Dien's Rrrise of the Rrrrunelords

Game Master dien

"Sounds like a plan!" E says without lifting his eyes from the book's strange pages.

Seraka briefly glances towards the book, notices that it is a book, then shrugs and turns back to watching the stairs.

"I'm good with that. I ain't tired yet. Would rather not have to worry about some nasty thing following us out."

Maybe the experience will let us level and learn abyssal so we can read the book :D

With nobody able to read the book, Rokan's suggestion of following the original tunnel to its conclusion seems sensible. Picking your way back out from the old subterranean complex, you reach the natural, or mostly natural, tunnel again, and resume a wary progress down it.

As the minutes tick by, wariness turns to tedium; the tunnel is frequently low-ceilinged enough that Seraka has to duck, and tilt her weapon, and the floor is often uneven with many little rises and falls, making this a less than pleasant hike. Only the occasional sign of goblin foot traffic keeps you focused-- here and there, in low hollows, the tunnel rock is muddy, and shows goblin tracks.

It branches only once-- an exploration of the right hand branch shows no signs of any particular traffic in a long long time, other than perhaps centipedes and rats. That branch ends about a hundred feet away in a collapse through which only vermin could have possibly gotten through. The main tunnel continues on.... and on...

It's about twenty minutes of walking in the dark closeness before your trek comes to end, but it no doubt seems much longer to the underground hikers. At last the tunnel ends in... a blank wall, it looks like.

Perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (15) + 4 = 19
If only I had cast guidance D:

Seraka grunts in frustration. She gives the wall a couple of probing knocks, making sure it's not an illusion.

"Why would goblins be going down here if there's nothing here?"

perception: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (15) + 14 = 29

Rokan— whod been as relentless and focused as a bloodhound on the scent through the entire long hike—grunts, squinting through the gloom of the tunnel at the dead end wall. ”There is something here.” He touches an easy-to-miss crack in the wall with one end of his bow. ”A door.”

He takes a moment to look for a handle or mechanism to open it. ”Esegia, can you look for a way to open it?”

"I have the capability of reading this book for a short time, I think, but that power may be better spent in a more studious setting. And likely Quink would be excited to be the first to understand our find."

E's smile disappears for a second as Rokan calls him. "I never did care much for that name." he says. "Good eyes though, master hunter."

E investigates as well.

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (1) + 8 = 9 +1 if traps are present.
Ha!

"... are you sure there's a door here?" If we're not under a time crunch, at this point E would take 20 if possible.

Rokan pauses, looking over at the blue skinned man. "My apologies," he says with a slight dip of his head, The door is certainly there." He gives the samsara a small, friendly smile, " ... E."

Can I give him a series of bonuses to search until he finds it?

Sorry for the delay, yes, you can take 20 no problem.

After a little bit of searching E's able to find the door Rokan saw as well, and determine there are no traps on it. Opening it brings you sudden salt air and crashing of surf-- as well as a drop ahead of you. A narrow ledge of a few feet ends abruptly in a cliff drop of a good sixty feet, and at the bottom you see the waves beating hard against the shore. After some adjustment to renewed daylight, you are able to see that a narrow and treacherous path (if a few wide outcroppings and ledges can really be called that) winds along and down the seacliff face, down towards the 'beach' below, which is mostly just rocks-- rock strewn with various pieces of debris and refuse.

Getting your bearings, you realize you are looking down at the cove that exists on Sandpoint's northern side-- a cove too rocky and steep-ringed by cliffs to be of much use to the town as a harbor, but a place that's served for decades for the townspeople to throw trash over the cliff-edge to be forgotten about... and, if the words of Nisk Tander, the alchemist, are to be believed, is a junkyard the goblins scavenge from frequently.

It appears that the nimble little monsters have also found a way up the cliffside too, though it's unlikely they created such a door that blends in so expertly with the cliff face.

In theory you might attempt descent by the goblin's path, but with even the smallest of you being nearly twice the size of a goblin, it looks dangerous.

Back to town, or further investigating here?

Rokan leans out over the drop, squinting out over the refuse field. "Well I guess that is that." He considers the cliff's narrow approach, then steps back and touches the hidden doorway.

"E, do you think you could find a way to jam this door shut? If we can shut off their approach, we can by some time while we wait for Sheriff Belor's return." He looks back up the coastline, where he imagines the goblins are coming from, "Those goblins will need to be dealt with sooner than later. For now, we were tasked with protection."

"We can post guards on the cliffs above the junkyard to make sure it doesn't happen again in the short term."

"Even then, we still haven't solved the problem - someone much smarter than a bunch of goblins has a grudge against Sandpoint and knows enough about the city to be dangerous."

"Agreed, but the only lead we have are the goblin villages. And leaving to go hunt there leaves this town undefended ... the task the sheriff specifically gave us."

How long until Belor returns?

E examines the door, wondering if there is a way to jam it so that it can only be opened from the inside.

"We should wait for the sheriff to return. We can't defend it's walls while we're outside of them. And it will give us a chance to see what Quink can learn from this discovery," E holds up the book. "It might be able to tell us what was going on here, and what our adversary was intending."

Thoughts flicker behind Seraka's eyes.

"I mean, the best defense is a good offense. Our boy Belor could hardly complain if we went and wiped out the threat while he was gone."

She throws up her hands and shrugs, her mouth tilted into a half-grin.

"I ain't doing it by myself though, so if you guys want to sit around for who knows how long doing nothing, I can't really do much about that."

Rokan weighs Seraka's perspective for a moment. "There seems to be more predators circling this town than just the goblins. I'm still hesitant to leave it unprotected for now. Let's see if Belor returns quickly."

He gives the bigger Shoanti warrior a small, feral grin, "Hopefully we'll get a chance to hunt some more goblins in their lair soon enough."

Had to do some re-reading to answer your question about Belor's absence.

Belor told you he'd be three days gone if all went well; today is the second day of those three. Barring disasters, the sheriff should return tomorrow.

E's able to rig a little something on the door's hinges, perhaps helped along by a hard blow or two from Seraka to make sure they don't open. You feel that it'll take more than goblin strength to force the door after your tampering. After that, it's just a matter of a long hike back through many hundreds of feet of underground tunnel, bumping your heads on the ceiling and support beams from time to time. By the time you see the torch light of the original basement entrance you're all more than ready to be back in open air.

The young guardsman is still there, and nervously calls out, "Halt-- if you're goblins-- or, uh... ohthankthegods it's you instead. Uh, welcome back, did you find anything-- oh, I guess you should tell the mayor-- but I mean, you can tell me too, I'm a guard--!"

You emerge back into the basement of the Glassworks, brushing cobwebs and dirt from your persons.

So, there's some talk of speaking with Quink; certainly that's one idea you can follow up on. Do you want to brief the mayor at all, or talk to any specific other NPCs, either for important plotty reasons or just for RP? It's about noon just now.

Quink/Mayor/Ameiko?

Works for me. I'll get up a post up later. Apex holiday-ness is here, and I must try and cook a flan.

I’d also like to see about selling some of the random crap we found. Maybe stop by my girl’s place and pawn any weapons and armor off there :)

How is it thursday.

I need to go over loots for sells, and I will, but for starters:

Quink is delighted to see you return in such short order, and the old scholar practically fans himself several times during your recounting of the horrors below.

"What! Genuine Thassilonian ruins, so near to the surface? Gracious gods-- really, statue of a woman with a ranseur you say-- oh, you have a book, that's incredible, just think, this text could have survived from the very days of old Thassilon itself-- what's that? Deformed creatures? An orange pool spawning them? Here, let me see the book--"

With a pair of old spectacles perched on his nose, Quink eagerly inspects the tome full of terrible figures. "Ahhh, this writing's Abyssal! The language of the very foulest demons, those who delight only in sheer destruction and chaos, let's see here... it's half a religious tome to Lamashtu, and half sort of a bestiary, a kind of, erm, catalog of her, ah.... greatest hits."

Briefly, the scholar looks disappointed that the book is not Thassilonian even if may or may not be that old, but then he brightens. "It's an excellent find. I'd be happy to purchase it from you-- and I can't really suggest you sell it to anyone you don't trust. You might get more gold for it in, say, Magnimar, but you have no idea where it could end up. If you sell it to me it'll be here, safe, on my shelves should you need translations or further insights."

The ranseur, when presented, gets a wide-eyed look of appreciation. "Oh but this IS Thassilonian craftsmanship! Look at the polish! How utterly remarkable! And you say this statue of a woman was holding it, eh? Hm, one moment--"

Brodert rummages through his books and some dusty scrolls before carefully opening a tome whose pages threaten to crack under his careful touch. "Here. Look."

He shows you a page on which faded ink sketches seven strange, spiky runes... one of which you remember seeing, as the one E had identified as 'wrath'. "This is the one you say you saw, yes?

"Then I think that statue you saw below you was a representation of... Alaznist, one of the very Runelords herself. Her domain was wrath, just as the other Ruenlords held sway over magics of sloth, lust, envy... you get the picture."

Quink looks somewhere between gleeful, overwhelmed, and vaguely terrified. "What a find! What a find. But there was a stairwell? Do you think it goes further down-- ah, wait but you asked about the orange well, right!"

The scholar tugs at his beard. "I've no texts on this. You must understand this is all terribly obscure knowledge, I'm going from things I've cobbled together in my travels to Magnimar and Korvosa's libraries when I was a much younger man. But I think you may have found a.... a thing called a 'runewell.' These devices channeled souls and power to create hideous monster-soldiers known as 'sin-spawn.' I fear the things you describe facing may have been exactly those."

Quink pauses, the fear in his face slowly taking precedence as the prime emotion over the other two. "...er... you say this well was... active?"

Sonya holds up the torn cloth and scratched metal of her armor - her bruises weren't visibly but she surely felt them. "Very. Active enough for a demon to create one of those things right in front of us. Is there any way to destroy it or turn it off?"

"Goblins are bad enough, but I don't want Sandpoint to turn into a gods forsaken monster factory. And I doubt Ameiko wants her family's home to be the epicenter of it - she has enough on her mind right now."

"The Thassilonians aren't around any more, so there must be some way to stop their creations, right?"

Rokan listens from where he squats near the room’s corner, idly searching Markov’s unstrung bow for dings or damage. ”So we do not know if the book is from Thassilon? That complicates things.” He lapses into silence as Quink moves on to talk about the runewell, concern painting his dark features.

”I do not like the thought of something channeling souls to create monsters, especially this close to innocent townspeople.” He shrugs, ”On the other hand, we destroyed the creature that seemed capable of actually activating it. Maybe the problem is taken care of? At least maybe for the moment.”

He stands up, apparently satisfied with the condition of the bow as he restrings it, ”which means the goblins and their mysterious leader remain the biggest threat for the moment.” He gives Quink a quick Shoanti bow, ”Your insights are very helpful, Master Quink. After we’ve spoken of these things to the Mayor — and if she is okay with — I am fine with selling you this book. My companions must also agree, of course.”

Quink winces at Sonya's display of her bangs and dings. "Goodness. As for turning it off..."

The scholar scratches at his jaw, and fetches a journal from his desk, thumbing through the pages. "Let me see my notes that I made on the subject when I was younger. It was all theoretical then. You say the little imp dripped some of her blood into the well, and that caused the manifestation? Hrrmm..."

Quink flips through his journal for a minute with a furrowed brow, then says, "--I can't promise you this will work, or even that it's advisable. Again, ah... my realm is theory. But, having given my disclaimers...

"I believe the runewell is... 'filled' by the souls of creatures slain in its vicinity. Rather than letting those souls reach Pharasma, their energy is captured by the well, and twisted to be reborn into these spawn of sin. They're then released by some appropriate sacrifice to the well-- such as, er, blood. There may still be some soul energy stored in this well to make it active." Quink pauses, looking uneasy. "--the recent deaths in the raid might have actually 'filled' this well, I suppose. In theory."

Clearing his throat, he continues: "Also in theory, the energy could be used up by manifesting the monsters as the imp did, then destroying them. They don't have souls themselves so it wouldn't prolong the cycle. As long as no new souled creatures were slain around the runewell, it should then remain empty.... I think."

Quink offers an uncertain smile as if to apologize for his lack of more reassuring theory.

"But as our fine Shoanti here says-- you did kill the imp! Perhaps the energies will simply dissipate without here there to call them forth."

Quink hikes up his robes and sits down in the chair. "The book is in the Abyssal tongue but that doesn't necessarily rule out it being from Thassilon. Abyssal, as one of the planar languages, hasn't really changed in 10,000 years. The syntax and the-- oh, right, yes, the mayor, an excellent idea."

You're all saved from a linguistics lecture by your reminder that you must share this concerning information with the Mayor. Quink is willing to come along and tell her everything he told you, if you wish to have his learned voice backing you up.

***

Sandra Deverin receives you more than willingly into her office and has tea called, but all pretense at small talk vanishes as soon as she has her office door shut. With concern etching her face, she listens to your litany of the discoveries, and Quink's elaborating on what they might mean. The mayor gets a little more pale the longer you talk.

When you finish, she pauses, then fans herself with a folio upon her desk. "Gods help us. Some sort of complex of monsters, right beneath our noses all these years? How lucky we are that for whatever reason they haven't boiled up into the streets by now. And how lucky we are for you. Belor will be back tomorrow, Desna grant it; in his absence I have to try and decide what to do with... all this."

The mayor is silent a moment, hands steepled under her chin. You can hear the sounds of the town carrying on its business out her windows-- forging, carpentry, fishing, a busy market-- oblivious to the lost history that lurks beneath. After a few seconds Deverin sighs.

"Quink, can you promise us that going down there and making more of these 'spawn' would end the threat? It seems counter-intuitive to me."

"Er... no, I cannot promise," Quink says with a clearing of his throat. "It's--"

"Theory, so you said. Well dammit, why can't we just get some men with good saws and hammers down there to take it apart stone by stone? Aesrick surely could disassemble a well in a few hours!"

"It's magic, Lady Mayor," the scholar says apologetically. "Just taking the well physically apart might make things worse."

Deverin sighs, and pinches the bridge of her nose. "My instinct is to keep a constant guard posted in that tunnel and try and brick the place off as soon as possible, but to leave the damn thing alone. But you're the only ones who've actually seen this thing: if you have different advice, I'll listen to it and happily," she says... while looking at our heroes.

”The Elders never taught me about ancient demon-summoning hate-wells, Mayor.” He shrugs, ”I have no better idea. I think the idea of us draining whatever energies it may have by killing whatever demons come out of the pit is a gamble. WE don’t know how many are in there, and we are only four. If we got overwhelmed, what’s to stop them from bubbling up into the streets? We need more information. Maybe send someone to find an expert on such matters in Magnimar? For the time being, walling it up and posting a guard seems smart, in my opinion.”

"Yes, more information seems prudent. We might fall to one of these draining attempts, and what good would we have been then?"

E taps his chin as he ponders, seemingly ignoring the conversation at hand.

"If Belor is back tomorrow, then we can organize a counter-tactic. See if our enemy's encampment has any wisdom to offer... should we be able to find it."

He looks towards the mayor. "Brick and guard for the interim. When we know more, we can take more proactive measures."

Seraka simply nods along with the conversations. The mention of "Wrath" piques her interest, reminding her of that brief vision the gangly demon imparted to her.

"I mean, I'd be okay with the 'let's just kill all the things in the pool' option. Make an afternoon out of it. Set up a picnic. Ya know, when we have time."

Rokan takes a moment to make sure his understanding of the word 'picnic' is correct. Then, he shakes his head.

"Would that serve any purpose? Other than a workout session?" E grins.

Seraka flexes an arm. ”You say that like a workout ain’t a good enough reason on its own.”

The mayor listens with a grimly amused snort to the banter, but clearly her mind is on the threat to the town. "Right. For now I'll have that complex blocked off and bricked up, and good riddance." Quink's face falls, but she continues. "Yes, I know what you're going to say, Quink-- the historical significance or something or other. You'll have to be content with examining whatever they brought back until Belor can help us decide the best way to deal with it. Rokan's suggestion of consulting Magnimar's scholars is a good one."

(Quink looks even less thrilled at that, but doesn't argue.)

The mayor pushes herself to her feet with her hands on her desk. "My debt to you four grows bigger with each thing you discover," she observes with a small, bleak smile. "At least we're hopefully catching up with the town's enemies at this rate, not lagging behind them. Merciful gods, I can't even believe Sandpoint has enemies. We... we sell fish."

With a sigh, Deverin gestures at the door. "I'd advise taking a rest. You've earned it. If you're set on trying to find the goblin lair once Belor's back, there's an elven woman named Shalelu who might be able to give you advice. I'm afraid that's beyond my expertise."

Alright. It's about one in the afternoon, perhaps; Belor's supposed to return tomorrow, and you have a lot of things you can sell-- Brodert is happy to buy the book, for instance, and the really fancy (but non-magical) ranseur at full cost rather than half price, as historical artifacts. If there's some RP you want to do before the next in-game day, now's your chance. Sorry for how long this took me to get caught up. :(

"The goblins are our best lead - and as long as we can keep the ruins in check, our biggest threat. We don't know what else they could be planning - I hate to startle the townsfolk, but we should make sure everyone knows to report anything out of the ordinary."

Sonya is going to buy a shield to go with longsword, and then I want to have her stop by Valdemar Manor or elsewhere to get a nice booze, and stop by Rusty Dragon. I dunno how much it'd cost

Sonya shows up to the Rusty Dragon when the night is winding down with a big bottle of whiskey and a few glasses, and offers one to Ameiko. "I figured you might want a drink after the past few days, and deserve one you didn't pay for."

Rokan listens through the mayor's debrief, and nods at her disbelief about the town's enemies. "Everyone has enemies, Mayor. This is a fact of living." He pauses, considering all they have learned, "I will take up your offer of rest. Hopefully all will remain quiet until your sheriff returns."

He follows Sonya out, nodding. "Checking in and warning the townsfolk is smart. I will check in with the guards at the glass-making building. And I will need to refill my quiver." He turns to walk away, but pauses and looks back at the group, "I will see you at the Rusty Dragon this evening."

Then the hunter stalks off. He checks on those guarding the newfound smuggling run, then — on a whim — walks over to the cliff overlooking the beach-trash-drop. For long moments, he simply watches the beach below, wary of goblin scouts and just further considering the problems they face.

I'll make Rokan's purchases once we know what our individual cut is, but it will include beefing back up his inventory of cold iron and possibly silver arrows. There may be some custom arrows in there, as well, depending on our available gold.

Later that afternoon, he shows up at the Dragon. He makes for any present group members, but gives Shalelu a friendly nod.

"Everyone has enemies, Mayor. This is a fact of living."

"Well that's a rather grim outlook! Surely there's someone out in this wide world who doesn't garner the ill will of others."

E shrugs his shoulders as the loot is dispersed. "I suppose I have things to buy too. I could probably use a bigger mug!"

As the party disperses, he skips off to go shopping as well. "Rusty Dragon! See you then!"

Seraka grins, mostly at the fact that she is about to agree with Rokan on something.

”Grim, sure, but Feathers has the right of it.”

Seraka would like to check in with her girl while selling her armor and weapons we found, but if we need to move on, that’s okay.

Woudl this be a good opportunity to use Rokan's discount at Seraka's girlfriend's store? Make one of those sets of armor cheaper? Or both? :D

So, it sounds like we’re coming to some conclusions about gear purchases. That being the case, here’s some stuff Rokan will be looking for during his afternoon of shopping around. Dien, will you let me know which of these he can find?

• Mwk backpack (50g)
• 100ft silk rope (20g)
• 50 arrows (1g)
• grappling arrow x5 (5g)
• 50 cold iron arrows (5g)
• 50 silver arrows (102.5g)
• Oil of Magic Weapon (50g)
• Oil of Bless Weapon (50g)

Optional:
• 5 Tanglefoot arrows (100g)

Suggested group purchases:
• Wand of CLW (750g)
• Scroll of Lesser Resto (150g / charge)

Sonya is able to bring a fine jug of the family's best hard cider, aged twenty years in the Valdemar cellars, to the Rusty Dragon. (There are perks to being a Valdemar, okay!) She's the first there, arriving in the quiet stretch of the mid-afternoon, but through the door she hears a tired voice-- Ameiko's-- in speech.

"I've heard what you had to say, Jubrayl. Now if you don't mind..."

"Oh, of course," responds a male voice, smoothly. "You're a young woman in mourning; take all the time you need. I'll just be on my way."

Ameiko emerges from the kitchen following a lanky man of Varisian stock, whom Sonya might remember from the footrace-- he came in second to E. Jubrayl Vhiskai. He smiles politely at seeing Sonya, gives her a half-bow, and saunters past on his way out the door. "Miss Valdemar."

Ameiko looks just as pleased to see the door swing after him, and as soon as it's shut she drops heavily into a chair. Sonya's approach and the offer earns a tired smile from the Minkaian woman. "That's... incredibly kind of you, thank you. I probably shouldn't drown my woes in a bottle right now but-- ohmygodsandgoddesses, Valdemar cider. Drowning my woes in a bottle it is."

Ameiko knocks back the first mouthful of cider with a tiny cough, then sinks down in her seat. "I'm glad to see you're alright. Nobody was hurt exploring the tunnels?"

***

Rokan dutifully checks on the guards-- at the mayor's order, four soldiers are stationed at the smuggler's entrance now, with constant shifts, and Aesrick Battlehorn and a few others are already there scrutinizing the brickwork in preparation for sealing it up. From the discussions with Belor, Rokan knows that Sandpoint's militia isn't large enough to maintain this sort of constant watch down here without depriving some other posting, but hopefully the bricking will be finished in short order. The guards stand at extra sharp attention during his presence, one of them even flicking a quick salute to him despite his status as a Shoanti outsider.

At the cove, the surf dashes roughly on the rocks below, shattering into foam only to draw back and try again. A futile assault... but is it? Wind and water can wear down the hardest of mountains, a truth known to the Shoanti. But where do the quahs, the giants, the and goblins, fit into that? Who is the wind and the waves, and who is the stone? It seems far from here to the place where his tribe-brother died...

When he enters the tavern later, Shalelu is not present. Ameiko is, however, and Sonya, the two of them sharing a drink near the fire. Ameiko gives a little wave.

(As an OOC reminder since it's been forever, Shalelu did mention a little bit about Thistletop here.)

***

E flits around town like a cheerful, blue-skinned butterfly. The slight man finds he's especially popular with the town's children, some of whom follow him around as he does his shopping errands. At first, at a curious, wary distance; that doesn't last long. Eventually he has to contend with jostling elbows, frank staring, and entreaties to 'Hey, pull a coin outta nowhere again!' or 'I bet I can beat you in a race!'

***

Seraka stops by Savah's armory, missing Sonya's own trip there by mere minutes. Savah gives her typical cheerful greeting when Seraka enters, then it turns into a bigger grin at recognizing her customer-to-be.

"Hey Green! I heard you had even more excitement today. Damn, you do move fast, don'tcha. Look at this shipment of blades I just got in, sharp as razors, huh? Half of them already spoken for, too. This mess is a sad affair but I can't pretend it's not good for business. Just bought a load of all that stuff you found off Miss Valdemar, too."

Savah hikes herself up onto her shop's counter and sits there swinging her feet and smirking at Seraka. "Did you come lookin' for kit? Or is this another visit where you try sweet-talking me...?"

****

I really will get us back to the action soon! But in the meantime have that.

"Just some scrapes and bruises. The town guards have everything down there in hand now, at least until Sheriff Belor returns."
Sonya raises her own glass and drinks. Despite it being her family's signature drink, she's not quite as good at stifling her cough as Ameiko. Sonya's face flushes and she quickly changes the subject, gesturing at the door. "Trouble with Jubrayl?"

I'm imagining that Sonya doesn't drink much and alcohol hits her pretty hard, makes her psychic powers go a little wonky. If she gets drunk I'm imagining prestidigitation kind of happening on its own around her.

Ameiko nods in a slightly absent fashion to Sonya's reassurance, then gives an annoyed eyeroll at the mention of Jubrayl.

"He's saying Fa-- he's saying that my father owed him some gambling debts and wants to know how I'd like to clear those." Ameiko's tone is flat, but she forces a smile. "But that isn't your problem. What have you found-- if you're at liberty to say?"

Haha, I love that image for Sonya!

As she meanders over towards the counter, Seraka’s grin spills out despite her best attempts to contain it.

”I figured I could maybe do a bit of both. Ya see, I’m finding myself in the market for some new armor, the kind I plan on keeping until the day my corpse has gotta get pried out of it.”

She leans onto the counter, her head resting on her hand in an exaggerated thinking pose. The pose has the completely unintentional and unforeseen effect of drawing attention to the definition of her arm.

”Some nice full plate I’m thinking. I hear those things gotta be made to fit the buyer. Probably have to get some measurements for that, yeah?”

She raises her head and meets Savah’s gaze.

”You do that kinda thing?”

Sonya scowls, and finds herself wishing Jubrayl was still in eyesight so she could scowl at him directly. "Maybe not, but that won't stop me from remembering it the next time I see him."

Sonya turns a bit more into her cup, voice low so no one else would overhear.
"We're... not exactly sure yet. Something beyond old smuggling tunnels - ruins, hundreds of years old. It seems Old Man Quink may have been on to something all along. And whoever attacked the city, they knew more than he did - and had darker, deeper plans that just a goblin attack."
She traces her finger around the rim of the cup and goes quiet for a moment.
"I'm sorry, I wish I had better news - that I could tell you everything has been solved, and everyone brought to justice. But not yet. It will happen, you have my word."

Rokan nods to Jubrayl as the man leaves, then steps into the conversation just as Sonya finishes her response. He rests his bow against the counter as he settles onto a stool. He raises his eyebrows at Sonya’s promise. ”That is a big oath to make, Miss Sonya. We know so little about what is actually happening.” He sets his own jaw and shifts his dark eyes to Ameiko, ”But I agree that we will throw whatever we have at this threat. Sandpoint must remain strong if it is to be useful in the coming days.”

He gives a brief update on the state of the guards and the junk-beach … which is to say there’s really no update. Then he sighs, ”I must admit I am impatient for Sheriff Belor to return. I begin to rethink my suggestion to wait for him before seeking the goblin threat.” He shrugs as he eyes Sonya’s cider, ”Not that hunting goblins at night seems wise.”

E does continue to flit about the town, stopping to take advantage of his chit for a free meal at the fish market, then making his way to a sweets shop.

He scouts about the town for an artisan blacksmith, and negotiates a price to make a replica of his current drinking mug in a much nicer material.

$526 for a mithral holy symbol/weapon mug, hidden compartment -
because he's going to have to save for that armor anyway.

E stops occasionally to try and impress some children with his "magic", pulling an occasional silver coin from nowhere, or a purchased sweet somehow being found in a pocket he was no where near. Let's call it 10 gold for the day.

Towards the end of the day, he gathers all his footrace challengers and puts on an impromptu race of his own, offering a treat to anyone who beats him. And of course, after a terrible bout of 'coughing' he comes in dead last.

He ends the event with a game of hide-n-seek, offering yet another gift to the first person who finds him. "No Peeking though." the samsaran insists, making the players count to 100.

After finding a simple hiding spot in the play area, he places draws a smiley face in the dust and dirt, writes out a note that says You were so close! Good job!, and pins it to the ground with a generous handful of copper coins. Then, he stealthfully exits the playfield, stealing away to the Rusty Dragon undetected.

At the Rusty Dragon, a window slides open and E drops in quietly through it. "Ah! Friends! Don't be startled. I just wanted to get in here without being seen." He pauses for a second, "Well, that sounded less ominous in my head. No matter, there's no concern."

Rokan shakes his head in bewilderment at the small, blue man, but pushes out a stool out for him.

Purchases have been accounted for on teh sheet. And Rokan actually has over 1,000g gold left. If anyone has any important purchases they can't afford, I'm happy to pitch in. Otherwise, I guess he'll hold onto it for now. :)

Also, Rokan still has a casting of CLW prepped for the day. How is everyone? If anyone needs healing, Im happy to drop it on them. If not, Rokan will likely use it on himself before sleeping.

I have no idea where this week went, holy shit.

Around town:

The blacksmith-- a huge hulk of a man with a slightly wild and foreboding look-- gives E an incredulous look at hearing his desire for a mug fashioned out of one of the more valuable metals around. "You are f*#@ing barmy," he bluntly tells the blue man, "but if your gold's good I don't care. This is a custom job: it won't be ready overnight. Smithing takes f%~#ing time. Clear? Also, you're paying up front. I've heard you're goblin-fighting. Damned if I'll have you go die in some goblin's den and me not get my pay while I'm hammering out your mug that I can't resell to anyone else!"

At the dragon:

E, Rokan, and Sonya have reconvened with their purses lighter and their various sundries acquired in some cases. Ameiko offers a slightly tired smile to Sonya's promise and Rokan's more measured words, having done nothing more than blink several times at E's entrance through the window.

"Let me grab a few more cups... if you don't mind my making free with the cider you brought, haha," she says to Sonya. "Where's your other friend, the tall half-orc? So you're all going out hunting goblins tomorrow? Be careful."

The last surviving Kaijitsu frowns a little. "I wish I could tell you more about the goblins, but it's probably nothing you don't already know. They're afraid of the written word, and of course you saw they love fire. The ones out at Thistletop are supposed to be the strongest tribe-- they certainly have the most impressive base. In my 'adventuring' days," Ameiko looks half-wry and half-sheepish, "the team I was with thought about trying to clear their nest. We got within sight of their island, but it seemed foolhardy to try and climb out there while getting potshot by goblin shortbows the whole way. We wound up looking for easier bounties. Oh, and I remember the thornbushes were just awful."

Rokan holds up his cup in the way he's seen lowlanders do when drinking, "Then we will find a back door to this Thistletop and give our little goblin friends some payback." He frowns, "And maybe some way to deal with awful thornbushes."

Woodland Stride may actually come in very handy soon. :)

"Stupid goblins." E mumbles under his breath.

"Think we can find some way of getting through the thorns without getting pricked into oblivion?" He chippers up with a smile "You were an adventurer huh? What was your grandest tale?"

It juuust might, Rokan

Ameiko smiles but shrugs. "If I knew a way through the bushes without getting scratched up, I'd have used it, believe me. But maybe you'll do better than we did. As for my grandest adventure, ha, well, let me think..."

She perks up a little as she weaves an entertaining tale of how she and her companions at the time had protected a merchant's wagons from some spiteful little fairies; the worst of it, she'd said, had been when the strongest of their group had gotten somehow enchanted by the little tricksters and turned on them! But together she and her companions had managed to knock him out with 'a combination of a whip to the knees and a frying pan to the skull!' after which they'd managed to rout the little fairies.

Ameiko's story comes to a close as the first late afternoon customers start to drift in. She excuses herself to go serve ale, seeming to be very intent on at least the appearance of resumed normality, though her life has changed a great deal in the last few days.

It's perhaps several hours before any of you see Seraka.

As always I don't want to cut off any chances for RP you wish to do amongst yourselves at the inn/anywhere. However, ultimately...

The day grows long and the sun sets in red splendor over the ocean. The common room is half-filled with customers, more than a few of who have come to gawk at you, it seems. Still, none of them are anything more than curious and eventually even the rubberneckers will drift off towards their own beds and homes for the night. Those of you lodging at the Rusty Dragon are once again given the rooms free of charge, Ameiko refusing any coin with a firm headshake, while if Rokan goes to the White Hart he will find it the same quiet, subdued establishment it has been on previous nights.

The dawn brings no immediate sign of Belor-- but come about ten in the morning the sheriff and a squad of soldiers appear on the road that leads to Magnimar. Hemlock leads a group of nine guardsmen through the gates of Sandpoint, including a man with a polished breastplate and a handlebar mustache who rides a handsome if restless stallion.

By the time those of you who wish to be there have reached the sheriff, he and the mustachioed man are engaged in something that appears to be, if not quite hostilities, at least not pleasantries either.

"...nothing to worry about, Sheriff, my men will have your little town ship-shape in no time. These goblin trash will break and flee at the first signs of any actual disciplined opposition, you'll see."

Belor gives the apparent commander an impatient nod with his lips pressed together and his eyes scanning the crowd. As soon as he sees you, he makes a barely civil excuse and walks away from the other man, cutting through the bystanders towards you.

"My office," he says brusquely. "...please. Let me hear what's gone on."

****

Some ten minutes later, with your tale of the catacombs told and Mayor Kendra busy occupying the Magnimaran sergeant, Belor rubs a hand over his face and grimaces.

"Thrice-cursed, gods-damned goblins. Desna wept. Alright, Thistletop sounds like a problem the regular folk of this region have been putting off dealing with for too long... and it sounds like that's come back to bite us. Damnation."

Belor glares at the wall. "...I would prefer to be going with you like you don't even know, but it looks like I'm hosting a... a.... a respected delegate from Magnimar. Do you think you can scout this Thistletop on your own, evaluate the threat, and either report back if you don't feel you can manage it in your own rights, or take care of it if you can?"

”I will go,” Rokan replies immediately, and for once there is an eagerness to his voice. Without thinking about it, he pulls the string taut on his bow, as if already sighting down an arrow at a goblin in his mind. ”These tiny pests will know the fear they tried to sow in Sandpoint.” He shrugs, ”Maybe while we are there, we will find some more clues to whatever this whole thing is really about.”

The young Shoanti pauses, hiking a thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of the mustachioed man. ”Who is the wet-footed lowlander? Why does he heat your blood?” He pauses to give one of his rare, small smiles, ”I do not think Seraka has had her exercise this morning. Maybe she should kick him around the yard for a bit?”

Belor grimace-smiles at Rokan's 'offer' of Seraka's services. "Don't tempt me to unwise choices," he says with a toothache smile. "Satisfying as it would be, it would cause more trouble than it's worth... and rob the town of able-bodied defenders, should that man take offense easily. You'll find that many lowlanders do. Take offense easily, I mean.

"But I am pleased to hear you'll go. Is there anything I can help supply you with? I don't have a great deal on hand, but if it's something I can help you obtain, I will."

"So, then, who is he?" Rokan doggedly repeats.

"I do not know what else can be done to help us in our goblin hunt ..." he shrugs, "I do not know what we lack. We have light sources if they live in dark. And the only other threat we know of is the thornbushes that protect their home. Those should not be a problem for me, but I'm not sure how everyone else will do with them. Or even how to suggest they be dealt with."

The hunter seems ready to head out.