[PF2] IC Rise of the Runelords: Chapter 1

[Zero Prime]

Aeryn thar Varendiil, Human Evoker AC: 15 | HP: 15 | Class DC: 17 Fortitude: +4 | Reflex: +5 | Will: +7 | Perception: +5 Conditions: None. Aeryn wasn't much for festivals, faires, or celebration, but he did know how to drink, and how to hold his alehouse swill, which is exactly what was in the tankard he had in his hands as the stuffed shirt leadership of Sandpoint made their grandiose speeches. The swill was from the Fatman's Feedbag, the tavern he was supposed to meet his Sczarni contact at. It was his third, one for breakfast with his crusty loaf, one after breakfast to wash down some cheap stew, and this, his third, while he wandered the streets, taking in the crowd. Maybe it was the Feedbag's swill, or maybe it was a combination of the sun and the crisp autumn air, but Aeryn felt something of nostalgia flood his body while wandering the streets of Sandpoint, taking in the festival and the various games, the activites of the crowd and the excitement of children. A couple children were looking at his staff with wide eyes, so, on a whim, he produced a vivid green apple from his sleeve, went to bit into it, and it evaporated into a puff of glitter and smoke, which he then blew towards them, so they could smell the scent of fresh, tart, apples. Their laughs caught him off guard, so while the children's fathers all began to congregate at the tug of war, he distracted an ever growing crowd of children with simple prestidigitation, sleight of hand and the least of his magics. Setting his, now, empty tankard beside him, he began juggling small balls of blue green fire, that he would then toss towards a young urchin, only to have it evaporate into smoke. The clink of a copper into his cup caught his attention, and he figured, what the hell, and began to put on a show for the children.