A fetching elven woman walks into the tavern, with a monkey draped over her shoulder. Her outfit looks like it is made for travel but shows more skin then would be wise for traveling in the wilds. she sees something she does not know much about, and races over to it.
talking at scoria Oh how amazing, i have not be able to run into one of your race before, you look great I really like the decorative gems you have there, do they hurt at all. oh i have so many questions for you. Oh where are my manners i am called Tessara, i am a traveling scholar of this reason. I stopped by for the festival and to restock supplies. oh i am just so exited.
her monkey gets off her shoulder and trys to get a drink of something from the nearest unused mug.
The marble skinned woman stares back at the elven woman who arrived here. She wondered what it was about her that made her so interesting to these people - yes, she was an oread. Yes, she had decorative crystals embedded into her skin. Just because she was a rare sight didn't mean that she should be flocked around by so many strangers. Still, she didn't want to be rude, so she spoke back to her with the polite quality she'd taken with the other men, some of which were giving the new woman a stare - obviously, they thought the monkey was peculiar too.
"My name is Scoria. I am a stonemason for the new Cathedral." She shifted in her seat to try and make room for her to sit down on the tavern bench, inadvertently elbowing Digger in the ribs as she did so. "...Should your pet be drinking alcohol? I would not think that is a good idea," she warned.
"No, Monkey! No drinkee, Monkey! Not after last time! Alejandra still hasn't forgiven me!"
"Yes, we do not want a repetition of last time. But that is a story for another time."
Graciously accepting the drink aven takes a long smooth drink.
"My thanks, tis truly a fine drink. As for tales, i do be no bard or skald, just a humble man looking for a new start i do be. From some charts i saw this dot and a scribble saying santpoint, and i was of a mind to see it and a bit o' the world not covered in water. Now you say there be a temple of some sort? to who? I do have a curious mind about priestly ways."
Aven takes a seat as he goes on, hopefully next to whoever bought him the ale.
"The cathedral is a place of worship to many Gods. For example, I tend to the Shrine of Iomedae, and Digger here can be seen at the Shrine to Cayden Cailean often. If your wondering about a specific deity, do ask, but note that no evil ones reside in the Cathedral."
A stocky dwarf who's seen more than a few years walks in. Any one who has been in Sandpoint the last 9 months may recognize him as someone from around the town but you can't seem to recall him engaging in any actual work.
If he notices the colorful crowd he gives no sign of it as he plunks himself down at the bar. "Ale," he says simply, "or mead if you have it."
"The cathedral is a place of worship to many Gods. For example, I tend to the Shrine of Iomedae, and Digger here can be seen at the Shrine to Cayden Cailean often. If your wondering about a specific deity, do ask, but note that no evil ones reside in the Cathedral."
Aye, and a fine cathedral it is, and we're lucky to have such skilled craftsmanship to honor the gods and bless our town.
Grigore raises his glass in his gloved hand to Scoria in acknowledgement.
And speaking of luck, the Swallowtail Festival is in honor of Desna, Lady Luck herself. Friend, he says to the dwarf who has his back turned to the others. Care to join us in a toast to Desna, that she looks upon us in a good light during the ceremony? Luck is a two-sided coin and, unless you have a way to rig the game entirely, best if you can swing any odds in your favor, you know?
Thorjar turns to Grigore. "The festival honors Desna? I did not know that." He pauses for a bit. "It's a religious ceremony then?"
"While Grigore means well, he is focusing on a single point. The festival honors all of the God's whose faiths meet in the Cathedral"
Erynion shakes Grigore's hand when offered, Scoria now out of mind, although his ear twitches in her direction and he tries to nod politely when she responds to him. "My friend, no, the ink that I have on my person will fade in a day, but I have heard that when the pigment is more heavily concentrated it may be made into a tattoo that will last you a lifetime. Sadly for you and I though, the alchemical reaction of the ink on your personage creates an amount of heat that many will find to be uncomfortable, and in fact can even cause one to become quite ill. But did you say your name was Grigore? From your age and bearing, might I deduce that you are the pit fighter, Grigore the Terrible? I recall a song about him, first heard when I was living with the Ulfen, perhaps 2 or 3 decades ago. I could sing it for you if you like, although I'm not the best of singers."
Erynion's eyes go wide and he nearly falls over when Aven walks in to the bar. "My goodness, and now an UNDINE joins us? Truly this must be an auspicious occasion to merit the gathering of such planetouched gentlefolk! Certainly, sir, I will buy you a drink if you'd but answer me a few questions. Is it true that you possess the ability to blast people aside with a stream of water? Do you have gills, as I surmise? I have so much I'd like to learn, from you and the radiant orea...oh, oh dear." His yammering is cut off as he notices that he's turned a pallid yellow and has broken into a sweat. He gives a woozy look at the glow coming from his hand, then at the fine dwarven ale, and again at his hand before he visibly tries to force down a sudden fit of retching. He gets up and quickly moves toward the door with a quiet, parting "Please excuse me."
Well, I've had a few nicknames, and no doubt I've been called "terrible" in a fair number of my bouts, generally my losses, but--well look at this, seems he's had a bit too much to drink, or that magic ink don't agree with him. A ha ha ha!
The pit fighter can't help himself laughing at the elf's fate.
After a silent pause, "I just want to put it out there right now that I did not make that guy act like that. That was not my fault."
He nudges Digger in his side, "Guy talks even more than you do. I did no think such a thing was possible."
"Ah, I see; I look forward to it then. I've spent most of my life in Nirmathas and the cultural variety I've encountered in Varisia has been...interesting to say the least."
Thorjar's eyes follow Erynion as he rushes for the door. Poor lad, should stick to white wine.
Turning back to the others, "I'm curious about the Cathedral. Who decided which gods it was dedicated to?"
"I have heard the siren call of Besmara, yet my faith is all i have, i do be lacking in a few skills some priestly types have.."
The last part trails off as the elf unloads his cargo of words and runs out.
"Undine? do he be talking about me? Thar best have been no insult whatever he calls me."
Turning back to the table he looks at digger.
"Seems you do be one to get up to some mischief, i do like me a bit of excitement now and then. Thar do be no fun like a good boarding action."
"I believe it was the people of the town who built the original Cathedral some forty years ago, decided that a place of worship for many Gods would be well received in the small crossroads town. As for the Undine part, I believe that is what people of your race are called. The priest of Nethys in the Cathedral is Undine as well."
I'm talking too much tonight. People have been super curious about the Cathedral.. His thoughts trail off, and he shrugs and takes a drink of ale
The door opens and a woman enters, her skin appearing to be a pale blue although upon closer inspection it appears to be covered in intricate tattoos that move with her muscles. She is an attractive woman but scarcely holds eye contact when someone looks at her. Over her shoulder, she carries a bow and a quiver of arrows. Oddly, as she moves through the tavern, a light breeze seems to follow her despite the still day outside.
"Water please," she asks the barmaid in a voice that is both sultry and light. As she waits for her drink, she turns to look at the gathered patrons.
"Hmm, and Oread, Undine, and now a Sylph..."
As the newcomer entered, a voice could be heard coming through the door in between fits of reaching. My lucky stars! Ano*HUURK*..another one! *HUUAARGH* Then even more faintly, "I'll have to record this as a day of great import in my journal.
"You should slow down on the ale before anything, friend."
"Yeah, might need to cut you off for a bit. You're right, though. There is something special about this. I do believe Cayden's chaos has bless us this night! Moreso than the time I felled a bear with but one shot and bedded the Galvan twins in the same night!"
"You did not stop talking about that night for at least a month, and with good reason too. It was a truly epic night."
Could it perhaps be coincidence that three of the primordial blessed were now in the same tavern together? Scoria did have to wonder about that. Things like fate and destiny never really crossed her mind - some magic could see possibilities of the future and the consequences of actions, but you could never truly know what would happen until the event actually occurred.
The oread sipped from her glass again, before standing up. "Excuse me, I need to refresh my cup," She told them, before heading over to the bar, getting her cup filled with water while glancing over at the airy Sylph. An archer, by her bow at least. And the others - well, it was definitely starting to get really loud. Digger in particular kept shouting about luck and twins - sure, twins were certainly a sign of good fortune, were they not?
"Yeah, might need to cut you off for a bit. You're right, though. There is something special about this. I do believe Cayden's chaos has bless us this night! Moreso than the time I felled a bear with but one shot and bedded the Galvan twins in the same night!"
Whoa, whoa, hold on there a second. Cut him off? Ery' over there is a man of learning The soldier says the last word with a slightly sarcastic emphasis. He interrupts himself by taking a sip of his own beverage, then continues.
And if he hasn't yet learned how to hold his liquor, well, maybe you should keep serving him 'til he figures it out. Some of the best lessons are learned the hardest. Take me, for example. I'm a quick learner. It only took me one time getting my eye nearly punched out of my skull before I stopped dropping my guard. See? Lesson learned.
"Moderation is the key in this situation. Even the Lucky Drunk preaches that." Brevyre is obviously well informed on the Gods who reside in the Cathedral
"Aye, moderation in all things ...including moderation."
"Yes, I think another drink might do. After all, there's plenty of room for it now! Beside, the drink has never been an issue before, it's this thrice-darned uncomfortable ink! THAT I tried to use in moderation, but it didn't seem to help. Strange though, it didn't seem to have much of an effect from the contact I had when it was all over that katapeshi Ifrit dancer's skin. I must note that." He pulls out a small, well-worn leatherbound journal s nd starts jotting down some notes. So I can't help but notice that many of you are rather heavily armed. Is Standpoint a particularly dangerous place?"
"Dangerously dull, mostly. But you never know. I'm glad we've got strong arms like Grig and Brev here, and I'm not too bad a shot myself. I see that windy girl has a bow, too. Scoria, you seem strong ...did your master teach you self defense?"
Obviously Scoria wasn't particularly heavily armed - excepting the two kama blades tucked into the sash secured around her hips. She had been patient so far, taking Erynion's oddities in stride, but she felt obligated to inform him before he went and seriously hurt himself with that ink. She stepped over, lightly tapping him on the shoulder.
"The ink is not for use on any other but ifrit. You're causing yourself more harm by applying it to your skin." She gestured to the fleshgems embedded in her own skin. "They are like my own bodily decorations. Anyone other than an oread could not embed these gems into themselves without causing serious injury. Please, for your own well being, do not use that ink on yourself anymore."
She glanced over at Digger as he asked her about her own training, responding in kind. "My father, he trained me to defend myself. I am adept at fighting without weapons." Feeling she ould ask in kind, she spoke again. "Are you trained to fight as well?"
"The only exciting thing to happen around here is the occasional goblin slaughter, I mean attack."
"With a bow, aye. I've heard tales of martial artists of great power ...swift and deadly without a single weapon. Me, I try to avoid fights, but when those goblins come by, I can pick 'em off one by one while my ...more ...straightforward friend just walks right up to the li'l buggers."
Brevyre draws his sword, he carries it with him everywhere. "This blade has ended the life of more goblins than our elven friend here has had drinks tonight. They just do not see it coming for some reason."
Scoria looks at both the rogue and cleric, her face completely impassive as she speaks up. "So you defend your town when goblins attempt to cause harm to its people? That is a noble accomplishment. Though dangerous."
"Thank you. They poke their heads in far too often for my taste, although it does alleviate the boredom of guard duty." He says as he sheathes his sword. "I bet Grigore has some stories about goblins."
"Yes, I think another drink might do. After all, there's plenty of room for it now! Beside, the drink has never been an issue before, it's this thrice-darned uncomfortable ink! THAT I tried to use in moderation, but it didn't seem to help. Strange though, it didn't seem to have much of an effect from the contact I had when it was all over that katapeshi Ifrit dancer's skin. I must note that." He pulls out a small, well-worn leatherbound journal s nd starts jotting down some notes. So I can't help but notice that many of you are rather heavily armed. Is Standpoint a particularly dangerous place?"
What, this? Grigore asks, gesturing to his armor. Well, I am in the militia, but I'm off duty today. I just came from the theater--got a small part in the play during the festival. No matter how well I do in auditions I always get cast as "Soldier Two" or "Bodyguard Three". Once I was "Jailor", which was pretty nice. Anyway, Sandpoint is safe--she gets far less trouble than any town her size should.
"Thank you. They poke their heads in far too often for my taste, although it does alleviate the boredom of guard duty." He says as he sheathes his sword. "I bet Grigore has some stories about goblins."
Grigore, despite being in the spotlight many times, seems uneasy at Brevyre's request.
Well, Brev, let's not scare off these fine travelers from our peaceful town. When any goblins poke their oversized heads here, they are dealt with swiftly. Now, what wasn't a swift fight is my epic showdown with Heartless Rahj and his brother Taj.
The warrior crouches down, telling his story in an animated way with many hand gestures and lively facial expressions punctuating his words, as though he's rehearsed this story many times.
You see, Rahj was actually a good guy when you got to know him, but he was always getting ignored whenever he'd go anywhere for a drink, on account of his nickname. People assumed he was terrible, but really he was called "heartless" because some orc buried two and a half feet of steel from a broadsword in his chest during a match, but Rahj still won! He even refused magical healing afterwards for fear that he'd have to forfeit the match. Now Taj, he was a right bastard, but that story is for another time. So anyway, there I was, standing over a defeated foe in the arena, when I'm told there's another challenger. Before I can turn around, Taj is ringing a mace off my helm like a damn church bell. So I threw some sand is his face and ...
"Fair Scoria, I appreciate your concern but I will be fine before the night is over. I've been in far worse states than slightly queasy, I assure you. I am very curious about your decorations though. I hope they do not cause you any discomfort.
He listens raptly to Grigore's tale, jotting down notes at the particularly exciting parts. Oh, an artist I see! I would not have suspected. That reminds me though, your song! Now how did that go...Grigore the terrible....the fight....shriveled and small ssh a...on second thought, sir, perhaps I won't sing it to you. It's not very complimentary."
"Are goblins a common problem in these parts?" Thorjar asks. "Filthy creatures," he adds, his voice dripping with contempt. "Ran into them sometimes in northern Nirmathas but they avoided the strife torn southern part of the kingdom."
He looks with interest at Scoria, " Trained to fight unarmed, are you? Useful talent, that. Didn't see many with that kind of training back home. Always a surprise for the enemy though, hah! I'm more of a bowman myself; my father taught me as well."
"My adornments do not cause me any discomfort," Scoria replies to the elf, looking at him. "There is a small sense of displacement when they are growing to their full size, but other than that, they do not bother me. Though one must be careful when removing them, or else I could take permanent harm."
Glancing over at the dwarf, she speaks to him next, the oread as still as stone but for her lips and the slight shift of her abdomen when she breathes. "It is wise to seek to place yourself at a distance from your foes, where you can hit them and they cannot hit you. But the best way to fight is to avoid it. Not all fights are avoidable, but one should seek to find a way before committing to violent action."
Glancing over at the dwarf, she speaks to him next, the oread as still as stone but for her lips and the slight shift of her abdomen when she breathes. "It is wise to seek to place yourself at a distance from your foes, where you can hit them and they cannot hit you. But the best way to fight is to avoid it. Not all fights are avoidable, but one should seek to find a way before committing to violent action."
"Well, I can't disagree with what you say but where I come from, new settlements are always showing up and they're always in danger from strikes forces from Mithrune. I travelled from settlement to settlement helping them get set up or making improvements to help them with their daily lives as laid out in The Parables of Erastil. Places that small though, are no match for the forces from across the border that would lay them to waste." Thorjar's voice becomes somewhat bitter near the end.
"And that is a day we all seek to avoid. They are more of a pest than an actual enemy sometimes, most of them cannot handle the weapon they scavenged."
"Fair Scoria, I appreciate your concern but I will be fine before the night is over. I've been in far worse states than slightly queasy, I assure you. I am very curious about your decorations though. I hope they do not cause you any discomfort.
He listens raptly to Grigore's tale, jotting down notes at the particularly exciting parts. Oh, an artist I see! I would not have suspected. That reminds me though, your song! Now how did that go...Grigore the terrible....the fight....shriveled and small ssh a...on second thought, sir, perhaps I won't sing it to you. It's not very complimentary."
Grigore laughs, not the least bit offended.
What's that saying? Songs are written by the winners? Me, I write no songs, so anything written about me would have to be from when I lost a fight, right? Still, would you rather lose a fight, or not fight at all? Would you rather be known for losing, or be unknown?
He shrugs.
Then, following all the goblin talk...
Digger, you put some sadness potion into this round of drinks? What's with all the goblin talk? We're safe here, and we have a big festival coming up. Let's celebrate!
"Indeed, Grigore. We have no reason to be gloomy right now, why, we should be celebrating!"
"I always am."
"Well that is to be assumed of you Digger"
"Well the world is as full of dangers as it is of wonders, so it behooves one to be prepared for a fight, certainly. But the same is true in reverse, and we have many unknown wonders yet to behold. So yes, let us celebrate!" Erynion raises his currently empty mug. "To all those amazing things we've yet to behold!"
"Here's to adventure in our future!" Digger says, toasting Erynion and the others.
FREEZEFRAME! ROLL OPENING CREDITS!
Thorjar chuckles. "My apologies then for bringing up the goblins. Though I detest the filthy beasts I have, happily, only had to deal with them on a few occassions and I simply wondered if it was different up here. I did not mean to make the conversation morose."
He raises his mug of mead and downs it in one gulp. "To the celebration then! I look forward to the enlightenent it brings!"
"Goblins are cunning but not too smart," the Sylph says finally, having been watching the others while sipping her water, "After hunting them for almost three decades, you get used to their tactics and it becomes simple to hunt them."
She finishes her water and places the cup back on the counter top. "So how many of you are here for the Festival?"
"I came for the festival, although at this point I must stay here a while and investigate this unusually high concentration of, well, those such as you. Kissed by the elements."