Holing up in the watchtower, the heroes spend another uncomfortable night in the field. Korvek shivers and coughs in his weakened condition, and Malcolm dreams of the evil Malfeshnekor deep underground below them, but all the evil in Thistletop must be contained, if not destroyed, and the heroes able to sleep unmolested through the night.
End 7 Rova 4707
Morning, 8 Rova 4707, Thistletop, Varisia
The dawn breaks early, a thick fog having rolled in from the seacoast that begins to burn off in the early autumn sun. The quiet in Thistletop is a little disarming for a place that was the scene of such violence and mayhem only a few days ago.
Reflecting on events, you realize its only been little more than a week since the Swallowtail Festival was attacked, and this adventure started. With Nualia dead, the immediate threat to Sandpoint is over, even if some ancient evil still remains in the dungeons of Thistletop.
Cadas will expend any reaming spells for Curing spells to address any wounds. In the morning she can memorizes three Lesser Restorations to repair the strength drain from those who need it.
The heroes gear up and head across the recently repaired rope bridge and back into the thistle tunnels on the landward side. Sticking solely to areas they explored before, they find their way back to the curtain of vines marking the entrance to goblin hide-out.
Glad to be leaving Thistletop behind the weakened and weary heroes trudge through the Nettlewood and back to the Lost Coast Road. About mid-day, the fires from Sandpoint can be seen, and not long after, you are within hailing distance of the guards at Northgate. Rather than looking bored an idle, as they did when you arrived for the Festival, the gate is barricaded, and watchful intent eyes gaze at you as you approach.
"Halt, and speak your business!" challenges the serjeant in charge.
"I agree, though ve should prepare our selves and return to vanquish this evil."
I am the Shoanti Pristess Cadas. With me are Rogar and Robin and Korvek. Less a week ago most of the city called us friends and heroes. Have you already forgotten us? Let us in and send for the sherif. We have much news.
The man squints, then gives the command to open the gate, and admit you. "Priestess, forgive us. We in Sandpoint thought you lost in your adventures, it's been three days! We are truly glad to have the Heroes of Sandpoint back here alive and well."
The serjeant sends a runner to fetch the Sheriff. "You'll be wantin' to freshen up at the Rusty Dragon, yeah? I will send the Sheriff there to meet you."
He and his men snap off smart salutes as you amble into town, and down the hill toward the Rusty Dragon.
Qetsiyah woke from her slumber and sat up from her bunk, blinking in confusion at the sun shining high in the window. She had slept in somehow, a thing that was not possible in her rooms at home. There, the bustle of small, quick feet and the bright chirping sounds of her family's voices raised in song and laughter would have roused her long before the sun was high enough to shine in her eyes. It took her a few moments to remember why that had not occurred this time. Ah! She was not at the Suncatcher Inn at all, but in her room at the Rusty Dragon.
She had arrived in Sandpoint shortly before sundown the day before, exhausted from her journey. She'd caused a bit of a stir at the gates in her Tien Armor, at least until she'd removed the helmet. Little did they know, their relieved chuckling actually made her a lot more likely to cause trouble but luckily, she was just glad to see the familiar glow of the famed Rusty Dragon ahead. So she merely screwed up her her mouth and gave the amused guardsmen an indignant glare. She knew no one expected to see a young Varisian girl beneath that intimidating helm, but they didn't have to act like it was so damned funny!
Ah well, she had thought to herself, at least they didn't accuse me of stealin' it. She had gotten that response before too. It probably wasn't often that old Tien warriors passed such valuable suits of armor outside of their own families, but her mentor, Master Yuki had done just that. He had chosen a life of travel and adventure instead of building a home and family and upon his retirement, he had insisted she take the armor. "It has not fit me for years now, anyway, thanks to Sasha's okonomiyaki!" He had joked, patting his rounded belly. She suspected that wasn't totally true, since he didn't look much thicker than she was, even with the bit of padding he'd accumulated. But he'd waved away her protests, all the same. She'd always wondered why the kindly old Tien guard had favored and indulged her so, training her in martial arts and swordplay when most of the others were so apt to shoo her away and she suspected it had to do with her birth-mother, Simza. She'd wished more than once that he would reveal to her that he was her father, a man whose identity no one seemed to know. But as she grew older and studied her own features in the glass, she had dismissed the possibility. Whoever her father was, he must have her wide forehead and hooded eyes, since they were so unlike her mother's beautiful, delicate features. Still, her adopted mother, Sasha, had always cradled her face in her hands and gushed how very like Simza she was, which made her happy somehow, even if she suspected it wasn't really true.
The Suncatchers had always stopped to stay at the Rusty Dragon, as they were brilliant performers and the Lady Ameiko was an old friend. It felt strange walking through it's doors without being surrounded by her golden-haired hin family. But as she caught sight of familiar faces behind the bar, she felt better. "Heya Lars! Bethany, how are you? Do you remember me? Or do I look too different in this get-up?" She grinned, feeling proud to have arrived at her destination on her own with her skin and her gear intact. She asked for a small room and something to eat, and inquired after the Lady Ameiko. She probably should have kept her meager gold in her pocket but Lars ended up talking her into having some ale and before long she was drooping in her seat. Bethany had ushered her to her room after that and she had barely removed the armor and put it away before she collapsed on the bunk and fell to sleep. [/flashback]
She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and massaged her temples, berating herself for drinking too much. How will you ever find a job if you drink up the little gold you have and then sleep the day away as a result? She asked herself as she rose and dressed. She considered leaving the armor behind today, but then decided that if she was going to be taken seriously as a warrior or get a job as a guard, she needed to show that she was ready for anything. So she donned her armor and tied her hair up in her favorite crimson sash and headed down to the common room for breakfast and to see what the new day would bring.
"Oh, the Lady isn't here today," bustled Bethany, busy as usual at something, seeing Kizzy enter. "I'm sure she'll be by sometime today, but with her father's passing, she has taken over the family affairs, and its just kept her soooo busy."
Lars pulled an earthen mug full of ale for the female warrior, slamming it down on the bar a little too hard. "Took all my coins yesterday, Kizzy. I vill earn dem back today, mark my words." he grumbled affecting an air of being hurt. Kizzy vaguely remembered some arm wrestling late last night, but that was all kind of foggy.
Dressed in full armor, she was a bit out of place in the tavern, where the few patrons wore the regular clothes of working folks, but she was proud of her gear, the things she'd earned, and she wanted Ameiko to see her geared up.
Not long after, trading tales with Lars, while Morris listened, silent but attentively, the door opened, and a crew of battle-hardened warriors stumbled in. One of them, a dwarf with an eye-patch, looked dead on his feet, and the others only slightly better, with field dressings over wounds and stains of travel and hard fighting that she recognized.
"De Heroes of Sandpoint, return ya?" shouts Lars finding another reason to pour a round of ale for everyone. "Pull up de bench, an' tell oos of yer adwenture? Ve feared you gone for goot, ya?"
The small boat had made good time around the point Sandpoint rested on, affording the man who rode it a view of the small town, its cliffs and beaches, its new cathedral and its ruined lighthouse. Now the boat was pulling into dock at the harbor, and the man, his well-trimmed black goatee cradled in his hand, leaned on the railing and watched as the captain skillfully navigated their arrival.
A coal-black raven flapped down from the mainmast to land on the rail beside him. It shuffled back and forth, evaluating the town through its beady eye. "Crawk! This town's a hole!"
If the man was perturbed by the feathered creature's grasp of Taldane, he didn't show it. "Keep your beak shut, Narcizia. This was the first boat headed out of port for damn near anywhere this side of the Pillars. Unless you wanted to head up to the winter kingdoms, but I've heard rumors they eat ravens up there." The bird shuffled again, turning its gaze disapprovingly on him. "In any case, it's just a pit stop, but I don't need your flapping beak to get us kicked out of another town."
"Crawk! Crows, not me. Crows, not me. Crawk! All your fault. I liked Riddleport--Crawk!--you liked Riddleport--Crawk!--should've kept it in your pants, Marcel. Craw!"
The man flushed, and gestured impatiently to his shoulder as the boat bumped against the dock. "Hush. Enough of that. Come on." Slinging his small pack onto his right shoulder as the raven flapped affably to his left, he set off down the gangplank and into town.
As Marcellano sets off through town, he gazes around, trying to get his bearings and identify sites of interest. Hmmmm...market, shrine, seedy tavern, square...hello there... He pulls up short, gazing up with a grin at the squat inn with a crude, metal sculpture of a dragon perched over the door. Dropping his gaze to the sign--The Rusty Dragon--his smile broadens. "Narcizia, I do believe we've found rooms for the night."
Entering the inn, he finds some sort of conversation already underway: a battle-scarred group, including what looks like a half-dead dwarf, are clustered around one table, talking to the barkeep and a young Varisian woman in...exotic looking armor. Avoiding the main hub of the conversation, Marcellano quietly approaches the bar, keeping an ear out. They certainly look like they've stumbled across something interesting...
Qetsiyah frowned when Bethany told her of Lady Ameiko's loss. "Oh! Sorry to hear that..." She didn't know much else to say, she couldn't remember hearing Ameiko ever speaking of her father before. She always thought of the people at the Rusty Dragon as Ameiko's family.
Kizzy grinned sheepishly at Lars and shrugged, feeling the tender complaints of her right shoulder. Ah! That's why it feels like I've been setting tent stakes all night long, she thought to herself. "Heh... I'm tellin' ya. Nothing like tossing halflings to build up that upper body strength. Morris! You'll be a good sport, give Lars a goot voorkout, ya?" She winked at Morris, teasing the good-natured Ulfen bartender by imitating his accent while she took a drink of her overly frothy ale. She wouldn't have much this time, just enough to take the edge off the dull ache that had set in between her temples. Little did she know she now wore a foamy mustache that she somehow failed to wipe away.
"Say, is there anywhere around here to get some fertile soil? Rainbow is looking a bit parched after that trek through the desert." She lifted a drooping leaf from the longbow over her shoulder, eyeing it worriedly.
She turned to observe the roughed-up looking bunch curiously, gawking for a moment at the tallest woman she had ever seen. Heroes of Sandpoint? Are these the ones folk have been talking about?
She looked these "Heroes" over carefully, her expression more appraising than suspicious for once. She could not help but smile down at the child-like hin, easily recognizing the common trick. But she said nothing, pulling up her favorite chair and eagerly listening to the Hero's tale.
Coming in behind the dwarves is a warrior priestess of Gozreh that is at least as battle worn as the dwarves. Cadas stands over 6 feet tall. Her strange tribal armor is made up of bands of horn and bone. Her hair is long and black, and woven with white strips of cloth and sea weed mixed with small shells. her eyes piercing blue, and her tribal tatoos add to her mystery and beauty. She speaks with a thick Shoanti accent and seems unconcerned that she stands out because of it. I beer for me as well, Lars. Better make it a tall one!
"Two ales, dwarven brown if you have it, vhatever's your strongest if you don't."
Morris looks a bit perturbed by Kizzy's mention of halfling tosses, but Lars laughs reassuringly. He tends to the potable needs of the adventurers, both old and new. Lars and Morris, along with Kizzy and the newly arrived Marcellano, listen with captivated interest to the story recounted by Robin the Jester. The tale, filled with derring-do, romance, loss, and drama draws in all who listen.
Finally, the worn out dwarf, Korvek, gives up the ghost. "I don't know about you, but all that heroing wore me plain out. I am off to bed, and don't think I am going anywhere for well nigh a week." The dwarf staggers up the stairs, hardly able to bear the weight of his armor and weapons as he ascends.
The tall wizard with the group, Malcolm, also pipes up. "I was headed to Riddleport when taken by the goblins. I'd like to get a head start on my trip there, so I will take my leave of you in the morning, after we've split whatever share of loot you'll allow me. For now, I will also take my leave, and rest. There was much to the story, that brave Sir Robin didn't tell, and I am, perhaps, not cut out for adventures, but rather a life of study." He bows to the assembled group, leaving only Rogar, Robin and Cadas behind, and heads to his upstairs room.
"Bonny piece o'horseflesh tied oop oot there, eh lassie?"says a familiar brogue to Cadas. Turning, she sees the horse trader and former ranger Daviren Hosk, entering the Dragon. "Nae where did yae pick oop such a fine beastie, eh? Coome sit doon an' tell ol Davy all aboot it. I'd be wantin' tae buy that big laddie if'n he's fer sale, ya ken?"
"Welcome to Dragon, sir." says the matronly halfling hostess as Marcellano sits. "We've got some friends in town back from some adventures, but we can still find time for you? New in town? Staying overnight? Our rooms are filling up, so speak now or risk sleeping by the fire down here tonight."
"You'll get a fair share vizard, I promise you that. Sleep vell."
Rogar watches Korvek disappear up the steps.
"He's got the strength, just not the stone. I fear ve are losing more companions," Rogar says quietly to Cadas before Daviren enters.
Then downing a pint of his ale in a gulp he turns to Robin.
"Blast ya fool, you forgot the traps! And vhat of the remaining unspeakable horrors. That ve must prepare to purge from the fortress before its safe for these good folk to visit."
Its true. Cadas confides to Lars. The place is contained but far from safe. We've got ta go back and finish the job. She shudders slightly at the thought and downs her beer after vocalizing it.
Marcellano is puzzled by the young boy talking of having vanquished evils, goblins, etc. on the nearby island, but soon he becomes totally rapt as he listens to the story. Scarily rapt, even. He hardly seems to be breathing.
"Whazzat?" he mutters, jumping slightly when the halfling hostess jogs his elbow and inquires about a room. "Oh, uh...yes, yes..." Quickly and quietly, and keeping one eye on the group the whole time, he negotiates the cheapest room he can get from the halfling, assuring her that the quality, condition, and so on of the room don't matter that much to him.
She looks a little miffed when the money finally changes hands.
Marcellano, however, has already turned away, and strides up quickly to the dwarf, halfling, and woman still chatting about their exploits. He clears his throat and bounces on his feet for a moment, and then, when one looks up, he jumps right in.
"Excuse me hello, yes, hi, I was sitting over at the bar just now and I couldn't help but overhear, that is to say, I think that you were intending for everyone to hear, the stories of your exploits or, you might say, your adventures, and I'm just wondering, well--did you bring anything back?" The man leans forward, his messy black hair jerking as he brings himself to a stop on their table. "I'm something of an antiquities scholar specializing in the history of Varisia, particularly pre-Earthfall, and I'd be quite fascinated to examine any objects you found in this ruin..."
The raven that he left on the bar flaps over to him and opens its beak. "Crawk! They think you're nuts!" The man starts and stands up, backing away slightly with an apologetic smile.
"Ah. Yes. Forgive me. My name is Marcellano Gallenica. I'm a student of history and the arcane arts...just arrived from Riddleport."
Not noticing Robin's worry, he adds, "If you'd be so kind as to give me directions to this ruin, I'd be interested to examine some of the structures myself tomorrow. Just a bit of poking about, you know."
Did we bring anything back? Cadas pulls back a bit too much of her armor and padding under it to show the scar of a nasty bite on her shoulder, healed by magic but still red and ugly.This is a bite from the creature the evil denizens planned to unleash on Sandpoint - Some sort of advanced demon cat-wolf thing. Thinking that will quite most gawkers Cadas turns back to the bar and orders a second beer. Robin, do not let me forget to go and pick up the cloak I ordered before leaving town after we speak with the sherif. Its possible I'll have a few more of these She indicates the tall beer being poured for her. and forget.
When Marcellano suggest he go to the ruins Cadas regards him with more interest. Well met Marcellano Gallenica. I am Cadas of the Shoanti. You are either brave or stupid, or maybe both. We just explained that the ruins are not safe. No one should enter that place, except in force and ready to fight demons and aberrations and the undead. But if you are serious in seeing the place, tell me more of your abilities. Might be we could use you when we go back.
"Oh...but I thought he said..." Marcellano trails of slightly in confusion, looking between Cadas and Robin.
"Regardless, I would very much like to examine these ruins. I have a great deal of experience, picked up studying ruins around Riddleport, the Cyphergate, et cetera..." Seeing blank looks, he blinks. "Ah. Not familiar? Well, I've...seen these kind of ruins before. And I have some facility with magic, to be sure. I suppose I can..." He frowns, and thinks.
"I don't have any of my more directly potent spells prepared today, but here." Marcellano has Lars fill him a pint glass full of water and, leading them out to the steps of the Rusty Dragon, and, holding the glass in hand, mutters a few words and waves his hand at the ground off to one side. There's a sudden schlurrp noise as the packed earth by the side of the street churns, and wrenches itself free from the ground. The strange, roughly human-shaped golem stands just a few inches shorter than Robin, and trudges up to Marcel and looks up at him expectantly. The wizard grins, and turns to the others.
"I'm not sure what exactly to do with this one, now, of course...I mean, you can wrestle with him if you want." He chuckles.
"You're out of your mind if you think ve are going back tonight. Vhen ve return ve vill be equipped to deal vith these abominations correctly."
Qetsiyah paid rapt attention to the story, oohing and aahing in all the right places, even applauding after the particularly dramatic parts. She thought the crowned halfling seemed evasive, but couldn't quite guess why. Probably trying to up the suspense, she supposed. She was no stranger to skilled bards and their story-telling devices, after-all.
She only just catches the tail end of what the tall Shoanti woman says to Lars about finishing the job. With an amused and somewhat dubious look on her face, she interjects. "So are you lot getting paid to do this 'job'? Or are you just Self Appointed Protectors of Sandpoint?"
But the sight of the bite mark shuts her right up as she looks on with a shocked expression and whistles, long and low as she stares at the angry red mark. "It was a demon, then? A real demon? Pe bune?!" She exclaimed, slipping into Varisian at the end. Once the initial shock wore off, she turned a critical eye to Cadas' armor and bluntly proclaimed. "Gonna need better protection than that if you go back."
Kizzy followed the conversation with the Chelaxian fellow just about as closely as she had the performance of the story and eagerly followed them outside to watch the man's demonstration. She had never seen much magic beyond the usual flash and bang of minor theatrical effects and looked genuinely impressed with earthen creature. "Wow, nice trick! Can it fight?" She asked as she circled around the thing, sizing it up like she would a sparring opponent.
"Eh..." Marcellano eyes the little golem, which follows Kizzy's movement with its head (spinning it 360 degrees to follow her). "Not really. This kind is more useful as a sort of servant or porter; it could perhaps tackle someone, but the disruption to the runic matrix holding it together would likely cause it to dissipate immediately afterward. If we need a minion to fight something, I can summon...creatures...from other planes. That would be the better choice, since those creatures exist in their own right."
Turning to Rogar, he adds, "I certainly don't expect that you'll be going back tonight. But...soon, I hope? And I hope you'll take me with you when you do. As you can see, I can hold my own."
We were hired, in a fashion, by the sherif of this city. Cadas says to woman dresses in foreign armor. But the Shoanti have their own motivations for helping the people of Sandpoint, so you can keep that smirk off your face in my company.
We were hired, in a fashion, by the sherif of this city. Cadas says to woman dresses in foreign armor. But the Shoanti have their own motivations for helping the people of Sandpoint, so you can keep that smirk off your face in my company.
Qetsiyah raises her eyebrows, her chin jutting forward and her dark eyes narrowing. Her smirk hardens into more of a sneer. "Hmmph! Pretty sure my face is my business, unless you'd care to rearrange it more to your liking, hero?" She said, her tone ringing with challenge. She looked ready to step up and invade the larger woman's space, but then she caught sight of the worried frown and definite shake of the head from Lars and thought better of it. She was a guest in Lady Ameiko's Inn and it would not do to start trouble beneath her roof... now that she thought about it, these folks had received a very warm greeting from everyone and were probably friends of the Lady as well...
So rather than press the point, she relaxed her posture and tried to soften her expression. "I am not meaning any offence... I ask because I am looking for work, preferably the kind that pays. Hero work is all well and good, I suppose. But so is getting compensated for one's efforts, yes? What will you need to go and kill your demon anyway? Silver? Enchanted weapons? That stuff costs." She gave what she hoped was an amicable shrug and took a deep drink of her frothy ale, refreshing her foamy mustache.
"Ve've already got one more fool than ve need," Rogar grunts. "You vant trouble vith Cadas, you get trouble vith me.
Rogar tightens his grip on his shield.
"As for your face, you'd make a fine dwarven voman, if only you veren't so tall."
Prickly as she was, Qetsiyah could not help but smile at the jester's antics. When she smiled, she really could be pretty. As the dwarf stirred and said his piece, she scratched her head for a moment looking confused. Was that an insult or a compliment... seemed like a little of both.
She waved an open hand in a gesture that was both placating and dismissive at once. "Nah... I don't want trouble. I want work. And to not be a burden to Lady Ameiko any longer than necessary. I am named Qetsiyah, but since that's a bit of a mouthful, most folk call me Kizzy." She offered her hand if anyone seemed of a mind to shake it before resuming her scrutiny of the mud creature.
She seemed a little disappointed that the golem could not fight. "Sure seems aware though. Is it a being in it's own right or is it merely animated by your magic?" She waggled her fingers at the mud creature, seeing if it responded to her waved greeting.
"Pleased to meet you, Lady Qetsiyah," Marcellano says smoothly, adding, "Salutări, străin, de la un străin. And no, it doesn't have its own will. It's a minor sort of construct, not a being in its own right." The muddy buddy turns its head in her direction when she waves at it, but otherwise does not react.
Turning to the others, Marcellano says, "I'm afraid Qetsiyah is quite correct, however, about your needing enchanted weapons--or some substantial magical prowess--before tackling a true demon. Can you describe the creature to me? Or do any of you know precisely what it was? It may be that I know some techniques for combating it." With a smile, he adds, "You'll forgive me if I explain that what many common folks consider 'demons' are often quite different creatures, sometimes not planar entities at all. And what would work to kill a demon may be entirely ineffectual against a different kind of creature..."
The remaining Heroes of Sandpoint meet a few of the town's more interesting denizens. Such meetings are filled with portents and the wheel of fate goes round, perhaps ending for good, perhaps for ill. Only time will tell.
Not long after the encounter, with all its uncomfortable moments, has begun, does Sheriff Balor Hemlock, a burly bald Shoanti man, enter the Rusty Dragon's common room.
"Well it appears you survived your mission to Thistletop after all." exclaims the Sheriff, with what passes for a smile on his normally humorless faces. "It's been days, we assumed your heroics were short-lived, but I am glad to see the rumors of your deaths are greatly exaggerated...Where are the others, the dwarf, and the elfin wizard?"
[b] Both have decided to pursue personal interests. The Elf has already departed and the dwarf prepares to do so.[.b]
The sheriff nods in astonishment at the stir of your deeds. "So the stories of Nualis living all this time and plotting revenge against our town were true. And the attacking on the festival was her idea. Amazing. Glad you lot were able to put a stop to her and her plans. Also glad none of you were lost in the effort, even if some are sorely hurt or worn."
He shifts in his chair. "We owe you a debt of gratitude but I doubr our town leaders will actually pony up for a reward. Would you mind coming to a formal debriefing with the mayor tomorrow morning? I'm sure she'll be quite interested in your tales. For now, I will leave you to your rest. "
Kizzy nodded, smiling at the Varisian greeting even as she cocked a surprised eyebrow. She was not used to Chelaxians who were not too busy looking down their noses at Varisians to bother learning their mother tongue. "Mă bucur să te cunosc. Poate nu ne-am fi străini acum."
Qetsiyah waited until the sheriff was done speaking with the heroes and about to be on his way out before she stepped up and greeted him, babbling excitedly and sounding much like a halfling. "Heya Sheriff Hemlock! I was sorry to miss you in Magnimar but you were already on your way back here by the time I heard the news about you calling for soldiers. Not that I'm a soldier, of course, but you might remember that I was walking-guard for our caravan since I've been big enough to carry a sword and buckler. We never lost so much as a copper, let alone anyone's life under my watch. And it wasn't for a lack of trying, if I do say so myself! I'd have been here sooner, but it is sort of a long walk from there to here, 'course you know that already." She grinned, clearly still pleased with herself for making the journey all alone.
"I guess it sounds like your Heroes here have taken care of the threat for now... though. Does that mean there's no more work to be had? I've had some experience at playing watcher-on-the-wall, but there's not much call to use the big sword when on lookout. I did get a sweet new bow, though. Isn't she pretty? I call her Rainbow. I think she ought to have a name seeing as she's alive and all. Oh!" She stopped her rapid-fire speech, realizing she'd forgotten something and looked around for Morris. "Can you spare me a mop bucket, Morris? I need to water her before the sun goes down." She turned back to the Sheriff with an apologetic look. "Sorry about that! So, you were saying?"