Horatio rolls his eyes at Olivius' harsh words, but through the cloud of pain that surrounds him, the message sticks. After a long moment, he glances sidelong at the warrior, smoothing away the surprise he feels and replacing it with a ghost of a smile. "Well, I imagine that's the closest thing I'm getting to your respect, so... I'll take it," he chuckles. "Do remind me of this pain if I do something like that again, though. I'll need to work on my technique."
Pavanna's reassuring words hit a little closer to home. "Вы начинаете звучать как мой отец," he mutters back, giving a weary smile. "Но, спасибо. Хорошо знать, что я не просто быть дурак." He wraps an arm around her waist in a brief hug, before gathering his dropped possessions and readying himself to move on.
"You're starting to sound like my father... But, thanks. Good to know I'm not just being a damned fool."
The chamber with the torture implements draws a shiver from his spine; the deformed skeletons, a curiously raised eyebrow. The room with the floating objects holds his attention the longest. "Well," he says finally, "who wants to go in?"
Noro recovers as best she can, not begging for healing, she can walk, she can punch, she's good to go for now.
she still looks a bit stiff, and there are still scars and her armor is torn a bit, but she seems alright.
right now she seems to be avoiding Horatio and Pavanna, but when she does see them talking in their "funny talk" she simply grunts and moves on.
as the scholarly and magically inclined check things out Noro is fascinated with the zombie in the pit. she grabs the deformed goblin thing that "kicked her ass" and drags it over to the pit.
using one of the swords it was using, Noro chops it up and drops the pieces into the zombie pits watching the zombies devour it up. she seems to be amused with this.
Olivius grows more impatient add the delays continue. He matches into the room and snatches the forked stick.
Once Olives takes a step into the room, he finds himself airborne, with no way to get back to the door quickly as he drifts slowly towards the other side of the chamber.
Seeing this, Pavanna sighs and digs into her pack for the rope she brought along. Throwing one end to Olivius , she gets Noro and Thirzin to help her reel in their floating comrade like an oversized trout.
Once he’s back on the ground, she shakes her head at him in mock-chiding fashion. “Really, Olivius?” she teases. “All that Academy training, and you just go barging into the middle of a room that looks like this before the arcanists tell you it’s safe to do so? Your instructors would have fits.” She rolls her eyes at the end, just to make sure he knows she’s pulling his leg.
Olivius shrugs, I've seen worse. At least they aren't bleeding!
To be honest he liked just floating there. He was sore and his muscles were knotted inn a dozen places. This weightless floating felt nice.
He does take the rope, however, and is soon back on the ground.
Hey Sprig. we might have a job for you. He said in complete seriousness. Flying is kind your thing in this group.
Sprig looks up from Thirzin's shoulder.
"A job? Sure, what is it," she asks, perking up a little, though it's still obvious that this place is wearing on her.
I think our resident mages would live to get their mitts on those floating things. Care to give them a shove in our direction?
"O-okay," the sprite says before taking off and flying into the chamber, shivering as she does so. She avoids the crow and the maggots and carefully begins to move the other objects to where the others can get them.
Well done, Sprig. Olivius praises as she gets the last of the items within snatching range.
Once the items are collected Olivius leads the group topside and back to town. He aches from the exhersion of combat and is emotionally spent. Reliving his academy days is never a pleasant experience. Too many memories. Too many ghosts.
It is late afternoon when you are once again topside. The guards lead you to the Garrison to report to Tilo.
After hearing your tale, he gives a sigh and rubs his eyes.
"Damn, it's starting to look like Quink was spot on, if what you say is true," he grumbles, "Still, I thank you for what you've done. I believe Ameiko is at the Dragon and is waiting for you. The tavern's still closed, though, since what happened still has her shaken up."
---
The sun begins to set beyond the Varisian Gulf as you make your way to the Rusty Dragon. As promised Ameiko is there, along with Heather and Father Zantus.
Olivius stumbles in and sheds his weapons at the door, as is Ameiko's requirement. He plops down into a table with a contented groan. Well, we cleared the area under the Glassworks. How anyone built that place without getting eaten is beyond me...
Horatio sinks into his own seat with a sigh of relief, massaging his wounded thigh through his trousers. "Who knows. Probably through some combination of dumb luck, mind controlled beasties, and the sacrifice of a few tasty mooks." He winces, poking at the edges of the wound, and stitching the ripped fabric back together with a breath and a weave of magic.
"As much as I'd love to take a few days off, perhaps spent in the arms of some lovely young lady or gentleman who's particularly appreciative of heroics and into scars, I say we should take on Thistletop as soon as we're ready. We strike while the goblins are in disarray, before they can prepare for an attack, and catch them with their trousers down, so to speak." The memory of Krosk flits across his mind and he shudders, adding, "Apologies for the image. But the point stands."
Resting the smooth leather case on the table, he begins cleaning and polishing his violin with a rag, as much to soothe his own nerves as anything else. "I think this has given me an idea for a new piece, at least," he sighs. "I suppose nearly dying will do that to you."
While I agree in principle, we shouldn't go anywhere until we're rested and resupplied.
He looks over to Ameiko, I need some food here, if you don't mind.
Noro returns and grabs a bottle of rum.
Shorry Amieko, itsh been one of thoshe daysh.
Nor keeps to herself for now. content to watch things, she really just wanted to relax and drink...probably a lot.
Once back in Sandpoint, Saroune will spend a little bit of time studying the items recovered from the floating room.
Olivius devours his food and sucks down two pints of ale in the space of about three minutes. The weight of the food sits on his belly and makes his eyes droopy. Bed. Glorious bed. That's what was needed here!
Thirzin also orders a fair amount of food and even more drink. Unlike Olivius who devours with intensity, the dwarf seems far from himself. He toys with the food while he sips the drink. He's appeared just the same way since he regained the ability to move his limbs.
He looks around at the others, before returning silently to his drink. For once, he does not give any tactical input.
"Alright, alright. Rest, resupply, nurse our mental and physical scars, then head out when we're good and ready." Despite his flippant tone, Horatio feels genuinely relieved by the consensus - given his brush with death, he's in no hurry to actually get back into dangerous situations, and his usual carefree mask is slipping more and more with each minute.
After a few minutes of silence, he hauls himself from his seat and makes his way to the bar. "Got anything fitting for someone who nearly kissed Boneyard soil?" he asks Ameiko grimly. After a moment's thought, he nods in Noro's direction, adding, "Considering she nearly went with me, I'll have what she's having. She seems to know her stuff." His voice raises ever so slightly, part of him hoping Noro hears the statement and accepts it for the praise it is.
Drink in hand, he sits opposite Thirzin, tapping the dwarf's shoulder lightly. "Doesn't take a diviner to know you're troubled," he says quietly. "What's eating you?"
The group eats and is healed by both Father Zantus and Heather. Tired, aching, and with full bellies, they all head towards bed.
The next morning they are once again gathered into Tilo's office.
"The mayor and I discussed the situation last night, and we can't wait for Belor to get back, so I'm asking if you lot will do Sandpoint one more favor. Go to Thistletop and take out the people behind this," he says grimly without preamble, "I know I'm asking you to risk your lives by going into that rat's nest of vipers, but you've proven capable enough, and I think you could handle those earfangs, no problem. It's Nualia I'm most worried about. If word gets out, then things are going to really ugly. She was loved by everyone in Sandpoint, and to learn that someone with the same name or even if it's the same person would cause a riot."
The grizzled ulfen sighs and rubs his eyes.
"Get whatever you need. Shalelu can tell you how to get to Thistletop, but she can't go with you, since Koya and Zantus are still fixing her up," he says before waving to the door, "don't die on me. We need you."
On your way out, you're given a pouch full of platinum coins, enough for each of you to have ten. The guard says that the funds are for equipping yourselves for the excursion.
The items are:
- a scroll of Burning Hands
- a wand of Shocking Grasp (28 Charges)
- a magically preserved prayer book dedicated to the worship of Lamashtu. It's well worn and reads more like a bestiary of some of Golarion's cruelest and most horrific creatures than a religious text in parts. Parts illustrated with very detailed, very graphic woodcut carvings of how they kill.
Shortly after you leave the Garrison, a haggard looking, staggering Maver Kesk approaches you.
"Ah! There you are Miss Pavanna! Don't worry I remembered to lock the vault this time, but I believe this is for you," he says with a broad smile that positively shines. He holds out a thin case of polished mahogany. On its smooth top, in gold leaf, is Iomedae's symbol.
"Please! Please, take it and take a look," he adds, almost bouncing with each word.
Shortly after leaving the Garrison, an irate Pennae Kesk comes storming up to you.
"You there! The fat one," she screeches as she points one long bony finger at you, "have you seen my worthless husband about?"
Olivius has something of an epiphany in the morning. The reason he hasn't been able to balance the momentum of his weapons all this time is that his shield is too light! He is always straining to hold his weapon's momentum back. To check it. Just a few extra pounds on the shield would counter that force easily!
He heads to the armorer and has several nasty spikes added to his shield. The process is simple, and in no time he is back in the Dragon yard, finally getting the hang of his new shield/polearm style. His weapon whips and hisses through the air, and the shield counters perfectly. He will probably do less damage outright, but he will also be able to change direction much more easily and be able to protect his own much better. In the end, that is all that mattered.
Savah, eager to watch Olivius in action, puts a sign out and follows him to the yard.
"I'd say ye got somethin' special there, my friend. I have a feelin' yer dwarven friend is gonna be a mite bit surprised when ye spar 'im again," she says as she watches the display.
Olivius grins, clearly proud of himself. I've been trying to get it to work for a while now. It's great for area denial and generally making yourself look menacing while the real pain-dealers do their thing.
"You know, music is a wonderful thing," Horatio mentions over breakfast, tapping his open journal with an inkpen. The page is covered in scribbled notes, apparently written in some kind of frenzy rather than his usual neat, flowing hand. "In any space containing objects, the sound bounces all over the place - it's why temples have such an echo. I'm really getting the hang of where to position myself for the best resonance of my magificence."
He turns the page, where a few bars of music are scrawled, along with a coda underlined several times for emphasis. "I'm sure you've noticed how uplifting an effect an exquisite accompaniment can have on your own combat performance, and I believe I've found a melody that will enhance that further. By attuning myself to the rhythm of battle, I'm fairly certain I can use that to my advantage - so if you hear this, duck." Unfortunately, the group is called to Tilo's office before he can demonstrate it, but he does assure the worried that 'you'll know it when you hear it'.
----------
He nods periodically during the briefing, only confirming what he already suspected. After thanking Tilo for his time and patience, he steps outside, stretching in the sun. "Well, I guess we'd best get to it," he sighs. "Does anyone have something particularly pressing we should be looking for?"
After a few minutes of silence, he hauls himself from his seat and makes his way to the bar. "Got anything fitting for someone who nearly kissed Boneyard soil?" he asks Ameiko grimly. After a moment's thought, he nods in Noro's direction, adding, "Considering she nearly went with me, I'll have what she's having. She seems to know her stuff." His voice raises ever so slightly, part of him hoping Noro hears the statement and accepts it for the praise it is.
Noro just glances his direction, she fills her mug and slides the bottle to Horatio. she then get up and heads out for a walk.
Noro chugs her drink and tosses the mug aside, she heads to her usual spot to work out. looking to find some easy fights or just a punching bag. anything to hone her fighting skills. she is disturbed by what happened, determined to not have a repeat performance.
You find a familiar man with shoulder-length, wild, black hair. He sits on top of a piling sipping a drink and humming a soft tune. On his lap is another familiar face, the red-haired woman that was his wife, who sings softly to the melody he hums.
Shortly after you leave the Garrison, a haggard looking, staggering Maver Kesk approaches you.
"Ah! There you are Miss Pavanna! Don't worry I remembered to lock the vault this time, but I believe this is for you," he says with a broad smile that positively shines. He holds out a thin case of polished mahogany. On its smooth top, in gold leaf, is Iomedae's symbol.
"Please! Please, take it and take a look," he adds, almost bouncing with each word.
Sword and shield, he’s almost punch-drunk! Pavanna realises, a little horrified by the man’s visible exhaustion. She accepts the jewellery box with one hand, the other steadying Maver by the elbow as he sways. “In a moment, Master Kesk. When was the last time you slept, or ate? Don’t mistake me, I’m glad to see you finished this for me so quickly, but if your health was the price, I would’ve been happy to keep waiting! If nothing else, working so hard must give your wife such wonderful opportunities to nag you,” she finishes dryly. Playing mother-hen to a man at least twice my age. My life these days takes such odd turns....
She tries to usher him into a seat — either at Risa’s or Sandpoint Savouries, for preference, whichever is closer; somewhere she can get some food into him before he keels over — and waits for him to look a little steadier before she opens the case to assess his work.
"I dunno," Savah says as she gives Olivius a sly grin, "I've seen plenty o' styles that were supposed to be nothin' but a distraction or a way to control the field that turned out to be plenty lethal in practice."
The blade and armor smith looks at the bardiche appreciatively.
"I could get ye a better one if yer interested," she says as she nods to the weapon.
"I, um," Maver looks down thoughtfully for a moment before looking up again and shrugging, "To be honest, Miss Pavanna, I'm not sure, and please, just Maver will do."
His stomach growls and he chuckles, "as for my wife, let her nag. I do what I love and if she truly wishes to leave, she's free to do so. I'll stay here where my friends and business are. If it wouldn't be too much trouble, would you care to join me for lunch. I very much want to see your reaction when you see it."
After finding a table at Risa's and getting some tea and food into Maver Kesk, he sighs contentedly and nurses a steaming mug of cider.
"Now that I have some food in me, and you don't have to worry about my stomach devouring itself, please take a look. I hope that you're pleased with it."
The dwarf looks up from his drink for a moment, looking at his companion and then returns to his drink.
"I've not done that in a long time..That kind of move...it's a rookie move. The kind of move that could have caused someone to get killed. And I couldn't stop it. I couldn't get my limbs to work, lad."
Thirzin takes a long swallow of the alcohol, a surprising amount staying away from his beard.
Olivius conciders for a moment. It would be in my best interest to keep two weapons about. I could hardly protect anyone if my weapon is lost to me in the heat of battle. Lead on. Maybe I'll see something else worth buying.
Usually so good with words, Horatio finds himself lost. He struggles to think of the right things to say, or, indeed - anything to say. Eventually, he sighs. "I know. I know how hard it must have been to be frozen like that... But we all made it out in the end. And some of us learned a valuable lesson about not getting in over our heads," he adds, wincing as he remembers the feeling of cold steel slicing into his lung.
"At the end of the day, we survived. I know that's not much, but it's something, and it's worth holding onto. We've learned from it, and that's valuable - it means we're less likely to get into tha situation again."
After a short silence, he adds, "Best not to dwell on it. Why don't you tell me about some of your previous victories? You can't have lived in Sandpoint forever, and I doubt you'd lead a quiet life."
"Yeah, why don't you tell us about how you got to where you are," Sprig says, sitting on the handle of a tankard.
Savah grins broadly as Olives agrees to take a look at her wares.
"Great, and on the way I can tell ye 'bout Horatio and Pavanna's sparrin' with me! Say, ye wouldn't happen to want to go a round or two, would ye?"
Noro stops in her walk, and approaches the couple, funny meeting you two here, thought we sheen the lasht of of both of ya.
she stands before them arms crossed, shooo what wordsh of Wishdom do you have for me thish day? perhapsh you intend to share who ish gonna kick my assh next?
"I, um," Maver looks down thoughtfully for a moment before looking up again and shrugging, "To be honest, Miss Pavanna, I'm not sure, and please, just Maver will do."
His stomach growls and he chuckles, "as for my wife, let her nag. I do what I love and if she truly wishes to leave, she's free to do so. I'll stay here where my friends and business are. If it wouldn't be too much trouble, would you care to join me for lunch. I very much want to see your reaction when you see it."
After finding a table at Risa's and getting some tea and food into Maver Kesk, he sighs contentedly and nurses a steaming mug of cider.
"Now that I have some food in me, and you don't have to worry about my stomach devouring itself, please take a look. I hope that you're pleased with it."
Pavanna blushes a little. “I’d apologise about clucking over you, Maver, but that would suggest I was sorry about it. I can get wrapped up in my projects like that, too — and it usually ends with people in hospital beds, and the project on fire, and I’ve lost my hat. Take it from me: ‘any plan where you lose your hat is a bad plan’,” she adds, wagging her finger at him with a rueful chuckle.
Her maternal impulses assuaged for the moment, she finally yields to the jeweller’s eager plea and opens the case he brought her. And her red eyes widen, and her mouth sags open a little. “Oh. Oh, my. This is....”
Just as she asked, Maver has worked a miniature sword, perhaps three inches long overall, with a silver blade and a gold hilt and crossguard. The corona around that hilt and crossguard is electrum, alloyed silver and gold, which provides a perfect contrast to both blade and hilt, and a chain-necklace with a screw-clasp (also electrum, rather than the mere silver she suggested!) runs through the hilt’s ‘pommel’. “Maver, I thought you were an artisan, but I did you an injustice: you are an artist. This is exquisite! It’s exactly what I had hoped for.
“Please, tell me what I owe you.” And don’t expect me to haggle over it, she carefully doesn’t add. Once I sanctify this, no fiend or grave-risen will be able to shield their eyes from the Inheritor’s light!
I think I remember tossing that kimono along with any other "girly" things in the trash heap
"Nae bad," Savah answers, "Pavanna's obviously had trainin', but Horatio, well... He's different. Either he taught himself t'fight, or his teacher did. He's less refined, but more cunnin'. Which can make up for a lot."
As you walk into the shop, Savah motions for you to follow her to the back. Weapons lay on tables, stand in barrels, hang from racks and hooks, and occupy just about any space they can. She walks over to a rack of finished polearms, some of them solid, but unremarkable, others being of obviously fine craftsmanship, and a few being more art than weapon.
"So, see anythin' that catches yer fancy?"
Maver chuckles before taking another sip of cider.
"I can see why, if that's how losing your hat goes," he teases before Pavanna opens the jewelry case. When the tiefling looks up, she sees unrestrained joy in the jeweler's eyes.
"Consider it a gift," he tells her, "This is my way of thanking you for all that you have down for us, and all that you are planning to do. If we have a vice here, it's gossip, and dear Pennae gossips enough for three people."
He chuckles again as he raises the mug to his lips again, only to put it back down.
"Oh, I almost forgot," he says as he pulls another jewelry case from his pocket, this one of dark oak and a golden sunburst on its lid, "This is for Asuriel, an apology of sorts. I seem to remember you mentioning that she was looking for a holy symbol of Sarenrae's."
Cade and Mags stop their soft duet and look at Noro before looking at each other. Cade shrugs and Mags slips down to the docks, facing the tien fighter.
"Why are you surprised? We want to see this through, and we are trying to help however we can," the petite woman says, her eyes faintly glowing blue in the twilight.
As the group slowly disperses, with Pavanna being called off and Olivius heading to Savah's (he assumes, at least), Horatio decides to take some time to do something he hasn't really had a chance to do for a long time: play. Taking his temporary leave of those who remain, he heads for the Town Square - Where this all began, he reminds himself.
He takes a seat on a bench, briefly remembering sitting there with Pavanna a couple of weeks ago, choking back words and secrets he'd kept himself wrapped in for years. Shaking his head, he rests Rosaline across his lap, turning her over in the sunlight. Beams dance across her faded lacquered surface, shadows of strings thick on her rough neck, an old chip falling away from the space on the back, just below the scroll, where he'd crudely carved his initials with a knife over a decade ago.
"'Music was given to the world by Shelyn, that the world may know joy'," his mother read from the card. "'Bring music to those who need it, and you'll never want for happiness. Signed, a stranger.' I wonder who that could be?" she wondered aloud. "Someone who knows your birthday, at least."
He was too busy staring, enraptured, at the instrument, eyes drinking in every plane, every curve. "She's beautiful," he whispered, as if raising his voice may break the violin.
"She" his mother laughed, rubbing his shoulder. "Horatio, it's an inanimate object!"
"Yeah, but look at her!" he grinned, running a finger over the scroll. "Definitely a girl. But what should I call her?"
Laughing, his mother hugged him, kissing the top of his head. "Well, you've decided it's a girl, so you have to give it a girl's name," she teased. "Whatever makes you happy."
He bit his lip, turning it over in his hands. His fingers felt smooth wood, tense strings, and gentle, sweeping curves. And through the thoughts that this was, beyond doubt, the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, a memory surfaced - of sobbing, of his father's grave face, of his mother clutching a tiny pair of empty shoes.
"Rosaline," he said at last, a decisive note in his voice. "I'll call her Rosaline, and I'll never let her go."
He felt, rather than saw, the tear in his mother's eye as she rested her chin atop his head. "I think that's a wonderful name," she whispered.
He rests his forehead in one hand, choking down a dry sob, the other gently rubbing the curve in his violin's side. She was old - had been when he got her. She'd always had a slightly bent neck, chipped corners, and a stained chin-rest. But she had sung so sweetly that first time he'd drawn the bow across the strings, that he'd been lost to her since. It had been like an awakening, as if he'd been waiting twelve years just to find purpose. And now...
He'd learned quickly that an up-tempo, inspiring tune worked well for filling people with confidence, and that jigs and reels got toes tapping and earned him the best coin. Between weeks of playing for other people, however, it was easy to forget about yourself.
He spends a few minutes looking Rosaline over, polishing out her rough spots, tuning her strings, applying rosin to his bow, and losing himself in the little rituals. Then, leaning back on the bench, he rests her against his neck, puts the bow to the strings, and begins to play.
The piece is an old one, memorised long ago from a book of scores he'd managed to scrape together enough coin for and that had long since been passed on to some other poor hopeful. He plays from memory, and from the heart, focusing only in losing himself in his own music, on letting the world melt away - his aches, his pains, his scars, the distress that came with nearly dying - for a few minutes, nothing matters.
Noro lightens up some. but she is sure there are cryptic words of wisdom coming her way.
shee what through exactly? she asks she goes to take a seat on a piling (or crate, or something)
Maver chuckles before taking another sip of cider.
"I can see why, if that's how losing your hat goes," he teases before Pavanna opens the jewelry case. When the tiefling looks up, she sees unrestrained joy in the jeweler's eyes.
"Consider it a gift," he tells her, "This is my way of thanking you for all that you have done for us, and all that you are planning to do. If we have a vice here, it's gossip, and dear Pennae gossips enough for three people."
He chuckles again as he raises the mug to his lips again, only to put it back down.
"Oh, I almost forgot," he says as he pulls another jewelry case from his pocket, this one of dark oak and a golden sunburst on its lid, "This is for Asuriel, an apology of sorts. I seem to remember you mentioning that she was looking for a holy symbol of Sarenrae's."
Again, Pavanna’s mouth sags open, and she finds herself fumbling for words. “Maver, I’m flattered, and deeply touched by your generosity, but... I can’t accept this as a gift. Quite apart from what it would do to your finances, or whether simply doing my duty merits something so precious?” She taps the silver-and-gold medallion meaningfully, trying for her usual rueful humour. “Regardless of who it started with, Pennae or someone else, that gossip you mention would turn a gift like this into a torrid extra-marital affair faster than you can say ‘dirty minds reach filthy conclusions’. You and I might know the truth, but the rumour-mill doesn’t care about ‘truth’ when innuendo is more entertaining. So, please: for the sake of your craft, your business, your reputation and your marriage, let me pay you at least part of what it’s worth.”
And isn’t this novel? A customer having to talk the craftsman into taking her money[i]? It staggers the mind!That said, and aware that the staff and patrons of Risa’s Place are not blind or deaf, Pavanna makes a point of counting out the ten platinum coins Tilo Halgard pressed on her for ‘supplies’ and handing them to Maver. “As for your gift to Asuriel?” Which I don’t doubt is another work of art! “I’ll pass it on to her when I run into her next — unopened, since hers should be the first eyes to see the beauty I’m sure you’ve wrought for her — but don’t be surprised if she comes into your store and makes as much fuss about payment as I just did. She’s” a bit of a prig at times “even firmer in her convictions and principles than I am. I’ll try to explain your position to her, but we sometimes have trouble seeing eye-to-eye. For various reasons,” she adds dryly, her hands indicating her own height and Asuriel’s.
Bidding Maver a pleasant farewell, once again sincerely thanking him for the beauty of his creation, she slides both cases into her pockets — carefully, with respect for the polished wood — and, on her way out, quietly slips several silvers to the server to cover Maver’s lunch. That done, she returns to the Rusty Dragon, looking for Asuriel either there or on the way.