Caundur Vanron here. You have my dagger!
And my Wakizashi!
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My hammer awaits the chance to serve Father Torag!
Oh, are we taking inventory of our weapons? I have a shortbow and 87 arrows exactly. I counted them this morning.
The fourth of Neth has arrived. The journey begins today.
The day is calm. Birds, migrating south for the winter, call from the forest. The skies are clear, save for the stray wandering cloud drifting by. In Kassen, however, the atmosphere is tense and excitable. Children are running about, some telling stories of how the last two (or four, depending on the child talking) adventuring groups perished attempting to accomplish their task, while others reenact the heroic battles fought by adventuring parties past. The adults are busy preparing for the ceremony: some pack the bags to be given to the adventures, some are finishing tailoring and mending their black robes (which have grown suspiciously smaller since the ceremony four years ago) and the first few villagers begin to trickle into the town square.
Mayor Uptal has told you to assemble in the town square at noon; however, you have the morning to spend with your family or mentor as you so choose , but you must be in the square at noon!
Where is Jocyn? He said he would be here tonight to teach me the lute! I've been carrying this thing around for years without any idea how to play it! I swear, if I find him at the Seven Silvers again looking up barmaiden skirts, I'll give him a beating he'll never forget! Sometimes I wonder how he would handle a single night without alcohol! But...
Kion's once lively tone hung in the air as he shook his head and sighed, remembering what Jocyn said the day they met.
"The past is the past. Live it or lose it. Those are your only options. I have chosen one for myself, and I'll let you choose another."
Coincidentally, Kion learned Elvish specifically to translate that phrase.
Bah! It's still no excuse. Regardless, if he's hungover tomorrow at noon, Kion inspected his lute with a newfound interest, I guess I'll just play this thing as loudly as I can, whether I know how to do that or not. That'll teach him.
Kion looked around the square before anouncing, I'm heading to the riverside, if anyone cares to join me. Otherwise, I will see you at noon, and trotting off, carefully plucking the strings to his lute and mumbling to himself. Maybe young Lei will be up for a lullaby or something. Won't be seeing her for a while, I guess.
Kylar watched as the Undine Watersinger trotted off to the riverside. A quick debate played out in his head.
Will any of the merchants be in a deep sleep tonight? Maybe I could take one last look at their wares before I leave? Nah, they'll be there when I get back.
Smiling to himself about the prospect of his adventure tomorrow and the riches it promised, he turned to the bard as he left. Kylar did enjoy a good song and who knew, maybe he and this bard in training could teach each other some tunes.
"I'll go with you. And ten silvers says I find Jocyn in the Seven Silvers tomorrow morning!" he smirked. "What's your name by the way? I've seen you visiting the Silvers but never caught your name, although I may have caught ten of your silver pieces"
Tonight will be a good night.
In the morning:
As I awake from my sleep I head into the temple to say my morning prayers to Torag. After a lite breakfast of local fruits and cheeses I head to the forge. There I collect my necessary tools and equipment that will be needed for the coming adventure. As I'm finishing cleaning up Father Prasst, leader of the temple, comes to have some final words before before my departure.
"Kurgryn. I understand you'll be parting with us this morning to take part in the mayor's Quest. You will be greatly missed."
Thank you Father. For your service and your friendship.
"May Erastil bring you safe travels on your adventure. And may Torag bring you strength."
Your words are always comforting Father. I will surely miss you. I must be going now.
And so I departed from the temple for what may be the last time. With my bags packed and armor donned I head out into Kessan.
Knowing that I still have a short time before I must meet at the town square I decide to wander for a bit, to see what the townspeople are doing to prepare for the adventurers departure.
Caundur woke with the sun, as was typical of his family, though his prior state would be better called a "trance" than "sleep." The aroma of rabbit stew was drifting in from the kitchen.
Father must have gone out early to catch a special meal for this morning.
His father and mother were both rangers, being far better at trapping than he ever would be. He was always drawn more to the bustle of town-life, which he knew was a disappointment to them both, but they knew he would do great things no matter where his life took him. This was the day he would set out to prove to them that he could achieve greatness. He sat up and pulled on his armor; he ran his bare hands over the black leather accented with iron studs. He pulled on his boots, and stepped out of his room to greet his parents.
His mother was just pouring bowls of stew for the three of them, while his father was already seated at the table.
"Good morrow, son," Revdur said to his son.
"Was your night peaceful?" asked Laeressa.
"As peaceful as can be expected before such an important day," replied Caundur.
"Well, have some stew. You'll need to be well-nourished for the journey ahead," Laeressa encouraged her son.
The conversation over the meal passed in a blur; while Caundur's parents were always supportive of his endeavors, they would never truly understand his motivations for partaking in the Kassen tradition. They were always content with their lives in the woods, and felt uneasy in the crowds of Kassen; they would likely not join the festivities in town to see him off, not that he blamed them. They loved him very much, and he they, but he was simply drawn down another path, and that was all that could be said on the matter.
Once the meal was over, he went back to his room to finish his preparations. He would soon leave for Kassen to visit with Short Change before the send-off. He rifled through his bag to make sure he had all of his gear: a dagger, a shortsword, some lockpicks, and various other equipment that could either be quite helpful or a complete waste of space. The final piece of gear he needed before he headed out were his gloves.
He stepped over to the small, locked chest beside his bed. He grabbed a pick from his bag and inserted it into the lock. He refused to keep a key for this chest; the secrets of others were free for the taking, but his were his and his alone. The lock popped open in seconds(as he knew the workings of this lock as well as his parents knew the shape of the forest), and he lifted the lid of the chest. Sitting on the padded red velvet interior of the chest were his gloves.
Black leather accented with red silk thread in ornate, abstract designs. Gloves specially made to be thinner at the fingertips to allow him to have full control over his picks. These gloves cost him a pretty penny, but that was the cost of his devotion to Ng. He silently made his daily vows to Ng to pursue knowledge in all its forms, and slipped the gloves on. Grabbing the rest of his gear, he said his goodbyes to his parents, promising them he would return, and he stepped out into the woods, headed towards Kassen.
Upon arriving at Kassen, Caundur judged by the sun that he had a few hours before he was to be at the town square for the send-off. He was generally aware of the others he would be travelling with, but he had never spent any appreciable amount of time with any of them. Most of his knowledge of the others came from overheard conversations at the Seven Silvers.
He had yet to make any real judgements on the characters of his companions, but he suspected there were some among them who mistrusted his skills with a lockpick, or his ability to gather solid information seemingly from whispers. Sure, he did not always operate "within the law," but why should understanding the inner workings of a basic pin-and-tumbler lock make him an untrustworthy individual? He sought knowledge, not gold(though he certainly had relieved some of the ruder patrons of the Seven Silvers of a coin or two to help supplement the laughable pay he received as a barhand), but he cared not what the others thought of him. He had talents many of them did not possess, and they could be used to help the group, or help himself; it mattered not.
His first stop was the Seven Silvers. He entered through the alley entrance, as he was accustomed to as a barhand. He greeted the cooks, who wished him well on his quest, and then stepped into the bar area. He picked out Short Change quickly in the mostly empty bar; he was speaking to that Catfolk fellow(Kydar, or something like that). Caundur quietly slipped into a darkened booth in the corner, and glanced around at the few patrons scattered about, the most notable of which was that drunk Jocyn who was fumbling with the strings of his lute, no doubt quite sure of himself and the "ballad" he was composing.
After a few minutes, Caundur rose and slipped out of the bar as quietly as he entered.
"I don't have any real reason to speak with Short Change. I see him almost every day, and he long ago ran out of stories to tell about the past pilgrimages. And this certainly won't be any occasion for goodbyes. This won't be the last time I step foot in this old tavern."
Caundur decided to spend his remaining time quietly wandering the streets of Kassen; who knew what tidbits of information he might gather from the passing conversations.
"I don't take sure bets, friend. Especially when I'm on the losing side. I have no doubt Jocyn will be found there in the morning. In fact, I have every intention of filling some of these sponges with wine for him. The name's Kion."
Though Kion's mouth was free, he eyed the Catfolk somewhat cautiously. Since moving in to the town, he had learned only two things about the race: they were near impossible to hear coming and they had very, very sharp claws. Coincidentally, he learned both on the same night and because of the same Catfolk all because he tried to keep up with Jocyn's drinking--which, admittedly, might have been why he didn't hear the little kitty coming In the first place.
"Now, I know this might be an odd question, but do Catfolk women usually take offense to being called 'little kitty'? I tried to have a nice conversation with one once at the Seven Silvers, and found myself in a dark cellar with gashes all over me the next morning. To this day I don't remember if it was the best or worse night of my life."
Immediately, Kion stopped moving and searched the Catfolk's eyes for any sign of emotion; however, Kion had no idea what catfolk emotion looked like, so instead he awkwardly thrust out a hand, hoping no blood would be drawn.
"What was your name again?"
. . .
Kion awoke late the next morning with his back to a large tree beside the river with his mentor and at least 10 empty glass bottles of wine by his side. He rubbed his waist, only to feel two of his five potion sponges already filled with wine.
"I should have taken that Catfolk up on his bet last night. For once the mighty Jocyn wasn't found in a woman's bed. Or hip-deep in alcohol."
Kion frowned as his eyes, still adjusting to the morning's light, glazed over his lute. A string was broken! Did he have time to weave another? He raised his hand to shade the sun.
It must be near noon. Noon... Suddenly Kion's eyes shot open Man, I've got to go!
"Jocyn! Get up, we have to prepare or we will be late!"
"Uhn." Jocyn cleard his throat and rubbed his eyes. "Late?"
"Yes. Late! As in, 'Not on time.'"
"Bah!" Jocyn rubbed his leg and searched for his walking staff. "Is this really that important to you?"
"You were the one to suggest it in the first place! So, yes! It is a big deal! Up, up! Let's go!"
"Has anyone ever told you you are too loud to be a good performer?"
"Yes. You have. Many, many times."
"Ah. Have I? Good for me, then. That might be the truest truth to ever come from these lips. Also, that cat broke your lute. Fix it."
I don't have time
"Boy, what do you mean you 'don't have time'?" Jocyn had finally stood, pressing all of his weight on his walking staff. "We are performers. When something breaks, what are your options?"
Kion sighed before monotonously repeating his memorized responses. "To fix it before anyone notices, or to use it to my advantage."
"Right, which makes you what?"
"A horrid performer?
"Why?"
"because you noticed before I took advantage of it."
Jocyn smiled, "Correct. Now fix your lute. We are going to be late."
Looking at Kion's outthrust hand, Kylar decided he liked this bard. He seemed to be an interesting person to be around, and more lively than the other apprentice Jimes had taken on.
"The name's Kylar." he smiled, shaking Kion's hand and remembering to keep his claws retracted. "And no, they tend to dislike being called a 'little kitty', at least in public if you know what I mean!"
I'm glad I remembered to snatch a few bottles of wine from the Silvers before I left, we'll have to see if this bard knows a good time.
...
Kylar woke up just as the sun was peeking over the horizon, as usual for him even after the previous night's festivities. He eyed Kion's lute and vaguely remembered a drunken escapade involving himself and a broken string. After a short deliberation, he decided to leave a silver in payment. He carefully slipped one in the bard's purse.
This feels odd. I can't remember the last time I tried to give someone money without them noticing. Well, nothing to do now but prepare.
He slunk away to the woods south of Kassen to stalk some birds for breakfast and leave open the possibility of visiting Short Change for any last minute advice.
Today was the last day with the old man... what a waste this "apprenticeship" has been. I've barely learned anything of use. Anyway, it's about that time. He should be making his way through the gardens by now.
Joeepi crept against the various shrubberies that outlined the vast garden of his mentor's residence. Moltus Vargidan strolled through various rows of carrots, cabbage, apple trees, orange trees, watermelons, strawberries, and almost everything one could imagine. Everything was in season with a little bit of magic.
Moltus always speeds up once he sees those "prized golden azaleas."
A wide grin shone across the mentor's face. Each quickening footstep lasted and rebounded against the shrubbery as if they were brick. Above, the sun shone brightly against the golden azaleas. He appeared to walk amidst a sea of liquid gold. A man has never looked so content.
Anytime old man.
Moltus continued to stroll eventually reaching the end of his numerous golden wavefronts. All of a sudden his look of content melts to fear as his feet slipped from beneath him. Simultaneously, Joeepi casts Mage Hand to grab the large billowed bottoms of his mentor's morning outfit. The billowed appendages of the mentor now flailed in midair, loud cursing echoing throughout the garden, as the top of his bottoms now hung from a low lying tree branch.
It's about time to head to the square. See you later old man.
Walking to the town square Joeepi has a brief conversation with Moltus's other mentee, Ilamin. Reaching his destination, he notices most of the others have assembled already.
I'm here now
The air was cool in the early dawn light. Niamh could see the clouds of her breath each time she exhaled as she spun through the form, blades flashing as they arced around her. Parry. Block. Thrust. Finish with a slash across the throat, then turn to face the phantom opponent who had crept up behind her and drop, sweeping him off his feet before surging foreward to finish him off. Despite the morning's chill, sweat beaded along her brow and trailed between her shoulder blades as she danced around the dusty training ground. She could see Captain Winslow, leaning against one of the thick wooden target poles, arms folded across his grizzled chest, out of the corner of her eye as she carefully blinked the sweat away, never ceasing her movement. This was a new routine, one he had crafted specifically for a dagger and longsword pairing and it was full of tricky footwork and split second timing. She had logged more hours on this than any other to date, and she knew his gaze would catch every faltered step and strike that failed to exactly meet its target.
Stabbing the opponent facing her through his phantom heart, she lept over him as he fell, curving into a roll as she returned to the earth, mindful not to gut herself on her own weapon in the process. Coming out of the roll, she drove her longsword into her target so that it pierced through the diaphram above the right hip and crossed the ribcage to emerge above the collar bone on the opposite side. Continuing the momentum of her lunge, she rose from her knees and brought her dagger across to decapitate her victim in a single, smooth stroke. She paused a moment to catch her breath before rising fully to her feet and sheathing both blades. Turning to face her mentor, she clasped her wrists behind the small of her back and stood at attention as she waited for him to speak.
"The landing on the third leap was fumbled and you're allowing your sword to lag on follow-up strikes. These moves require precise timing or else you leave yourself vulnerable in vital areas, which any competant opponent will take advantage of"
She nodded curtly. Hard ass. Granted, she had wobbled a touch on that landing. But the timing throughout the routine wasn't any slower than the speed at which she moved during sparring rounds. A cue to step it up a notch then. Dammit. Speed drills sucked ass. Hours and hours of repitition for what usually amounted to split seconds worth of improvement. In all likelyhood, she'd end up putting in extra hours for weeks before he was satisfied. For now.
The captain turned and eyed the rising sun critically.
"That will be all for today. Get cleaned up and stow your gear. I want to see you in my office before you depart. Dismissed."
She bowed briefly as her instructor left the training grounds before turning to make her way back to the baracks. Removing each weapon from its sheath, she wiped the blade down with a soft cloth to remove any grit and stowed them again, habitually running her fingers over the scabbards to check for any new scrapes or scratches. Both weapons had been sharpened the night before along with her spares, the leather straps and scabbards oiled and examined for any signs of wear, buckles polished free of any rust and tested for potential weak points that would snap under strain. Her pack rested at the foot of the bed, similarly maintained. If she was going to die, she'd be damned if it was because she tripped over her own gear.
She could just hear Winslow bellowing over her grave about soldiers who couldn't take care of their own equipment not being fit for cannon fodder. Shaking her head to clear the thought, she made her way into the washroom attached to her quarters. One of the perks of being the only female in the barracks was having her own room and bath. Tiny and cramped though it was, she cherished the privacy.
Stripping out of her soiled and sweaty training garb, she poured a bucket of water over herself and set to work with the cleaning cloth. Rinsing off, she took the opportunity to really get her hair clean, working the lather into the full length of it and carefully massaging her scalp with the tips of her claws. She had once filed them to razor sharp points and, a plethora of scratches later, determined that life was no fun with steak knives attatched to all your fingers, thank you very much.
Toweling off, she ran her fingers through the strands to untangle her mane and let it hang loose down her back to dry. Lacing up her boots and settling her cloak around her shoulders, she was as ready as she'd ever be. Judging by the angle of the sunlight streaming in her window, there was still another hour or two before noon. Leaving, she walked down the hallway to Captain Winslow's office, listening to the muted thud of her boots against the wooden floor.
Rapping on the door with the back of her knuckles, she pushed her way into the room at the rubled growl for entry. She moved to stand in front of his desk and waited for him to look up from what appeared to be guard schedule sheets spread out in front of him. Finishing whatever he had been scrawling, he set the pen down and pushed back from his desk.
"It has been a long time since a member of my command has been selected to retrieve the Everflame." He was leaning back in his chair, eyes stern and unreadable in his coarsely grooved face.
"There is a longstanding tradition in the town guard that any who are chosen to make the journey take an offering to burn at the crypt, in honor of our founder's sacrifice in the battle." Reaching into a drawer at the side of the desk, he withdrew a fat leather pouch and a short, tightly rolled scroll and slid them across the desk.
"See that it gets there. Dismissed."
Tucking the items into her pocket, she snapped to attention and bowed. Smartly turning on her heel, she strode out of his office, feeling his gaze between her shoulders as she closed the door behind her. She retuned to her quarters. The offering was transferred to her pack and she slung her longsword into place around her hips, buckling it down. A dagger slid into the interior of each boot, her remaining spare stowed in the pack. Her bag hefted her bag over one shoulder, she walked out of the room, shutting the door behind her.
One delicious breakfast and a few hours of quiet contemplation later, Kylar decided it was time to depart the wood and prepare for the send off at the town square. He stopped by the Silvers to ask Short Change for any parting words of wisdom, although perhaps wisdom was the wrong word.
He met Short Change in the mostly desolate bar, once again trying his hand at pinching a silver or two off his mentor.
"Morning Ky- Hey! What do you think you're up to eh? Think I taught you everything do ya? Not a chance!" he chortled.
"Just trying to get some last minute practice in. You know of anyone who has gone to light the Everflame Jimes?" Kylar asked.
"No," Jimes replied, "but I've heard a story or two from some of the regulars. You want my advice? Stay out of sight and don't nick everything you see. Gotta leave some stuff for the next lot right? Although you better bring me back a souvenir, or at the very least a good story!"
"Alright, I'll see what I can do."
Spying Caundur out of the corner of his eye leaving the tavern, Kylar decided it was time to leave himself. Gathering his gear he headed out towards the town square to await his travelling companions.
I wonder how Kion is doing this morning? Well, there's one of those magic fellows. I wonder what he's like?
"Morning fellow adventurer!" he called to his new companion.
"Name's Kylar! Lovely day for a quest wouldn't you say?"
Just as Caundur is about to head to the town square for the send-off, he hears a commotion coming from a nearby household. Seeking the source of the yelling, he finds himself at the back of the Vargidan Estate. There, flailing in the air, is Moltus Vargidan, the head of the Vargidan family, a strange group of magically-inclined individuals. Moltus is hanging from a tree by his britches, shouting all manner of words in languages Caundur can only guess at.
"Sir, did you need some assistance?"
"Get me down from here, boy! I've been up here for ages! All of my kin have gone to the square!"
Caundur helps the old man to the ground.
"What on Golarion happened here?"
"That blasted Joeepi! I'll show him what true magic is, that little ingrate!"
Joeepi? That's one of the other pilgrims. A furious Vargidan in the square would cause nothing but trouble. I should quell his anger.
"You're Caundur from the Seven Silvers, right? You're one of the group that's heading to the Crypt? Well, you're about to have one less partner!"
"Sir, please, if you would, hold off any punishment until we return from the Crypt. Holding up the group now would just cause trouble, and Mayor Uptal would be very displeased if the tradition were postponed due to such a commotion. If it pleases you, I will personally do everything that I can to ensure that Joeepi returns safely, so that you can discipline as you see fit."
"I suppose you're right. But know this: if Joeepi does not return, I will take my vengeance out on you, elf!"
"As you say, sir. Now, I really must be going to the square now. I suggest you stay in and calm your nerves, sir."
Caundur left the estate and headed to the square. He was not at all concerned by Moltus' threat.
Everyone knows the old man is losing his mind. I highly doubt he'll remember any part of today by the time we return from the Crypt.
Caundur approached the square from the east and joined up with the crowd just before the ceremony began.
After enjoying a relatively quiet stroll Kurgryn determined that he should make his way to the square. Having been hopeful for the chance to do his duty to the town, Kurgryn becomes uneasy as he enters the center of town.
Are these the really the ruffians that I'm to travel with
Kurgryn recognized the three figures waiting in the square. One was the cocky sorcerer apprentice that studied with the patriarch of the Voltus family. A group known to participate in, how to you say, 'unholy' magics.
The other two worse still. Two shady characters known to hang around the Seven Silvers. The cat fellow that occasionally came around to ask the value of precious gems, gems that did not likely come into his possession legitimately. The other was an elf, his first offense. The son of a couple of respectable rangers, he was always buying materials Kurgryn knew made for excellent lockpicks. A disappointing lot if he'd ever seen them.
"Good Morning Gentleman"
There was no response as Kurgryn put down his pack and shield to wait.
Kion's teeth clenched against a few threads of string he hastily wove together for his lute while walking quickly toward the square. His belt, though fully stocked, was loosely draped about his shoulders, perfectly balancing his shortbow and arrows. The streets, usually busy at this hour, were even busier today. Kion found himself weaving around crowds of faces all asking the same thing, "We are sending him to the crypt?" Still, He had to finish the string before Jocyn found out about it!
As the square came into view, Kion noticed a loosely populated central circle surrounding a burnt up, golden haired dwarf and his shady elf friend along with a young, spunky human and Kylar from the night before.
"Good thing I filled two of my sponges with wine. It looks like I might be needing them later"
Rather than enter the square directly, Kion took a short detour into the Seven Silvers to finish his lute, where he found Jocyn at a table, drinking alone.
Jocyn lifted his head from his mug and said, "I see you still have not finished your lute string. Did you at least make an impression on the crowd?"
"Uh." Kion froze up a bit and chuckled. "I made an impression. That's certain." He moved to sit next to his mentor and began to restring his lute.
"You do realize that, as a performer, your reputation is everything, right?"
"I have been told that before, yes."
"Tell me, then. What's the difference between a good bard and a monkey with a string?"
"I bet the monkey makes more money, for one."
"Besides that."
"I don't know, then."
"A good bard has givin up his life for what he loves, while the monkey never had a life to give." Jocyn gulped down the rest of his alcohol and stood with a groan. "Consider that your send-off from an old, battered monkey with a string." He rested a hand on Kion's shoulder. "You will make a fantastic bard."
Kion wanted to answer with some witty quip--something to remember him by, but instead he simply said, "Thank you" and watched as his mentor hobbled from the inn without saying another word. That was the one and only compliment he had ever heard Jocyn give. By the time his lute was finished and Kion left the Seven Silvers, his mentor was nowhere in the crowd. He made his way into the square, still fumbling for words.
"So, Kylar. Either you are a better fellow than I thought or you are first pickpocket in history accidentally leave money in someone's purse. Either way, I'm glad to see your face. Who are your new friends?"
As the group waited in silence, they were joined by another individual, one that Kurgryn was not as familiar with. This one seemed normal enough, but that he seemed to not have much in the way of armor and carried nought else but a small bow and lute did not help Kurgryn's unease. As this new fellow struck up a conversation with the catfolk, which Kurgryn had learned was named Kylar, he spotted a familiar face in the growing crowd.
"Kurgryn, my lad! After all those hours you put in working my forge and you thought you could make it out of town without saying goodbye did you?"
"Ah Braggar! In all my excitement this morning getting things together it must have just slipped my mind!"
It had not in fact slipped Kurgryn's mind. He just knew Braggar was a long-winded old Dwarf, and that if he had gone by the forge he never would have made it to the ceremony on time.
"So what do you make of your adventure companions so far?"
"Yes, because they'll never hear what I have to say about them when they're so far away."
"They seem 'respectable'. They would not have been chosen to retrieve the Everflame if they were not wholly capable individuals."
"Indeed. Well then you..."
And so Braggar continued to go on, as he often would, about the work at the forge, the ongoing ceremonies, and really any other thoughts that would enter into the old dwarf's head. Kurgryn had grown accustomed to as much, and so sat patiently thinking about this team that he would soon have to work with, on an adventure that he knew naught about, a sensation that did not sit well with him. Every so often he would make a comment to Braggar, but left him to his ramblings for the most part.
The crowd had started to gather as she made her way to the square, weaving in and out amongst the black robed townsfolk. With her drably colored cloak and wealth of long inky hair, she melted into the throng like smoke. Few took notice of her passage. Normally she attracted quite a bit of attention by sheer presence alone, but today the hustle and bustle in preparation of the upcoming ceremony and excitement of the ensuing festivities proved to be a greater distraction.
Rounding a corner, the town square came into view. Standing out amongst the sea of black garb was a loose group of people who would apparently make up the remainder of the traveling party. She recognized the dwarf, good-naturedly having his ear talked off by Forgemaster Braggar, from her visits to the smithy. Nearby, one of the bards who frequented the tavern was having an animated conversation with a smoky grey Catfolk who was chuckling and idly flicking the tip of his tail. The lanky elf who'd once tried to lift one of her daggers off her listened in on their conversation. He'd recieved a couple of freely bleeding clawmarks for his trouble, but really he should have thought twice before relieving a warrior of their weapon... none of them tended to take it kindly and there were more than a few impressive tempers in that particular profession. Lastly, a young man sat slouched off to one side, looking haughty and spectacularly bored with the whole affair.
Approaching the motley bunch quietly, she set her pack at her feet and leaned against a nearby railing with her arms crossed loosly over her chest. Taking a long breath, she exhaled softly, closing her eyes in enjoyment of the autumn breeze carding through her hair and setting the strands swaying. Opening them again, she eyed her companions once more.
There should be another. We're waiting on one more
I'm bored
Ilamin is probably at the pub...
In the forest on the edge of town, the morning light dawns on a small cottage.
Sun's up. It's morning. How can it - I must have fallen asleep..
"Father! Father, can you hear me?"
His father lay still. His face was pale, his eyes half open.
"No no no, not yet. Not yet!"
He had something to tell me. I know there was something.. How could I have fallen asleep?
The night before Ilamin was by his father's side. His eyes had lit up briefly, as though coming to some sudden realization, before clouding over with fear as he drifted off to sleep.
He sat by the bed, staring at his father for a long time, as though willing him back to life.
I've lost him
Eventually he picked him up and carried his body outside. Out in to the woods. In a clearing he laid his father's body down and arranged a pyre from the surrounding brush.
Walking towards the town square, bewildered cursing and the sounds of an argument reach Ilamin's ears.
That sounds like Master Vargidan
Picking up his pace, Ilamin chases the voices, until arriving on the Vargidan estate. Moltus Vargidan is in an agitated state, standing beneath a large tree. Another figure is leaving the gardens.
"Master Vargidan! Are you alright?"
"I'm fine! That blasted Joeepi. I'll show him. I'll show him!"
"What happened?"
"Never mind that. Here, help me with these azaleas."
"Master Vargidan, I really should be going.. I'm already late fo-"
"Nonsense! You are late for nothing. And as gardener, you should be tending to these azaleas. Look at how overgrown they are!"
"Master Vargidan, I am not the gardener... I'm your student."
"Never mind that. Here, take this flower."
Moltus extends a golden flower to Ilamin, who takes it gingerly into his left hand.
"Your father.."
Moltus's eyes are suddenly downcast.
"Yes."
"Remember what I told you."
What has he ever told me that's been of any use? I remember nothing.
"You should go now. You're already late for your journey."
Confused, as he often found himself in the presence of his mentor, Moltus Vargidan, Ilamin turns and leaves the garden, clutching the flower. He walks, lost in thought, and soon finds himself in an unfamiliar part of the Vargidan estate. The flower feels warm in his hand.
There's something - no, someone - here. This place is haunted they say..
A feeling of foreboding overcomes Ilamin, but quickly this fades, replaced by a comforting warmth, as though some familiar presence was warding off a great evil.
There's some bad spirit here. But there's someone I know...
"Father?"
"No, you fool. Use your eyes."
It was Joeepi. Ilamin found himself outside the Vargidan estate, and nearing the town square.
"My apologies, Joeepi. I - I thought you were someone else."
"Apparently. Oh, the old man had some nonsense message for you. He said "No one is ever lost to you." The old man's the one losing it. Are you coming to the square?"
"I need a moment to collect my thoughts. I'll join you directly."
Ilamin was taken aback, and sat down for a spell to reflect. After gathering himself up, he walks into the square, his eyes moist and reddened.
"Hello everyone. I'm sorry I'm late - I thought I had lost someone."
The bells atop the Temple of Erastil toll their midday song, echoing throughout the quiet town. As the peals begin to fade, the first of the townsfolk make their way into the square proper, dressed in black, as if attending a funeral. They slowly fill the square, moving quietly across the cold, hard ground, their eyes downcast and mournful. After a few moments, a murmur passes through the crowd as it slowly parts to let Mayor Uptal through. He leads the way with a tarnished silver lantern. Behind him, an old pony drags a cart laden with backpacks and supplies.
Once he reaches the center of the crowd, Mayor Uptal stops and calls out to the assembled townsfolk.
“Once again the winter winds blow through the Fangwood, marking the end of another harvest. There are wolves in the woods, howling at our walls, and serpents in our shadows, waiting to strike. Just as it was one hundred and seventy-four years ago, when Kassen himself left these walls to protect us, so it is today. Where are the heroes? Where are the brave folk that will venture out to Kassen’s tomb and retrieve the flame to keep this community safe for another winter?”
The Mayor gazes at the young adventurers, wondering who will step forward and volunteer to be the lantern-bearer on this year’s quest. His eyes rove from person to person before returning to the cleric.
Joeepi continues to fidget in place as he waits for one of the other "adventurers" to take the silly trinket.
"This is a high honor, and I don't believe myself worthy of such a task. Surely one of my honorable companions deserves this more than myself."
Kion draws a breath, remembering his recent incident getting to the square. After checking to make sure his belt was on correctly, he announced,
"I must agree. The most honorable amongst us should take the torch. Unfortunately, I am not that individual. I suggest Kurgryn, if he's up to it."
Joeepi eyed the Undine.
He could be trouble.
"Tell me, Undine, how you came to the conclusion that the Dwarf is most honorable. I am not disputing this, for he seems quite honorable, but I am curious to what you base your claims."
A lone suli clad in banded mail approaches the group, a stern and unyielding look on his handsome, chiseled face.
"The dwarf is a servant of Torag, Father of All. I stand here as a messenger of the AllFather. Trust in the one who serves Torag and you shall not be led astray. Farewell travelers."
"What a bunch of noobs. They won't last 10 days..."
He disappears into the forest, leaving the group longing for his enchanting presence.
"...this doesn't answer my question.
"...this doesn't answer my question."
Kion eyes Joeepi suspiciously,
"Why did he repeat himself? I better be cautious in my reply. The stress may have already gotten to him."
"To answer: I have seen the dwarf only in passing, but he has a difiniteness to his step and a solomness to his words. He also has already been burnt once, apparently, and is probably less likely to do it again. I feel I could trust him with the lantern not to burn anything or anyone--which is more than I could say about..." Kion trails his voice and coughs, being sure not to look anyone in the eye. "Besides, any man who can put up with Braggar's ramblings for as long as he did deserves some sort of prize."
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I hope they didn't notice my stuttering.
"Yet why should a man take the lantern? Why not a female, like the admirable Niamh over there? She shares the same countenance as the dwarf, that stern, searing look, yet she is better looking than Kurgryn."
Kylar flashes a quick wink to Niamh before looking back to the supply cart.
I wonder what kind of supplies we've been provided?
"I have simply not had the opportunity to eavesdrop on Niamh like I had with Kurgryn. Thus I know Kurgryn better." Kion shrugs toward Kylar and mumbles under his breath where he thinks only the catfolk could hear, "Plus she scares me a little."
"Fair enough." he whispers to Kion.
"As long as I'm not the one chosen I'm ok with anyone here taking the lantern. It would take up room that I can use to collect gifts for people."
"It matters not to me who carries the lantern. We shall all go together, and together we shall return."
Besides, what could be more dull than a lantern? Far more interesting are the secrets the lantern reveals on dark nights.
"As far as worthiness goes, I've never known a smith to be careless with precious metals, particularly a dwarven one," she remarked with a nod in Kurgryn's direction.
"Short of that, whoever has the poorest eyesight would benefit from the lantern the most. That would be you, most likely." She gestured toward Joeepi.
This has gone on long enough. At this rate they're never going to make a decision.
"If it will quiet this troublesome quarrel then so be it. I will carry the lantern. But know this now, I have patience for all but indecision."
Well that got Braggar to shut his mouth at least.
“Very well. Kurgryn, here is the lantern. Bring us back the flame that we might be safe for another winter!"
The mayor then turns and walks back to the cart. He begins to present each of you with a backpack containing the necessary supplies for the short journey ahead.
Trail ration (x5)
Small tent
Winter blanket
Full waterskin
50 ft. of hempen rope
Map fragment
Trail ration (x5)
Small tent
Winter blanket
Full waterskin
Grappling hook
Map fragment
Trail ration (x5)
Small tent
Winter blanket
Full waterskin
Flask of holy water
Map fragment
Trail ration (x5)
Small tent
Winter blanket
Full waterskin
Potion of cure light wounds, in a labeled bottle
Map fragment
Trail ration (x5)
Small tent
Winter blanket
Full waterskin
Torch (x3)
Map fragment
Trail ration (x5)
Small tent
Winter blanket
Full waterskin
Box containing tinder and three tindertwigs
Map fragment
Trail ration (x5)
Small tent
Winter blanket
Full waterskin
Small bottle of local brandy
Map fragment
After handing out the backpacks, the mayors turns back to face the townsfolk. He bellows, “I present to you the brave heroes who will follow in Kassen’s footsteps to retrieve the Everflame! Some of them may not return, but I say to you that their sacrifice shall not be forgotten. Go, brave heroes, and do not return until you have the eternal fire.” With that, the mayor points to the south, the direction of Kassen’s tomb. The townsfolk begin waving goodbye with cold, solemn looks on most of their faces.
Though you are from Kassen and familiar with the formality of the event, the solemnity can be quite nerve-wracking for a first-time adventurer.
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Looking from the dark of the forest, his eyes gleaming with power and wisdom, Dyros contemplates on the adventurers and the likelihood that they will survive, a peaceful yet solemn expression upon his god-like face.
"Perhaps they have what it takes, as so many did not, but I have my doubts. I fear they underestimate the dangers they will be facing. Oh mighty Torag, please guide the brew-god Lysander as he guides this group of journeyers. May you all sleep with the peace of a thousand still nights, drink with the frequency of Lysander, fight with the ferocity of Dequesne of clan Dequesne, and if necessary, die with the honor of Brutalitops, the drow of legend. Now I leave you to your journey, but know that those that call upon the name of Torag for help will have the power of His siege-engine fighting beside them. In spirit of course."
Unamused by the apparent game the townsfolk are playing, Joeepi removes his portion of map fragment from his bag.
He loosely grips the map fragment as the soft winds twist and turn the torn fabric allowing the opportunity for the others to view his portion.
"Useless"
Somewhat sarcastically he says,
"It appears we will encounter a body of water at some point in the clearing of a wooded area."
"I believe it is in our best interests to combine map fragments to see if we may draw any insight on what lays ahead on our journey."