"Maybe we should go to the temple first?" Cira suggests. "If anyone in this village is going to be more welcoming than others, I would guess it would be the people there.
Marcus gazes longingly at the tavern, despite the ner'do'els out front. Then, signing heavily, nods is head to Cira.
"Yes you are probably right. The ale is probably watered down and tastes like swamp anyway."
Grargath chuckles at Marcus. "We'll have t' get some good, dwarven ale in yah one o' these days."
Grargath hesitates for a moment, noticing the sounds of the blacksmith mingling with a mournful song, then leads the way into the Hall of the Sun.
The shrine's interior is an open and clean, despite the mud of Thornhill. A thick layer of fragrant straw is laid down, with a number of Qadiran prayer rugs laid out. Incense burns atop a simple altar next to a wooden depiction of the Dawnflower. The wooden walls are the most impressive thing about the place, featuring intricate carvings of the rising sun on one side, and a depiction of an angelic woman casting a massive beast of claws and fire into a canyon on the other.
"Everlight bless you, master dwarf," calls out a feminine voice with a heavy Qadiran accent. A young woman approaches the party. Her features are exotic for Taldor: olive skin, wavy dark hair, and a golden nose ring that glints in the candle light. She dresses in earth tones, uncommon for the clergy of Sarenrae.
"I do not often get visitors, and I know everyone in Thornhill. What brings strangers to the Hall of the Sun?"
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Francis looks around the shrine in awe. "It has been too long since I have stepped into one of your holy places, my Lady." he whispers in prayer to his goddess.
"Everlight bless you as well, Sister." Francis says as he makes the appropriate religious gestures for a Sarenrite cleric. "I am a fellow servant of our Lady, The Dawnflower. Our group here has come to help find the missing druid in the Dragonfens. We are looking for any kind of help we can get in our search."
Marcus' eyes light up as they are greeted by the attractive you g priestess, instantly flashing his charming smile.
Yet, he wisely keeps back and silent while Francis handles the discussion with another of his order, respecting both his expertise and yearning to speak with a fellow follower of The Dawnbringer.
The young woman returns the gesture. "A missing druid?" she asks. "You are speaking of Azmur Kell. I know no other druid." She frowns, fiddling with the angelic symbol that dangles around her neck. "He and his wife came into town a couple months ago, a routine visit I understand. I am quite new to this town."
"This was not to be so routine, I think. A lizardfolk washed down the river some days earlier. Emaciated and diseased, the poor thing. I burned it as a precaution. Thornhill's reeve, a man named Luculian, spoke to Kell about it and the druid went looking for where it might have come from."
Grargath nods. "Aye, those are th' two we're lookin' for."
The dwarf frowns as the priestess goes on. An image of what the lizardfolk must have looked like flashes in his mind, and his nose crinkles in disgust.
"When they left, were they jus' followin' th' river?"
Maffei stands in the back of the group, attempting to not draw attention to herself, but as Grargath mentions following the river she lets out a small sigh. She frowns with a deep disgust as she looks out towards the swamp. "I don't suppose there's a clean, dry road running along side the river."
The priestess, whose name is Radiyya, smiles and shakes her head. "I don't think so, no."
"The druid followed the river into the Fen, but beyond that, I couldn't tell you. Zissren or Luculian might know more."
"Can you tell us anything of the lizardfolk?" Cira asks. "Or give us advice on how to interact with them? We'd like to avoid any issues if possible."
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Francis notices the Priestess scowl briefly as she mentions being new to town. "Is this your first ministry out of Seminary?" He asks. "We heard this is a bit of a standoffish town, that can't be easy for someone coming in, even if they are a servant of the gods. Give it time though, and they will come around as they see what Sarenrae is doing through you for this community." Francis says with a smile, trying to be as empathetic as possible.
"Thank you for your help, I hope others here will be as kind. Where can we find Zessren or Luculian?" Francis asks.
"An' do yah know an Izora al-Warezana?" Grargath adds. "We were told t' ask fer her."
Dreamily admiring the priestess' beautiful face, Marcus frowns slightly at the slight scowl that crosses her face as she mentions being new.
Hmm, interesting. She shouldn't scowl like that
He remains silent for the moment, letting the rest of the crew get through their questions and answers.
"I don't know much that Zissren couldn't explain in greater detail," Radiyya explains, turning to Cira. "I can tell you what they think of the Dawnflower though," she adds with a bittersweet laugh.
When Francis mentions her struggles with the town, the priestess sighs and sits down on a pew. "It's my first ministry, yes," she explains, "But I volunteered for it. I just didn't expect it to be this hard. Nobody comes to dawn worship, they mock the way I pray and the way I talk. I've even heard comments on my skin. I had hopes that the prejudices of our countries' pasts would not find me here, of all places." She shakes her head and abruptly stands back up.
"But you did not come here to listen to me gripe about the obstacles Sarenrae wishes me to overcome. Luculian you will find at his home, next to the trading post, Wennell's. And Zissren, well, she lives on an island near the southern entrance of the lake. Just outside of town."
"Give it time," Cira says kindly. "Sometimes it takes people awhile to grow accustomed to new things. But thank you for the information you provided, you've been a great help. It looks as though it's time for us to take our inquiries elsewhere, however." She gives Marcus a discreet nudge, a mischievous smirk playing across her face. "Perhaps we should see if this Luculian has any information that might help us."
Grargath frowns in sympathy as Radiyya opens up about her difficulty in Thornhill. But, not being known for his comforting skills, he leaves the kind words to Cira.
"Luculian an' Zissren," he says after a moment, committing the names to memory. "Ye mentioned Luculian is th' reeve. Who is Zissren t' th' town?"
"Zissren isn't part of the town," Radiyya explains. "Not really. She's a lizardfolk shaman of some kind, lots of them come to see her. Most in town think that she's a drugged-up crackpot, but I think she's trying to keep the peace between our kind."
Marcus snaps out of his reverie and flashes his brilliant smile to the priestess.
"I wish to thank you for your time, but it sounds like we have further leads to follow."
Grargath nods. "Aye, time is o' th' essence. Ye've been a great help."
Luculian's home is one of the largest constructions in town, although when only two of the buildings in Thornhill can claim a second floor, that isn't saying much. A low, rambling affair—poorly maintained and with a surly-looking goat gnawing at a tuft of weeds nearby the front door—the reeve's residence is hardly impressive.
Loud arguing coming from inside the home can be heard from the muddy road.
Marcus' ears prick up at the sounds of arguing as they approach the place.
"At least things should be interesting, maybe." he mutters as the group approaches the domicile and knocks
The bard tries to get his game face on, knowing he might need to put the charm on if they interrupted a particularly spectacular argument, or some such, but his mind keeps drifting to the pretty priestess they just left.
I need to get laid. And drunk. Both. We need to get back to town fast so I can get laid and drink. Maybe even in that order
A middle-aged woman answers Marcus's knock with a scowl. In one arm, she clutches a young boy to her hip, his face streaked with snot and mud.
"Can I help you?" she demands, scowling at the party.
Grargath stands behind Francis and Marcus, wondering if the woman can even see him behind the humans. His eyes flick between her and the filthy looking boy who he assumes to be her son.
Seems like she has 'er hands full. Mebbe Luciian isn't home.
He shuffles his feet awkwardly, letting the more charming members of the party explain themselves.
The woman scowls again and shouts back into the house. "Luculian! Some strangers are here for you." She turns back to the party. "The reeve'll be right with you." Her tone implies that she couldn't care less about whatever business the newcomer's might have, and she promptly leaves, carrying the snot-nosed kid with her.
Luculian eventually shuffles to the door. The reeve is as unimpressive as the town he ostensibly governs: a balding, middle-aged man that stinks of mud and sour wine. His clothes might be a little cleaner than other Thornhillers, but it's difficult to tell. He looks sullenly between the adventurers with bloodshot eyes and yawns.
"Can I help you, outsiders?"
At first glance, the town's reeve didn't strike Cira as the kind of man who cared too much about... well, much of anything. Maybe I'm wrong about that, she thinks to herself. But if I'm not...
"Hello!" she says brightly. "Thank you so much for seeing us. We're here hoping that we can aid a missing druid that came through here. Azmur Kell? We were told you might be able to help us."
"Might be I could," Luculian replies, his eyes narrowing. "What's he to ya?"
"We heard about th' Kells disappearance in Belhaim," Grargath offers. "While we've been helpin' th' Baroness an' others there. We want t' help find Azmur an' Rima."
Marcus smiles and adds. "Cant hurt to have another healthy druid or two to keep the swampland safe, right?"
Maffei was gazing out towards the swamp, her face twisted in complete misery. She softly spoke, as if trying halfheartedly to hide her distaste, "Perhaps with another Druid, the swamp would be cleaned up, but I suppose they do like it this way...filthy and muddy...that retched smell..."
Cira glances at Maffei. "It's not... that bad," she says quietly, and somewhat unconvincingly.
Luculian considers this momentarily, before nodding. "I can help, aye."
"Where to begin? A while back, a dead lizardman floated into town. The thing was riddled with disease, so I ordered it burned. Your druid and his wife visited not shortly after. We spoke on the corpse and what it might portend, and he decided to venture deeper into the swamp to see if he could contact any of the tribes."
"Since they left Thornhill, things have only become worse. If we stay out of the deepest part of the Dragonfen, We've usually avoided conflict with the lizards. But now... they're attacking with more regularity. They're uncoordinated, but we've lost some folk. Mostly lone woodsmen and other periphery types, you see. But Gozreh knows when they might band together and attack for real."
Marcus smiles and hitches up his sword belt, "its a good thing we are such Big Damned Heroes."
Though the mention of disease and marauding lizardmen does give him some trepidation he worked hard to suppress on the outside.
Cira raises an eyebrow. "'Periphery' types?"
Grargath grumbles at Luculian's apparent brushing off of the ones who have died already, but decides against commenting on it.
"D' ye know wha' tribes they were hopin' t' meet with?"
Luculian sniffs and picks at a scab on his forearm. "Yes, folks that aren't really part of the community." He gives Cira a knowing look. "I'm sure you know the type."
He turns to Grargath. "I don't recall exactly, no. Something about a Claw? Or was it Jaw? Honestly, all of the bloody lizards look and sound alike to me."
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"I would imagine we all look the same to them as well. Probably taste the same to them too, for that matter. I met a lizardman once who said he doesn't care what someone looks like as long as they've drunk plenty of wine to marinade their insides." Francis says. "I don't drink much wine, so I'm pretty safe."
"Yes, folks that aren't really part of the community." He gives Cira a knowing look. "I'm sure you know the type."
Cira freezes, feeling as though she'd been struck in the stomach. Though surely the comment was not directed towards her personally, the angry heat of repressed humiliation rises within her. Red in the face and ears, she clenches her fists at her side, and with a glare at the reeve, she bites her tongue and turns away.
Sensing the sorceress' distress, Marcus places a comforting hand on Cira's shoulder. Half to comfort her, half to stop her from incinerating the rude Luculian.
"Sounds like we've got our work cut out for us."
Grargath looks quickly between Luculian and Cira, also sensing the tension. He wasn't a fan of the reeve's attitude either, but obviously his words would strike a chord with the half-elf.
"Thanks fer yer time." To the group, he adds, "Let's find Zissren. Mebbe she'll know more."
Zissren dwells on a small, muddy island to the south of Thornhill. Living within a mud & wattle hut atop the isle, the shaman is a tall, muscled female with a noble cast to her bearing. She wears little besides a belt and bandolier from which hang multiple pouches, revealing a body covered with glossy mottled scales.
As the party approaches, Zissren bows her head in greetings. "Welcome to thiss one's humble home," she says in sussurant Common. "This one is often called Zissren."
Cira lightly squeezes Marcus' hand in thanks and gives him an uneasy smile before heading towards their next stop.
As the party approaches, Zissren bows her head in greetings. "Welcome to thiss one's humble home," she says in sussurant Common. "This one is often called Zissren."
"Hello," she says as the group approaches. "It's very nice to meet you." She offers brief introductions before continuing. "We're here looking for a druid and his wife, Azmur and Rima, and would like to ask some questions, if that's alright. Luculian was... not especially helpful," she finishes, her disdain for the reeve clear.
Grargath nods when Cira introduces him. "Aye, any 'elp ye can give us would be appreciated. We were told they went off int' th' swamp, but Luculian was short on details."
"Yess," Zissren agrees. "Thiss one sseess the ssoftsskinss Azzmur ant Rima. They are clutchmatess of thiss one. Pleasse, enter thiss one'ss home." She turns and walks through the open door of her hut.
Inside, there is little in the way of decoration save a turtle shell shield and bone club hanging on the wall. A number of stones large enough to sit on circle a smoky fire. Zissren reaches into a pouch and throws a pinch of fragrant herbs onto the fire, filling the hut with a pleasant aroma before taking a seat and gesturing for the party to do the same.
"Luculian iss misstrusstful of the tribess ant not without causse," the shaman explains when the party is seated. "Tenssionss between the peopless hass rissen for a keneration. Ssoftsskinss rait the invates the ssacret krounts of the tribess ant, in return, the tribess kill ant eat what ssoftsskinss they can fint. Thiss one workss to keep the peace, but ssusspectss a war will come. But that is not why you come to thiss one."
"The ssoftsskinss Azzmur ant Rima sseek infection in the sswamp. Thiss one ssents them in ssearch of Tark Oak tribe. Tekenerate, yess, but their leater, Ssjarlith, sseess much of poisonss ant tisseasse."
Grargath nods as he listens to the shaman's words. Sounded like a whole mess down here in Thornhill, but as Luculian said, they were here for something else.
"Thanks," Grargath says, grateful for the better help Zissren could provide. "How far in th' swamp is th' Dark Oak tribe? Can ye show us how t' get there, too?"
Marcus nods along as the lizard tells them... well, something. Despite pasting an interested look on his face, the Bard was having considerable difficulty understanding more than a third of the words being said.
Luckily Grargath seemed to understand fine, so Marcus simply nods in agreement with the dwarf and feigns an interested mein ar rhe dwarf's question.
I wonder if there is a Comprehend Accent spell out there?