DM Dr Evil's - Rise of Runelords - Adopted Game (Inactive)

Game Master Bill Dunn

Map of Sandpoint

Boar Hunt

GM Tracking Sheet


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Here are the continuing adventures of a group of heroes who stumble into Sandpoint, and end up saving the world (or die trying).

Welcome, thread orphans, the game will begin soon enough.


Male
Skills:
Climb -3, Diplomacy +6, Know(Nature) +5, Know(Religion) +5, Linguistics +2, Perception +6, Sense Motive +3, Spellcraft +5, Survival +7
Half-Orc Shaman 1
Stats:
(AC 15/11Tch/14FF, HP 10/10, Fort +4, Ref +3, Will +8, Init +1, Per +6)

The winds have swept me far from my people and my home, to this strange new land. The people here are odd and prone to flights of fancy. They are shockingly open and it was almost overwhelming the first time that I traveled with these Varisians. Such gaiety and innocence, almost naivety, blended with surprising candor. These new ways are strange and I find the spirits have set me a task more difficult then I anticipated.

Dot with some flavor. :)


Within a shadow he stood, grey eyes taking in new surroundings, joyful strangers and a very foreign sense of peace Don't see that lasting A wolfish smile cracked on the face of the bounty hunter After all if peace did last there wouldn't be people like me running around Karl abandoned the wall he stood against and stood straighter, showing a towering height he unintentionally hid Now to wait for things to get interesting...

Dot.


Female
Quick Stats:
Init +2, darkvision (60 ft.); Per +5, AC 14, T 12, FF 12 HP 4/8 F +0, R +4, W +3 Resist acid 5, cold 5, electricity 5, BA +0; CMB +1; CMD 13
Azata-blooded (Musetouched) Aasimar Bard (Archaeologist) 1
Skills:
Acrobatics +8, Appraise +6, Diplomacy +9, Knowledge (Arcana) +8, Knowledge (History) +8, Perception +5, Perform (Sing) +9, Perform (String Instruments) +11, Profession (Scribe) +5

Having just arrived in Sandpoint, Alesta was a bit surprised and thrilled at the festivities going on. Wearing a pair of sturdy boots, a leather skirt slit on one side to allow better movement, a simple vest and tunic, leather armor, fingerless gloves, and a cloak, the aasimar, normally a quiet and shy person, was swept up in the joyous celebration like everyone else. Her golden scales shimmered and shined in the light. Deciding to take part in the festival, the musetouched took her harp and began playing a melody, before adding a song in Celestial for good measure.

Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (1) + 5 = 6

Perform (stringed instruments): 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (19) + 11 = 30

Sing: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (8) + 9 = 17

The atmosphere was a happy one. As the aasimar continued to play, she passed by some bells, which suddenly began to play by themselves! Soon every bell was ringing, including the cathedral's! But the bells weren't just ringing, their rings were in harmony with Alesta's music.

@Everyone For those wondering what she's wearing here's an example, of course she's not wearing high heels though ;3. Here she is!


Female Tiefling Witch 1 HP 10 Init +5 AC 12, touch 12, flat-footed 10 (+2 dex) Fort +3, Ref +2, Will +5 Resist Fire 7 Cold 7 Acid 7

Nadine ducks and weaves through the crowd. A festival! People are always in the best of moods at festivals! Celebrations are the ideal time to meet people; they’re most receptive then. But you have to be careful; the wrong word to someone too drunk, the wrong person sees a quill, and celebrants become mobs. Caution is best. Stay away from the inebriated, their mood swings are dangerous. Nadine snorts through her nose a little bit in frustration and pulls her hood lower over her “hair” so no quills stick out. The trick was to hide the hair but frame the face and highlight the smile. The smile. Nadine had practiced it for days, trying to achieve the holy grail of that friendly but not overly so smile. Wide but not too wide. Inviting but not a come-on. She practiced so much her face hurt and her mirror was filthy. But all that practice would go to waste if she couldn’t make a connection with someone today. But she was hopeful-with so many people and so much practice, how could she not succeed? Nadine puts Thistle on her shoulder (a great conversation starter), once more adjusts her hood, and puts her best foot forward. Time to make friends!

Perception to look around: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (15) + 5 = 20


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31 Arodus, Last Day of Summer, 4707 Absalom Reckoning

As one approaches the town of Sandpoint, the footprint of civilization upon the wilds of the Lost Coast grows more clear. Farmlands in the outlying moors and river valleys grow more numerous and more fishing vessels are seen in the waters of the Varisian Gulf to the west. The road widens, just as it chokes with a motley assortment of Varisians, Shoanti, and Chelaxians headed to the Festival of Desna, and passages over river crossings become accomplished by wooden bridge rather than ford. The Lost Coast Road is nearing Sandpoint!

Sight of Sandpoint is kept hidden by lightly forested hilltops and rocky outcroppings that rise just east of town, but as the final bend is rounded, smoking chimneys and bustling streets greet travelers with open arms. The queue of folks lined up to enter town stretches back well away from the gate.

A low stone wall gives the town a bit of protection, as the road passes through the stone gatehouse. Two bored looking guards stand at post, neither of which looks like they'd be much help in a real fight. The sleepy guards lean against their blunt spears, yawning, barely noticing, as the procession of festival-goers enters the town in slow single file.

As you approach the gate-house you see, hanging from a bent nail, a sign and a mirror --painted on the sign is the message: "Welcome to Sandpoint! Please stop to see yourself as we see you!"

Please take a moment to describe what each of you see in the mirror then slowly pass through the gatehouse and into your new hometown. It's your place, so make with it what you will. Opening hooks for players will be forthcoming soon. Please also review the map of Sandpoint linked at top margin. Your players begin at Northgate near area 3.


Female
Quick Stats:
Init +2, darkvision (60 ft.); Per +5, AC 14, T 12, FF 12 HP 4/8 F +0, R +4, W +3 Resist acid 5, cold 5, electricity 5, BA +0; CMB +1; CMD 13
Azata-blooded (Musetouched) Aasimar Bard (Archaeologist) 1
Skills:
Acrobatics +8, Appraise +6, Diplomacy +9, Knowledge (Arcana) +8, Knowledge (History) +8, Perception +5, Perform (Sing) +9, Perform (String Instruments) +11, Profession (Scribe) +5

Alesta read the sign as she took a look at her reflection in the mirror. Wearing a pair of sturdy boots, a leather skirt slit on one side to allow better movement, a simple vest and tunic, leather armor, fingerless gloves, and a cloak, she ran a hand through her feathered hair. Her unique appearance did cause some scares while she was traveling to Sandpoint. She softly smiled as she recalled that drunk who thought she was some sort of angel come down from the Heavens to punish him for always drinking when he should have been working and spending time with his family. She had tried to calm the man down but he took one look at her winged shadow, and his mind was dead set on changing his life for the better and giving up the bottle.

Wish people would realize that there are different of celestials than just angels, the aasimar said to herself.

This was a common problem for many aasimars, for there were indeed different types of celestial beings: agathions, angels, archons, garudas, peris, and the ones Alesta was descended from, azatas. Luckily for mortals and the rest of the universe, celestials were willing to work together, despite their differing viewpoints on how good should be promoted in the world. Fiends always had a hard time getting along and usually they start tearing each other apart and would never dream of working together (unless some foolhardy wizard made them too, which would later bite the wizard in the butt sooner or later).

She went back to walking down the dusty road. Alesta stopped for a moment to study two maps: one was a current map of the region and the other was a map from when the Thassilonian Empire at its height. She was trying to see if there were any Thassilonian ruins in the area. She looked around trying to see if there was anyone she could ask some questions about Sandpoint.


Female Tiefling Witch 1 HP 10 Init +5 AC 12, touch 12, flat-footed 10 (+2 dex) Fort +3, Ref +2, Will +5 Resist Fire 7 Cold 7 Acid 7

It had been a long time since Nadine had been around this many people. Sure, it wasn't anything like her time in Egorian to be sure. This was no bustling metropolis. But there weren't any Hell Knights around either so that could only be described as a Good Thing. Nadine liked to categorize ideas like that. Shoes to cover your feet is a good thing. When your shoes break and you're forced to go barefoot for a couple months until you can buy a new pair, that's a bad thing. A hot bowl of soup and a warm loaf of bread is a good thing. Friends to share them with is a Good Thing.

Nadine looked at the flier for the festival at Sandpoint. She didn't need to look at it again, she'd already memorized it. But she looked at it anyway, because the line was slow and she need something to do to calm her nerves. A festival was a great opportunity to find a new crowd to run with. People at their cheeriest, most open to new things. This specific festival like it was even celebrating some sort of new beginning for the town! It could not be more perfect. It was a good thing.
As she approached the gate to enter the city Nadine's nervousness began to grow and the second guessing began. What if this journey was for naught? What if she couldn't find a group to join? What if people didn't appreciate her...as she was? What if she settled into a group and they found out what she really was, and they chased her off? She shuttered at the thought. It was not an experience she wanted to repeat yet again. It was a Bad Thing.

When she actually reached the gate, she tensed. Guards! Would they stop her? Would they search her? If they didn't let her in, this long trek to this town in the middle of nowhere would be wasted and she'd be out in the cold again. She adjusted her hood so that her nettles weren't visible, and did her best to relax, but her mind was racing. Racing to think of a way to sneak past them. Racing to come up with an excuse not to be searched that wouldn't arouse suspicions or cause her to be barred from entry. Racing even though she knew it didn't matter; confrontation was inevitable. But that wasn't the case. The guards didn't even look at her as she went by. Half asleep in boredom, they offered her no more scrutiny than one would a stone on the road. Nadine knew better than to relax before an ordeal was over, but she sighted as relief as she walked by. It was then that she noticed the mirror. "Welcome to Sandpoint! Please stop to see yourself as we see you!" Nadine paused to appraise herself. She shook her head. The person in the mirror didn't look the type of person she wanted to be friends with. She sighed, releasing tension, and then smiled. Better. Thistle rustled in her pocket, waking from her nap. She put her hand in her pocket and gently pet her. Nadine put some pep in her step and entered Sandpoint. She didn't know what would happen from here. It was a thing.


A new pair of studded leather boots with a light brown hue beat on the path to Sandpoint's gatehouse, their rhythm only slowing when their wearer noted the single file line that would obstruct his path for a time at least. Karl's face and body language remained neutral and mostly vague as he followed the slow pace of the line, his mind wandering very slightly to the ride that had brought him to this leg of his journey.

He remembered being ready to spin another elaborate little deception after asking the merchant to at least carry him along to Sandpoint, but the old man with partially balding, greying brown hair and kindly blue eyes immediately gave him permission to get on his cart. He also remembered thinking the man naive for accepting someone without even a bit of explanation or introduction but he obtained a free ride out of what he perceived to be naivete, so he could not really hurl complaints or let the matter bother him. Their trek was mostly uneventful save for when they approached Sandpoint and laid their eyes on a man who was repeating to himself how he'd never touch the bottle again.

@Alesta: decided to use a part of your own post, I hope that's okay, if not everyone please ignore that last sentence.

Karl also recalled them speaking about an assortment of subjects from trade to conspiracies...and if he was not mistaken they did mention the subject of the Korvosan royalty at one point or another, but the man's employee a younger man with blond hair, a thin build and nervously shifting green eyes never did engage in their talks, but he did stare at his weapons from time to time. The bounty hunter knew these mannerisms and traits all too well, he knew the young man was up to something probably not legal in more than one city at least, and for the rest of the ride he wondered whether he should bother telling merchant or not; on one hand he could leave the matter as it is wait for their potential criminal to do something stupid and capture him for a reward, but the altruistic older man had helped him without being coerced by one of his lies...that he did not see much off.

Once they were close Karl decided to hop off and continue on his own two feet the rest of the way, the blue eyed merchant tried to convince him otherwise but the mercenary wanted to move his legs prior to arriving, but before bidding the man who helped him farewell he informed him secretly of his worker's possible inclination towards dishonest behavior, but the merchant announced loudly that "Benny" would never do such things and he had known him for a number of years. Karl's only reply to this was to walk away and give the nervous little snake one last stare.

Benny, I hope you prove me right, I don't have as much coin as I'd like and it has been a while since I stayed at a decent inn Thought Karl, before he left his mental wanderings momentarily thanks to someone approaching him from the back Never liked lines He said to to himself as he kept his senses on alert, hoping to avoid any pickpockets.

............................................................

Blunt spears, yes I am sure no bandit would dream of tangling with you Karl kept the sarcastic jab to himself as he passed by the drowsy guardsmen, offering nothing but an unreadable grin as he made his way to what appeared to be a mirror.

The Korvosan exile stared at his twin with the reflective plate, it seemed that with the passing every few years he'd see another scar on his countenance, he remembered the lad that he was, smiling wickedly at one misdeed or another, but now the only upturn of his lips that he felt like giving himself was wry one Everyone's going to see whatever they want to see His eyes went to the guards he just left behind him To some I'll be a parasite stealing their work His grey orbs next moved in the direction of a few merchants on their carts Others? Hired help that'll get the job done The bounty hunter ran his fingers through his short, curly hair And to people like Benny? A monster who only cares about getting paid The mercenary left the mirror and continued on his way Honestly? All three suit me just fine


Female
Quick Stats:
Init +2, darkvision (60 ft.); Per +5, AC 14, T 12, FF 12 HP 4/8 F +0, R +4, W +3 Resist acid 5, cold 5, electricity 5, BA +0; CMB +1; CMD 13
Azata-blooded (Musetouched) Aasimar Bard (Archaeologist) 1
Skills:
Acrobatics +8, Appraise +6, Diplomacy +9, Knowledge (Arcana) +8, Knowledge (History) +8, Perception +5, Perform (Sing) +9, Perform (String Instruments) +11, Profession (Scribe) +5

@Karl Nope I don't mind at all!


Male
Skills:
Climb -3, Diplomacy +6, Know(Nature) +5, Know(Religion) +5, Linguistics +2, Perception +6, Sense Motive +3, Spellcraft +5, Survival +7
Half-Orc Shaman 1
Stats:
(AC 15/11Tch/14FF, HP 10/10, Fort +4, Ref +3, Will +8, Init +1, Per +6)

The winds off the vastness of the Varisian Gulf whip through a half-orcs hair, barely moving the . Breathing deeply of the brine-scented air, the half-orc stands and studies the ocean as the caravan he has been traveling with makes its noisy, colorful, and clattering way behind him. Experience from the past weeks had let him tune out the noise, and he strained to hear the sounds of breaking waves carried on the air. He had spent time studying and watching the ocean in Magnimar, but he still could not help but stare in appreciation. There it had been a welcome reprieve from the maddening bustle of the city, but here he was able to simply observe. It's churning and violence reflect the turmoil that is life in these lands so accurately. The spirits are in tune with one another here. Even the stars are reflected by the water at night, in their own way. The spirits may have set me a difficult path to walk, but I am glad they have seen fit to show me these wonders as well.

A sharp pain stings his ear and breaks the shaman's reverie. Ahdak Speaks-with-Stars glances sidelong at the owl perched on his shoulder, face even despite the pain. "That was an unnecessary reminder, the noise of the caravan would wake a hibernating bear a mile from this path. The relative quiet was warning enough of its passing, Noctua." Sensing amusement from the supernatural link with the owl, he restrains the impulse to poke his companion. A Shoanti, much less a Shaman of the Lyrune-Quah, must be above such petty flights of fancy. He resumes his trek, now at the end of the Varisian caravan that was taking the winding path to Sandpoint.

As the caravan continues its slow approach to the Varisia gate, Ahdak reflects on the trials that had led him to this place. His solo trek from the hunting grounds of the Lyrune-Quah, fraught with all the dangers of the rugged Storval Platuau. He remembers with distaste the criminality and hopelessness of Kaer Maga. That city was haunted by the shadows of its people's depravity. When honor is abandoned for lustful greed and moderation is freely traded for hedonism, a people will rot. The long trek from Kaer Maga had been a trial of a different nature. No longer was he facing the dangers of the Storval, nor the slinking dangers of Kaer Maga, but he instead traveled with the vivid caravans of the Varisians. His first exposure to the colorful, laughing people who were also natives of this land had been a shock. Their ways were alien to him, and he had struggled to maintain the composure expected of him. The open gaiety and laughter from that first week was perhaps more then I'd seen in long years among my own people. The frantic bustle of Magnimar and its vast ports was tempered by the vast beauty and untamed strength of the sea. Then the week of travel, to finally reach this gate of Sandpoint. Many months of travel and still no place has seemed right. If the spirits do not speak to me here in Sandpoint, then I shall have to make my way to Riddleport. This lurking danger they speak of bodes only ill for my people, but I cannot imagine I will find it in the dancing, celebrating, and feasting of this town.

Reaching the gate, Ahdak studies the sign hanging there. Welcome to Sandpoint! Please stop to see yourself as we see you? It would seem that I still do not understand this land nor its strange people. Casting a glance at the mirror, Ahdak studies his reflection a moment starting from his fur-wrapped boots, now worn with the long trek fro his homland. He studies the practical fur garb needed for life on the Storval Plateau with its hot days and chilled nights that cover his body. Where he doesn't wear armor or furs, his dark green-brown skin is obscured by vivid navy and white tattoos. He sees the runes marking the phases of the moon, those that mark the Lyrune-Quah's favored constellations and those up his right arm that mark him as shaman. He finally gazes into his own eyes, and sees the proud face of a shaman of the Lyrune-Quah gazing back at him. His expression is neutral, though it might be construed to be fierce thanks to the smalls tusks that were heritage of his mother. He sees the owl, perching on his shoulder, who has been been his sole companion who knew him in his homeland.

I do not know enough of these people to see into their hearts and understand how they will see me. Perhaps they will call me barbarian as did those who drove us from our ancestral lands. Perhaps they will see me as only a passing curiosity, a vagrant travelling with the wind as do the migrating Cinderbirds. It is no matter, I know the truth of this land and of its heart. I am here to fulfill the tasks the spirits have set me. Breaking his own gaze, he enters the gate to Sandpoint.


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Stats:
Hp's 113/113; Int: +3; AC 31/touch 25/ff 27; Fort:+15/Ref:+14/Will:+16/CMD: 37(45 Bull R/39 Disarm/47 trip)/ff 33

As they grey dwarf walks upon the gate to Sandpoint, Well, I hope this place has decent food and drink. And preferably a good place to rest. Nearing the gatehouse, the mirror catches him by surprise and he startles himself when he sees his own reflection. He stares at it a moment before turning his face from one side to the other. He takes note of the scars that aren't covered by his beard and examines his somewhat crooked nose. "Hm." He then checks his wide-brimmed grey hat to make sure it's on straight along with his grey cloak and his grey boots. Boy am I grey. And I'm not to pretty either. But I must confess, grey is my color. He grins wryly at himself before quickly erasing it, looking around to make sure no one saw that. He clears his throat out of awkwardness.

He then takes a glance over at the guards to see what they're doing, noticing they seem to not be paying much attention to anything at the moment and more importantly seem to be paying no attention to him. Looking back to the mirror, he makes a gruff looking face, observing how tough he looks. He then pops his neck from one side to the next and then makes a serious face - which, really looks no different from his gruff one but there's no way you could tell him that - and strokes his beard in the process, acting as if in deep thought. Hearing muted laughter from somewhere - at least he's quite sure he did - he flashes an irritated glance back at the guards who he would swear had turned their heads in the opposite direction of himself at the last second. Narrowing his eyes in suspicion, he looks back at the mirror a moment. He observes himself once more before instantly shooting a narrowed look back at the guards again who are supposedly minding their own business. "Hm." he mutters, not really trusting them. Lowering his hat in the front a bit, he heads into town, looking for a place to where he can find something to eat.


Baldek waddles through the water and onto the shore, waving at the longboat as it rows back to the caravel anchored further away.

Well... Guess they didn't want me aboard when arriving at Sandpoint. Can't blame them, they barely made it in one piece here!

He pauses for a short moment, feeling the water around his stout calves, and the salty wind play with his beard.

Freedom! And opportunity! Thanks to Cayden I guess!

Thankfully, the road kisses the shore at that point, as promised by the captain, and he joins travellers as they make their way to Sandpoint, learning about the festival.

Perfect! I bet they have a temple to Cayden. I should be able to get back on my feet in no time!

The strange looks on the watchmen's face, and his reflexion in the mirror tell him otherwise. He looks at his reflexion, noting the dirt on his face, his hands, his feet, the rough canvas tunic with a simple rope to keep it in place, his disheveled thick blond hair and beard.

I look like... Like a vagabond! he thinks, worried at first. But then a sheepish smile creeps up on his face. I bet I can make a few coins dressed like that... And he keeps on walking, bowing deeply to an older woman looking at him perplexed.


"Madam," he addresses the elderly lady with a croaking voice, "I see you've noticed the scar on my neck. As it happens, its sinewy pattern is a match to the belt that loosely hang on my hips. They indeed are like two lovers, who once were wrapped in one another's embrace, but now are estranged, though a keen observer, such as you Madam, can trace their past forbidden embrace in the furrows rivers of tears have left on their cheeks. And so it is of the furrows in my neck, left on the gallows by this rope, which I will let you touch, if you leave me with a shiny silver..."

And he grins at the woman like a mad dwarf.


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Alesta

Despite her revealing attire and run-ins with early revelers, Alesta is mostly unbothered during her trip to Sandpoint. In addition to attending the festival, the thoughts of Thassilonian ruins nearby and the name her mother left her, have her vexed as she waits in the long line of Varisians, merchants, party-goers, and locals all trying to crowd into the small village for the night.

Finally, her turn comes and she glances quickly into the mirror, knowing that, of course, she would look perfect. Those looks were sometimes more trouble than boon, but she knew how to take good advantage when the situation demanded.

Stepping through the gates into the small town, the dominant landmark an old ruined lighthouse that sat high above the Varisian Gulf, Alesta took a quick turn around to get her bearings. The beautiful new cathedral resplendent in shining colored glass stood on her left, and an inn, with a white birch fence running around it and a large veranda out front stood just inside the gate. The gate of the birch fence was set off by two rearing stags that reached above travelers passing through. She had heard of The White Deer inn on her travels and turned that way to secure a room.

The one name her mother had left her, in her studies on Thassilon, was an expert scholar named Brodert Quink. This man was reputed to live in Sandpoint, so perhaps someone in the Inn nearby knew the fellow.

Shouldering her pack, she headed under the rampant stags and towards the inn where a burly Shoanti man, covered in the tribal tattoos of his people stands on the veranda, a dishtowel thrown over one shoulder.


Nadine

Nadine stroked Thistle settling him. He always started when she got nervous, and she had gotten worked about the guards standing at the gate. Looking back on it, the guards were never really much of threat, and she had almost scared herself silly.

Giving a little laugh, she started to look around the village, when a voice behind her broke in. "Wha's sae funny, lassie? 'ave ye ne'er seen a wee small toon a'fore?"

Turning, she spied a older fellow, in his early 50s' perhaps, with a grizzled, stubbly beard and long salt and pepper hair. A long scar ran down his face twisting up one eye, but a friendly smile was on his face. In his hands he held reins for four or five horses and he walked with a slight limp.

"Aye, I'm a friendly sort, eh? Not t'kind tae gae distractin' a lass while mae mates pick her wee pockets. Nae, there's plenty o' tha' sort aroun' mae toon an' then soom. Name's Davy. Davy Hosk, an' a pleasure ta meet yae it tis." He sweeps a low bow, very well done for one with a limp, and elderly back, and a handful of reins.

"Nae, dae yae ken yae can help an auld gaffer oot wit' 'is blasted 'orses? They've a mind o' their own jus nae, and my leg ain't as good as she use tae bae, as yae a'ready ken, I 'spect."

Without waiting for much of a reply he passes you two sets of reins, and sets off down the hill toward the port. The lovely new church passing by on the left.


Karl

After the nice ride most of the way to the village, Karl thought it a drag to have to get down and stand in the line again. Nodding to the carter, and glaring at Benny one final time, the bounty hunter's trained eye looked the line up and down one more time for signs of his quarry. Could be some Scarzni scum would be waiting here among the farmers and merchants trying to hurry and find a good place to hawk their wares for the Festival.

He'd noticed the guardsmen, and he saw the involuntary tensing of their muscles, the tighter grip on their spears, as they saw a fighting man. Karl didn't pay them much matter. They were amateurs, it was easy to see, the ill fitting uniforms and the paunchy bellies made it clear that if this was the front-line of defense, the town was in trouble. OR maybe they just didn't have much need for hard men here.

Squeezing past a girl and man holding the reins of some horses, Karl stalked into town. The fair-goers certainly held sway, with brightly dressed Varisians, somber Shoanti, and profit-minded Chelaxians all mixing in the little town. A half-orc brute pushing a dustbin cart shouldered past Karl, the tabard he wore indicating he worked for the village.

The nearby inn, with a neat birch fence and the sign of rearing stags caught his eye. Yep, he could use a drink after the long trip on the road, and who knows, maybe there would be a nice cutpurse or low-life in there, just to make things interesting.


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Anyone entering the under the archway of rearing stags at The White Deer

Perception DC 10:
The building is 3 stories, stone at the bottom, and wood for the top two. The wood structure seems much newer than the rest of the foundation and there are scorch marks, as if from a fire some time back, on the stone.

AND

Perception DC 20:
On the gallery, the fence-posts and the structure itself, there is evidence of other wooden carved sculptures that have been amateurishly hacked away leaving rough edges or stumps etc.


Ahdak

The half-orc shaman is a bit self-conscious in the line of full-blooded humans waiting to get into the village where the dedication of a new cathedral was going to happen on the morrow. From the looks of things, the festival was already in full swing, with brightly dressed Varisians and merchants and farmers of all kinds swarming the road.

Up the queue of those patiently waiting came a traveling troupe of Varisians, dressed as usual in garish colors and costumes. Adhak noted the orange and purple colors, ones he associated with the sunset over the Cinderlands and watched as the entertainers went about a variety of acrobatics, tumbling and dancing, exhorting the crowd to clap or sing along as the made the wait more bearable.

Perception DC 12:
As the entertainers drew the attention of farmers and merchants, another group of Varisians, not so gaily dressed, went behind the queue, helping themselves to handfuls of the wares of those in the line. Adhak sees the thievery, locking eyes with a youngster of about 15 who has a live chicken in one hand and a string of pearls in the other.


Darnak

After making several faces in the mirror, all of which looked pretty grim, the man behind Darnak clears his throat rather loudly. The dwarf cuts his eyes back and sees a wide-bodied Shoanti man tapping his foot impatiently.

"Move along, runt." says the man "You've had yer fun. I need to get a prime spot to sell me pies. Now step aside."

Certain by this point the town's constabulary will be intervening in the dispute, Darnak turns ready to plead his case, but he only sees the fatter of the two stifling a yawn, while the smaller one seems to be watchign some Varisian acrobats performing a little farther down the line.

"Are ye deaf, little fella?" says the Shoanti pie-maker, taking a step forward. "Move yer act outta my way. Now!"


Baldek

The old woman, with whom Baldek is being witty, only blinks at him. Her rheumy eyes not really seeing the vagabond dwarf. "Casp?" she crackles her voice like sandpaper on a chalkboard. "Casp? Is that you? Looks like your beard needs a trim again. Remind me to get my scissors sharpened when we get back home, dear. I'll make a new man out of you before I'm done, mark my words. Come home now dear, dinner is getting cold, and you've been at work for so long. I've been missing you Casp. I've been..."

The gammer's words are interrupted as a pair of younger women, a matching pair by the looks, come up to the elderly woman. "Momma, who ARE you talking to? This one looks like he just washed up. Smells like it too." She turns her back on you, trying to shuffle her mother along back to where they have a stall set up.

The other girl, the younger of the two smiles at Baldek. "My apologies, sir, for my mother. She hasn't really been the same since Father passed away and that's five years gone. We hope she'll come around any day, but, well she has good days and bad days. I do hope you'll understand. Welcome to Sandpoint, take this...there's a fair on, and you might be wanting it. You might find some supper at the Dragon, if you're hungry. Just tell them Anika sent you."

She shoves a silver sail into your palm and with a polite nod, turns to help her sister move the older woman along back to their bakery shop.


Female Tiefling Witch 1 HP 10 Init +5 AC 12, touch 12, flat-footed 10 (+2 dex) Fort +3, Ref +2, Will +5 Resist Fire 7 Cold 7 Acid 7

Nadine takes the reigns, smiles, and walks along next to the old man. What luck! Coming into town as part of a group makes you appear as though you belong! Much easier to fit in that way! Nadine takes another look at Davy. Grizzled as he was, his disposition was positive and that was a good sign. It would be important to watch how others in town treated Davy. Hopefully they too saw past his exterior to the goodness that was (hopefully) underneath. If they did with him, maybe they could do the same for her...

Now! To start the conversation. Nadine flipped through topics, deciding on what icebreaker would both reveal the most information and start things off on the right foot. After a couple seconds pondering, she made her decision, and in a friendly tone queried, "So have you come to the festival or are you lucky enough to live here?" She made sure to emphasize the right words as she spoke, so he would not think her sarcastic or condescending and she smiled and made eye contact so he could see her sincerity.


Baldek bows deeply: "My Lady is too kind..." as he receives the shiny silver, "Perhaps I can be of help? I traveled the far seas and the strangest roads? Casp you say? Can you tell me more? Perhaps I've heard of him!"


Tranquility and joy stuck to the air like a fog, and it seemed like no one in this town had stepped out of their veil. This kind of ambience was foreign to Karl, who's known the mood Korvosa and Riddleport for most of his life. It almost felt like there was an invisible wall that blinded bandits, thieves and people he generally earned money by capturing from this place...but Karl had a feeling deep down that there was more to Sandpoint than met the eye, but whether this feeling was born of pure paranoia or a sharp instinct was something he'd have to find out. Still there was one thing he could not deny about this town, its flavor for the peculiar; while just a few ways back he passed by an old man and a young woman try their best steer five horses while they remained on foot Lack of riders won't stop them He smiled to himself while he studied the inn that stood before him.

Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (11) + 6 = 17

Marks of a fire...accident, riot, maybe even an angry drunk Karl moved his eyes from the newer wood to the scorch marks A story for the people who look hard enough, eh? After giving the new wooden wall a single knock he walked to the door and swung it open. The bounty hunter gave the interior of the inn a quick search, looking for any oddities or more old scars caused by the fire that left the scorch marks on the outside.

Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (18) + 6 = 24


Female
Quick Stats:
Init +2, darkvision (60 ft.); Per +5, AC 14, T 12, FF 12 HP 4/8 F +0, R +4, W +3 Resist acid 5, cold 5, electricity 5, BA +0; CMB +1; CMD 13
Azata-blooded (Musetouched) Aasimar Bard (Archaeologist) 1
Skills:
Acrobatics +8, Appraise +6, Diplomacy +9, Knowledge (Arcana) +8, Knowledge (History) +8, Perception +5, Perform (Sing) +9, Perform (String Instruments) +11, Profession (Scribe) +5

Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (19) + 5 = 24

As Alesta walked towards the three-story stone and wooden inn, she looked at it a bit, noticing some wooden carved sculptures had been hacked away. She was a bit puzzled by this.

Maybe the innkeeper might know, she thought to herself as she also noticed some scorch marks on the stone and that in places the wood was much newer than others, if the newer looking paints hadn't already pointed that out.

I just had to repaint parts of my house, and I was extremely worried that the fresh coat of paint on parts would clash with the older coats of paint! So I used that here!

She entered the inn and surveyed the patrons and servers. She noticed a large muscled Shoanti man with a dishtowel in hand. Believing him to be the innkeeper, she headed towards him.

Excuse me sir, but I'm new in Sandpoint and I was wondering, if it's not too much trouble that is, could you answer some questions for me pleasse?

As she spoke, her voice had a strong melodic tone to it.


Stats:
Hp's 113/113; Int: +3; AC 31/touch 25/ff 27; Fort:+15/Ref:+14/Will:+16/CMD: 37(45 Bull R/39 Disarm/47 trip)/ff 33

Darnak narrows his eyes at the over-sized human. He's fat. Probably eats most of his profits. I hit 'im low, he overcompensates with his big fat fist and tries to bring it down upon me head. Hit or miss, he leaves 'imself open for me to bury me knee in his gut, which in turn, doubles 'im over for a wide open 'Skullsplitter' move that leaves him a broken and bloody nose. He's either real stupid and swings wildly with nothin' behind it, which I then finish 'im off and get arrested, or, he runs and complains to the guards which gets me arrested. Hmmm. "Huh? Deaf did ya say? No, I don't think so. But if you're seeing spots with your eyes - although, doesn't make a lot o' sense seein' how ya can't see spots with anythin' else - you should probably go see the local priest. He'll help ya with your eye problem." He then turns to leave but stops, turning back to the pie maker. "And sorry about me pack; didn't realize it was ruinin' your day." He nods, grinning, turning and making his way into town.


Male
Skills:
Climb -3, Diplomacy +6, Know(Nature) +5, Know(Religion) +5, Linguistics +2, Perception +6, Sense Motive +3, Spellcraft +5, Survival +7
Half-Orc Shaman 1
Stats:
(AC 15/11Tch/14FF, HP 10/10, Fort +4, Ref +3, Will +8, Init +1, Per +6)

As always, a real pleasure to be playing with you, DM DocEvil. Loved the intro so far. :)

Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (6) + 6 = 12

Despite the pleasant sea breeze whipping off the Varisian Bay, cooling the warm summer day, Ahdak had begun to feel oppressively warm in the midst of the congregating townfolk. Out of place in his browns and grays, with only his tattoos hinting at color, Ahdak formed a void among the brightly dressed revelers who laughed gaily and applauded as acrobats tumbled, juggled, and busked. He felt the eyes naturally drawn to him, as an stone will slowly tumble into a pit, and the whispering followed him as he made his slow way through the crowds.

Overwhelmed by the activity all about him, Ahdak only barely notices the criminals moving through the crowd and fleecing those who cheered the performers. A boy, not long to manhood, stops in his tracks, eyes locking with the near-black eyes of the Shoanti shaman. It would seem that even here, ambushes are laid for the unwary and the weak are prey. But where is the hunter to drive them from the hold? A long moment passes, the boy is tense where the shaman stands expressionless, contemplating. Speaks-with-Stars breaks the silence, saying quietly, "A jackal will skulk in the shadows and scavenge from the detritus left by those who can stand on their own. A lion will stand, free and proud in the sun, ready to face the dusk knowing that he has lived honorably. The path before is unclear, but only your feet can decide which way to walk. Choose wisely and remember: Every step, a mile."

Turning away, Ahdak continues on his way, keeping a wary eye on his own possessions while seeking a place where he might have a respite from the thronging masses around him.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (16) + 6 = 22


Nadine

The grizzled veteran listens with his head cocked to one side as Nadine asks him an ice-breaking question. He turns and gives her a wry smile, "Looky? I doan' ken 'ow looky I am, but aye, I dae live 'ere in wee Sandpoin'. Been tough times 'round 'ere, boot may it bae they'r comin' tae an end. Aye, lass. I make mae hoom 'ere an' mae bizness tae. Run t'local stables, yae ken, an' wit' all these folks in toon, I ha' tae bring in moor 'orses. An't that's where yae coom in. I thank'ee fer helpin' an auld man oot. Tae bae sure!" He gives a little bow and again you see how easy he moves for someone with a limp.

The two of you descend the hill below the new cathedral and turn the corner at a smithy where two enormous red dogs sit in the yard, lazing in the late summer sun. Neither rouses at your approach, but a torrent of absolutely filth-laden profanity assaults your ears as you near, only interrupted by the ringing of a hammer on steel.

"That'd bae Das Korvut, the local smith. Fine craft'man ye ken, but t'mouth oon that lad'd put a Chelaxian devil t'shame. Nae, what brings a fine lassy like yerself tae mae wee toon, eh?"


Baldek

The girl, Anika apparently, turns as you speak. "Aye sir, my father was Casp. Casp Avertin, the sheriff in these parts for many a year. He was killed in the line of duty five years ago. Murdered, some say. My ma took it really hard and has never been the same since." she gives another polite nod and hurries off to the bakery shop named Sandpoint Savories, leaving Baldek alone with a silver sail in his hand.

A few moments later, a fellow dwarf wanders by. He wears fine silken robes and has sparkling bejeweled rings on all his fingers. His hair and beard are neatly oiled and braided, with rings of silver. He carries an ivory walking stick, and his shoes are made from some expensive reptile leather. He stops when he sees Baldek standing on the sidewalk, looks him up and down, taking in the sackcloth garb and the hangman's belt. "Brother, pardon my saying so, but by Torag's Beard you look a mess. What brings you to our fair town? Are you, perhaps, lost?"


Alesta and Karl

Entering the dooryard, both the newcomers noticed the signs of previous fire at the White Deer, the re-building and repainting not covering them very well.

Alesta also noticed the damaged pillars and posts where some ornamentation or other wood was hacked off the fenceposts. She noted the odd fact, but isn't sure what it means.

Alesta stepped up on the wide front porch, where shuttered doors, now open, led to the rest of the inn's common room. The room was full of carousers, already starting the party, and the Shoanti man with a dish-towel was struggling to keep up at the bar.

Karl entered behind the woman, noticing her revealing outfit and dazzling appearance, especially the strange hair (were those feathers?). Either way, she seemed to head towards the inn-keep just as he was, so he stepped up close enough to hear.

When Alesta spoke, the melodious resonance of her voice stopped the conversation in the crowded bar-room cold. All eyes turned to take in her radiant appearance.

Perception DC 12:
"It's Nualia, back from the dead." whispered someone in the crowd. "Hush, that ain't possible an' you know it." answered someone else in a gruff voice.

The bar-man, a large and heavily tattooed Shoanti, with a bald head and bulging biceps grunts at the newcomer. "What do you want? Very busy here. I am selling drinks here, not answering question, yes?" his Common accent is quite thick and he looks just as unfriendly as he sounds...Perhaps he is in the wrong line of business?

A soundly drunk Varisian man calls out "A song! A song!" and soon the whole barroom is calling for the attractive young woman to use that lovely voice to entertain them.

Karl's trained eyes scour the room. While some of the festival-goers looks shady, and nearly all are in their cups to one extent or the other, none are recognized as villains. Curious about the girl, the bounty hunter steps aside, allowing her free access to the small stage in the corner of the common room.


Darnak

As he is rudely accosted by the impatient piemaker, Darnak's mind plays out all the possible combat scenarios that take place if this little dust-up turns ugly. He smiles a bit, perhaps it his hidden by his beard, as 100% of those scenarios end with him eating a cartload of pie, while his opponent lies bleeding in the dust.

Shaking himself back to reality, his mouth watering a little with the sweet taste of imaginary blueberries, Darnak instead excuses himself and hustles through the opening, turning back to take a verbal parting shot at the Shoanti merchant.

Much to his chagrin, as his attention is diverted, the dwarven monk bumps squarely into a much larger and brawnier half-orc, who is wearing a colored tabard with the Sandpoint town sigil on it. The orc, who had been pushing a rubbish hand-cart, turns over the cart and a load of garbage tumbles onto the ground right inside the gate.

"Gorum pound it, man! Watch yourself...Now I..." barks the half-orc before he can turn and see who bumped into him. When he does turn, his ire raises even more, if possible, his face reddening. "Little runt. Torag lover! Why you push me? Knock over cart? Now pick up garbage or Gorvi thrash you, right here and now." The pointed tusks of the janitor-orc show as he growls threateningly at Darnak, reaching his hand to a baton-like club he wears at his belt.

The crowd around starts to press in expecting a fight.


DM DoctorEvil wrote:

Baldek

The girl, Anika apparently, turns as you speak. "Aye sir, my father was Casp. Casp Avertin, the sheriff in these parts for many a year. He was killed in the line of duty five years ago. Murdered, some say. My ma took it really hard and has never been the same since." she gives another polite nod and hurries off to the bakery shop named Sandpoint Savories, leaving Baldek alone with a silver sail in his hand.

A few moments later, a fellow dwarf wanders by. He wears fine silken robes and has sparkling bejeweled rings on all his fingers. His hair and beard are neatly oiled and braided, with rings of silver. He carries an ivory walking stick, and his shoes are made from some expensive reptile leather. He stops when he sees Baldek standing on the sidewalk, looks him up and down, taking in the sackcloth garb and the hangman's belt. "Brother, pardon my saying so, but by Torag's Beard you look a mess. What brings you to our fair town? Are you, perhaps, lost?"

Before Anika leaves, Baldek mouths deeply felt words of thanks and promises to pray for the dead sheriff.

When addressed by the good-looking Dwarf, he beams and replies: "Hello Brother. Indeed, I was lost, so to speak, but no longer. I have found my calling, and it has brought me to these sandy shores, with the Drunken One looking over my shoulder. Say, would you point me to the cathedral? And while you're at it, would you help a drunken fool of a dwarf, I'll say a few good words to Him on your behalf..."

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7


Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (18) + 6 = 24

Strangeness it seemed was far more prevalent in Sandpoint than he thought, it would certainly be a lesson in underestimating the surprises new places could throw at you; first a fire, then the mentioning of a dead person coming back to life and now a girl with what looked to be feathers in her hair, who the bounty hunter abandoned to withstand the arrows of adoration and expectation from the mostly drunk crowd on her own Easy on the eyes...hope her singing voice is easy on the ears His thoughts wandered to pseudo-pessimistic pastures, as he found himself an unoccupied stool by the bar.

Don't hold it against me if you have stage fright Snickered Karl as he considered the possibility and decided to see where this situation would lead before getting down to establishing his usual relationship with tavern owners This one doesn't seem like he'll scare easy, maybe appeal to something he respects? The well armed traveler sifted through his options in regards to the Shoanti that ran this establishment while he waited for beautiful woman to sing or run away, he smiled in the direction of the forcibly elected songstress "She can't sing with all of you barking like hungry dogs! He shouted, doing his best to raise his voice over the rest, his right arm resting on the bar, and his sinister smile aimed like a crossbow in Alesta's direction Whichever you choose give me a good show.


Ahdak

The youth only stares at you for another second -- whether at your cryptic advice or at your odd appearance, then rushes off his loot in hand, back to rear of the line.

As the acrobatic performers end up their performance to a warm round of applause, they pass the hat, thereby seeking donations from the very audience their cohorts were stealing from a few moments ago.

Luckily, Adhak passes into the town before the hat gets to him, but to his displeasure, the crowds, if anything, are more thronging in the village. Celebrations are already underway it seems, and more dancing and singing Varisians (sans the pickpockets, one hopes) are everywhere.

The White Deer Inn, nearby looks like a nice haven, but upon closer inspection, that find establishment is literally bursting at the seams with crowd all of whom seem to be under the spell of a performer of some kind.

Adhak seeks solitude and quiet, and as he looks for a spot, his eyes fall on the newly built Cathedral across the churchyard. In the yard, workmen are busily erecting a stage and many trestle tables and chairs are being arranged for the consecration on the morrow. Despite all the activity, few if anyone seems to be going in or out of the cathedral itself.

Looking about for a clear path through the crowd, Ahdak starts that way. Before he gets but a few steps, he hears a curse and a shout, and sees a large half-orc gathering himself for a fight with a stout looking dwarf. It seems one has bumped into the other, and pile of garbage has been spilled.

The half-orc is rather angry, Adhak thinks, and he seems to be reaching for his club handle.


Female Tiefling Witch 1 HP 10 Init +5 AC 12, touch 12, flat-footed 10 (+2 dex) Fort +3, Ref +2, Will +5 Resist Fire 7 Cold 7 Acid 7

Wincing at the flurry of curses, Nadine made a mental a note to avoid the blacksmith. The angry were often violent, and a blacksmith is typically surrounded by many implements with which to vent his anger. A recipe for disaster if there ever was one. Turning back to Davy, Nadine addressed the question with a smile. "I'm here the same reason many of these other people are here. Who can say they don't want to celebrate good times with friends?" Nadine's eyes sparkled as she looked about Sandpoint, happy to once again hear the hustle and bustle of many people in one place. She could barely contain her excitement and let loose a volley of queries. "Has there ever been a celebration like this here before? If so, are they common? What type of food will there be? What type of music is popular here? What time tomorrow do festivities start? Is there anything in particular I should look out for or pay attention to?"


Stats:
Hp's 113/113; Int: +3; AC 31/touch 25/ff 27; Fort:+15/Ref:+14/Will:+16/CMD: 37(45 Bull R/39 Disarm/47 trip)/ff 33

Rolling his eyes, Blast. I've barely entered this town and this is the second one wanting to take me head off. But this one is not nearly as incompetent. He 'tis a blowhard though. He then looks to the garbage. And he has nothing nearly as good ta eat. Turning his attention back to the half-orc, "Look, it was an accident. I didn't mean to knock yer garbage over. Now, I've no problem helpin' ya with yer garbage, but I'm thinkin' you can ask a bit nicer. I don't think that's too much ta ask. 'Cause there's no sense in this turnin' ugly now, is there?" he asks, staring him straight in the eye. As he does, he casually positions his feet and prepares for the big brute to act accordingly.

Crane style


Male
Skills:
Climb -3, Diplomacy +6, Know(Nature) +5, Know(Religion) +5, Linguistics +2, Perception +6, Sense Motive +3, Spellcraft +5, Survival +7
Half-Orc Shaman 1
Stats:
(AC 15/11Tch/14FF, HP 10/10, Fort +4, Ref +3, Will +8, Init +1, Per +6)

Ahdak watches the youth flee dispassionately, but Noctua's nestling against his head and mournful hoot speaks to his internal struggle. It would seem that he is intent on his path. So be it. I cannot change a river's course. Turning away from the avarice on the street, Ahdak makes his slow way through the crowd. Admiring the newly constructed Cathedral, the shaman allows himself to be led by the crowd towards the building. His patience strained by the crowds and his ongoing inability to make headway, he is displeased to find himself slowed even further by the fight breaking out in the street. He forces his way through the crowds until he is in the circled ring, where he addresses the furious half-orc, "Peace be here, brother. The dwarf will help you to set right to your cart. Fighting like a pair of headstrong deer will only delay your work further. The dwarf seems to have been clumsy, but no more."

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (8) + 6 = 14


Female
Quick Stats:
Init +2, darkvision (60 ft.); Per +5, AC 14, T 12, FF 12 HP 4/8 F +0, R +4, W +3 Resist acid 5, cold 5, electricity 5, BA +0; CMB +1; CMD 13
Azata-blooded (Musetouched) Aasimar Bard (Archaeologist) 1
Skills:
Acrobatics +8, Appraise +6, Diplomacy +9, Knowledge (Arcana) +8, Knowledge (History) +8, Perception +5, Perform (Sing) +9, Perform (String Instruments) +11, Profession (Scribe) +5

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (3) + 9 = 12

Im sorry sir but I was just curious about the reason to why there were several decorations that were hacked off and was there a fire here not too long ago? I noticed scorch marks on the stone portions of this place. And do you know where Brodert Quink lives? I'm a scholar, an archaeologist to be in fact from Magnimar, and I wish to speak to him.

Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (10) + 5 = 15

When she heard the name of Nualia and that someone confused her with this person, the musetouched asked, Who is Nualia? Is she an aasimar like me?

Alesta had only known a few aasimar growing up in Magnimar, so it would be nice to meet another one of her kind, but according to the murmurs and whispers this Nualia was dead.

Before she could think further on the subject, someone requested a song from her, then suddenly everyone in the tavern was asking for Alesta to sing.

Sing? A song right now? I'm a bit tired from my journey, but I guess one won't hurt. Um...what shall I sing? Would a song in Celestial be good?


"Whatever will get them to quiet down" Karl shouted again trying to get his rough voice to push through the wall of sound that surrounded the archaeologist Singing in a room filled with loud drunks, I guess fear of the stage isn't something she's ever worried about He added mentally before turning briefly to the stern looking Shoanti "Some eggs and something cold to drink"


Baldek

Sorry if didn't make this clear before, but in my mind, you are in or around Area 35 on the Sandpoint Map attached at top. It is a market square and is bustling with merchants and patrons on this pre-festival day. The rest came in on the far NE side of town near the wall.

"What! A brother of stone not a follower of Torag? It's nearly sacrilegious." laughs the well-dressed dwarf merrily. He continues with a whisper and a wink. "Follower of Old Deadeye myself, but don't let out the secret, eh? Name's Aesrick from the family Battlehorn. Head of the Carpenter's Guild here in Sandpoint. Yes, you heard me right, Carpentry, not stonework. Don't fight those stereotypes, do I? Now let's see about getting you properly attired for the fair. Come along, there's a good fellow!" his Common speech has little of the normal dwarven accenting.

He takes you by the arm and tries to lead you off towards the west. As Baldek struggles as to whether to head off with his new dwarven friend or not, he sees an older, partially crippled man and a young girl with a hood up leading a troop of horses into the square from the north. They seem to deep in conversation. Baldek thinks there is something odd about the girl, but can't quite put his finger on it.


Karl and Alesta

Karl sits in one of the few empty seats remaining in the raucous inn. He shouts his order down to the Shoanti tender who only grunts in reply but eventually slings an icy draft down the bar, along with a bowl of boiled eggs.

When Alesta starts in with the questions, the busy barman turns on her, pointing his large finger in her face. "Girl, what did I tell you? No time for questions, I ain't in that business. Now sing or don't sing, but leave me alone, unless you is ordering something."

The crowd continues to chant for a song, some pounding their earthen mugs on the bar to underscore their demand.

As Alesta stands flustered, she hears a small voice whisper in her ear, "I know Quink...I'll answer your questions once you settle the place down. I'm sure anything you sing will be terrific!" Turning quickly she doesn't see anyone at her ear, but she heard the sound there nonetheless.

Perception (for both) DC 18:
In the crowd, you see a little blue-haired gnome fellow drinking from an enormous (for him) mug. He gives a childish little wave when your eyes meet.

For purposes of locating on the map, The White Deer Inn, is Area #3 at the top.


Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (7) + 6 = 13

In one feral swoop the bowl was empty, the only sign that there had been anything in there was the shifting Karl's jaws, soon enough the armored man swallowed and took a swig of the cool drink. It did not seem like the raging revelers would calm themselves till the poor girl gave them a song, but nothing did seem to go out of hand yet, but Karl knew that every tavern was a spark away from a raging inferno of chaos. That was something he could make a profit on if he played his cards right.

"Care to hire me if things get out of hand?" For now the bounty hunter decided not to put any kind of price on the table, he wanted to see the man's reaction to the idea first. The one thing he did put on the literal table though was what he owed the man.


Female
Quick Stats:
Init +2, darkvision (60 ft.); Per +5, AC 14, T 12, FF 12 HP 4/8 F +0, R +4, W +3 Resist acid 5, cold 5, electricity 5, BA +0; CMB +1; CMD 13
Azata-blooded (Musetouched) Aasimar Bard (Archaeologist) 1
Skills:
Acrobatics +8, Appraise +6, Diplomacy +9, Knowledge (Arcana) +8, Knowledge (History) +8, Perception +5, Perform (Sing) +9, Perform (String Instruments) +11, Profession (Scribe) +5

The shy aasimar was a bit puzzled at the speaker and began to wonder who had spoke it but the barkeep's anger and the human stranger's shouts demanding her to hurry up and get things under control brought her back to the situation.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (11) + 9 = 20

I apologize good sir. I didn't mean to be so rude to you and to cause such a ruckus. I..I'll do what I can to quiet them.

Perform (sing): 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (16) + 9 = 25

Taking a deep breath, she began to sing. The song started out soft and while only a whisper came from her lips, all in the tavern could hear her words, but with each word the song's volume increased slowly and softly, until the song filled the air. The song was about harmony and the search for truth in the vastness of the universe and the endless quest for hope and virtue amongst the strangeness of the world. While the song lasted for only for a few minutes all who had heard the song would swear that the song had lasted for years. It would leave the listeners speechless and would ease their minds of any troubles that plagued them and reinvigorate them for the trials ahead.

Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (20) + 5 = 25

As she neared the end of her song, she spotted a blue haired gnome who waved at her. She began to wonder if it was he who had whispered in her ears.


Good...sir... The words played in Karl's mind for a few moments before he stifled a chortle; oh he's heard a lot of "sirs" in his life but the only times he's ever heard the word "good" in relation to himself was usually in one form "Good Riddance" or another.

A second swig followed as the bard began her song, but the mug didn't touch his lips as he listened on. For the longest time it seemed that the melody that swam in the atmosphere of the tavern had no intention of leaving. The song itself puzzled Karl, for while he found it as easy on the ears as its songstress was easy on the eyes, it made him feel a strange sense of bitterness and sobriety, feelings he wasn't used to dealing with when a song was sung at a tavern. At the end there was not much of a trace of Karl's toothy grin, just a vague straight line that was immediately hidden behind the seemingly rediscovered mug in his hand.


Nadine

The smithy with cursing and red dogs is Area 15 on the map. You are headed down Festival Street toward the square during this visit. The actual stables are Area 38.

Davy Hosk chuckles a bit as the big barrage of questions come flying out of the little lady. He nods to several people passing by on the street and begins to answer the questions.

"Aye, we have a Festival each year to celebrate the good goddess Desna. But nae, wae ne'er had oon like t'is a'fore, ken? New cathedr'l makes t'is year extry special. I 'xpect aull manner o' food an' moor. As yae can sae fer yerself jus' bae lookin' 'roun', t'Varisians are a dancin' people. Those foolk'll take care o' t'music yae can coont oon that. T'party's already startin' as yae ken. AT sundoon tomorry, the progr'm begins, yae'll noot want tae miss that."

Hosk leads you past a theater with an ostentatious facade and continues down to the market square, dodging and weaving cannily through the crowd starting to build down there. Through the mix, Nadine sees a strange sight: a dwarf wearing nothing but a sack-cloth with a rope tied round the middle. He is in a discussion with anohter well dressed dwarf and their juxtaposition almost makes her giggle.

Hosk turns to the left down Market Street, and soon stops standing in front of a stable that announces itself as: Goblin Squash Stables. The sign indicating a goblin's head being stepped on by a large stallion.

"Well, looks like wae are 'ere," says the limping man. "Let's poot t'ese loovelies tae bed, an' then I'll buy yae a pint fer yer court'sy, miss."

The stables are perhaps the most clean and well kept stalls you have ever seen. An aged black cat leaps up on the stall door near you, rubbing against you begging for a petting. As you look around you see strings of strangely shaped dried leaves hanging all over the stables.

Perception DC 12:
Closer inspection reveals those dried leaves to be something else. Goblin ears! Dozens of them hang from strings all over the otherwise pristine livery.


DM DoctorEvil wrote:

Baldek

Sorry if didn't make this clear before, but in my mind, you are in or around Area 35 on the Sandpoint Map attached at top. It is a market square and is bustling with merchants and patrons on this pre-festival day. The rest came in on the far NE side of town near the wall.

"What! A brother of stone not a follower of Torag? It's nearly sacrilegious." laughs the well-dressed dwarf merrily. He continues with a whisper and a wink. "Follower of Old Deadeye myself, but don't let out the secret, eh? Name's Aesrick from the family Battlehorn. Head of the Carpenter's Guild here in Sandpoint. Yes, you heard me right, Carpentry, not stonework. Don't fight those stereotypes, do I? Now let's see about getting you properly attired for the fair. Come along, there's a good fellow!" his Common speech has little of the normal dwarven accenting.

He takes you by the arm and tries to lead you off towards the west. As Baldek struggles as to whether to head off with his new dwarven friend or not, he sees an older, partially crippled man and a young girl with a hood up leading a troop of horses into the square from the north. They seem to deep in conversation. Baldek thinks there is something odd about the girl, but can't quite put his finger on it.

"Looks like the Drunk Fool Himself has set you on my path, good Aesrick. Nothing but a pleasure to meet a fellow such as yourself! I am Baldek. I've just arrived by ship from far Eleder... And I'm happy to leave my steps under your care." he offers with his croaked voice, glad the wealthy Dwarf does not ask about the scar around his neck.

He gives a quick glance to the young girl, but his attention is wrapped around the words of Aesrick, and he follows with a large grin growing through his bushy blonde beard.


Stats:
Hp's 113/113; Int: +3; AC 31/touch 25/ff 27; Fort:+15/Ref:+14/Will:+16/CMD: 37(45 Bull R/39 Disarm/47 trip)/ff 33

Darnak cuts his eyes towards the newly arrived half-orc before quickly returning his gaze back to the immediate threat. Great. Now there's two of 'em. This is gonna be tricky if this blowhard picks up another. Will give the new one credit though, he speaks well for his kind. "I'm not lookin' for a fight, lad, and never was," he says, his eyes constantly moving from one half-orc to the other so as to remain alert in case either comes at him. "And it was an accident, yes, but clumsy, lad, clumsy I'm not. More of a lack of payin' attention ta where I was goin' than trippin' over me own feet. And I told this one here I'd help 'im pick up his garbage. He just needs ta be a bit more respectful of others and not talk down to us just because he thinks he can. Not askin' for much here - just a bit o' kindness is all." His eyes continue to dart between the two as he prepares for the garbage man to strike first.


Darnak and Ahdak

Ahdak steps into the circle formed by the fight-hungry crowd. The offending dwarf and the angry half-orc stare each other down as the shaman enters trying to placate both parties, but especially the orc garbageman.

The other half-orc, Gorvi, looks Adhak over has he intervenes and laughs. "You too human brother. Grow fierce, hate dwarves!" he pounds his own chest, puffing up like a rooster. "I will beat dwarf. Gorvi is strongest there is!"

He looks a little taken aback as Darnak takes an odd defensive style, standing on one leg fists raised.The crowd also murmurs at the strangeness of the dwarf's style. Still ready for anything, Darnak tries to talk his way out of trouble but Gorvi is having none of it.

"Gorvi will speak how Gorvi speaks. Dwarf-runt not tell Gorvi! Gorvi rip dwavf face off..." he bristles clearly ready to rumble, when a long whistle pierces the crowd noise.

The specators part and an armored man with a longsword at his belt and greataxe strapped to his back enters. The silver star on his jerkin marks him as a law enforcer. "Disperse! All of you. Nothing to see here...Move along." To both your surprise, the crowd does begin to depart. The sheriff turns to Gorvi and begins reading the brute the riot act.

"Stay right where you are!" the lawman says to both Ahdak and Darnak. "I'll get to you two next."


Female Tiefling Witch 1 HP 10 Init +5 AC 12, touch 12, flat-footed 10 (+2 dex) Fort +3, Ref +2, Will +5 Resist Fire 7 Cold 7 Acid 7

Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (10) + 5 = 15

"I couldn't possibly accept you paying for a drink, but I would enjoy the company" Nadine happily reaches to pet the cat. "A little baby!" Nadine exclaims, ignoring the obvious signs of age. "A pretty little baby!" After a couple minutes of petting, Nadine finishes guiding the horses to rest. She brushes herself off and smiles wide. Time to go have fun!


Stats:
Hp's 113/113; Int: +3; AC 31/touch 25/ff 27; Fort:+15/Ref:+14/Will:+16/CMD: 37(45 Bull R/39 Disarm/47 trip)/ff 33

Darnak relaxes and simply watches the crowd disperse, remaining quiet and with a complete look of unconcern on his face.

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