"Dreamless nights. Alcohol can do that to you. At least no nightmares, maybe I should turn drinking into a profession.."
Loruk takes a seat by the bar, barely smiling he orders some food and something light to drink. He spends more time picking at his food than actually eating it, and eventually opens his mouth for another purpose than filling it with nourishment.
"So.. You hear anything, Ameiko? I mean.. where these goblins came from, what tribe? I'm trying to figure out if I ever saw them before, down at Junker's, but it's hard to say.. so many tribes."
He takes a swig from his drink, then sighs.
"I don't know what to think. I'm heading out, alone. Gates are still open I reckon. I need some fresh air, not this.. town-smell. Tell the others I'll be back in an hour or so."
He finishes his meal, then heads out of the tavern. He proceeds on foot down Market Street - and out through the gates. Down the Low Coast Road, he takes some time to look for tracks, footprints - anything the goblins left behind - trying to discern which direction they came from.
"This just doesn't make any sense. Why would they attack the city head on. What where they after?"
Ameiko's smile is interrupted by Loruk's question. "Got no idea, Loruk. They just came out of nowhere, I don't even have an idea about how they got into the city....Good luck out there, though."
Loruk does remember something from the fight, now that he's thinking of it. The goblins that made up the raid actually came from every goblin tribe that he can think of from the area. Birdcrunchers. Licktoads, Seven Tooth, Mosswood, and Thistletop goblins. Most of the goblins he saw were Thistletop goblins, but there were still representatives of every tribe.
Loruk leaves the tavern silently, an objective on his mind.
Loruk finds something interesting - the tracks starting at the northern gate don't cross through the gate. They come from the north, arrive at the town gate, and then start again inside the city. Following the tracks northward for about twenty minutes, they keep going, but the number of goblins that entered here is fewer than the number of goblins involved in the attack.
"Every single tribe. How is that even possible? I thought I knew goblins, I thought the bickering, the lust for blood and fire was enough to drive them against one another. But this.. I fear Sandpoint is in more danger than anyone could possibly imagine."
At the tracks leading to the gate, Loruk halts. "How did they pass through the gate without passing through? Magic? A secret entrance?"
Before he returns, he takes a look around to see if anything is out of the ordinary - perhaps an item dropped, footprints that do not resemble those left behind by goblinoids or goblin dogs and the like.
Down the road, he again stops as he notices the amount of tracks located in the area.
"If these are the only tracks leading to the city, I fear we have a nest in Sandpoint. I need to return, warn the others - but first I need to find out where the rest of these goblins came from."
His curiosity brings the half-orc back through the gates, and searches through the areas the goblins attacked from - trying to discern which tracks lead to the gates, and which lead to somewhere within the city or to any of the other entrances.
Loruk sees something unfortunate but not unexpected at the north gate - bloodstains by the walls, likely from guards that the goblins killed as they were coming in. Nothing terribly untoward besides that, though.
Stalking through the city, especially early in the morning, is fortunate for Loruk. Not only are most people still in their homes recuperating, but those that must leave their homes haven't done so yet, it being so early. HHe is thus much more easily able to find and follow the many, crisscrossing goblin tracks. It takes him the better part of an hour, but he finds tracks leading from the waterfront, from both bridges on the east side of the city, and...from a covered wagon that rests right in the middle of the town square.
Khalbar will ask Rhanloi to accompany him as they seek out the priests of Desna. If they aren't overwhelmed taking care of the wounded and homeless, Khal will approach one (any, as he doesn't know the ranks etc) and say.
"Desna give me strange dreams. Need talk to holy man to explain?"
The acolyte that Khalbar's spoken too looks up fearfully from the injured man he's been tending, and quickly walks away from him. The fact that Khalbar is following him makes him even more nervous, and he looks over his shoulder occasionally right up until he reaches the head priest, Abstalar Zantus. Poking the man, they have a quiet discussion for a few moments before Zantus approaches Khalbar.
"And what's troubling you, young man? You say Desna is giving you visions? What kind of visions?"
Kyra took Rhanloi up on his offer of tea, gratefully. She finds the symbiotic relationship between Rhanloi and Khalbar fascinating, as she's never had someone watching her back in that sense, someone whose talents and weaknesses mesh perfectly with her own. She evades the question of what she's looking for, preferring to talk more about what things they have seen.
Kyra rises early in the morning, feeling somewhat sore from the battle yesterday. She rewraps the bandages around her midsection and moves downstairs to have a cup of tea.
She greets Ameiko with a smile, saying "I'm very happy to see you here. I can't imagine what this place would be like without you." Her expression nearly instantly falls when she notices the nobleman from yesterday is in the tavern. Trying to escape the scene quickly, she drinks her tea rapidly, nearly burning her throat in the process.
"I expect most of the others to be sleeping late after the festivities." she quickly says to Ameiko. "I'll be back before noon, but if they seem ready to head out, do please let them know where I am." Kyra is referring to her normal routine when she stays in the town: There's a barren hill overlooking the ocean where she spends her mornings meditating, stretching, and practising her technique. She flashes a hungry smile. "There are goblins to kill, and I don't want to miss that."
The evening at the inn sees 'Pick' skip out fairly soon; the overwhelming noise starts to make his teeth grind and his fists clench beneath his robes. But like a moth drawn to flame, he comes back in the morning too, lurking on the edges of the crowd and the celebration.
When the 'goblinslayers' start to split up and go their separate ways, Pick hesitates-- then sets out to try and follow one of them. The crowd, the group, is intimidating to him, but he wishes to observe them, to try and understand the top-siders and their bizarre ways.
Randomosity:
Spear-woman. She has a power of spirit that fascinates him; she talks of signs, and of the Dez'nah. Maybe she understands the signs of the Sleeper's wakening better than the other top-siders. Maybe he's just fascinate by how strange (to his eyes) she looks: hair a ruddy color, as if copper sparks gleamed within it (and full of bones and symbols), and eyes the color of grass. Nobody in the Deep is painted with these colors: like the butterflies, the spectacle is garish and unsettling to the duergar, but oddly compelling.
He will watch her-- whereever she goes, whatever she does. He will try to understand.
Rhanloi accompanies Khalbar, offering him silent support and helping to talk with the acolytes and priests when necessary. He is interested in helping Khalbar in his quest, but it is not his burden to bear and Khalbar is not willing to loosen his grip on the yoke.
Khalbar has a hard time enunciating what he means.
"Sleeping at shrine on road, Desna appear in my dream. She say come to new holy place and find answers."
He then goes on to tell his story of missing wife and child and his exhaustive search in his broken Common.
Finally, "Butterfly Goddess say my answers here. You holy man can help me find answers?"
The morning light woke up A'letta. With a fierce groan she turned about in her bed. Last night's dancing, singing and drinking had taken its toll on her. But while her head ached, her belly rumbled. With great reluctance she managed to put one foot onto the ground, and a good minute after, the other foot followed suit. She slipped into her dress, fetched her necklaces and bracelets and tucked the wooden mask into a sack that hang from her belt.
A'letta walks downstairs and greets Ameiko with a nod and slumps down onto a bench. Quietly she eats her breakfast, thanks Ameiko for her hospitality and then slips out of the tavern with spear in hand. The morning breeze whispers into her ears and already the dull ache in her head is starting to fade. With bare feet she trods through town, through the gate and down onto the beach.
Everywhere she looks she sees life. The sound of waves crashing onto the beach remind her of the fact that life is ever at war with death. Sand is claimed by watery chains, dragging it back into the endless oceans. She takes her mask and puts it on. Then, a loud chuck as she plants her spear into the sand.
First, A'letta dances around it, never breaking contact with it. A hand or finger lingers against the wooden shaft as she gracefully dances about, creating lines and patterns in the sand. A few minutes later she abruptly jumps away from the spear, landing with her feet in wet sand. Water crashes over her feet and up against her shins. She then steps forward into the ocean and dives, only to resurface a couple of seconds later. Her hands run through wet strands of hair and she washes herself before she returns to the lines and patterns in the sand. Life, she hears herself say, and death. Wet foot imprints follow to complete the divination and she dances about until she can't feel the water on her skin no more. With a sudden motion she yanks the spear out of the sand.
A'letta steps back and starts reading the signs.
Finding the tracks leading to the covered up wagon, Loruk takes a good look around - trying to find out how it fits into the whole charade.
The priest's look of shock and worry simply increases as Khalbar continues to talk, and he moves forward to awkwardly pat the huge man on the shoulder. Despite the shock of everything that's happened recently, Khalbar's tale is still one of extraordinary sadness, and the priest's kind nature keeps him feeling very sympathetic towards the man. "You say that Desna sent you here? I can't tell you where your answers are, but I can say that Desna sent you here right at the cusp of a huge goblin attack, the largest one yet, and you helped defend us. Perhaps Desna sent you here because you needed to be here, to help us, and perhaps your answers lie along the way. Let's just take today as an example. You came to me this morning, right after I found a terrible situation that I need investigated. I, for one, need help, and I'm not the only one."
A'letta's strange pole-dancing is very fascinating to Pick, who is standing and watching it from the line of buildings not far from the beach.
To her, however, it's much more than fascinating. The ritual fuels her senses, and fills her with the knowledge that those who go seeking a fight shall find a ready one available.
The nobleman notices her as she leaves, but doesn't immediately follow her. Instead, right when she's in the middle of her meditation techniques, and her exercises, with her eyes closed, he breaks her reverie. "That's very impressive, beautiful young miss. Did you use those techniques to best the goblins?"
Well, Loruk is able to determine two things from the wagon - that it was moved right here before it was opened (the tarp from the wagon is lying over ruts in the ground) and that goblins clambered out of it to attack townsfolk (all tracks in the area start here and radiate outward)
After enjoying the evening and the company of the patrons of the Rusty Dragon, Xogar comes down the next morning early to eat and reacquaint himself with the others.
"Yes, I did have a good night. I am left troubled though with the incursion of those goblins. I am curious as to where they came from and what stirred them up to attack like this. I think an investigation is in order."
Once he is done eating, Xogar excuses himself and heads to the temple to meditate and contemplate.
Level 1 - Color Spray, Sleep
"Of course, brother. How can we assist you?"
Kyra squeezes her eyes tight and counts to ten, hoping that when she opens them the nobleman will be gone. She opens them to see his eyes focused on her. "Worth a shot" she mumbles, continuing her training. She ignores the man for a few seconds, but begins to feel studied and finds herself unable to concentrate.
Finally giving up, she says "Yes" sounding exasperated, and takes a sip of water from her canteen before continuing. "Those are the moves I use to crush their windpipes, shatter their skulls, or otherwise kill them."
'Will that make you leave? To find that your 'beautiful' woman enjoys killing lesser creatures?' She looks at the nobleman out of the corner of her eye, expecting him to be disgusted, and hoping it's enough to be left in peace.
Xogar enters the newly-consecrated cathedral to see his new acquaintances, a large Shoanti man and a small half-elven man, conversing with the head priest. This early in the morning, and after the horrors of yesterday, the cathedral is largely empty but for a few worshipers and a couple of Zantus' acolytes. The little conversation that's happening echoes off of the stone walls and reverberates through the wide expanses of the cathedral.
The priest smiles at Rhanloi's ready offer of help, but the smile is short-lived. Obviously something is on his mind that's troubling him. "Well, as I said, it's very coincidental, I just found out something disturbing, and now the two of you walk in, asking why you're here. You see, when going around the cathedral to check that none of it was damaged in the attack, and mending the parts that were, I found our burial cairn - the place where we inter acolytes that serve here - broken open. Well, I immediately came back in here to gather things and to fetch Sheriff Hemlock, and in walked you two. I need it investigated to see why it was broken open. It certainly wasn't yesterday, before the festival."
Despite Kyra's hopes, the man almost becomes more excited at the prospect of gore and death. "Really? That must be ever so exciting for you! I've always wished that I could be an adventurer, but my birth says that I be a tradesman. I do, however, sometimes like to get out. You see, one of the reasons I'm out here (the other being that I'm entranced by your beauty) is that I wanted you invite you out on a trip. A hunting trip, perhaps, Would you like to come along? Perhaps you could bring some of your new friends? We could discuss you and yours' heroism, we could catch a few boars, we could bring them back to the Rusty Dragon and cook some delicious pork. See, I don't trust any guards I could hire here. Only heroes of the best caliber are the sort that I trust to guard my person."
You don't think he realizes that he looks like a puppy, with his hands pressed together and his eyes practically gleaming.
Kyra looks over the side of the hill, to where it drops down to the waterline, waves crashing against jagged rocks, and she wonders idly if the fall would kill her. Still, she did like to hunt. And it had been a while since she had fresh meat.
She looked at the man, noting that he did seem persistent. She reminded herself, too, that it would be good for her to further connect to the others. An appearance of trust was required if she was to one day build an army.
Standing on the hillside, Kyra considered for a while, biting her lip.
"To be honest, I cannot promise that the others will be as keen on it as you are. The city was only just attacked, and for all we know, more goblins are on the way. But it does seem like the people here could use a celebration to forget about what happened..."
She trailed off, then looked at him with resolve, and perhaps a bit of mischief. "I have a few conditions for going. Firstly, if you must address me, call me Lady Arkona, or at least Kyra. Not beautiful, not enchanting. Not lovecrumpet."
"And secondly, you should know that it's dangerous out there. You say you don't trust most guards to protect you. If I'm going to attempt better, I want your word that you'll do anything I say. I shan't be dragging your corpse back to town because you were too proud to listen."
The man nods at everything she says, mumbling 'of course' every couple of moments to affirm that he's listening and agreeing. He gets a similar mischievous look when she says "I want your word that you'll do anything I say", and it's to this that he responds first. "You know, you aren't the only girl that's made me promise to obey her implicitly. I hope you won't order me to do anything I wouldn't."
With a more serious face, though, he continues. "Of course, though. I'll meet you and whomever you wish to bring at the Rusty Dragon Inn tomorrow morning, with horses and gear."
Turning to walk away (finally!) he turns back around when he's partway down the hill to say one more thing. "Oh! And Lady Arkona, my name is Aldern. Aldern Foxglove. Just so we know each other."
...First, A'letta dances around it, never breaking contact with it. A hand or finger lingers against the wooden shaft as she gracefully dances about, creating lines and patterns in the sand. A few minutes later she abruptly jumps away from the spear, landing with her feet in wet sand. Water crashes over her feet and up against her shins. She then steps forward into the ocean and dives, only to resurface a couple of seconds later. Her hands run through wet strands of hair and she washes herself before she returns to the lines and patterns in the sand. Life, she hears herself say, and death. Wet foot imprints follow to complete the divination and she dances about until she can't feel the water on her skin no more. With a sudden motion she yanks the spear out of the sand.
A'letta steps back and starts reading the signs.
The duergar hides in the shadows of the building and stares, fascinated and uncomprehending. Much motion, little sense. Does she drill as a warrior? That cannot be it. There is no attacking. Just lines in the sand. Her gestures are full of a significance, a weight, that he cannot comprehend or make sense of.
It is like studying one of the elder's machines, the Mechanisms by which the Sleeper is kept in his slumber. Complicated and fraught, heavy with Purpose.
The Mechanisms always made dread constrict his throat. This dance only makes his head hurt, his fingers twitch restlessly. It is the same but different. Is it ritual for Dez'nah? There is no blood sacrifice. How can it be true worship?
He locks it away in his mind as the three-thousandth thing he does not comprehend about the top-siders. Were he a different person, or even had he had different experiences, he might reveal himself and ask of the nature of her ritual.
As it is, he is convinced this would only earn him an attack from the spear.
Pick scuttles back through the buildings, attempting to draw no notice from the spear-woman.
But enraptured as he is by the strange sight, he is less than truly quiet: he trips on a drift of sand accumulated in the lee of a building, and stumbles against the street, making far more noise than he means to.
"Now this is a clue. Last time I checked you need horses or a mule to pull a wagon - and a rider to get past the gate from outside. That means we're dealing with a humanoid of some sort that wouldn't draw attention, perhaps someone who knew the guards..?"
Loruk takes a good look at the footprints spread out around the wagon, trying to discern the goblin tracks from other humanoids. He then looks for footprints either guiding the horses or mules, or those made from jumping off of one and down into the dirt - before attempting to see where they lead.
"I'll have to belay this information to the others, but first - I need to find out who brought this wagon here.."
A'letta is blissfully unaware of the Duergar's presence.
He escapes unseen! For now. With many questions about Dez'nah adding to the many others in his head. Perhaps someday he'll have the courage to ask them.
Khalbar nods to the half-orc when he sees him enter the temple but cuts his eyes back and forth at him while the priest speaks. "It wise to be wary of these half-beasts. Their sires have done much damage to the People over the years. He did fight goblins yesterday, but he bears much watching."
"Holy Man thinks Goddess had us meet and find answers in goblin attack? Strange, but ways of Gods are strange to men. Rhanloi and I will look at crypt for answers. Show us."
He motions to Xogar to come along also.
The tracks are very hard to differentiate from one another, but Loruk is lucky enough to see a humanoid-shaped and sized footprint among the goblin ones, precisely in the pattern that he was looking for - jumping off of the wagon and walking away from it. However, he loses the trail before it goes too far. The only reason he's able to differentiate that track at all is because it was surrounded by goblin tracks, but once it moves beyond the flurry of goblin action, it's lost in the tracks left by all of the other humanoid-shaped and sized people that live in Sandpoint.
"Very well. I should like to find out more about the cause of all this. Goblins are not usually known for their bravery or intelligence."
Xogar follows Khalbar and Rhanloi to the crypt.
"This is enough, I'd better get back to the Dragon to share the information I've gathered with the others."
Loruk makes his way back to the Dragon, awaiting the other adventurers' return.
Father Zantus leads the three adventurers out and around the cathedral, to a small outbuilding attached to the back. The outbuilding is small and stone, with a stone door. The stone door has been broken open and stands slightly ajar. The only thing visible through the crack is darkness.
The Rusty Dragon is still largely empty in the afternoon as the adventurers slowly filter back in. Only a few patrons sit, slowly mulling their drinks.
Kyra strolled into the Rusty Dragon, seeing A'letta and some of the others. As is her style, she neither excused herself nor apologised for interrupted, jumping right into the conversation. "The noblemen that you saved yesterday, Aldern Foxglove..." Her tone makes it clear how much disdain she has for him. "... He seeks to repay you, us, in a manner of speaking. He's invited us on a boar hunt in the morning, so that we may have a proper celebration tomorrow evening."
"I confess," she continued, "That I find Aldern himself and the idea completely ludicrous, but all the same, I would like to get to know many of you in a more relaxed atmosphere than yesterday's battle. I'm afraid," she continues, looking specifically at Pick, "That I did not even catch many of your names."
Shriiiiink back from the woman's look. Here he'd thought he was safely in the shadows...! The duergar curses his carelessness and tries to remain calm.
This isn't so bad, surely. He told the 'name' to point-ears yesterday. He can do it again. Nobody's called him out for what he is yet, so surely they are buying the disguise...!
(Or it's just so bad that nobody's questioning it, Pick.)
His gloved hands go to his belt, unconsciously fidgeting with the head of the pick and the top of his sling bullet pouch.
"Pick. Pick. Name is Pick." His voice is hoarse, little more than a whisper.
Does the human woman want do to the hand-touching? She isn't holding out her hand. If she isn't doing it, he doesn't have to, right?
He hurries to think of a distraction before she can stick her hand forward. As he is an awful conversationalist, distractions, at least of the verbal sort, do not come easily to him. His mind seizes on one of the Common words she'd said that he is 100% certain he understands the meaning of.
"Hunt?"
Khalbar eyes the open crypt door warily and wards the sign of the evil eye to protect himself from any spirits inside.
"Rhanloi, make light in burial mound?" Khal asks, picking up a large rock to chuck in there if the wizard can use Light on it.
Either way, Khal motions to the half-orc to stand ready, and then puts his shoulder to the partially open door, pushing until he hears noise from his mates.
"Some used to call me 'Boss', but Loruk would suit me just fine."
He sighs. A hunting trip, with Aldern Foxglove no less - as if this tragedy is something to celebrate about. Some people just constantly look for excuses to justify the need to amuse themselves."
"Pleased to meet you Pick. "Strangest dwarf I ever saw, probably new around this part of the world. Hm."
"I've got some information to share as well. I found tracks all over town, as was expected, and to keep this as short and easily understandable as possible; we're dealing with someone with regular entry into the city. A wagon standing in the middle of the town square was placed there by what I believe to be a humanoid of sorts - by someone that would be able to enter town without drawing unwanted attention."
He shakes his head and takes a deep breath before he continues.
"We're not just dealing with some goblin raiders gone brave - almost every single goblin tribe in the surrounding area was involved in the raid. Someone has managed to unite and probably manipulate them. To be honest, I fear this town is in greater peril than anyone could imagine."
"I do not have that one prepared - fortunately, this looks small enough that the daylight will be sufficient. Plus, I can see really well..." Rhanloi says with a smile. "...unless you're afraid of the dark, my big friend?"
Rhanloi stands with his quarterstaff in hand and his spell component pouch at the ready.
Xogar observes the entrance to the crypt.
"Darkness is no enemy of mine. Sometimes I welcome it so that it may reveal things that I did not see before. Allow me take point here."
If needed Xogar assists with opening the door. If not, he readies his scimitar and shield and moves inside. As his eyes adjust to the darkness he looks around for anything out of place.
The door easily swings open on its hinges, hitting the wall on the opposite side with a *thump*. There is a short stone hallway, descending downwards, that ends in about a 25-by-25 stone room with tombs filling up the walls. One of the tombs is open and empty, and two skeletons stand in the room, silently and still. Khalbar has to squint to see them, but when they see him, they clatter their teeth and advance.
Rhanloi - 13
Skeletons - 9
Xogar - 9
Khalbar - 6
Ameiko's been eavesdropping on your conversation - adventurers are her favorite sort of customer, after all - and she pales at Loruk's mention of goblin unification. "The reason goblins haven't been a primary threat is because their tribes are kept small by infighting...if they've unified, then we really are in great danger. We should fetch Sheriff Hemlock and tell him, don't you think?"
Folding his arms across his chest, Loruk tilts his head as to magnify his answer, pronounced in a fashion to make it sound like the question should never even have been asked. "Yes Ameiko, I think we should."
Seeing the skeletons, Rhanloi alerts his colleagues, "There are two skeletons coming up the stairs, let them come!" He mutters an arcane phrase, raises his left hand, and his silver ring (using his arcane bonded object)pulses with bluish light and sends forth a ray of energy at one of the skeletons.
To the extent he can, Khalbar will try to keep himself between the skeletons and Rhanloi, sucking up what ever damage they can deal out. When it comes his turn, he readies his greataxe and lets it sing at the closest skeleton.
With a swiftness that belies his size, Xogar closes in and slices at one of the undead.
Skeletons - 9
Xogar - 8
Khalbar - 6
Rhanloi raises a hand and a coruscating ray of light springs out of his hand, striking the frontmost skeleton and pushing him back a quarter-step. The skeletons run forward and claw at Xogar, who's taken point. One of them manages to close its claws on flesh, but Xogar jerks his arm out in time, responding with a devastating sword-slash to the undead creature, dismantling it and sending it to the floor. Khalbar follows up by stepping up and decapitating the other one. The two skeletons fall, both "dead".
Behind them, the small crypt looms. Beyond the open tomb and the dead skeletons, the only thing in the room is a single black cloth that lies in a pile in a corner of the room.
"Pleased to meet you, Pick."
Pick stares from behind the goggles. Pleased? Why is the half-kalg pleased to meet him? What does he mean by this? And some call him Boss? He is a leader here? War-chief?
It becomes marginally clearer as the green-skinned one goes on: there is to be war-raiding. The war-chief wishes him to be used against their enemy, so he is pleased because Pick will be useful.
Pick jerks his head in a short nod of understanding and acceptance. "...name is Pick," he repeats in a mutter, because it seems he should say something else. "...kill goblins."
Because that's all the relevant stuff, surely.
Rhanloi heads down into the crypt to investigate and attempt to determine how these skeletons came to be.
The empty crypt is fairly small, being only about a 25-by-25 room, lined with tombs. Every tomb but one is closed, and most have inscriptions that say who lies in them (although there are several that are as of yet empty). The open one does have an inscription, marking the late individual within as "Father Tobyn", someone most Sandpoint locals (such as Xogar) would recognize as the previous priest that died in a fire a few years ago. His body is missing, but you don't think that either of the skeletons was him. Besides, there were two, and there's only one body missing.
The cloth is a featureless, black cloak.
"We should take this cloak to the priest and report the situation here. This is most disturbing. And the undead? What caused such abominations? This does not bode well. That and I loathe undead. You can't reason with a mindless 'thing'."
Before they leave, Rhanloi casts Detect Magic and looks at all of the tombs, especially the open one, the skeleton remains, the black cloth, the crypt, and the area immediately around the crypt (outside).
The black cloak radiates a faint magical aura.