Viorec Liberty |
Viorec decides to just be blunt. So why are orrioscopes illegal in these parts? He asks.
Bluff: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (20) + 9 = 29
Then, anticipating Curphetes incredulity, he let his voice take on a notably clipped and haughty accent My magical education had taken place in a northern Cheliaxian academy associated with House Leroung, and thus I am unfamiliar with the finer details of laws and customs of Varisia.
He then lets his voice return to the it's more familiar style, but with a quicker cadence. I'm originally from Nirmathas he states, as if to temper any reation to the mention of Varisia's former overlords.
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (4) + 5 = 9
DM Rasq'uire'laskar |
1d20 + 3 ⇒ (14) + 3 = 17
1d20 + 2 ⇒ (18) + 2 = 20
1d20 + 3 ⇒ (11) + 3 = 14
1d20 ⇒ 18
1d20 + 5 ⇒ (5) + 5 = 10
The man coughs as a question about the local druids collides with a reflexive "There's no such thing as a tame raptor" on the way up.
"I'm not a hunter, lass, more'va trapper. Not te sure what I'll be doing in these parts if I don't move on. Farmers might want traps fer pest control, and the town's in dire need of Goblin traps. I might just set up shop in town."
-----
If Curphetes holds anything against Viorec's connections to the Chelaxian Empire, he doesn't show it. If anything, he looks relieved to see that Viorec didn't catch on to his dirty little secret.
"They're not illegal. Look, an Orrioscope is just an enchanted glass disk with markings. Hold it up to the sunlight, and it tells you your latitude and longitude. Flip it around, and it shows the time. It's a much sought-after navigational aid."
Curphetes pauses to wipe sweat from his brow. To be fair, the afternoon sun is rather harsh today.
"The Union of Glassmakers and Potters of Magnimar awarded the inventor a lifetime monopoly on the production of Orrioscopes, and he just turns out a few every month. Someone is making them on the sly and making a killing while they're at it, but it isn't us, even if that dumb broad thinks we are."
He waits for a couple of browsers to finish admiring Viorec and wander away before speaking again.
"We are getting into the business of crafting magic items. If you ask Master Lonjiku about it, he'll give you the whole spiel about how there's no real future in plate glass windows and bottles. I'm sure you have better things to do with your time."
"Genas Vesht is the wizard we hired up from Westcrown. He's an expert in enchantments, so he'll be training you if Master Lonjiku hires you. They're finishing up a project at the Glassworks right now, but they should be finished in a few hours. You'll find everyone in Cracktooth's Tavern sometime around four or five."
Viorec Liberty |
Viorec perks up.
A Westcrowni Wizard you say?
It's clear from his expression that he's more intrigued now. Then he seems to remember something.
Where would I want to by stationary and notary supplies? There's something I'd like to take care of before I forget. And possibly a leather-smith?
DM Rasq'uire'laskar |
1d20 + 1 ⇒ (10) + 1 = 11
1d20 + 3 ⇒ (7) + 3 = 10
1d20 + 0 ⇒ (1) + 0 = 1
"The Curious Goblin would have everything you need, down on Main Street. The Goblins try to burn it down every raid, but they never manage to do much damage. As for the leathersmith, go to the Rovanky Tannery on Undercliff Way. Larz Rovanky is probably back at work already." Curphetes says as he packs up what little merchandise he hasn't sold yet. "See you down at Cracktooth's in a few hours."
-----
"No, no, Goblins are fine if there's a market," the man says, waving his hand dismissively.
He looks at Paul expectantly, shrugs, and continues. "The name is Lasten Tella. I'm a trapper, you're a trapper, I'm new to the area and don't want to step on your toes. After all the big events this hunting season, I'll need to find some occupational niche, and it looks like Goblins might be it."
Abbicka |
This conversation is interesting, but I have nothing to offer, and I don't really want to intrude... Abbicka thinks, letting out a soft sigh. She turns to Paul, waiting for a pause in the conversation so as not to interrupt. "Well, it looks like the crowds have mostly dispersed. I appreciate you letting me hide here; I'm not good with crowds." She gives a curt nod and goes off to find Jensen.
Viorec Liberty |
Yeah, see you there.
And with that Viorec walks to the indicated store. The sign out in front of this shop shows a wide-eyed Goblin reading
a book nearly as tall as him. Inside, this bookshop is a testament to one man’s obsession with the printed word. Both the depth and price of the collection serve to ward off most locals, though apparently not the goblins. As Viorec enters, Chask Haladan is cleaning up the damage from the day's raid.
I hope nothing irreplaceable was lost? Viorec asks as he cast Prestidigitation to clean off a book.
No, I've long learned to leave nothing valuable towards the front. The goblins seem to in trashing my store during these little raids, though they don't usually make it into the building Chask says with a weary sigh, as he surveys the damage. It seems they've only knocked over some basic writing supplies. Thanks for the help by the way, did you come here for something specifically?
Which happens to be exactly what Viorec is looking for at the moment, and Viorec is quickly able to find an ink bottle and journal that he likes.
Just this Viorec replies, presenting the goods So how far back would I have to go to find any scripts on the Thassilonians?
Chask looks away from the mess at his customer and recognition crosses his face I have you to thank for driving them off earlier don't I? I should correct the price on those, I wouldn't sell damaged goods for full price.
Beyond a little dirt there is no obvious damage to the book, nothing a little magic wouldn't fix.
DM: 5 GP for the whole lot (ink, book, and the satchel)
As for any books, If I have any I'd have to search for them. I wouldn't be able to get them to you any time soon, anyway. You're welcome to look for yourself of course.
I'm afraid I don't have the time today, though I'd appreciate if you kept an eye out for me. Viorec responds as he pays.
With his supplies bought he makes his way to the Tannery and finds what he wants without much fuss. He buys a leather officers bag, a bag featuring a rectangular main pouch just about the right size for the journal, a side pouch featuring a square of wood with a hole drilled in it to protect the ink-bottle, and a longer pocket for quills, razors, utensils, or other things an officer would need, along with mounting rings and a strap. Viorec places the writing supplies into the satchel and makes his way to the stables. Along the way Aislin makes a contribution. Sensing her owner's intentions she had snacked on a raven, torn off it's wing, and brought it to Viorec. Viorec takes the best pinion feathers from the wing and continues to the stables. There, he quickly carves one of the feathers into a quill and writes something in Thassilonian into his journal. He then returns the journal to his pouch, attaches the pouch to his donkey's pack saddle, and makes his way to the tavern.
DM Rasq'uire'laskar |
Abbicka doesn't have to wander far to find Jensen Keupher; she saw the Elf opening the window in his apartment, just above Paul's stall. His door is unlocked, and the little Gnome finds him sitting in front of the sketch. It's more complete than the last time she saw it, and now he's busy adding sinister Goblins hiding beneath wagons and within thatched roofs.
"The conquering hero returns!" he says in greeting.
-------------
The tavern is dark inside, or it would be if it weren't for Aislin's presence. All of the patrons are workers from the glassworks getting some much needed rest after hours of working molten glass and putting out fires. They've drawn the shades and passed around buckets of cold, fresh water, and a few turn to look at the newcomer with irritation.
The only warm welcome Viorec gets comes from a center table, where Curphetes sits next to a middle-aged Human with a toothy smile and more than enough chins to see him through old age.
"Hail, well met," Genash Vesht says. "Fellow Cheliaxian, fellow student of the arcane, and fellow scholar of the Thassilonians. What brings you here?"
Viorec Liberty |
Viorec keeps his voice pleasant, but low enough not to be heard by or disturb the other patrons.
Hail. I'm actually in these lands to study the Thassilonians. I've run low on funds though, and the ability to earn more in a well-respected manner appears to have presented itself. May I presume that you are the wizard Vesht?
As he speaks he takes at the table. If offered a cup of water, he cast Prestidigitation to flavor it as an automatic response.
DM Rasq'uire'laskar |
Previously on Rise of the Runelords...
It was a perfectly grand autumn festival, held to commemorate the completion of Sandpoint's new cathedral. The men and women made merry, the ale flowed, and the officials orated until even they were bored to tears.
Then came the Goblins. They brought fire and they wrought destruction, and they were at the cusp of inflicting some serious property damage when four ordinary citizens stood up and fought back. These were paragons with hearts of steel who realized that the typical Goblin was only three feet tall and barely knew which end of the knife to hold. Tales will be told for years to come of how the sorcerer fended off the Goblins with clever illusions, or how the ranger beheaded Goblins by the wagonload, or how the druid unleashed a small feathery avatar of death upon the raiders.
The Goblin leader and his mangy mount were slain, and the survivors fled for their lives. But barely had the party time to bask in the praise of the awestruck noble they'd rescued when they received a message from the mastermind behind the raid. Through the lips of a slaughtered Goblin, she promised to return to Sandpoint in a week's time and burn the coastal town to the shoreline.
This threat appears to have been regarded as Somebody Else's Problem. For now, our heroes have returned to Sandpoint and seem eager to go on with their lives.
Viorec Liberty
The single waitress in Cracktooth's Tavern looks up from the tankards she's cleaning and gives Viorec an inquisitive look. The rest of the patrons go back to their muttered conversations, popular topics of which seem to be the local raid or something the workers refer to as "the Job" with a capital "J".
"You may," Genas Vesht says. "You may also presume that I am a learned practitioner of magic from the halls of Westcrown, a scholar of that most fascinating empire of the Thassilonians, and most recently an employee of the local glassworks."
The wizard murmurs a spell, and a spectral hand pushes a chair over to the table and beckons for Viorec to take a seat.
"As far as I'm concerned, you are hired even if Mr. Kaijitsu doesn't yet know it. So let us set aside the talk of business. What draws you to the Thassilonians?"
Abbicka
"You stood out there, you fought the Goblins, and you came back alive," Jensen says. "Leave the nonsense about fearlessness in the face of mortal danger to the bards."
Abbicka's duty to escort Jensen Keupher was a paid position, and the Elf took it upon himself to pay her wages. He'd brought a sheaf of magical scrolls from the university, all but useless to the scholars there because they were written in Druidric script. But they were a treasure to Abbicka, and as he sets two on the table before her, she realizes that he just doubled her weekly pay.
That will be a Read Magic spell or a Spellcraft check with a DC of 22 to decipher each scroll.
Paul Reinjer
Lasten Tella wanders off, and Paul's admirers fade away. His rack of furs is almost bare, but just when he's thinking of packing up and calling it a day, the sailor from earlier shows up.
"Hey, hero. That guy you were talking to earlier? You do realize that he's a poacher, right?"
Janaga
Naffer Vosk hears out Janaga's story and with a simple "Follow me" leads her deeper into the Cathedral
Twenty townsfolk lay on cots in the foyer, nursing cuts and burns. Either the priests exhausted their magic before they could tend to everyone, or the healed wounds are still fragile. To Janaga's surprise, Aldern Foxglove is still here, though not as a patient. He's draped a bandage over his wounded leg and taken upon himself to console the other patients.
"Let me see. It can't be that bad."
The young girl he's talking to seems doubtful, if excited to be the attention of a noble from Magnimar. Still, she removes the bandage on her cheek to show him the gash underneath.
"Oh dear. Oh my goodness gracious. You can't possibly go out in public with that!"
Everyone in the room turns to glare at Aldern, and one of the priests even stops his surgery mid-stitch. He takes no notice of it, and Janaga gets the feeling that he's very practiced at not caring what others think of him.
"The swashbuckling fashion is all the rage in Magnimar," Aldern explains before the girl could break into sobs. "If you walk through the streets with a daring scar like that, you shall have to beat off admirers with a stick!"
"Are you fooling me?" she asks.
"Heavens, no. Look at this sword." Aldern produces the cutlass he'd fallen on earlier. It was so bent that the scabbard wouldn't come off. "The blade is just a bit of cheap tin, hardly fit for fighting with. Tell me, would I carry around this ridiculous thing if I weren't desperate to impress someone?"
The little girl giggles, and Aldern catches sight of Janaga.
"Molly, do you see that woman over there? Her name is Janaga, and she and her friends saved my life. If anyone can save your mother, it's her."
"Janaga," Naffer Vosk whispers, leaning halfway out the door to the monks' quarters. "Over here."
"A bunch of farmers carried Rodney in. They said that you said that he'd been cursed by a necromancer. Do you know what spell was cast on him?"
Abbicka |
Abbicka stares at the scrolls on the table for a long moment, before finally sighing and sinking back into her chair. "I appreciate your support, Jensen." She picks up the first scroll and unrolls it. "I don't have a spell prepared to discern the meaning, but I always liked the way the Druidic runes and glyphs looked..." She fiddles with the scroll for a little bit, then rolls it up and sets it down. "Why'd it have to come to killing, though? I mean, I know that predation is a part of the natural cycle, but was that really what happened back there? I guess, at least for us, it was about survival..." Abbicka picks up the second scroll and unfurls it, more appreciating the look of the script than the meaning.
DM Rasq'uire'laskar |
"A Sczarni poacher respects no law," the sailor says. "They're a lot like Goblins, come to think of it, but they're smarter and their heads are higher off the ground. I'm glad to get him off my ship."
She grins, a smile of pearly white teeth framed by crimson lips and dark curls.
"I believe introductions are in order. My name is Esmeralda, and I'm a boatswain on the Evertide. Are you and your, ah, Goblin Cleaver doing anything tonight?"
----------
"Are Goblins really a part of the natural cycle?" Jensen asks as he sketches a Goblin ineffectively concealing itself behind a wagon wheel. "They're intelligent enough to set themselves apart from nature. They make tools and build dwellings, but they're not intelligent enough to see the consequences of their actions. They're rather like children in that regard."
Abbicka |
"All life is part of the natural cycle," Abbicka is quick to recite. "But I do suppose intelligence gets in the way of things... When we think we're clever, we tend to disrupt the cycle. Killing for greed, or worse, for sport." Abbicka pauses as she sets the second scroll down and looks up at the ceiling, as if there's something there to see. "I wonder, sometimes. Do the goblins attack Sandpoint for necessity, greed, or sport? I mean, sure, they make it seem like greed and sport, with their gleeful expressions, but what would happen to the goblins if they didn't attack. I wonder if they even remember how to cultivate the land..."
Lost in thought, Abbicka closes her eyes for a long moment. "I should go check on Lashy again," she finally decides. Talking to Lashy always clears my head, she thinks to herself. I wonder if its because he can't normally talk back... She casts a somewhat guilty glance back at Jensen. It's not his fault, she decides. I just need to work through my thoughts on my own.
Viorec Liberty |
I had an... enlightening experience exploring a Thassilonian ruin in my youth. That got me interested, and I've always enjoyed politics from a distance, and there is no greater distance than time. So I started to study what I could on them and found it wasn't a lot. Why, I'm still unsure whether Thassilon was an empire or a coalition.
Viorec explains.
So there I was, the fourth son of a Nirmathian merchant lord, developing an interest in an almost omnipresent yet surprisingly unexplored field. There was no way I could pursue anything else.
Viorec's expression turns intrigued, and he counters with questions of his own.
followed breathlessly with his Common questions
I would be very interested in any theories or research you'd have. And where did you study, if I might ask?
As he finishes his question, Viorec mindlessly pours himself a cup of water, then mumbles his prestidigitation.
DM Rasq'uire'laskar |
Abbicka hears Jensen say something in parting as the door closes, perhaps a farewell in his native Elven tongue.
Things have taken a turn for the better outside. The people who are integral to Sandpoint's defense or reconstruction are hard at work, and everyone else is determined to have a good time. The rugby game is in full swing, though Daverin Hosk is nowhere to be seen. The Valdemar and Scarnetti families have joined resources and are already preparing dinner for the whole town.
Things get a lot less jovial when the young Druidess reaches Northgate. It has been fortified with nearly a dozen guards, all of them glaring at her. The ranking officer seems to be a burly dwarf woman standing in front of the gates, and her expression turns sour when she sees Abbicka approach.
-------
Smiling, Genash raises a tumbler of frosted glass and raps it sharply against the table. Nothing seems to happen. He hesitates, raps it again, and then sighs and sticks a finger into the drink.
"Chuch!"
A thin film of frost spreads across the surface of the water. After three more repetitions, there are cubes of ice bobbing in the drink.
"This is the sort of enchantment we've been working on at the Glassworks," he explains. "Obviously, problems remain in the design."
"Myself, I studied the schools of Enchantment and Transmutation at the Vancian Academy of Westcrown. I didn't concern myself with the Thassilonian story until late into my professorship, when I looked around and realized that the Chelaxian empire was approaching an inevitable demise. I won't be around to see it, so I wondered what other empires met the same fate. What happened to their people afterward? That is when the lost empire captured my imagination, for we know so little about it."
"If it's theories you seek, I would recommend meeting me later tonight in this very tavern. There's a fellow from out of town whose interest regarding the disappeared Thassilonians dovetails with ours, though we've debated each other to a standstill. Some new blood would be most welcome."
----------
"Sure thing," Esmeralda says. "There's a dance down at the theater in a couple of hours. I'd love to see what your footwork looks like when you aren't trying to kill something."
At this point, it's about 3:00 in the afternoon.
DM Rasq'uire'laskar |
The Dwarf blocks Abbicka's way with a quarterstaff. "The gate is shut on account of the Goblins. We're only opening it for armed groups."
Abbicka's Sense Motive roll: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (5) + 4 = 9
Abbicka has never talked with this officer before, but she gets the distinct impression that the Dwarf doesn't like her.
----------
Esmeralda runs her fingers through the last fox fur and then sets off for the southern half of town, probably the docks. Paul makes no further sales, and no-one bothers him as he takes down his booth.
Anything you need to do in the meantime? Visit shops?
Viorec Liberty |
I know where I'll be this evening then Viorec replies.
Though if Cheliax should ever truly fall, it shall come as a great surprise... From Aroden to the Thrune Ascendancy... Cheliax has a history of attending it's own funeral. That's if it's Hellish advisers would allow it to die. Viorec replies, as if reciting an disliked fact...
He then repeats Genash's earlier display, substituting his own Thassilonian phrases and a theatrical "blowing on your liquid to cool it down" liquid to similarly ice his drink.
"I suppose I'll be learning to teach cups to do this on their own?"
DM Rasq'uire'laskar |
"Your companion was never welcome within the city," says the Dwarf, who Abbicka thinks may be named Merena. "Now it is not welcome, end. If it comes within arrow range of the walls, we will shoot it."
The Dwarf steps around in front of Abbicka and brings herself to her full height, perhaps two inches taller than the Gnome. "We know what the butcher-bird did to Rodney. We all know that Hemlock looks after his friends, but we look after each other. And we will hold you responsible for what your pet did."
"Leave."
Despite the Sergeant's dismissal, the watchmen atop the wall do not open the gates. They stare resolutely outward, ignoring the druidess's presence.
----------
"Indeed," Genash Vesht chuckles. "Long have the doomsayers warned us of an impending, ultimate doom, and time and time again they have been fatally pessimistic. But undeniably, each crisis has left us the lesser. We are contracting, and time may come when our patrons in the Outer Planes desert us for more promising nations. The death of an empire is a slow process, rarely like the cataclysmic even that took the Thassillonians."
"But yes, cups enchanted to cool their drinks are but one of the items we're working on. Also of note are the... er, glass spheres that produce flames when knocked together. But those are just ideas on a paper, really, nothing we've put to practice yet."
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (15) + 3 = 18
Genash takes a hurried drink of his beer, eyes darting around the room. He was clearly about to talk about something sensitive when he remembered himself. Orrioscopes, perhaps?
DM Rasq'uire'laskar |
"Bull-s@%*!" one of the guards yells from the ramparts.
"An apt rebuttal," Merena says. "We know what a raptor attack looks like, druidess. You cleaned the blood off his coat with magic and the cleric healed Rodney's wounds before anyone could get a look at them, but the tears on his coat are from a raptor's claws. Plus, the man's screaming and incoherent babbling is the typical response to waking up covered in your own blood with a butcher-bird standing on you."
Janaga |
"I believe it was some sort of Fear, but I would need to examine him closer now that we have him away from the battlements." Janaga leans in closer to Naffer. "We need to talk, privately the two of us. So that I can explain truly why I went out. You have to promise you won't hate me." Her eyes betray her for a moment the true worry of the details she's about to disclose.
Viorec Liberty |
Sounds like an application of the spark spell. I get the feeling that these items differ from spells or scrolls in some way that allows the non-magical to utilize them, especially if we're inducing prestidigitational effects. Viorec ruminates. He then asks But the less the user is required to do, the more expensive the item gets... How are you able to produce itens that anyone can afford?
Abbicka |
"Rodney was asleep. That suit you guys make him wear is nice and all, but he was alone with Lashtail for, what, ten minutes, completely defenseless? And the worst he got was a bite on his hand and some scratches on his jacket? Have you seen a raptor attack before? Because if you guys think that's what a raptor attack looks like, you clearly haven't seen what Lashtail did to the goblins. They were awake, armored, and armed, and he cut a pair of them down to save Rodney's life."
Abby sighs as she comes back to herself. At least I don't feel bad about what happened with the goblins anymore. She tries to square up with the dwarf guard, but her determined visage almost immediately cracks, overwhelmed by exhaustion. "Now please let me through," she manages in a tone that isn't quite begging. "I need to check on Lashy."
DM Rasq'uire'laskar |
"A promise easily given," Naffer Vosk says as he reverses course. A moment later, the two monks are alone in the kitchen.
"I'm all ears."
----------
"Ah, yes, our enchantments do not have many of the limitations commonly associated with scrolls and wands... but neither do they have many of the benefits. This tumbler, when we get it working correctly and a proper assembly line going, can be used by the layman and shall be quite affordable. Unfortunately, the enchantment will not last much longer than five years, unless there is something more hidden in the remarkable sands of Sandpoint."
"The other limitation is that the enchantments aren't much more powerful than cantrips. Anything as complex as the simplest spell, and the rather unusual enchantment technique we've developed will fall apart. Quite the drawback, that."
----------
"We know what a raptor attack looks like, little girl. They always go after the weak ones first."
"We only open the gate for parties and carts. If you really need to see your raptor that bad, we've thrown a rope over the side of the wall."
Abbicka |
"You're kidding, right? Armed goblins are weaker than a sleeping guard? That's what you're going with? How far does this delusion of yours go!? Lashtail saves a guard's life and helps repel an attack on the city, but all anyone can think about is 'oh, he's a raptor' and 'oh, he bit someone on the hand' and 'oh, raptors are bad' and it's getting old. I'll just go get Hemlock and put an end to this lunacy." Abbicka turns and begins to storm off.
Janaga |
"You remember how we were when we first met. We were both alone. We were both...searching for something. No it was really, running from something." Janaga's words trip over one another as she attempts to find the direction of the conversation. Her hair falls into her face as she drops her head. "Somewhere between our friendship and all the running, I fell, I fell in love with you. I fell in love with the man you are now. I wanted to leave all the violence of our pasts behind us. I thought I could give that up, that part of me. I thought I could give it up for you, for..." her face is burning scarlet with a string of timpani pounding from her heart to her ears."for us. For what we could be. The meals and time we've shared together have been the stars in my life. You've hung the heavens back in my sky over the course of your company. I don't want to lose us, but I can't keep lying to myself, or you. I miss my past. I miss the battlefield." She extends a hand, reaching for his. "Please don't be angry with me, you promised."
Viorec Liberty |
I'm surprised to hear a Chelaxian consider the obsolescence and subsequent need to replace a household item which he sells as unfortunate. When you mention the sands of Sandpoint though... Viorec trails off as he takes a drink, inviting Vesht to elaborate on any unique properties or treasures which may lie in the sand.
DM Rasq'uire'laskar |
"Let her go," Abbicka hears Merena say. Even so, she can feel eyes on her back as she storms down the road.
Sheriff Hemlock said he was holding a meeting down at the Goblin Squash Stables. Perhaps he is still there?
----------
Naffer Vosk sighs and leans against the counter. "You're a hard woman to be angry with, Janaga."
"Even before you told me of your life before you came to Sandpoint, I guessed most of the details. The important ones, anyway. All this time, I've been afraid that your bloodlust and wanderlust would drive you out of this town in search of someplace better. If it comes to that, I'll be right behind you."
----------
"Yes, you see, Sandpoint is built over the ruins of an old Thassilonian seaport. The bricks and stones and foundations of the buildings in that port were woven together with the sort of spells we rarely see today. But time wore away those enchantments and wore down those ancient walls. All that's left is a particularly fine sand that holds enchantments better than any substance I've held in my hands. And, of course, the Old Light."
Viorec Liberty |
Viorec is visibly fascinated by Genash's tale of the sands. Well, it seems I have come into most fortuitous employment then. I don't know if I've explained this, but I am a, WAS I guess, something of a transient archeologist, with what funds I made paying for my expeditions. All focused around the Thassilonians, of course. Now I get to Viorec chuckles at his forthcoming explanation continue to dig in the sand and ruins of that great empire and be paid for rather than pay for it .
DM Rasq'uire'laskar |
Sorry about the two week wait
Abbicka's journey is uneventful until she turns down River Street and steps right into the middle of a Kaijitsu argument.
The four founding families are all different. The Valdemars are good-natured, and one never has an unkind word about another. The Scarnettis are quarrelsome and have kept an 11-sided family feud going for eighteen years and counting, but a Scarnetti always has an alibi and two other Scarnettis to back him up. The Deverin clan have had strong disagreements in the past, but it never spilled into a public venue.
The Kaijitsu are not on speaking terms.
Sandpoint was quiet for a while after Lonjiku's wife died and his children left town. But when his daughter Ameiko returned, so did the monthly shouting matches.
"I will not see my daughter-"
"I'm not leaving the Rusty Dragon."
"It's a disgrace!" Lonjiku bellows. Up and down the street, the citizens of Sandpoint watch in morbid fascination or pretend that they can't hear the screaming. "It's a filthy hovel of rotten timbers and rats and drunkards! You were a fool to sink your ill-gotten money into it, and you were a disgrace to-"
Ameiko hauls back and punches her father in the face. The old man stumbles and falls flat in the street. With help from a square-jawed broad-shouldered man in street armor, he climbs back to his feet and realizes for the first time that he's drawn an audience. Some avert their eyes, but most are happy to see the glassmaker receive his comeuppance.
Cheeks burning with shame and rage, Lonjiku glares at his daughter and says "You are as dead to me as your mother."
"And it's been ages since I cared what you thought of anything." Ameiko retorts.
Lonjiku spins on his heel and storms off, with the heavyset man close behind him. Abbicka hears Lonjiku ranting to his follower all the way up the street. "Tried to raise her proper, just like back home... don't know where she got those wild ideas from, her mother knew her place..."
Ameiko storms in the opposite direction, a cloud of anger and resentment trailing behind her. Even if she didn't have a reputation as a fearless adventurer who could layout drunk and belligerent lumberjacks at closing time and haul them out onto the street, people would have given her a wide berth.
At the end of River Street is Market Street, and a few buildings down from that junction is the Goblin Squash Stables.
Daviren Hosk was a ranger for thirty years. After his retirement from the woodlands he bought a stable to keep himself busy. But in his time ranging the hills around Sandpoint, he'd fought a one-man war against the Goblins that ended in the death of a Goblin warchief and the extinction of the Bonegrinder Tribe.
Of course, Hosk didn't want to be forgotten. Not by the people of Sandpoint, not by the Goblins. To this effect, the sign of the Goblin Squash stables is a cowering Goblin about to be trampled beneath a horse's hooves. The display only gets more impressive as Abbicka walks inside, as three of the rafters are covered in the proprietor's collection of Goblin ears, each one with the owner's name branded on them. Somewhere in back is Hosk's pride and joy, a large glass jar filled with brine and the preserved body of Chief Whartus.
It gets the neighbors talking, but Goblin raiders have yet to come anywhere near the stables for fear that their names would be written down and stolen from the minds of the living. And it's a particularly appropriate setting for a war meeting.
At the head of a table sit Sheriff Hemlock, Mayor Deverin, and Daviren Hosk. The rest of the table is the city council, business owners and merchants whose resources must go into the defense of the city. So far, they do not look convinced that this latest Goblin raid was anything more than a raid.
OK, sorry about the infodump. What does Abbicka do now?
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"It was a Fear spell," Naffer Vosk says. "But try as we might, we couldn't free him from the aftereffects. We knew that it couldn't just be a fear curse, but we were stumped as to what else could be afflicting poor Rodney. The best we could do is turn away from him and help the others."
"We... this church isn't hallowed ground, not until we sanctify it tonight. But we do have some holy relics that weren't destroyed in the fire. By sheer luck, Goodie Hather covered the poor man with the old altar sheet, and he recovered from his catatonia instantly."
Naffer Vosk picks up a glass pitcher and peers through it, contemplating the streaks his fingers leave on the glass. "If you look just right, you can see the scars on his soul. That spell marked Rodney for a phobophage, a demon that nurtures fear in a man's heart and feeds upon his terror. That creature preyed upon his mind from the moment he fell outside the gates. Rodney would still be at the mercy of the demon if we hadn't broken the connection by blind luck."
"You say that it was a necromancer behind this attack, but I'm afraid that it's something far worse. And now your bloodlust demands that you seek the heart of battle when we need you most."
The monk takes Janaga's hands his his, and runs clumsy fingers over scars that anyone who trains with a sword inevitably receives. "We have many fighters in this town. In three days, we can summon as many mercenaries from Magnimar as the moneylenders and merchants see fit to protect their investments. What we need is every builder and every healer we can find if we're going to live this week out."
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The door to Cracktooth's Tavern slams open and Lonjiku storms in.
"Gents, we've got a leak."
Both bartenders make themselves scarce. The barmaid reacts much in the same way she'd react if a raging tiger had barreled through the door. She delivers the mage's drinks so fast that froth spills across the table and rushes for the back room.
"When we started this whole business with the Orioscopes, I warned each and every one of you to keep quiet. If the Glassblower's Guild ever realized that we were violating their precious monopoly, they would break up the glassworks and ship it back to the city to be sold for coppers on the platinum. None of us would so much as cut a windowpane again, and the rest of the guilds would blacklist your children and your children's children."
"So, this leak-" one of the workers asks as Genash frantically tries to catch Lonjiku's attention.
"I'm going to take care of it myself," Lonjiku says, rapping his cane on the bar. "In the meantime, I want you all to think long and hard about who you talked to, and where you were overheard. No one who doesn't work at the glassworks, not your wives, not your children, not-"
Lonjiku Kaijitsu's tirade is brought to a screeching halt when he catches sight of Viorec Liberty. "Who. Are. You."
Viorec Liberty |
Viorec adopts a courteous courtly manner as he rises to introduce himself.
My name is Viorec Liberty Viorec says with a flourishing bow. Archeologist, goblin-slaying man-of-the-hour, and prospective future employee.
And do not worry Viorec continues, his unwavering courteousness seeming more disingenuous about shouting to me that you are violating some monopoly. I've heard reference to it from no less then three persons since this morning's festivities.
He finishes by pondering Though this does call into question the intelligence of accepting the position...
DM Rasq'uire'laskar |
Abbicka is not alone for long before Daviren Hosk steps out of the stable and dismissively kicks the sand from his trouser cuffs.
"Sheriff asked me to ask if everything is alright, by which he means 'Would you kindly come in here and help me convince these lunkheads that they're under attack'. Waste of time."
He kneels next to Abbicka. "What's bothering you? Did you come out of the fight alright?"
-----------
The glassworkers had endured Lonjiku's rant with a sort of tired patience, as if this is the sort of thing you get used to when you work for him. But now they're apprehensive, fearful even, as Lonjiku glares at Viorec. Silence has replaced the idle chatter in the tavern, broken only by the slow deliberate tapping of Lonjiku's cane.
"Boss," Genas Vesht says gently. "The easiest way to keep him silent is to hire him."
"Then he should consider himself hired," Lonjiku replies. "And then he will tell me who he heard about the Orioscopes from."
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6 Viorec senses no danger at all!
DM Rasq'uire'laskar |
"And his hand is still attached, is it?" Hosk asks with a smile. "All in jest, of course. Lashtail's a beast after my heart. Haven't seen anything do to a Goblin what it's done in a long time."
For the rest of the trip, Hosk leaves off on the talk of slaughtering Goblins, sticking instead to talk of defending the town. This occupies him for the rest of the walk to Northgate.
"And we'll have to make new poles for the militia's polearms. Bastard Goblins with masks snuck in and set fire to the armor- Hallo, Merena. Still trying to make trouble for the Sheriff, are we?" Quick as a flash, Daviren Hosk steps around the dwarf, unbars the gate, and kicks one of the doors open.
"You old fool, I'm not-"
"Abbicka, d'you mind stepping outside so I can close the gate and have a proper discussion about the chain of command? Just knock when you need back in."
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"I spoke to Viorec of the Orioscopes most recently," Ganesh says, deciding to navigate the treacherous waters for his new protege. "And before that, young Curphetes was forced to explain the nature of Orioscopes after a sailor brazenly walked up to his booth and asked if he had any to sell. Doubtlessly, this is entwined with your leak."
Lonjiku leans back in his chair, not quite convinced.
Abbicka |
Abbicka gives Daviren a quick nod of thanks, and then wordlessly scuttles out the gate. Once the door is closed, she exhales slowly, looking around for Lashtail.
"There you are," she sighs, moving just off the road, where Lashtail is laying beneath a small tree growing not quite close enough to the wall to be a concern. Taking a seat next to him, Abbicka lays a hand on his back, more for her benefit than his. "I wish I could be so carefree that I could sleep in the aftermath of what happened..." she comments to nobody in particular. Lashtail opens one eye to consider her, then lets out a quick snort and returns to his nap. Abbicka runs her hand across his back, petting him slowly. "The things that that goblin...that the necromancer said...driving Sandpoint into the sea...I don't want something like that to happen, but is it even my place to defend civilization, the antithesis of nature?"
Leaning against Lashtail, she reaches over and begins scratching at the nape of his neck, behind where his brow ridges sweeps down towards the hinge of his jaw, just above his crest. Without opening his eyes, Lashtail lifts his head a little, making a soft guttural sound. "I wish things could be simpler. I wish things would stay the way they were before, except maybe that the town's people would warm up to you and stop treating you like some kind of wild beast." Reaching into her pack, she draws out some more jerked meat. Lashtail lifts his nose and sniffs a few times, then cranes his neck up over Abbicka's shoulder. "Now now, don't just swallow it down. I don't know when the next time I can bring you some is. You may to hunt for yourself in the future, but try and stay out of trouble, ok? Abbicka waits a moment, as if Lashtail can understand her words, and when she is satisfied, gives over the jerky. He gobbles it down like a greedy child, and Abbicka chuckles a bit, before standing. "Stay here. If you get hungry, you can hunt, but make sure to come back here afterwards. Ok?" Lashtail knew a few of those words, and gives a small yip in response, somewhere between a bark and a chirp.
Abbicka turned back for the gate, glancing back at Lashtail uncertainly and reiterating, "Stay here." Hopefully Daviren is still here, or they might not let me back in, she worries to herself. When she comes up to the gate, she gives it three solid knocks.