Cottonseed Lodge (PFS2)

Game Master Redelia

"The whispers... they were silent for 7 days..." The voice comes from a dwarven woman at a corner table. She pauses as her fingers trace along a stone she carries.

"Did anyone else feel it? The space between heartbeats stretched for eternity. I existed here, or somewhere, but I could not speak. Yet I could feel the weight of my drink in my hand and feel Kolo's warmth against my neck. Still, I existed in a moment that refused to form, that refused to allow me to draw a breath of life.

She turns her gaze toward to the lizard-like creature nestled around her neck and shoulder. "This must be how the spirits feel when no one remembers their names. Present, aware, and unable to act in a world that moves on without them."

"Perhaps the Universe paused to take a breath" speculates a coldly handsome ambiguously-aged Taldan man of neat presentation and meticulously manicured hygiene "Or perhaps, for just a moment, we experienced a moment of cosmic conscioussness together"

His own trinket - a golden scarab beetle of roughly equivalent shape - glimmers auspiciously in the saloon light, draped around his neck by an exquisitely crafted ultralight metal chain.

"However, too, 7 itself is known as a number signified with a handful of supernatural phenomenological schemata" superstitous himself, cloaking his own belief systems inside the narrow container of some explicable logic, he orders the seventh mixed drink from the top of the menuboard, hoping to have such the act slip beneath the notice of those around him.

A massive female Kholo ducks to enter the doorway. Her breastplate is festooned with bones and scraps of cloth. Upon closer inspection, the scraps of cloth are in fact heraldry of various cultures and cities. A long, jagged scar adorns the side of her head, running down her neck only to disappear beneath her armor.

As she takes a seat at an empty table, some of the denizens watch her warily. She can feel Lamashtu's jackal-smile behind her eyes, warmth spreading through her muscles. An outcast still.

Her voice is hoarse, guttural, and carries a faint scent of spoiled meat. "Now," she says, "What thing needs its bones cracked?"

A large orc wearing dark clothes, a dark scarf wrapped around his neck, and dulled armor walks in. On closer inspection, he is covered in scars, some looking from battle, whilst other seem to have been on purpose. Tethered to his breastplate, is a single throwing knife.

Finding a spot that is lit somewhat well, he sits and orders a simple meal with four ales.

"Blasted... All that travel, and the slop here still tastes the best. By the gods I missed Absalom."

"Only the best slop for you, Gröm" the bartender says with a playful grin as he sets a bowl of stew down and goes to fill the tankards.

"Oooh! Spring time mission rolls are posted!"

The young brassy scaled kobold looks at the lists posted in the Grand Lodge's main hall. A knot of fear tightens in his chest as he sees that he's been assigned another mission in the Grand Lodge Vault.

Another knot of fear tightens in his chest as he notices that his older brother, Huang Tong Dragonkin is being sent on a mission in a far off land. He swallows his fear and seeks his uncle's council. He notices, as well, that his Grand Uncle Rhaegal Dragonkin, his mentor will remain in Absalom but has also been assigned a mission for senior Pathfinders.

"You look worried, nephew. What's troubling you?" asks the golden scaled kobold.

"This, uncle." he replies, trembling slightly.

Mu Long points to the mission roll where he brother is being assigned to.

"Ah. That. Such is the nature of this organization. Not to worry, Mu Long. It also says here that Vermithor is going with him. If anything else, it's the monsters in that place that need to worry. There isn't much that can stop those two when they put their mind to it. Come, let's go see Rhaegal before he has to prepare for his mission. I think our gnomish friend has some new scones Rhaegal can't resist..."

There's a crash and a shout and another crash before a bronze-scaled kobold bursts from a nearby hallway at a dead run towards the assignments board. He skids to a stop and then squints at the listings. "Yaaaaah!" He pays no attention to how he is swinging a flail around dangerously.

The kobold turns and spots Mu Long and Jinlong. He waves and is about to approach when the voice of the hallway shout finally catches up.

"Hey, you little scale-monster! You don't slam me into a statue at full speed and then just sprint off!" A petite young woman with an enraged face huffs and brushes back her burgundy hair from where it had fallen over her face. "I'll teach you some manners!" She flicks her hand and a swirl of pink and blue pastels dances around her for a moment.

The kobold turns to her with a complete look of admiration. He rushes her and throws himself into a hug around her waist, muttering some apologies. With a sigh she pats him on his head, though she smirks a bit. "Ok, a much better greeting, little one. I'm Gwen." She looks up to see Jinlong standing nearby and laughs. "One of yours?"

Nearby, a sewer mantle slides open, and out crawls a reptilian creature with a corpulent and richly shielded scabrous hide of spurs and spines, pock-marked by vicious stomach acids, encased ironically in rugged leathers, which on the chest, has a belly-dragged scrape of muck and tread down it's center, as if it had spent a majority of it's travels scraping along the ground.

Rising bipedally, it's gait pained somewhat at the uprightedness, it walks casually into the pub, surprised to see some of it's own kind. Approaching suddenly, it demands "There is a calling of Slayers and Daredevils: I am the former! To where shall we muster?" it's lips curling back in a snarl to expose brutish grin of dagger-like fangs.

Jinlong chuckles at the display. "So nice to see you again, Gwen. This, in fact, is my younger nephew, Mu Long Dragonkin. Have you seen Rhaegal around? I need to discuss something with him before he heads off on his next mission. Perhaps you'd like to join us for scones afterwards?"

Turning to Mu Long, who, for some reason is gaping slack-jawed at Gwen, "You see? Vermithor and Huang Tong will be fine. Are you all right? Did you just see a ghost?" he wonders...

Mu Long gapes at Gwen, recognition flooding his thoughts. "Gwen! You're the smoothscale my brother came back talking about! He says you helped him with his first adventure up in the north!"

"Hiya Vermithor! Where are you and my brother going this time?" Mu Long says absently to the bronze scaled kobold...

An older woman with a severe countenance pokes her head in. "Vermithor, your behavior had best be nothing less than impeccable. Remember, MANNERS!"

She disappears as quickly as she appeared.

Hey. Is there room for a little one here?

"Rhaegal! Ah there you are! There are these documents I need you to look over while you're here. They have something to do with those items we dealt with at the Grand Bazaar!"

Jinlong shudders as he recalls the fight where his crossbow bolt zipped right past Rhaegal's nose.

"Can you look them over before I submit them? Something to do with scholarly journalism or something of that sort. Not now, of course, but when you get a chance. But now that I have your attention, I hear Gnimish has some new scones. Want to head over and get some? I'm sure Vermithor would like to join us!"

"Grand Uncle Rhaegal! I tried reading one of your early treatises on Druidic Dendrology! It's really complex and most of it flew over my head! If you have some time, can you visit my grove and explain some of it for me?"

Rhaegal rouses from where he's sprawled out in a very undignified manner on an armchair. "What? Oh, it's you Jinlong. And Mu Long." He stretches his hunched frame and his wings extend and knock a small table over. He stares at it for a moment. "Oh, bother."

He rises to straighten the table and then turns to Mu Long. "What did you say, little one? Druidic Dendrology? What does that even mean?" He smacks his forehead. "Oh! Was that the paper I wrote after trying all those mushrooms? I imagined dragons! I considered that a possible path to dragonhood for a while. Hmm, you should be careful about following my notes there."

The mighty defender of Jadirahx flaps his wings, creating a small whirlwind of papers. "Now, you said something about scones? Let's go see what the kitchens have cooked up today! Hopefully someone has kept Vermithor out of trouble!"

An older woman with a severe countenance pokes her head in. "Vermithor, your behavior had best be nothing less than impeccable. Remember, MANNERS!"

Vermithor squeaks as Hadega scolds him. "Yes, Miss Hadega!" He hides behind Gwen's skirts.

Later, the bronze-scaled "dragon" is standing by Gwen's table to fetch her jams and butter and clotted cream as she explains the proper way to eat scones.

Druidic Dendrology? I think that has to do with trees and their rings.