Welcome to Sandpoint!
Located several miles north of Magnimar along the Lost Coast, the bustling coastal town of Sandpoint is busy and vibrant with the excitement of the upcoming Swallowtail Festival. Food vendors and peddlers of all kinds have set up stalls and carts throughout the market square and around the newly built Sandpoint Cathedral.
Several years ago, the old Cathedral burned down in a tragedy that claimed the life of the Cathedral's priest, Father Tobyn, and his beautiful daughter, Nualia. Father Tobyn was well-loved by the town's people, and his passing was mourned by all. Nualia was an exceptionable beautiful young Aasimar woman, who many say was blessed by the goddess Desna herself.
In honor of the completion of the new cathedral, the town is holding the Swallowtail Festival to renew the site's blessings from the gods, and the whole town is full of an immense amount of excitement. Much tragedy has befallen the town over the past years, something the townsfolk call the 'Late Unpleasantness.' Everyone is looking forward to a chance to relax and finally put the past behind them.
Each of you, for your own reasons, find yourselves in Sandpoint on the 22nd of the month of Rova, one day before the Autumnal Equinox, which is also the date of the festival, which is supposed to be all the rage. With the festivities beginning in the morning, you have each rented rooms at the local tavern, the Rusty Dragon. As dusk settles, you find yourselves making your ways to the common room to order some dinner and perhaps some of the tavern's famous ale.
The bartender and owner is a beautiful young woman named Ameiko Kaijitsu, who is busily bent over the stove adding different spices to a stew boiling away in its pot. She appears to be in her mid-twenties, and of possible Tian ancestry. A tattoo of a dragon and music notes covers her left arm, a finely crafted rapier is hanging loosely from her shapely hip, and the air of an adventurer is about her.
Having entered Sandpoint and already been stopped by the Town Guard on his way in, Charles expected no less. It was a town that remained cautious and wary of outsiders, focused on preventing trouble and protecting those within.
Lord Bloodgrave wasn't offended by this as he could sympathise and appreciate the lengths the guard went to, in order to protect the small seaside town and those within, having done the same with his own castle (and those he knew and cared about within the farming town of Ravengro).
Based in Ustalav, Charles' castle wasn't far from the town of Ravengro itself, but with the nations history and more chilling problems, he'd seen his fair share of monsters and creatures only mentioned in mythology, so the town guard posed no problem to him.
Being of noble origin, Charles has often been able to get by on his own mannerisms and fairly polite attitude alone. It was his looks however that helped this, with the exception of his eye of course. In his earlier years, he was a little less cautious and caring, and those conversing with him would often remark about his left eye, sometimes alienating him, not through hatred, but fear. For it was his pale complexion, ever so slightly pointed fangs and regal attire that reminded them of the stories they most likely read in books of fantasy, myth and legend.
This was silly however, because Charles was just a man like any other. He's always had good intentions and holds compassion for others and stays as true to his nature and personal beliefs possible.
Now, little is known about him.
Some may have heard he lives within a Ustalavian Castle, while others may have seen him leave his place of residence at times. It's been said that others have also seen him battle strange creatures during the night.....but some may not have even heard of him.
Regardless, he mostly keeps himself to himself and will treat those around with as much respect as he expects to receive in return.
Now, having been granted entry into the town of Sandpoint, he finds himself within a warm and welcoming Inn, known only as The Rusty Dragon.
This looks quaint. I feel it is time to retire my armour for the day and get changed into something a little more fitting.
Having walked to the front desk, the Lord asked the woman at the desk if he could stay within the grandest room the Inn had on offer.
With enough coin for at least a week, he headed upstairs and detached his armour so that he could shower, tidy himself up after such a long walk and change into his more regal attire.
After a well deserved rest, the man headed down into the common room where he was greeted by the same young woman he had met upon his arrival.
It's a pleasure to meet you. I believe you were the woman who showed me to my room?
As Ameiko nods with a small smile, the well dressed man of similar age made his way over to one of the nearby tables, seating himself with dinner in mind.
Scrivner had been quite surprised when he had learnt of the festival, but just the thought of how many people would be showing up made him want to smile. He had happily thanked the guard who had informed him of this little fact and made his way into town with a slight skip in his step.
Finding a room had not been easy for Scrivner as many places were expecting merchants from far out places for custom, but the Rusty Dragon was his savior. With their honest prices and good meals Scrivner could already feel his luck returning. He had rented a room for the week and was even now thinking on ways to improve his fortune.
Well the best way to find out about what is going on was in the common room, so onwards I suppose
As Scrivner walks to the common room he immediately noticed the smells coming from the stew. He walked over to an empty table and waited for a barmaid. When one walks by he interrupts her and asks.
"Excuse me miss, but when is that delightful stew going to be ready?"
The maid who walks by is an elderly halfling woman. With a smile on her face she says, "It shouldn't be longer than five or ten minutes. We're expecting a crowd this evening, and we've been busy preparing lunch for the festival. Can I get you anything to drink while you wait?"
A stream patrons begin to trickle into the inn. Pretty soon all the tables in the room are full. You notice a board near the back of the room which has the words "Help Wanted!" loudly printed on it.
Looking around in amazement as the whole town seems to pour into the Inn, what was once an empty table is now full to the brim with people excited for the following mornings festival.
This festival must have some charm to pull this amount of business in.
Noticing the Help Wanted board towards the back of the room, the dark aura'd man peers around from left to right, moving nothing but his eyes with a slight glare.
As soon as I am done with dinner, I shall have a look at that board back there. If I get up now, I doubt very much my place at the table will remain.
"Nothing currently, but thank you for the offer."
Noticing the "Help Wanted" poster Scrivner adds in.
"You are in need of some help?"
Scrivner motions towards the "Help Wanted" poster to make sure his point is clear.
"We are. You can ask Ameiko about it when you get the chance." And with that she scurries away to the kitchen to fetch drinks.
"I will, and thank you Bethana."
A large man missing a finger on his right hand pipes up next to Lord Charles. "You're a new face! I assume you're here for the festival, right?. My name's Chod Bevuk." He offers you his hand.
Looking a bit concerned, Charles turns to the man with his usual pale and bemused expression.
I am here on....other business. It is mere coincidence that Sandpoint's festival is tomorrow, but at least the surrounding commotion appears to be in good nature.
Charles hesitantly peers at the man, then firmly shakes his hand.
Charles, and you are?
Arandor looks up from his work, alternating between writing in his journal and reading his notes. He is taking up far more space than what he should in such a crowded room, but it filled while he was lost in his work. Arandor is astonished at how full and bustling the common room has become. The last words written in his journal, "... while now ruins, the Old Light is quite large. I am eager to journey to it on the 'morrow to make an account of its dimensions."
Earlier in the day as he walked into town Arandor was almost skipping he was so ecstatic as he caught glimpses of the ruins of the "Old Light". The Old Light is why Arandor is here. Hoping to continue his studies of an ancient civilization, Arandor believes the ruined tower is a remnant of that time.
Having Approached by the Southern gate Arandor laid eyes upon a sign and a mirror hanging from a bent nail. "Welcome to Sandpoint! Please stop to see yourself as we see you!". Gazing back from the mirror he saw an elf with an excited and silly grin on his face.
Still anxious to begin his research he found the first Inn he could, "The Rusty Dragon". It'll do. Checking in and easing his traveling load, Arandor disappointedly decided it was too late to make the trek across town to the ruin and so took his journal and his notes to what, at the time, was a nearly empty common room.
"Well, this was unexpected!", exclaims Arandor as his journal snaps shut and he surveys the room."Ah! This must be for the Swallowtail festival!". He had picked this time to come to Sandpoint so he could do his research while also getting to experience the Swallowtail festival and see this grand new temple. "Hopefully I can get in some research at the ruin before the festival begins tomorrow".
Hearing that the stew will be ready in five or ten minutes Arandor leans back and realizes he has been neglecting his ale for far too long. "Easily remedied!" he thinks as he takes a swig.
Moments after the rowdy townsfolk rush in, a solemn man enters. His loose white hair of shoulder length and pale grayish skin tone provide sharp contrast to his black studded leather jacket. Matching leather boots thud softly against the Rusty Dragon's floor as he walks, audible perhaps to only the most keen of ears with all this ruckus about.
The elven man's gravely serious expression has a very sobering effect upon any festive youngins who might look upon his face.
Eyes of pure elven white glance about at the insignificant rabble with meticulous care as he adjusts one of his jacket's cuffs to perfection. The newcomer's eyes squint more keenly as he spots an elven scribe at one of the tables. With a confident yet unassuming gait, this melancholy elf reaches one of the last unoccupied chairs in the establishment, near to the scholarly elven man. Seated, he maintains excellent posture.
When a waitress catches his eye, he lifts a hand up. He requests a drink in a deep, deadpan voice. "Ale. Please."
Arandor sees a rather serious looking elf approaching the last open chair, open only because of the many papers he had stacked on it. Sweeping up the papers from the chair and the table he slides them in-between pages in his journal a puts the worn leather-bound book and his pen and ink into a satchel at his side.
A small and delicate bird, brown in color, with speckled underside, glides down from the rafters landing on Arandor's shoulder. It then hops onto the table and pecks at some bread crumbs exposed by the vacant papers.
Looking at the new arrival, Arandor strikes up a conversation, "Yes, the ale is a good choice. And I believe everyone is anxiously awaiting that savory smelling stew Ms. Kaijitsu is preparing. Are you from Sandpoint? I would surmise not. You do not appear similar to the locals I have observed thus far."
By the time Eostre made her way to the Rusty Dragon she was tired and feeling quite frustrated. She felt uncomfortable in this alien environment, with all the people living atop one another, the crowding and jostling at the gates and in the market square as yet more city-dwellers arrived or made preparations for tomorrow's festival.
Although she had tried to speak with the priests at the new cathedral, the Chelish acolyte with whom Eostre had spoken had imperiously informed her that no-one had time to deal with her at the moment, due to preparations for the ceremony. He had not bothered to listen to her when she tried to explain the omens which had brought her here.
Patronizing idiot! Dismissing me as an ignorant tribeswoman, no doubt. If he knew the things we of Skoan-Quah face every day, he'd pee himself, the pompous, snotty, little strako. I'd teach him a lesson if only it wouldn't get me thrown into their jail! She was still fuming about the treatment she'd received at the cathedral as she found the inn which a Varisian had recommended to her.
When she saw how crowded the common room of the inn was, she visibly hesitated at the threshold, allowing those inside an unintended opportunity to look over the raven-haired Shoanti. The tattoos on her face and exposed arms proclaimed her to be such, although she was petite for one of the barbarians from the distant Storval Plains. She was also remarkably beautiful in an exotic and wild sort of way, despite the dust and grime from weeks spent on the roads heading to Sandpoint.
An observer not distracted by her walk may have noticed the etched-bone talisman around her neck - the one bearing the endless spiral of Pharasma. A knowledgeable one would have recognized the tattoos of the Skoan-Quah - the reclusive Skull clan of the Shoanti. Both signs that this particular young girl would be best left alone...
Seemingly oblivious to the admiring glances from some of the men in the smoky, noise filled room, Eostre made her way over to the counter where the elderly halfling woman was clearing away now empty tankards. "Pardon me, elder, but I was told that I would need to have a room to stay in town, and that such could be found here. But you seem so crowded. Are all these people staying in your inn?" What Eostre was actually thought was; Please tell me you have no space left - then I can leave and go find a space by the fire with the Varisian travelers outside the gates!
As she spoke with the halfling woman, several unattended tankards on the edge of the counter rolled off onto the floor with a clatter, seemingly of their own accord, and the smoke hovering overhead swirled as though from a sudden breeze. Calm yourself! I don't need the spirits to act on my anger and cause trouble with these townsfolk, not before I've even discovered why I'm here..."
Bethana says in a small voice, "There is still room for you. Many people are just here for dinner." She shortly after delivers Awarthannen his ale.
The man's grip is very strong."You can call me Chod. I'm the owner of the Sandpoint Meat Market, and the surviver of not one, but TWO chopper attacks. That's how lost this." He shows you his missing finger.
Ameiko comes scurrying out of the kitchen trying to serve as many people as fast as she can, obviously overwhelmed by the crowd. She makes her way to Scrivner's table.
"Lady Ameiko you seem to need a bit of help. Can I help in anyway?"
Scrivner is ready to help right away if Ameiko asks for any help.
"Oh, so you saw the sign? I'm looking for some individuals to help me during the festival tomorrow. The festival has brought many strange folks to town, and it would hurt to have a few ruffians around. I would also need help preparing lunch. If you haven't already heard, all of the taverns in Sandpoint are providing food for the mob free of charge. If you help out, I could give you a free room and meals for the day. You would still have time to enjoy the festival of course." She smiles and waits for a reply.
Deciding to humour the man, Charles decides to go along with the lies and exaggerations to keep the Butcher happy.
Well Chod, that is unfortunate, and two attacks you say? You will have to forgive me, but having not been from around these parts, I know very little of this town and this....chopper. I presume he was a butcher like you, though your tone and wording would suggest to me that "Chopper" may have more of a love for killing humans than poultry, venison, pork and lamb. Do go on though. I'm interested in discovering the history and truth's of this town so I can later document my findings, if anything interesting occurs.
"Of course, I would love to help out. You can count on me to keep the ruffians in line."
Eostre waits at the counter for the halfling to deliver the tankards to the various tables, hoping that the woman is actually going to come back and show her to a room. She takes the opportunity to look around at the townsfolk and other strangers assembled in the inn's common room - in particular she scrutinizes the pair of elves she sees seated at one table, and she overhears the exchange between the Tian woman bearing platters of food and the half-elf nearby. I wouldn't have expected to see elves in here
Stepping forward and bowing her head slightly, she approaches the Tian woman and the half-elf. "Please excuse the interruption. Did I just hear you say you require assistance tomorrow in return for a day's meals and a room? I've only just arrived here and I need a place to stay, but although I've some coin, it won't stretch very far. So if you want another pair of hands to help I've no objection to doing domestic tasks at the festival." She is trying hard to speak like the townsfolk.
I'm not too proud to do that sort of work, and it would give me a reason to observe the festival. It would be a lot less trouble than most of the chores I had do for the shaman. Provided that I can keep calm and the spirits don't cause trouble for me... To everyone else, her words are surprisingly erudite for a woman festooned with tattoos and grime, dressed in leathers and in desperate need of a wash. Eostre smiles again. "Of course I could use a bath first. I probably smell quite bad right now."
Scrivner examines the human woman who just approached them, and looks her up and down.
Well, she certainly looks like she would be of some help.
He looks back at Ameiko and says.
"Well, many hands makes light work as my grandfather always used to say."
Scrivner noticing the sheer amount of work that Ameiko has to do also immediately offers some help.
"You seem to need a bit of help right now. Do you wish for me to start this very instant?"
"Well it looks like that makes to two of you! Very good, then. I won't need you until the morning, so no need to draw the dagger too quickly. I'll need you to start work in the kitchens at eight before heading off to the festival." She turns to Eostre. If you're looking for a bath I or Bethana can pour you one upstairs. I don't believe I caught your name. I'm Ameiko Kajitsu, if I haven't introduced myself.
"You may call me Eostre, if you wish to. A pleasure to meet you. I can see you're extremely busy here right now, but perhaps it's best if I don't offer to help now, at least not as dirty as I am." says the Shoanti woman.
"If you can tell me where to find some clean water I'll see what I can do about scrubbing up, then I'll be fit to help serve your guests." She looks at the half-elf who was speaking with Ameiko. "And you, friend? It seems we'll both be helping out here during the festival..."
I'd best get used to being friendly to strangers, since I'll be living among them until whatever is about to happen, happens...
The man talking to Charles lowers his voice. "So he haven't heard about the Late Unpleasantness, then? Well couple years back, people started being murdered all over the place. I'll tell you, Sandpoint has seen it's share of murders, but never in such quantity... or gruesomeness. We would find bodies with deep cuts to the neck and torso, with their hands and feet stacked nearby. The corpses were always missing their eyes and tongue, ripped out of their heads. That's where the name came from. "The Chopper," he was called."
"The current Sheriff, Balor Hemlock, found Sheriff Avertin dead next to a freshly killed victim and a trail of blood leading away from the scene. At that point, Avertin was the Chopper's 25th victim. The Sheriff must have come across the Chopper while he was desecrating a victim's corpse and wounded him before being killed as well. The guard followed the trail of blood which led all the way to the house of Jervis Stoot. "
"Jervis Stoot was an eccentric woodcarver who lived in a house right on the isle above the Old Light he built himself some 15 years prior. He seemed to have the notion of carving a bird into the side of every house in Sandpoint, with permission of course. He was incredibly skillful, so if Stoot chose your house as the site for his new project, you seized the opportunity. It was a bit of a bragging point to be 'Sporting a Stoot'. He'd often be seen wandering the streets for days before noticing a hidden bird in a fence post, lintel, steeple, or doorframe, which he'd then secure permission to "release" with his trusty hatchets and carving knives. He had moved up to that us in order to be closer to the birds as he said."
"They refused to believe the implication, and were inclined to believe that he was actually the Chopper's had come to claim Jervis as his 26th victim. But then they found the 25 sets of eyes and tongues atop a horrific alter to some vile demon lord who's name should not be spoken aloud and Jervis at the base of the alter, having plucked his own eyes and tongue out in a final offering."
"How's that for a gruesome story?"
Low on funds Arandor notes the conversation going on with Ameiko, free room and meals would be a great help. Not wanting to disengage from the conversation he started with the pale elf that sat near him he plans to contact Ameiko later.
Another man at Lord Charles's table speaks up. Everyone nearby had been listening to Chod talk. "That wasn't the end of it, either. In the same week, the cathedral burned down, killing Ezakien Tobyn and his lovely daughter Nuala. "
"Well my name is Scrivner Durran, and it is a pleasure to meet you Miss Eostre."
Listening to the human who spoke up Scrivner adds in.
"By Desna, is that true? A church burned down and killed a priest and his daughter?"
He turns around. "Aye, it's true. And Nuala wasn't just any young woman, she was an aasimar with the blood of celestials in her veins. People said she was blessed by Desna. Desna rest there souls. They weren't the only ones who died, because the fire spread across the rooftops. Many other buildings were damaged from the flames."
Disinterested in providing petty assistance to this establishment himself, the severe elf remains focused on his conversation with this interesting and friendly kindred fellow. He nods in thanks as he observes the notes and journal politely cleared away for him to have a seat. Failing to catch their subject matter, he nonetheless puts two and two together, especially after the small bird lands upon the elf's shoulder.
Ah, a fellow student of the arcane arts. Excellent. Perhaps he is here for the same reason as I...
After sipping his ale, he extends his hand to the friendly elf. But his tone remains serious, "The aroma is pleasant indeed. And you surmise correctly, I am not from Sandpoint; and neither are you, by my observation. Awarthannen, at your service. Pray tell, friend, are you not a scholar of the arcane?"
Awarthannen gestures at the friendly elf's notes and journal as he speaks his last sentence, calmly sipping his ale as Arandor responds.
Awarthannen remains oblivious to the other conversation going on, being more interested in speaking with a fellow scholar than whatever rubbish the others are talking about.
Shaking Awarthannen's hand, "Yes, yes! Very astute I have been studying the arcane arts almost my entire life ... conjuration fascinates me. I have even spent time in Qadira delving into the finer points of Genie summoning.", Arandor embellishes his statement with a gesture as he quietly says, "anuil nathrac" and with a flourish a portion of the smoke before him coalesces into a wispy, crude, genie-shaped form. He pauses to let the smoke-shape hang in space and then lightly puffs, releasing the smokey form into the chamber . "But that is not why I am here".
"Longer than I can remember I have been intrigued with the ancient ruins one can find scattered around Varisia and beyond. I have spent countless hours researching these structures and their origins. Few realize that many of these ruins are from the same grand empire and are truly ancient ... thousands, thousands, of years old. Oh how the Thassilonian empire tasks me ... I have traveled to all corners to reveal even the smallest portion of lore."
"'Niteo concisus', that is how the ancient Thassilonians would say 'Old Light'. My purpose here in Sandpoint is to study what the locals call the 'Old Light'. You may have seen the ruins of this structure as you approached town. Tomorrow I hope to visit the Old Light and perform some calculations ...". Arandor sweeps his arm across the table making space for his journal, and causing the bird to flit back to the rafters with what could only be interpreted as a curse. Plopping his journal down he flips to the page he had previously been writing on. The pages present a sketch of the ruin as seen from a southern approach, as well as top, and side views with measurement lines ready for figures. Pointing to some notes scrawled on the page Arandor remarks, "I believe this is identical to a ruin far north of here. There is nothing left of the other but the slightest hint of a round structure. It is my hypothesis that the diameters will match ... Oh, please forgive me! How can I be so rude? Arandor, Arandor Verion ... pleased to make your acquaintance."
Arandor hears something about a murderer living near the Old Light ... His interest piqued, his attention is now split. He glances towards his familiar, a thrush, as it swoops to his shoulder. The thrush cocks its head while Arandor whispers something to the bird. Arandor's attention swings back to his new acquaintance as his familiar flits to a perch near the group discussing "The Chopper".
"An aasimar died in this fire you speak of, which also destroyed your temple, and just after someone was found to be killing and sacrificing demihuman remains to some demon lord?" Eostre can't help interjecting, having overheard part of the conversation after Scrivner spoke to the storyteller. That sounds significant, in light of the omens which brought me here...
Eostre steps closer to the table where the conversation is taking place. "Forgive my curiosity. What entity was this Stoot attempting to sacrifice to? And where were his remains buried after he was found?" Cocking her head to one side, she looks at the two seated men, trying to gauge whether the tale is fanciful gossip, or may have some substance. "I came here seeking something which has disturbed the spirits. What you are describing may be related to those omens. Who could tell me more about this 'Chopper'?"
"Chod here just told the full tale. He was sacrificing to a demon lord of sorts. You'll have good luck finding his body, hah! He was burned, with his ashes scattered to the wind. They tried there best to keep his spirit from returning, you see."
"That's enough talk of the past," Chod says. "The cathedral has been rebuilt, and it's time to celebrate, not dwell on tragedies 3 years past. Ameiko, another ale, right over here!"
Ameiko comes and delivers stew to Charle's table. "Another ale it is. I'll be right back."
Scrivner nods his head and begins to speak to Chod.
"True, better to look to the future than the past, but sometimes the past has something to offer us in knowledge and experience. The past I am speaking of is the Thassilonian Empire, and more specifically The Old Light. Do you know anything about that place?"
At Arandor's sudden casting, Awarthannen tenses for a very brief moment. Instinctively, he would have reached for his sword and cut the hapless elf in two before a spell be placed upon him. But his well-trained arcane insight recognized a harmless initiate's spell in the genie of smoke.
Taking in Arandor's enthusiastic elaboration, one topic stands out in his head in particular.
How fortuitous. This fellow would provide a useful companion in my endeavor...
"Ten millennia, by the reckoning of some scholars at least."
Awarthannen reaches into his tar-coated satchel as he speaks this sentence, producing a leather-bound tome. Placing it on the table before himself, Awarthannen continues.
"Thassilon... ancient empire of the powerful Runelords. We are here in common purpose then, brother. For I too am a scholar of the ancient ones. Perhaps we would do well to combine our talents and explore the niteo concisus together? For I am also a student of the sword and bow, and may therefore lend protection through both the arts of war and magic, should that prove needed, as well as compliment your scholarly talents."
Awarthannen's hand rests on top of the tome he produced, as if to prevent anyone from touching it. But his hand does not cover its title, written in the Common tongue, which is plainly visible to Arandor nearby: A History of Thassilon, written by Kreighton Shaine, M.S.
After this, Awarthannen's head spins to turn to Scrivner...
Did this half-human just speak of Thassilon and niteo concisus? Fascinating...
"I don't know much about it," Chod says. "It was a lighthouse during the time of the ancient Thassilonian Empire. There's a man who had some odd theory about it. Let me remember his name... Quink! It was something Quink. He lives in one of the houses by the structure. He would be the one to talk to if you wanted to find out more. Ahh, there's my ale!"
Ameiko delivers stew to Arandor and Awarthannen. "Can I do anything else for you?" she asks.
Rubbing his chin in thought, "Shaine, Shaine ... Oh yes, Kreighton Shaine Master of Scrolls and member of the Pathfinder Society. Some told me to speak with him ... That he may have some information. Others informed me however that he was just as likely to burden me instead with his treatise on the migratory patterns of the flumph. Given the uncertainty of results for my travels I have yet to make the long journey to Absolom. Joining forces in our search of the long dead Thassilonians ... Ha ha ... Yes! That would be wonderful! So often these scholarly endeavors are quite lonely.
The familiar flutters back to perch on Arandor's shoulder and appears to chirp into his ear. "Amazing! Those individuals at that table are also speaking of the Old Light ... " Ameiko appears at the table and inquires if she can be of service. Ah wonderful, thank you Ms. Kaijitsu ... Yes you may be of help, do you know those individuals at that table there ... I would be most thankful for an introduction."
Looking to Chod with curiosity and grace, Charles listens intently to the whole story.
Interesting.
I see. It appears this town has more to it than meets the eye. Murder isn't something I like to speak of, nor is it something I wish to hear about, but what has me most interested are two things.
Would you mind discussing these points over dinner? I have been travelling all week and would very much appreciate it. However, allow me to divulge into the details I wish to hear from you.
Charles looks at his dinner, thinking to himself momentarily on how best to describe the information he requires.
To begin with, how did so many murders occur unnoticed in a town as small as this? Secondly, tell me more about this fire you speak of. A priest was killed, as was his daughter...Nualia you say? What reasoning lay behind it, if any, and what other details can you provide on the subject?
This time, Charles is genuinely interested, and begins to tuck into his stew.
"Go unnoticed?! Everyone was noticing! We were all scared out of our wits thinking that maybe we would be the Chopper's next victim. I'm lucky to be alive running in to him twice. As for the fire, it was just horrible accident we never found the cause of," Chod replies.
"That large man with the beard is Chod, he own the meat shop. The half-elf's name is Scrivner, and the Shoanti woman is Eostre. I don't recall the name of the man in the eyepatch," Ameiko says.
The stew and ale are both topnotch. The crowd is beginning to wane, and it's no longer as cramped.
That wasn't exactly what I meant, but...
Charles sighs as he rewords things a little better for the Butcher.
With the body count being as high as you say, I would have thought somebody would notice a crazed man murdering innocents in the dead of night.
Unless they did, but became the victims themselves..... he thinks, as he stares out from the corner of his single most visible eye at Ameiko's bum with no change in expression, most likely without those around him realising.
"Wait that doesn't make sense."
Scrivner looks at the Chod and begins to question him.
"How did you not get a look at this Chopper's face? I mean you were attacked by him twice and never saw his face?"
Scrivner thinks to himself and adds in another few questions.
"There is some more questions that I have. Which two victims were you attacked between? I mean what was the number of the victims that you between the first time like the 5th victim and the 6th? Where were you attacked the first time? Also, who were you between during your second attack and where were you attacked? Did you get interviewed by the sheriff for the attacks?"
To Arandor, he replies with a brief, slight smile... something he appears to not be very comfortable doing often, "Very well then. Shaine, yes, the one and only. Indeed, I too was wary, considering the man's reputation. He proved surprisingly rather informative on the subject, despite seeming more interested in an invisible dragonfly he kept going on about. And his tome on the matter has proven rather well rounded on current Thassilonian research, albeit somewhat disorganized and aimless at times. However, only first-hand exploration may sort fact from fantasy."
When Ameiko asks him if there is anything else she can do for him, a wicked thought passes through Awarthannen's mind.
Admirably shapely, for a human. Bah, I'm old enough to be her ancestor... Focus, now.
Another difficult and slight smile, "Nothing, dear. Thank you, this smells delightful."
After returning his tome to his satchel for fear of soiling it, he speaks to Arandor again in between small mouthfuls of stew, "I endeavor to begin work at the crack of dawn. Perhaps we might find more companions by then..."
He speaks this as he shifts his head to observe the others now, implying that perhaps one or more of them might share their own interests. He consumes more of his stew while listening in on their conversation about several murders and a burning cathedral.
Quink... odd theory about the Old Light... lives by it... remember that name. Actually, that cloaked fellow, is he half-human, or not elven at all I wonder? There is something... elven about him, I cannot place it. No matter, he knows something of Thassilon, it seems. And this Chod fellow, a mere butcher, he as well knows of the lighthouse's origin. I suppose, however, it is to be expected that every peon in Varisia may know a little about the ancients' ruins...
Eostre clears her throat and interrupts Scrivner, holding up her hand in front of her - palm out - to indicate she wishes to speak. "Wait a moment, Scrivner. We are interrupting these men and distracting them from their meal, so we should at least introduce ourselves, and then ask if they would mind if we joined their discussion."
Turning her attention back to Chod and the grim looking individual with the eyepatch, she says "My name is Eostre. I've newly arrived in town seeking signs of... something like what you are speaking of, possibly. Would you mind if Scrivner here and I joined you at your table? In any case, I'm in need of a meal myself, so I have to find a seat anyway."
She smiles at the two men, hoping that one or the other will acquiesce, but makes no move to seat herself until invited to do so. Some of these Chelish have strange customs, but being polite and clear about my intentions should help avoid any misunderstandings, I hope.
"Feel free to do so. You sure have a lot of question among the lot of you. I'm afraid don't have time to answer them all." You can see that Chod is getting close to finishing his supper. "Charles, I must have misunderstood you. Jervis was careful and intelligent about it. There was no killing people out in the open where the town could see." He turns to Scrivner, a little annoyed. "It feels like I'm being interrogated here. He wore a mask, like anyone who lasted that long would, that's how I never saw his face. Of course I was interviewed by the sheriff. Well I'm off to get some early shut-eye. I have work to do in the morning and I want to be well rested. Good night to the lot of you, maybe we'll run into each other at the festival." He pays his the meal and leaves the establishment.
You all notice that Ameiko has started to play an exotic 3-stringed Tien instrument called a "samisen" with great skill at a table near the middle of the room. At this point it's about 8:30. Most of the crowd has headed off, but those remaining stop to listen and clap their hands to the music.
Awesome Video of Samisen Playing. You can imagine Ameiko playing this.
Scrivner simply shrugs and sits down at an empty table and listens to the music.
Arandor approaches the table, Oh, I am sorry to miss that man. What was he saying about the old light? Both this kind gentleman here, Awarthannen, and I have particular interest in this ancient Thassilonian structure ... may we take a seat at your table as well?"
Scrivner motions to the seats next to him.
"Of course, I always have room for fellow scholars of Thassilonia. The man was speaking of another scholar called Quink who supposedly had a very interesting theory of Ancient Thassiloniaa. After I am done helping Miss Ameiko tomorrow with work, and visiting the church to pay my respects to the dead priest Ezakien I shall head over there immediately. Would you like to join me?"
As Ameiko plays, Awarthannen silently appreciates her talent. When Arandor approaches the other table, he places his spoon down carefully, pats his mouth respectably with a cloth napkin, places it back exactly as it was upon the table, and then looks up, rising to his feet. He approaches the other table as well, allowing Arandor to make the introduction.
The elf in black introduces himself formally with a slight bow and a stern visage, "Awarthannen, at your service." Though disconcerting white eyes may noticeably linger for half a second longer on the Shoanti girl, Awarthannen sweeps his head slowly from left to right, giving each person due eye contact.
His elven eyes return now to Scrivner, who might sense the distinct impression of being scrutinized by the dark elf's intense gaze. "As Master Arandor has stated," he motions with the back of his open palm to indicate Arandor, who has not given his name yet, "we are indeed scholars of ancient Thassilon. Just met by providence, some would say. I have a mind to speak with Quink as well at dawn, if it suits you. I accept your invitation Master... Scrivner, is it?"
I could care less about this dead priest or his daughter, tragic as it may be. If these persons here prove of use to me in my endeavors, however... perhaps I shall need to show more interest in their interests.
Awarthannen extends his hand to Scrivner. Before taking one of the empty seats, he does likewise to everyone else engaged in the conversation, taking note of any names he's missed while focused on his earlier conversation with Arandor.
"Well the more the merrier as I always say."
"I too am anxious to continue my studies and would prefer to talk to Quink or journey to the Old Light first thing tomorrow. After that I wold be willing to help or take in the Swallowtail festival before further research."