Rankev nods. "Several of the bandits carried them. Presumably they were hired on at this Ranger's Lament."
He picks up his staff. "Seems our founder was keeping the key to a treasure. And not an auspicious one. Now the bandits have them." He shakes his head.
"Their leader wore this." He holds up an iron mask. "Yeah, don't pretend. I didn't know what it was either. Venssa recognized it. The symbol of Razmir, the living god. What a god wants with a lost treasure, I don't know. Maybe the mayor will. Or Holgast."
Rankev quiets. Then out of nowhere his usual self returns. "Attero. Davian. Help break camp. There's ground to cover if we're to reach Kassen 'ere sundown."
For the time being, Hansyn doesn’t disagree with his sibling. So without argument, he packs up his gear and is ready to go quickly. Anyone lagging behind he will try to help, saying ”To make it home by nightfall, we need to hurry. ”
Finlogan works with Cole to remove any trace of the camp and leads the troop home.
Upon returning to her home, Venssa sets about cleaning and tidying the place, even though nothing is out of place. She frets over her friends and finally decides to head into town to make sure all is well. The unease of the animals has her concerned and she wants to speak with the others to see if they noticed anything out of sorts on their journey.
Cole, with fin close by approach Hansyn.
We will lead the group, Hansyn. That is the way of it.
Cole, matter-of-factly, pushes ahead.
Hansyn snickers to himself at Cole’s bravado. ”Man, these guys are jerks. Don’t they get I’m just doing what I was asked to do.” he thinks to himself. Shrugging, the boy falls in behind the Rangers.
Lodric sighed as he followed behind. Just his luck. His father sends him out to catch a cold in the wilderness, and for what? To listen to other people argue over nothing. He was sure there was a lesson in this somewhere. Was this father trying to teach him humility? No...he remembered his father once remarking that humility was humiliating. Maybe he was trying to scare his son straight? To get him to quietly return to his ledges and numbers, by showing him what his life would be like without guidance?
Yes, that was probably it. But at the same time, there was the voice. It was so...insistent. And it felt right. As if though every word it spoke was infused a sense of righteousness that made Lodric want to weep. He just wished that the voice didn't tell him to kill people. He was more than happy when the voice told him that someone was in need of help, such as an injured man needed healing. But...well...that was a problem for another day.
He walked behind, lost in his own thoughts.
This day also is filled with rain. Not the relentless downpours of the previous day, but a sort of endless misting drizzle that combines with the chill to leave your skin wet and cold, the rocks slippery with water and sometimes ice, and the sun a distant memory, peeking only occasionally from behind the dense clouds as though to tease.
Dimira and Roldare are shivering. Their coats part of the equipment lost at the crypt, destroyed and ripped to shreds... or worse, burned with the poor souls in that distant room with the shadow you'd prefer to forget.
Still, by dusk you are not quite to town, only close.
There is perhaps yet the span of an two hours to the town gates, such as they are. The last hour will be in darkness if you continue. Yet continuing means beds and warmth for the night. If you camp now, you will be dealing with muddy, wet ground.
Roldare, shivering and white-lipped, begs for you to press on.
Dimira simply shrugs, holding her brother tight. She seems to trust your judgment, yet she too shivers, despite having been leant Attero's traveling cloak to keep her dry.
Fin quietly conferences with Cole and Aldelenna. "I think we should push on. What do you think?"
Aye, let's keep on.
"Aye, I'm with Cole. Let's press on without a doubt. Aldelenna whispers. Another night in this cold and wet and I worry for Roldare and Dimira's health, my own as well." Achoo! Adelenna sneezes as daintily as possible, and then pulls out her kerchief to wipe the offending substances from her face. "We're hearty folk, all of us. We can trudge another few hours home. I'm sure Trelvar'll whip up a hot meal for us all!" She says, waving everyone forward with a smile.
Hansyn looks around understanding the Chosen are going to want to push on in the dark. Unfortuneately his night vision suffers from his heritage. He hoped to himself to find a magical solution to solve that problem one day.
”If we continue into the night some of us are going to need torch light. “ he then drops to a knee and pulls a torch from his pack. Looking at the weather, he hope his oiled torches will be able to light.
As you move, Roldare glances from side to side. The howls of wolves sound in the distance, and you are reminded of how your journey started.
Still, with darkness fallen and the landscape lit by Rankev's staff and the light of the Everflame, perhaps there's really something to the hokey bit about the flame bringing hope. You know you've truly reached the borders of town when you see a lone figure waiting.
Arnama.
Concern touches her face, and she is clearly relieved to see you. Her gaze moves meaningfully to Roldare and Dimira. She closes her eyes for a moment. Something—almost anger—passes expression and then she looks to Hansyn and Lodric, each in turn.
"You've done well to guide our chosen back." She smiles at Cole and Fin. "Though I warrant they did much of the guiding themselves."
She tousles Hansyn's hair and then, before he has a chance to react, cups one hand against his cheek. "Thank you, my brave messenger."
Walking up to Fin and then Cole she looks at each, grunts, and turns to Roldare. "This will need explaining. But not now. You will grow tired, I'm sure, of explaining it... and the need means you will not reach a warm bed as soon as you all hope. Come. A celebration awaits you."
Lodric shifted from foot to foot nervously. This was awkward, to say the least. He couldn’t wait until this was over.
"Aye, Arnama. We got the Flame. But, the price was heavy. We all need to get dry and warm and some safe sleep." Finlogan respectfully replies to his tutor.
Cole nods and smiles at Arnama.
We have much to tell.
As the group closes in on town, Hansyn shrugs the winter damp off of his heavy winter cloak and whispers a quick command word. The cloak lightens in weight and changes color from a dark brown to a vibrant red wool, still warm but not heavy and fur laden. Gold fringe outlines this new cloak. More fitting for the young man’s familial station in town.
As Arnama shows him affection he grins and glances over at the two rangers and brother ”Just doing what was asked of me.” The emotional weight of the others apparently leaving the boy’s thoughts.
"I fear there will be little time for sleep. Tonight there is a celebration. Be prepared. Smiles. This, too, is the job of heroes."
She glances to Roldare. "And there will be grief, too, I suspect. Did no one else make it?"
It can be lost on no one that Arnama grieves for several deaths, and the grief strikes her harder than you expect. Is it because these were townspeople she is meant to protect, rather than the rangers for whom her affection is in whether or not they get to eat a hot meal in grueling cold? Even those of you closest to her cannot be sure.
”A celebration will do the people good.” Lodric said to no one in particular. Perhaps to himself? The air felt off, like something was wrong. He didn’t know quite what it was, but he had a feeling that merriment and joy would not last.
Well, then, we best be at it. No sense in dragging things out.
"No, ma'am. We buried the rest." Fin answers his tutor reverently.
Hansyn follows the others to the (presumably) inn. Due to his brother’s current state of mind, the boy is not sure what Rankev is planning to do there, so be sticks fairly close. Close enough that he would be able to overhear any plans made this evening.
The walk to town is somber. Arnama stays at a distance, though Cole and Fin readily recognize the quiet signals to her rangers as you get closer. Hansyn recognizes some of those, too.
You know when you're getting close. Only when feasts are imminent is the light from town so overwhelm the night. The mood is jubilant as the mayor greets first your escort, and then steps before the group, smiling at the beaming light of the Everflame in its lantern.
"Greetings frie—"
Then there is a scream. And another. An elderly woman runs to Roldare and looks into his eyes, "Where are they?" she begs, her voice a plea.
The mayor looks at her and then at the group. It is clear he had not seen Roldare or Dimira, so focused he had been on the Everflame. "Tonight we celebrate the hope of the Everflame, our gift from Kassen, who founded this place for our safety." He says the words with the casual echo of a man used to making himself heard in the public square. "Let us go to the great hall and congratulate our heroes."
The crowd moves, but it is not without the help of a few well-placed rangers and guards directing. Remaining are the mayor, Moltus Vargidan, Holgast, and Aldelenna's mentor Jocyn, for once clearly sober. Arnama has moved with the guards to help quietly and safely guide the townsfolk to the great hall.
The old woman is in tears. Though none of you heard, it is clear from Dimira's arm around her and Roldare's broken-eyed expression, that they have given her the news... whichever son of Kassen she awaited is not coming home.
Before any of you can speak, the mayor holds up a hand. "It is clear something happened. But your mission was the flame, and you have brought it. That hope is something the community needs, as they need to see you in celebration, though I can see celebration is not in your hearts. Go and make merry, have a proper drink to help ease whatever horror lies behind those eyes, and we will find you. I'm sure we will have need to discuss what has happened."
"Don't you care?" The light on Rankev's staff flares. "There are dead!"
It is Holgast who speaks. "Is there not a young lady who waits for you to return her favor? Do you think she deserves your anger? Or can you allow her to celebrate with you a success?"
Moltus glares at him. "Leading is also acting the celebrant when the heart stumbles. This lesson is not part of the trial, but is the part your brother failed when he returned to us. It is why you have a place to try to claim. Will you try? Or will you be, like Zandre, consumed by your anger at the mission?"
"The people need to see you. They need to see the flame. This is the hope that gets them through winter." The mayor tries to be soothing, but truth can smart. "Once the seed is planted, we will talk about what horror might threaten. If it was imminent, you would not have walked, tired and supporting Roldare and Dimira. You would have left them someplace in safety, and come running. Do not deny it. I know Arnama's training well enough." He turns to Aldelenna "And you. I know you have it in you more than anyone to stir the hearts of the townsfolk to merriment. Let us celebrate the living. Tomorrow we will mourn the dead."
Of course the mayor is right. There are many times the heart must be ruled by the head. He is also right that Aldelenna not only knows this, perhaps better than any, but is also trained in making her face and body show something to the world that is a mask of her true self. So it is that she does exactly as is expected. Her face, her body, her music, they are all light, joyous, celebrating. She takes out the magical flute that was no doubt left by the people of the town with this express purpose in mind, and she uses it to herald the deeds of the heroic. She calls forth illusions that tell the story of a great victory over the trials and monsters that they found in Kassen's tomb. Her song, of course, leaves out all the sorrow, all the doubt, all the second-guessing. It paints the picture, with her illusions leading the way, of conquest, of victory, of strength and honor. This is the song the people seek, the dance they desire, the tune that tempts the heart to smile. And this, the song and dance, are what Aldelenna can give them. This is her heroism.
Lodric watched quietly. These weren’t his people, they had made that abundant clear. Still, his job was done. So he politely watched, sipped a drink, and waited to see what would happen.
Cole raises a drink, no doubt the first of many, after the rousing call to merriment.
Here! Here!
Hansyn joins in on the revelry and enjoys Aldelenna’s entertainment. During pauses in song or story, he shares a story or two of his own about the part he had played on the mission. By no means taking credit but making it aware that he was involved.
He does keep an eye on Rankev and the town elders, watching for interesting events or transactions between others of note.
Finlogan forces a smile and tours the party being congratulated. He explains the sadness in his eyes which reflect his heart as weariness from the road. He keeps himself from drinking too much by switching to small beers early.
When Aldelenna begins playing her magic flute, Fin digs his regular one out of his backpack to accompany her in a duet. He harmonizes with her and keeps it upbeat and fun, despite what they truly feel.
As the night wears on, it quickly becomes clear that among the revelers are those who drown their sorrows. Some have lost brothers, others friends, but the mood, while festive, has a frantic tainted air about it.
It is, perhaps, most surprising that the usually quickly inebriated Jocyn Elmaran slowly takes over for Aldelenna, his skill proving a match for even the most determined drinkers among the sorrowful.
As the others are slowly brought into tales of Everflames gathered past, the Mayor corrals you into a small meeting room.
Moltus, the Mayor, Holgast and Arnama along with a stranger, Cygar Anravis, all take seats on one side of the table.
The mayor, Jonark, is quiet. He seems reluctant to have left the Everflame alone in its place of honor, but he sits and fiddles his fingers.
"Perhaps it is a cruel trick we play upon the chosen, to test them as you have been tested." He glances at Holgast. "It's been suggested we sometimes take it too far. But while the chosen have injured before—"
"It was not Zandre's fault."
"I did not say it was, Moltus. But there have been injuries, serious ones, as we saw in Zandre's year. Always among the Chosen." He gestures to you all. "Here I see the Chosen, and among them one who I deemed too young, and one who was delayed in his arrival. And yet all of you are here. Of the men and women who went to prepare the crypt? To make safe the deadliest of traps, so that no matter how you might fear, you would come home safe... it is they who have not returned."
Arnama looks firmly at Cole, perhaps subconsciously choosing the oldest among you as her target. "I looked into Roldare's eyes. They were haunted. Frightened of the dark. That man is seeing shadows and aching to run."
The mayor holds up a hand. "Let us hear what they have to say."
Finlogan shifts on his feet waiting for Cole and Aldelenna to report and spin their tale.
We weren't greeted with what we expected. The danger and evil was much worse. Those preparing the way were slaughtered, and some turned to undead. We defeated the source, or at least, a source. There may be larger issues. I am a man of few words and I'd ask the others to tell more of the tale.
He motions with his hand, palm up, to the rest of the party.
I'll only add that this group stood strong and united against the evil.
Hansyn begins the meting remaining quiet in the back of the room. He was not part of the foray so has not much to add. He does find it interesting that he was called in and mentioned by the mayor. He had figured initially that Arnama wanted him there in the case of messages needing to be sent.
Wondering now if there was something more to this meeting than just debriefing, Hansyn moves in closer so make sure he has a clear view of everyone speaking.
After Cole finishes his expectedly terse description of things, Aldelenna begins her tale. Words are her weapons, as has been for quite some time. Long ago she learned that lacking strength did not mean she lacked power. Her beauty, her body, her masks, her words, these are her power, and now is the time to wield them in war.
"Your motives are ruined." She begins, and pauses, looking each of her superiors in the eyes to make sure they understand exactly what she means. "The quest is meant as a source of strength for the town. A ruse of valor, a disguise of victory. I know that now, as I have never known it before. Yet, here we stand to tell you that many were slain, and worse, their bodies used as weapons against us. So whatever it was you hoped would happen, has been destroyed by the evil that disturbed the crypt and woke the dead within it." She looks to Cole, Fin, and Rankev to produce the relics they found on the corpse in the lowest chamber. "These items speak of some greater scheme, a plot of which disturbing Kassen's tomb was only one small part. You could not have known such things were afoot, so no blame rests on you. There is no shame in the theater of the quest. It was designed to bring hope and perspective through the winter, those are noble aims. Yet even the noblest of goals can turn foul in this world." She waves her hand around her head in a circle, indicating the sphere of Golarion. "There were traps, yes, and there were traps. There was danger, yes, and there was, and IS still, danger. There is hope, yes, but there must be more hope, and in order to bring that hope, those with power must wield it to ferret out the source of such evil, and put it, finally, to rest." Aldelenna finishes, as she began, staring at the elder statesmen, and women, of the town, and imploring them, with her eyes, to see the dark truths of the matters at hand.
Rankev starts pulling items from pouches and backpacks. It does not go without notice that these are things that he kept close... how concerned must he have been not to entrust a bag to his faithful servant Attero?
But Rankev scatters the table with coins. You all recognize them, these are the coins from the bandits that breached the crypt. Newly minted coins from Tamran, confirmed as such by Lodric.
He pulls the contents of the pack you found with the plague zombies... complete with it's map to the crypt and the handbill advertising for folks interested in employment to meet at the Ranger's Lament.
There is also the mask—identifying at least one of the bandits as adherents of the Living God Razmiran. And finally the note: The amulets are entombed with Kassen and Asar.
Rankev leans back. "Our threat came to the crypt to find something. Something our founder was eager to lie hidden away and entombed with him forever, safe."
Perhaps strangely, it is not in tales of woe or gold or things stolen from crypts, but in the mask that the attention is held.
The stranger, Cygar, is the one who finally speaks. "I warned you they were beginning to encroach on Nirmathas."
”Besides the skeletons and zombies, there was an undead knight. Supposedly, he and Kassen were partners. The robbers woke him up when they disturbed his tomb. I’ve got his Armor for knocking off his head. Cole has his sword.”. Finlogan adds more specifics.
”Now, do you know who that guy was? Do you know the expanded history of Kassen? Because it might help figure out what is going on. As it is, the only lead we have is that inn where they recruited the robbers.”
I have found that I have to go to some national guard mandatory fun in June. From the 3rd to the 23rd I’ll have limited internet connectivity. While I’ll finally learn how to use an m249 light machine gun...it’ll limit my posting. My apologies in advance.
Hansyn countinues to listen. He thinks back on his knowledge of Kassen to identify what amulets this letter spoke of let alone any answers to Finn’s questions.
Wracking brain, he wishes he would’ve spent more time paying attention to those kind of thing.
The mayor glances at the stranger Cygar.
"This is more your area of expertise, Pathfinder."
Cygar nods. "The celebration must continue, and you must celebrate with it. But those that wish to get to the bottom of this mystery, there is work yet to be done." He nods towards Holgast.
Holgast shakes his head slow and glances to Arnama, whose brief nod is too familiar to most of you. "Very well. Celebrate then. Come to my tower in two days time. No ill will be thought of any—"
Moltus grunts and looks away.
Holgast glares at him and Moltus starts as though slapped. "As I was saying. No ill will be thought of any who do not wish to go. This charge for you was about proving yourself to the community, about developing bonds between you. Now we have a worse mission, and at the same time an easier one. At least this time you'll know what you're getting into."
Cygar nods. "Two days. Celebrate. Find the gnome if she's still willing. She has a valuable perspective." He nods toward Lodric and Hansyn. "A ceremony has rules on who gets to go. This isn't a quest or coming of age gambit. This is something mo—"
"He's too young." The mayor's eyes are on Hansyn when he speaks, but curiously, Moltus says nothing.
Hansyn’s face scrunches up in a muted scoff at his age. Surprised Moltus had nothing to add, the boy finally breaks his silence. ”I’m plenty old enough! “ he says indignantly.
Aldelenna listens, nods, and leaves, draping one hand along Finlogans arm as she goes, saying, "Two days." She goes back to show her bright and smiling face to the revelers, her mask to the people of Kassen. It is her duty, at times like this it is her curse, to bring joy to those around her no matter what lies in her own heart.
"Alright. Two days." Finlogan echoes. He nods to his tutor and follows Aldelenna out.
He mirrors her smiling face, but his eyes remain sad and haunted.
Hansyn has heard Holgast and his apprentices mention the Pathfinders in passing—it's like him not to miss any detail—but never with enough context to know exactly what they are, just an impression that's sort of treasure hunter/trouble maker.
It seems to Hansyn like Holgast holds them in little esteem, but references them as a source of information too much for them to be inconsequential.
Rankev looks troubled as he sits at the table. Even as others leave he remains seated, fingering a handkerchief. Finally he pushes away, grabs his staff and leaves.
In the common room he manages pleasantries, but Rankev is good at those. He seems, frankly, preoccupied, as though even while he's exchanging a basking congratulations from Moltus, a hug of concern from Zandre, he's all the while looking for something else.
When he does not find it, he goes to the bar, and is rewarded with a drink. The alcohol is not quite the fine brew you shared at camp, but it is not the one served to the common folk in the room either. He pulls up his hood and sits, one hand clutching his staff, the other rubbing the handkerchief, and he watches.
Asina finds Aldelenna after the meeting. "Don't worry," she whispers. Even as young as she is, she knows how to whisper in a tavern and still be heard. "Jocyn is entertaining them. I can see you don't have it in you right now. Was it that bad? We're hearing rumors, but this has never happened before! Injuries among the chosen, sure. I mean, it's dangerous. But never..." Tears are in her eyes and she hugs Aldelenna fiercely. "I'm so glad you're safe!"
Turik manages to find Hansyn. It might be out of friendship. Or it might be that as the Chosen's escort, Hansyn is being served the same fine liquor as his brother.
"See anything out there? Holgast says you're meeting with the Pathfinder!"
Turik is fast enough to get a sip of the liquor and swoons. "Man, you have all the luck."