The first day of Autumn came with pleasent weather and clear skys to the lost coast. Varisia's midlands were beautiful to wander, barely tamed and vibrant with life.
The four men walking the road to Sandpoint were'nt too concerned with beauty though. They had come to the moderate township for various reason. Following the call of festivities and fun, the rumours of goblin activity, the need to prove themselves outside of tehir monestary or the chance of a contract for work at what they did best. All of them had their own reasons, but they all had something to prove.
This drive had bonded them so far on their travels, and now they felt comfortable in each others presence.
As they crested the rise, the group caught their first sight of the town. A sprawling affair, built on the sloping shores of the coast line, and divided as a township by a large and flattened bluff. The lower part of town seemed crowded with buildings, the streets meandering as the township had grown. The upper part, that built upon the bluff itself, seemed to have more planning in its layout and certainly had more space.
Three buildings in particular stood out in the township. In the upper reaches stood the new church. A stone edifice dedicated to a number of gods and godesses of Golarian. It the was the grand opening of this building, combined with the Swallowtail Festival of Desna that had prompted the festival the town was holding.
Beyond that, seemingly carved from the very granite cliffs of Varisia itself, stood the ruined remnants of an ancient lighthouse. The thing must once have been huge, but now all that remained was the the shattered hulk of a lost empire.
The only other building of some note was a two story building in the lower township, built in the tudor style and decorated with festive banners and bunting. The fact it was a playhouse of some sort was obvious, even from this distance.
Beyond the town, the coastal waters sparkled in the morning light. Very few ships plyed their trade this morning, with most captains choosing to forgo work in order to enjoy the festival that seemed to be about to start.
As the group made their way across the bridge leading into town, they came to a sign adorned with a simple polished mirror. "Welcome to Sandpoint. Take a moment to see yourself as we do"
There were no guards, and just beyond the wooden platform the sounds of cheering and merrymaking were clearly heard.
*looks around for a possible archery contest*
*out of habit, keeps his eyes peeled for anything unusual*
*Looks around for any sort of fight he can get into. Or booze, failing that.*
*Looks to see if the edifice is a shrine to Irori. If it is, quietly nods approval, if it isn't, quietly shakes head in disapproval. Regardless, says nothing*
Crokus, what did we end up naming him?
*points to Ira*
I forgot.
Never would 'say' what his name was?
*...walking into the throng...finding a clear spot near a fountain, well, or something of the like...dropping my hat, and starting into a rousing recitation of 'Karron's Last Stand', an epic about the last days of a heroic warrior that's utter nonsense, but popular with crowds...*
...and thus, with much gravity did mighty Karron draw his blade, facing down the terror before him, sensing that before the hour was o'er his last breaths would be drawn...
*mimicking the actions with dramatic hand motions, and making eye contact with individuals in the crowd as they gather...*
Oratory:
Crokus, what did we end up naming him?
*points to Ira*
I forgot.
Never would 'say' what his name was?
I believe we dubbed him "Quiet Robert" a while back.
*Raises eyebrow toward orc, shakes head and continues to look around*
*...switching to a more jovial style, reciting silly limericks...that are still family friendly...*
There once was a Wizard from Clare,
Who decided to ride on a bear,
'Tis a pleasure to ride her,
But let no man deride her,
Of her sharp teeth and claws, beware.
Two silvers and some brass,
My riches are not many,
But give me a while,
And with some fine style,
I'll soon have ingots aplenty.
Flightarrow sees much that is unusual in this town. People from all creeds have come to celebrate. Even the normally aloof Shoanti tribes are represented fairly solidly today, though that may be due to the fact the Sheriff of town was reputedly a Shoanti himself.
After making a few general enquiries, the archer found an archery tourney planned for the day. He made his way to the upper reaches of the town, near the low stone wall that offered some protection from the wilder northlands.
Archers targets had been arranged against the wall, and markers had been set at different distances from these, to represent range challenges for the bows on hand.
As Flightarrow walked up to the competition, he noted a few young lads from the outlying farms seemed to have signed up (Distinguished by the garb, generally). Two others were of more noteworthy appearence.
An older human stood with a huge Bull Mastiff hound at his side. He walked with a decided limp but as he tested the competition bows, Flightarrow noted the bulge of muscles across his back and in his arms. The man looked competent and confident.
Nearby, the ephemeral beauty of an elven maid also caught his eye. This women had her own bow, and the way it sat comfortably across her shoulders let the archer know she was very familiar with such weapons. These two would be hard to beat for sure.
Crokus had also found himself amongst likeminded folk. A large group of loud men and women had gathered near the ruined lighthouse, where a stretch of grass had been left bare. The big orc could see the archery competition from where he stood, but it was the spectacle before him that he had come to watch.
A fat Varisian man stood rousing to the crowd, calling all comers to step forward and challenge his champion to a match in wrestling and fighting. As the scarred warrior approached, he heard the crowd cheer as a broad shouldered sailor stepped forwards and placed his silver in the Varisians hat. The Varisian man smiled and shook the mans hand, before turning and pulling on a large metal chain.
A low growl came from behind a screen the Varisian had placed and from this cover emerged a shaggy black bear. The creature looked old and tired, yet Crokus noted the muscles in its body as it moved. The creature shook its head, and the little bells adorning its collar and mouth guard jingled in the morning air. As it walked forwards, the bear seemed to slump and favour one leg, and the crowd laughed at its old age.
The sailor seemd to take courage from his friends and toog a solid swig from a stone jug he carried. He stepped forwards and gave the bear a solid kick in the ribs. Even Croks heard the grunt that came from the bear, from a distance of ten feet or more. The crowd cheerd the man on as he proceeded to lay into the bear, which grunted and groaned as the baiting contiued. Bets began to be placed in the crowd and their excitement grew, even as the Varisian man called his despair at the beating his "Champion" was recieving.
Suddenly the bear growled and rared onto its hind feet. It towered over the sailor, who was looking suddenly less enthusiastic about things.
He stepped in tentatively in and threw another punch, but the bear merely encircled the man in his arms and began to squeeze. The face of the thing shoved towards the sailors head, and it was only the muzzly it wore that prevented the the thing from tearing the Sailors face away from his skull. The big sailor beat futilely at the bears back and shoulders, but the huge beast ignored the blows and squeezed harder. It was then that Crokus saw its claws had been torn free at some point. There was a crack and a yell of pain from the man, and suddenly the bear had cast him aside. It dropped to the ground and paced around a little before moving back behind its cover.
The man on the ground dragged himself up, clutching at his rib area and walked into the crowd. He have cracked a rib by the looks of things.
The crowd was cheering and crying out for more, and more of the stone jugs seemed to appear from nowhere and criculate amongst them.
"Anyone else want to try their luck. 3 silver gets you in, 5 gold is the pot. Not a bad haul for lasting a minute with the old bear.! Who's up for the challenge?"
Raimos' performances had gathered a small crowd who laughed and applauded at all the right moments. His hat comfortably jingled with loose change that folks had thrown in, most likely enough to at least feed himself today. If he kept up at this pace he could claim quite a few silvers by days end.
As he rounds up his las few ditties, he realised a more discerning ear had been listening. A flamboyantly dressed Chelaxian man stood applauding graciously with the rest of teh crowd, and he slipped the young Bard a wink as his performance finished.
"It would seem you can turn a phrase or two sirrah." He stated with a broad smile and a low bow. "I am Cyrdak Drokkus, master of the local playhouse here, and I think perhaps you may have the makings of a fine Graphus"
He looks at Raimos, expecting some response and possibly more than a simple greeting.
Conversely, being told you'd be a great Tobias is a grave insult. Tobias is the name given to all the male non speaking parts in many playhouses of repute. If you've just gone for a part and been told to try for Tobias, then you've been told you can't act worth a damn
Ira notes with some disapointment that Irori is not one of those represented by the great temple. He is not surprised though, for his god rarely makes a great show in such places as this.
He spent some small time wandering the township, sampling the wares on offer and enjoying some of the simple entertainments to be seen.
As he approached one stall, he caught sight of a small household with deep blue stones as a path. The stones wound their way in a sinuous pattern, representing the flow of water through which all life travels. The reeds that grew around the house would clearly represent the way a man must bend in the face of assault, and the water showed that the path to perfection often led in strange ways and winding patterns. But always the river flowed to the sea, representing the the final font of all knowledge and perfection. All of this he recognised from his studies and time in monastery.
This blue path of stones led to a simple green door, and upon this door stood the symbol of Irori, painted in simple white.
How interesting.
*...smiling at the gentleman, Raimos offers a hand, thinking of the playhouse. A formal performance would be a new thing...with no actual acting experience...but still, perhaps there was a future there...*
Knowledge: History
Graphus? It's good to be appreciated. 'Taldor's Fall', such a classic work...
*Raimos draws back for a moment, to get into the piece, turning away, to look over his shoulder, and then turning back suddenly...
I shan't run from your type...very well...LET'S GET THIS DONE!
*...as he utters the final words of the soliloquy, rapidly mimicking drawing his sword, and assuming a dramatic position...*
Oratory
...and almost instantly regretting his impromptu performance...
I am familiar with the part, yes...but it's not one I do often...though it's a fine soliloquy, I get better response telling tales in the third person. I'll have to brush up on my Graphus...
...smiling meekly...
*Makes a mental note of the fellow follower of Irori, and plans to seek them out later if time permit, but for now walks toward the bear with his hand raised and a sly smile*
Crokus cracks his knuckles and neck, then unleashes a roar at the bear.
He then grapples the bear.
...watching Crokus from across the square...hoping it goes well...thinking about the story. Might have to change the setting...make the bear a tad more ferocious...'the beast huffed and puffed, with a growl and a snort...Crokus flexed his mighty arms, stared the bear in the eye, and ROARED his retort'...yeah...good...good...
*Crosses arms, shakes head and smirks at the poor technique used by the Orc wrestling the bear*
Crokus and the bear slam together. Crokus grins a bit as his hands seem to find purchase around the bear's thick middle...but the grin drops from his face as his hands start sliding across the fur.
"Uh-oh."
Crokus tries to release his attempted grapple.
The crowd fell silent as the ugly orc stepped up and charged the emerging bear. They were shocked at both his hideous appearence and the brutality with which he grabbed the bear.
However, it didn't take long before they were again braying their enthusiasm at the fight and began laying bets again.
Ira stood watching his companion with a small amount of frustrated humour. It was fairly apparent this was not his preferred method of attack.
The bear roared in response to being grabbed, wrenching the metal chain free of the Fat Varisians hands, causing him to shout in surprise.
The huge Ursine grabbed Crokus in it's arms, desperately trying to get a grip so it could crush this annoyance like it had so many before.
Crokus grunted as the creature gripped him in a vice like grip and began to squeeze.
Crokus' eyes widen in surprise and then narrow again in concentration. Flexing his muscles, he attempts to regain control over the grapple.
...watching the fight with the bear more intently now...almost stunned at the intensity of the beast...'They met with a crash, and began mighty struggle...it was man against beast, first the one, then the other...great muscles strained, but for a while it seemed they would fail...mighty Crokus gasped...in the monster's iron grasp...surely this would be the end of his tale.'...ok...good...
...'But our hero, you see, was not like you and me...while we are meat, and skin and bone, great heroes, it seems, are iron and stone'...now if he can keep this up, it'll write itself!...
Crokus renewed his efforts with the huge bear. His mighty arms bulged with sinew and muscle and he managed to reverse the grip on the creature. Suddenly he had the upper hand once again. The crowd roared its approval. This was something they could get behind for sure. The big Varisian began to look worried as Crokus seemed to get the better of his trained combatant.
Crokus grunts with effort and moves to lift the bear over his head, sweat starting to bead his brow from the weight.
Muscles straining, but holding up under the weight, Crokus unleashes a primal roar and tries to toss the bear out of the ring.
The bear's paws all wiggle futilely in the air, and it gives a confused sounding snuffle and half-roar before it is unceremoniously launched through the air.
He gives one final surge of strength into his powerful arms and succeeds in getting the beast airborne.
While not precisely a distance throw, he does manage to get the bear out of the designated area.
Crokus then slumps over, panting for a few moments, but smiling in triumph.
"Hahaha, that's what I call a good fight, eh? Now, who can point me towards the nearest ale stand? Drinks are on me!"
...again, the hero roared...sinews popped and tore...iron doesn't give way, my friends...'twas the great beast that lay still...in the end.
YES...yes, I do think it'll work...
Raimos suddenly begins to recite his new piece, 'Crokus and the Great Beast'.
Oratory:
...all the while, keeping his eyes open for any fair maidens that might be looking particularly intently...specifically ones that don't seem to have any male companions. ;)
Perception:
The fat Varisian man scowls at the large orc, reluctantly handing over his 3 gold.
"A fantastico effort eh! You have-a the strength-a of an Ox, methinks!", he leans in then, the varisian accent dropping from his voice as he whispers "Now be a good lad and scram. I can't afford to have folk like you winning every fight"
Looking at the crowd, he calls again, the strong Varisian accent present now his show face is on. 'Come-a-one come-a-all. Fighta the old bear, 3 silver buysa place eh!"
A bottle of rough grog is pressed into Crokus' hands and he is led away to the feasting being held in the main square. To his surprose, his new companions are half orcs, big and rough like himself.
Raimos launches into his account of the match, performing admirably and attracting a few patrons to him. He is greeted with a round of applause at teh end, but the group of locals is quickly drawn back to the next opponent in the bear match.
Up near the wall, the sound of arrows striking targets can clearly be heard and the occasional cheer from people as a particulalry good shot is made.
Crokus happily swaggers away with his new entourage in tow, swigging his grog as he walks along, and looking forward to the feast. Fighting the bear had worked up quite an appetite.
"That was quite the challenge. Thought the bear had me for a second there."
Shrugging, he turns to one of his new companions.
"So, where do you gentlemen hail from? I don't see many Orc-kin like myself about too often."
*Ira considers the fight, but declines as he believes is an unfair fight to challenge one just bested. He nods approval to Crokus and wanders off to see the sights*
The rest of the day is spent in general revellry and celebrations of the township. After the mornings competitive acivities, there is a large lunch supplied for free by the taverns and inns of town.
Apparently these lunches are as much competitive for the proprieters as well, and everyone is encouraged to sample as much food as possible.
By lunches end, it is agreed by most that The Rusty Dragon has trumped everyone else, with a beautifully spiced Salmon dish.
After lunch, there is a ceremonial releasing of thousands of Swallowtail Butterflies. The event is significant to Desna, as it represents a famous legend from her followers. Apparently when teh goddess was injured she fell to earth and was nursed back to health by young blind girl. In repayment, Desna transformed her into an immortal Swallowtail Butterfly and chose her as her champion.
The remainder of the afternoon, the butterflies flitter around the town, passing in front of folk as they speak, gently alighting upon the heads of winderous children and being chased by dogs and cats alike, to no avail.
Crokus spends most of the time in the happy embrace of a very drunk half Orc named Gretta. Her and her brothers run the local waste gathering and disposal business in town, and after watching the big Barbarians prodigious strength, the family is very welcoming of him. He notes that the remainder of the township tends to keep away from him and the group though. Nothing new there
Raimos spent the time espousing various epic poems and reworking his telling of Crokus' fight with the bear. All the time he looked to find a comely wench to woo, in hopes of free lodging for the evening. Certainly by days end there were no few opportunities present. It would seem that coastal air and country life agreed with the fine folk of Sandpoint, for quite a few comely women were among their number.
Ira stuck to the crowds, watching and learning with interest as the festivities continued. He seemed content to wait and watch, learning all the while and seemingly attracting no attention, neither good nor bad.
There was no sign of their other companion. Flightarrow seemed to have vanished after the archery tournament, and no one seemed to know where he was.
"Ahaha a pretty girl on my arm and good food and ale in my belly! Could a man ask for more?"
*...switching over to love poetry for a short bit, something a bit lighthearted, not overly passionate...*
...and in the eve, the summer rain falls, and reminds me of that night...the birds sing to each other in the tree above, and then all is quiet. I think of her, her eyes, her lips, and her hair...the touch of her skin, so smooth, and so fair...
Performance:
Diplomacy:
That is for all you couples tonight. Yes, good people, I've not forgotten love...
*...and switching back to the heroic stuff, before a guy comes over and gets too friendly. Like that one time in...gah. Never mind...*
...and hooves struck earth, fallen wood, and stone...and the enemy they met with a clash, no skin, all bone!
Performance:
The day begian to draw to an end, with the orange glow of the sun as it set across the bay. An afternoon breeze had picked up and scudding clouds skipped along, promising rain later in the night. Each cloud was painted a deep purple and orange as the light of the grat sun burnt through the salt laden air to strike them from below.
The crowds all congregated near the new chappel, seemingly knowing that this was the time to be there for the official unveiling. Voices were raised in merriment, and more than one drunken group milled around, singing songs and generally enjoying themselves.
Father Zantus, the chief cleric of Desna and the chappel itself, made his way carefully onto the stage. It was clear he too had imbibed more than a little of the local mead and wine that day. Sheriff Belor Hemlock, a large Shoanti with the traditional blue tattoos of his tribe, stood beside the cleric. He looked around the crowds, grim faced and clearly the soberest person there.
Zantus raised his hand, something small and blue clasped within it. He tossed the object carefully onto the cobbled square in front of him. A loud bang, like rumbling thunder, erupted from the stone and the crowd turned as one to the stage. Voices stilled and all were staring in expectation at the middle aged human as he opened his mouth to speak.
A sudden scream broke the moment, coming from a women somewhere to the back of the crowd. Another soon follwed, this one from beyond the buildings and stalls that surrounded the Church Square.
A dog barked, but the sound was cut short by a shrill yelp of pain, and then panic truly set in.
From where the group were standing, it seemed as if the crowd errupted into panic. One minute people were pilling in confusion, thinking perhaps this was some form of performance. The next minute everyone was surging, the corwds pushing in different directions as the fear of attack set in.
A strange green creature darted across the view of the trio, disapearing into the crowd in the flash of metal and white teeth. None of the advednturers needed special training to recognise a goblin when they saw one. With a suddeness that shocked them all, the place seemed to be filled with terrible green menaces.
People all over the place were either being chased or desperately engaging the goblins. A bizarre and high pitched chant seemed to echo throughout the town, sung by the scratchy voices of goblin Warchanters as they whipped the attacking creatures into a frenzy.
Even as the three men readied themselves, a small group of goblins came into view throuh the crowd, they were armed and looked ready to set upon a mother and her two children who had been knocked to the ground in the commotion.
Crokus leaps from the seat as he spots the goblins trying to attack the mother and children.
He staggers across the roughly 15 feet between him and the goblins hunkered under the table eying the three helpless civilians.
"Oh no you don't you dirty little weasels.", he growled to himself in Orcish.
Unstrapping his hammer from his back as he moved, he swung it straight down onto the table as hard and accurately as he could in order to break the puny cover the goblins were huddling under.
Ira immediately moves toward the closest goblin and attacks
Crocus staggered drunkenly across the intervening space and smashed his heavy hammer into the trestle table.
Even as he did so, ira had darted in and delivered a sickening kick to one of the goblins. The creature flew backwards under the blow, its ribs collapsed and its life's blood spurting from its mouth as it crashed into the ground.
Raimos is just counting his change, when the madness breaks out...he jerks his head up and gawks for a moment before intoning a simple phrase and making a quick hand gesture, knowing it's only a stopgap...
He turns to the men in the crowd and shouts "Be men and protect your children you worthless cowards!"
As he is seeking his next target, he turns to the Orc and shouts "Kill the goblins, not the tables you fool"
...trying to keep tabs on the situation...hoping I won't see anyone trampled, but knowing it's a possibility, so eyes dart everywhere, but keep coming back to the known threat...drawing the rapier, just in case...
Crokus smashes the goblins' pitiful cover in twain and then smiles nastily at them.
"Why don't you deal with me instead of those three then?"
Perception:
Careful...where there's goblins, there may be more! I don't trust that there are that few, here...with so many people about!
Raimos chanted his magic, dropping a fugue of confusion over on of the green beasts, preventing it from attacking anyone.
The table above the goblins shattered under the might of Crokus' blow, and fell around the two remaining creatures. They were nimble enough to avoid the majority of their cover and one of them stepped in to attack the unarmoured man who was doing all the shouting.
The blow is clumsy, easily missing the nimble monk however.
Around them, the crowds continue surge away from the square, thinning out a little as the goblin menace scattered amongst the buildings to cause as much mayhem as possible.
Raimos was the only one in a position to see much of what was occuring. There were bodies lying on the ground. Many of them were goblins thankfully, but a few human sized shapes lay slumped in pools of blood as well. AS he watched, father Zantus moved over to a grop of fallen locals and seemed to glow with a holy aura. Two or three of the fallen townsfolk stirred after the healing effect washed over them.
There was no sign of the sheriff, but the bard could hear his booming voice calling orders as he directed the defenses and townsfolk to engage the goblins and push them further downtown.
Round 2
Crokus growls nastily at the remaining goblin in front of him. He rears his hammer back for another blow on the little green menace.
Unfortunately, in his drunken state he completely misses the target and merely puts a dent in the ground.
"Got one of 'em!" he exclaimed. "Outright vaporized it, even!"
"Now for the other." he continued, oblivious.
Ira unleashes a flurry of blows onto the goblin that tried to attack him
Raimos again used his talents to confuse and daze the remaining goblin. The creature staggered under the magical effect, waving his blade and trying to defend himself while shaking his head to throw off the funny feeling.
Beside him, his companion fell twitching to the ground after another brutal attack from the unarmoured human. The nerve cluster he'd struck this time overloaded the simple creatures pain receptors to such a level that its brain had simply stopped working.
It seemed to be the square had nearly completely emptied of townsfolk now. Father Zantus was desperately applying some bandages to a wounded mans leg, having already healed much of the damage with his divine powers.
The sudden woosh-crump of a large fire igniting behind the group drew Raimos' attention away from the ongoing battle.
A little down the street, a new group of goblins had appeared. There were more of them this time, and one of them seemed to be singing a wierd piercing chant that was causing the others to caper more madly and work together to create damage with their flaming torches.
The noise that had drawn his attention to them was the sound of the wagon loaded with oil soaked wood for the nights bonfire. It was now happily ablaze and the goblin group seemed to be working at removing the wheel chocks so the flaming wagon could careen down hill.
As the bard watched, the wagoneer ran forward to try and drive teh goblins away, but the chanting goblin cracked a whip it carried which sliced neatly across the mans throat. He fell to the ground, clutching at the spurting woound and choking on his own blood. It seemed no one else was near enough to prevent them from pushing the cart downhill and into the main living district of town.
Crokus turns to Ira.
"You can handle this last one, right?"
Without waiting for an answer he charged at the newly arrived group of goblins, red mist filling his gaze as he ran.
Unfortunately, while Crokus made it to the group, he slipped and fell in front of the goblins.