The adventurers return to their beds. In the morning, they set off in search of the scholar. His cottage is down close to the Old Light, but when they knock they discover he is not there. Instead, they track him down to the entrance to the sinkhole, where he is engaging in a vigorous debate with a patient-faced deputy.
"But you have to let me down there! Good gods, man - think of the discoveries!" Brodert Quink is tall and thin, except for a middle-aged paunch which pushes out underneath his clean but threadbare robe. His pate is bald except for a long fringe of scraggly grey hair over his ears and round the back of his head. When he catches sight of the adventurers he gives them a toothy, if somewhat insincere, smile.
"Aha! The conquerors of the hidden fane! I was explaining to young Master Carvey here about the importance of archaeology."
“Greetings Brodert Quink,” speaks Elisile. “I agree – learning of and from the past is important, but delving into Thassilonian ruins unaccompanied can be dangerous. I would be glad to tell you all that we observed below. We have heard that your expertise in regards to Thassilon is great; may we call upon your expertise on a specific question?”
A flurry of emotions crosses Quink's face: pleasure at being agreed with, interest at what Elisile might tell him, disappointment that she didn't suggest he descend into the ruins, pride at being flattered regarding his professional knowledge, and a certain degree of alarm that hardened adventurers might be requiring it.
"Ah, um, well, yes. So, what is it that you wish to know?"
The ex-Hellknight signifier accompanies the rest as they make their mid-night visit to the stricken mage, but stays to the back of the group while they talk. She looks inward, pursing her lips as he describes the location of this fanciful place, but shakes her head silently. Nothing to offer, no need to speak.
As they walk up to the scholar and the beleaguered deputy, Sefayll removes her helm. She knows that many find it disquieting - and finds that useful - but also knows that many appreciate it appealing if she removes it without being asked.
Nodding at the eldritch knight's words, she adds, "As they say, those that do not remember the past put themselves in peril to repeat it. Many wonders have been done by those that have gone before and we are left with only the tales of their existence. What a loss if we were to lose the tales, also, don't you agree?"
"Ah, um, well, yes. So, what is it that you wish to know?"
Camlo looks around uncertainly, almost as though a Runelord is likly to step out of the nearest alley way any moment...
"Shouldn't we, ah, go somewhere a little more private first?"
Sefayll is cordial if slightly brusque, as is her way, but Quink seems quite hooked by both the compliment of being consulted and the nature of the question in hand. "Indeed, indeed," he says warily, eyeing her hellknight regalia. However, he cannot resist clarifying, "However, it is not tales I seek, but hard facts - and artefacts - of the Thassilonian Empire. While tales can hold a nugget of truth, they hold merely a road to the truth. It is writings, and objects, and material discoveries, which the archaeologist seeks."
"But I agree with the young master here," he says, making the typically patronising Big Folk error of assuming that because halflings look like children, they have the mentality of children too. "Please come to my modest abode where we can discuss this in more privacy."
The inside of Quink's cottage is, as might be expected, more of a museum and library than a dwelling. Most surfaces are covered with papers and shelves are stuffed with unusual curios or thick times, many chock full of more bits of paper acting as bookmarks. Picking their way across, they find a table and some chairs where, after various objects are removed and placed on the floor, they can make themselves comfortable.
"So, ah, before we get going, so to speak, may I ask - what do you know of ancient Thassilon?"
"Well nothing formal, you know. Just that the ruins of their empire spread across Varisia, the Runelords weren't exactly friends but not quite enemies either. This area borders Alaznist and Karzoug's realms, oh and that Karzoug is still alive somewhere and has minions marking people with the sihedron rune to collect their souls which will power his return to Avistan," Illes rattles off nonchalantly. The bard grabs a pear from the scholar's kitchen and holds it up, "You mind?"
"WHAT?" squawks Quink at Illes' off-hand comment. "Karzoug's alive? B.. b.. but where? How?"
Illes munches the pear and nods, "Yeah, you got me on both of those questions. Not sure if he was sleeping away the centuries and something woke him or if he has been on another plane doing who knows what. Either way, he's active but can't get here yet."
"Hey, you remember all that business with the Skinsaw Men a while back and how they were marking people with sihedron runes before killing them? Souls collected. Same with this giant wizard we just killed up in the mountains."
Tikrok is at a loss for what to say with Illes recounting the events with such a cavalier attitude. Ancient people collecting souls for who knows what reason sounds like something to be alarmed about. He keeps his comments to himself though as the others undoubtedly know more than he does and he's hearing most of this for the first time himself.
“I have studied the Thassilonian tongue and know the basics of the empire’s history,” begins Elisile, then pauses while Illes – who doesn’t quite seem his normal charming and measured self – recounts what they know of Karzoug.
“Indeed, it appears that this runelord – somehow – survived the apocalypse known as Earthfall in some manner, and is trying to return. We do not know of his current whereabouts or status – whether alive, undead or some state inbetween. We believe that he has not yet returned to full life, or at least full power, and that many of the calamities that this region has recently suffered, as outlined by Illes, have formed part of his plot to return – we hope to stop him before he can do so, but our lack of knowledge of his whereabouts makes this difficult. If you have any insight into the matter that you could share, we would greatly appreciate it.”
She pauses again for a moment, then continues. “There is also the matter of how to actually defeat a runelord – however diminished in power – once we find him. We have gained a clue from those Thassilonian ruins recently opened below the town that suggests a place called the Mountains of Bone may provide a path to a hidden vault or demiplane that may contain weapons powerful enough to defeat this runelord. However, we know little of the Mountains of Bone including their location, and it is this that we wished to consult with you about.”
Sefayll restores her helm to its proper place as they travel to convene their meeting at the scholar's residence. Stepping inside, she looks around, but behind her helm, there's no clue as to what she's thinking.
Removing it once more as they settle in, she stands and holds it under her left arm, impassively listening as the other recount what they've learned of the one known as Karzoug.
Then she adds, "Before you get any idealistic ideas of the value of meeting the wizard for his firsthand accounts of life before the Earthfall, please keep in mind that it appears that others are merely cattle to be harvested in his mind. If you were to meet him, it is unlikely to end well. For you."
"I... I see. No, actually, I don't. Alive? By the gods, what wonders such a person will have seen? And what horrors..." Quink actively pulls himself together. "As an historian, such a revelation is quite... startling, to say the least. You must tell me everything you know, I insist - it must be documented. But before that, let me help you. The Mountains of Bone, you say? Hmmm..."
Quink turns to a shelf groaning with parchments and begins to rummage. He peers at each one briefly before tutting and putting it down elsewhere, blowing the dust from a few. Finally he pauses, tapping his lips thoughtfully with a bony finger, then moves to the other side of the room, picking his way between the assembled adventurers with mumbled apologies. He then pulls out a large scroll-case, causing a minor avalanche of the papers that were resting on it, and takes it to his table. Extracting the contents of the case, he spreads it out and weighs down the ends with a book and a pewter mug to stop it curling up.
"This is a copy of Cantofile's map of Thassilon. She compiled it from various sources, some more reliable than others, and for many years it was considered rather fanciful. However, more recent scholarship would indicate that Cantofile was more accurate than perhaps she was originally given credit for. Now, her primary interest was less physical geography and more related to populations and means of production. However... There, see! The Mountains of Bone! Ah, um, that's unfortunate..."
The faded map shows an unfamiliar continent with an ocean to the west, with cities, roads, forests and farmland marked on in various colours and labelled in Thassilonian. Quink's finger points at the western fringe, where a line of mountains borders the sea. For those that can read the Thassilonian legend, it clearly says 'The Mountains of Bone'.
Quink looks crestfallen. "The far west of Thassilon fell into sea with Earthfall. This whole area is now underwater."
Peering at the map, Sefayll muses, "Yes, but how far is it from here? Underwater can be merely an inconvenience with sufficient preparation."
Trying to orient herself on the map, she asks, "Have you any idea where Sandpoint would lie on this map?"
"Um, about here." Quink points to the border between two realms, Shalast and Bakrakhan. "This was the border between the domains of Greed and Wrath, an area of perpetual conflict. In fact, I believe the ruins of the 'Old Light' are in fact a war tower which could project fire for many miles across the border from Bakrakhan into Shalast..."
He almost has to physically stop himself from expounding on his pet theory at length, taking a deep breath and continuing, "There is an acquaintance of mine, a scholar in Magnimar by the name of Grundar Silverhelm. His main area of interest is the parts of the empire which are now inundated. He may be useful to consult on how to proceed."
Camlo climbs up on a stool to peer at the map. He's more interested in how much such an artefact would be worth than in the historical fluff though.
Tikrok takes a look at the map to see if he can see any similarities to current geography that he is familiar with. "This Grundar, how are we to find him and is there anything we can show him so he knows that we were sent by you?"
"I can write you an introductory letter, if you like. His workshop is down by the waterfront, it should not be difficult to locate.
"But in the meantime, please, I must insist you tell me of your adventures so I can take notes..."
Elisile is content to spend several hours telling Quink of the Thassilonian ruins they have encountered in their travels. She’ll also ask if he has any insight into (or could possibly research) where Karzoug is likely to have whiled away the centuries since Earthfall, or have returned to upon his resurrection of whatever the case may be.
She'll stress that Jorgenfist in particular would be a dangerous place to visit, still being in the middle of giant territory.
Sefayll idly thinks of the library at Jorgenfist. She's quite sure if she mentioned it, the poor man would die in his efforts to see it in person. If he made it, he would exhaust the mechanical librarian with all his requests...
It is about midday before the adventurers are finally able to prise themselves free from Quink's academic curiosity and note-taking. Quink has no idea where Karzoug may be right now, although he notes that the capital of Shalast was the city of Xin-Shalast. However, that is little further help, since the ruins of that place - rumoured to by somewhere in the Kodar Mountains - have never been discovered.
The group make it back to the Rusty Dragon with their letter of introduction to Grundar Silverhelm and more information on its recipient. A dwarven emigre from Janderhoff, he lives near the Shadow district on the waterfront.
"As much as we all have history in Magnimar, and being there never goes well.... When do we leave?"
"I don't like the sound of your history in Magnimar but we need more information on our advisary. Shall we head out in the morning?"
"Yes ... our visits to Magnimar tend to lead to blades, blood, spells, and screams," comments Elisile. "As with many places we go. I will be ready to leave in the morning."
Alwyn comes into the taproom of the Rusty Dragon later that evening, dressed for travel. "There is a ship leaving for Riddleport with the tide tonight. I don't have much time before it goes.
"I have to go. I need to make sure they don't do anything stupid, like maybe make Hudak chieftain - the whole tribe would be goblin food in week. I know there is still much to do to deal with Karzoug but, well, blood is blood. I will see if I can wrap up matters swiftly and return. Try not to die while I am away."
He embraces each of his companions in a bearhug, clears his throat and nods respectfully to Tikrok and Arthur. "I'd better get going," he says and walks out of the inn and towards the harbour.
Camlo steps back a little from the hug, then grabs Alwyn's hand enthusiastically with both of his and shakes it hard. "Travel Safely Alwyn. Return Soon. I know you'll find us!"
“May the Tender of Dreams guide your path and the Lord in Iron guide your blade Alwyn Agnarsson,” says Elisile, speaking formally but smiling as she grasps the cleric’s shoulder. "Yes, please ensure Hudak does not do anything ... overly Hudak ... to your tribe."
Sefayll hangs back, unsure if she's included and wanting to respect the long-time traveling companions as they part ways. She is visibly surprised when the Shoanti turns to her and gives her a hug, also.
She hesitantly speaks as he sets her back on her feet, "Ah, um. Thank you, Alwyn Agnarsson." Nodding at Elisile's farewell, she adds, "It will be good to have you among the tribes where you can watch for signs of the Runelord's influence, I think. You may be fighting the same fight, just on a different front. Your Lord in Iron would approve."
"Travel well Shoanti. May the spirits of our people and our lands watch over you on your journey." He claps forearms with Alwyn,nods, and turns away.
The following morning dawns brightly and the group prepares to return to Magnimar.
The next morning Tikrok looks chipper to be on the move again. "Before we get moving again, is anyone still suffering effects from the abomination in the tunnels?"
Sefayll shakes her head at their new traveling companion's query, her face hidden behind her helm, as is her norm. "I seem to be fully recovered with your help yesterday. My thanks once again."
"I'm as close as I need to be. Thank you though."
Little by little, the bard is looking less haggard and more like his old self. Still the dark circles under his eyes and generally muted joie de vivre are signs that the affliction lingers. "Ah, nothing that an open road and fresh breeze can't cure," he mumbles. "Hey- you ever hear the one about Cayden Cailean's third quest for a night in Calistria's bed?" The bard pulls out a wine skin and sips a little just to wind up for the journey ahead. "It all started when he woke up in a barn on the outskirts of a little village like Sandpoint here, with a half remembered dream, a quarter of a plan and a wide open road calling his name..."
Elisile is all packed and ready for a hike.
"Magnimar is not far; between us Sefayll and I could teleport everyone there, but there is a slight chance of mishap with such spells. I feel that an extra day or two spent in travel will not be to our detriment, and a walk along the Lost Coast Road may be quite pleasant. Is everyone ready to go?"
As the party prepares to depart, Sefayll conjures up a translucent disk that floats near her. "If you are bringing something that you prefer not carry, I should be able to transport it."
Just a few days after they left, the heroes are returning to Magnimar, although this time with a few new additions to the group and without Alwyn. The walk and overnight camp was uneventful and the walls of the city loom ahead.
The group make it back to the Rusty Dragon with their letter of introduction to Grundar Silverhelm and more information on its recipient. A dwarven emigre from Janderhoff, he lives near the Shadow district on the waterfront.
"Well - we should determine if we are making haste to find Silverhelm or if we have other business to attend to while we are in the city." The blank-faced helm turns to each of her companions. "If you desire to purchase something, the price may not be reasonable, but it's probably available somewhere in the city."
"Let us seek out Silverhelm first," Elisile suggests.
The (former) hellnight signifier nods. Looking around to orient herself after being away from the city for so long, she gestures in the direction she believes will take them to the Shadow district most efficiently.
It becomes apparent as you stand among the traffic that people are giving the armored woman a wider berth than necessary as they pass her. She pays them no heed.
Unfortunately, she seems to be a bit turned around and she has selected a rather indirect route at best.
With Sefayll leading the way, the trip to Silverhelm's abode takes perhaps longer than it should. But the crowds part with alacrity before her mirrored hellknight signifier helm, so there is little need to push through the crowds in the street.
Quink's letter of introduction has an address, so it is easy enough to find Silverhelm's place in the shadow of the Irespan. A local they ask along the way says wryly, "Just follow the sound of hammering. And swearing." They find it, a warehouse next to a slipway by the water's edge. As they approach they hear neither hammering nor swearing, but instead a mechanical, pulsing roar. Suddenly there a sharp, metallic crash followed by the crump of an explosion. The double doors of the warehouse fly open and black smoke billows out. Two figures stagger out in its wake, coughing and spluttering, their hair and clothing blackened by soot.
The first, a slender human man wearing a blue coverall, removes his glasses to reveal clean white patches where his eyes were protected from the blast. He wheezes, "I told you, Grundar - those parts from the Golemworks are not up to what we need them for. We need to spend real money if this is going to work."
"Ach, real money is just what we don't have," gasps his companion, sucking in air. A dark-haired dwarf, his hair and beard are shockingly unkempt for one of that race. "That Toth Bhreacher is a fooking charlatan. What are we going to do now?"
He catches sight of the group approaching. "Aye?" he says suspiciously.
As they move through the city, Sefayll remarks to their elven archer mage. "I will leave the speaking to one of you when we arrive. Sometimes the armor speaks louder if I remain silent."
Sefayll, relying on her appearance's normal effect on the crowds, stops short of the dwarf and his companion. After turning her (unseen) face from one to the other, she turns her back to them and faces the street to discourage nosy passerby while someone else states their business.
Unusually for the halfling, he steps forward and greets the Dwarf. "Grundar Silverhelm? We are looking for some information and a friend of ours in Sandpoint said you may be able to help. We have a letter from him."Camlo peers through the doors as well as he can without stepping forward... "You seem to be having some troubles. Is that anything we can help with?"
Perhaps being in Magnimar makes Camlo a little braver....
Elisile just about whipped out her bow at the sound of the explosion, but quickly realising the group are not under attack she keeps her weapons and spells stowed - for now. She peers curiously at the billowing smoke and soot covered pair, but stays quiet for now, a step back from Camlo and anyone else doing the talking, as she knows that some dwarves hold an unfounded prejudice against elves ... not that this looks like a typical dwarf.
Perhaps being in Magnimar makes Camlo a little braver....
"Troubles? Och, no, just a little teething problem, that's all." Grundar squints suspiciously at the group of well-armed heavies who have appeared on his doorstep. "So who's this friend of mine ye claim to know?"
"He's a scholar from Sandpoint, quite into Azlanti towers.... Called Brodert Quink. IS there ah, somewhere, we could errm, sit down and chat?"