Since your arrival into Kenabres, the city has seemed somewhat bouyed by excitement and anticipation. The festival of Armasse is coming, where the faithful of Iomedae venerate the dead god Aroden, and thought is given to training the peasantry in arms and rudimentary skills of war. While elsewhere in Golarion the fest has become a hedonistic week long party, the mood in Kenabres is more somber and reserved. While much of Golarion need wonder about the evils that dwell in shadow... those of the crusade need only turn to the West with eyes open.
But still the mood is raised and festive, smiles crossing faces well creased and oft frowning - and the church of the Inheritor prepares itself for the ceremonies that need be performed. It was in the early afternoon that a messenger found each of you either at rest in barracks or at play. Orders were passed over and upon their reading you found yourself ordered to assemble...
Harrol / Nessa / Aarol / Theodric,
Report to Gregori Shadowbane with all equipment to the common at the Northgate guardhouse.
Captain Chun Dawei
Making your way through the streets of the Gate District you soon arrive at the guardhouse's door. A disinterested sentry waves you within and you enter a small room with wooden trestle tables and bench seats. It is currently empty of persons, barring a single tall and muscular man bedecked in gleaming scaled mail...
Thanking you for your service thus far, the Captain also informed that four other recruits would be seconded to the squad - two halflings, a human and one half-elven. With a shaken hand and clasped arm he bid you await them in the common of the guardhouse near to Northgate.
Well, this is what I wanted, and here it starts, be it glory or death... Aarol takes a deep breath to steady himself and pushes through the door into the small room. Full of grim determination a moment ago, he sizes up the huge man in gleaming armor and instantly relaxes. ah hells, the demons won't even see me for this shining beacon, a better shield I couldn't find! "Hey, glad to meet you, I'm Aarol. You must be Gregori Shadowbane?"
Gregori's sharp almost crystalline grey eyes take in the half elf that that enters the little room, noting his reaction to his presence. He moved fluidly, with little effort, and had the rough edge of someone who probably knew his way around a blade.
Stepping forward he offers his arm in a warriors hand shake, firm arm clasp, eye contact, a sense of military brotherhood in his movements.
"Well met Aarol, good guess," he replies with a hint of a grin, a touch of humor flavoring his baritone.
"I'll wait for the others to arrive before explaining why we're all here."
A bit later, a plain-looking beardless man with clean, though well-traveled, clothes strides briskly into the room. He smoothes his hair back with one hand as he thrusts his assignment paper in front of him towards Gregori. A lack of armament, only a single unloaded crossbow slung over a shoulder, gives him the impression of someone who is either unconcerned with, or unprepared for, the dangers of the Crusade.
Theodric Abernathy, reporting...for duty? Forgive me, but I'm not entirely sure why I'm here. Is this a training exercise? If there's to be swordplay, I'm afraid I will prove to be a dreadful disappointment.
Theodric gives a sidelong glance to the half-elf, nodding slightly in acknowledgement.
Good afternoon--and you are?
Quick footfalls are heard outside, and soon a barefoot halfling enters on the run. Long brown hair, tied back with a leather cord, sways with her fast pace. She wears a chain shirt and a long thin sword rides on her back. Her face lights up at the sight of Gregori, [b]"About time we got down to business. Got my orders right here. Nessa Glenbrook." She hands her orders up to Gregori and tries to give him a serious look. She nods in welcome to the half elf swordsman and gives a wink to the civilian with the crossbow. Taking all types I guess.
Though he was initially negative, you spotted a relic of his heritage upon his desk - a family seal. By using that relic as a wedge you were able to make him more sympathetic to your exhortations, but you could still sense an unwillingness to openly commit. You were sent away with a promise that he would discuss the matter with his superiors and respond to you when he had an answer.
Two anxious days were spent observing the preparations for the festival as you awaited his response... but eventually a messenger arrived with a rolled scroll written in imprecise yet clear calligraphy and bearing an elaborate Eastern seal at the base of the scroll... which you recognize as the family seal that opportunely noticed upon his desk two days prior.
Eudocia Fairday,
Pertaining to our discussions yesterday, I can confirm that your petition has met with patronage from Quednys Orlun. A squad of crusaders will be assembled and will be placed at your convenience for this task.
When Armasse has passed arrangements will be made for your squad to accompany patrols beyond the border as observers and to assist with the identification of relics of cultural import.
Please report to the common at the guardhouse near Northgate as the sun dips to meet the guardsmen who will be your arms. Your liaison will be a man by name of Gregori Shadowbane, and he will command the rest of the guardsmen at your call. Show him my seal as proof of the orders.
Regards,
Captain Dawei of the Kenabres Guard
A beleaguered looking Halfling stumbles into the chamber, arms outstretched, clutching a thick leatherbound tome, a vellum scroll, and a leather case filled with bandges, vials and poultices teetering dangerously on top. If Theodric seems unprepared for the rigors of the front-lines, this young Halfling is even more so. You might mistake him for a scholar, but the wide, guileless eyes and calloused hands make him look more like a farmhand or stable-boy than an intellectual. He wears a gray woolen robe atop an ill-fitting shirt of mail, and the weight of Iomedae's silver sword hangs heavy around his neck.
As he sets his belongings down on the bench, the healer's kit comes tumbling to the floor, and a roll of bandages rolls across the room into Gregori's feet. "Oh... bother! I'm sorry, would ye be a saint?" he says, motioning at the bandages as he gathers up the rest of his belongings. "... honestly, I'm all thumbs today..." he mutters, admonishing himself as he seals the bag shut and stands at attention.
"Squoire Harrol. T'irt'eenth circle, at yer service! And ye're Gregori Shadowbane, are ye not? I have my papers right- riiiiight-" he stops, patting himself down. "Harrol ye eedjit, ye'll forget yer own head next... Ah! There's the bastard!" the halfling produces his orders with a smile of satisfaction before turning to the others.
"... and who would you fine fellers be?"
The corner of Gregori's mouth turns up in the slightest hint of a smile as he takes Harrol's orders, but to any who might notice it there is nothing but warmth and welcome with only the faintest tinge of amusement.
"Well, it seems like we're all finally here, so rather than keep you in suspense I'll tell you why you're here." He states as his eyes briefly scan the assembled group's papers.
"As I'm sure you know by now, I'm Gregori, and I'm to lead you all on a special assignment apparently. There's a woman from Opparra, obviously someone either rich or influential, who need to be kept safe while she's here. Which it seems will be our job."
He loos at the group awaiting the inevitable questions or comments.
"Thank ye kindly." Harrol says earnestly, as he tucks the bandages away and hands off his orders.
________
As Gregori details their assignment, Harrol grins from ear to ear. "You mean... this is it? We're to go oot to the front, ye mean?" He grins ecstatically, clutching his holy symbol and muttering silent thanks. "Harrol! Ye've made it, boy! I'll have to prepare! When do we set oot, milord?"
Still exchanging greetings with Theodric, Aarol blinks twice as the two halflings enter the room and then stands in shocked silence as the spectacle of Harrol unrolls. His concern grows as Gregori details their mission. "Whoa, there must be a mistake, I signed up for the Crusade, not to accompany 'dirty bandages' here", Aarol gestures to Harrol and his ball of unrolled bandages, "on escorting some privileged princess around a war zone so she can go back to her royal parlor with exciting tales for her handmaidens and suitors."
Nessa shakes her head in disbelief at the appearance of Harrol but admires his attitude. The news of babysitting duty though is a tough blow.
"A Guard?!" she kicks her foot into the air in frustration. She swings a thumb in Aarol's direction, "Yeah, I'm with him. I signs up for a fight. Isn't the taverns full of likely swordarms a little old, infirm, or shaky for this kind of duty....Or is she coming here to fight at least? If she needs someone to watch her back as we take on the horde, well that makes a great story, but if she is some spoiled kid..." Nessa decides to bite her tongue, quite literally, showing her initial displeasure, but refusing to take it any further until things are more clear.
Good gods, these halflings are multiplying, Theodric thinks to himself, chuckling softly at his own private jest. Then he adopts a serious face and replies to his fellow recruits' indignation with a voice thick with sarcasm.
They're right you know, Gregori. We may be raw recruits, but we're ready! I demand to be taken at once to the nearest balor, so that I may best him in single combat.
Not waiting for a reply, Theodric continues: I for one am eager to speak to someone from Oppara--she may have some interesting news for us.
Nessa playful attitude drops at the implied insult. "You're dressed for receiving news. The war is to the west, not the south. What news can she bring you, the latest fashions in Absalom?" That gets her smiling again.
"Ha, from Oppara, it'll be more like the discarded fashions from Absalom."
Not being an authority on the subject, I shall defer to your expertise. But allow me to clarify--though we are raw recruits, we do have some value to the cause. That we are being assigned to guard one woman proves that she is of some import. The potential knowledge to which I was referring was of the only subject worth studying here--demons, something that interests me greatly and should concern all of us, even moreso than Taldan fashion.
The scholar smiles at his last comment, though it's unclear if he is trying to take the edge off his words or if he is just pleased with himself.
"Alright, alright, you got a point there, knowing something about our enemy could be a lifesaver. What do you think, Gregori, you met this academic princess?"
"Pfft, I am not so raw. Killing demons maybe, but I have killed bandits your size and larger. But, as you say, I will De-fur to the princess and see what she knows, although Gregori here is the one I would be taking advise from if it comes to killing demons. Ain't that right?"
Harrol meets Aarol's remark with a sullen glare, but doesn't rise to hit. He nods in agreement with his kinswoman. "Aye. I bet he's slain hundreds o' demons!"
The door to the guardhouse opens one more time, and a young woman walks in. Her pale hair might mark her as Ulfen, but her slight frame and aristocratic bearing gainsay that assumption. She is dressed in trim, unscarred leather armor which is patently brand new and has neither the unkempt appearance nor the worldweary air that characterizes a long acquaintance with Kenabres.
She stops short when she sees the knot of strangers and smiles around at them pleasantly. "Hello. Is one of you," she glances down at a half-unfurled scroll in her hand, "Gregori Shadowbane?"
As the newly assembled group begins to banter, Gregori looks up as the door swings open, his mouth twitching in a barely restrained smile as the subject of conversation enters.
"That would be me," he says with a grin and a nod.
"And you must be Eudocia, welcome to the gates of Hell. We've all been...anticipating your arrival m'lady."
There is a twinkle in the Paladin's eye as he chooses his words.
Aarol fixes the newcomer with an incredulously stare, "Her armor isn't even scratched and she needs a team of people to protect her?" Then he considers the implications of his statement, "Huhh, maybe that's why your armor isn't scratched, you usually have a team protecting you? Alright princess, job's a job and your fair enough to look at and I suppose that'll make the job easier. What's this business protecting you, where you planning on going around here? You certainly don't look like the type to be leaving civilization and entering a demon pit."
Nessa mutters to no one in particular, "Ho! Great...and a head-turner. Now we're gonna need to bayb...I mean, guard, Aarol as well."
But Nessa climbs up on a table and sits cross-legged on its surface. She puts her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands and eagerly awaits Eudocia's response. She offers the newcomer a smile at least and adds, "Hope there's a good story in this."
"That would be me," he says with a grin and a nod.
"And you must be Eudocia, welcome to the gates of Hell. We've all been...anticipating your arrival m'lady."
"Excellent," she smiles. "I believe I'm supposed to show you Captain Dawei's seal, to prove that he sent me?" She holds out the scroll for Gregori's perusal; when he nods that he's satisfied, she rolls it back up and tucks it away for safekeeping. "Well met, Mr. ... Shadowbane? I'm sorry: Is that a surname or an honorific?"
Aarol fixes the newcomer with an incredulously stare, "Her armor isn't even scratched and she needs a team of people to protect her?" Then he considers the implications of his statement, "Huhh, maybe that's why your armor isn't scratched, you usually have a team protecting you? Alright princess, job's a job and your fair enough to look at and I suppose that'll make the job easier. What's this business protecting you, where you planning on going around here? You certainly don't look like the type to be leaving civilization and entering a demon pit."
She flushes a little under the half-elf's stare, and a hand self-consciously runs over the shiny surface of the new armor at her waist. "New armor for a new mission," she explains glibly. "After all, you wouldn't wear last year's gown to this year's cotillion, would you?"
Letting her gaze flicker from Aarol to Nessa and the rest of the group, she announces, "I'm here under the auspices of the Kitharodian Academy and the Basilica of the Last Man in Oppara to acquire and preserve relics of past Crusades before they are lost or destroyed or looted. Having secured the patronage of Quednys Orlun, this squadron has been cleared to join patrols across the border after the festival."
The green-looking Halfling taps the side of his nose and gives Eudocia a conspiratorial wink. I won't tell if you don't, it says. He claps his hands together delightedly. "Grand! We're to be stayin' for the festival then, so? I'm right glad that I didn't travel all this way just to miss it."
"Relics, ye say?" He tucks his thumbs into the rope about his waist and rocks on his heels as the thought materializes on his lips. He stares up at Miss Fairday with an inquisitorial look in his big, guileless eyes. "But shouldn't they be goin' to the church, now, and not some... dusty old Taldan museum? No offense meant, ma'am."
Certainly better than any duty I expected, but I have to ask--why now? Is an attack expected?
"After all, you wouldn't wear last year's gown to this year's cotillion, would you?"
"A cotil-lion, coat-ill-lion, I don't even know what that is, some princessy function for high brows and fancy pants to mingle? Whatever, the Kithian Basilisk Opera sounds alright, preserving relics of the past crusades and what-not, key word I heard there was 'patronage', this Orlun fellow paying extra for anything special?"
"All right Aarol, that's enough," Gregori says with a frown.
Turning back to Eudocia, he shrugs. "I suppose it's a nickname that's become a little of both. So they want to preserve relics from past crusades. A noble enough venture, somebody has to remember those who have passed. But I warn you, the World wound is not some Inner Sea dig site where the most you have to worry about are bandits. Whoever has approved this has essentially made it clear that whatever you're looking for is worth the lives of the other people in this room."
At this he leans back silently allowing the weight of his words to take full impact.
"All right Aarol, that's enough"
Aarol raises his hands with look of disbelief, "My life is being offered up for this, and I have a two question limit?"
Resigned to their task, he walks over to a chair and plunks down dejectedly while mumbling to himself, "No wonder they're taking anyone they can find. That flyer said 'crusade', not 'escort a pretty princess on a hole digging mission', I read it twice even."
"But I warn you, the World wound is not some Inner Sea dig site where the most you have to worry about are bandits. Whoever has approved this has essentially made it clear that whatever you're looking for is worth the lives of the other people in this room."
Eudocia frowns a little at the reprimand. "That would be Captain Dawei, then," she says defensively. "The leadership here seemed disinclined to let me poke around all by myself. If anyone here wishes to wait for a later assignment, I would voice no objection to the Captain."
She next turns to the disgruntled half-elf. "I am neither a fortune-hunter nor a war profiteer, I can assure you. No historical artifacts we find are to be sold for gain. It's more like the halfling says." She smiles at Harrol. "The Basilica of the Last Man is a church and a museum. The last living cleric of Aroden presides there. It's largely through his patronage that I came to be here ... although," she admits, "anything we are fortunate enough to find is ultimately under the authority of the Crusades. Without their approval, I won't be able to take any of it back to Taldor. Still," she brightens, "it's better than things as they stand now, where any yokel from Bristlewart can tuck an ancient Sarkorian rarity in his backpack as a souvenir and take it home to set on his mother's mantelpiece, completely oblivious to the historical and cultural value of his trinket."
In response to Theodric, she replies, "As far as I know, the only answer to 'why now' is because it's taken me this long for my request to work its way through the proper channels and gain approval." She looks twice at his face and smiles. "Oh, I thought you looked familiar. You were with the caravan of crusaders north from Oppara, weren't you? Mr. ... Abernathy, was it?"
...and take it home to set on his mother's mantelpiece, completely oblivious to the historical and cultural value...
Without knowing it, the archaeologist hits close to Aarol's heart. Subconsciously his hand drifts to the hilt of his elven blade, taken from his own mantlepiece when he left home so his mother wouldn't sell it for pesh. "Alright princess, this Basilica thing ain't my church, but I like the idea of saving the important things from both the demons and dusty mantles. I'll protect you the best I can, though I can't promise that armor won't get a few scratches. Hells, I'll even protect 'master bandages' here as well", Aarol reaches out and slaps Harrol on the shoulder, "as long as you promise to use clean bandages when binding me up afterwards."
"Well it sounds like, at least we get dirty, so it has that going for it, and probably in the war zone, so I tip my nonexistent cap to ya for guts. Many good people were lost before and during the Crusades, if the stories be true. If this helps with the remembrance of those warriors fallen, well then, that is a worthy enough commission....keeping these artifacts from the demons even better....wresting them from demons would be best." Nessa ends with a laugh and gets to her feet.
She draws her blade and brings its blade down point first to rest on the table that she is standing on. "Nessa Glenbrook, Miss Fairday. I will add my sword toward this endeavor..and sorry about that babysitter comment if you heard that on the way in...that was before I met you and heard your story. I don't put much stock in dead Gods, but for the fallen, we will honor them by this."
Gregori openly smiles, an expression that has the effect of the sun banishing a cloudy day.
"And there we have it. It seems like we agree on the merit of our mission. You have your guard miss Fairday, trust that I will personally do my best to ensure that no harm comes to you."
He takes a moment to make eye contact with each member of the little group. "No one gets left behind on my watch."
You are interrupted by a middle aged man in civilian clothes entering the common room where you are standing. He coughs to get your attention before offering "Light of the Inheritor shine upon you... Miss Fairday?" calming and smiling when his ventured query proves correct "Captain Dawei sends his apologies, he had meant to speak with you and Gregori today... but the preparations for Armasse have robbed him of the time. After the ceremony in Clydwell Plaza tomorrow morning he hopes to have time enough, and hopes that you will all attend to watch the procession in the morning?"
"But for now please make use of the guardhouse to rest. We will have a meal brought in later for the guardsmen and there will be bread enough to share the breaking with you." and the man lingers for a few moments to see if there is aught that you would ask of him.
Theodric starts for a moment, surprised that he was recognized.
Ah bureaucracy, the double-edged sword that runs all governments, even noble crusades. Yes, I am Theodric, recently arrived from Oppara. That's twice now that these simple Taldan fashions betray me, it seems. I look forward to working with you and hope I can help in some small way as you search for the relics of the past.
Theodric studies the size of the halfling's sword and makes a mental note to stay close if trouble rears its head.
"Glad I grabbed my kit before coming here, if we are staying, I ran here so quick I am not sure i could have found my way back. As it was, I would have been here sooner, but....do you know how many barracks are in this town?....and how much they all look alike?"
Nessa shoulders out of her pack and places it against a wall. She starts to sort through it, ensuring she did indeed pack all her belongings.
Aarol enjoys the free meal and finds a little time in the evening for a drink or two at a pub, then makes his way to bed, rising refreshed and ready in the morning for the ceremony at Clydwell Plaza.
You are interrupted by a middle aged man in civilian clothes entering the common room where you are standing. He coughs to get your attention before offering "Light of the Inheritor shine upon you... Miss Fairday?" calming and smiling when his ventured query proves correct "Captain Dawei sends his apologies, he had meant to speak with you and Gregori today... but the preparations for Armasse have robbed him of the time. After the ceremony in Clydwell Plaza tomorrow morning he hopes to have time enough, and hopes that you will all attend to watch the procession in the morning?"
"Um, may the Inheritor shine upon you as well," Docia replies to the messenger, stumbling slightly over the proper wording of the greeting. "Yes, I'm Eudocia Fairday. I don't believe I've had the pleasure...?" She offers her hand, waiting for an introduction.
The man's face is warm and he moves forward to offer his hand "Feothor... I have but the one name, but it is enough for one of my position."
"Is a person's importance judged by the number of names she collects?" Eudocia teases, clasping Feothor's hand in greeting. "I suppose you're not too far off. Back home in Taldor, the more important someone is, the longer the list of titles is rattled off when they enter a room. Tell the captain we'd be pleased to meet with him after the procession tomorrow," she glances at Gregori to make sure he has nothing to add or amend.
After the man has departed, she asks Gregori quietly, "What is his position? He's not dressed like a soldier and seems rather advanced in years to be a page."
The older man chuckles generously at Eudocia's comment before giving a short bow "I will at that Miss Fairday, good day to you all." and he reverses and moves off and out of the guardhouse.
"I've no knowledge of any particular items of legend that might be in the area," Docia replies to Theodric's query, "nor have I any treasure maps or the like. Anything we run across would be entirely seredipitous -- and isn't likely to look too impressive. Anything of obvious size or value must have been taken or destroyed years ago in the areas we'll be seeing just across the border; there must have been thousands of patrols through here. I'll tell you what I have seen, being taken home as a souvenir from the Worldwound: fragments of ancient statuary and some small carvings of forgotten gods of Old Sarkoris." She colors a little. "Not that such things would draw much attention back in Oppara; it's relics of the crusaders my patrons are hoping for. But personally I find the primitive artifacts fascinating."
Gregori spends the rest of the evening getting to know the group, then spends the night cleaning his armor and weapons in preparation for the morning.
Morning comes and you share a relatively spartan breaking of the fast with the few other guardsmen who did not awaken with the dawn. Even before your feet take you outside, you can feel the anticipation and excitement hanging in the air like a static charge. Celebrations are few and far between in a city such as Kenabres and the citizenry are taking full advantage. Finishing up your food you make ready and begin your path towards the old city - where the ceremonies will take place.
Starting out passing South through the Gate District you find the smithies cold and the minor temples of other deities abandoned. Swords and sunburst banners of all sizes hang from the buildings unifying the townsfolk. On the street you find that all you pass are also making clear statement by bearing arms, given that Armasse historically holds the training of commoners at its core.
Moving through a loosely guarded gatehouse your steps then take you into New Kenabres where the wooden buildings give way to thin walled edifices of stone. Though the increasing affluence and age does not diminish the community spirit on display. Part way through the district you pass by the Hall of Heroes. A high ceilinged hall where stone statues of laureled heroes line the walls, plaques behind them covered with the names of the dead and deeds of the heroes both. Finally you ascend into Old Kenabres on the Western edge of the city.
Until now the streets had been half-empty, but now you plunge into a maelstrom of activity and crowd. Crusaders, guardsmen, scholars, commoners - all mill through the streets with equal rite of way and your pace slows as you near the Cathedral of Saint Clydwell, and the Plaza opposite it where the festivities will take place.
The Cathedral of Saint Clydwell, also called the Grand Temple, the cathedral honors Saint Clydwell, a champion of Iomedae who sacrificed himself to seal a horde of demons within an inescapable prison. The cathedral is a great stone building with a green copper steeple and stained-glass windows portraying the imprisonment of various horrific demons.
Lining the square upon the walls of the closest buildings are eleven great illuminated banners that each depict one of the deeds of Iomedae. The plaza is dominated by the milling mass of people, while the steps of the cathedral bear those that might be thought of as the focus of the day. A good two dozen men and women of true bearing, accorded deference and respect by those passing by.
Even at a far distance you are able to pick out a few more prominent persons:
- Captain Chun Dawei - the Tian guardsman wearing a burnished breasplate and standing vigilant to one side.
- High Inquisitor Hulrun Shappok - leader of Kenabres and regarding the crowd with stoic severity.
- And a radiant though simply dressed lady in a blue dress, she bears no arms, nor sigil - but is given greater deference than any other upon the steps.
It is roughly an hour before midday when you reach the plaza, and you know that the fest will be officially opened when the sun hits it's zenith within the sky, so you have a short time to wait.
Iomedae first slew Nakorshor'mond, cutting the unconscious bodies of her circle from the beast's stomachs.
The Second Act:
In her second miraculous act, she defeated a coven of witches in the Sargavan city of Eleder, freeing the city from their tyranny.
The Third Act:
From the back of a flying griffon, the soon-to-be-goddess hewed Segruchen the Iron Gargoyle's wings from his body, sending the so-called King of the Barrowood plummeting to the ground where she slew him in his falling-crater before he could escape.
The Fourth Act:
Calling upon Aroden's then-herald Arazni, Iomedae convinced a regiment of mortally wounded knights at the Second Battle of Encarthan to stay their ground against a horde of wraiths until reinforcements arrived at dawn to rescue them.
The Fifth Act:
In what is now considered her fifth miraculous act, Iomedae smote Erum-Hel at the Battle of Three Sorrows (the same battle in which Tar-Baphon returned Arazni’s body to the Knights of Ozem), forcing the crippled Lord of the Morghs into hiding in the depths of Orv.
The Sixth Act:
Iomedae instantly reforged her sword—magically shattered by the Whispering Tyrant—fusing it together with a prayer and an oath to end the wizard-king's evil.
The Seventh Act:
The seventh Act was the calling of the Undenying Light in Absalom, which is commemorated at the Seventh Church. As a terrible storm shrouded the city in darkness, a pack of sea-ghouls attacked the city. The then-mortal Iomedae called for the Starstone to light the city; the Starstone Cathedral glowed with blue fire, and the stars shone rays of light that targeted the ghouls and allowed Iomedae and the city's defenders to destroy them.
The Eighth Act:
Convincing the graveknight known as the Black Prince to throw himself upon his sword as punishment for his evil is considered Iomedae's Eighth Act. This righteous suicide redeemed the undead knight's soul and allowed him to be judged in the Halls of Aroden.
The Ninth Act:
In order to free nine righteous knights from imprisonment by the vampire-mage Basilov, Iomedae gave nine drops of her own blood; when Basilov attempted to recapture them, she and the knights slew him.
The Tenth Act:
In the absence of its rightful lord—the heirless patriarch of House Narikopolous—Iomedae ruled the city of Kantaria for a year and a day while its lord was missing, bringing prosperity to the city despite constant attacks by shapechanging horrors, which she battled personally.
The Eleventh Act:
In her eleventh and final miraculous act before ascending to godhood, Iomedae cast her cloak before her into the Pit of the Starstone in Absalom; the common wool cloth straightened and expanded into a firm walkway across the gap, allowing her to enter the Cathedral and take the Test.
Leaving only his tent, bedroll, and blanket, Aarol packs the rest of his gear and fully arms himself as per the custom of the festival. On their path to the old city he'll search for a small sunburst banner to attach to his spear, sharing in the celebration of Iomedae, even though it is Desna he prays to under the stars at night.
Harrol will say a short prayer over the meal, casting purify food and drink and praying that the Inheritor keeps them strong and vigilant. He is somewhat quiet, listening to the others speak with a quiet deferrment. You learn enough about him to know that he is a pilgrim from Andoran.
Harrol approaches the festival grounds with a wide-eyed excitement, wearing a fine golden cassock in place of his travelling clothes.