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Late afternoon light pours in through the windows of the meeting
room in Galt’s Woodsedge Lodge, and the smell of freshly
baked pastries wafts in from the kitchen. Venture-Captain Eliza
Petulengro sits at the head of a polished mahogany table in front
of tall piles of papers. She clears her throat. “I’m glad to see that
all of you made it here safely. My name is Eliza Petulengro. And
what are the names of the agents who answered my call today?”
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Ensuring to sweep the seat before sitting down at the Lodge, a well dressed Noble scans the room with his eyes. His garb is that of a Galtan noble, but is of an older style than is currently fashionable. His skin is a pale blue, denoting Outsider heritage with shock white hair. he wears no armour and carries a Dueling Sabre forged of Cold-Iron on his hip preferred by the Aldori Swordlords.
"Lucien, Lucien Mainard" he answers with the habitual sneer of a highborn Scion. "I am a Spell-Sword trained in the Aldori style."
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A hulking Nagaji wanders into the room mumbling to himself. He carries very primitive armor, weapons, and gear. Though he is so large you would guess he is probably pretty dangerous with almost anything.
Ssself isss Thresssh. Sssome call ssself Voicesss. Ssself not know why. Lizard sssaid come here. Cat sssaid tell youssse all that ssself isss nice.
He then slouches down to sit in a heap on the floor.
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The last to enter the room is a lithe and handsome gentleman, dressed in loose, brightly coloured clothing. It would have been the height of fashion a few years ago. Due to the light reflecting for his sequined shirt, it takes a moment to see that his skin is also discoloured, the greenish tinge of a Sylph.
He strides confidently, "And I am Célestin, also of the Mainard line. How may we help you, my dear?", all said in a thick Galtish accent.
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I'm Reingard, Sacred Huntmaster of Gozreh. - says the Inquisitor, a painted Ulfen with barbaric appearance and an immense, absurd lance tied on his back - ... And this is Petunia. Don't worry, she's just a big goofy baby. Unless I tell her otherwise.
He completes, showing his animal companion. The creature is an oversized lizard with strong arms and legs. The Human himself is slightly taller than it, but for anyone who knows a bit about Nature - especially megafauna - knows it won't last, and the companion will probably outgrow the master on a matter of bare months.
We were also sent by the Society. How we may be of service?
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The Venture captain turns to the party.
"A few things...and as expected. Excellent.” Moments later, a wiry man wearing a
tailored suit strides into the room. A white porcelain mask covers
his face, and he wears a thin red ribbon around his neck. In his
gloved hands, he carries a tray of sweet and savory pies, which
he sets in the center of the table before quietly slipping away.
The venture-captain serves herself a generous slice of pie. “Mind
that you don’t get food on the papers,” she says. “They record the
information that your fellow agents have been gathering about
the ebb and flow of Galtan society. To perform such work properly
is, unfortunately, far less interesting than it sounds. I have a
more engaging opportunity in mind for you. You’ll be traveling
about a hundred miles up the Sellen River to the village of
Rosehaven. Rosehaven is the home of Armeline,
a savvy information gatherer who was once
a reliable contact for the Pathfinder Society.
Twelve years ago, she was accused of
espionage against the revolution in
connection with some of her past work
with the Society. She sent a cry for help
the Grand Lodge. It was an exceedingly
difficult situation, considering only a few
months earlier revolutionaries stormed this
very lodge and killed my predecessor
and her servants. Following that
tragedy, the Decemvirate suspended
all operations in Galt. It was a
sensible decision—after all, the
Decemvirate is not in the business of
sending agents on suicide missions—
but it seemed a death sentence for
Armeline. Whether through luck, guile,
or both, Armeline survived. I would
like to extend a formal apology to her,
and hopefully convince her to consider
working with the Society in the future.
We have before us the perfect opportunity. Rosehaven’s upcoming
festival culminates in a ceremony of ritual forgiveness, which may
encourage her to move past the Society’s unfortunate necessity so
many years ago.
I’ve arranged for a riverboat to pick you up at dawn. You’ll arrive
in Rosehaven in the morning of the first day of the festival. Eliza
frowns, “Oh, and one more thing. I have a hunch, and I learned to
trust my hunches years ago. I doubt this mission will be as simple
as it seems. Stay alert.”
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Leafing through the paperwork given to them whilst barely concealing their sneer at the noble turned servant, Lucien listens to the Venture Captain's briefing with interest. Satisfied that it is over, he speaks levelly and slowly, he too with a strong Galtan accent.
"I would guess she is to slam the door in our faces after such treatment from former 'Allies'." he reasons as they discuss the potentials of the mission. "How will we know Mademoiselle Armeline? Also what is the current 'eb and flow' of the treacherous peasant folk?"
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"Alas, our sweet Armeline has probably left our side for good! I wonder how ze poor thing has survived! I vould be most anxious to meet her, and more so to see our madamemoiselle safe."
"Much as it shames my brother and I, we regret to admit that our information on Galt's current affairs is rather limited. We have not been home for some time. Perhaps you could enlighten us?"
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Lucien's eye twitches at the mention of the Gray Gardeners, but he quickly gathers his composure as he asks his next question.
You say your hunch, have you wind of any Snake activity in our Homeland?" he asks, brushing a speck from the tails of his velvet coat. "Also, which festival are they celebrating? What does it entail?"
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Reingard stayed silent, carefully watching all the questions and answers. The young man wasn't used to be around so many people and was still uncomfortable - he had just barely joined the Pathfinder ranks. He tapped Petunia's head with obvious love. He looked around the group and let out a short chuckle when "be careful not to draw undue attention" was said, but struggled to keep a serious face.
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@Valyssa "Letter? We didn't receive one from her...Rosehaven is a village along the Sellen River, home to several hundred people. Its
isolation shields it from the cycle of revolution, for the most
part. Its people make their living primarily through farming
and fishing. They shouldn't be openly hostile to you.”
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Lucien shrugs elegantly before getting to his feet, brushing down his fine suit and re-adjusting the blade at his hip. Satisfied he nods to the odd 'Voices' and waves to his brother.
"I am ready, let us get his trap sprung hmm?" he says with a sigh, his next statement directed at Celestin. "Ready Brother dear? Home sweet home."
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"No formal letter...I'm sorry
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The Venture Captain provides you with transport to Rosehaven. You board a very large rowboat that takes you up the Sellen River for 10 days. The journey along the river is pleasant and uneventful. The crew is rather friendly. You arrive early in the morning and see the townsfolk milling about.
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During the boat ride and after complaining about the conditions aboard, despite their actual state, Lucien seems mostly lost in thought. Each morning, he rises early to practice his sword forms on deck.
Leaving the boat, he keeps one hand rested on his sword hilt as they make their way to the village. Stopping at the edge, he takes in his first real taste of a Galtan community, having been raised in the Graltan state of the River Kingdoms, a mere parody and haven for exiles.
"So, this is home Brother." he remarks "How filthy."
Turning to Voices he nods. "The largest building is like to be the Townhouse or the Inn. Either way will see ua information. We will have to secure losgings no doubt as I foresee us being here some time."
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The party spots the Silver Flute by it's sign of a grayish flute hanging outside. As the party enters they see a few townsfolk dressed in mostly farming clothes gathered in the common room. A older human female with short salt and peppered hair dashes about shouting orders to the servers. She spots the party as it enters and says in a loud voice over the common room... "Greetings...You don't seem from these parts? Are you here for the festival? My names Ivy. Will you be needing rooms?
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Making their way through the quiet village, Lucien is clearly on edge with his hand gripping the hilt of his sheathed blade. There could easily be dissenters in this place and whilst the Gray Gardeners have been lying low of late they always had spies. Keeping his brother within his eyeline to ensure he isn't ambushed he waits at the door of the Silver Fish for it to be opened, a natural reflex.
Entering rhe bar, he looks around and immediately regrets the outdit he has chosen to wear. This smell will never leave me, the thought runs through his
Mind my first taste of home is this hovel.
"The festival, yes we are." he replies formally and a little stiffly. He decided to let someone else answer about the rooms, not sure he could be pleasant about them.
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"Ah, a bottle of your finest red first please, madame! We have travelled some way. And a few glasses? Who is sharing in our small toast here?", he turns to his temporary comrades and asks for a glass each.
When the wine arrives, after a quick polish of the glasses, he pours one for each ally and makes his toast. "Let us raise a glass in thanks for a safe journey, and in hopes of a warm welcome and a safe return home!"
To Lucien he says:"Do try to be polite, dear bruzzer. Remember, zis is not our home, any more zan my shirt is your shirt. Zey may be woven from ze same cloth, but ze quality is lacking." He hopes his brother is too absorbed in the metaphor to notice his jibe at his clothing, but chuckles to himself.
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She brings a fine bottle of wine over to the table and some glasses. "It's a very good 4722..If you're hear for the festival my friends you better hurry. Bertinard is giving the opening blessing in half an hour. I've three rooms up stairs if you want to double up. I'm sorry I don't have more but some folk came in for the festival and I'm nearly booked up" Ivy gives a quick smile.
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Reingard pulls a glass and drinks, shaking his head. He loved a good strong drink, but didn't have one for a while.
No, not for you, Petunia. - he told his companion - You know it doesn't go well on your delicate belly, dear.
When the Sylph prepares to leave, he organizes his belongings and follows him.
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A large group of townsfolk has gathered around a middle aged human man at the center of the crowd. He's wearing robes and has a holy symbol around his neck.
The crowd parts as he raises his hands.
"Eternal Rose bless the townsfolk of our village and this festival. May the harvest last through the winter..and bless the pumpkins upon which this festival. We thank thee" He drops his hands and the crowd begins to mingle about.
The man wearing the holy symbol spots you and makes his way over to the party.
“Welcome, travelers! You have picked an excellent day to visit
Rosehaven. We’re celebrating Mercylight. As you just heard, this
festival is dedicated to the grace of Shelyn, but you don’t have to
worship Shelyn to participate. Go ahead, grab a pumpkin or two,
and carve whatever you wish. There are plenty more in the fields,
so don’t be shy!”
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(max 10)
"Oho! Such a marvellous... thing!", he holds a moderately sized pumpkin aloft, brushing off the earth, trying to work out if it is fruit or vegetable.
"Zis does look fun! What happens wiz ze finished carvings? Such works of art must surely be shared!"
Also, in a whisper:"See, bruzzer! This is Galt, literally at its roots!"
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Lucien nods at the Innkeeper when the wine is presented and takes a sip of the red liquid. Surprised at its quality he closes his eyes. How can I be surprised, this is likely 'liberated' from the cellar of their betters he has the restraint to think rather than say aloud.
"If you say so brother, but remember, not all snakes have scales and crawl on their bellies."
Making his way to the room to e shared with his brother, Lucien hangs up his travelling gear and after some though leaves his fine tailcoat hung on a hook so that he wears just his fine velvet trousers and thick cotton shirt with mother of pearl buttons.
Listening to the Preacher's blessing he takes a look at the pumpkin and at the obvious mess it would make.
"Preacher, your harvest festival, how did it come around? If you have time to share the history I know my brother will enjoy it."
Looking to his brother's obvious glee and not willing to be scolded again he takes out his knife and begins to carve the Flag of Galt upon the Pumpkin's surface. When he has finished he uses a small charm to create his house's crest beneath the flag.