"Those heading north from Magnimar along the rocky coastline quickly find themselves in a peculiar country. Fog drapes the rolling landscape, floating spectrally along damp and lonely moors. Small woodlands grace the region, their tangled depths redolent of nettles and pepperwood and pine sap, while further inland, river valleys lined by majestic redwoods wind between ragged tors and limestone escarpments. This vastness and sense of isolation have given this region its local name...."
This is the Lost Coast
Nestled in a natural harbor, Sandpoint began as a semi-permanent Varisian camp. Chelaxians came north along the Lost Coast Road from Magnimar, and settled here as part of the Sandpoint Mercantile League. 42 years later, the town flourishes.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
It's a grand day in Sandpoint. You could hardly imagine a more perfect day to hold a festival. The sun shines brightly in clear, blue skies, and a tang of sea salt is in the air as a light sea-breeze comes in from the Varisian Gulf. The sounds of the gulls mix with the buzz of the people about the square where the festival is taking place. Looking around, it would appear that all of Sandpoint is here in the square. Dressed in their festive best, mothers trying desperately to keep their children clean, while young men strut about in an effort to attract the town's young maidens.
The smells of a dozen local delicacies waft about the square, each of Sandpoint's taverns striving to outdo the other in culinary battle. Lunch will be served shortly, and it promises to be an exquisite experience (but best of all, free!) Already the talk around the food stalls at the south end of the square is of the White Deer's peppercorn vension, the lobster chowder of the Hagfish, or (clearly the most anticipated, to judge by the talk) the Rusty Dragon's curry-spiced salmon and early winterdrop mead. Mayhap the reason for the Rusty Dragon's early lead is the proprieter, beautiful and talented Ameiko Kaijitsu. Certainly the town's men-folk are the first in the lunch line at the Dragon's stall, but even the women will grudgingly admit hers the best fare in all of Sandpoint.
A band of Varisians, late-arrived in a caravan last night, has begun the traditional xopach, a dance native to the sons and daughters of that wild people. Their show draws a large crowd near the stage that has been set up in front of the steps of the new Cathedral. The music sets a brisk pace, one which the locals are hard-put to maintain, but there is no shortage of townspeople trying to match the dancer's vigorous movements.
At one point, several of the dancers leap upon what appears to be a cage of some sort, covered in a dark cloth. With a sharp word and a stern look, Sandpoint's Sheriff, a Shoanti named Hemlock, chases them off. Shaking his head in disbelief, he looks to the town's Mayor, in hopes she will officially begin the day's festivities.
Khalad had been walking the rugged landscape of the coast he had grown up on since he had left Magnimar with little but the last of his money, some weapons and armor, and the dedication to find glory and honor, so that he may shine bright enough to scorch his forebears, and show them the true source of honour, and indeed might.
His long legs had finally carried him home, to say one last goodbye to his mother, buried in the graveyard behind the temple.
He was overjoyed however to see the town in the swing of festivities, the new temple finally completed and ready to be consecrated. He was beaming wildly, as he partook of the free food, and shared words of greeting to those he had not seen in quite some time, shaking hands with his own massive ones. Many people did not immediately recognize him for the thick mass of bright blue tattooes covers his face and the exposed parts of his arms. He made frightening faces at children and played the barbarian, enjoying the sun and what he thought may be his last day at home.
He was overjoyed however to see the town in the swing of festivities, the new temple finally completed and ready to be consecrated. He was beaming wildly, as he partook of the free food...
No one in the lines really wants to cross the huge young man, but one woman isn't readily initimidated by his size. 'Shoo Khalad, shoo!' cries Bethana, a halfling maid who works at the Rusty Dragon, 'Lunch starts at noon!' Ameiko shakes her head with a wan smile as the hulking barbarian is shooed away from the stall. His luck isn't much better at any of the other establishments' stalls either. Jargie Quinn, proprietor of The Hagfish, can be heard to say: 'Khalad and food, like goblin and green.'
Soon enough, Mayor Deverin takes the stage, looking toward the Sheriff and the guardsman next to him on the stage. At his nod, the guardsman raps his pike on the stage, the resounding boom silencing the crowd.
'Welcome all to the Sandpoint Swallowtail Festival!' She begins, to loud cheers, 'Honored guests, citizens, folk from near and far, I'd like to open this year's festivities by thanking you all for coming. Even Lars made time to come to down to the square.' The crowd roars at this last comment, directed at a man at the edge of the crowd. He looks up quickly, ears reddening under the weight of the jest.
'All in good fun,'she says with a smile, 'I'd like to bring up our esteemed Sheriff Hemlock. Once again, welcome to all and may this be the best festival ever!' Again, this met by loud cheers and clapping. Some of the Varisians, feeling they've heard all there is to hear, (and not wanting to hear the Sheriff anyway) strike up a dance in front of the stage. Grabbing the guard's pike, the Sheriff pounds it vigorously on the stage.
Over the quickly quieting crowd, he speaks forcefully, with the kind of authority that is used to be followed, 'Thank you Mayor Deverin. I'd like to emphasize that all and sundry should have a SAFE and happy festival.' Groans and poorly muffled laughter. 'Especially around the bonfire tonite, we don't want a repeat of last year's accident.'
Khalad had smiled widely when shooed away from the food tables, and no his stomach grumbled loudly as he smiled widely, showing teeth to a toddler who stared up at him, then chuckled and ran to join his older brother and sister who were peeking out at Khalad from behind a barrel.
'Fearless little one.'
Khalad looked around to see who else he could recognise in attendance, and if they were close to serving the food yet! The large man could see over most of the nearby people, and most people didn't want to stand very close to the barbarian with the fearsome visage.
With a bang and flash, Sandpoint's larger-than-life theater owner, Cyrdak Drokkus, takes the stage. Dressed in a cacophony of reds, blues, and yellows, his huge floppy hat adorned with three purple feathers, he bows deeply to the cheering crowd before beginning: 'Welcome all, and to all, welcome!!' The Varisians strike up their song once again, as Cyrdak leaps down to join them. After a (very) lively minute or two, he retakes the stage, barely winded by his efforts.
'Again, I say, welcome! It is grand to see all of you after all we went through as a community to construct this grand edifice!' With a flourish, he indicates the cathedral behind him. 'We certainly appreciate the generosity of ALL the citizens, even those who suffered much hardship in order to donate. Still able to feed the family, Titus?' A half-disguised hush falls over the crowd. Your eyes are drawn to a tall, pale man, dressed in the latest Chelish fashion. He is looking daggers at Cyrdak, who beams with a knowing smile.
I would be remiss if I didn't take the opportunity to remind all of you that the Sandpoint Theater is featuring the great actress, Allishanda, all the way from Magnimar, in my production of "The Harpy's Curse!" Come one, come all!' He says, raising his arms high. With a sudden movement, he drops his arms. There is another bang, a flash of light, and when the smoke clears, he is gone!
'Hrmm. Ah. Yes,' mumbles Father Zantus, struggling to find a way to gather the crowds attention after the eccentric Cyrdak. The caretaker of the new Cathedral, and a priest of Desna, Father Zantus is the honorary Master of Ceremonies for the Swallowtail Festival. His voice grows stronger and more vibrant as he recites his speech.
'Today we celebrate one of the holiest days of the Great Dreamer. Ages ago, Desna fell onto Golarion, her immortal form in grave peril. Found by a blind child, she was taken in, and cared for. The child gave of himself, and what meager resources he had, to care for this stranger. Nursed back to health, Desna granted the child immortality, changing him into the beautiful swallowtail, so that he may wander this world for an eternity, bringing joy to all those whom he meets. Today, we celebrate that great act of kindness, that great gift!
On that cue, two acolytes pull back the cloth covering the cage, and a thousand swallowtail butterflies surge out into the square. They are so large and numerous, that for a few seconds, it is impossible to see anything more than a few yards from you. Soon, however, the mass of swallowtails begins to disperse, and at this traditional signal of the start of the Festival, it begins!
Crowds surge towards the food stalls, the Varisian xopach begins again in earnest, and children chase butterflys in vain attempts to get one to land on them.
Khalad has found his way to Ameiko's stall and is grinning widely and getting ready to stuff himself.
Pietro wanders the Sandpoint square, allowing himself a small grin despite himself, at the abundant numbers of fellow Varisians, and their obvious enthusiasm for dancing, singing, and boisterous merry-making. At least these kindred souls don't know me, or where I've come from. Thank Desna for small favors.
Pietro makes no effort to hide his heritage, if his very traditional garb is any indication. He wears a silk scarf of bright blue around his neck, embroidered with images of red and yellow butterflies, to mark the occasion. His loose-fitting, cream colored shirt contrasts with his tight black pants and calf-high, supple brown boots. A golden hoop adorns his left ear.
The young Varisian spends some time hanging near the edges of the crowds, taking in the sights, the sounds, and the smells. It's as though a part of himself wants nothing more than to let himself go, join in the festivities with wild abandon...yet, he just can't bring himself to do it. He watches the cloud of Swallowtails fill the sun-dappled afternoon sky, hoping that mayhap one might land on him; a sign of favor from Desna that he has come here for a purpose.
Realizing that he is hungry after his long overland trip down the Lost Coast to Sandpoint, Pietro decides that he had better take advantage of the free fare offered by the local eateries. Making his way over to the food tables, he stands near a huge, strong-looking man covered in blue tattoos. "Err, pardon me, friend. What would you recommend to eat around here?"
'Everything!' Khalad grins at the sharply attired Varisian man.
'But start with one of these,' he indicates the curry-spiced salmon among the food presented by the Rusty Dragon's staff.
'Then I'm thinking venison from the White Deer, the Hagfish has lobster chow, but I don't really like shellfish,' he makes a face then smiles.
'You can join me on my tour of food if you'd like stranger! My name is Khalad.'
He wipes one giant hand on the breeches beneath his hide greaves and offers it to the Varisian.
'Everything!' Khalad grins at the sharply attired Varisian man.
'But start with one of these,' he indicates the curry-spiced salmon among the food presented by the Rusty Dragon's staff.
'Then I'm thinking venison from the White Deer, the Hagfish has lobster chow, but I don't really like shellfish,' he makes a face then smiles.
'You can join me on my tour of food if you'd like stranger! My name is Khalad.'
He wipes one giant hand on the breeches beneath his hide greaves and offers it to the Varisian.
"Pietro Vanizzi," comes the reply with a grin revealing very white teeth behind the neatly-trimmed black gotee. Pietro accepts the much larger man's handshake without hesitation.
"Don't mind if I do." Pietro reaches out and grabs a plate of the Rusty Dragon's salmon. "Mmm, that's divine," he says after the first bite. "So, Khalad, you don't look like you're from around here. Just in town for the festival?"
Followers of Desna, or others with Knowledge: Religion check DC7
Rogar makes his way through the crowd. Dressed in his finely polished scale mail with the symbol of Torag, his first stop is to find food and drink. He makes his way to the Rusty Dragon's stand just in time to hear a tall tatooed man and a finely dressed varissian mention the various items to eat, enough to tempt a dwarves growling stomach.
"Food sounds great....got anything to wash it down though??" comes a sound from a bright red headed dwarf with a grin going from ear to ear.
"Food sounds great....got anything to wash it down though??" comes a sound from a bright red headed dwarf with a grin going from ear to ear.
Almost before Rogar finishes his question, three tankards of Ameiko's special early winterdrop mead appear before you. 'That'll do you,' says Bethana the halfling barmaid of the Rusty Dragon. 'Compliments of Miss Kaijitsu.' She adds with a wink.
With eyes wide he says "That it will lass...at least for now". Rogar downs a tankard. "Ah...just what this old guts been lookin' for"as a low belch leaves his system. "Thanks again missy...I mean...Miss Kaijitsu!"
With eyes wide he says "That it will lass...at least for now". Rogar downs a tankard. "Ah...just what this old guts been lookin' for"as a low belch leaves his system. "Thanks again missy...I mean...Miss Kaijitsu!"
From across the press of people eating at the Rusty Dragon's stall, Ameiko gives you a smile and a nod. An incredible feat really, to hear you, considering the noise, but the locals just wink and wag their heads knowingly and keep eating.
Torillan awoke late in the morning, and donned his gear. He slowly ambled downstairs to the common room of the Rusty Dragon where he had a small room.
Making his way out to the street, he hears cheering from another part of town. He looks up to see the huge flock of swallowtails disperse above the town. His stomach grumbles at that moment, so Torillan makes his way to the town square. The crowd noise increases, and the smell of food only makes him hungrier.
He makes his way to the stall run my the Rusty Dragon's proprieter. As he approaches, he sees a halfling woman place three tankards in front of the three gathered in front of the stall. Torillan steps up and says "That looks good. One more, my dear...", smiling and winking at Bethana. He nods at the gentlemen next to him.
As hard as it may be to believe, what with all the sights and sounds around, but your merry gathering has started to draw some curious looks from people at the festival. Certainly Yelena's exotic looks and Khalad's bulk and tattoos would be enough, but they are local after all. No, it's that AND the strangers with them that are causing a slight buzz amongst those at the food stalls. You can all hear snippets of the conversations around you...
'Go on, Gordie, see if the paint rubs off...' one boy says to another in hushed tones, looking furtively at Khalad.
Sitting at the end of the long table where you are, a local townswoman harrumphs, '...ears? I'd say look at those teeth! Protein indeed! I've always said there's something wrong with that girl.'
'...and a cleric of Torag, no less! Wonder what he wants here? No more room in the cathedral now to add a seventh!' says one man to another behind you.
It's all an annoyance, but nothing you haven't heard in your travels. Still, it would be nice to garner some respect from people, especially when you haven't done anything to deserve such gossip. Lost in your philosophical thoughts, a tray full of tankards is set down on the table in front of you. Ameiko leans over into your midst and says teasingly, 'Pay them no mind. Gossip and slander from the locals? Pretty good for a group of unknowns. One day you might even earn all that attention being paid to you.'
Khalad smiles broadly at Ameiko. 'Let them look, I'm not so easy on the eyes that they won't need a rest.'
He then turns Ro rogar and Torillan, introduces himself and shakes their hands.
Finally, smiling to Yelena he says 'And your still as dainty as ever little witch!'
Pietro happily accepts the mug of good ale, flashing his winningest smile at Bethana, then in Ameiko's general direction. He returns Torillan's nod, and greets Rogar in friendly fashion. "Pietro is my name. Are you also a stranger to Sandpoint then?"
She accidentally bumps into a rather large and brightly tattooed young fellow. Turning around she recognizes the former Sandpoint resident, "Khalad, you rascal! When did you get back in town? I could have sworn you would never come back here. It's good to see that acne cleared up." She takes a helping of the curried salmon from Ameiko and holds the plate near her chest. Briefly concentrating, she whispers a few words and makes furtive movements with her free hand. Small, neatly cut pieces of salmon float smoothly up to her mouth where she bites them out of the air.
Pietro looks at the...unusual...young woman, his expression equal parts curiosity and unease. Still, he smiles at the unique method of eating she displays.
"Did you see those butterflies they released? Good waste of protein, right there. I always thought Desna was too fickle and flighty."
At this seemingly offhand remark, however, the young Varisian's ears redden and his expression darkens. Not wanting to pick a fight by himself in a strange town, he simply turns away and looks for another local delicacy to try. But it's clear he is not best pleased to hear Desna spoken of in such a manner.
Torillan steps up and says "That looks good. One more, my dear...", smiling and winking at Bethana. He nods at the gentlemen next to him.
”Pleased to meet you, Rogar Hammergun at your service.” he says politely.
'...and a cleric of Torag, no less! Wonder what he wants here? No more room in the cathedral now to add a seventh!' says one man to another behind you.
”Well…I ought ta…” Rogar begins, but is distracted as a tray of tankards is placed on the table in front of him.
Lost in your philosophical thoughts, a tray full of tankards is set down on the table in front of you. Ameiko leans over into your midst and says teasingly, 'Pay them no mind. Gossip and slander from the locals? Pretty good for a group of unknowns. One day you might even earn all that attention being paid to you.'
Slowly Rogar calms back down and says under his breath ”Well… deep breath …no sense letting these go to waist!!” Rogar takes a tankard for himself and passes the others out, carefully watching those who decide not to drink, no sense letting them go to waist if no ones going to drink them he thinks.
smiles broadly at Ameiko. 'Let them look, I'm not so easy on the eyes that they won't need a rest.'
He then turns Ro rogar and Torillan, introduces himself and shakes their hands.
”Pleased to meet you there Khalad….kind of a tall boy aren’t ya?!? Names Rogar…Rogar Hammergun proud cleric of Torag”
Pietro happily accepts the mug of good ale, flashing his winningest smile at Bethana, then in Ameiko's general direction. He returns Torillan's nod, and greets Rogar in friendly fashion. "Pietro is my name. Are you also a stranger to Sandpoint then?"
”Yep…..first time here. You??”
Shaking Khalad's hand, he says, "Torillan is my name, but you can call me 'Tor' for short. Just passing through...sword for hire and all that."
He looks around the square. "Figured I'd stay for the festivities, see if anyone is hiring once it's all done", he says.
Taking the proffered tankard, he smiles and says "Cheers!" as he raises it in a toast.
A handsome young male gnome has been sitting next to the group of exotic locals and newcomers, busily setting quill to parchment in an effort to document all of the wondrous sights and activities of the festival. Several plates of half-eaten delicacies from the numerous food stalls surround the studious gnome, although the plate that bore the curry-spiced salmon from the Rusty Dragon appears to have been licked clean.
The gnome pauses in his writing as he turns to the group. “Can you believe the number of swallowtail butterflies that they released from that cage?” he asks enthusiastically. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen so many butterflies before! I mean, we celebrate the Swallowtail Festival back home in Sipplerose, but we’ve never had anything as exciting as this! And did you see those Varisians dancing the xopach? I’ve been traveling with them for the past few months, and their skill at dancing still amazes me! They are such a fascinating and friendly people!”
“And by the gods this food!” the excited gnome continues. “Have you tried the salmon? I mean, the peppercorn venison and the lobster chowder were quite tasty, but that salmon is to die for! Especially with that nectar that they call winterdrop mead! That’s a drink that could bring tears of joy to a hellknight, I’d wager!”
“But excuse me!” the young gnome exclaims as he remembers his manners. “My name is Gimblethorp Boddynock, but you can call me Gimble. Are you all from this wonderful town?”
Khalad looks at the gnome, saying nothing for a few moments, clearly try to work his way through the gnomes rapid speech.
'Uh... Yes. I am a local as Yelena says.'
He looks at the gnome askance, not quite sure what to make of the tiny rapidly-talking creature.
Rogar looks temporarily confused at the gnome trying to interpret what was just said. "Whoa there....stop and take a breath! Name's Rogar. On a request by the church back home to attend the Swallowtail Festival. Not much on all the flying bugs or being surrounded by all this water" Rogar casually points to the sea surrounding Sandpoint ",but the food and drinks have been a welcome sight!!"
As is true with most people who realize too late that their gossip and commentary is overheard, the people around you fall into an embarassed silence...just as Gimble begins his enthusiastic and energetic commentary. All eyes are once more drawn to your table, and for a solid two-count after he finishes, there is complete silence at the tables nearest you.
Everyone takes a collective breath, then...
"Not all of us, O Enthusiastic One. I have been here since I was a babe. Khalad as well, but was gone jaunting for a few years before just returning. The others are travelers. What brings you here?"
'Uh... Yes. I am a local as Yelena says.'
"Whoa there....stop and take a breath! Name's Rogar. On a request by the church back home to attend the Swallowtail Festival. Not much on all the flying bugs or being surrounded by all this water,but the food and drinks have been a welcome sight!!"
...the townspeople begin to talk all at once. This time they are careful to keep their opinions to themselves.
”Yep…..first time here. You??”
Pietro replies, "Indeed, I have just arrived myself. Some traders on the road told me that there would be a magnificent celebration in this town for the Swallowtail Festival...something or another about the new temple. I'm enjoying myself, of course, but I'm as likely as not to set off down the road again once the festivities have ended. We'll see how The Great Dreamer leads me."
Pietro pauses for a moment after dropping this reference to Desna into the conversation, hoping the revelation will engender more respectful talk from the others nearby.
"Say, what happened to the old temple, anyway?" Pietro then asks casually of the locals.
The gnome pauses in his writing as he turns to the group. “Can you believe the number of swallowtail butterflies that they released from that cage?” he asks enthusiastically. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen so many butterflies before! I mean, we celebrate the Swallowtail Festival back home in Sipplerose, but we’ve never had anything as exciting as this! And did you see those Varisians dancing the xopach? I’ve been traveling with them for the past few months, and their skill at dancing still amazes me! They are such a fascinating and friendly people!”
Pietro offers a courteous greeting to Gimble, but after the gnome's last comment, he mutters something that sounds like "Most of them, anyway..."
"Say, what happened to the old temple, anyway?" Pietro then asks casually of the locals.
'It burnt down,' Khalad says with a dark look on his face.
Yelena pointedly clears her throat, "Please excuse Khalad, it is a sensitive topic for the town. The previous temple on this sight burned down five years ago, taking with it our last town priest. This was only a few months after a resident murdered several of Sandpoint's citizens." Yelena's eyes narrow and one of her elongated ears twitches furtively, "Needless to say, this festival is both to dedicate our new temple and move beyond the unpleasantness surrounding that time."
"What happened to the killer? Did he get captured?"
"What happened to the killer? Did he get captured?"
There is a palpable silence growing around your table as those nearby pick up on your conversation, and talk turns to hushed whispers. It is very clear to you that this is an uncomfortable topic. Knowing that Khalad and Yelena can explain as well as anyone, the other locals are content to let them speak. However you can hear an unfamiliar phrase repeated over and over amongst the people of Sandpoint...
"the Late Unpleasantness..."
”Not much on all the flying bugs or being surrounded by all this water” Rogar casually points to the sea surrounding Sandpoint ”,but the food and drinks have been a welcome sight!!”
”Well, yes, there is A LOT more water here than I’m used to ever seeing, having spent my whole life in the Sanos Forest,” Gimble replies to Rogar’s comment. ”But just look at how racially diverse this town is! Why, here I am sitting at a table with two elves, two humans, and a dwarf. ”This place is a veritable melting pot!”
'Uh... Yes. I am a local as Yelena says.'
”You see, now,” the young gnome exclaims, ”this is what I’m referring to. A town where humans and elves can grow up together in harmony. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“So, you are a local here,” Gimble addresses Khalad. “I notice that your exquisite tattoos are different from those worn by the Varisians that I have been traveling with. Are you a Shoanti?” the inquisitive gnome asks. "I've never met a Shoanti before. What do the symbols of your tattoos mean?"
Gimble’s eyes grow enormously wide as Yelena talks about the temple fire and the serial murders.
”Fires and murders!?!” he exclaims to himself in a slightly hushed voice. ”Maybe this town isn’t quite as harmonious as I thought!”
The studious gnome pulls out another piece of parchment and begins to record the details regarding the temple fire and the ‘Late Unpleasantness.’ As Gimble hastily writes, Pietro notices that a birthmark in the shape of a butterfly covers the back of the diminutive scholar’s right hand.
Gimble stares open-mouthed as Yelena recounts her concise synopsis of the ‘Late Unpleasantness,’ although his quill doesn’t stop moving as the gnome records the (apparent) “elf-maid’s” tale word-for-word.
”Oh, my!” Gimble exclaims sympathetically after Yelena finishes. ”A town this size, you must have known some of the victims, if not the killer as well. I am so sorry for your loss!”
'They are the tribal tattoos of a warrior of the Six Boulders Clan of the white Mammoth following. I am not a Shoanti, I am Kellid.' Khalad says, still clearly quite baffled by the little gnome.
"There was a series of murders. Some of the more superstitious called the killer 'Chopper,' since that's how they found the victims. It was discovered to be a local craftsman. He died when they tried to capture him. There's not really anything more to discuss." Yelena turns back to her food.
Pietro looks momentarily abashed at having raised such a potentially sore topic. "Please forgive me, I certainly did not mean to bring up such a dark topic on a day of celebration such as this one." He takes a long pull from his mug of Winterdrop to hide his embarrassment.
The studious gnome pulls out another piece of parchment and begins to record the details regarding the temple fire and the ‘Late Unpleasantness.’ As Gimble hastily writes, Pietro notices that a birthmark in the shape of a butterfly covers the back of the diminutive scholar’s right hand.
Wishing to change the subject, Pietro remarks, "Gimble, my new friend, that mark on your hand. Are you marked with the favor of Desna, by chance?"
'I am not a Shoanti, I am Kellid.'
"A Kellid?!" Gimble exclaims excitedly. "From the far North? The Realm of the Mammoth Lords? Have you fought demons and orcs? Have you seen the Worldwound? How exciting! Can you speak Hallit? Did you know that Hallit has no written form? How fascinating!" The excited young gnome pulls out yet another piece of parchment and begins to draw replicas of Khalad's tattoos.
"Gimble, my new friend, that mark on your hand. Are you marked with the favor of Desna, by chance?"
The distracted gnome pauses from his note-taking and glances down at his right hand. "You know, I've never really thought about it," Gimble muses. "But now that I think about it, butterflies do usually land on my hand every year during the Swallowtail Festival. And I've always wished to travel the world, like my uncle, Dimbleshanks Boddynock. Did you know that he is a famous Pathfinder? Maybe I am favored by the goddess! I should talk to that priest, Father Zantus. I bet he could tell me more about Desna's religion!" The excited young gnome pulls out yet ANOTHER piece of parchment and begins drawing sketches of his birthmark, making a list of questions to ask the priest of Desna when he gets a chance.
The distracted gnome pauses from his note-taking and glances down at his right hand. "You know, I've never really thought about it," Gimble muses. "But now that I think about it, butterflies do usually land on my hand every year during the Swallowtail Festival. And I've always wished to travel the world, like my uncle, Dimbleshanks Boddynock. Did you know that he is a famous Pathfinder? Maybe I am favored by the goddess! I should talk to that priest, Father Zantus. I bet he could tell me more about Desna's religion!" The excited young gnome pulls out yet ANOTHER piece of parchment and begins drawing sketches of his birthmark, making a list of questions to ask the priest of Desna when he gets a chance.
"Most fascinating!" Pietro exclaims. "I am certain that conversation with Father Zantus would prove enlightening, but I have been a follower of the Song of the Spheres for my entire life. I would be happy to answer your questions, if you like."
Gimble exclaims excitedly. "From the far North? The Realm of the Mammoth Lords? Have you fought demons and orcs? Have you seen the Worldwound? How exciting! Can you speak Hallit? Did you know that Hallit has no written form? How fascinating!" The excited young gnome pulls out yet another piece of parchment and begins to draw replicas of Khalad's tattoos.
Khalad stares at Gimble again, then shrugs and mutters in Hallit.
The wolf ever hunts the moon.
A loud crack like a thunderbolt rings out across the square, at once silencing the crowd and drawing everyone's attention to the stage. There stands Father Zantus, in his full regalia as the ranking cleric of the Swallowtail Festival.
'Hrm. Yes.' He begins in deep, regal tones, 'In the time when the gods walked amongst men, there was one who would become known as the Great Dreamer. She who was known as Desna wandered the land...'
A shriek of pure terror erupts from one side of the square, nearest the stage. This is quickly followed by another, and another, the screams coming from all around you. Chaos ensues as the crowd begins to panic. Terrified townspeople flee in all directions, causing mayhem as mothers try to grab their children, and fathers try to move their families to safety. Young girls stand screaming, too frightened to move, as the boys who were the picture of bravado earlier look around in terror.
In the confusion, there is no clear indication of what or where "safe" may lie. Suddenly, a small green shape leaps up onto the table, sending a mass of plates, mugs, trays, and parchment sheets flying in all directions. Clearing the mead-foam from your eyes, you see it, and in small squeaky voice, it growls, 'Who's first, longshanks?'
Perception
Initiative
Khalad draws his greataxe with a roar, then swings it down with bonebreaking force at the goblin.