Thanadros nods as he listens to the man's request and simply answers, "Then speak."
Vorvashali Voon ushers you to his odd shop and potters about, making tea, talking as he does so.
"I am, as you would reckon it, quite an old man, although I do not look it. I was a very promising student of magic, at a college in Cheliax many years before the rise of the House of Thrune in that land. At that time I was approached by a trio of individuals who named themselves as 'the Elan' - a kind of elite society who had discovered a technique for using the powers of the mind to enhance their bodies and become to all intents almost immortal. They offered me the chance to become a member of their society. It is a thing offered to those who are young and have much potential; they want the best, but the process of mental enhancement can destroy the benefits of extensive experience, so the young are offered this benefit rather than the old."
He sets down a tray with a tea-set upon it between you and pours you both a cup.
"I have been an Elan for many years now, and always it has been the young that receive the offer; always those of great mental capacity: intellect, wisdom, or force of personality are prized. Some years ago, a new faction rose in the Elan. They challenged the Elder's policy, they felt that it would be better to make Elan of those who have already proven themselves. They suggested also that those who's experiences are more physical than mental may make good subjects for a new method of conversion that might preserve these experiences.
"The Elders forbade them to practice it, but they rebelled and performed them anyway, and not upon willing converts. They have been outlawed, but have fled. Their method of conversion, as you surely know, was a failure at preserving past experiences."
Voon looks sad, and spreads his hands helplessly.
"I cannot, I fear, restore you to what you were. I can only offer you my help and support to understand and make the most of what you now are. My fellow Elan are unsure of what to do, but I am convinced that from your actions, you are in essence still the hero who was once a champion of the Shoanti."
He'll also go to prominent (read rich) citizens to try to drum up funds for bows, arrows, and targets.
Does the acolyte shoot?
After a week or two, Vaclav makes himself more prominent in town. He shows up on the street corners and taverns encouraging the men of the town to join the Banner of the Stag. First goal is a gather and train a group of archers to help in Sandpoint's defense. Any interested persons welcome.
Shelalu and Sheriff Hemlock lend some weight and advice, as long as caravans travelling down the road through the Nettlewood are not attacked the town will provide some food by return. Probably not enough to feed a tribe of goblins, but it's regular and they can forage and herd for the rest.
"Hmmm. I hear them goblins are good at reclaiming junk, and that blue friend of yours wants some to be friendly. How about we put some to a bit of honest work here? We can pay 'em in a cut of the junk."
Thanadros listens to Voon as he speaks. "...So, you claim I am one of you Elan then? You say Immortal... but do you have special powers? Do you need to eat, or sleep, or even breathe?"
Any word on a donor or two? Even if it's someone willing to let us shoot in their hayfield?
And Thanadros is in.
On your return, Madame Mvashti insists on you telling her the full story of where you have been and what you have done. When you are done she nods, squinting her near-blind eyes at you.
"Don't lose your friends," the old lady says at last. "Something stirs. Something older than old and more evil than the Abyss. It's like a cloud of darkness on my sight...and I am afraid," she trails off. "Don't lose them!" she snaps abruptly. "You'll need them. Don't know what for, but they are important, girl."
"Of course, Aunt Niska," Aylmora assures her great-great-great aunt, disturbed and somewhat frightened by the elderly woman's vehemence. "I'll stick close to my friends. I won't let them out of my sight!"
Once the group settles back into town, Aylmora resumes her job helping Ameiko at the Rusty Dragon. During her off hours the young Varisian spends a good bit of her time visiting her friends at the junkyard and at the temple.
He then places his hands upon his helm and pulls it off.
In truth, his long hair is part of the helm. Thanadros's scalp and the back of his head are covered in deep scars. And on his forehead is a tattoo of the number '283'. "I think your Elders are misinformed in the situation. Not only are they doing this, but they are raising an army. An army that numbers at least in the hundreds."
"I...we had no idea...I have to warn the others about this," he gathers his thoughts. "Please, I need to know everything about what happened to you."
When he has some free time, Gornak heads over to Thistletop to check on Gob.
Gob:
Vaclav wishes he had a more ... traditional turnout, but he's happy townspeople have showed up. Weekly archery practices soon begin with Vaclav, Thanadros and a young acolyte from Magnimar teaching basic shooting.
"Gornak, I had a similar notion myself. Good thinking, friend! Well, we hopefully will have seafood and small game, pickles, wicker crafts, and nets soon. Whenever the townsfolk-IF ever, rather-become comfortable with us, perhaps some of the tribe can work for your father as pickers and assistants. They eat a lot though. Maybe they can eat the rats and gulls in the heaps?"
The next two weeks pass peacefully. The goblins are settling in to pastoral life surprisingly well. Vorvashali Voon closes his shop and disappears off north promising to return in a few weeks. Brother Vaclav's archery project is going well, and Gornak finds that one tribe of goblins already had a hidden route to the foot of Junker's Edge. Gob's goblins can use this in security and relative secrecy, and love the idea that they are now allowed to do so - just as well as the town tolerates Gob, but will not allow any other goblin within bow-shot of the walls. While the Sheriff is in on Gob's project, the townsfolk will need a lot of convincing.
It is on one of Gob's trips to the village early one morning when Sheriff Hemlock comes seeking out you all at the Rusty Dragon...
"Rose hip tea, please. And some of that dark bread. And a little ham." Vaclav settles comfortably and looks over the other patrons.
"Sure thing, Vaclav," Aylmora replies, taking the priest's order.
"Hey Bethanna! I need a pig's butt on a raft with some boiled leaves!" she calls out to the halfling woman working in the kitchen.
"I will have the same... How is everything going with everyone? Anything new?" Thanadros says as she sits down with the group. "Come Aylmora, sit with us. The others can handle things without you for a moment or two."
Gornak sits perched on one of the human-sized chair precariously, slurping his soup.
"Well...we have some goblins working with us down at the junkyard, but I'm not sure how much of a help they are. For every piece of junk they come up with, they light something else on fire, or they run off to chase something, or they try to break into our pantry." He shakes his head ruefully.
"Take it up with Gob. They're his people now and he's got to teach them right and wrong, though I doubt they'll learn it."
Gob peers over a table nearby, slides down from the oversized human chair, and walks over to the group. "Oh there you are! I was busy reading a dissertation the effects of the Treaty of Chel- what did you say? I'll cuff some heads and make Tudmunch keep them in line. Junking is a privelege for that lot. If they don't behave a bit more I'll give their job to another group. Send my apologies to your father, friend Gornak. Maybe we could make a competitive game out of the affair-with loose rules of course-and have a junk bonfire at the end of each day with the refuse that needs burning anyway? Don't be afraid to send them home if they're too out of line. Your patience is admirable." Gob asks Aylmora for anything with curry and some pickle brine in a mug. Gob relates the tribes developments and pitfalls, and some of its more amusing blunders.
Sheriff Hemlock slips through the door of the inn, and his eyes alight on you. Glancing around, he sees you are the only patrons currently in the room, and marches over, pulling up a chair.
“First, let me thank you again for all you’ve done for Sandpoint. It’s fortunate that you’ve proven yourselves so capable, because we’ve a problem that I think you can help us with — a problem that I wish I didn’t have to involve anyone with, but one that needs dealing with now before the situation grows worse.
“Put simply, we have a murderer in our midst—one who, I fear, has only begun his work. Some of you doubtless remember the Late Unpleasantness, how this town nearly tore itself apart in fear as Chopper’s slayings went on unanswered. I’m afraid we might have something similar brewing now.
“Last night, the murderer struck at the sawmill. There are two victims, and they’re… they’re in pretty gruesome shape. The bodies were discovered by one of the mill workers, a man named Ibor Thorn, and by the time my men and I arrived on the scene, a crowd of curious gawkers had already sprung up. I’ve got my men stationed there now, keeping the mill locked down, but the thing that bothers me isn’t the fact that we have two dead bodies inside. It’s the fact that this is actually the second set of murders we’ve had in the last few days.
“I come to you for help in this matter—my men are good, but they are also green. They were barely able to handle themselves against the goblins, and what we’re facing now is an evil far worse than goblins. I need the help. But I’m afraid you’ll need the help too. You see, I’m afraid that this particular murderer knows one of you as well.”
With this last comment he looks significantly at Aylmora. In his hand is a folded scrap of parchment with her name scrawled on one side in blood...
Aylmora gives the Sheriff a look of genuine confusion as she sees her name scrawled in blood on the scrap of parchment in his hand. "Wh- what is that? Why is my name on it?" she stammers, nodding toward the parchment. The young woman suddenly shivers involuntarily as a sense of cold dread runs up her spine.
"Well, looks like we are involved whether we like it or not. I will not let Aylmora come to harm by some insane serial killer, and I'd be surprised if the others felt differently. So, How can we help, Sheriff? "
"Gruesome death? And Aylmora's in danger? Oh my gosh!" Gornak knocks over his soup in shock, forgetting all about the goblins.
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"I was rather hoping that you could tell me," Sheriff Hemlock hands over the scrap of parchment.
Inside, is written:
You will learn to love me, desire me in time as she did. Give yourself to the Pack and it shall all end.
"Wha- what does this mean?" Aylmora asks shakily after reading the parchment and passing it to her friends to examine as well. "Who or what is 'the Pack'?"
Gornak groans. "One murderer is bad enough, but a whole pack of them...!"
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Gob is at a loss for words and his expression alternately shifts from confused, to grim and angry, and sad. "I'll help in any way I can."
"I have no idea," Sherif Hemlock confesses. "I was hoping you might. I'm sure that this was left - nailed by a splinter to the sleeve of a victim - to cast suspicion elsewhere. To date, only we six and the man who found it know of it, and he will keep his tongue. If word were to get out though, especially if there are more killings," he leaves the statement hanging.
"In any event, I need your help, and you may well have personal reasons to find out who may have done this. Will you come with me now, while we can, before the crowds get too much to handle?"
"Of course, Sheriff! If there's trouble, you can always count on me for help."
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"Oh you can bet I want to get to the bottom of this," Aylmora states firmly, her confusion and fear from the moments before rapidly becoming a smoldering rage. "And when we find whoever left me this sick lovenote you better believe I'll make them wish they'd never been born!"
The young woman rips off her apron and storms up the stairs to her room. "Give me two minutes to grab my gear. I'll meet you all outside," she calls from the second floor.
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Aylmora freezes when she realizes that someone has been in her room. Holding stock still, she glances about warily, searching for any other signs of the intruder. she calls loudly, her voice tinged with a hint of fear.
Aylmora is standing still as a statue, her eyes darting around the room. "Please don't think I'm crazy, but my hairbrush is missing. I know it was here this morning when I got up before dawn, because I used it to brush my hair and then set it down on my dresser - now it's gone. And can you smell that strange smell? Almost like rotting meat. And it's strongest near the window sill."
Vaclav hurries upstairs to see why Aylmora cried out.
Perception
"I don't smell anything, but I've got a bit of a cold. Was the hair brush valuable or pretty?"
When Aylmora leaves the room Thanadros says, "Remind me never get on Aylmora's bad side..."
she calls loudly, her voice tinged with a hint of fear.[/b]
When Aylmora call for them Thanadros springs up to her room. "What is wrong?!"
Perception
Smelling the smell Thanadros goes over to the window sill and looks out and around it.
Thanadros can smell the feint aroma, it's not nice.
Aylmora can see that the window sash is slightly ajar, and there are the faint remains of a bare human footprint on the sill in mud on the varnished wood. Outside a handy drainpipe would grant access to an only moderately skilled climber.
Nothing else is disturbed or missing.
Gornak lumbers clumsily up the stairs, taking care not to hit his head.
"Holy smokes! You think someone broke into your room and left behind some rotten meat? These guys must really be crazy."
Gob looks around, focusing on a spell, searching the room as if he is peering beyond what is there.
detect magic
Gob can detect no magic in the room save the gear you all own.
"I don't smell anything, but I've got a bit of a cold. Was the hair brush valuable or pretty?"
"What?! Yes! No!" Aylmora stammers in consternation. "I mean... no, it wasn't valuable, but it was beautifully carved. It was a gift from my grandmother."
"See here? The window is slightly open, and I know I didn't open it this morning. If you look closely you can just make out the faint traces of a muddy bare human footprint on the window sill. Someone broke in here by climbing up the drainpipe while we were downstairs!"
"But why would the thief leave an odor of rotten meat?"
"I don't know. We'll think about it later. Let's go with the sheriff now."
"Al- alright," Aylmora agrees with Vaclav, moving about to gather up the rest of her gear. "Just excuse me for a minute and let me get on my leather armor," she requests, ushering the men out of her room.
A moment later Aylmora exits the room with her adventuring gear assembled. "Let's go see that murder scene with the Sheriff," she says with stoic resignation. "I don't think I'll be able to sleep here tonight," she mutters under her breath.
