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Act I: Festival and Fire
It's hard to put a finger on when it began, that strange itch that a group of strangers started to experience slowly over the days. Many have ignored this itch, and it simply went away, as if realizing these strangers wouldn't act on it, but a handful did, making their way towards West, down to the Varisian Gulf. Eventually, as days and weeks passed, they were now in the massive city of Magnimar.
It didn't take the adventurers long to eventually find out that the place they were looking for was a nameless island west of the city, a day's boat trip away. If inquiries were made about the island being nameless, most people would answer with a careless shrug, while scholars would say it was because of the Thassilon, a great kingdom that existed there thousands of years ago, most of their history shrouded by time. The rulers of Magnimar, ages ago had decided that the island shall remain nameless until the day that the mystery of the Thassilon's ruins are solved.
It didn't take long to find a ferry or boat ride over the sea to a small coastal town called [url=http://www.pathfinderwiki.com/wiki/Sandpoint]Sandpoint/url], which was located in on the best entry point to the island, a relatively flat region compared to the almost abnormal range of mountains which seemed to shelter the islands borders from the world outside. The island itself is the size of a small continent, and many adventurers have become successful adventurers here, many more have died or become lost and forgotten. Without any grand discoveries made in decades, the island has seen much less adventuring, and unknown to most, something seems to happening on the island.
Local talk around the Magnimar docks and it's many inn's and taverns, and on the boat trip over is that the Swallowtail Festival will be happening soon, and while the locals seem giddy about it, the Magnimar citizens don't seem to care much, often comparing festivals of that size a "typical day in Magnimar".
Should you look for a boat to take you over, an old man will find his way to you, a fisher, by the looks of it, and the smell, presents himself as Larkin, and admits that he eavesdropped on when you were asking about Sandpoint, offering a free trip as he's heading there on a daily basis anyhow, and he wouldn't mind company on the trip. He leaves at sunbreak and docks in Sandpoint at late evening.
Rhiannon steps off the boat, waving a final farewell to the fisherman as she sets out onto the docks, looking around with wide eyes. Though she bore her human form at the moment, she could not help but look around like an excited cat as she walked away from the docks. Festivals always excite her, since they fill even the smallest of towns with eager travellers who often impatient and wanting entertainment before the festivities themselves even begin.
She arrives early, but already people from all over come, and she eagerly seeks out the nearest tavern with the glimmering of gold in her eyes. By the time she's through the door and inside of the first tavern she saw, her lyre is already in her hands and she's finding a place to begin her performance.
The matter of the nameless island is still present in her mind, but she can hardly turn down a chance to make some coin and enjoy the whimsy of a festival before doing so. Her folk are always in search of a party, and she can't miss such fun.
Dovanik disembarks from the small fishingboat, the hood of his cloak shifting slightly as he gives the kindly old fisher a nod of gratitude for his kindness. And although the old man said that he charged no fee for the ride, Dovanik still feels obligated to pay for services rendered, and 'accidentally' leaves a silver coin behind on the boat.
On the docks he readjusts his cloak, making sure that it covers his features. The mousefolk had kept his face hidden for the duration of the voyage, mostly to avoid any awkward situations with the few other passengers on the boat. He knows that some tended to be skittish when it came to his rodent-like features and now wasn't the time to make the natives nervous.
He makes his way through the darkening streets, noting that it looked like a local festival was being set up. That'd be a nice distraction while he pieced together the mystery behind this island, after all he wasn't exactly here on official business so there was no need to rush.
He picks a tavern that looked reputable enough for him to stay in for the night without the risk of being mugged in and enters.
'Ah, they even have entertainment,' he thinks happily, pleased at his choice in establishments, as he sees a human woman in a corner playing a harp.
The adventurers arrive at the southern docks of the city, leaving the old fisherman and his dingy, but sturdy craft behind. He thanks you for the company, in especially good spirits if you entertained him with song, tales, or the occasionsl joke. As you head up the road the man pointed you to, you pass a series of wooden buildings, the botiqueon the right and the building of the mercantile league as the old, worn signs with finely handcrafted imaginery suggest. Ahead is what seems to be a lively tavern and inn by the sound of it, the Rusty Dragon.
The patrons don't seem too bothered by strangers coming in, probably because of the amount of them arriving for the festival. A quick inquiry at the bar tells you thatthe owner is gone for tonight, but the young half-elf lad takes care of you, showing you to a reasonably priced room in a good shape. Inside is a decent bed, two chairs and a small desk good enough for eating or studying. The locks seem sturdy as well both on the doors and the windows. Once he gives you the key, he seems eager to return to the main hall and listen to the performance of the strange new visitor.
Dovanik thanks the young man once they come to an agreement over lodging. He takes the key from the lad and re-enters the room. The state of the room looked reasonable -if somewhat basic- and the price was fair. With the upcoming festival room prices were sure to become a premium.
Now alone, he pulls the hood from his head revealing his rodent-like features. A pair of beady, blue-gray eyes shine with a kind yet cunning intelligence over a short, pointed nose. Sighing, he rubs his fan-like ears which had crinkled slightly from all the time with his hood up and readjusts his hat, tucking in a few strands of hair from the shock of white that ran down the back of his otherwise chestnut-furred head. Discretion was all fine and good, but it could get awfully uncomfortable sometimes.
He shrugs off his travel bag and places at the foot of the bed. Then, pulling out the necessary components from a pouch on his person, he weaves an alarm spell on the floor in the center of the room. The inn was indeed a nice place, but it didn't hurt to be careful regardless.
Satisfied with his preparations, Dovanik pulls the cloak over his head again and heads back into the inn proper, hoping to grab a bite to eat before turning in for the night.