"Tell me Amaku, who is this man, that he draws others to him like this?"
Amaku pauses to look over the fine platters of food left by Lord Vhalantru and his servants. Numerous buildings have been smashed and the best pieces looted. Nothing but the rinds, scraps and broken toothpicks at this point. The city of food looks like an earthquake hit it--or worse--and a shiver runs down his spine.
Water? He wants water? The flood season is coming, but at least his inn is safe here on higher ground. Besides, there hasnt' been a flood in years with the churches keeping the water at bay.
Amaku grabs a mostly clean glass off a table, wipes it out with his mostly dirty towel, and scoops water out of the lake of water from the ice sculpture. The top of the west gate has melted away and the Morkath is free--another shiver. He places the glass of water on the table in front of Finneas. "I know him not. Haven't had much use for religion myself. I've led a blessed life, but wouldn't say I have anyone in particular to thank for it. Guess I'm just lucky."
While talking, Karu walks over and picks up the copy of Common Sense, flipping the pages of the small book, driven by curiosity more than anything else.
Dyrant tells Karu, "You can keep the book, it means little to me now for I know it by heart. And even if I didn't, would it matter any longer?"
Dyrant snuffles, more snoot running from his nose. He wipes them and the accumulated tears away with pass of his sleeve.
"Karu, what gods to you know now? Would they be interested in one without the divine spark? Tell me of your god. I probably already know him, but I would hear you speak of him."
* * *
"To answer your question, I certainly don't pity you. And if I may be so bold, you may be better off without that grand cathedral. I've found when a lot of folks lock themselves inside pearly walls and agree on everything, they go further from the truth."
Dyrant finishes his drink as the Frasier speaks, the liquid no longer burning his throat. He realizes an even greater tragedy from the days events, but fails to find the words to utter them.
Dyrant reacts with conflict at Frasier's words. On one hand, he is the man holding the drink and therefore must be treated kindly. On the other hand, he just told Dyrant that his hopes and dreams were worthless and stillborn upon conception.
My hopes and dreams and all that I have worked for are worthless. Absolutely. Shattered dreams. He is right.
Dyrant takes the full glass of rum from Dr. Toffitt and stands.
Clearing his throat, the begins an oration: "Gentlemen, a toast! Raise your glasses high for I shall say this but once! A toast!!"
Dyrant looks around to see who raise their glass.
"A toast to shattered dreams and to failures! A toast to dreams that shall never be. A toast to men of gods who can decide the fate of others. A toast to the sadness of...life...." Dyrant's voice falters and the continues, the weight of his sorrow choking the words from his throat.
He drinks, spilling much of the rum between blubbers and tears.
And sits back down in his chair, sobbing, laying his head to the bar and allowing the tears to come unhindered.
"Dere be good wisdom in 'dis book."
What wisdom jumps out to the casual reader, I wonder? "Square corners can be pounded smooth," or perhaps "Preach quietly, but have a large cudgel handy."
But pray forgive me, I do not pretend to be a theologian. No healer of souls am I. I am but a humble cutter and knitter of flesh, healer of infirmities, and traveler of byways. Toffitt. Docére Abner Svengalu Toffitt.
"A doctor, you say? Pardon my keen ears, they are a gift from my father and I would do him wrong to leave them unused."
He wipes his hands clean on a pocket square and adopts an amiable composure. The old, decently dressed fellow offers his hand in greetings.
"My name is Silfr, or Old Silfr as my pupils call me, though one such as yourself may not find me so. For many years now I have tutored the scions of recent prosperity, which is to say, children of my retired crusading companions."
"The topic of philofophy medicina has been questioned more than once, usually in a contrary manner as I discuss the healing powers granted by the divine. Would you, a practitioner, educate us as to its workings?"
Pointing at Dryant, "What would you propose in a case such as his? I confess to have only read a small chapbook on your discipline, and it recommended universally for all ailments of the head an ocular extraction, to relieve pressure. I hope for his sake that is incorrect!"
Barrion doesn't raise his glass. He lets the poor man finish before he tries to lighten the mood.
Everyone! Everyone! A second toast everyone!
To the unyeilding truth of geometry... First raise.
the good people who built the rough beast Second.
And to Vahlantru who is paying for our merryment this evening.
He lets the poor man finish before he tries to lighten the mood.
... laying his head to the bar and allowing the tears to come unhindered.
"Well that went better than expected. The booze and the tears will take care of him tonight. Might be able to pull a coherent story out of him in the morning.
Aeneas wanders over to talk to the two gnomish engineers as their fruit based battle rages.
"A toast to shattered dreams and to failures! A toast to dreams that shall never be. A toast to men of gods who can decide the fate of others. A toast to the sadness of...life...."
To the unyeilding truth of geometry... First raise.
Second, the good people who built the rough beast
.
And to Vahlantru who is paying for our merryment this evening.
Followed by several loud HUZZAH's that surely wake the neighbors and will bring the guards.
Frasier’s head pops up when he sees the dwarf’s mighty grip threatening the facilities.
Dantes and I are going to earn our hearth and stew tonight!
Frasier leans in a little closer to the miserable soul and slams the bottle down in front of him, still holding it firmly in place with one hand. I know of loss, complete loss. Family, friends, fiancée and future. All of it in one. Night. he says through clenched teeth. When I fled, I found myself drowning; not just in liquor or sorrows, but a lake as well. I was willing to die then when others saved me. I spent weeks recovered, regaining my health and perspective. I have never been so free since then. The pain of the loss still burns in me, but I have so much more now. He releases the bottle, leaving it before the old man. With a light whistle to Dantes, he abandons the man and bottle and pushes his way toward the dwarf.
|
Frasier leans in a little closer to the miserable soul and slams the bottle down in front of him, still holding it firmly in place with one hand. I know of loss, complete loss. Family, friends, fiancée and future. All of it in one. Night. he says through clenched teeth. "When I fled, I found myself drowning; not just in liquor or sorrows, but a lake as well. I was willing to die then when others saved me. I spent weeks recovered, regaining my health and perspective. I have never been so free since then. The pain of the loss still burns in me, but I have so much more now."
"Karu, what gods to you know now? Would they be interested in one without the divine spark? Tell me of your god. I probably already know him, but I would hear you speak of him."
Karu was about to turn his back on the man, but felt a strange mix of both curiosity and pity that held him in place.
"'De gods Karu pray to only be answerin' when 'de man praying is strong and be 'avin' no doubt."
The Amedian's gaze clearly show he feels otherwise about Dyrant.
"And Karu be prayin' to many Gods, for 'dey be busy. One god not be able to be answerin' every 'ting e's asked for."
The Amedian continued to hear this man lament his lack of a divine spark. Was this man crying because his Saint had not granted him some divine power? Or had this man sold his soul to a devil?
"'Ya best not'ave given 'ya soul unto 'de shadows - if 'dat bein' the case, den 'ya no longer be a man."
Karu's muscles tensed expectantly as he wondered if Dryant was not a man, but a shetani that wore a man's skin.
"The topic of philofophy medicina has been questioned more than once, usually in a contrary manner as I discuss the healing powers granted by the divine. Would you, a practitioner, educate us as to its workings?"
Dr. Toffitt considers for a few moments, so lost in the question of paradigm that he almost overlooks the man's more macabre prescription. Before he can answer, the mountain speaks forth in argot.
"De gods Karu pray to only be answerin' when 'de man praying is strong and be 'avin' no doubt."
Toffitt smiles. "Ah, it is exactly so. The gods answer the prayers of those with no doubt. Healing shall be provided unto those of ye without equivocation. But you see, the chirurgeon is like most men, forever mired in doubt. And I have yet to discover a God or Goddess of Doubt who will lend me his or her patronage."
He gestures towards Dyrant, offering another pour. Thinks to offer a pour to Karu as well.
The gods are busy. It stands to reason that they lend their balm to those certain to accept it. The philosophia medicina offers a chance to those of us whose prayers lack such vigor. Those of us for whom every certitude is the beginning of a new doubt. For do we not also deserve comfort and long lives?
Toffitt gets tired of waiting for someone to accept his offered pour, and takes a healthy swig. As for our friend Dyrant... He may not be assured of his Saint's love, but he certainly has it in him to draw his own congregation. Sir, I suggest that you make taverns and tears your temple and holy symbol. You sanctify them as no other.
"Not a big deal converting this to Pathfinder," I thought to myself. "Just need to calculate some CMB's and CMD's, tweak a few things..." I was wrong! I started preparing for the first combat encounters and found myself sorely wrong. I've now embarked on the adventure of converting all NPC's and creatures not in the Bestiary to Pathfinder rules using the NPC creation guidelines. Additionally, I am adding/buffing encounters as necessary for a full, capabable party, with abilities not in existence when this story was written. As initially stated, my goal is to not alter the basic storyline and flavor of the adventure path, and definitely not to kill the party. If the book calls for a rat, there will be a rat. A zombie, there will be a zombie. I also won't alter the basics of a creature. While a zombie might be wearing an amulet and a couple rings or have some friends, he won't be breathing fire--such major modifications to counter metagaming by players ruins my sense of disbelief. While there might be a deus ex machina for the players, an occassional death does keep people on their toes. However, your opponents will not receive such favors--again, it ruins my sense of disbelief when a creature's AC suddenly jumps. I'll just learn and adjust in the next encounter.
Reviews of this adventure path remark on the lack of connections and foreshadowing likely caused by this being written initially over the course of numerous magazine issues. As a soultion, many have written major revisions changing the characters, motivations, and even outcomes. While I share their concerns, I think this can be solved without changing the storyline so dramatically. There will be--and already have been--foreshadowing events so that you're not completely surprised by who/what/why in the world you are facing at climatic points in the story. I will also add flavor and tweak treasures so our newer base classes don't feel left out.
Not a problem. After seeing your adaptability with other problems, I trust the game is good hands.
Looking up and scanning the crowd he sees some minor nobility that he is aware of, but he was not acquainted with this Lord Vhalantru.
Catching the eye of young De'Lark as he looks his way, Thierry raises his glass in greeting. Poor boy's world has come crashing in on him of late. I hope he can come to terms with his change in circumstance.
Motioning to a chair at his table, du Chabannes invites his fellow nobleman to join him.
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The din of the inn lowers and you follow the stares of others around you to the front door. A woman stands there in a simple, yet elegant violet dress. She has long blond hair, blue eyes, and a simple silver oval pendant without markings hanging above her bosom. While she looks like she belongs at the Cusp of Sunrise, she comfortably takes in the room before proceeding to the bar. Though all the seats at the bar are taken she chooses a seat providing a view of the entire room and the patron sitting there happily gives it to her. She turns to Amaku and orders a glass of wine. Amaku pauses, but the woman produces several gold coins and lays them on the bar. Amako collects the coins, leaves the bar, and returns shortly with a dust covered bottle and a fine glass. He opens the bottle and pours her a glass. She sniffs the wine, her bosom rising and falling, and then sips slowly as she continues to observe the patrons.
Bemused by the epidemic of misery in the room, Toffitt makes his way over to the quickly diminishing model of Cauldron. Gods' house already having been crushed, he turns his appetite to a finely carved mango model of the mayor's house. He takes out a small knife and cuts off the westward wing. Nibbles on it idly.
His gaze rests upon the bar's newcomer, a clinical scrutiny without a hint of desire. It then shifts to Lord Chabannes, and his eyes crinkle in a smile. He licks the mango juice off his lips.
Approaching, he bows a greeting to the Lord, and turns a friendly smile to De'Lark, mirroring Lord Thierry's gesture. "Milords, it is an honor to meet such distinguished gentlemen of my new home. You see, I am a newcomer to Cauldron, in search of my life's purpose. Pray tell me, what service might a lowly chirurgeon provide to the gentle folk of this city, like yourselves or milady over yonder...? Have you smallfolk who require tending, for instance? Or livestock?"
Hathin notices Thierry's gesture, and stands to move over to him. By his clothes he appears to be a nobleman, but I have not memory of his. He addresses Thierry "Good eve to you sir, I apologize but I do not know your name. Have you the acquaintance of the De'Larks?"
Nodding a welcome to the newly arrived chirugeon Hathin adds "The needs within Cauldron are many, but some are likely beyond your abilities to resolve. I am Hathin, formerly of House De'Lark." While talking his voice does not rise or fall, nor does it betray any emotive intent.
Nodding a welcome to the newly arrived chirugeon Hathin adds "The needs within Cauldron are many, but some are likely beyond your abilities to resolve. I am Hathin, formerly of House De'Lark." While talking his voice does not rise or fall, nor does it betray any emotive intent.
"Well met, milord. If I may, there is a tincture of marshmallow and johnswart that, when combined with bream oil and the juice of lime results in a pleasant variability of...mood. I suspect many present tonight would benefit from its effects. I should be happy to furnish you with a free sample."
"Alternately, there are certain pressure points here and here that can result in a release of intense euphoria." He gestures to points at the left temple and solar plexus, but studiously avoids touching De'Lark.
Looking the chirugeon in the eyes, Hathin's face is unmoving and his voice unwavering - but there is an intangible sense of longing. "If only it were so simple, but my case is a little different. Many moons ago my head suffered a grievous injury, which has left me wanting in its recovery."
Gesturing towards Dyrant "As keenly as some feel outrage and sorrow, I am left empty."
Hathin notices Thierry's gesture, and stands to move over to him. By his clothes he appears to be a nobleman, but I have not memory of his. He addresses Thierry "Good eve to you sir, I apologize but I do not know your name. Have you the acquaintance of the De'Larks?"
Thierry half rises as both men arrive at the table. 'Well met! I am Thierry du Chabannes, of house de Chaîneîle. I am familiar with house de'Lark although I have not had the pleasure of your family's hospitality since... it must have been your father, was quite young.'
Turning to the stranger, Thierry nods and offers him another of the chairs around the table. 'Welcome, sir. I am Chevalier du Chabannes. Alas, I do not have smallfolk and cannot make any available for your care. I do have my company to offer.'
Motioning to both, 'Please, do sit. This impromptu soirée seems to have lost some momentum. Perhaps we can stimulate it with lively conversation?'
Hathin hesitates momentarily before taking a seat by Thierry, he responds "I also have not had the pleasure of my family's hospitality for some time - but I do not blame them."
A momentary pang of curiosity flashes into focus. A small rodent crawls out of Hathin's satchel and takes position on his lap - eyes regarding the other two men with a thoughtful expression... for a weasel.
Sverrir smiles grimly as the toasts ensue. Loss. Stone. Crafters. Nobles. Oh the irony mused the dwarf.
The fates indeed are at hand tonight
The dwarf raises his coffee mug in courtesy and addresses the tearful Dyrant:
"Hoi friend Dryant. Ye weep for the loss of a god's favour and a forsaken life? Yet you still have life... weep for the dead... weep for the gods forsaking them in the deep dark... toast not loss, but the opportunity to redeem... to recompense... "
As he speaks the tattoed dwarf grips the bartop ever harder, his knuckles whitening, the wood creaking...
Sliding around the bar closer to Sverrïr
"Be easy Sverrïr, the drinks may be paid for but Amaku will hardly thank you for breaking his bar."
Decent folk shouldn't be up this late son. These people are obviously drunkards and criminals.
Silently gritting his teeth Finneas stops the empty mugs from being thrown off the table
Stop it mother
Sverrïr regards the towering Finneas for a moment, as if sizing him up.
"Aye - yer right Finneas. Amaku is a decent patron and I'm not drunk enough tae brawl with a bull o' a Kordite like yersel...yet!"
The tattooed dwarf grins then reaches for an errant mug and drains it, ale soaking his braided beard.
Tae hell with keepin a straight head...
Shaking his head in amusement Finneas eyes the food fight going on over the ruins of Cauldron.
Perhaps I should save the temple the indignity of being flung at some hapless patron's head. If the dwarf is going to start drinking until he's ready to wrestle I'll want some food in him first.
Noting the approach of Frasier and his furred companion Finneas pauses to learn more of this stranger and his unusual friend.
Dyrant's great wracking sobs slowly ebb into softer poofs of sadness then calm into a quiet sense of pity and resignation.
Snuffling, Dyrant lifts his head and in a fit of sanity and pride, hopes no one has seen his outburts.
I don't think anyone saw that, right? I played it off nicely as part of my toast, I'm sure.
Wiping his eyes and nose with his tunic, Dyrant turns his chair around to get a better look at the crowd while he regains his composure and waits for his tears to dry. He runs his fingers through his hair, attempting to fix his appearance.
Looking at the crowd making merry and having fun, Dyrant ponders.
Look at all them, them happy people, they didn't even notice the tears most likely.
Dyrant reaches for what remains of his drink, but his hand falls short as he realizes he neither needs, nor wants, any more.
Whatever shall I do with my life now?
As Frasier approaches Finneas and Sverrir, he'll call out Good evening! Are you gentlefolk doing okay over here? I thought it was looking like you were having a tough go of it for a bit?
Dantes eyes Sverrir's beverage, letting out a low whine of begging before sitting comfortably on his haunches, tail pulled in tightly to keep it from being tread upon.
Uncommon indeed Sverrïr. Come Dyrant, there is water to go around over here, and I'll see if I can find any bread in this ruined town.
Kord teaches strength, we'll see if I can lend this poor man any of mine until he can stand on his own again.
Whatever shall I do with my life now?
Aeneas wanders over to talk to the two gnomish engineers as their fruit based battle rages.
The gnomes notice your approach and quickly turn to you. One dressed in a blue vest speaks up first, "I'm a pretty good judge of character, but I can't figure you out. In any case, whatever you be, you look like you know something of the ways of war. You can be our arbitrator." The other gnome wears a red vest and nods in agreement while the first gnome continues without waiting for your assent. "As you can see, we have waged a mighty war this night from table to table across the 'bay' of emptiness. Towers have fallen. People have been squashed like grapes--well, because they were--and we each have but one piece left for our final combat."
He continues breathlessly, "As you can see I have a mighty bear, solidly built with sharp claws of the durian fruit. My fellow citizen here has a tree made of unripened green banana peels held up with toothpicks."
"I contend that the battle is already decided for his warrior is, well, a tree." The gnome in the red vest shakes the tree back and forth, "It has a battle dance."
"What say you sir?"
She has long blond hair...she looks like she belongs at the Cusp of Sunrise, she comfortably takes in the room before proceeding to the bar...she chooses a seat providing a view of the entire room and the patron sitting there happily gives it to her. ... Amako collects the coins, leaves the bar, and returns shortly with a dust covered bottle and a fine glass. He opens the bottle and pours her a glass.
Silfr is amused by the last exhausted battle of the night, of bear versus tree, but makes his way back to the bar to seek conversation of another sort.
"Fair was the day, but fairer is the jewel of the evening. What curiosities entice a notable lady to this rough tavern of laborers and scoundrels? Let me, Experienced Silfr, be your champion for whatever your heart desires."
What dusty old wine would this establishment carry that merits several gold coins, I wonder. Perhaps I can discretely see the label while my attentions to not appear to wander.
"What say you sir?"
Aeneas smiles as he surveys the battleground.
"Well a bear is a bear. But then a tree is a tree. And this one has a battle dance... Tell me what has your bear to match his battle dance?"
Having left Dryant to his own sorrow's, and his own journey to find courage, Karu began to scan the rest of the room.
Seeing a painting of a Morkoth wearing a dress and holding an umbrella, the large Amedian began to chuckle, regaining the same wide grin with which he entered the tavern.
His eyes wandered, catching the scene at the table, and the small gnomes standing there talking to another man.
Something about the statue of the gnomes was even more comical to the Amedian than the various comics featuring the morkoth.
Walking in their direction, half paying attention to himself (perhaps it was the drink), he said aloud (to noone in particular).
"You are so small."
"Well a bear is a bear. But then a tree is a tree. And this one has a battle dance... Tell me what has your bear to match his battle dance?"
The blue vested gnome stands up quickly knocking the chair back and over.
"The axe shall be mine!" The red gnome shouts as he points to a small handaxe barely visible amongst the fruit city carnage.
"If you touch that axe, I will do more than chop down your tree!"
"Fair was the day, but fairer is the jewel of the evening. What curiosities entice a notable lady to this rough tavern of laborers and scoundrels? Let me, Experienced Silfr, be your champion for whatever your heart desires."
What dusty old wine would this establishment carry that merits several gold coins, I wonder. Perhaps I can discretely see the label while my attentions to not appear to wander.
Before you can even look for a maker's mark, the woman remarks, "You would not know the vinter, but he was a wonderful gentleman. Courteous. Respectful. Or so the stories say."
"I hope your performance with a sword exceeds your empty handed techinques. I do not think you mould make a very good monk. But perhaps I am wrong for surely you have had much practice."
"What became of you that I should find you here and now? Your star should have risen long ago. You might be right that fairer is the jewel of the evening. I hope you will prove it to be so."
And so, you are sure, ends the conversation.
My appologies for intruding.
Looking around and seeing no seats, and anticipating gnomish carnage, Silfr steps to the door for air.
A shame about their game, but miniatures can generate rage like that. If the one had but pivoted his bear after moving, he could have gained a quarter inch and so charged the following turn. While the tree's 3++ saves are impressive, on the charge the ursine would find 66% of the wounds would go through.
@Barrion The Builder
Hathin hesitates momentarily before taking a seat by Thierry, he responds "I also have not had the pleasure of my family's hospitality for some time - but I do not blame them."
Thierry smiles kindly on the young nobleman. 'The favors of family are as the tide; they ebb and flow. I have not been to visit my family's home since shortly after my nephew inherited the title. That was nigh on twenty years ago. Give it time, lad.'
du Chabannes smiles and claps his hands. 'This melancholia seeks to seep into us here, too. Let's shake off this miasma.'
Turning to the other man, he asks, 'You, good sir, we have not heard your name. Please, do tell.'
Hathin watches Abner's back as he departs. I wonder if he spoke from truth or folly to my affliction.
He coughs at Thierry's mention of shaking off the miasma "I apologize, I can offer steady conversation - but if you are wishing the thickness of the air to be lifted I am likely not your man"