the instrument hanging at his side. He turned the pins at the end. The strings started to slacken. Strumming a strange off-tuned chord, that rung with a gangly tune as the strings buzzed and slapped against the fret-board. "I'm not a brave man. Never have claimed to be - yet, oh so often, I find myself caught under such a predicament. A large rock, if you would, which is not so easily lifted. As if the hands of every clock seems to count not but the time - but the days I've left before yet another rock falls. Which may threaten to bury me. I've been sent far upon roaring trains and steel caravans far from here. High upon reeling cranes, and over dark-waters on small vessels. I've seen many friends, many people, perish to things I will not claim I understand. Fates suffered at the hands of men - some who meant well. Many who didn't. And thusly, has it made me cautious, suspicious - and to hold to such a simple principle: 'As not to believe in the good-nature of those who demand great things of others...'. At least, not freely." The last word was spoken pointedly with overhanging connotations and a small grin. "I doubt you've much use of a musician, when in such dire need of sturdy soldiers - but if you've ever the mind to employ a minstrel, I would of course, eagerly accept. Uplifting spirits, and rousing cheer is practically the title of my occupation. After all...." He begun playing a series of bar chords, using both his hands as mutes to create bubbly up-beat sound that seemed to bound back and forth with deep bass and a strange unnatural pitch.



'These Ghosts I See At Sea'

"This Rock of ours is just some big mistake"
"And we will never know just where we go, or"
"Where we have came from"

"These veins of mine, are now some sort of fuse"
"And when they light up, and my mind blows up"
"My heart is amused"
"So..."

"This heart of mine is just some sort of map"
"That doesn't care at all, or worry about"
"Where the hell you're at, but you're right there!"

"So the Big Man says:"
" 'Well, I've been meaning to dismiss you, yeah, I' "
" 'I have some plans to dismiss you' "
"So stand by, by by by, bye-bye"
"Wave bye, sugar boats!"

"As soon as you paint every last grain of sand"
"As you soon as you paint every star in the sky, sky, sky sky"
"Wave bye, sugar boats!"

"Well, I'm swatting at mosquitoes as they're orbiting me"
"I'm orbiting the sun and this goes on, and on and on"
"You see..."

"This heart of mine is just, some broke machine"
"And when it gets a-goin', and it often gets a-goin' "
"It starts blowing steam!"
"Oh, here it goes again!"

"This Rock of ours is just some big mistake"
"And we will never know just where we go, or"
"Where we have came from"

"This watch of mine is like some sort of void"
" 'Cause when I look in, and I shouldn't look in, I"
"I see it swallow my time"
"Oh no, there it goes!"

"Well, I ain't getting on a swingin' crane, hell"
"I ain't getting on a stuffy train"
"The sugar boats on the ocean are fine"
"The sugar boats they're just fine"
"I'll stand on the deck so you can see"
"I'll stand on the deck so you can wave"
"Bye, bye, bye, bye"
"Bye, bye, bye, bye-bye"
"Bye, bye, bye, bye,"
"Bye, bye, bye, bye-bye"
"Bye, bye, bye, bye"
"Here's to the ghost's that waves bye-bye, so"
"Bye-bye, bye, bye, bye-ah-ai"
"Bye, bye, bye, bye-ah-ai"
"Bye, bye, bye-bye"
"I'm the ghost that goes and waves bye, bye, bye!"




His words strongly insinuate the Captain should employ Bechal, as he subtly hints at a fair amount of great, albeit, tragic ventures - and refuses to freely volunteer his services. He flatly, though diplomatically, expresses his lack of faith in the captain or his intentions, and is less then willing to freely volunteer in Belor's gambit without due compensation.

[Hattish Thing]

Haldavyr the Red:

The wizard examines the heavily damaged but obviously magical set of robes. After getting a better sense for it, he raises an eyebrow. The aura on the item was quite substantial, and clearly necromantic. He could feel the chill emanating off of it, and he could smell the grave dirt on it. Yes, this was once some sort of magical tool, there's no doubt about that. Hadavyr reaches into his satchel, pulling out a rather thick tome, a book without a name whose cover was ripped and frayed due to how much use the book received.

He sets the book down with a loud thump before muttering to himself quietly, rubbing the robe's material between his fingers, as he turns the book with his other hand. Eventually, he comes to the page he wanted and sets the robe down again, before brushing his finger down the page, looking for something in particular. Haldavyr nods quietly to himself before glancing to the robe again, noticing the ripped patches of clothing. The item appeared to have expended it's charges, how incredibly disappointing. The wizard clears his throat before speaking.

"No, this was no goblin, Sheriff. A devout practitioner of either arcane or divine magics made use of this item, which is unfortunately entirely empty of charge. I personally believe this to be the work of a divine caster of some kind, due to the exact nature of the robe. Each patch on the item is made of a magical cloth, each stitche harnessing the necromantic power of undeath. No doubt the skeletons you and your... friend did battle with came from this robe. The user of the item rips a patch out and an undead creature forms from the patch, however, the entity is not created under the control of the wearer of the robe, which heavily implies that a caster with access to a channel used this item. I could be wrong... but I rarely am."

"So, I suggest a search for any particularly religious individuals, perhaps searching their homes and places of living. The population ought to understand, after all, if they've nothing to hide, they've nothing to fear. It is the best way of searching for a secret cult master that may have stolen your priest's bones, no doubt to further enchant and experiment upon. Do you know of any figure wronged by the church in any way? Anything unusual?"

"If you like... I could create a sort of... search party. I'd get to the bottom of whoever did this in hardly any time at all, don't you think?"

--

Haldavyr will then attempt to pocket the used robe of bones, folding it and placing it in his backpack unless stopped. As Shalelu enters the office, Haldavyr smiles lightly, which is honestly pretty horrifying. His smile looks more like a pained grimace than anything.

An elf? Here?

He hadn't seen an elf in ages. He was fondly reminded of a travelling companion he had once had. He seems to open his mouth to speak when the bard begins to talk and sing, so the wizard instead stays quiet, looking over Bechal with a look of great annoyance.

[root]

"By Cayden's hairy... This is not a tavern. I've got your point, you're just a minstrel." Belor's attempts to stop Bechal were fruitless. Resigned, he spoke over him, "AN ENCHANTED ROBE YOU SAY?"

Shalelu stood in the doorway, watching the people within with a certain amount of amusement and only a hint of derision. As the bard finished, Belor sighed with a certain amount of gratitude. "Very well. I hope you enjoy your time in town. The theater is surely missing someone with your talents. As you are no hero, by your own admission, perhaps this meeting isn't for you after all."

Turning to see the scarred mage snatch the robes off the table, the captain of the guard nodded. "Perhaps it's for the best for you to keep it. I won't be in town to follow any leads in the next few days - and the perpetrators may be long gone by the time I get back with reinforcements. As far as your questions are concerned... I don't think Father Tobias has had any enemies. The poor man and his foster daughter died in the fire that consumed the old Sandpoint church 5 years ago. I was just a guard back then, and we were far more concerned with the Chopper. There seemed no evidence of foul play, a candle knocked over in the night perhaps."

"I'll let the mayor know of your intent to get to the bottom of this. Not much of a formal authority I can give on top of that - the town pretty much governs itself. Scarnettis, Kaijutsus, and so on take care of their own and usually manage to keep the peace. My dozen men are just patrolling the streets and take care of disturbances."

After a few moments of thought, he added, "Do keep in mind that Kendra insisted on subtlety."

'Now. Sorry for making you wait so long, Sha, but you know how things are in this town. What are the news?"

The elf shrugged, stepping into the cramped office. "Indeed. Although you may not want to enter waiting contests with elves, Belor, you're bound to lose. There's something going on with the local goblins - Bird Crunchers, Licktoads, Seven Tooths, Mosswoods and Thisletops - they're all working together. You know what it means..."

"You think there's someone keeping them off each other's throats? You know what they say about goblins - one is a nuisance, a lot is a brawl."

"Exactly. I've come across several small camps of goblins of all tribes on my way to town, in the woods. Rather beat up and angry, gibbering about 'longshanks'. I reckon they must have been stragglers from the raid."

Turning to the unfamiliar people in the office, Shalelu added "You will do well to practice caution, humans. A single goblin is little trouble for one of your kind, but should the entire tribe come down... Even their leaders alone might prove a handful."

"I've had the misfortune to learn of them in recent months and years, foiling goblin ploys. Big Gugmut of the Mosswoods, who's "had a hobgoblin for a mother and a wild boar for a father". Koruvus of the Seven Tooth's, hiding away with a "longshank magic sword", eager to slaughter any man or goblin who finds him. Vorka, the goblin eater from the marsh. Rendwattle Gutwad, his corpulence of the Brinestumps'. Ripnugget of Thisletop..."

"And of course, Bruthazmus." She spat out the name with derision. "The goblins are irrelevant, in a mere decade or two even the most notorious one of them will be dead. That thrice-damned bugbear is another story. Took his eye in the month of Erathmus, will have his head by the end of the year..."

Turning back to Belor, she concluded, "I'll let myself out of here. May Desna smile on your trip to Magnimar, I'll see about clearing the way of all trouble. We will meet again when you come back."

[SneakyZombie]

The giant, the minstrel, and the burned man ...
They all helped the town during the attack of the goblins, maybe that was why she saw them in her dream ?
Kora told her her gift might go beyond the usual flow of energy, but she never believed in prophetic dreams, yet, the three of them were here, gathered in the office ...


***




Seyica, who seemed lost in her thought far, suddenly reacts :

"Yeah, huh, we will keep this town safe of goblins !" she says, with a confused voice

"And, by the way, don't worry about my father, he might be rusty but he can still handle himself on his own"

[Lt Gravemind]

"I will be here until the shaman's words are brought to clarity." Lak'nah grumbles, etching a new mark into his bone mask before sliding it back on. "And if the filth-born make themselves known, they will taste my axe."

[root]

The giant, the minstrel, and the burned man ...
They all helped the town during the attack of the goblins, maybe that was why she saw them in her dream ?
Kora told her her gift might go beyond the usual flow of energy, but she never believed in prophetic dreams, yet, the three of them were here, gathered in the office ...


***




Seyica, who seemed lost in her thought far, suddenly reacts :

"Yeah, huh, we will keep this town safe of goblins !" she says, with a confused voice

"And, by the way, don't worry about my father, he might be rusty but he can still handle himself on his own"

"I'm sure he can. If you listen to Ven Vinder, he's the cause behind half the problems this town has." Belor chuckled. "I wouldn't worry too much about him, that's for sure. If you're ever in need of a job, the town watch might have a spot. If Kora lets you..."


"I will be here until the shaman's words are brought to clarity." Lak'nah grumbles, etching a new mark into his bone mask before sliding it back on. "And if the filth-born make themselves known, they will taste my axe."

"I wouldn't worry too much about that for now. Out of the thirty or so goblins that attacked, the majority perished. As numerous as these "filth-born" might be, even they'll pause after losing that many."

"I hope", he added, glaring at Shalelu.

[SneakyZombie]

Looking at the burned man, still with a muddled look on her face, the young girl says "I'm sorry, i didn't get what you were saying, you suggest there might be a circle of necromancers in town ?
Maybe we should bring this up to Kora, Sheriff, she might be able to help us find anything related to walking corpses ..."

[root]

With Shalelu gone almost as quickly as she came in, Balor stood up with a resigned look on his face.

"I suppose this is it, then. I'm going to delegate one of the guards to keep an eye on all the usual troublemakers, but there's rarely anything that requires significant attention."

Turning to Haldavyr, he added, "Sandpoint doesn't sell a lot of expensive enchanted items. The marketplace tends to have a thing or two sometimes, but your description of the robe makes me think that it's a lot more powerful - and expensive - than most things you can find there. Don't make my life harder and spread rumours about the bones if you do try to find a seller..."

Turning away from the people in his office, Belor begins to assemble an outfit for his trip to Magnimar.

[Mornings]

Bechal Rossfield - The Misbegotten Auspex


He cringed while listening to the dialogue between them. Dogs and undead... He just couldn't do either. Undead in SandPoint? He'd toyed around with the thought in the hypothetical, but didn't seriously consider it. His frown deepened with each moment that passed between the elf and Belor - until she left leaving him with a dejected grimace. ".....Not to rain on your parade, Captain. But if the town really is being simultaneously assaulted by goblin-kin and corpse-raising necromancers. Well, to be frank... We should be getting the hell out of here. A dozen militia, and a handful of Day-One Hero's?" He shook his head in disapproval. "This place is as likely to be burned to the ground upon your return as it is to be found left standing. Keeping citizens in the dark about it.... Well, could you live with being the soul responsible for leaving hundreds of fine-folk to their death? At least if they had a general idea, they could decide for themselves and make their own decision as to if they would leave or stay. If it's a bad as you imply, then it's likely too late to evacuate regardless - As someone is intentionally targeting the peoples here. But at least they could make their own choice how they want to face those dangers. The information won't cause a panic, if you can provide it in a reasonable manner - but the fact remains, it is simply not possible to defend every soul in this town from an attack, as is. You have twelve men - I can think of a few hundred. A hundred good men. Willing to take up pitchfork and sickle if they knew they were fighting for a reason, against a threat that meant them ill." He gestured triumphantly with his hand. "You don't want to make public what you have? Fine. But if you're any kind of man, you can't leave this town virtually defenseless. "

"I'm not a hero. Nor a warrior. Nor a wizard. But I can, like any diplomat - perform civil duties, and raising a suitable militia is imperative if you're planning on returning to anything at all. If you don't want to come clean with the population, then at least take upon yourself the responsibility to provide them some measure of insurance, not assurance, with your Gilded Hero's nonsense. Allow me to be your intermediary in your absence, and I'll find this militia men who will fight - discreetly."

Diplomacy: Convince Belor to allow Bechal to recruit more men [roll0]

Edit: Maybe I should have taken 10 lol

[Hattish Thing]

"By Cayden's hairy... This is not a tavern. I've got your point, you're just a minstrel." Belor's attempts to stop Bechal were fruitless. Resigned, he spoke over him, "AN ENCHANTED ROBE YOU SAY?"

Turning to see the scarred mage snatch the robes off the table, the captain of the guard nodded. "Perhaps it's for the best for you to keep it. I won't be in town to follow any leads in the next few days - and the perpetrators may be long gone by the time I get back with reinforcements. As far as your questions are concerned... I don't think Father Tobias has had any enemies. The poor man and his foster daughter died in the fire that consumed the old Sandpoint church 5 years ago. I was just a guard back then, and we were far more concerned with the Chopper. There seemed no evidence of foul play, a candle knocked over in the night perhaps."

"I'll let the mayor know of your intent to get to the bottom of this. Not much of a formal authority I can give on top of that - the town pretty much governs itself. Scarnettis, Kaijutsus, and so on take care of their own and usually manage to keep the peace. My dozen men are just patrolling the streets and take care of disturbances."

After a few moments of thought, he added, "Do keep in mind that Kendra insisted on subtlety."

---

Turning to Haldavyr, he added, "Sandpoint doesn't sell a lot of expensive enchanted items. The marketplace tends to have a thing or two sometimes, but your description of the robe makes me think that it's a lot more powerful - and expensive - than most things you can find there. Don't make my life harder and spread rumours about the bones if you do try to find a seller..."

Turning away from the people in his office, Belor begins to assemble an outfit for his trip to Magnimar.

Haldavyr nods quietly in confirmation, there was no need to bother speaking over the bard. Shouting tended to strain the wizard's throat, which was already constantly sore and enflamed due to his particular set of scars. He clears his throat for a moment, swallowing down the familiar coppery aftertaste of blood before speaking to the Captain of the guard. "Aye. I will keep the robe as a subject of study. Though I don't ever intend to dabble in the magics of material creation, I do find it all rather fascinating, after all." The wizard chuckles to himself, wondering if the Sheriff even knew the half of what he was talking about. "I rather doubt you'll need official reinforcements. Just a few goblins and a necromancer, most likely one more reliant on his items than his own innate magics. Quite dissapointing, really. I was half-hoping to discover someone as talented as I am, it does get dreadfully boring being as good as I am with what I do, after all." "Not that you'd know much about that."

The wizard stands up and does seem to genuinely thank the Sheriff, despite his somewhat condescending comments. "Regardless, I ensure you that this individual will be caught, and justice will be delivered. I give you my word. Thank you once again, Hemlock, for your help during this difficult time. I still hold my suspicions that a clerical figure remains behind this... I will remain as subtle as the situation can afford, but I'm afraid certain... measures will have to be made to ensure this killer is brought the light, this necromancer."

"And don't worry, I don't intend to sell the robe."

"The guards, will they obey my command? With the magic I possess, it's entirely possible that I can simply go door to door, searching for a magical trace. I will need some protection for that, however, some authority."

"Perhaps you can have a reward of sort ready for when you return... I will certainly find a guilty party before then."

[SneakyZombie]

Looking at the burned man, still with a muddled look on her face, the young girl says "I'm sorry, i didn't get what you were saying, you suggest there might be a circle of necromancers in town ?
Maybe we should bring this up to Kora, Sheriff, she might be able to help us find anything related to walking corpses ..."

Snapping her finger fingers twice to draw attention, Seyica bristles
"Hey, I might be only a kiddo to you, but I probably care more about this town than any of you, so don't just leave me out of this !"

As you see the young girl exasperation growing, slow-moving tentrils of energy unveil around her.

Taking her leave to find Kora, visibly unaware of her power manifesting, she adds, briefly turning back

"Have a safe trip, Sheriff, we'll make sure Sandpoint is still standing when you come back ...

The rest of you, you'll be able to find me at the pirate's rest on the docks, or at Kora's, as if it matters."

[root]

@Bechel

"Sandpoint has stood its test of time. With our militia of almost 70 in addition to the guards, Im having serious doubts about that changing. By Shalelu's old estimations, humans still outnumber the goblins in this region...", Belor said dismissively.

"And there is no way in hells that we will hire a mercenary force to defend the town. We've got enough problems with sczarni scum, and at least they aren't heavily armed or overly violent. "

@Haldavyr

"I'll let my men know that you're looking into this", he nodded at the burned man. " but do keep in mind that Sandpoint is a peaceful town."

"I also feel that you may be overestimating this necromancer threat. Outside of several hedge practitioners, Sandpoint has never been blessed - or maligned as some might say - with an overabundance of magic users. Wouldn't a real necromancer simply forego the robe and raise his own skeletons, anyway?"

"This robe was probably just a distraction, mark my words. If you find that someone brought this dangerous item here, however, I'll be more than happy to detain the bastard. "

@Seyica
Much, much earlier...
"I don't reckon the old crone would be the type of person to spread rumours. I don't know if she'd be that much help, though?"

"Yeah, thanks. I'm not too worried about the journey with Shalelu at the helm. I'm not exactly defenseless myself..."

@ All

"The time is running short for me, I'm afraid. So out of my office, you lot! I'm leaving within the hour."

He added, smiling, " and if you do dig something up, I'll be sure to have a talk with Kendra to find a deserving reward."

[root]

@Seyica

Having left the garrison, you went to the west end of the city where your mentor lived. The short journey was uneventful to say the least - the Tower Street was entirely empty and the short journey up Soggy Alley led you straight to Kora's home on Undercliff Way.

A small wooden shack, tucked away against the rocky hill below the Cathedral, stood within a stone's throw of Risa's Place. Not unlike most houses in Sandpoint, it was a single story home, sturdily built of wooden planks, the once bright paint long faded and flaking off. You've been to this house many times when you were being trained by Kora, rarely for long as she tended to be on call more often than not.

As you approached it, you've noticed Kora's pet hedgehog, curled into a comfortable nest of old rags in the stack of firewood by the door. It moved, meeting your gaze with eerily human blue eyes.

The door opened before you could knock, Kora emerging from the shadowed room inside. Barely lit fireplace and a few candles spared little light on the small windowless room within. Dried garlic and herbs, tied with twine, hang from the ceiling beams, separated by several hocks of deeply smoked ham.

Your eyes, barely used to the darkened room after the mid day walk, notice a wooden table. You remember the notched ancient texture of it, dried out and scratched through many years of service. A man, his face noticeably scarred and strangely shaped even in the dark, sits by the table, sipping something out of a tall glass. You recognize him as Naffer Vosk, the town's caretaker of the boneyard and Kora's old friend.

Kora inspects you, in silence. "By gods, that never stops being creepy", Naffer offered, with a chortle.

"I'm surprised to see you here today, Seyica. You know I'd send you a message if there were any jobs I wanted you to accompany me on. But you're more than welcome to join us..." Kora said, smiling.

[SneakyZombie]

Seyica enters the room, hesitantly.
She glances at the graveyard's keeper, quickly looking back at her feet.
"God, that guy always creeps me out ..."

The young girl clears hear throat and speaks
"Actually, m'am, i'm here to talk to you about what happened yesterday's night. You know, with Willhem"
"Alone." She adds, trying to put some authority in her voice, risking a quick eye contact Naffer



"You were here the night Willem got wounded right ?
Are you aware of what happened that night ?
I went to find you to discuss some stuff about Pharasma's tenets, after the goblin attack.
I wanted to ask Naffer if he knew where to find you, but i got involved in something weird in a crypt. Not weird as in crypt with a bunch of naked dudes, but weird as in crypt but weird as in a crypt with the city's guard fighting undeads in the middle of the night.
Willem got wounded by a skeleton, probably a necromancer or a cult of follower of some twisted deity.
Oh, by the way, i'm having those weird dreams again, maybe you were right about it ...
Soooo, that's about it.
"

Seyica now stands awkwardly, moving her weight from one foot to the other, waiting from her mentor's answer.



[roll0]

If this roll shoud be secret, please ignore and roll it. (Also, circumstance bonus from brainstorming with Kora ?)

[root]

Naffer shook his head, laughing at the implication. "Girl, you don't know half the things I've seen or been part of. There's nothing you could tell me that I haven't already heard. But I'll humour you..."

He stood up, lurching towards the doorway, more like a crab than man.

Kora thrust an empty pitcher, smelling of apples and fermentation, in his hands. "Might as well get a refill at Risa's. We won't be long."

Letting you in first, the hunchback lurched through the door into the midday light.

-----

"He's a good man, you know. He's been around since the founding, although he wasn't a gravedigger then. He had... Less legitimate work."

Having heard your words, Kora shook her head. "Aye, I know of Willem. I was the one treating him las' night, the poor boy had such a fright. I guess he really meant it when he said he saw a skeleton."

"You know sometimes a dream is just a dream... If Pharasma wanted you to know something, I'm sure you'd know it by now. Gods are fond of omens."


Feel free to roll any active checks. I mostly roll Initiative and Passive Perception so it doesn't slow things down, everything else is your own call.

As for bonuses/penalties, I'll just tell when they apply.
Sometimes a dream is just a dream. If you see your mother in a dream and she has 8 hairy spider legs, she's probably not a high priestess of Lolth in secret. Hopefully.

[Lt Gravemind]

Lak'nah simply nods at the man as the others seem to take their leave and moves to leave himself. As he walks through the town, he realizes that he has no actual idea what is supposed to happen here. The shaman asked the rager to come to this place, but there was nothing here but the filth-born. A convenient occurrence to be sure, but the evil the shaman felt wasn't probably emerging from those things. The others might help in discerning his purpose here, but he didn't consider them exactly the messengers he was looking for. The loud bard was loud and seemed to speak quite a bit without saying anything, while the elder had the spark of something eerie that Lak'nah couldn't put his finger on. The girl seemed the most approachable, though a little out there as well.

"She will have to do." Lak'nah thought to himself, as he moved to seek directions to this Pirate's Rest or Kora's.

[SneakyZombie]

Going straight to the point Seyica says : "And do you have any idea of who might be behind the whole raising corpses thing ?"
Thinking a moment she adds
"Maybe i should ask Naffer if he saw any suspect activity around the graveyard lately ... But we're not supposed to talk about this matter to anyone, this could lead to some kind of chaos in town ..."

[Mornings]

Bechal Rossfield - The Misbegotten Auspex


Bechal's face scrunched up in evident displeasure. "Good Captain. Perhaps my linguistics is lacking, or perhaps you've far too much wax in your ears! I've said nothing of mercenaries! Common citizens of the town, defending the town. You don't need a militia for that. The hardy people of this community would stand to defend their homes if given both proper guidance, and the opportunity." He dropped his instrument, letting it hand from his chest. "I dare say, you've forgotten the origins of your office, sir! Seventy of your militia couldn't stop one man. They couldn't save Captain Avertin, and if men start dying and children start vanishing from their beds - they won't save you as well." He discourteously stormed out of the office, flustered. "Mark my words, Captain. You've made a mistake!" He sharply closed the door behind him. Foolish man. He was afraid, and Belor should be as well. Perhaps even that man could yet understand the implications of his own words, of his own evidence - the evidence he was so determined to keep quiet.


******

He walked through the streets caught within his own thoughts. It was a curse to be sure. His lies spiraled into realities - though in turn, becoming something far worse. Now there was undead. There was something, or someone behind this. The last serial killer killed nearly two dozen citizens, and the previous sheriff before being brought to justice. This figure was clearly far more resourceful - and he didn't carve birds into his victim's homes. He bit his nail. It wasn't even as bad as he had pretended, it was worse. He sighed, looking down at his feet. He needed help, he needed protection. He couldn't leave - he wouldn't make it very far. He turned in the direction of the theater, stopped, then turned around. He walked towards the southern docks with a location in mind. He needed to visit an old friend.

Looking out at dejected building that was the Fatman's Feedbag, he begun to regret the decision already... He was particularly dis-favorable in his personal views of the Sczarni - but at times like this, even they had their place. They had the muscle, and he had the leverage. He pushed open the door. It was time he had a talk with Jubrayl Vhiski.

[root]

@Bechel

Fatman's Feedbag looms before you, its dirty windows utterly blind to the world. Despite the bright midday sun, thick brown drapes block any light from reaching inside. The thick wooden door is unlocked and unlatched, loosely hanging from its hinges.

As you enter the tavern you step over a hulking body of a man. Simply dressed, his large arms are covered in faded crude tattooes. His bloodied face is marred by spittle and grime, not to mention a few rapidly swelling bruises.

The inside of the establishment is unwelcoming to say the least. Small groups of patrons hug the niches in the walls, their tables barely lit by candle light. The area before the bar is cleared of people, loose pewter mugs and plates littering the floor. Several men and women, their appearance difficult to tell in the dark, are in different states of disarray on the floor.

Behind the bar, Gressel Tennewar can be seen arguing with a noticeably bruised halfling. The brute, a bald hill of a man, turns as he hears you enter the tavern, his multiple chins slapping against one another.

"Another customer..." he thundered, squinting and pushing the halfling away.


@Seyica
"Raising corpses?" Kora spat out, with disgust. "No, I can't say I know of anyone who'd do that around here. I've been around for a long time, and while Sandpoint's got its share of crooks and bastards, I haven't heard of anyone who would do such a wicked deed. Even the local few mages never dabbled in it, as far as I know..."

Relaxing somewhat, she added "Heck, Risa'd probably blow most of 'em out of the water as far as magic is concerned, as blind as she is, and I know for sure she's never touched Urgathoa's sick domain. I wouldn't be drinking her cider if she did..."

Hearing your point about Naffer, Kora chortled. "Feel free to ask, heh. The poor bastard probably haven't seen or heard anyone though, I can tell you that. He rarely goes out in the boneyard in the evening unless there's extra work to be done. Digging a hole in the ground a couple of times a year, an' rippin' out some weeds in the summer is all he does... A cushy job if you ask me."

"Just don't ask him about his past, unless you want to hear a load of unlikely lies and a handful of even less likely truths. Man uses to help smuggle things way back, in the first days of Sandpoint, you know?"


@Lak'nah

After several attempts, you are given adequate directions to Pirate's Rest. None of the people out on the street, mainly menial workers and an occasional sailor, can give you a clear answer about finding Kora, although several recognize the name and even suggest to try the Cathedral.

I'm not sure which of the two options are preferable, but I'll just assume that you went to Pirates Rest. Its a shop and most people know where it is, afterall, while Kora's more of a narrow specialist. I can change things around later in worst case.

You walk down a noticeable incline as you approach the docks. Sharp smell of seaweed and salt is noticeable in the clear air, and you can see several small ships and boats tied down.

Finding The Pirate's Rest wasn't too difficult. A large wooden sign clearly marks the place, a wooden shack not unlike most houses you've seen in Sandpoint so far. Simply built, wooden and practical. The door is ajar, and there is a man sitting behind a crude counter inside. Various simple goods line the walls, fishing rods, buckets, and all sorts of miscellania.

The man looks up, yawning. "By gods, what did you eat to get so huge? You know, its the strangest thing, but my daughter mentioned meeting a man just like you yesterday..."

Standing up and approaching you, he added "You wouldn't be him, eh? She's apparently had a run in with some goblins last night, an' the town guard sent a man for her this morning..."

[SneakyZombie]

A bit disapointed by Kora's answers, Seyica heads out.
On her way out, to Risa's, she tries to find the poor hunchman

"Sorry for the interruption Naffer. Have you seen anyone lurking around in the graveyard lately ?"

[Lt Gravemind]

"I fought the filth that attacked this town yesterday. They tasted my axe. A woman and two other men were there and fighting as well. I was there this morning when the man called us and asked us to stay here. She said to either see her here or seek out a 'Kora' if we wanted to look into something strange." Lak'nah replied, taking in his surroundings and looking at the little things.