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"No, she was not nice at all, and I don't think we've met before, but it's a pleasure to meet another gnome! nice hair! I love blue! and I was thinking we'd have a feast back in Absalom, but if you all don't mind hanging about here... I can whip something up in the kitchen.. it is a fine kitchen with good stock in the pantry... as befits a ruler who kept all the good stuff for herself. That way others can join us... perhaps the council might declare a holiday and everyone in the city can eat as well, though I can't possibly cook for that many myself... I'm sure local chefs and merchants would be happy to oblige if it can be arranged."
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"I am Hakime, servant of Erastil."
“Hi Hakime! Thank-you for rescuing us.” The young woman standing in smoking prison rags replies.
“I am Eadie, slave to fashion … and my tummy.”
“Oh Lore, I’m glad that I’m not dead too! Are you OK?”
Eadie returns the hug from her big sister warmly. “OOF, Sis. Not so hard! You’ll squish me like that dragon-thingie nearly did in the City of Gold that time. Remember?”
“Roland was there too.”
While the two Pathfinder groups get acquainted and reacquainted, calls of Victory can be heard echoing around the palace hallways. A number of joyful Crystalcrag revellers are spotted tearing past the main doors to the throne room, wearing expensive gowns and jewellery that until recently belonged to their monarch. Magnums of elven bubbly and longnecks of dwarven ale are being sculled straight from the bottle.
From the sounds of splashing and laughter, it seems an impromptu pool party is taking place in Tygora’s bathtub.
Shortly after, a tired but relieved Eurdan Stonemantle shuffles into the throne room to embrace his fellow Councillor Ghaleri. “I am so glad we haven’t lost you, my friend. Crystalcrag needs you more than ever.”
“The Emira’s forces have surrendered and thanks to the Fox, Snake and Poodle Company, Fury’s Hold IS OURS!”
“The death of Tygora is going to leave a power vacuum.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about that, Lady Lorelendral.” The old oread smiles.
“Ghaleri and I can hold the fort until new council elections are held. Who knows, Morak Jadeglow, Valsog the Giant or even ... Master Fool might decide to run for Tribune!”
A wry grin crosses Ghaleri’s face. “Lore makes an excellent point though, Eurdan.”
The younger Tribune lets out a piercing and celebrations immediately hush.
“My fellow Villagers! THANKS TO THE PATHFINDERS, THE TYRANT QUEEN IS DEAD!”
If anything the riotous that follows this announcement eclipses the fevered victory celebrations from before.
Fury’s Hold with chants of:
and
“Well, Eurdan and I might leave you to make your plans and be carried back to the Fifth Facet on the townsfolk’s shoulders when you are ready, Pathfinders.”
Ghaleri *winks* “We need to catch up with our constituents now before they find Tygora’s stash of pesh.”
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"I guess me fixing you all a special dinner will have to wait... let's get out of here, and leave the real celebrating to the people of Crystal Crag. Now who else needs some healing before we go, or are you all going to claim to be fine... especially you Lhug... you have a bad habit of saying you're fine when you're half dead, you know. Don't we have to get our stuff back too? I bet she's stashed it wherever she puts her pesh.. We'd better find it before they do, eh?"
She hugs Eadie again, squeezing her hard, but with her strength, that's not very hard at all. "I'm so glad we're all alive, but honey, those burns are gonna leave scars if you don't let me see to them very soon.."
“Pathfinders, I would love to hear some suggestions about what to rename Fury’s Hold.”
Eurdan Stonemantle frowns. “Working foxes, snakes AND poodles into the new coat-of-arms is going to be a challenge.”
“Oh and don’t worry about your equipment, Lore. Tonight you are among friends.”
Ghaleri turns a knowing gaze on the mephit. “I’m sure Good Mini-me knows where your gear is hidden. I will ask Valsog to deliver your items to you by the time you have risen on the morrow.”
Mini-me nods rapidly like the fool he was, before reciting:
Under the flaming plain, dragon smoke rises in bubbles, and paths burn purple and blue and black when they’re found.
I know, I know, oh, oh, oh.
Under the flaming plain, friends rescind shady debts and summer elves are burnt as white as snow.
I know, I know, oh, oh, oh.
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After being freed, The Dragon stretches himself in every way possible, then cracks each knuckle in turn. "M goi, Dusk," clapping him on the back a little too hard and leaving a boody handprint, "We were about to break free, but it was a treat to watch that cyclone of power in action. What's it like to work with such a force of nature?"
"Yes, Freedoms Hold!"
Ghaleri and Stonemantle lead the combined party of Pathfinders back out to the front gates of the newly renamed Freedom’s Hold. But not before dodging the most expensive and fragrant perfume spray fight ever witnessed in Southern Qadira, as well as a pick-up game of skittles using Tygora’s exquisite crystalware for pins.
“No idea what we’re going to do with the palace once we’ve stripped out (or *sigh* destroyed) all the extravagance.” Stonemantle confesses.
“Maybe we’ll turn it into some kind of Academy open to all young genasi from the region.”
There are no shortage of volunteers who insist on carrying the Pathfinders back to the Council Chambers on their shoulders. However, all are keen to return to the celebration, after escaping with a few Pathfinder souvenirs …
“Lord Double-Slice let me have the shirt off his back – well the sleeve I tore off it anyway …”
“I pulled out a lock of Wembly’s hair! Isn’t it a pretty purple color?”
“That’s nothin’. Lhug-mor spat on me – twice! I’m never washing it off.”
☀ ☀ ☀
By mid-afternoon of Crystalcrag’s first Independence Day holiday, Valsog has returned all the captive group’s gear.
“Ghaleri and Stonemantle are honoring you with the Keys to the Village, Pathfinders.”
The Giant looks uneasy as he continues. “But they’re going to be busy with diplomatic visits to our neighbors, normalizing trade, encouraging industry and organizing the elections.”
He shrugs his massive shoulders. “I’m sorry, Pathfinders. Despite all you’ve done for us, the Councillors aren’t going to have much time for you in the coming months. Maybe you should think about going home?”
The return journey to Katheer is uneventful. As a servant admits you to the Pathfinder Lodge, it is apparent a LOUD and very public argument is taking place upstairs.
“If you both had acted sooner, we wouldn’t be down TWO groups of Pathfinders!”
“Oh come off it, Olandril! If Esmayl had actually been here instead of gallivanting off to the Inner Planes ...”
“What nonsense, Hugo. You should never have sent that Body Recovery Team! I never would have authorized it.”
“Huh, Torch was right all along! This proves once again how little you both care about you own peopl…”
Your entrance halts the argument as pointed fingers are quickly lowered.
Venture-Captains Hugo Victor, Esmayl ibn Qaradi and Shadow Lodge Agent Olandril fall over themselves to shake your hands and congratulate you on the mission’s success.
VC Hugo gushes, “How about we listen to your report over a celebratory dinner tonight?”
“We never doubted that you would succeed.”
