He produces a thin folio bound with cord. Inside is a slim leather-bound tome with yellowing pages. He offers it to you.
"My days of research out in the world are long past", he explains. "Maybe this will do you some good. It's an enchanted journal. It will hold more information than a man could ever hope to learn and will always flip to the right page when you're looking something up."
"I'm wish I could go with you to Thistletop but my duty lies here. There's been no word from the Sheriff or Magnimar and there's a growing fear that he never made it. I have to keep the men prepared in case this goblin army moves against us before you can cut the head off of the snake."
"But I will help in whatever way I can..."
"Sit with me around the brazier and meditate. I have incense that will help you clear your thoughts. With any luck, the spirits will take notice of your part in the coming battle and give you some guidance for the hours to come."
He lays a bundle of dried leaves across the flames and heady smoke fills the square. The scent is intoxicating and soon the worries of the two weeks have faded away...
After the encounter is done, Krojun retrieves some tools and offers to inscribe a tattoo to commemorate the occasion and help you further bond with your spirit totem.
The dwarf removes his boots, sits, and tries to concentrate, but finds his mind rebelling against his attempts as it plays over and over the events of the past two days. He suppresses a sigh, knowing that to release it might disturb the meditations of those around him. The bear, its eyes like beads of fire, watching him, burning into him... the goblins, their eyes red, too, mocking him, taunting him, just like the bear... Pirknok shudders and closes his eyes more tightly, striving to think of some other creature — anything but a bear.
Slowly, the events of the last few days loosen their hold on his mind, and his memories drift back farther. He winces, remembering his awkward conversation with Jonathan; how foolish and stupid he must have sounded. "Wordcraft and leadership are no different than strength." The Thundercaller's words come back to him, and he frowns. "Those that are not gifted with strength must teach themselves to be strong — those born with a fool's tongue must teach themselves the same."
The Shoanti shakes his head, still frowning despite his closed eyes. I don't know how! I can't train my tongue the way I train my arms... how can he say it's like strength?
"Ow!" exclaims Pirknok. His eyes fly open, his failed meditation forgotten from the sudden sharp pain coming from his big toe. As his eyes come open, his breath catches in his throat. In front of him is a large bird with a long neck, its body covered in shining blue feathers. Its head is blue-green with an iridescent, metallic sheen, and it wears a crest of bluish-green webbing. Its eyes, framed by white patches of skin bare of feathers, watch him intently.
The dwarf glares back at the interloper silently, rubbing his toe where it has started to bleed. The bird's head darts forward again, and although Pirknok tries to pull his foot out of the way, another red mark on it is evidence that he wasn't fast enough. Narrowing his eyes, he swings a balled fist at the bird angrily. The peacock takes a step back, dodging effortlessly, and then follows up with another peck at the dwarf's exposed foot.
Pirknok growls and makes a fist of his other hand, his face a picture of frustration and anger as he yells something in Shoanti. "NUKNEH?!"
So you are capable of using words.
The tattooed dwarf blinks, caught off-guard by the voice in his mind. The glare does not leave his face, but his fists uncurl as the bird makes no move toward his feet. His voice is somewhat less frustrated when he speaks again. "Kel chojanbeh."
Ask it in the Taldane tongue.
A pent-up sigh escapes him. "Wut do ya want?"
The bird tilts its head, its eyes never leaving the dwarf. You wish to be trained in the use of words. I wish to help.
Its tail lifts up and spreads, the regal feathers catching and reflecting all the glory and splendor of the sunrise into the dwarf's stunned face. After a moment, he nods slowly. Almost as an afterthought, he adds, "Ah... ah mean I... I wull learn."
The peacock disappears, and the Shoanti dwarf sits in silent contemplation until the others seem finished.
Ensu accepts the book with a thank you, and heads over to the cathedral, hoping that the very real problem of the shrine to Lamashtu will be enough to get the local priest to acknowledge the possibility of greater dangers.
Zantus looks over the assembled documentation and listens to the information provided by both Ensu with Brodert with horror that quickly turns to grim determination.
"This is worse than I could have imagined", he manages while taking a seat.
"Ensu, I'm sorry I didn't listen to you earlier. Perhaps if I had, we would have been better prepared. Could the powers of ancient Thassilon really be alive and at work below us even now?"
"Regardless, there's little that can be done until the immediate threat is dealt with. I'm afraid I cannot go with you to Thistletop, my place is here with the people. Should the goblins attack before you and your friends get to the bottom of this, I will be needed. If... no when, you return we will discuss plans to find this buried temple of Lamashtu and removes its foulness from beneath Sandpoint's streets."
The middle-aged priest opens a drawer within his desk, retrieves a wand, and offers it to you.
"Take this. I wish I could offer you more aid but it's all we have left. I was using it to tend to the wounded after the festival attack but the worst of that is behind us now and you will need it more."
Ventus sat down with the others and tried to turn his thoughts inward. In the end, he just felt kind of silly and really had to sneeze. He was about to decide to stand up and leave before the smoke gave him a sneezing fit.
Then he felt something snort on his face.
Cracking an eye open, he is met with the sight of a large pair of nostrils that promptly snort in his face again. Looking up he finds himself making eye contact with the placid gaze of an impossibly large bull auroch, the horns large enough to spear him clean through. Ventus sat stock still, familiar enough with bulls to know that they were temperamental at the best of times. The beast turned and walked around him, all the time studying Ventus. It was then that Ventus got a good look at its flanks, which were appeared to be a patch work of shaggy hair and hanging mosses and covered in darker patterns that looked like Shoanti style tattoos.
Then the beast spoke, not in a language Ventus could understand but words all the same.
"Wh-what?" Ventus managed, finding his voice again.
The beast asked calmly, its voice resonating in his bones.
Ventus did not see any wisdom in disagreeing with the sentient aurochs being, "I... I washed out of the Sable Company. Didn't like the way they used people."
The beast snorted at him again.
"Brother?"
The auroch turned its head to the side and Ventus followed its gaze to large and bony looking vulture that was busy picking the flesh from a severed head. As he looked he realized that it was his head, had the horrid transformation taken its course. The realization came despite the rents torn into the face by a set of what Ventus assumed were bear claws. The vulture met his gaze, cawed once and flew away, carrying his dead curse with it.
the auroch rumbled at him and then collapsed into the ground like a house of cards, leaving nothing behind.
As the smoke of the Ritual Circle was drawn through her nose & into her lungs, Ysme found herself once more recalling words her mentor had given her in counsel.
'Our Goddess is not a Martial one, no Inheritor or Dawnflower she.' Ursion began. Curious, Ysme's ears perked in wonder at where he could be going with this. 'Therefor, whence her Paladins, her Holy ?'
Catching her eyes with his, Ursion Albus continued, his voice dead level & growing rougher with every word. 'Though our Lady stood her part in the effort to ensnare & contain the Rough Beast, she is at heart a lover of strife. Neither should we be. Those of us who hear her call to beauty the call to arms frequently look to her as our Paragon. Not as he is now, a twisted & stunted slave to the Dark Brother's excrucian self-hatred...
But as he was in her youth, durant, steadfast, aware of threat & weal; and responsive to each.'
Eyes widening in shock & indignation at the blasphemous suggestion, Ysme sputters her denial. "Wh- Why would see as !?"
The wolf sniffs dismissively, the heat & mucus of his breath moistening her cheek.
"Because I Beauty over Pain! I Love over Possession! is choice!" Panting now herself in the fury of her passion, Ysme finds herself all but shrieking in her conviction.
Ysme is shaken, sweating, rigid & all but feral as she regains her awareness of the rest of you. Blood pools in the palms of her clenched fists as she has to forcibly withdraw her claws from the wounds they have dug.
Ensu once again thanks the priest for his aid, content to find the priest considerably more receptive to the information than he had been previously. With the wand in hand, he heads back to the inn to see how the others are doing and pack his stuff up to head out on the morrow for Thistletop.
Having completed their morning errands, the party reconvenes at the Dragon briefly to break their fast. Pirknok (and possibly others) appear a bit sore due to the newly applied bodyart but everyone is otherwise whole, healthy, and ready to depart.
After breakfast has been finished (a hearty meal of eggs, biscuits, and several rashers of bacon) the team picks up their things in order to leave only to be interrupted by Ameiko. Her features show a hard expression but her eyes are raw as if she'd been crying recently. She carried a long thin object in her arms, bundled in silks.
"If you're going into danger again, take this", she says as he offers the bundle up for whoever will have it.
"This blade has been in my family for generations. When I was a girl, my father would tell stories about the heroes that wielded it. Those stories shaped my childhood and the woman I am today."
She unwraps the object revealing the delicate curved ebon-bladed katana within.
"Perhaps in your hands Heart-Render can regain some of the honor Tsuto took from it."
Pirknok glances around at his companions, then gives Ameiko an apologetic look. "It's reel nice, but... wull, ah'm not sher uhbout thuh uthers, but ah wouldn't know how ta use it. It's reel diffrunt frum thuh weppins ah'm used ta."
"Just try it in your hands", she begs.
"Wull... alright, ah spose ah could try it." He looks around at the others again, as if to ask if anyone else would like to take it, before accepting it from her and hefting it experimentally. "Hmm... ah think ah could use it, with uh bit uv practice."
Pirknok accepts the katana as graciously as he is able, and excuses himself to go see if his armor is ready.
Eli packs his things reluctantly. Marysin hovers around him as he does so, trying to press food into him and when she is unsuccessful at that she packs it in a bundle of paper and adds it to his backpack. Eli returns to his lab before departing and gathers his materials, slipping the various vials and packets of powders and resins and oils into one small pouch after another. Downstairs he kisses Marysin goodbye and turns to go out the door, but he hesitates.
"Is there something wrong, Eli?" Marysin asks.
I thought I saw that bear...
"Uh, no, Marysin. Please remember to take your medicine. I hope I won't be more than two or three days." Eli replies. He turns around and kisses Marysin once again, trying to get all the love and courage he can draw out of his wife's arms before he finally allows himself to set his feet on the street outside and turn towards the Dragon. He feels the eyes of the Bear on him.
As the party begins the planning for the tactical & strategic nightmare of assaulting an encampment in which killing an inhabitant is almost as dangerous as letting them go, Ysme muses. "Conservatively, about 10' of rope to secure each individual. Each length will likely only hold five or so, six at most." Sighing, she murmurs, "That's a of rope..."
"We should take at least one set of manacles as well. While dangerous, the Goblins are merely Pawns. Nualia should answer for her crimes in a court of Law."
Doran shakes his head. "I don' think tryin' t' capture 'em'll be such a good idea," the tanned Inquisitor states. "'ey ain' like us. 'ey'd sooner chew each o'er's arms off t' ge' free and ge' at us. We ain' gonna be able t' avoid killin' the fa'eaded bastards." His face is cold, all the worries of the situation weighing heavily on him.
"But they sed..." Pirknok looks over at Ensu and Ysme, as if to be sure he's remembering correctly, "they sed we shudn't kill all uv 'um? Umm... thet all thuh goblins dyin' is wut thet evul person wants, er sumthin."
Grudgingly, Ysme nods in acknowledgement of Doran's point. "I would argue that at least one set of Manacles for every pair of us would not be remiss. The leader & her lieutenants, Tsuto can't have been the only one, should face justice for their crimes."
The rest of you notice Ysme has been more...
casual, about her claw-like nails in the last few days.
Doran gives the young Changeling woman a hard look. "I can respec' yer beliefs, lass, bu' in general, crazed cultists don' take well t' be bound an' put b'fore a court... Bein' prepared for th' eventuality's one thin', bein' able t' put it in'a action's another," he says, sighing heavily. "I ain' gonna risk my life, or any o' yers t' capture 'er when she's go' e'ery inten' t' kill us all," the Chelaxian states in a somewhat softer tone.
"Nualia isn't ... Ysme's gaze turns inward.
"I hadn't thought much on it, but she & I probably have more in common than I do with any of you... Now her eyes catch each of you in turn. "None of you question you are, even you Pirknok. You may have been raised by the Quah, but you still know you are also a Dwarf."
"What is Nualia, an Aasimar? What's that? Merely a human, tainted with supernatural energies & the expectation that energies were more important than any other part of her. Don't even telling me I don't know what is like, I'll laugh at you like the fools you prove yourselves."
"I know exactly what Nualia faced here, the same stupid prejudices I faced as a child."
"I was just luckier."
"Nualia isn't crazed, she's pissed. That is no excuse for her not to face the full horror of what she has done in her temper tantrum. She wants Vengeance, she can choke on it. We are giving her the 'Suicide by Adventurer' option!"
Acknowledging Doran's concerns, "Just let me get to her, I can take her down without killing her putting anyone else at risk."
Pirknok blinks at Ysme a few times during her rant. At the last part, he frowns, but says nothing.
Doran's face hardens. "'is is th' kinda damned child's rhetoric 'at's gonna ge' us killed. She's tryin' t' burn th' city t' th' ground, an' I don't give a single smidge o' a care 'bout why. She is dangerous, an' I ain' gonna le' yer ramblin's ge' th' res' o' us killed," he states in an even harsher voice than before, hands clenched into fists. "I t' le' ya pu' yerself at risk on a foolish longshot, l'il girl," he says, venom dripping from his words. "E'en Abadar 'imself woul'n't bother tryin' Nualia. She can't be saved, an' if ya keep pursuin' 'is, i's likely 'at ya'll en' up jus' like 'er." Fury glows in Doran's eyes, his concern for the lives of himself and his companions making him deaf to Ysme's suggestion.
"Both of you stop it. We'll try to take her alive if we can but I'm not going to shed any tears if I have to cut her down. If she has any magic at her disposal, all bets are off. I'm not trying to capture or imprison a madwoman with the ability to warp reality with a word." Ventus leans back in his chair.
"Keep it up and I'll be getting manacles and gags but they won't be for any goblins or Nualia,"
"I tend to agree that if we can take Nualia alive, it's worth considering, but only if it doesn't endanger any of us or the townsfolk in order to do so. I doubt she will come peacefully, and a priestess of Lamashtu is not going to be an easy target even under the best of circumstances. To that end, I would not focus on trying to capture her, though if an opportunity presents itself, the idea is not entirely without merit, though her return to Sandpoint would need to be handled extremely delicately. The town has enough troubles; publicly opening old wounds would do little to help the leaders handle them.
Eli stands to the side, listening to the debate. Finally he adds a word of his own. "I think we're all reasonable people. We'll try to bring her in if it is feasible. We're not executioners. Her crimes can be addressed by our own laws. The Goblins are another matter, of course, but I don't get all this bloodthirst. And I understand you may have an insight into Nualia's circumstances, Ysme, but we are not going to to easy on her. Neither are we going to exact vengeance." he says as reasonably as he is able, looking from Ysme to Doran.
Shalelu is waiting for the party when they arrive at Sandpoint's north gate, prepare to depart.
In both hands she holds the reins to several horses. The docile beasts eye you each as you approach.
"If you hope to reach Thistletop without getting tangled up with the goblin hoard out there, you'll need to be swift."
As each of you mount up and exit the gates, she gives you a nod and wordless expression that says, Good Luck.
***
The trip east is Harrowing but the party manages to skirt the coast with only a minor battle with a handful of goblins near the Shankswood. Though few goblins are seen, signs of their habitation is everywhere. Refuse is scattered haphazardly all over the open terrain and sections of earth are scorched in seemingly random patterns - the result of the goblins's love of fire.
After a little over an hour of steady riding, the party arrives at Thistletop but they are stymied by the Nettlewood. The sharp, tough, and sometimes poisonous, nettles prove to be an incredible barrier and the whole party is forced to dismount and walk their steeds through the dangerous terrain.
Ventus and Doran lead the way.
And their sharp outdoorsman skills allow the group to pass through the thorns with only minor scratches.
As Ventus steps out into a clearing the party notices a few things.
1) A fierce looking firepelt cougar, on guard and snarling in the middle of the clearing.
2) Goblins exiting crude huts built in nearby adjacent clearings (visible through the nettles)
3) A bridge in the distance that crosses the cliffs to Thistletop
The firepelt yowls and charges at Ventus!
But the angry feline's fangs bounce harmlessly off of the ranger's armor.
Moments after the firepelt attacks his comrade, Doran shoulders his weapon and tries to put a bolt in the attacking creature. "A'right, 'en, I s'pose ya'll 'ave t' be first!" he says as he pulls the trigger.
Doran's bolt grazes the beast and it snarls in anger.
***
Pirknok frowns and looks around to the goblins. "Hey, call off yer... beast! We um... we aren't here ta hurt ya!"
Eli, far at the back of the group, draws a bomb and tries to see past his friends to the melee ahead.
Ensu lobs a stone at the cat, wanting to hold of on spells until he has a better measure of the challenge the party faces.
Eli, seeing the Goblins through the cover of the nettles, judges his chances of hitting them, and seeing as his allies are nowhere near them he decides to attempt a shot, saying as he does so, "There's a spell caster to the North in the clearing! Do you hear that?"