You have traveled to the small town of Cidergrove. The letter you received two weeks ago instructed you to meet up on this date in a large building called the Honeypot Inn, famous for putting Cidergrove on the map with it's drinks. Comfortable chairs and tables lay scattered around the room. A middle-aged and kind looking woman cleans tables while a balding man with a short goatee manages the bar. The smell of baked bread and honey wafts out from the kitchen.
The bartender smiles at you warmly.
Your a little short for an adult now aren't you? You ain't tryin to get around Thrunian Ordinance 1984.73B. The law forbidding alcohol to those under 16 years old? Naw, you wouldn't do that to me. *chuckles* You meant Apple juice didn't Ya? *wink**smirk*
He hands you a meat pie with some "Apple juice"
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"If it is bought and paid for does it really matter where it ends up? If you think about it it all ends up in the sewers anyway. I don't see a problem as long as nobody gets out of control." Rory pulls a face as he takes his first sip of the "apple juice" and tries to maintain a cool demeanor, hoping nobody noticed.
The barkeep lets loose a bellowing laugh.
That's what you and me may think but our "superiors" know better than us. I remember when I was a lad my Grandpappy telling me how the drinking laws were murder to a Shoanti. If you were strong enough to pick up a bottle you could drink out of it. But as you can clearly see, this ain't no Varsia. My name's Finn by the way. That's my lovely wife Linn tending the tables.
Sure you are...
Severn lurches across the room, favouring the woman wiping tables with a friendly nod along the way, to pull up a seat a few stools down the bar from the young fella presently engaging the bartender in conversation. He signals the barkeep, Finn apparently, who is married to Linn at the tables.
As he'd approached the counter, Severn's equipment and armour had clinked softly in time with his uneven gait. He would be a handsome yet unremarkable man if not for the limp. With his bright blue eyes, pleasing smile and scruffy black hair curling over his ears and at his collar, Severn could set the ladies to swooning, until they got sight of his ravaged leg or observed him wobbling about that is.
"Have you got a Dwarven Stout on tap, sir? The thicker, the better." he says to Finn when greeted.
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"I can't help I wa, am the best summoner in the school at Brastlewark. My teachers gave me a special project to graduate early. I can't tell you what my project is so don't even bother asking." Rory tries to be very interested in his food and drink but keeps glancing up to try to read the bartender expression.
When Rory hears the equipment and armor clanking together he tries to be as nonchalant as possible (whistling between bites of food, intentionally NOT looking at the source of the noise, etc..)eventually his curiosity gets the better of him and he has to turn and look. All Rory notices is the ravaged leg and cant take his eyes off of it. A vague lesson starts to creep back into his memory. When he tries to eat while he stares agape at the newcomers leg he is spilling food and drink all over his nice clothes.
A figure in a hooded cloak discreetly enters the inn. He positions himself in view of the entrance, and if possible, in a corner or against a wall. He sits with hands folded and speaks to no one, waiting to be served.
A halfling woman slinks into the establishment, wearing humble earth-tone clothes and wearing a simple brown felt cap on her head. She holds a slip of paper in her hand and holds her head in a low, subservient fashion. The halfling waits behind the others at the bar as they order their drinks, though the observant may notice her flicking her quiet stare from person to person in the room.
Severn knows he is being stared at. It used to bother him but he's grown accustomed to the sideways looks, the double takes and the outright gawking. Rather than letting it get to him, Severn picks up the mug of stout Finn places before him and moves to the stool next to the boy. Although he is ashamed of his actions that fateful day, Severn is grateful to have this burden to bear and he does it with diligence; he could have ended up as nothing more than alligator dung instead of being granted this task.
"You'd never know it sitting here next to me but I died the day this happened..." He is intentionally cryptic, hoping to pique the lad's curiosity.
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"what happened?" Rory looks up from the leg and at Severn's face. He notices some of the other newcomers. Rory tries to hide behind the human with a limp from the other human (wizard) because it is reminiscent of one of the prefects from school. He sneers at the halfling and tiefling, wondering why they are not working and where their handlers are.
The halfling gives Astoroth the strangest look and stiffens as he focuses on her, even if it is just for a moment. Someone clearly isn't used to such attention. Taking this as a sign that she has been given leave to approach, the halfling sets the piece of paper on the bar, speaking in brief, direct terms.
"This is my master's order," she murmurs, pushing the list of wines and spices a little further toward the barkeep. "And this is his payment," she adds, setting a coinpurse gently beside the paper. "My master asks you send with me the exact vintage date written on the note, and says he will accept no other."
The halfling bowed her head respectfully to the bartender, then glanced out of the corner of her eye toward the human who had nodded to her, then the tiefling in the corner.
What strange insult does this human mean, drawing unwanted attention to me this way? And he holds himself so...proudly. And the Halfling too... Does he think we don't know our station here? Must he illustrate it for us?
Buhzter slowly rises from his corner seat and stalks over to the bar. He crosses directly in front of Astroroth's path without making eye contact, walking straight past him with purpose.
"Barkeep, bring me an ale."
A deep, scratchy voice mutters from beneath the hood.
Reia's first instinct was to move aside for the cloaked man and let him get his ale; the less she crowded his space, the better. She couldn't glean much about him save that he was bigger than her, cloaked, and possibly had weapons under his cloak, and his language was firm and direct. In other words, he was just as likely to kick her as he was to acknowledge she was there, at least until he was proven amiable. Reia didn't want to take the risks necessary to find out if he was amiable.
But the pompous one... As the halfling slipped to the left to give the cloaked man room, she found herself staring at the self-important person dubiously. Something's not right, she thought to herself. Something is an act. She wasn't sure how she could tell - perhaps he was just being a little over-the-top with his antics, or maybe it was because he actually acknowledged she existed - but her instincts told her he was feigning something. What he was feigning, and why, she couldn't tell.
He's probably just a poor man who recently became wealthy, she wagered, but he'd be worth investigating later. Not now, of course; she was too busy right now, and had to be a dutiful servant... But Reia made a mental note to find out where he was staying later, at the least.
Besides, he might even be worth robbing later if it turned out he wasn't acting.
The bartender pours drinks and hands an ale to his wife to pass to Buhzter. As she passes she smiles at you and says, It wouldn't hurt to say please young man
Finn looks at Reia' s list and goes into the back, mumbling a bit.
The halfling couldn't help but watch the magical trick with a hint of curious fascination (noticeable, perhaps) before glancing back at the barkeep and watching him head off toward the back.
Severn tells Rory the tale of the day he died and was reborn a new man in Lythertida's grace. They boy is full of swagger and confidence, as he was prior to his own humbling. He hopes that Rory will learn a lesson from his experiences but also understands that this is not a likely thing to happen. It took a dire alligator, a handful of dead innocents and a visit from a god to straighten his path so it would be folly to believe he could teach such a lesson over the course of a conversation. Still, it is his duty to try.
"This is a fine stout," he compliments Finn, then raises his mug to Rory and winks. "Here's to being single, drinking double and seeing triple!"
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Rory starts mumbling and gumbling as he sees the coin appear and float through the air "Stupid teachers only wanted to teach me summoning. I had to learn cool spells from the students, and they can't teach for crap." He sullenly finishes his meal, leaving the better half of his "beverage" at the bar and stomps over to a table and pouts. After a few minutes of sulking he summons his eidolon for comfort.
Humans and their dull insistence on manners... best I play along for now. No need to make a further scene. Seems this "gentleman" means to take center stage as it is. Cheap tricks...
Pardon me miss. Thank you for the ale. I'd also like a hot meal, whatever you are serving tonight, please. I'll be seated in the back.
Buhzter returns to his seat with determination, never revealing his face or acknowledging the others.
Finn comes back carrying a sack and bottle of expensive looking wine. He sets the wine down next to Astoroth and the sack in front of Reia.
Tahat' s me last bottle of that wine by the way.
The woman glances at Buhzter and says I'll get you today's special then and walks back to the kitchen area, returning with a large meat pie.
It appears that the arcane arts are more to Rory's liking than Severn's tale of woe. The boy is distracted by the magician's frivolous tricks and ceases listening shortly before stomping off to a table, grumbling all the while.
Unoffended, Severn looks about the room, taking stock of the halfling and the quiet hooded fellow doing his best to melt into the shadows over in the corner. He decides he might have to keep an eye on that one. There's no good reason to be skulking around; he could be in trouble or looking to cause trouble.
The halfling, on the other hand, seems decent enough but weary, as most Slips tend to be. She doesn't show any outward signs of abuse and that's something at least when it's very common for indentured halflings to suffer horribly at the hands of their Chelish masters. The sack that Finn places in front of her is not that big but it is quite full so the thought of the half-sized woman carrying it is almost comical.
"May I help you with that, miss?" he offers, gesturing at the bag of sundries before her.
Reia lifted the bottle of wine from the bar first, taking a quick moment to examine it and make sure the wine bottle matched her master's specific request. She was just glad Finn hadn't realized she'd forged her master's handwriting when adding those spell components. She needed to practice forgery more.
And all the ingredients she needed for her practice were here. Excellent.
"My master will be very pleased, sir," the halfling mused, reaching for the sack. She had some difficulty hefting it given its size, even if it wasn't very heavy. She bowed as well as she could to the barkeep with her arms full. "Is there a message you wish me to deliver with these to Master Volario?"
Reia prepared for the likely answer of 'no' and got ready to make her way toward the door when a man of about six feet of height seated at a table not far from her asked her directly, "May I help you with that, miss?"
The thoughts that crossed Reia's mind ranged from suspicion to confusion. There was little to be gained and a lot of face to be lost from being so cordial with a slip, let alone offer to do the manual labor required of one. So, why did he want to help? What was there for him to gain?
Either way, Reia was unable to get a straight answer out as she was thinking this over. She stammmered, "I - my master... What?" in a way that did her usual composure little justice.
"I'm Rory, perhaps we could exchange some knowledge.
I suppose I could revamp the character to be similar to Agnes from Despicable me "It's so fluffy I could DIE!!" since we haven't started
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"My family is from around the Barrowood, but I spent most of my time in boarding school in Brastlewark. Near the border of those filthy stinking hippy Andorans." He says "Andoran" with a sneer and a venomous tone. I guess that is what happens when your parents send you to a state boarding school near the border.
A scaly hand with dark fingernails protrudes from the sleeves of the robe, and the cloaked man shoves the entire meat pie beneath his hood. Crumbs fly and slurping sounds abound as he devours the meat pie in just a few seconds. He promptly washes it down with ale, draining it to completion. With a slam of the mug he wails, "Delicious! Another ale here, barkeep." A few seconds go by before he remembers himself. "Please." And then he belches, sounding like a giant frog, from the very depths of his belly, causing the flat ware on the table top to vibrate with the sound.
Finn breaks into a fit of laughter. As he wipes a tear from his eye he looks at you and says,
Your the TOP student of a school for summoning DEVILS and you focus on something so... fluffy?
"I'm sure you've done a lot of work today and you probably still have more to do, whereas I am simply lazing about, enjoying this tasty brew," he smiles without guile at the halfling, "That hardly seems fair to me and I could use a bit of a walk anyway."
Thinking briefly of how he used to torment the slips who were born into the service of the Morcant family when he was young, Severn drains his mug in a few large gulps and stands to take the sack from Reia if she consents. He didn't know any better then but he does now.
Reia's mind was still awash with uncertainty, but she looked the man speaking to her over again. He had a sincere look on his face, at least - but it could be feigned. She'd heard him speaking earlier in a proselytizing tone earlier, though she hadn't paid enough attention to remember what he had said, exactly...
Truth be told, the bag wasn't going to be that difficult for Reia to carry (it was a little cumbersome, perhaps), but curiosity got the better of her. After a few seconds' deliberation, the halfling nodded consent. "If it pleases you, sir," she said simply.
This day is taking strange, strange turns.
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"Everybody always assumes it is the being on Golarion that chooses the eidolon. They are all mistaken, more often than not the Eidolon chooses the sumoner. Only after then does the Eidolon start to aid the summoner in learning the art of summoning. Think of how this could work to our advantage. Wilbur Jr. is almost disarmingly cute." pets Wilbur Jr. head, Wilbur Jr. snaps at Rory's hand at the word 'cute'. Wilbur Jr.'s mouth extends almost from ear to ear and is filled with multiple rows of razor sharp teeth. "Easy there killer, they were doubting your prowess"
I just wanted everyone to know that something personal came up this weekend so I will have to start gameplay tomorrow.
"It pleases me very much, miss," Severn says, taking the sack from the halfling woman, "Anything I can do to express my gratitude for all that halflings have done for me over the years is, again, only fair. It's a shame more people don't appreciate the hard work you do. Your people really are the backbone of Chelish society."
What he really wants to say is that it's a shame her people are born into servitide generation after generation. He wants to say that it is affront to all that is decent that they are owned by humans, bought and sold as if they were cattle, and often treated no better than dogs. Such talk is risky though. Severn knows it is better to keep his mouth shut and choose his battles carefully. In the meantime, he can show his respect by treating halflings with the dignity they deserve just as much as his own race and assist this one with her task.
"Where to, miss?"