As the sun breaks over the hills to the east, the town of Sandpoint is already bustling with activity. Merchants scurry to display their wares on wagons and stalls, and workers brush the streets and avenues clear of debris. The town is decorated in a riot of colour, with brightly hued pennons, banners, ribbons, and streamers hang from stalls, pillars, and lengths of rope and twine hung from one side of the street to the other. The crisp morning air is filled with the delicious smells of baked goods and fried foods, strong enough almost to drown out the salty tang from the sea breeze that winds through the town. As people go about their busy morning work the excitement is palpable, and the word on everybody’s lips is this – the Swallowtail Festival is finally here!
Life has filled the entire town, and nowhere is this more true than in the open area outside of the largest and most impressive building – the new Sandpoint Cathedral. Built on the foundations of its predecessor, the grand stone building towers over the many buildings around it, with large openings filled with colourful stained glass murals depicting the six patron deities of Sandpoint. Brightly coloured pennons drape down the stonework and off of the few sets of scaffolding still dotted around the cathedral.
By the time the second bell after dawn has run, a crowd of people have begun to gather in the square out the front of the Cathedral, in front of a long stage set about ten feet from the steps. Many of them are normal citizens or travellers from far places such as Magnimar who have come to attend the festivities in Sandpoint, and the murmurs of the crowd fill the air.
As the peals of the town bell toll for a third time, the crowd gathered in front of the cathedral is sizeable indeed, and three dignitaries – a middle-aged woman with shortly cropped brown hair, a broad shouldered Shoanti man in a crisp dress uniform, and an older man with balding black hair and dressed in a rich blue cassock and half-cloak – sit on chairs set on the stage, chatting amicably with one another. A fourth seat on the stage sits unclaimed by anyone. The woman stands and moves towards a lectern set in the centre of the stage, she raises her hands, a large smile set firmly across her face, and slowly the murmurs of the crowd dies.
”Welcome, friends, to Sandpoint for this year’s Swallowtail Festival. For those who are visiting our fine town, I am Mayor Kendra Deverin, and it is such a honour to stand before you all today and see so many faces out there. Why, I can even see Larz Rovanky out there, having finally decided to set down his tools and join us on this fine day!” The locals in the crowd titter and chuckle amongst themselves, giving one another a series of knowing looks as they turn their heads to find a weathered man of middle age with a scowl on his face at being the subject of a light-hearted jibe at his expense. ”In all seriousness, however,” Mayor Deverin continues once the laughter dies down and attention returns to her. ”I really do feel privileged to stand before you to open the festivities of this year’s Swallowtail Festival. It promises to be a wonderful event, and there are things going on all over the town so please do participate in the games on offer and sample the wares of our famous cooks and stalls. Now, I’d like to invite Sheriff Hemlock to the podium to speak a few words,” she says, giving a light applause and stepping away from the lectern to allow the sheriff to approach.
The clean shaven Shoanti man approaches the lectern cautiously, and it is painfully clear that Sheriff Hemlock does not have nearly the charisma that the mayor exuded. He coughs a number of times and loosens the stiff collar of his uniform before beginning to speak. ”Thank you, Mayor, and thank you all for coming to Sandpoint. Please be careful, as there are many more of you here than we had expected, and the town’s guard would like to keep accidents down to a minimum. If you spot anything out of the ordinary please notify one of the guards, and please do not stray near the bonfire this evening as you may be injured. Thank you.” Sheriff Hemlock nods as he all but finishes his speech in a single breath, and takes a quick, awkward step back from the lecturn as if it were about to sprout teeth and bite at him.
Mayor Deverin steps back to the podium and smiles, thanking the good sheriff for his words of warning before giving a much more pleasant spin to them, something that seems to lift the spirits of the crowd. ”Our next speaker was to be Mister Lonjiku Kaijutsu, the patriarch of one of our most noble of families here in Sandpoint, but I fear he has had a messenger inform me today that he is feeling an early winter fever today and sends his sincerest regrets that he cannot be here to enjoy the festival with us. So instead, I would like to ask our most renowned playwright, Cyrdak Drokkus to the stage.”
As the crowd begins to applaud and cheer, a handsome Varisian man with wild brown hair weaves through the crowd effortlessly and makes his way onto the stage, eliciting a flutter of gasps and giggling from several young ladies throughout the crowd. Resplendent in red and gold finery that is gaudy enough that only an actor could hope to get away with it, Cyrdak makes his way to the lectern and begins an impromptu speech touching on the dreadful night of the fire and the efforts made by the valiant merchant families of Sandpoint and various other contributors and artisans who all rallied behind Mayor Deverin’s vision to rebuild the cathedral so that it may serve as a tribute to those who perished as well as a testament to the resilience and tenacity of the people of Sandpoint. By the end of the tale, the crowd has been whipped up into a frenzy of excited jubilation and even Sheriff Hemlock has managed to crack his previously dour demeanour with a smile and a light bout of applause.
”And if I may indulge your attentions for a moment longer,” he says, an expression of pride set into his features. ”I would like to take this opportunity to invite you all to experience more of the culture that Sandpoint has to offer and come to the Sandpoint Theatre this evening for the debut of my newest production, ‘The Harpy’s Curse’, with the lead role of harpy queen Avisera being played by none other than Allishanda, all the way from Mangimar!” Cyrdak clasps his hands together in a moment of joy as the crowd erupts in applause once again before stepping away from the lectern finally and taking a deep bow before sitting himself down in the spare seat on the stage.
As the crowd’s excitement begins to subside once more, the third dignitary, dressed in a priestly blue cassock and with his silver symbol of Desna gleaming in the morning sunlight, stands and makes his way to the lectern. ”On behalf of my fellow brothers and sisters in the Cathedral, I would like to welcome you all to the Swallowtail Festival, a time to give thanks to the Song of the Spheres and offer up our joyous songs and words as tribute to her. Please return here at noon for the Releasing ceremony, and until then I declare this Swallowtail Festival open!” The priest spreads his arms wide, palms raised to the heavens as the crowd gives one final round of applause before beginning to disperse, and the murmur of conversations begins to swell once more, leaving you all free to go where you wish to.
Serolt strides into town, his hand idly tousling Regins fur as he walks. A festival!
”Why this is unexpected, huh boy? I think Daviren can wait. We’ll find him tomorrow.” He dips his hand into his pouch and rubs his coin together. ”Well, we don’t have much, but I expect we have enough to have a good day, and that’s enough. And as the stars see me this will be a good day!” he grins.
”Heel!” he says idly as he walks into the throng…
vs DC 12
Interesting…
He stays to the edge of the crowd as it assembles for the speech. He listens carefully trying to catch it all - he’s interested - he just doesn’t want anyone to get upset with Regin, and he knows sometimes Shoanti are not welcome… Then he sees the dignitaries. A Shoanti among their leaders! This is a fine town.
He listens. Hemlock huh? That’s an unfortunate name. he grins to himself.
When the crowd begins to disburse, Serolt lingers behind. He drifts after the smaller pockets of people, and just does a slow, winding, circuit of the city. He doesn’t buy, and avoids large throngs, but he looks at everything. When his eyes have had their fill, he looks to fill his grumbling belly. He finds a thinly visited stall with something meaty and orders lots of whatever’s there. He takes it and drifts through the streets to some back alley - but with a view - and settles down to munch, sharing a little with Regin as he does so.
Wiping his hands on his pants, he gets up and says, ”Well Regin, what do you think?” He laughs and tousles his fur one more time and heads toward the stage to see what sort of things might be on it.
Haelvor, since arriving in town, has been mooching around and feeling sorry for himself. Truth be told, he'd forgotten the festival was due to start today, but coincidentally his plan for the day involved sitting miserably on the cathedral steps, staring dolefully at the sky and not setting fire to anything; so he could hardly miss the business of preparation and jollification that has invaded the square.
However, with all the discussion of the horrible cathedral fire, he starts to realise, with growing concern, that sitting on the cathedral steps, as a large number of tourists from Magnimar arrive through the city gate, might be an inadvisable strategy, since the recent "burn the whole library down" incident there.
Nervously, he stands up, and with a deep effort at apparent nonchalance, wanders over to the nearest stall.
It's a food stall, selling a selection of locally made preserves. He picks up a jar of chutney. "How much for this?" he asks, trying to appear inconspicuous and with no intention of buying.
What luck! A bit of relaxation today will do me good.
Zhu had yet to wash the dust of the road off of his outfit, and he was somewhat weary. The joys of a festival of Desna would be most welcome.
Zhu learned of Nualia, and, by himself, had a moment of silence for her and Father Tobyn. It sounded like the town had lost good people when the fire had struck. Zhu is intrigued by some of the games, and seeks to try his skill.
The lovely half elf was turning heads in the crowd: with a fiery crown of long hair, pointed ears, green eyes, she was already a stunning view.
But the close fitting leather armor, the black-and-yellow whip dancing on her swinging hips, and her obvious sensuality as she insinuated herself in the crowd, touching with her long, slender fingers any exposed flesh, male or female left no doubts in the mind of the onlookers: whoever she was, she was a Calistrian.
She hears more than she listens the mayor speech, and her emerald eyes only express interest when Cyrdak Drokkus speaks.
Really? I came all the way for an audition and there's already someone hoping to steal the show? I'm so much better than this Allishanda... I guess. It would be great to hear her singing, however.
She applaudes politely, saying to whoever can hear her
Soon, you will hear me too at this same theater. And you won't believe your own ears, if you have any taste.
When the crowd disperse, she looks around for some fun, and takes the opportunity to display her awesome voice near the Theater
That's how I sing, Allishanda. Do your best to follow that performance.
"That looks delicious. I'm afraid it will spoil my appetite for the festival later on", Ratimir says teasingly to the young girl placing the breakfast in front of him. "Unless you happen to have a food stall of your own, in which case I'll certainly drop by", he ends with a frindly smile. He watches the girl giggle away from his table at the corner and starts eating with gusto: dark bread, pears, honeyed milk, and Mindspin goat cheese—the last one costing a small fortune for Ratimir's standards. Béa's favorite, he thinks to himself, and this day is about her: for the six years during which they were married, there was not a date in the calendar that would get her as excited as the Swallowtail Festival. How fortuitous to have returned in time for this year's edition.
After a hearty breakfast at the Rusty Dragon, the inn that has been his home for the past month, Ratimir steps out and stops by his father-in-law's fishing cabin. "Omer", he cries out while knocking, "It's Ratimir, I'm heading for the festival, and wanted to invite you." His knocks remain unanswered, and he walks to the back of the house to find the fishing nets, buckets, and other gear missing. Gone fishing, while everyone takes the day off. Maybe this day is still too hard for an old man, he ponders, without daring to compare a father's grief to his own. A little disappointed, he heads for the New Cathedral, in time to see the mayor take the lectern.
While the mayor speaks, Ratimir overhears a group talking about the similarities between Shelyn's mural and a woman named Nualia. He remembers the name vaguely, but cannot picture her face. Perhaps the mural will help his memory, he wonders. The late Father Tobyn, however, he remembers well. Ratimir and Béa used to come to church to praise Desna regularly before the fire, and Ratimir remembers Tobyn officiating at her funeral. He does not know the new preacher, however. When the speeches are over, he wanders off watching the games and the food. A powerful singing voice right next to him draws his attention: a half-elf woman with fiery hair throws a performance so professional that it seems out of place here, in the open streets of the Swallowtail Festival. When she is done, he claps slowly.
"So, you want to challenge Allishanda? I hear she's quite something", he says. Pulling out a deck and shuffling the cards skillfully, he asks "Perhaps you'd like to know your odds?"
The ravishing redhead looks at the strange man, and how the cards seems alive in his hands
I was nearly at my best here, and I came to Sandpoint to study and learn arts. Of course, the acoustics aren't as good as inside the theater. My odds? Do you think Allishanda still got a chance? Maybe now, while I'm still learning, but not in a few months or years.
She seems interested by the cards
So you're a fortune teller? "If you know her fortune, tell her!" That could be fun.. if the events to come are happy, of course.
Haelvor
The woman tending to the stall is a portly lady of middle age, with warm brown eyes peering back from a pair of thin-framed spectacles and when Haelvor arrives she has her nose in a thin, cheaply printed book with a pair of lovers in an embrace illustrated on the cover. She hurriedly places a thready ribbon into the pages she is reading and puts the book onto a nearby crate, turning her gaze to the half-elf. ”Oh, that jar there will be five silver beauties . Made of the finest plums this side of Magnimar, I can guarantee you that.”
As Haelvor contemplates the ways in which he can put the jar down without buying it, a familiar voice echoes out from behind him. ”Haelvor, my lad, how are you finding the festival? You are enjoying yourself, I hope.” Turning around, the half-elf spies Brodert Quink approaching him with the sunshine gleaming off of the man’s bald head. The old man adjusts the small spectacles on the bridge of his nose and tilts his head slightly.
Zhu
Keen to test his skills in some of the games on offer, Zhu makes his way to the market place which has been taken over by pavilions and sideshow games of strength and skill. There are a couple on offer just in the market place – a ‘goblin’ toss where contestants throw small bean bags into a narrow chimney flume, a pillar of strength where contestants use a mallet to hit a bell with a weight, and an archery contest mimicking the hunt for the infamous Sandpoint Devil. The sound of cheering and shouting erupts from a large pavilion near to the docks, and a thin wooden sign with the words ‘Dragon Races’ painted across it hangs over the pavilion’s entry, secured only by twine and prayers.
Serolt & Regin
Serolt finds the crowds to be relatively unfazed by Regin’s presence, with only a few patrons of the festival giving off a shocked gasp once they realize that he is much more than just a large cat. The fact that he is so well trained and keeps to Serolt’s immediate vicinity is the only thing keeping the crowd from panicking.
The unlikely pair make their way back to the main square out the front of the cathedral, and see that the ceremonial stage is now empty save for the lectern. A pair of guards stands near to the stage, keeping people away from it and directing them toward the smaller performers stages located down the streets. As Serolt and Regin make their way through the crowded roads and soon they find themselves wandering down Festival Street towards what would normally be the market place. The wide street is lined with yet more market stalls and performers, although many of the performers here appeared to have grown unusually silent.
Vanea & Ratimir
Upon finishing her impromptu performance on Festival Street, Vanea opens her eyes to see the crowd staring at her, their faces rapt and it is not long before a wild applause erupts from the people gathered. Many of them begin to rifle through their coin purses and press a number of coins into Vanea’s hands as the approach to greet her and shower her with accolades on how wondrous her performance was, and by the time the crowds have moved on, she has amassed a golden duke and thirty silver beauties, the crowd believing that she is another busker plying their trade.
Once the crowds have parted, two figures stand out to Vanea - a familiar figure from the earlier speeches now standing on the steps of the theatre, dressed in the same red and gold outfit as earlier but his wild hair is now bundled under a wide brimmed leather hat, a single red feather in its band, and a Varisian man in a bright headscarf, a deck of cards in his hands. As the Varisian man approaches Vanea, Cyrdak tips his hat and grins at the fiery half-elf performer before retreating back inside the Sandpoint Theatre, shooing a gaggle of actors and performers who were also attempting to ogle at the towns newest talent.
Zhu Will try his hand at the strength contest. If there is a line, he will wait for lately.
;
Breaking with her usual custom of sleeping in, the slim, raven-haired gypsy girl arose with the sun, slipping into a simple dress that wouldn't make her look out-of-place at the day's festivities. Though she appeared sweet and innocent, a dagger was strapped to one thigh while her trusty sling was tied in a makeshift garter around her other. Four stone bullets were stored in her belt pouch for easy access.
Leaving the glorified closet that was her sleeping quarters at the Pixie's Kitten, the young woman headed due north into the heart of Sandpoint. She made her way up Festival Street which was already bustling despite the early hour before turning left on High Street. Next stop: the new Sandpoint Cathedral and its immediate environs.
Having only been in Sandpoint a week and working near the town's southern tip, the north was the part of the coastal community Shaedeen knew the least. This morning, she'd become more intimately acquainted with the neighborhood, for this was most likely where she'd find who or what she desperately sought: her ticket out of this place.
The young adopted Sczarni had nothing against the town itself, though it was a bit quaint for her tastes. No, the problem was she hated her job and feared her boss. It was time to run again, and she couldn't run south, back to Magnimar. The Lost Coast Road wandered away to the north, so north would be her destination. A small city named Riddleport lay in that direction, or so she'd heard.
Shaedeen's vague plan was to discover which traveling merchants in town for the Swallowtail Festival would be heading back north once the holiday ended; she'd then try to sign on as a caravan guard or maybe even stow away in a wagon if it could be managed. Plan B was to escape on a ship, but Shaedeen shuddered a bit at the thought of being trapped on the ocean in a cramped space with so many potentially lustful men. Also, Jubrayl Vhiski had many eyes and ears around the docks at the south end of town: It seemed safer to try to escape north by land.
Gathering information on the merchants was much more difficult and time-consuming than Shaedeen had anticipated--she scrambled to-and-fro around much of the northern half of town for the better part of four hours before she felt confident in the rumors she'd cautiously gathered. While making her way down Festival Street (again!) she'd seen and heard a glamorous elf singing for the crowd. While the song that came from the lady's full lips was enchanting, when words spilled forth the singer proved herself to be just another arrogant elf with her nose sticking up in the air just as much as her long, pointy ears. Shaedeen subconsciously recorded the snotty elf as a potential mark were she to engage in a bit of pickpocketing later in the day.
"Well, events to come are what they are. Whether they're happy, that depends on what we wanted them to be", Ratimir conjectures. "But I don't need the cards to tell me that you got off on the right foot. Cyrdak seems to like you already", he says, eyeing the playwright as he disappears into the theatre. Ratimir looks around at all the festivities and then comes back to Vanea with a proposition. "Well, a proper harrow reading would take a quieter place and some time, and to be frank, I'd rather enjoy the festival right now. Since I don't have coin to spare for your performance, let us make a simple draw for luck, and then enjoy the day." The shuffling suddenly halts as Ratimir pulls out a card.
"Ah, The Big Sky! A good omen," the cartomancer exclaims with satisfaction, showing Vanea the card. "A momentous transformation is at hand! Fate will favor your new endeavor, whatever it may be, but it will mean leaving something behind." He slides the card back into the deck and puts it away.
"Now, I understand you're recently arrived to Sandpoint, for studies? In that case, I'd be glad to show you the Festival. It's true that I've been away for some time, but I doubt things have changed much. Plus, I can say from experience the Swallowtail Festival is this much better when you have company. I hear it's plum season," He says, offering Vanea his arm. Ratimir keeps a friendly tone and demeanor throughout the conversation, and his lack of self-consciousness about the unkempt moustache, unshaved beard, and greasy hair hints that this is not a romantic effort.
"I'm Ratimir, by the way."
Vanea picks up the money, taking care to point her ... "assets" toward the sky.
It seems my singing didn't went unnoticed. You saw that? Cyrdak Grinned at me! That's what I wanted. And I got a few unexpected coins too! I see in your own future a big mug of whatever you fancy...Let's have something to drink!
Casually, the half elf lock arms with Ratimir, and whispers in his ear
My name is Vanea Lothmatis. And I serve Calistria. You know this town, Ratimir?
Ratimir throws his head back and laughs earnestly at Vanea's suggestive remark, whispered in his ear. "Why, that's a trick that's certain to sell out every theatre from here to Magnimar", he chuckles. "But this evening I wouldn't be in the paying crowd; you see, today is a day that reminds me too much of my lovely late wife, and my mind will often wander off to her, so forgive me if I'm sometimes aloof. But to answer your question, yes, I know Sandpoint. I lived here for quite some time, and now I'm back after a five-year hiatus."
As they make their way through Festival Street headed for Market Street, Ratimir spots a brewmaster serving beer out of large wooden kegs. "Ah! I'll take you up on your first offer, fair Vanea! Let's have a couple of dwarven golden ales!" He picks up the pace and, distracted by the sight of the beer stall, steps into something. Ratimir hears a hiss and, looking down, meets the angry stare of wild cat. A Shoanti man stands by the animal's side.
Serolt wonders a little at the general quietness among the performers, and thinks he heard the snippets of an angel on the air some ways away. He shrugs and smiles, Missed something.
"Can't see it all can we Regin? Let's see what the competitions are like shall we?"
He drifts over past the performers and buskers and onto games of skill and chance. He wonders, a little, how the odds are stacked, but he plays a few things here and there for the fun of it, always careful to position Regin before he plays so he's out of the way. He'll end up at the archery competition, though he's just there to watch at first, knowing his skills are mediocre at best.
Ratimir sighs in relief as the Shoanti archer walks past Vanea and him, ignoring the fact that Ratimir stepped on the fire pelt's tail. Upon hearing its master's call, the cat backs down and turns around to follow the Shoanti, leaving Ratimir usncathed.
Haelvor had been distracted by the book; he'd noticed it before, in the library, where it had been frequently borrowed, and therefore a regular passenger in the carts, rarely reaching its home shelf. As a consequence, he'd never known what it was actually about, and suddenly found himself fascinated. "Excuse me," he asked the stall-holder, "but isn't that Glotzwig's Forty Tips? Is it good? I hadn't realised it was about chutney!"
Confronted by the merchant's look of utter bewilderment (and some embarrassment) he's quite grateful to be interrupted by his mentor. He hurriedly replaces the jar on the stall. "Oh, Master Quink!" he says, raising his voice a little to make himself heard above the hubbub of the festival. "I was just discussing literature with this, um ... chutnician."
Encountering yet another look of confusion, he quickly adds "And yes, lovely festival, isn't it just? Certainly picked the right day for it!" he laughs, awkwardly and somewhat artificially, and then adds, apropos of nothing, and almost immediately regretting the foolish tone of the question, "Umm. Any, er, favourite stalls?" .
Shaedeen belatedly recognized that the singing elf was likely a priestess or at least devotee of Calistria, the goddess of both lust and revenge. Indeed, the elf had the look of a haughty, slutty elf whose memory for any perceived slight would be as long as her ears.
What's gotten into you? Shaedeen asked herself. She rarely took such an instant or intense dislike to anyone that she'd barely met, yet she definitely felt a loathing for this elf. Then it hit her: Calistrians often managed or even owned brothels like the Pixie's Kitten. The young woman was superimposing her hatred of her own shameful situation upon the pretty and talented elf.
On second thought, perhaps pickpocketing a Calistrian with a whip was not in her best interests at the moment.
The larcenous thought brought to the fore another revelation that had just recently hit the girl: with so many of the locals out and about at the Swallowtail Festival, dozens of unoccupied houses beckoned to the pretty burglar, their owners' wealth, treasures, and furnishings pretty much there for the taking. Tempting, but too dangerous, for she'd have to manage all the trials and tribulations of the break-in herself...and without a lookout. No, she'd just enough coin to make good her escape from Sandpoint: no sense risking a trip to jail when she was this close.
And although she'd intended to be all business this day, the siren's call of the archery tournament was bewitching her. She was a decent shot with a bow, and any prize she might win would come in handy in the near future when she had to start her new life. Alas, Shaedeen's inner clock told her it was too close to noon to visit the archery range now. For some reason she didn't quite understand, the girl felt it necessary to be present to witness the rededication ceremony of the community's spiffy new cathedral.
Zhu
Zhu strides towards the Pillar of Strength, a wooden board reaching up several feet and painted in sections - red, then blue, then green - and has a large bell affixed to it at the top of the green section of the board. A second board lies on a simple triangular box, acting as a lever for a weight that gets flung up the board.
A large man stands by the contraption, dressed in Varisian carnival colours and wearing a sturdy leather apron and leather gloves. A variety of carpentry tools lie scattered in the area. "Step on up if you think you've the strength! Impress the ladies, be the envy of men. Or vice versa, if that's your bag! Only five sparks a try!" he calls out, always with a grin on his face.
There is no line at present, but a small crowd of spectators have gathered around the game to watch contestants as they attempt.
Shaedeen
Making her way through the crowds looking for easy marks, Shaedeen suddenly feels a slender arm slide in through the crook of her own. A girl around her own age slips in next to the pickpocket, her thick black hair coiffed up and face painted expertly, the pair walk silently for a moment. The dark haired girl leans in to Shaedeen and whispers, her breath warm on the rogue's ear and neck.
She then extracts her arm from Shaedeen's and gives her a wink and a smile before slipping a emerald green mask over her eyes, marking her as one of the girls working a kissing booth this morning. Before Shaedeen has had the chance to fully process the turn of events, the other girl has slipped into the crowd.
Shaedeen has enough time walking to the docks to gather herself and regain her composure. Had her morning sleuthing been noticed by one of Vhiski's many underlings? She'd know soon enough.
Upon reaching the docks, the pretty girl strode up to her boss and oppressor, managing her best casual smile. "What do you require, milord?" she asks meekly before adding, "I was under the impression that I had the daylight hours off today."
There is a moment of inconfortable silence, as the redhead ponders what to say
I'm sorry for you and your wife. I suppose I was expected to say something along these lines? Please understand I don't want to be rude,Ratimir, but wedding is against my beliefs. As a Calistrian, I'm not supposed to fall in love, or be tied to one partner forever. I can't even truly think about it. It seems... unfair.
She shrugs it off
Let's not cast rain on our parade. It's a sunny day, and you still have to parade me around. I want to try every game!
Vanea doesn't even see the big cat, having set her green eyes on the Shoanti. She tastes her dwarf beverage
Do dwarf really drink that stuff? THat would put hair on any chest..
She jokingly sneaks a peek at her own chest, offering a view to anyone
My own personal theory is that we call that a "chest" because it has many treasures inside...What do you think, Ratimir??
Haelvor
The bald sage chuckles at the awkwardness of the half-elf, a sound part way between a laugh and clearing his throat. "Lad, it's alright. It is a wonderfully chaotic day, and my favourite stalls are always the ones giving out savory pies." As the two scholars walk through the crowd toward the docks, the older man turns his head towards Haelvor. "Are you alright lad? You appear to be distracted today, and not just from the goings on with the festival."
Serolt
Making his way past the game stalls, he spies the goblin toss stand as well as a familiar face tending to it. Daverin Hosk stands there, handing out little goblin shaped bean bags to children and gleefully telling them to throw the goblins into the fireplaces. He spies Serolt and grins madly, waving the Shoanti archer over enthusiastically.
Shaedeen
Heading into the tent with the dragon races, Shaedeen encounters a crowd of people gathered around several thin lanes resting on long tables. There are contestants all trying to coax several lizards 'dressed' in dragon wings - colourful little wooden and paper wings strapped to their backs - down their respective lanes to the finish line.
Shaedeen weaves through the crowd until she finds the man she is looking for - tall, lanky, with thick, wavy dark hair and a thin moustache, and wearing dark leathers and many rings on his fingers, Jubrayl Vhiski is every bit the Varisian sleaze that his reputation describes him as.
Jubrayl gives a description of Ratimir, before saying that he appears to have found the acquaintance of 'an exotic songbird that is already turning heads in town'. Giving Shaedeen a quick swat on the behind, Jubrayl turns his attentions back to the dragon races, leaving her to her own devices once again.
Raising one hand to his chin, Ratimir seems to actually reflect on Vanea's remark. "Hmm. Indeed, our chests keep a great treasure: the heart, famous for wanting what it wants, and it looks like ours want to move from this game", Ratimir says pointing at Vanea and then at himself, "On to the next. Say, how do you like seeing goblins tossed?" He takes Vanea's arm again and strides off to the game stalls, while sipping from the heavy dwarven ale. The yellowish foam constrasts with his dark moustahce. "Come on, it's not that strong."
As Vanea and Ratimir approach the goblin toss, they can see a young boy already at the stall, trying desperately to throw his last 'goblin' into the fireplace, which appears to be a large free standing ceramic potion bottle on a frame to lift it from the ground. "Come on baby, you just need one more, you can do it!" a young woman standing just behind the young boy cheers, sporting the same blonde hair as the child.
The young lad winds up a throw and tosses the green bean bag, but unfortunately his aim is off and the 'goblin' hits the side of the oven, much to the disappointment if the boy and his mother. "Aww, better luck next time, kid" the attendant says, reaching into an apron pocket to pass the boy a toffee.
Shaedeen returned to the heart of town, alive with its throng of revelers. She found what she was looking for quickly, and she did a bit of reconnaissance from a safe distance. She had no idea how to proceed, however.
Know thine enemy, Shaedeen thought. Know his weaknesses that they might be exploited.
; Hours Spent
Retry Attempt:
; Hours Spent
Retry Attempt #2:
; Hours Spent
Vanea tries her luck at the game, but only manage to hit her target twice.
She doesn't seem to care too much for her failure, and smiles warmly at Ratimir
Now, I want to see you try! Do better than me, it's not that hard. I can't have every talents...
Ratimir quickly produces a card from his harrow deck and shows it to Vanea. "Look:The Waxworks. This is as clear an indication as there could be that my money is about to go to waste... and also that I have no choice but to waste it! Here, my friend", he cries out to Daviren Hosk, "Let me try it!" Ratimir exchanges the five bean bags for some coins and takes careful aim.
Ratimir's last throw is so wide off the mark that it actually ends up out of the stall. After ricochetting back into the crowd, the bag hits a Shoanti man right in the head. Ratimir can't help but laugh at his own clumsiness, along with the rest of the crowd; he quickly notices that his unwitting target is the same man whose fire pelt he stepped on earlier that day, and his laughter seizes at once. He approaches Serolt and, holding back a chuckle, says "I'm so sorry, my friend! I guess the lady and I should stick to mind games only", he apologizes, looking sideways at Vanea.
In fact, I'm specialised in dirty mind games.
She grins, happy at her own joke
Serolt
Making his way past the game stalls, he spies the goblin toss stand as well as a familiar face tending to it. Daverin Hosk stands there, handing out little goblin shaped bean bags to children and gleefully telling them to throw the goblins into the fireplaces. He spies Serolt and grins madly, waving the Shoanti archer over enthusiastically.
Serolt grins, happy to see someone he recognizes in the throng, and makes his way over, careful to guide Regin around a small group of children looking for something to play with.
Ratimir's last throw is so wide off the mark that it actually ends up out of the stall. After ricochetting back into the crowd, the bag hits a Shoanti man right in the head. Ratimir can't help but laugh at his own clumsiness, along with the rest of the crowd; he quickly notices that his unwitting target is the same man whose fire pelt he stepped on earlier that day, and his laughter seizes at once. He approaches Serolt and, holding back a chuckle, says "I'm so sorry, my friend! I guess the lady and I should stick to mind games only", he apologizes, looking sideways at Vanea.
He picks up the 'goblin' and hands it back to the fumbling man. "No harm done, and unintended I'm sure. There are many men who would fumble around such a lady as this." he nods to the Callistrian and smiles at them both.
"Mind if I give it a try? Never thrown a goblin before." he winks, pays the fee to Daverin smiling, and gathers the beanbags.
vs AC 12
vs AC 12
vs AC 12
vs AC 12
vs AC 12
He does OK overall, and well enough to win, though his third throw is as wild as Ratimir's, and he laughs. "This is harder than it looks! Deverin, are you sure this is quite fair?" He laughs openly and warmly.
Zhu decides not to spend his sparse money on a game. He wandered from place to place, soaking in the sights and sounds and enjoying people watching.
Haelvor nods. "Well, to be honest, master, I'm at a bit of a loose end. I miss the library. And what with all these visitors from Magnimar and what went on there, and the discussion about the cathedral fire here ... well I'm not sure it's the best place to be right now."
He brightens slightly. "Did you find any book stalls?"
Ratimir, Serolt, and Vanea
Daviren laughs heartily and nods energetically, reaching into a crate for a pair of tongs and sliding some pieces of fine venison jerky into a section of clean cloth. "This game is as fair a test of skill as any you'll find here, friend Serolt." Daviren exclaims, pressing the cloth package into Serolt's hands. The stable master-turned-stall attendant points towards a crate of wooden toys and knitted animals. "You also get your choice of one of these finely crafted creations." As Serolt contemplates his choice of prize, he does not notice the gentle tug from Regin as the firepelt stands on his hind legs and craftily slides a large piece of jerky from the package in the Shoanti's hand.
Meanwhile, as Ratimir absently shuffles his Harrow deck, three of the cards leap out of the deck and land on the floor. Squatting down to pick them up, Ratimir notes that all three of them are upturned - the Twin and the Publican both show their faces to the cartomancer as he picks the cards up and dusts them off, while the Snakebite is upside down underneath the Twin.
Haelvor
Brodert sighs and shakes his head. "My lad, from all accounts the fire in the library could hardly be considered your fault, and nobody was seriously hurt by it. More ruffled feathers than anything else." The sage stops in the middle of the street, and looks the young half-elf in the eye as people flow around them like a stone in a river. "If you will indulge an old man, allow me give you a piece of advice from my many years of experience on this plane - do not let the past stop you from enjoying the present. Otherwise there will be no future for you at all." the old sage gives Haelvor a grand-fatherly smile and motions for the pair to keep walking.
"Now, I have not yet located a decent stall with many books in it, and unfortunately I do not imagine that old scrooge Chask Haladan has put any of his wares on discount for us," Brodert says mirthfully, "but come, let us see what we can find."
It isn't long before they have made their way into the marketplace, now filled with sideshow attractions and games. As Haelvor and Brodert both meander through the crowd, Haelvor cannot help but feel he is being watched - an experience similar to, but distinctly different from the activities of the spirits that haunt him.
Zhu
Zhu takes up a spot near to the Festival Street entrance to the market place, just outside of the Grocers Hall. Normally the hall would be filled with fresh produce from the farms in the region, but today it is filled with cooks and kitchen hands hurriedly preparing salads and other ingredients to be taken to the taverns and kitchens of the town for the feast later today. Periodically, a young boy or girl will race into the building, hand over a piece of parchment, and then leave soon after with a large crate of salads or chopped meats or vegetables.
During his people watching expedition, he spies an old human man and a half-elf standing in the middle of Festival Street talking quite seriously for a moment before continuing back into the marketplace. What is interesting about the pair is the way that the clothing worn by the half-elf seems to flow as if a breeze is hitting it from the wrong direction to everyone else.
After a couple of hours of digging around, you manage to find out that Ratimir is staying at the has only just returned after being away for the last five or so years, and that he had left after the death of his wife at the hands of the Chopper.
Zhu find this rather curious and follows the pair.
What do we try now? Another game?
Noticing the big cat, the short-attention span half elf lowers herself to look at it
It's a firepelt, isn't it? Been a long time I've seen one, especially so close. I wasn't expecting to see one today in the town, of course.
Haelvor considers the old man's words. Yes, he wants to say, no people hurt, but what about the books? Books wounded; books dying horribly; books that won't return. The doubts that spiral and tug around him; they poke, push, bully. He winces and tries to drag himself back to the present. One - quite separate, quite new - doubt won't be shaken off. He pauses by a stall. He's being watched. He surreptitiously picks up the nearest thing, then, realising it's some disgusting kind of kebab, drops it again, hoping nobody noticed. He turns slowly. There's a tall human a few yards away, wearing an explorer's outfit, bound with an odd metal belt. The man seems to be observing him keenly.
Haelvor's heart sinks. He's been recognised, obviously.
Ratimir's countenance becomes serious as he thinks about the message in the cards. It is not always that his deck offers spontaneous auguries, but when the portentous patrons of the harrow go through such trouble, one better heed their warning. Luckily, his new acquaintances seem distracted with each other, with Vanea showing interest in the firepelt. This allows Ratimir to observe them for a moment, wondering if the cards are about one of those two. It doesn't seem likely, he concludes, presuming that this person the cards speak of is still in his future. Someone to watch out for, and also to extend a hand to.
Putting on a smile again, Ratimir brushes off such worries for the time being, and gets back to the conversation. "It would seem I have two left hands... even my cards escape me! At least this time I didn't hurt anyone", he jokes, despite knowing that the cards had jumped out on their own. Then, he squats again to face the firepelt. "And you, my feline friend, deserves an apology. Your master missed our brief encounter on Festival Street, but I hope my foot didn't weigh too heavily upon your tail." He closes hie eyes and nods in reverence to the firepelt. "I hope you too will forgive me."
It's a firepelt, isn't it? Been a long time I've seen one, especially so close. I wasn't expecting to see one today in the town, of course.
"...And you, my feline friend, deserves an apology. Your master missed our brief encounter on Festival Street, but I hope my foot didn't weigh too heavily upon your tail." He closes hie eyes and nods in reverence to the firepelt. "I hope you too will forgive me."
Serolt smiles back at the two of them, "No problem. Name's Serolt. And this is Regin. Not tame exactly, but pretty well mannered for all that. He and I have been together a long time."
He looks at the pair, and wonders what he's supposed to do next. He stands for an awkward moment just more or less staring at the other two. "Uh. Well, it was nice meeting you. Maybe I'll see you in the archery tent? I plan to head that way after I speak with Mr. Hosk here." he gestures to the man running the game.
Lost in her thoughts, Shaedeen wanders the town, trying to come to some semblance of a decision regarding her course of action. As she passes the goblin toss game, she decides to partake of the test of skill, just to see if her body and nerves are as frazzled as her brain feels.
Though she starts out well, the young woman's aim and composure quickly deteriorate. After two successful tosses, Shae misses twice, the second failure worse than the first. In growing anger and frustration, she attempts to whip the last 'goblin' into the fireplace, but the flying beanbag speeds waaaay off the mark, smacking hard into the game barker's...personal beanbag. In shock and embarrassment, Shaedeen apologizes to the grimacing man but then frowns, digs out another coin, and demands to try it again.
This time, the young lady hits the first three shots before bopping the barker in the thigh with her fourth toss. Unable to hold back a girlish giggle, she tells the poor fellow, "You really ought to check out that 'goblin;' there's something very wrong with its weight distribution." Then she calmly tosses the final goblin into the make-believe fireplace.
The tasty piece of jerky gives the nervous lady something to chew on other than her fingernails; the toy she hands to a mop-haired girl in the crowd.
Zhu and Haelvor
As the pair turn to look at each other, both of them believe that they see something in the space between buildings near the Grocer's Hall - a small shadowy figure crouching behind barrels, attempting to not be seen as it peers out into the crowds with ominous red eyes.
Shaedeen
The little mop-haired girl looks up at Shaedeen and smiles brightly at the young woman, before running off into the crowd shouting for her mother to look at the new toy that the nice pretty lady just gave her.
Zhu's hand flies to his belt unconsciously, and he moves to investigate the shadowy figure.
Haelvor moves at the same time as the tall man, and in the same direction, his eyes flicking from the half-hidden figure to the tough-looking fellow who had been following him.
Ratimir stands up and introduces himself. "I'm Ratimir, and this is Vanea. I'm having the pleasure of showing her around the Festival—or should I say showing her off?", he says with a friendly smirk. "I invite you to come with us; it would be a disgrace to my people if I denied you a bit of Varisian hospitality, especially after using your head for target practice." Looking at the longbow strapped to Serolt's back, Ratimir goes on. "In any case, we'd better get to the archery tent before you go and win all the gifts! Please join us later." Ratimir takes a bow and leaves the Shoanti man to his affairs. As he and Vanea walk away, he pulls out one card.
"We'll be seeing that one again, that's for sure," Ratimir says to Vanea.
The town isn't that big, sure... but I wasn't expecting such a large crowd today. Still, the big cat he has will help us to find him again, if need arises.Firepelt aren't common in town, I guess.
Vanea's fleeting interest is now on the cards
Do you use your cards for simple games of luck too or just for predicting the future? You treat them with ...respect and deference. Or so it looks like to me.
Haelvor and Zhu
Haelvor and Zhu both make their way through to the barrel, hands at weapons in case of trouble. As they cautiously approach the barrel, suddenly a large orange tabby cat leaps out at them angrily, hissing and mrowling loudly before bolting into the crowd.
Peering back behind the barrel, a half-eaten rat lies in the dirt. It appears to be a fresh kill, due to the slick of blood on the cobblestones.
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Haelvor smiles and looks at the other man. "If you don't want that," he says, pointing at the half-eaten rat, "There's a man over there who'll put it on a stick and roast it."
Ratimir stands up and introduces himself. "I'm Ratimir, and this is Vanea. I'm having the pleasure of showing her around the Festival—or should I say showing her off?", he says with a friendly smirk. "I invite you to come with us; it would be a disgrace to my people if I denied you a bit of Varisian hospitality, especially after using your head for target practice." Looking at the longbow strapped to Serolt's back, Ratimir goes on. "In any case, we'd better get to the archery tent before you go and win all the gifts! Please join us later." Ratimir takes a bow and leaves the Shoanti man to his affairs.
"Agreed, though my skills are less than you might imagine. Still, we'll meet at the archery tent. Farewell!" he waves as the pair walks off. They look good together...
He turns to Daviren and talks to him, briefly, between customers.
He sort of shuffles his feet around a little, "And maybe you could put in a good word for me with someone around the town? I'm a hunter and tracker by trade, but until I learn the terrain and region, I'm going to need something to keep my body and spirit together so to speak." he grins.
"I can do a little cooking, and am not above menial work."
After his conversation with Daviren, he takes Regin out of the immediate crush of people to play a little - rough house - to let him burn off some steam and enjoy the day as much as Serolt. When the large cat begins to lose interest in playing (hah!), he checks his bow, counts his few arrows, and makes his way to the archery tent.