It only takes Gwyn a moment to recover her wits from the tumble and just grins at both Kyrian and Cerinnibert.
"Why Kyrian, I would have thought you'd have been more appreciative of falling into a lady's lap after she fell. I see now that I need to work on who I'm being a klutz around."
After a few awkward moments of getting disentangled from Kyrian, Gwyn gets to her feet and Fluff flits back to her customary perch on Gwyn's shoulder.
"All jesting aside, I am sorry about that," she says a little sheepishly, "I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing."
Chuckling at her comments, Kyrian helps Gwyn back up on her feet. "Believe me, I certainly enjoy falling in a woman's lap. I just prefer being in control of the fall." he says with a grin and a wink. Gathering his belongings back up, he nods with Cerin. "Definitely good to see you again. I just didn't expect to take up public showings, so our apologies on that. Granted I'd say it was still very tasteful..." he says, giving a slight glare at the gnome next to him.
"Tasteful could be debated, but I wish it'd been more graceful," Gwyn says after being helped back up, still embarrassed by her fall, "though, I guess it could have been worse, like that one brat at that party."
The beginnings of a mischievous smile begin to curl the corners of her mouth.
"And just where do you get off calling me kid," she asks Cerin before snapping her fingers and trying to turn his hair a rather violent shade of orange streaked with lime, "I'm pretty sure that I'm close to your age Cerinnibun."
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Cerin pulls down a tuft of his shaggy hair to look at the new color and smiles. "I haven't had this color before. Thanks!"
"As for calling you a kid, it was meant as a compliment. I had a daughter who would have been about your age now..." his smile fades as painful memories resurface, and he turns away to look at a suit of armor without really seeing it. His eyes glisten with tears but he wipes them away quickly before they are shed and composes himself.
"Ah, yes, we were discussing new weaponry!" he states, his customary smile back in place.
Gwyn grew quiet, the mention of Cerin's daughter bringing back memories of Korvosa.
After an awkward silence, she turns back to Kyrian.
"Sooo, you have pretty women falling into your lap often," she asks, trying to lighten the mood by teasing Kyrian a bit.
As the Sandpoint Heroes enter Savah's Armory, Gwyn trips on the threshold of the door. She grabs Kyrian's arm to steady herself, but does so just as he's mid-stride. He spins and falls on his rump, with Gwyn landing right in his lap.
Fluff, of course, flutters off her master's shoulder as Gwyn starts to fall, alighting on Gwyn's head. The bird bends over, looking at Gwyn upside-down and scolds, "Gwyn! Don't be so forward! I heard that the Vindler girl gets jealous and has a mean streak!"
Savah herself then rushes out from behind the counter, checking to see if everyone is OK. Realizing that nobody is bruised but for their egos, she adds, "Hey-- I have a new ad slogan! 'Come to Savah's Armory! Even the Sandpoint Heroes are tripping over themselves to get in the front door!'"
After a chuckle, she helps Kyrian and Gwyn up to their feet, and both get a strong inkling about just how strong Savah might be...
"Well, that was exciting. So, what can I do for you fine people this morning? That magical repeating crossbow is still for sale... and I recently acquired this..." She points to a greataxe hanging on the wall, obviously of orcish manufacture, but crafted with great skill and artistry... in the brutally effective manner of orchish weaponry. "And it's magical, too! See?" She takes it off the wall, and as she approaches Gwyn, it begins to glow blood-red. "It glows whenever elves or dwarves are nearby!"
Gwyn snickers at the new ad slogan, and not even Fluff's scolding does much to dampen her mood, brushing off the warning about Shayliss with an easy flick of her fingers.The axe is interesting, but not what she came for.
"You know, I always suspected that I might be an unusually tall dwarf," she says with a grin. "Sadly, I think I'm more likely to hurt myself trying to use it than an enemy. I am looking for some arrows though. Do you have any with cold iron heads?"
"You all buy your things," Orik said before leaving the confines of the Dragon. "I've already got a cold iron weapon, and my sword is as magical as I'm going to get. I'll be around town."
True to his word, he wanders the streets, eventually finding himself not far from the theater. "Damned odd to see one of these in such a small town," he says to himself. "Wonder how they swung that." Looking around, he notices a pub nearby called Cracktooth's, and he decides to head on into the establishment for a pint and some answers.
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"Savah, by any chance would you happen to have any enchanted shields available? This old thing is just about ready for the kindling pile!" Cerin holds up his much-battered shield with a wry grin.
"If not, perhaps you could do a few minor repairs and possibly direct me to someone in town who might be able to enchant it?" he continues with an arched eyebrow.
At Cracktooth's Tavern...
The first thing that Orik notices when he walks into this tavern is how spacious the barroom is. The second is the stage set up on the far wall opposite the bar. Even though it's barely midday, there are about a dozen people in the tavern, and several of them nod in your direction when you enter.
Behind the bar, wiping pewter tankards with a rag, stands a tall man with thick black hair tied in a long ponytail, a distinct greenish complexion, and a severe underbite. His two lower canines sick up through his lips, and one of them is obviously chipped. Despite his thuggish expression, he is wearing stylish clothing. He smiles as you enter.
"Afternoon, stranger! What can I get ya?"
* * * *
At Savah's Armory...
Savah nods at Cerin's question. "Hmm... Yes, I do have an oversized wood-and-leather buckler that's just about the size of that one. Give me a moment..." She heads over to one of the walls that displays several shields. While most are metal, one round shield is made of thick leather stretched over a wooden frame. The black leather looks like it may have been from a giant lizard of some sort, and the scales glisten in the sunlight. "Here we go! I traded for this shield last time I was in Magnimar. According to what I was told, this shield is made of the hide of a swamp dragon that had lived in the Mushfens, and was hunted down and slain after it attacked a riverboat on the Yondabarki. A master craftsman made a few suits of armor from its hide... and this shield. Don't let the leather fool you: It's nearly as strong as steel! Normally, I would ask 1350 ducats for it, but since you're the Heroes of Goblin Day, you can have it for 1200."
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Cerin's eyes light up when he sees the shield. After setting down his old one, he takes the offered shield and straps it to his arm, testing the weight. "Savah, you always seem to have the perfect item! I'll take it. I don't suppose you have use for my old one? While a bit battered, it is quite finely made..."
Gwyn looks over the shield, her eyes glittering with curiosity.
"Oh no," Fluff groans, "I know that look. Don't let Gwyn touch that shield, she'll probably blow it up."
"Hey!" the elven mage protests as she snaps out of her ponderings, "I do not blew up everything I touch!"
"You're right, you set fire to the rest," the thrush snickers.
Chuckling at Gwyn's comment, Kyrian lets a sly smile over his face. "I suppose that's another way of putting it." Finishing his chuckle with a smile on his face after Savah's new slogan. "Well unless you've got some affordable, and by affordable I mean what I'm going to be able to pick up with what I have on hand..." he says, putting his hand on his pouch, attempting to feel how much coin he has on him "...which I'm currently guessing isn't much, to help steady my aim, then I'll just be looking at some arrows." Looking at Cerin's old shield once the comment about having use, he manages to let off his tongue very quickly "You know, you could probably use that as a testing target. May be battered, but hey, it could probably still take some arrows right?"
"Or it could be Gwyn's new hat," Fluff chortles.
Which sounds quite odd coming from a thrush.
Gwyn just narrows her eyes at the bird and prods her in the breastbone.
"I still haven't forgiven you for what you did to my old hat," the elf growls.
"A good pint of bitter," Orik says, sidling up to the bar. "If it doesn't make me wince when I drink it, then it's not hopped enough." He takes a look around the tavern. "Nice place you got here. Big enough to rival some of the alehouses in Magnimar, I'd reckon, and busy for a mid-day as well. What's your secret?"
Gwyn, her argument with Fluff temporarily forgotten, begins examining the shield with child-like wonder. Her delicate fingers trace the outlines of the scales as they drink in the texture.
"It is beautiful," she mutters, so softly that she isn't even away that she's spoken aloud.
Cracktooth's...
The barkeep smiles warmly at the compliment... the expression seems in stark contrast to his otherwise dangerous-looking features.
"Right! One bitter coming right up."
He produces a pewter tankard and pulls a draught of ale with a thick white head.
"I mostly cater to the theater crowd. Before or after a show, we're packed." He points his thumb over his shoulder at the stage. "I like to provide a bit of pre- and post-show entertainment here, too. That's a bit of a draw. And some of the regulars come any time I'm open... like right now."
The beer is cellar temperature, pale gold in color, light in body, with a pronounced bitterness without being too aggressive. All-in-all, a pretty darned good ale!
"What with the goblin attack last week, Cydrak had to put his opening night of The Harpy's Curse on hiatus because three of the actors he'd brought in from Magnimar rode back at first light the next day. But I hear that he's coaxed two of them back, and has talked a local into performing the third missing part for him. According to the posters he's putting up, it'll be opening this Starday."
* * * *
Savah's...
At Kyrian's question, Savah says, "Arrows? A day before the Swallowtail Festival, I bought some quality arrows from an elvish trader who'd come down from Crying Leaf."
You can purchase the following kinds of arrows (Note: These prices include a discount.)
Alchemical silver arrows (1 gp each) [max:30]
Cold iron arrows (1 sp each) [max: 10]
Masterwork arrows (5 gp each) [max: 50]
+1 arrows (40 gp each) [max: 20]
* * * *
Pausing for a moment, Kyrian thinks over the few different options that Savah had offered for future arrows. "Well, I've already got one quiver filled up still, but I suppose I could top off the other for the most part... If you're alright with it, I'll go ahead and take five of those silver arrows, and then taking those cold iron arrows off your hands?" he says as he begins to reach into his pouch.
"Why thank you Kyrian. Now that you have taken care of the arrows I can take care of my bow, mainly by getting a better one," Gwyn says with a curtsey and a wink. She turns to Savah and pulls out the bow she'd been using.
"You wouldn't happen to have anything better than this, would you? It's good enough, but it's not the finest bow ever made."
Orik takes a swig from the tankard, and hisses inwardly through his teeth. "Ah, that's the stuff," he says, nodding in approval. "New play, you say? How heady is it? I wouldn't mind hearing a play, but if the actors drone on for hundred-line soliloquies, my mind wanders off." He takes another pull from the tankard, enjoying the bitterness of the brew.
At Savah's...
The proprietor looks over Gwyn's bow, and says, "Yes, I do have something that might be more fitting..." She steps into a back room, and brings out an elegantly carved bow of ash, which she strings. The bow is clearly of Elven manufacture.
"That same merchant who sold me those arrows also sold me this. I bought it on spec, thinking that Shalelu might be interested in it. Turns out that her bow was a family heirloom, and she said that she was not looking to replace it. I'll let you have it for 300 ducats, plus your old bow. It's still in very good shape."
* * * *
At Cracktooth's...
The barman laughs at Orik's description of a boring play. "Oh, no! This play has action, romance, and derring-do! It's going to be a very fun show. You should come!" He then adds, "And glad you like the beer. I special-ordered it from Two Knights Brewing, and I'm the only one who sells it."
"Sold," Gwyn laughs before pulling out her purse and handing her bow over to Savah.
"Maybe I will, at that," Orik replies. "If the show is still playing when we get back, that is. The rest of the company is marching off as soon as they're done buying stuff. How long is it running?" As if in realization that he doesn't have all day to drink, Orik takes a few gulps of beer, causing his nose to scrinch a bit at the bitterness.
The Sandpoint Heroes conclude their shopping at about 9:30 in the morning, and then head out the North Gate for one more foray into Thistletop.
It is about two hours past noon when you make your way out of Nettlewood and arrive at the thistle maze at the edge of the familair cliff. There is a bit of a cool sea breeze, and the air is thick with mist. You all hear the sound of surf crashing below. A faint but distinct stench of death permeates the area.
Gwyn waits for Cerinnibert to come back with the all clear for all of five seconds before turning to the mouthy thrush that's her familiar.
"Fluff, do you think you could fly around and see if any goblins have set up shop again in the fort," she asks.
"And face horrible, arrow-y death? No thanks!"
"Please?"
"Nope! Not doing it."
"Not even if I promise you your pick of a pastry when we get back?"
"If you think that'll get me to do it, why don't you go risk you sweet little elf-buns yourself! I've seen what these goblins do to birds. It ain't pretty!"
"Okay, I tried doing it the nice way," Gwyn says before turning to Orik. "Hey, would you like try some roasted thrush? I'm sure it'd make for a tasty snack!"
"Alright! Alright! I'm goin'! I'm goin' already!"
Soon the grumbling thrush is out of sight and earshot as she flits over the brambles.
"I shoulda listened to my master and gone with something that couldn't talk,"
Gwyn says more to herself than anyone listening.
Cerin steps into the undergrowth of the thistle maze and scouts around while Fluff flies recon overhead.
Cerin in the Thistle Maze...
The stench of death permeates the Thistle Maze, as the corpses of dead goblin-zombies and a carrion crawler fester in the humid, still air. Flies buzz around the bodies, and several rats scurry away when you approach. The only other sound is that of surf and water sloshing from the chasm in the largest room. Cerin makes it to the rope bridge witout finding any other dagers.
* * * *
Fluff shakes her head and mutters, "...and here I thought I'd get a little more respect after almost dying on your fool adventures... She then flutters into the air and flies over the thistle maze, out of sight.
About five minutes later, Fluff returns, landing on Gwyn's head. "Only thing of interest I saw was what I thought was a falcon, so I dropped low. Turns out it was only an osprey, and they don't have a taste for songbirds, so I kept going. Other than seagulls, I didn't see anything moving on the rock or in the courtyard. But I did see something big swimming around in the water below the bridge. I couldn't see what it was, but it didn't look like a fish."
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Cerin opens the secret entrance to the maze with an exaggerated flourish. "Welcome to the graveyard! You might want to hold your breath, it's quite pungent in here. We probably should have buried or tossed the bodies over the cliff. I can only imagine what it will be like in the fortress itself; all those bodies in an enclosed space..."
He leads them in a roundabout path to the bridge, avoiding the majority of the bodies, and tests it before hurrying across to listen at the door to the fortress.
Kyrian chuckles at the exchange between Gwtn and her thrush, then pulls an arrow out for good measure. Following Cerin back into the thicket, the stench hits him quickly. "We could have just burned down the thicket as well ya know..." he says after Cerin's comments.
"You get used to the scent of death, after awhile," Orik says to Cerin. "At least we're not doing this mid-summer. Those gob corpses would be ripe then." As they head through the thickets, Orik unlimbers his sword and shield, ready for action against...well, whatever has taken up residence at Thistletop.
"Okay, sounds like we should be okay as long as we don't go for a dip. As for the brambles," Gwyn grins wickedly as she whips out a wand that has Fluff's eyes bugging out in fear, "burning them is always an option!"
Placing a hand on Gwyn's wand, Helena gently pushes it down a couple of inches. "How about we save that for anything pointy-teethed and hungry for songbirds?" she asks, raising one eyebrow and smiling. As the group treks through the "graveyard", she pulls a scarf up over her nose, eyes watering at the smell, faint as it is from the distance.
Gwyn gives Helena a sorrowful look as she slowly puts the wand away.
"Don't tell her that!" Fluff squeaks, "She'll roast me for sure!"
"Too bad this isn't a tavern or I really would," Gwyn mutters as she turns to enter the nettle hedge.