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Fireday, 15th Pharast 4711
Sandpoint, Varisia – The Lost Coast
The Rusty Dragon
The din of clanking dishes, metal tankards and voices resonates throughout the Rusty Dragon tavern in Sandpoint on a busy Fireday night. All of you have made your way to Ameiko’s establishment, and the rumors have been swirling all night. Merchant caravans and travelers are being ambushed on the Lost Coast Road, and the signs seem to point to an emboldened and aggressive foe – goblins. These goblins have become unusually courageous, and reports of pyrotechnic displays in the night sky seem to hint at why. After the troubles with goblin attacks many years ago during the Swallowtail Festival, and remembering what those events wound up leading to, the authorities are taking the threat seriously. However, the city watch under sheriff Belor Hemlock has always been a lean operation, and the word has gone out that the old ‘goblin bounty’ has been reinstated. It seems that enterprising adventurers are needed to confront the threat of the goblin tribe in Brinestump Marsh. Just three nights ago, a group of adventurers entered Brinestump, but they have not been heard from since. Given the Rusty Dragon's reputation for catering to adventurer types, it's no surprise that all of you have wound up here on a Fireday night, with the intention of finding some like-minded individuals to venture out and aid the town of Sandpoint.
For any who have frequented the Rusty Dragon before, the sight of the spindly young man wearing robes of subdued shades of green is unsurprising. His unkempt mop of black hair hangs about his head and shoulders in a disheveled mess, threatening to fall into the mug he has been staring into for several minutes now. Typically given to overly indulge himself in The Dragon's barroom antics, he seems an altogether different person on this particular night. His gaze remains on his drink, or perhaps past it; he absentmindedly traces the rim of the mug with his right index finger.
A year ago today... at last, his gaze lifts and he peers about the room from stooped shoulders, both elbows planted firmly on the bar. I thought he would've shown up again at some point, but a whole year? Finally, the mug is raised and he takes a full swig. The sour expression on his face tells the tale plainly - he must have been contemplating his drink for a great deal of time for it to have staled so thoroughly. He responds to this by cupping a hand over the mouth of his drink and muttering something under his breath.
Whatever melancholy had inflicted Amelius seems to lift once more, and he wheels about in his seat to take in the scene, finally lending an ear to the uproar of commotion about the encroaching goblin threat.
Garridan has spent the past several days on edge because of the goblin attacks. He well remembers his last serious encounter with them, and he knows that this time he will be ready... but it also seems that the time will never come. What's the point of being a member of the militia if goblins are given free reign to attack travelers?
After another interminable shift guarding the town, Garridan has spent the last hour at the Rusty Dragon nursing his drink. As he listens to people talk about the situation, a fire slowly grows in him, until finally he stands. Blushing slightly from the attention as he raises his voice, he addresses the room.
"Hello. Um... I, well, it's obvious that something needs to be done about these goblins. If anyone else is interested, please, come to my table. Thank you."
He quickly sits again, taking a drink from his tankard to distract himself from the eyes of the room that still follow him.
Ostar picked up his pace as he headed for The Rusty Dragon. About time old Hemlock took some action, he mused to himself. But we can't have a mob rushing out to chase goblins - this is going to require some planning.
As he turns the corner and sees the tavern, he slows up, then halts for a moment. Taking a deep breath, the young cleric seeks to calm himself before entering the busy establishment. Not a place I'm likely to be very welcome, yet the one place duty demands I go. Raising his hand to open the door, Ostar hoped no-one passing nor inside would see that it was shaking.
Entering the tavern, Ostar imagined that a hush descended over the place. Muttered comments and averted gazes assailed him; he swallowed hard and walked in nonetheless. In truth, any member of the guard would likely have elicited a reaction - many faces familiar to law enforcement made themselves no stranger to drinking establishments. But he felt uncomfortable in the company of so many, with the addition of alcohol to the mix, and the discord caused by the Goblin attacks. A mix of elements as combustible as he could imagine.
Hearing a young man stand up and ask for parties interested in taking on the goblins to come to his table, Ostar makes his way over. He sees a familiar face, and smiles. Garridan? I should have known you'd be up for some Goblin hunting! I'm pleased to see that there's more than simple rabble here, tonight!
Caerwyn looks around the common room of the inn as he enters. Having just arrived from a long range patrol down the coast road he thought he would grab an ale to wash the dust out of his mouth and throat before heading to his room and get himself cleaned up. But a quick conversation with Sheriff Hemlock put paid to that idea.
Nodding to the table were Garridan and Ostar are seated he makes his way to the bar to order his drink before heading over to join the other militiamen. Nearly tripping over an old, rusty grain scythe that some fool brought into the inn Caerwyn shakes his head ruefully before sitting down "Look like it's going to be an early night. We might be needed in the morning to help save this lot from themselves once they go out hunting goblins."
As the half-elf scout makes his way to the bar, a familiar voice greets him. A young woman behind the bar wearing an exotic mix of Varisian and foreign looking clothing turns to him and smiles. It is Ameiko Kaijitsu, owner of the Rusty Dragon and the Sandpoint Glassworks. Her voice has a hint of playfulness and charm to it, and she smiles as she approaches you. A prominent tattoo of a serpent graces her left arm, and her hair looks like a tangle of exotic bird feathers, braids, and bangs of white hair contrasting with the jet black of the rest of it.
"What'll it be stranger?" she asks, her voice giving off just a hint of playfulness and charm. "Garridan and Ostar are over there, looks like they might be plotting something! Eliara should be around too, I told her she should play us something inspiring."
Garridan smiles at Ostar in return. "Ostar!" he says, sounding relieved. "I was hoping to find someone that would know what they were doing. And unless I'm mistaken, it looks as though Caerwyn just came in. This may be dangerous, but, well, I couldn't ask for better companions. It's like the best of the militia come together to do what we should have been doing from the outset... dealing with the goblins, not guarding village walls."
Ostar sits down after a moment, choosing his chair cautiously, so as not to have his back to the door, or too many potential attackers. I agree, taking these Goblins down should be our top priority. Didn't they attack Sandpoint, in broad daylight, just a few years ago? We musn't let the little beasts grow too bold.
Sitting back and smiling grimly, Ostar taps the table for a moment before speaking again. I'm glad of your presence here, my friend, and of Caerwyn's also. I had images of this mob - the cream of Sandpoint, no doubt - grabbing whatever implements were close at hand and sallying forth to meet our foes in the dark of night.
Amelius has been stealing looks at Garridan's table since Ostar joined him. Sparing one more sidelong glance, he finally rises from his seat at the bar and begins sauntering over to join the two gentlemen. He closes about half of the distance before he stops quite suddenly, then wheels around and races back to his previous seat at the bar. He scoops up his mug with both hands, turns slowly, then resumes approaching Garridan and Ostar's table again. He skids to a halt just short of the pair, and crooks his back slightly in what might be an attempt at a bow.
"Hello, sirs. I don't mean to be rude - far from it - but I overheard you saying something about goblins and townsfolk and guards and villagers and tables...and..." It is only now that Amelius contemplates the mug he still grasps firmly in both hands, the fact that he had consumed its contents several minutes ago now occupying his attention. "Empty. What a pity."
He lets out a sigh, a soft exhale, before he realizes the two men he addressed are still looking at him expectantly. "Oh! Yes. Goblins, was it? Do you need help with goblins? Can I sit down?" He frees his right hand from the tankard and rests it along the top of a chair, awaiting permission to join the two.
Garridan eyes Amelius thoughtfully for a moment, before shrugging. "Far be it from me to exclude anyone truly capable from this... endeavor. I was hoping to find some of like mind to come with me and deal with the goblin threat before they grow so bold as to attack our town as they did some years ago. I know Ostar here is more than capable, as we have served in the militia together, but I must ask... what can you bring to this table? Even if fighting goblins isn't exactly the stuff of epic tales, it is dangerous, and I wouldn't want anything unfortunate to happen to anyone who comes along."
"Well," Amelius begins, fidgeting with his left pinky nervously, "my spear is over there on the wall. And if that doesn't work, I think I can weave together a spell or two to get the job done. I'm just tired of sitting in the tavern every night, really."
Amelius considers his mug again, frowning slightly. Best not. Don't want them to think you're a drunkard.
"Oh, do you know if Shalelu will be coming along?" Amelius noticeably perks up as he asks the question.
This Fireday evening, like many others, was spent by Eliaera in the bustling warmth of the Rusty Dragon Inn. Until shooed off with a laugh by Ameiko to 'do something useful – get some music going!', the Varisian woman lingered around the bar, occasionally nursing a fruity cocktail or sweet honey mead until her tongue was liberally loosened by the warmth of the alcohol. For the past hour or so, her face somewhat flushed from the slight inebriation, she's taken the spotlight in the area left open for performances, delighting onlookers with a lilting, cheerful song or encouraging others to dance while she accompanies them on a borrowed, well-used lute.
As Ostar and Caerwyn enter the tavern, Eliaera has taken centre-stage again, an older Varisian man having borrowed the fiddle to spruik a more traditional tune for her to dance to. Though dressed in more comfortable rather than flashy clothes this evening, the bard makes do with a single Varisian scarf, light blue in colour and decorated around the edges with gold embroidery. As she dances and twirls, the thin fabric billows and whips, and her long black hair billows out behind her like a long, silky ribbon. As the performance comes to an end, the small crowd watching her lets out a cheer, calling for more—as they always did! At that moment, Garridan shyly stood up, calling out for those interested in taking on the goblin menace; the distraction and subsequent murmured conversation between the old-timers enjoying the music was enough for Eliaera to nimbly slip out of the circle, begging them to give her a break to catch her breath and have another drink.
Eliaera deftly takes a seat at the bar next to Caerwyn, sinking her head down on her on the counter and burying it in her arms. Beads of sweat have gathered on her brow and neck and her hair is mussed from the exertion. "Ameikooooo," she whines, not even looking up, her voice slightly muffled, "I get another cocktail for all that work I did just now, riiiight?"
She then glances sideways at the half-elven man from between her hair and arms, vibrant purple eyes slightly visible through her somewhat dishevelled pose. "Did you hear what they're doing?" she asks Caerwyn as she waits for her drink to be made. "Going off goblin hunting or something? Sounds dangerous. ... And kinda fun." Though it's hard to see from her pose, you get the sense that she's grinning.
Eliaera sits up at that point, stretching her arms as she turns her attention back to her friend. "What d'ya think, Ameiko? You even said my footwork has improved when we sparred the other week. And I'm almost totally out of money... my ink ran out the other night and I can't convince Ven Vinder to give me a discount." She sighs.
Ameiko gives the bard a mock disapproving look that only friends can give to each other. "Out of money again, Elli? Well, a woman of your talent shouldn't rely on the charity of friends forever. Maybe you should see what Garridan is on about - Hemlock posted a bounty over there on the 'Help Wanted' board - 10 gold for every 'fresh' goblin ear brought to the Town Hall, and three hundred for the head of their leader out in the Brinestump. I'll have the bartender make up something a little special."
Ameiko goes back to mingling with the crowd at the bar, giving Eliaera a backwards glance and a smirk. The halfling bartender, Nebin, places an artisan glass obviously made in the Glassworks in front of the Varisian bard and mixes some Ulfen honey wine and an exotic looking green liqueur with Tien script on the label. "Ere you go Miss Casateri, compliments of the house - seemed appropriate with all the talk that's been going around - I call it a 'Gilded Goblin'." he says, obviously pleased with himself. "Miss Kaijitsu thinks the name needs work, but I'm good at makin' drinks, not namin' em."
As Caerwyn and Elisaera get their drinks at the bar, the door to the tavern opens. A lithe, hooded and cloaked figure steps inside, a longbow and quiver jutting out from their shoulders. Moving with an inhuman grace, the strange figure scans the room, and approaches the table where Garridan, Ostar, and Amelius are sitting. A nod towards the bar acknowledges Caerwyn, Elisaera, and Ameiko. Pulling back the hood, the unmistakably elven features of Shalelu Andosana are revealed. Looking every bit the seasoned elf ranger, her light blond hair tied in a loose top knot, she looks at her old friends and speaks.
"Garridan, Ostar. I see Caerwyn and Ameiko's friend are here as well. Amelius - not drinking too much, I hope. I've come with some news from out near the southern Lost Coast Road. From what I heard, you're thinking of heading out there to deal with the goblin problem."
"The goblins of the Licktoad tribe have been responsible for some attacks out there. The local fishermen told me they're using some kind of explosives, but from the descriptions they gave me, they sound like the fireworks Sandpoint gets from the caravan traders for festivals. Sheriff Hemlock told me they don't have any stockpiles in town right now, so they must be getting them from somewhere else. There’s also a halfling hermit who lives out there in the Brinestump Marsh. He’s a peculiar fellow, and keeps to himself, but he's not unfriendly. If anyone might know why the goblins have been venturing away from their village to conduct raids, and where their base is, it would probably be him. The best way into the marsh is by taking the path that leads into the marsh from the north, that should take you to him.”
“Also, there are rumors of a creature living out there. Might just be superstitious fisherman tales, but they call it the ‘Soggy River Monster’. Hemlock thinks it might be a cover for the parents of young people who get bored and run off to Magnimar. The thing about rumors though - some of them turn out to be true. Be wary. And please, be careful. Things can often go bad in a heartbeat.” As she says this, she seems to glance towards Ameiko briefly, then continues.
“You should talk to Ameiko if there’s anything you need in the way of provisions and supplies. For you, she can probably haggle a discount from the local merchants around here. I'm going to stay here at the Dragon tonight, and head out early to scout ahead - I have some unfinished business to the north. I'm going to leave the hard part to you though. The militia has made you into true guardians of this town. It's almost as if you don't need me prowling around out there in the hinterlands anymore. Almost. I've known you all since you were young, and I know you are all up to the challenge. I know you won't let me down." she seems to say, almost wistfully. For a moment, her almost solid blue eyes seem to gaze off into the distance, then focus back in on the group. She sits at the table and smiles. "In the meantime, I think I'd like some of that redberry wine that Ameiko has here. Anyone headed back up to the bar?"
Garridan jumps to his feet so quickly that only his long hours at the practice yard keep him from tripping over his own chair. "I'm running a bit low," he says, blushing slightly as he picks up his half full tankard. "I'll get your drink while I refresh my own."
He's two step away from the table before he turns around. "Does anyone else need anything?" he asks as he scratches the back of his head sheepishly.
The young man's eyes never leave Shalelu from the moment she steps up to the table. His cheeks blush slightly at the drinking jab. Disappointment creeps across his face when he learns the elven woman will not be joining the group on their trek south, though he does perk up a bit at the mention of the wine. At Garridan's offer, he slides his empty mug across the table.
"I'll have what she's having. I think. What was it, again? Wine? I don't think I've tried that one before." Amelius begins nervously running a hand through his messy hair, an ultimately failed attempt to keep it out of his face.
"Don't worry about 'em, Shalelu, I'll keep 'em safe! Err... um, that is... I'll go with them I mean. If they let me. I can go, right?" It's painfully obvious that, as far as Amelius is currently concerned, everyone else in the bar may as well not exist.
Eliaera laughs, giving her friend an apologetic grin. "C'mon, Ameiko, you remember that merchant from Magnimar that passed through here just the other week, right? I couldn't help myself! I got some great sheet music from him! It just... y'know... put me a little behind on paying off my tab. Again."
The Varisian performer gladly accepts the 'Gilded Goblin' from Nebin, giving it a curious sniff and a hesitant taste. "Mmm... this is good," she says approvingly, giving the halfling a thumbs up, "but I have the feeling that this green stuff could veeery quickly leave you on the floor..." As she takes a second sip of the green cocktail, the door of the Rusty Dragon opens to reveal a somewhat recognisable figure—Shalelu, the mysterious elven tracker who prowls the Sandpoint hinterlands. Though Eliaera had only been a Sandpoint resident for a couple of years now, she was more than familiar with the infamous ranger. She returns the woman's nod, trailing her movement through the tavern with her eyes. Ah, so Shalelu knows the aspiring goblin-hunters? Perhaps they stand half a chance out there if she respects them...
When Garridan approaches the bar, Eliaera steps down from her stool. "Hey there! You're... Garry... Gerard... something like that... right? From the Militia? You still looking for people to go goblin-hunting with?" The Varisian woman extends her left hand, cradling the exquisite glass tumbler still more than half-full in her right. "I'm Eliaera."
Garridan gives her a smile, reaching out with a hand, before noticing that he was still holding two glasses. Laughing slightly, he sets them down on the bar before reaching for her hand again.
"It's Garridan, actually," he says. "And yes, some number of us are planning to see if we can do something about those goblins. My uncle always tries to tell me not to put off jobs for tomorrow that are better done today... farming and goblin hunting don't have much in common, but I think that holds true for both. Better to deal with them in the wilds than in our streets."
Garridan gets a refill of his half-full tankard of ale, along with two glasses of wine. "Why don't you come back to our table if you're interested in our little quest?"
Garridan returns to the table, carrying the three cups awkwardly as he goes. "Here... Amelius, was it? And Shalelu," he says, giving them their glasses with a shy smile.
"Now, this halfling fellow... I think we should find him before we go looking for goblins. Better to know the lay of the land instead of walking into something blind. We can't be too careful, after all."
"I was more interested in the bounty up for goblin ears," Eliaera grins and gives Garridan a wink as they walk back to the table, "but if the little buggers are causing trouble I agree that it might be best to deal with them before something bad happens... again." The mess that occurred at the Swallowtail Festival couple of years back was not something the townsfolk spoke of too often, but Eliaera had heard bits of the story here and there--it was lucky that things didn't turn out worse than they did.
Eliaera glances over those seated around the table, hesitating a moment before taking a seat. She takes a good swill of her sharp green cocktail before greeting the group, hoping that the sudden jolt of alcohol would erode the nerves bubbling just below the surface. "Hi... I'm Eliaera. Nice to meet you! I think I'm putting my name down for this goblin extermination mission, if you'll have me--for better or worse," she laughs weakly, before sitting back to listen to the chatter at the table. It seemed that Shalelu had filled them in on some things before she'd made it here from the bar, and it takes a couple of clarifying questions to Garridan and the rest before she feels clued in to the situation.
"Who is this halfling, anyway? Does he have a name?" She wonders idly, glancing over the rim of her glass at Shalelu.
Ostar's jaw clenches a little at being excluded from the drink order. He removes his helmet and runs his hand over his short hair before speaking.
Shalelu's talents would clearly be wasted by hunting for simple Goblins - ones with some sort of explosives, that is, but still. I think we've got the foundations of a good group right here. Garridan can fight better than most any man I know, Caerwyn can scout and hit the little devils before they even know it. Amelius, well, you're a little odd, but your spells will be more than just a little handy.
Ostar nods at Eliaera, wondering where he knew her from. Well met, Eliaera. I'm not sure as to your skillset, but your enthusiasm for goblin extermination says something all by itself.
So, that sounds like a plan. We find this halfling hermit in his hole or treestump or whatever the little fellow lives in, and we see if he knows why the Goblins have been so active of late. Whatever that reason is, these attacks will be stopped - one way or another. Unless this soggy monster eats us, first. Ostar regrets that last comment as Shalelu's eyes fall upon him. As the ranger was not known for exaggeration, Ostar had to assume there was some truth behind the rumour, even if the name was ridiculous.
"more dangerous than fun, I'm afraid. Goblins are nasty little buggers." Caerwyn flashes the young girl a smile "Shall we see what the others are up to?" he says as he stands up from his stool to wave Eliaera to lead the way.
Caerwyn arrives at the table as Shalelu finishes her story.
Knowledge (local): (for information on the halfling hermit)
"The Brinestump can be a dangerous place all by itself. Throw in a tribe of worked up goblins and it can be downright deadly. I think we should check in with Sheriff Hemlock before we go off half cocked into the swamp."
"A very fine point," Garridan agrees. "We should make sure that everyone is well supplied, in case our mission takes more than an afternoon -- some food, water, a bedroll, a source of light...
"Then a visit with the Sheriff for any more information he may be able to provide," he continues, nodding to Caerwyn. "After that, it would seem best to seek out this halfling. Have I missed anything?"
Garridan takes a nervous sip from his drink.
Amelius takes a sip, gives it a favorable look, then turns up the glass of wine. "Delicious! I'll be right back. Don't leave without me."
The pasty-skinned youth almost sprints towards his room, narrowly avoiding disastrous collisions with many of the patrons as he does so. Moments later he emerges, a sturdy backpack dangling from his back, his left hand securing the strap that wraps around his shoulder. An impressive tome is strapped to his left hip. His collective belongings look more than his frame can bear, yet he seems unimpeded. He flops back down into his seat at an awkward angle - owing to the backpack - and the random odds and ends he carries clank and jostle as he does so.
Eagerness coats his face like a mask, and he beams up to the assembly before him. "Ready when you all are!"
As Amelius's enthusiasm gets the better of him, Shalelu reminds him that it is in fact dark outside - not exactly the best time to go wandering off into the marshes to the south. The friends sit and drink some more, and everyone eventually retires after an evening of singing, dancing, and conversation.
The Varisian woman smiles back at Ostar. "My skills are a bit of this and a bit of that. Certainly enough to deal with some gobbos!"
When the pale young man hurries back from his room ready for adventure, Eliaera arches an eyebrow, purple eyes wandering over Amelius' assortment of odds and ends as she takes a slow draft of her drink. Shalelu is kind enough to state the obvious, and Eliaera hides a smile behind her glass. "I applaud your enthusiasm, however..."
With a plan more or less in action, Eliaera informs the group at the end of the evening that she will meet them back here at the Rusty Dragon in the morning. She shoves Ameiko lightly before she leaves, demanding to know why (with a joking laugh) she could promise a couple of goblin-slayers a discount with the general store and not for her friend on a more regular basis! She then heads for home, head still fuzzy from the alcohol consumption that night.
The next morning, once everyone is gathered, Garridan quickly runs through the same routine he always does before any patrol or other dangerous activity. A quick stretch, a brief accounting of his equipment, then a careful adjustment of his boots and armor. Finally, he arranges his sword more comfortably in its sheath and settles his pack on his shoulders.
Garridan then takes a deep breath of air, before grinning brightly. "Goblin slaying may not quite be the stuff of epic quests... but then, I wonder if the people involved in events a few years ago thought the same? Ready, everyone?"
His prayers to Torag complete, his morning exercises done, and his hygenic activities finished, Ostar arrives at the agreed-upon meeting place.
Hail Garridan! Ready for a day of slogging through the swamp?
Ostar has his gear ready and his spells memorized. If you've never been to the marsh before, my friends, then be careful. It's ridden with disease and vermin. Stick close to one another, and don't go off on your own, save at great need. And by Torag's beard, don't drink the water, unless I've purified it for you first!
Amelius has spent the better part of the morning pacing the tavern's common room, occasionally retreating to his usual seat at the bar to wolf down his now-cold plate of breakfast. At some point, he manages to still himself enough to produce the aforementioned tome, at which point he begins hastily scribbling something with a long, black quill, the sound of scratching permeating the room for several minutes. After some time, he seems content with what he has written, then returns the tome to his hip after allowing it time to dry sufficiently.
Upon seeing that everyone has arrived, he shoulders his backpack, reaches for the only remaining food item on his plate - a half-eaten, stale biscuit - and makes to join the rest as they make final preparations for their trip.
"G'morning, everyone. I think I'm ready to go. I've never done this kind of thing before, though, so..." he gives Garridan a child-like look as he addresses him, "...I was wondering if you could make sure I have what I need." He punctuates the request by resting various packs and parcels on the table and rummaging through them.
"Ostar!" Garridan says upon seeing his companion. "Slogging through our swamp may not be the same as venturing into the ruins of fabled Kho, but I'm ready to begin."
When Amelius arrives and shows him his pack, Garridan goes through it with him patiently. "You have food and drink aplenty, which is the most important thing," he says. "And I can see you are prepared to write, which is a good thing; if this little adventure becomes something grander than a goblin hunt, then a record of it could serve us well. At the very least, we may find ourselves glad if you could sketch a map of the swamp so that we don't get turned around too often!"
Garridan eyes the rest of the items more dubiously. "I know nothing of the magic arts, so I can't say what good the rest of your items may be. Still, if it has a use, then better to have it and not need it, than not have and want it. As long as you don't weigh yourself down overmuch -- those of us like Ostar and myself that favor armor may have little choice, but if things go sour we would act as rear guard anyway to cover your escape... which would go much more smoothly if you are able to run swiftly!
"The only thing that I don't see is a bedroll," he says after a moment. "Camping in a swamp may be unpleasant, but if we have a need, I'd rather have something between me and the mud!"
"Oh c'mon, Vinder, we're good friends! You know you want to give me a better discount than this!"
"No, no, and NO! You STILL haven't paid me back for the LAST time I helped you out!"
The scene at the general store that morning was quite the farce, although Eliaera's wheedling and whining scored no points with the shop keep. In the end she leaves with just a few small items of use, looking inside her very nearly empty coin pouch with despair. "I'm going to need a lot of goblin ears at this rate," she sighs to herself.
------
Eliaera arrives maybe five minutes after the assigned meeting time, still grumbling about the raw deal that Ven Vinder had given her (despite the fact that she was getting a good bargain nonetheless!) The Varisian travels light, with a small leather backpack and a new-looking bedroll slung over her shoulders and a sheathed rapier strapped to her belt. Her clothing is much more demure than it was the night before, dressed in what is obviously an old off-white shirt, breeches, and heavy-set hiking boots. She waves to the group as she arrives, catching the tail-end of Garridan's advise to the obviously well-meaning but somewhat inexperienced Amelius.
"I hope we aren't going to spend too much time out there," she comments lightly. "I don't fancy sleeping in the mud either!"
Starday, 16th Pharast 4711
Sandpoint, Varisia – The Lost Coast
Lost Coast Road - Sandpoint Bridge
You are all able to procure the supplies you need for a journey into the Brinestump Marsh. Caerwyn, meanwhile has been talking to some folks around town, gathering some information. Sherrif Hemlock at Town Hall was very appreciative that you are going to be making the effort to help Sandpoint with the goblin threat, and with the City Watch already spread thin, he reiterates the bounty on goblin ears and their leader.
In addition, Caerwyn was able to find out the halfling hermit you are seeking goes by the name Walthus. There is also supposed to be a witch called Old Megus living on the other end of the marsh, but no one has seen or heard from the crone in some time.
The journey on foot takes about an hour, and the weather is pleasant and sunny. You can feel that you are nearby to the sea, and several gulls fly in circles overhead.
As you approach the marsh region, you see that the marsh is closer to sea level, with a semicircle of sheer cliff face surrounding the entire marsh. The vegetation looks thick and dense, even from a distance. It is impossible to discern any details our structures beneath the canopy.
There is a recently used path that leads south through an opening in the cliff face, descending into the marsh below. A wooden signpost, weathered from the moisture, reads 'New Fish Trayl'.
As you descend down the path into the marsh, the vegetation and undergrowth begins to close in on the path. A narrow line where the grass has been worn away to reveal bare earth shows the way. The humidity seems to be increasing, and a cloying smell of fetid water and decaying plants can be caught in your nose every once in a while. Eventually you come to a wooden plank bridge spanning what is probably a tributary of the Soggy River, in a state of some disrepair, and covered in moss in places, but it seems safe enough to cross.
Do we have any idea where this halfling hermit is? asks Ostar, swatting at a pestering insect. I don't suppose we can just wander the marsh, calling out "halfling hermit" and try our luck that way?
Ostar's deadpan delivery makes it hard to know if he is joking. Sometimes, at least.
"Caerwyn, you're our wilderness expert," Garridan says. "Do you have any idea where this hermit may be found? Lacking that, I suppose we just, well, follow the trail. It must lead somewhere, right? People don't build bridges to nowhere."
Eying the bridge, Garridan shrugs. "If we cross, I suppose I should go first. With my armor I believe I'm the heaviest here, so if it breaks it would be my weight that does it."
Eliaera pinches her nose as they descend into the marsh, grimacing as she tries to accustom herself to the stench of the swamp. "Ugh. What do goblins--or that crazy old hermit--see in a place like this?"
When the group reaches the bridge, she takes a good look at it, trying to assess its stability, and then glances around the nearby area to make sure there were no goblins waiting underneath a moss-covered rock... or something. If she spots something, she'll immediately interrupt the party and alert them to it.
"Unless this Walthus is aquatic, I suspect he'll be beyond here. So.. go right ahead, Garridan!" She shoots him a grin.
Amelius keeps up surprisingly well throughout the journey, even when approaching the fetid environs of the marsh. In passing the sign, predictably, Amelius gives it a read before asking aloud, "What is a fish trayl?"
Approaching the bridge, he seems to defer to the rest of the group's appraisals. As Garridan offers to cross ahead of everyone, Amelius reaches out to catch his elbow. "Wait a moment. Let me help - I can sharpen your reflexes a bit. In case it turns out to be too flimsy, I mean. Not saying you're big, or anything, just don't want to lose a new friend to a rickety string of boards."
Amelius bows his head an inch or so, and begins speaking in a strange tongue, tracing strange patterns into the air with his finger tips. His eyes go dark and take on the appearance of a clear night sky, his pupils swallowed up in the nebulous expanse. After a few seconds, he extends a hand palm first towards Garridan.
Garridan tenses slightly as Amelius casts his spell. While he has been the recipient of the occasional divine magic from clerics such as Ostar during his time with the militia, he has never been the target of an arcane spell before. When it's over and he feels no different than after his past brushes with divine magics, he relaxes and smiles at Amelius. "Thank you -- I'm not too keen at having my first adventure ended because of a rotten board, myself. Well, no sense wasting time!"
Taking one more deep breath, Garridan carefully steps onto the bridge.
Looking over the edge, Ostar whistles. At least you have a thick layer of bruises to protect you if you fall, Garridan....still, Ostar stops his friend just before he steps on the bridge. Take Torag's blessings before you step on that bridge.
Perhaps we should have you hold a rope, or tie one round your waist? The bridge LOOKS okay, but I'll not risk the life of one of my few friends if I can help it.
Eliaera is taken aback by the strange tongue Amelius uses to channel his inner magic, and she eyes the pale-skinned youth with surprise and curiosity, but says nothing. Tien? No... It seems... different. How... strange.
She puts the thought aside and says jokingly, "We're so scared by a bridge - what happens when we find a goblin?"
The bridge looks worse than it's built, thankfully, and you all easily cross without incident. It's only about an eight foot drop at the highest point.
Continuing to follow the path, you eventually cross two more bridges in a similar state, and as you move deeper into the undergrowth, the sunlight overhead seems to dim considerably. The trees are slick and covered with hanging moss, and the atmosphere is cloying and sticky. The strange sounds of frogs and other swamp creatures reverberate in the thick air.
After about an hour of making your way in the dense terrain of the marsh, you see a lagoon ahead. Sog’s Bay is visible just beyond the shallow waters here. An old two-story building sits on a jutting piece of solid land, covered in moss and a roof sagging with age. The trail looks tended, albeit haphazardly, and some of the plant growth looks like it might have been hacked away recently. This might be the dwelling of the halfling Walthus who lives in the swamp.
It seems very quiet, and the wooden entry door is shut.
Let's see if anyone is home. Ostar knocks loudly on the front door, then stands back and to the side to avoid being directly in front of the door.
Perception:
Someone take a look around the garden, see if anything strikes as unusual. Ostar readies his shield but keeps his weapon undrawn - a move learned from the militia. Be prepared, but do not provoke.
As the group treks through the swamp, Eliaera quietly lets them know what she spotted at the not-so-dangerous bridge: freshly-made, three-toed footprints on the riverbank, and the eerie sensation that something was watching from behind the undergrowth. "I suspect the goblins already know we're here," she mutters. "We should be alert."
Nonetheless, nothing seems to jump out at them as they wander deeper into the disgustingly humid marsh. Eliaera takes to fanning herself with one hand, half to cool herself down and half to swat away the constant bugs that threaten to fly into her eyes or mouth. She seems to be somewhat jumpy at loud noises, like a particularly deep bull-frog call or a squishy plop of something unknown into the muck.
When they arrive at what appears to be the hermit's dwelling, Eliaera stands back, keeping an eye out for any goblins or other dangers that would creep up on them from behind.
Garridan adjusts his trusty shield as well, and nods in agreement with Ostar's plan. "Preferably someone quiet -- Walthus might not appreciate our intruding on his property, and I'd prefer not to anger him."
About five seconds after Ostar knocks at the door, it opens slowly, and a disheveled, shaggy, brown-haired halfling appears at the door. He has dark circles under his eyes, and some abrasions and bruises on his hands and face.
“Um...er...Who are you? What do you want?” the halfling says, his eyes squinting at the unexpected guests. Not waiting for an answer, he says, "I am Walthus. I would invite you in, but it’s a terrible mess inside. Yes, such a terrible mess...” as he trails off, his face contorts into what looks like a very odd grimace.
Amelius looks at Walthus, and his eyes widen upon seeing the bruises and abrasions apparent on his head and hands.
He shoots a worried look to Ostar before exclaiming, "Are you okay, sir? You look pretty scraped up. Maybe you should let Ostar here have a look at you. Oh! And I have some cheese and biscuits here - I'd be more than willing to share." Amelius begins rummaging through his backpack for the mentioned food.
Garridan studies Walthus for a moment. "Several of us are members of the Sandpoint militia, and the rest have volunteered to aid us in a sortie against the Lick Toad goblin tribe. Are they the ones that did this to you? Or were you attacked by something else? If there is anything we can do to help..."
Ostar lets Garridan handle the questions, watching the halfling for any odd responses or strange behaviours, unusual body language - anything out of the ordinary. Understanding that they are at the swampland home of a hermit. Don't suggest causes, he thinks to himself upon hearing Garridan ask about goblins as the cause of the hermit's distress. Let the subject present their own story. Then we can put it to the test.
Perception:
Sense Motive:
He gestures for Amelius to put his food back in his pack. We'll render aid once we're sure there's no imminent danger. he mutters to the enthusiastic spellcaster.
Caerwyn adjusts his sword over his shoulder and begins to make his way around the building.
Stealth check:
Once around the back, caerwyn will climb to the top of the wall and peer into the garden, careful not to drop in unannounced.
Climb check:
Unable to climb the wall, he will complete his circuit before joining the others out front.
Still standing in the doorway, the halfling looks at the offered food Amelius produces from his pack quizzically, then turns to Garridan.
"Licktoads? Oh yes, goblins. Of course, I was out in the marsh there when a group of goblins attacked me. Are you here for them?" a brief flicker of what could be relief or maybe pain flashes across his face for a moment, and he continues, "Well, to get to where they are you just go to the center of the marsh, to the south, and east! That’s where they’ll be. I think they're planning some kind of an attack - on Sandpoint! Now, I would really like to be left alone now. So many things I need to take care of. So many loose ends.”
"Loose... ends?" Garridan said slowly. "Are you alright, Walthus? You seem... distraught. And I'm being rude! My name is Garridan Imoroa, and I'm a member of the militia. Ostar Foehammer and Caerwyn Callandriil are also members, while Amelius and Eliaera are companions from the town brave enough to join us."
Garridan reaches out a hand to shake. "Where in the marsh were you attacked? If you know where the Licktoads are, then you could have avoided their camp at least. Were they close by here?"
Garridan pauses for a moment to look around for some sign of battle or nearby foes. "If things are safe, perhaps Ostar could do something for your injuries. After all, you don't often come to town, and leaving wounds untreated in a swamp could be very bad for your health."
Eliaera arches a brow at Walthus' scattered behaviour, but ultimately puts it down to him being a crazy old hermit living in the middle of the swamp. One had to be rather mad to willingly live out here. She gives the halfling a weak smile, trying to hide any signs of awkwardness. "I can do something for those injuries myself," she adds from over Garridan's shoulder, trying to seem helpful.