GM Neirikr's "The Dragon's Demand" (Inactive)

Game Master Neirikr

Sir Pelle Benhovy, the sheriff of Belhaim and its surroundings, is a tall man in his late fifties, with a receding salt-and-pepper hair and a prodigious moustache of the same colour. Currently, his whiskered face is the colour of a beetroot, sweat dripping off his temples in the late summer heat. No doubt the plate armour he is wearing contributes to his irritability—a discomfort Bernard is now acquainted with quite intimately. Unlike your piecemeal armour, however, his is the stuff of knightly legend, with his personal coat of arms engraved prominently on his enameled breastplate: three acorns forming the points of an upside-down triangle, brown on green.

"Well?" he gruffs impatiently. "I cannot hazard a guess as to what gave you the slightest impression that once discharged—dishonourably so, I might remind you—a drunken disgrace like yourself could waltz back in and start acting like he is the godsdamned sheriff, without my approval! The baroness had a lot to say in your defence, and I will give all of that my due consideration, but first I would hear it from your own lips. What is this... this ostentation about?!"

He pokes the pauldron of your mismatched plate mail with obvious distaste, as if touching some unmentionable skittering thing he found under a rock.

Deputy Bellett stands nearby, leaning against the wall in the corner of Belhaim's modestly sized garrison, disinterestedly picking at his nails with a dagger. Whether the man is genuinely indifferent to your plight, or simply content with not having to be the main target of Sir Pelle's ire for the time being, is rather hard to judge—his battered countenance rarely shows anything more than a mask of placid resignedness. The other deputies are on patrol, quite pointedly so: Sir Pelle is not wont to air this sort of dirty laundry in front of the rank-and-file, in order to maintain an outward appearance of cohesion within the guard.

Here's a quick reminder on the members town guard, mostly copied from an earlier post: the local sheriff is Sir Pelle Benhovy, a knight in service to the barony. Bernard was his second in command for some years, and was likely trained by him as well. As such, the two would be well acquainted. Sir Pelle is a just officer of the law, as befits a faithful Abadaran, thought somewhat petty when it comes to being disrespected, and a bit vain about his authority. He was close friends with the late baron, but doesn't always see eye to eye with Lady Origena, who he feels doesn't give him the attention and respect that he deserves.

There are five deputies in total: Sir Pelle took two of them (Firmin and Knaggs, both of them Bernard's contemporaries) with him to Cassomir, leaving Hodd and Mulle behind, probably due to their inexperience—they were both recruited after Bernard left the guard. The remaining deputy, Gergis "Gorgeous" Bellett, is the most senior of those left behind, and would have been recruited towards the end of Bernard's tenure. He is humourless, overly pessimistic and has little in the way of initiative, but is overall very reliable in carrying out his orders. He got his nickname after getting his nose broken a few too many times.

We'll get to your other activities after all the reprimanding is done with, but give them some thought: you'll need to make a roll of some kind to win the locals' favour, but unless you're literally going from door to door like you're running for mayor, you'll likely want to figure out a way of targeting larger groups of people at once.

~

You spend a lot of time overseeing the work on Belhaim Commons, and providing the baroness with reports on the masons' progress. While renovations move slowly at first, the crew picks up the pace once the fresh apprentices start accommodating to their new profession. The old hands seem glad for the opportunity, as well: Guildmaster Lenton is not sparing in his praise for your innovation, and even before the amphitheatre is finished he is inquiring you about the follow-up. He has already received multiple prospective contracts, but the dwindling remnants of the Witch Tower are likely to be exhausted before he can fulfil all of them.

After a couple of weeks of drudgery, there is an incident at the eastern end of town. People are heard whispering about a new kobold attack, though most townsfolk seem more bemused than panicked. Khardir is soon fetched to mediate, at the request of the "invading" kobold leader: Nighttail is much as she was, though now she is wearing a tall headdress of bones and feathers. Riding her trusty allosaur, Hak, she is quite imposing—for a kobold, at least. She is accompanied by two kobolds, both of them unarmed, pulling a rickety cart filled with furs and hides, fish both dried and fresh, as well as a small sampling of ores and other geological miscellanea.

"Hello, friend!" says the new chieftain of the Blood Vow tribe, eminently pleased to see you. "We bring goods, for selling. Come see, come see!"

Hodd, the young guardsman, looks at you helplessly. "W-what should we do, sir? They want to set up a stall in town, but I don't know if that's a good idea..."

Mulle stands nearby, staring daggers at Nighttail, white-knuckling her spear in both hands. A small group of onlookers has gathered at a safe distance, their murmuring carrying across the open field to the edge of the forest, where you stand.

~

You find that the acolytes at the Shrine of the Seven Roses are more than welcoming, doing their best to make you comfortable while maintaining their distance, so as to not appear overbearing: not a single one of the Shelynites asks why you have come to their temple. They allow you time to freely acquaint yourself with the premises, and let you know when services are held, leaving it up to you whether you use this information to attend, or to seek quiet contemplation in solitude.

The shrine itself is a small, whitewashed country church, its wooden walls crawling with flowering vines growing out of the surrounding garden. From the inside, the building is shockingly colourful: the walls are bedecked with all sorts of artworks, both amateurish and professional in quality, crafted by each congregant according to their own prerogatives. Even though most of them are not masterpieces in any sense of the word, they are lovingly arranged in such a way that looking them collectively evokes a sort of harmony impossible in a solitary creation. All of this comes together at a circle of pews in the middle of the nave, a rainbow contrasted with the stark whiteness of a marble statue depicting the goddess Shelyn herself: even to an untrained eye, this is the most masterful work of art in the whole temple.

After a couple of visits, you are approached by the head priest, Nilos Genser: he is a tall and thin half-elven man, with slightly pointed ears and large, almond-shaped blue eyes. His blonde hair is tied back into an intricate braid, currently somewhat disheveled. The willowy priest is dressed in the manner of a sculptor, wearing a red apron dusted with detritus from some pale stone. His hands and arms are likewise covered in dust, and various well-used tools fill his many pockets.

"Good day," he says with an easy smile, his voice as warm as honey. "You're Nisany, isn't that right? We met at Isadorer Malak's farm. Sorry to disturb you, but you seem troubled. Maybe I can help you in some way? Or just listen—whatever it is you need."

~

Bassy Blim's residence is a quaint little hut, sprouting on the shore of Rogue Creek like a mushroom amongst the larger human dwellings flanking it on both sides. The modest garden surrounding it is filled with all sorts of colourful flowers: there is a lot of variety, though not much thought has been spent on the arrangements. A young human man is working in the garden, waving you in as you approach—either he knew to expect you, or assumed Nisany is there for the apparent reasons.

Beyond, in the main room of the house, a gnome sits at a human-sized writing desk, scribbling away furiously. A pile of books serves as her seat—indeed, most of the surfaces in the room are dedicated to tomes of all sorts, accompanied by haphazard piles of parchment. The family resemblance is notable: Bassy has a few strands of green in her hair, similar to Nisany's own, though most of it is a pastel pink. Her skin is ruddy, and eyes a piercing emerald. At a glance, it would be difficult to guess her true age: until she smiles and you can see the crows feet at the corner's of her eyes, she might well pass for Nisany's sister, rather than her great-aunt.

"Nisany!" the old gnome squeaks in delight, springing out of her seat to embrace her niece. "Oh dear, what happened to your arms? Wait wait wait, nevermind, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to! I'm not your mother, Shelyn be praised. Gracious, you've grown up to look just like her. Oh, don't give me that look—out of everything you might have inherited from that miserable witch, it might as well be the pretty looks!"

Craning her neck towards the garden, Bassy calls out, "Kenny, would you be a sweetheart and boil us some tea? Thanks a bunch! Take a break if you need to."

"So, what brings you to Belhaim?" she asks as you settle into whatever passes for seating in the chaos of the study. "Honestly, I'm not all that interested in the present day, but there seems to have been some exciting stuff going on about town. I heard the tower go down—and good riddance, if you ask me! Lots of tragedies surrounding that place. Good for writing about, but not for much else."

~

With the kobolds pacified, and the threat of the wolves abated, there is very little to threaten the livelihoods of Belhaim's farmers and woodcutters. Once you have made your rounds asking the locals about dragons, most people point you towards Biton's Lodge—the haunt of local hunters. After visiting the establishment a few times with Vibenia, and sharing stories of some of your finest hunts, the rough-and-tumble regulars soon begin warming up to you—and do they have stories!

"Swamps mean dragons," says a twitchy little man named Corrick. "Mark my words, there's a wyrm still living in Dragonfen, and it's a big one! My cousin's kid says she saw one carrying a boar off into the swamp a few months ago, in fact!"

Another hunter, a burly woman called "Girlie," dismisses him with a scoff. "Bah! There ain't been a dragon 'round these parts since the Plague—just a few drakes every now and then. But hear this: I found some strange footprints near my cottage a week ago. Thought they were large wolf prints at first, but they rightly can't be anythin' of the sort, 'cause I spotted several on my roof as well!"

"Can't say I doubt ye," wheezes a grizzled old man with skin weathered to the consistency of boiled leather, unlikely to have been out in the woods in some years due to his left leg being severed at the knee. "I've done seen the kookiest things on m'trips along Dragonfen's borders, lemme tell ye: huge hairy men who howl like wolves and stand nearly ten feet tall! One of 'em beasties must've leaped up on yer roof, Girlie...

"Horsesh*t!" shouts Eudomas Biton himself, from behind his bar. "There's not a livin' thing in the fen more dangerous than the ghosts: the whole place is haunted! The monks who lived in the old monastery didn't just vanish—my ol' granpa used to say they wandered into Dragonfen and died in some vile ritual. They're out there still, roaming the fen at night..."

...and a dozen more tall tales, each more unbelievable than the next. Picking the truth out of the fiction is nigh impossible, but at least they are entertaining.

This is what you find out just by sheer goodwill and association with Vibenia. Feel free to roll for more information-gathering, but there aren't many credible sources to follow up on. Seeing as most of the dragon stories are years old, a visit to the local historian might be enlightening. As it happens, she is Nisany's dear great-aunt! ;)

~

A couple of days have passed since your brunch with the baroness. With a long day of patrolling weighing down on your shoulders, you are approaching Biton's Lodge for some drinks and good company. However, you stumble into something of a scene in front of the establishment: Eudomas Biton stands near the door to his lodge, the sleeve of his fur coat bloody and tattered. Brow furrowed, he is regarding a wooden cage, out of which echoes furious barking and whining. A small crowd of onlookers—mostly young children—is gathered near it, driven away by each bout of snarling, only to inch back in, transfixed by the creature behind the slats.

Once he notices your approach, Biton waves you over with his good hand. "Oi, Scaeva! Come take a look at this..."

"I'm not really sure what to do with her," he grunts, scratching his bristly chin. "One of Corrick's dumb*ss sons brought this poor gal in, thinking she was someone's pet, but she's about as godsdamned feral as they get. Stupid f*cking idiot, bless his heart! I think she's at least half wolf, wouldn't you agree? You just have to look at the ears and the tail..."

The imprisoned canine bares its fangs at the two of you, letting out a low growl. She appears uninjured, though somewhat mangy and malnourished—and she is big, nearly as large as the leader of the wolf pack Nisany sent running off into the woods.

"Might have to put her down," says the old hunter, clearly not too infatuated with the idea. "F*ck me. Can't rightly have her roaming around, not after she's gotten a taste for blood. Whaddaya think?"

~

You spend the next few weeks dodging Abadaran notaries, as you slowly pick through the remnants of your erstwhile master's legacy, finding ever more signs of his brilliance and hubris, both in equal measure. Arnholde is eager to make himself useful, and though his endurance leaves much to be desired, he proves to be a sharp assistant—if the future baron has any hesitations about following the instructions of a foreign commoner, he does not wear them openly.

Most of the wizard's tomes prove rich in lore, but for days you make no progress on finding the illusion-shrouded page you know to be hidden somewhere in the library—compared to rooting around in the hundreds of thousands singular parchment sheets comprising the entirety of the collection, searching for a needle in a haystack seems like child's play. A breakthrough comes from an unexpected source: one day, Arnholde brings you a scrap of paper, scrawled with bawdy limericks. Found by the notaries on Hunclay's nightstand, it is eminently out of place in light of everything you ever knew of the man—including his tastes for poetry.

While the paper emits no magical energies, you know full well such things can be hidden. Fortunately, this is a theory which is easily tested by practical methods: as you suspected, the password lies on the margin's of Hunclay's spellbook. Uttering the word "Dominion" causes the surface of the paper to ripple like water, as the text of the limerick rearranges itself to a more utilitarian sequence. Written in Hunclay's cramped hand, the newly revealed note reads:

"Conjure accuser devil re. disguising text of Secrets of the Dreaming Dark.
Animate Dominion remains as guardian for cave.
Attempt second contact with Dominion via book's ritual before loan to A.
Confirm demolition date with A's kobolds."

Let me know if there's anything else you want to research while you have access to all of Hunclay's books, and give me the relevant skill checks for each query. Arnholde is doing his best to help, essentially providing you with a free aid another for each roll. You're also in a position to ask him about stuff directly, if you'd like: at the very least, he provides you with the information presented here. Assuming Zaijka pays a visit to the House of Abadar, here is a description of the stored objects.

"Even a taste for blood can be a positive thing with the right training. Makes for an excellent hunter/tracker" Vibenia says as she looks the mighty canine in her big golden eyes. "She's definitely part wolf, fierce but she's scared.....and starving." the ranger says taking a big chunk of dried meat out of her pack and slowly approaching, taking her time but remaining strong, confident....the body language of an alpha, as she presents the magnificent wolf-dog with the meat.

Handle Animal: 18 + 7 = 25

Biton responds with a non-committal grunt, but looks on intently as you step forward. He takes a half-step back towards his crossbow, which leans against the wall nearby, already loaded. The old hunter might have some trouble operating it one-handed, but he should be able to hit an unmoving target, regardless...

The wolf-dog growls fiercely at your approach, snapping at your outstretched hand. You calmly withdraw the offered morsel, which seems to quiet the creature—at least until you repeat the gesture, with similar results. After a few more tries, she finally seems to understand how the game is played: she waits patiently, only taking the meat when it is fully inside the cage. Perhaps she is someone's pet—or was, at some point. She even licks your fingers, as the gathered children stare in awe.

"Well, I'll be a goblin's uncle!" laughs Biton. "You got her eating out of your hand in moments—the same b*tch that nearly took my godsdamned arm off, not too long ago. You really are something, Scaeva..."

He thinks for a moment, squinting at the cage. "Hm, maybe you're right. Mind taking her off my hands? I sure as hell ain't gonna train her, and unless we find a place for her... well, y'know. T'would be damn shame."

Nice roll! Definitely made a good first impression. You can start working on Dusk, statwise: retraining a class ability takes five days, and costs 200 gp. I'll waive the requirement for a trainer, as it doesn't really make sense in this case, but it will take you double the time (10 days in total). As for the cost, you're essentially paying for doggy treats and vet bills. This would also be a good opportunity to teach her some extra tricks (as per Handle Animal), if you'd like.

~

"Second contact with Dominion...so he spoke with something from the Dominion once before, and used this Secrets of the Dreaming Dark to do it. Arnholde...you said that one of the items that the others retrieved from the cavern was a book, yes? A book written in a strange language? It may well be what he speaks of - I'll go to the Vault later and examine it more closely."

Arnholde starts, as he is wont to do when directly addressed. He had been trying to squint at the note over your shoulder—the curse did not spare his eyesight, and he does not seem to own reading glasses. "Ahem. Y-yes, I believe the tome was written in Aklo, though I have only seen it at a glance, myself. Nisany is familiar with the tongue, at least t-that is my understanding. Maybe she could provide some assistance in translating the text."

"The other matter is this "A" the note speaks of. An associate of Hunclay's, clearly, if the wizard saw fit to loan them such a valuable book - and a local, likely, if they were associated with kobolds near here. But the only associate I remember of Hunclay's near here was a man called Barlau...does that name seem familiar to you, Arnholde? Or do you have some idea who this "A" could be, or what connection he could have to kobolds??"

Knowledge (local) concerning Barlau: 11 + 10 + 2 = 23 This is just trying to remember what she's heard about Barlau from Hunclay's letters.
Knowledge (local) concerning kobold tribes in area: 3 + 10 + 2 = 15

Zaijka can't come up with anything she hadn't already thought of: Barlau seems to have been colleague and a correspondent of Hunclay's, as mentioned in his letters, and the one who originally encouraged the wizard to move to Belhaim. From his summoning journal, Zaijka also recalls that he conjured the schir to serve as his bodyguard in his initial face-to-face meeting with Barlau, dated several months ago. Obviously, he was threatened by this person, for whatever reason.

"W-well, it certainly is not myself," Arnholde says, laughing nervously. "I cannot think of anyone f-from Belhaim who would fit the description. Nor am I acquainted with anyone with that name. Barlau... it sounds like a surname, but p-perhaps they were on a first name basis: 'A. Barlau?'"

You know little of local kobolds, save for the fact that there are some in the general area, but fortunately Arnholde can fill you in on the details: the closest group is called the Blood Vow tribe, consisting of green-scaled kobolds eking out their living from the Dragonfen. Apparently, the wizard had been in league with these kobolds, in order to rid himself of the tower blocking his view of the eastern skies. However, he seems to have been betrayed, resulting in the collapse that led to his death. Your new friends ventured out to the Blood Vows lair in a flooded quarry, killing their leader and installing a more friendly kobold in his stead.

The young nobleman pauses his account of the events, furrowing his brow in thought. "Hm, now that I think about it, the former kobold chief appeared to have been obsessed with Aeteperax, initialled by an 'A.' T-that would be Aeteperax the Black, the great wyrm slain by Tula Belhaim herself a thousand years ago—our town's founder. As far as I know, its bones still lay somewhere deep within the Dragonfen. The others even brought a scale, which I assumed was t-taken by the kobolds from its remains. But maybe this Barlau was deceiving them somehow, masquerading as a dead dragon...?"

"In the meantime, I've been trying to find out more about this bust you spoke of. Later I will try to examine it more closely in person, but I've been trying to find out more about it from your description in Hunclay's collection..."

Knowledge (arcana) or Spellcraft concerning the bust/Arnholde's curse: 1 + 12 + 2 = 15

"...The Osirians are rumored to be some of the finest in the known world at curse-craft, so there may be little I can do,but if there is any chance of helping, I would like to."

Arnholde nods and smiles, doing his best to look optimistic, even though you have found next to no leads so far. There is not much in Hunclay's books about curses or anything related to Ancient Osirion, save for that lost empire's extensive accomplishments in the field of astronomy.

~

She calls again for the attendant. "Would...would it be possible for me to bring some food and wine in here? This could take some time, and I do not wish this to leave the vault if it does not need to..."

"Of course," says the vaultkeeper. "We shall provide you with everything you need. The baroness has instructed us to extend you every courtesy."

For a moment, she turns her attention to the box containing the obsidian bust, once again drawing her tattoos into spectacles around her eyes. This time, however, she also sets her hand on the image of a spear sparkling with strange intertwined energies on her arm. As her hand lifts away, the magic streams separate, each lining up neatly above the weapon. Remembering Arnholde's warning, she does not reach inside the coffer, but lifts the lid and examines closely for any auras surrounding the bust inside, hoping for any insight the examination might yield. She also looks more closely at the parchments in the darkwood case, hoping for any insight that they might provide into the strange objects before her.

Casting identify and examining the bust and papyri for magic auras, then casting read magic and examining the papyri more closely (but still carefully).

Spellcraft for bust: 16 + 12 + 10 = 38
Spellcraft for any magic papyri/scrolls: 8 + 12 + 10 = 30
Ok, I know I did it fairly, but those numbers feel a little like cheating at level 4. XD

Hey, that's what identify is for! :)

Although they are quite breathtaking in their antiquity, the papyrus sheets are completely mundane in their manufacture. While you do not read Ancient Osiriani, you have encountered similar objects before: judging from the depictions of constellations, they appear to be works on astronomy—rare ones, in all likelihood. The scroll within the mithral tube is a powerful one, meant to extend the magical effects of certain spells beyond their normal duration (i.e. a scroll of permanency).

All this pales in comparison with the pharaoh's bust, which is quite unlike anything you have ever witnessed. The darkly scintillating aura surrounding the god-king's visage is nearly overwhelming: it spreads out like oil spilled in water, seeming to slide off its surroundings without deigning to mingle with sane reality, and yet reaching its tendrils out of the leaden container with the purposefulness of a living thing. You feel a shiver as it brushes against you, the merest extension of something utterly beyond your understanding—before you can spare it a conscious thought, you have let your concentration on the spell of identification slip in abhorrence.

Even when not inspecting its aura, sitting alone in the dimly lit vault with the bust has the peculiar effect of making you feel like you are being watched: you keep catching glimpses of your reflection in its featureless face, moving slightly out of synchronisation with your own stirrings—or perhaps it is just a trick of the light.

The bust radiates strong auras of divination and necromancy—as a minor artifact, it is beyond your ability to identify. Zaijka suspects that it's either sentient, in and of itself, or it is being used by some malign intelligence as a scrying focus. Either way, its ability to affect its surroundings appears to be limited.

Zaijka's Appraise: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (19) + 3 = 22

Zaijka estimates that the darkwood case is worth 250 gp, the papyri are worth a total of 4000 gp, and the mithral scroll tube is worth about 300 gp—the scroll is worth whatever a scroll of permanency is normally worth. I'll let you know what the book is valued at once you get around to actually reading it.

~

Taking a moment to glance behind her before whipping her head back at her great aunt's final question. "Umm, I burned my hands when I set the inn on fire a couple of days ago. You might have heard about that."

Shifting on her feet and blinking away sudden tears, "I came here to fix something I did wrong. Grandfather said he would pay me to come here. We came here to look for a.. something for House Telegonus. But they are all gone.. so I don't know if it matters anymore."

Without as much as a moment's hesitation, Bassy pulls Nisany into a tight embrace, patting her niece on the shoulder. The old gnome's hands are heavily inkstained and scarred from decades of sharpening quills, but firm and steady despite her advanced age.

"There, there," she mutters gently. "A little cry does good every now and then..."

After a moment, she guides Nisany to a rickety chair, rather unceremoniously dumping a pile of papers of the floor to make room. "Why don't you introduce me to your friends, dearie? Oh, but I do know you, Vibenia... though I don't recall when we've last met. Not one for books, are you? That's just fine, though: I'm not much of a outdoorswoman, myself. Hum hum, there's more chairs somewhere in here, help yourselves."

Indeed, a closer inspection reveals a surprising amount of furnishings, hidden under a mountain of written word. While the sheer volume of tomes is no match for Hunclay's vast archives of lore, there is much more variety: basic treatises on herbalism and horticulture, classics of Taldan chivalric romance, farmer's almanacs, a handful of tomes on magical theory (especially illusionism), chronicles both exotically foreign and intimately local, and travelogues from all around the Inner Sea—not to mention multiple volumes of Belhaim-based historical fiction, all penned by Bassy's own hand. Vibenia is well aware that her collection is Belhaim's de facto library: what one cannot find in her books, might just be floating around somewhere in the well-travelled gnome's mind.

~

Looking up at the priest and shrugging. Holding up her wrapped hand, "These won't heal.."

Letting her hand fall back to her lap, "I set the inn on fire to try to keep people alive and I just have new people and now I have magic that doesn't make sense. Alchemy made sense but my charcoal fingers can't do that anymore."

Letting out a long sigh, "I was supposed to look around and find a nice place for a summer home and instead I watched a man die. I watched everyone who came here with me leave or die. And then I almost made my own pyre. I fought devils and just a few months ago it was only drunks I would fight with."

Nilos listens intently, without trying to offer commentary or uncalled-for counsel. After a while, he sits down in the pew in front of you, leaning on the back rest. He is objectively a good listener: he seems to have an innate gift for knowing when to nod, when to frown or smile, and how and when to vocalise his thoughts.

"My condolences," he says when you mention Lukas' death, genuinely mournful. "That must've been difficult for you."

Turning back to the motionless statue, "I have never been religious enough. But people like you in temples like this can heal and make the world better though their faith. I set myself on fire and I can do the same. That feels kinda like I cheated."

Looking back at the priest, "Have you ever dealt with someone who almost died?"

"That sounds like a riddle," muses Nilos, with a rueful smile on his lips. "I've been around death, as one does when they've taken up a healer's mantle—unfortunately, my gifts aren't always enough to stave off the Lady of Graves' attentions. But that's not what you are talking about, is it?"

The priest leans forward, cocking his head to the side. "You claim you've cheated, but it seems to me like you've gone through quite a lot to be where you are now. My trials as an acolyte were far less perilous, I assure you. Sometimes the divines intervene in mortal affairs, for their own inscrutable reasons: gifting power to the deserving, or forcing it on sinners as punishment, or sometimes both simultaneously. And yes, it rarely makes any godsdamned sense!"

He smiles again, now more encouragingly. "Maybe we can try to puzzle it out together. During this near-death experience of yours, did you experience anything like... a revelation? Say, a vision of some nature, or a voice without a discernible source?"

But Bernard's not the man he used to be. There are real accomplishments under his belt. He helped clear out the rooms beneath the fallen tower. Cleaned out the bad kobold's from the lair by the quarry. Cleared out Hunclay's manor itself, complete with fighting demons from hell and staring out into the nether reaches between the stars, contemplating matters far more terrible and hideous than an old mentor's wrath.

So Bernard takes a deep, steadying breath, raises his chin, and allows Sir Pelle to run out of steam. Only when the other man's bluster has finally run its course and he's standing there glaring in silence does Bernard raise both palms in a placating manner, and speak in a quiet, solid voice.

"Sir Pelle, you mistake me. I've made no move to act as sheriff. I've not asked for my old job back, nor do I want yours. While you were gone a series of crises hit Belhaim. The baroness saw fit to include me in the group that helped deal with these problems. I'm honored to have helped Belhaim in some small way. I'm also honored to say that the baroness has been pleased with the work of my companions and I, and hired us on as extra muscle. We're to reinforce the guard's duty of overseeing the upcoming auction. Nothing more, nothing less."

It's mildly said, with no desire to extend this confrontation. Something graver than sadness suffuses Bernard as he looks at his old mentor. Something more akin to melancholy. For the wasted years. The lost friendships. The good times that might have been, but which instead were replaced by years beholding to the bottle.

For his wife and son.

The life they might have lived together. The laughter and sunlight. The small, quiet joys.

But no.

Hunclay had seen fit to make sure that didn't come to pass.

But Hunclay was now dead. Bernard had received glimpses of a new life, improbably stolen against all odds from the sodden fate he'd been sure would be his.

And it'll take more than Sir Pelle to rock his steadily solidifying foundation.

He is quite pleased to see the amphitheater progressing and new apprentice stoneworkers brought into the guild.

When the guildsmen ask for his advice about what to do next, he isn't shy about it.

"Hrmm. The stone from the tower will quickly be used up. There must be some way to generate more business, or trade, some way to get more stone so that you can continue your work. Scouting a new quarry, or importing stone from another location nearby - are there any old records from prior days of the mason's guild, perhaps detailing surveys of the countryside? If we can locate another supply of useful stone, these projects can continue and become ever grander, a testament to the craftsmanship of Belhaim."

The dwarf even offers to watch over the developing situation himself, though he notes that he hasn't had lunch yet and someone will have to bring him some savory sausage and a roll if he's going to spend a few hours in the marketplace babysitting kobold merchants.

So Bernard takes a deep, steadying breath, raises his chin, and allows Sir Pelle to run out of steam. Only when the other man's bluster has finally run its course and he's standing there glaring in silence does Bernard raise both palms in a placating manner, and speak in a quiet, solid voice.

"Sir Pelle, you mistake me. I've made no move to act as sheriff. I've not asked for my old job back, nor do I want yours. While you were gone a series of crises hit Belhaim. The baroness saw fit to include me in the group that helped deal with these problems. I'm honored to have helped Belhaim in some small way. I'm also honored to say that the baroness has been pleased with the work of my companions and I, and hired us on as extra muscle. We're to reinforce the guard's duty of overseeing the upcoming auction. Nothing more, nothing less."

Sir Pelle squints, his nostrils flaring. "How does that explain the armour? This is ridiculous. As far as I am aware, Lady Origena has not seen fit to entitle you in my absence, so why in Abadar's name are you making a mockery of the knighthood? I did not fight in the cavalry—with the baron himself—to be upstaged by some commoner, who just happened to be in the right place at the right time! Bellett, say something, you damned mute!"

"He could've strolled in here and taken over," the deputy says with a shrug, "but I haven't seen a hair of him at the garrison. I think you're barking up the wrong tree, boss. Got the armour from Baccus, after getting Chance off his back. All clean, not a drop of blood spilled."

The sheriff appears to lose his momentum, running a wearied head over his face—he must not have eaten or slept after his arrival. He shakes his head, muttering under his breath. "All these years of no action, and the second I step outside the barony's borders..."

It always takes Sir Pelle a few moments to wrestle down his ego, but finally—after exhausting every other option—he manages to look regretful about his outburst. "My apologies, Hammersmith. It seems I have been mistaken, about a great many things. Hunclay was as rotten as you thought, was he not?"

~

Having accompanied Nisany to her Aunt's, Syksy patiently waits outside admiring the garden as the Gnomes reconnect.

Wiping at her eyes and letting herself be pushed into a chair. Taking a deep breath and holding it for a moment before exhaling, "You already know Vibenia and Syksy is outside cause she was trying to be polite for some reason so one less person to see my little melt down. I think she had some questions for you if you wanna tell her she can come in."

"Get in from the sun!" shouts Bassy, her voice echoing out to the garden. "Don't just stand there, or you'll get heatstroke!"

As everyone settles into their seats, the young man you saw in the garden appears from behind a curtained partition, bearing a battered tray with an assortment of different cups. He pours everyone some flowery-smelling tea, and then ducks out with a smile and a nod, leaving the pot on the desk with the rest of the mismatched tableware. There is also a box filled with sugar cubes, as well as some freshly baked cookies in a tin.

"That's Kenneth," explains Bassy, moving some of her writing implements off the table. "He and some of the other younger folks help me around the house. I'm not as spry as I used to be two hundred years ago—or even a hundred, heh. They also make sure I remember to eat, when I'm really into a new project."

The old gnome reaches over, picking up a chipped vessel of Tian porcelain. "My dear niece told me there's something you'd like to ask me... Syksy, was it? That's a beautiful name, if you don't mind me saying—reminds me of the rustling of falling leaves..."

~

Nodding, "Yeah I saw something."

Swallowing around nothing when the smell of smoke comes back, "There was a moth that starting spiraling. It couldn't control where it was going cause its wings were on fire. Then there was a crimson flower with a caterpillar eating it."

Wrapping her arms around her stomach, "There there were two women standing at a grave. One had a burning spear and the other had this broken mace."

"Oh, how vivid," gasps Nilos, enraptured by the imagery. "Well, let's just assume the simplest explanation to be the right one: otherwise, we might sit here mulling over it forever. You told me about setting the inn on fire, and hurting yourself in the process. Perhaps you are the moth, now without its wings. The red flower could be Shelyn's rose, with yourself as the caterpillar—like a child again, coming to her for guidance. That's where we're now, right?"

The priest furrows his otherwise unwrinkled brow. "But that last image... it's quite unlike the others—perhaps a vision of what's to come, or a glimpse of the Great Beyond. We have a few books on the subject, which you're free to use. I'll help you, of course, unless you'd rather do it alone."

There is a small library of religious literature at the shrine, which you can use as reference: this will give you a +2 bonus on Knowledge (religion) to recognise the women in your vision—that's two separate rolls, one for each figure. Nilos will offer his aid, as well, providing another +2 on the rolls. This will take days.

~

When the guildsmen ask for his advice about what to do next, he isn't shy about it.

"Hrmm. The stone from the tower will quickly be used up. There must be some way to generate more business, or trade, some way to get more stone so that you can continue your work. Scouting a new quarry, or importing stone from another location nearby - are there any old records from prior days of the mason's guild, perhaps detailing surveys of the countryside? If we can locate another supply of useful stone, these projects can continue and become ever grander, a testament to the craftsmanship of Belhaim."

"A new quarry is a good long-term goal," Lenton says in agreement, "or draining the old one. Hopefully, the kobolds will be as amenable as you've implied. We just need something to tide us over until then. I can't think of any other old buildings we could salvage: there is the ruined monastery in the Dragonfen, but it's said to be haunted, and getting the stone from there to Belhaim would be a nightmare in any case—the road is in terrible repair."

The guildmaster strokes his moustache, deep in thought. "Yes, perhaps there is something in the records—I'll go through them, and send a group to scout out the old mining tunnels in the northwest. But please, do keep an eye out for opportunities. We need all the help we can get."

~

Khardir raises an eyebrow, then lets out a pair of deep "Hrm, hrm,"s. Finally he says, "Well, they're unarmed, and they are here to trade. That's the best that we can hope for, is it not? Friendly exchange rather than looting and violence? Let's escort them to a stall in the marketplace, but there should be a guard at all times to keep everyone involved safe. That way there are no misunderstandings, no fights, nobody trying to steal from anyone else, nobody trying to smash up the kobolds' trade goods. If they want to be neighborly and exchange coins like anyone else, that's a sight better than making enemies."

"A-as you say, sir!" says Hodd, clearly relieved to be absolved from the burden of decision-making. "Right away!"

Mulle seems slightly less satisfied with the outcome, but does not protest: after all, the baroness has agreed to a peace with the Blood Vows. As a show of good faith, Nighttail even hands over her own spear—though she refuses to part with Hak, the sight of which evokes as much fascination as fear in the gathered locals.

The dwarf even offers to watch over the developing situation himself, though he notes that he hasn't had lunch yet and someone will have to bring him some savory sausage and a roll if he's going to spend a few hours in the marketplace babysitting kobold merchants.

Khardir's presence helps to cool lingering tensions, and smooth out some of the misunderstandings that inevitably arise from initial contact between two peoples. Many come just to see a live kobold up close. The Blood Vows price their goods quite low, a ploy of Nighttail's that soon bears fruit: the fish and furs that might otherwise be passed over by the locals are made desirable by their sheer affordableness. Baccus comes from his newly re-opened smithy to look at the ores, ending up purchasing the whole lot—he and Nighttail seem to hit it off right away, already making a preliminary agreement for another delivery. The half-orc smith seems excited at the prospect of being independent of southern trade, and the kobold chief is equally thrilled to be getting some well-crafted tools in exchange.

Hodd and Mulle take watches, standing guard and making deliveries as requested. Some of the senior deputies keep an eye on the situation from afar, but their presence is not needed: after the day is done, the Blood Vows' cart is mostly empty. Nighttail is pleased, rubbing her small hands together with glee as her underlings count out their modest earnings.

"Thanks for help with softskin warriors," she says, removing her headdress. "Being chief is hard, friend Khardir: everyone's always complaining. But Nighttail is a good chief, not like dumb Roaghaz! Nighttail makes the others dig a canal, to drain out water from pit-mine. It's... slow work, but gets faster. Other kobolds come from elsewhere to join tribe, and now we's got better tools for digging. Maybe... six moon-cycles, if tribe gets more help from humans."

"This armor," says Bernard, looking down at his piecemeal set with something of a wry smile, "Is indeed ridiculous. But it's saved my hide already. I chose to buy it after nearly dying three times in the kobold's warren. Three times I fell in the dark, and three times my companions had to heal me so I could stumble on. After that, I decided better protection was warranted, at the very least so my friends could save on their healing spells."

His smile fades away. "No, Sir Pelle. Hunclay was worse. He was summoning demons and trying to make contact with dark forces from beyond the stars. My friends and I killed one of his summoned monsters in his manor - a goat-headed monstrosity called a schir - and put many other of his horrors down for good. He was a cancer in our community. I wish folks had listened to me years ago when I tried to ring the warning bell. I'm glad that despite that... delay... he's now dead and rotting in the ground."

His smile fades away. "No, Sir Pelle. Hunclay was worse. He was summoning demons and trying to make contact with dark forces from beyond the stars. My friends and I killed one of his summoned monsters in his manor - a goat-headed monstrosity called a schir - and put many other of his horrors down for good. He was a cancer in our community. I wish folks had listened to me years ago when I tried to ring the warning bell. I'm glad that despite that... delay... he's now dead and rotting in the ground."

Bellett ceases his leisurely attack on the underside of his fingernails, staring at you with his eyes wide. "Well, sh*t."

"'Well, sh*t', indeed," mutters Sir Pelle, looking more downbeat than ever. "You are right, Hammersmith: as Abadar is my witness, I should have listened to you. There is little I can do now, if you have no intention of returning to the guard. I could... I could make a public apology, to let everyone know the fault was mine. Perhaps that would do something to restore your standing within the community."

You are well aware this is a not a light-hearted offer: Sir Pelle is near obsessive about his reputation, and admitting to wrongdoing does not come naturally to him. After a moment's hesitation, the knight removes his gauntlet and extends his hand, calloused from years of riding and sparring. Once again, a consciously uncharacteristic decision, for someone so heavily involved in the convoluted social mores of Taldan society—shaking hands is strictly for equals.

"Regardless, he says, "you have my permission—and encouragement—to continue your efforts. We share a common goal: to keep our town safe. As long as you and your company do not interfere in my business, I will not interfere in yours. I fully understand that you are not interested in working under my leadership, but I sincerely hope that we can at least cooperate. For Belhaim."

~

Happily sipping her syrupy tea and smiling at Vibenia and Nisany there with her as Bessie talks the eventual silence jogs her memory. ”Oh! Bessie, what all do you know about dragons in the area?”

Bassy grins deviously over her tea-cup. "You want the long version, or the reeeally long one?"

"Brevity isn't my strong suit," she says apologetically, "but here's the short of it, as best as I can manage: there haven't been any dragons around these parts, at least not for the last thousand years or so. The Dragon Plague was quite eventful in that regard. Between the years 3660 and 3672 AR, there were no fewer than three dozen different dragons rampaging across northern Taldor—if you've ever heard a story of a Taldan knight slaying a dragon, you can bet your bottom it's from the time of the Plague! First, the metallics were driven to a frenzy by some genius who tried to control them with a magic orb. After that was dealt with, chromatics rushed in to fill the power vacuum. Many of the latter were put down by our town's founder, Tula Belhaim: there was Red Azramo, which is said to have burned down a hundred villages; there were the clutchmates Baesterogh, Alamitatus, and Vernegash—each slain at the Battle of Blue Note Hill in 3668 AR; and most importantly, there was Aeteperax the Black."

"You see, Aeteperax destroyed Tula's hometown of Nazilli, on the southern edge of the Verduran Forest. Later on, she formed the Slayers of Nazilli, a group of adventurers and mercenaries. All of them had lost their homes or loved ones to dragons—including my grandmother, and Nisany's great-great-grandmother. You could say the wyrm forged the instruments of his own destruction: the Slayers killed Aeteperax in the swamp now known as Dragonfen, though at a great cost. Makes for a great story! I've written several books about Tula and her band, from my grandmother's perspective, though I've, uh... taken some creative liberties. You've got to spice up the boring bits, don't you think?"

~

During the following week, you and Nilos go through the shrine's modest library in search for clues. There are more texts on music and painting than planar philosophy and theology, but there are a few tomes which delve into more esoteric matters: an illustrated encyclopedia on the denizens of Nirvana proves especially useful.

From these tattered pages, you learn that a broken mace is an obscure emblem of the empyreal lord Dalenydra, who is more often symbolised by a bandage-wrapped fist. Also known as the Blessed Attendant, she is a lesser archangel concerned with battlefield healing, caregiving, and sanctuaries. She is the patron of those who endanger themselves to help others, and a defender of those who cannot protect themselves. Places of recovery are sacred to her, especially field hospitals. Most of her worshippers sworn an oath of non-violence, allowing for self-defence but not unprovoked aggression, and many offer their services as healers to both sides of a given conflict—soldiers are known to have refused commands to strike a servant of Dalenydra on the battlefield, in recognition of their red-and-white tabards.

The other figure is somewhat less readily identifiable. After days of back-and-forth and speculation, Nilos is reasonably certain she is a daemonic harbinger named Hastrikhal, also known as the Fires Within: at least in one description, she is depicted as a smoke-haired young woman carrying a burning spear. Shelynite theologians have little to say about her, however, save for warnings against the sin of arson and the danger that wanton use of fire magic poses to artworks.

"There is beauty in fire," says one piece of scripture, "To love is to burn, for there is no flame like passion. But heed this: just as affection can turn into unhealthy obsession, so can one upturned candle lead to an out-of-control conflagration."

~

"Well," Nilos sigh after a long and mostly fruitless session of combing through the same books for the fourth time. "I think we've gotten as far as we're going to get, my friend. Whenever I get the chance to expand our collection, I'll make sure to order some works on fiends—as unpleasant as the subject matter is, one cannot surround themselves exclusively with objects of beauty, and ignore the ugliness of evil present in the world."

He pushes away a tome on possessions and the sacred art of exorcism, stretching and yawning. "I hope you've found at least some of the answers you were looking for—it's a lot to take in, I'm sure..."

~

Linguistics to understand Secrets of the Dreaming Dark: 14 + 10 = 24

I presume that since the initial Linguistics check takes two days, a take-20 would require 40 days, as in, beyond the scope of this adventure? XD With this check, would I be able to narrow down which page contains the "ritual" the secret page spoke of and get some kind of insight as to the nature of the creature(s) it makes contact with? And whether the bust is somehow involved with the ritual, as they were found together?

As you say, taking 20 is off the table. However, you can attempt the check again for as many times as you have days to spare: getting aid or buffing your Intelligence and/or Linguistics might improve your chances. Normally I'm all for partial success, but this is sort of an all-or-thing situation: these are the disassociated ramblings of a warped mind, and there's no way of finding all of the information you're looking for without understanding the twisted logic of the whole. Once you "get" the book, you'll be able to put all this scattered information together.

~

"Keep the bust locked up," Zaijka advises the Baroness as she shuffles a stack of papers together. "Destroying it would be better, but with the power of the magic radiating from it, I doubt that we would be able to. Whatever you do, do not include it in the auction. It felt...almost alive, somehow. Like it had a mind itself, or like another mind was projecting through it - which is all too possible considering the magic upon it was divination-centered. But it does not seem to be able to affect the world around it except by contact; if it is kept within its coffer within the vault, no further ill should come from it."

"The rest of the objects in the vault do not seem dangerous, per se, and as we stated before everything of danger in the house should have been dealt with as per the contract."

Lady Origena looks up from a pile of price assessments and half-written invitations, nodding wearily.

"I will trust your expertise on the matter," she says, sounding both concerned and relieved at the news. "The bust will be excluded from the auction. However, afterwards we will have to devise a more permanent solution—whatever form that might take."

"Arnholde has been of great help in examining and cataloguing what remains of the estate - you have taught him admirably, and he learns quickly and well. I wondered, though, if you had any further insight to offer regarding one question I had. Do you know a man by the name of Barlau? In my correspondence with Hunclay he mentioned a Barlau as one of his primary contacts in Belhaim, but Arnholde was not familiar with the name."

The baroness nods evenly. "Arnholde has been uncharacteristically... exuberant, to be working with a genuine scholar of the arcane. He seems to hold you in quite a high esteem, if you do not mind me saying so. Perhaps you would interested in a tutoring position, once the auction is over...?"

"As for this 'Barlau'... no, there is no one in Belhaim who goes by that particular appellation, at least to my knowledge. While I cannot claim to remember the forenames of all of my subjects, I certainly take it upon myself to remember their surnames. Perhaps this person lives in the outskirts, or somewhere deeper in the Verduran Forest? The woods are vast, and our reach is quite limited, due to an agreement between the empire and local druids. There might be an entire clan of Barlaus living somewhere nearby, without our knowledge."

Once the day concludes he stands and stretches, and an audible popping sound emits from his back and neck.

To Nighttail he says, "I'll talk to some of the people here, maybe we can get you some extra help with dredging the pit-mine. And some better tools, too. Once that's done if we can get some stone out of there it would be useful. Tell you what - I'll talk to the blacksmith here, see if we can arrange some solid metal tools for you, fine craftsmanship, less likely to break. And I'll see if any of the masons here would be willing to aid in the endeavor. It's not likely - they probably will be pretty afraid of the possibility of being alone among your tribe, the only human in the area - but I'll see what I can do."

Good as his word, Khardir returns to the masons' guild the next day.

"So! News from our kobold neighbors. They're working on a canal to drain the pit-mine. I'm going to buy some tools from the blacksmith to help them speed up the work. They could probably use some help from one of the junior masons. I know, I know, it's a dicey proposition - many chances for a misunderstanding, and nobody wants to be the only one there surrounded by the little dragonlings if they suddenly decide that they don't like you. But if you have any apprentices who've been languishing and waiting for the chance to make journeyman, or a journeyman who needs a master project, this might be the kind of job to do the ticket."

Khardir will pay out of pocket for masterwork tools (55 gp) for the kobolds to use, with the admonishment that new ones will not be forthcoming if they get in an argument and break or lose them.

To Nighttail he says, "I'll talk to some of the people here, maybe we can get you some extra help with dredging the pit-mine. And some better tools, too. Once that's done if we can get some stone out of there it would be useful. Tell you what - I'll talk to the blacksmith here, see if we can arrange some solid metal tools for you, fine craftsmanship, less likely to break. And I'll see if any of the masons here would be willing to aid in the endeavor. It's not likely - they probably will be pretty afraid of the possibility of being alone among your tribe, the only human in the area - but I'll see what I can do."

The newly minted chief of the Blood Vow tribe agrees eagerly. "Nighttail tells tribemates to build a... scaffold, that's it, to get to green-stone as soon as the water is low. Will makes sure guests are treated right, too—no more slaves for the Blood Vows, only peaceful cooperation!"

Good as his word, Khardir returns to the masons' guild the next day.

"So! News from our kobold neighbors. They're working on a canal to drain the pit-mine. I'm going to buy some tools from the blacksmith to help them speed up the work. They could probably use some help from one of the junior masons. I know, I know, it's a dicey proposition - many chances for a misunderstanding, and nobody wants to be the only one there surrounded by the little dragonlings if they suddenly decide that they don't like you. But if you have any apprentices who've been languishing and waiting for the chance to make journeyman, or a journeyman who needs a master project, this might be the kind of job to do the ticket."

Gregol Lenton gives the matter its due consideration, but you can see from the outset that he is too excited by the opportunity to let it pass. "Well, they behaved themselves yesterday, from what I've heard. And there's not much to be gained from attacking our masons, even if they are so inclined..."

He nods, as much to his own self-persuasion as yours. "Once we're done at the Commons, I'll send a small team over to inspect the worksite, and if it's up to our standards, we'll pitch in immediately. Volunteers only, naturally—I wouldn't send any of our people into danger without their whole-hearted approval."

As you are leaving, the moustachio'd guildmaster hands you a sheaf of parchment, asking you to get "the chief's" signature on each document: assurances for the safety of the guild's liaisons, preliminary agreements on the sharing of the profits, a bill for insurance from the House of Abadar, and so on.

Khardir will pay out of pocket for masterwork tools (55 gp) for the kobolds to use, with the admonishment that new ones will not be forthcoming if they get in an argument and break or lose them.

Gotcha. That'll go a long way. Nighttail will make sure to hand them to workers she can trust not to waste them.

~

Linguistics - try the fifth: 19 + 2 = 21

And finally, as her eyes begin to cross with effort and the words almost blur together before her, the insight comes, the madness that revealed the author's method. It was Zev's coaching that had done it - his reminder that sometimes, for all man's attempts to impose reason upon it, reality was often stranger than reason could easily comprehend. A snake's burrow could topple a cliffside; one tree could thrive where another died. That was what it took...relaxing into randomness, letting chaos lead the way.

With this check, would I be able to narrow down which page contains the "ritual" the secret page spoke of and get some kind of insight as to the nature of the creature(s) it makes contact with? And whether the bust is somehow involved with the ritual, as they were found together?

Knowledge (arcana): 1d20 + 10 + 6 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 10 + 6 + 2 = 30

After the initial breakthrough, your work becomes alarmingly easy. You cannot quite shake the feeling that the book wants you and Zev to study it. The text appears to subtly change and shift with each reading, slowly coming into focus: a page after page of dense Aklo, written in a cramped hand without much concern for margins or punctuation—a full comprehension of the text would require a true mastery of the alien tongue and years of toil. Complex star charts, tangled equations, and baffling maps of strange worlds disrupt the text, adding to the confusion, along with painstakingly detailed images of hideous creatures defying all sane logic. Furthermore, it soon becomes apparent that the tome has been transcribed from some older source, and only partially so. Large chunks of the manuscript are missing entirely, lost to time. Someone, either Hunclay or the book's previous owner, has taken some pains to preserve the remaining pages and rebind them to the tattered spine.

Roughly the first half of the immense book is a tangled and often self-contradictory investigation into hundreds of worlds said to exist in or be touched by the Dark Tapestry—a mixture of astronomical and divinatory speculation. There are descriptions here of a vast empire of immoral alien monstrosities that dwell in and beyond the dark spaces in between stars, called the "Dominion of the Black" or simply "the Dominion." Here, you find both illustrations and verbal descriptions of the creature the others fought when retrieving the book: a neh-thalggu. The fragments of text concerning these "brain collectors" are the most detailed, yet even these sections on the mysterious interstellar empire remain vague—as far as you can tell, they are supposed to be scouts of some kind, looking for new worlds to conquer.

The following section sheds further light on Hunclay's activities: it focuses on the ritual alteration of certain spells normally limited to the summoning of outsiders from other planes. They allow for the transportation of creatures from the Dark Tapestry to the location of the ritual—more akin to teleportation than true summoning. Rather tellingly, these pages offer little advice on how to protect oneself from such obviously dangerous entities. You suspect this is the sort of ritual Hunclay was employing in order to make contact with the Dominion—however, there is no mention of the pharaoh's bust anywhere amongst the formulae.

Moving on, you find a section of the book which feels almost rushed, as if the unknown author was afraid of going into full detail on the subject, or perhaps feared offering too much information. They describe a maddeningly confusing pantheon of gods—or something like gods, but utterly disconnected from any mortal interests. Here, you find mention of a "Black Pharaoh," a shockingly anthropomorphic figure matching the description of the bust. He is described as being or possessing the quality of a "mask," whatever that means. Further study might reveal more about this enigmatic figure, but for now he remains a footnote among footnotes.

From there on, the text becomes increasingly fragmentary: an incoherent dream journal with half the pages missing, a catalogue of spells lost to some ancient fire, and finally a section where an unknown hand has blotted out the majority of the text—the only legible words on these last pages include "house," "home," and in one single case, "firmament." This one word is the only word in the entire book written in red, whereas the rest of the book is written in black ink-this is also the only time the word "firmament" appears in the entirety of the tome. Perhaps a mystery for another time, but the Secrets of the Dreaming Dark certainly do not leave one wanting for puzzlement—you have a feeling your dreams will not be entirely untroubled for the foreseeable future...

Feel free to ask more questions, and roll for them as appropriate. Now that you've gotten a grasp of the book, you can use it for reference whenever you have at least an hour to go through its contents—of course, unless you're planning on taking it from the vault, now's the time to squeeze out any relevant information.

So, knowing what she knows now, will Zaijka advise the baroness to include the book in the auction, or withhold it? We don't have to roleplay it out, but I want to make sure before we move on. From her past experience as a procurer of rare objects, Zaijka has a pretty good idea about what these sorts of curiosities are worth to collectors: since the book is in relatively poor condition, it's likely priced at about 11,000 gp. A complete, undamaged copy would likely be far more valuable.

~

"I will certainly consider your offer," Zaijka replies, sipping at the fragrant tea the Baroness' servant had brought. "Arnholde is worth the investment - he showed great insight this morning in our discussion of the ties between pre-Earthfall Thassilonian traditions and currently accepted spell taxonomies. I believe someday he will even be able to learn some conjurations himself - with your approval, of course, and under your supervision if you wish. There are several minor magics that prove quite useful in their applications." She takes one from the stack of invitations in front of the Baroness, along with a blank sheet of paper. Setting her hand with thumb and little finger stretched between the two pages, she murmurs a chant and moves her hand back and forth; the words run across her outstretched hand before inscribing themselves on the blank page, and she hands back the newly copied invitation with a smile. "Like that one."

The baroness picks up the copied invitation, turning it over in her hands. She looks different somehow, in that moment. Discussing her son's future in such an intimate setting has peeled away some of her layers of authority—Lady of House Devy, the Baroness Regent of the Verduran Fork, a peer of the Empire of Taldor—leaving you face to face with Origena, the mother of a young man named Arnholde. She looks determinedly proud, and worried.

"My son has always been clever," she muses with unusual tenderness in her voice. "Cleverer by far than his oaf of a father, and perhaps even myself. If we were not so far from civilisation, and if he had siblings to take his place, he might have been sent to study at the capital. This little town has been stifling to him, I am certain. Nothing to satisfy his curiosity. But he is gentle and wise. He will be a great baron, one day..."

"...if he lives that long."

She does not say the words out loud, but they loom heavy over the entire discussion. How many years does Arnholde have, in his current state? How many months, or weeks? Lady Origena looks to be in her late fifties—bound to outlive her son, discounting some accident or misadventure.

~

Finally when she gets a chance she adds "Oh, you added some love scenes didn't you-no wait, focus" she quickly finishes her tea before digging around in her pack and fishing up seven carefully wrapped objects, with a big smile she then reverently presents them to the storyteller on her table, almost like a family member presenting long overdue presents.

Bassy winks mischievously. "Far be it from me to create such a scandal! After all, many of the folks I'm writing about still have living descendants, and I don't think a lot of them want to think about their ancestors blowing the grounsils. Grandma wasn't shy about her own exploits, though..."

The old gnome's face lights up as she is presented with gifts, and she sets to opening the bundles with the glee of someone a fraction her age. Syksy might have not intended it as such, but Nisany realises that she might literally be adding years to Bassy's life, by offering her this brief respite from the ever-present threat of the Bleaching. Though she looks as if she has been quite successful keeping the condition at bay for now, the need for stimulating experiences only grows with age.

Once the draconic remnants are revealed, Bassy lets out an excited squeal. She runs her fingers over the green scales with obvious interest, but it is the larger, black scale that captures her attention more fully. As it is larger than her entire torso, she has trouble lifting it fully up to the light streaming in from the windows, but she props it against a pile of leather-bound tomes for support, unabashedly crawling up to the desktop to inspect it more closely through a pair of pince-nez spectacles.

"Oh, this must be from Aeteperax!" she exclaims. "No two ways about it! So remarkably well preserved, too. Nivi's knickers, you must've had to dig below the peat layer to get this..."

After her initial excitement, something akin to worry draws an entirely different network of lines on the gnome's face. "Wait a second, where did you find these? You didn't go wandering about the swamp, did you?"

~

Dusk's demeanour is quite different once she is out of the cage: she is very curious, and not at all well behaved. Sniffling at everyone and everything, she keeps pulling this way and that, without much care for personal space or property. It takes her some time to adjust to the idea that Vibenia is the one leading the pair through town, but a few tugs on the makeshift leash and a firm command every now and then keep her from harassing passers-by. Obviously, you gather quite a lot of attention.

Lacking proper socialisation, the wolf-dog is wary of Nisany and Syksy at first, but under Vibenia's watchful eye, she allows both to pet her lightly on the head without as much as a growl. It helps that she is completely distracted by the mutton Vibenia is carrying.

Heal: 15 + 6 = 21 The goal with the heal check is to see if Dusk would benefit from a cure spell or just time. Since it was mentioned that the doggy was a little haggard.

Dusk has suffered some non-lethal damage from starvation, but is otherwise uninjured. Once properly fed, she'll recover on her own. However, she is mangy (as in, "having mange"). With that roll, Nisany knows that weekly rinses with lime sulphur, properly diluted, should do the trick. The substance is freely available from the local alchemist, as it's primarily used as a pesticide. You'll also want to keep her outside until she is mite-free, unless you want to burn all the fabrics in the house afterwards.

I'd say it's just 5 gp for the whole round of treatments, since Nisany can dose out the lime sulphur herself.