Solaufyn will likely spend 1d4 hours having a light meal (fruit pie?) in the Laughing Trout, have a drink while examining a nice teleport waypoint out behind the place, as well as flirt with the locals.
He'll put up an Extended seducer's eyes (duration 220min) before heading in...
Diplomacy to Flirt, I mean Gather Information: , +4 if those he's chatting with might conceivably find him sexually attractive.
Satisfied that he's learned all he can. Tanith meets up with Sol and the others.
"It's a nice town with good people", he says briefly. "But they did mention rumors of disappearances happening in Istivin. Maybe the giants left something behind when they abandoned the city."
The big Kordite hoists himself into the saddle on Boris's back.
"Let's get going. Istivin is still a few hours away."
|
On horseback you quickly cover the miles to Istivin, passing through large stretches of tilled land. Even though it is just past dawn, farm workers are already busy in the field, working behind a team of oxen, planting a new season of crops in Sterich’s molasses-dark soil.
Past the fields you travel through the outskirts of the town, small buildings constructed since the war, housing Istivin’s tanneries and other less desirable industries. Behind them, in the distance to the north-east on Brink’s Hill (and outside of the city walls), you can see the estates of Istivin’s upper classes, surrounded by carefully manicured gardens, and constantly patrolled by all manner of guards.
Finally the dark basalt barbican of Javan Gate loom before you. Its three 60-foot-tall towers flank two gated entrances, currently blocked with all manner of people trying to get into the city. At the base of the gate, four statues of baying wolves the size of draft horses seem to snarl a defiant warning to Istivin’s enemies. Local legend holds that the wolves predate the city itself, and that their incorporation into the city’s primary defensive post hearkens to even older traditions now lost to all but the most fastidious scholar of Allitur.
The way in is currently blocked by over a dozen halberd-carrying town guardsmen, who seem to be asking each person of every class a rather lengthy series of questions before allowing them entrance into Istivin. This must be something new, as you do not remember it from your last visit here. Reluctantly, you join the queue.
Tanith happily chats with the people in line to gain entrance to the city. Surely things in Istivin couldn't be that bad if people were lining up to get back in.
"Sol, did you want to handle introductions?"
Flynt will just stay back and let the social people talk. Lines, nothing more boring than lines. Except maybe listening to speeches. Tobias will just circle around in the sky, avoiding the giant bear that may or may not try to eat him.
Mortifice likewise isn't terribly fond of the lines. Standing around on a lame leg (an old war wound I forgot to write into the backstory) and wearing full plate isn't his idea of a good time. Not one to fidget though, he attempts to pass the time by speaking with the others who are waiting in the queue.
"So, um... what brings you to Istivin?" he asks of a random fellow.
|
|
Tanith finds a dearth of comely lasses in the line waiting to get into Istivin. Most of the people are farmers bringing in their wares to sell at market. They have carts of turnips, cabbages, and other hearty winter vegetables with them, and do their best to leave you alone. Most common folks have learned not to interfere with individuals dressed in bright armor and carrying sharp weapons, especially when riding magically conjured steeds.
A minor nobleman sits astride his horse just behind you in line looking incredibly bored. He is surrounded by a small retinue of guards dressed in studded leather and carrying inexpensive, yet serviceable weapons.
With the lack of fairer company, Tanith is happy to talk to local farmers about the winter crop and how their business has fared in Istivin as of late.
If any are bringing in winter-berries, Tanith will gladly buy a load and feed them to Boris.
Solaufyn is happy to chat with both commoners and the minor noble. He seems to prefer an environment where the common folk naturally trust him rather than give him a wide berth.
"I am surprised by the level of security," he says. "We are all too small to be giants. What do they wish to keep out?"
|
|
With the lack of fairer company, Tanith is happy to talk to local farmers about the winter crop and how their business has fared in Istivin as of late.
The farmers seem willing to talk to Tanith, although the large bear does make them nervous at first. Once they realize he is not going to attack them, they spend most of their time complaining about the things farmers all over Oerth complain about: lack of rain, the bad price for their product, their cow's problems giving birth recently, etc. Interestingly, they fail to complain about the line you're all standing in. If pressed about it, they shrug it off and say that it's something that's been going on for the last year or so, and that it's simply a formality everyone must endure: young and old, rich and poor. It's something annoying they have gotten used to.
If any are bringing in winter-berries, Tanith will gladly buy a load and feed them to Boris.
One of the farmers has some, but asks for you to wait until he sets up his stall in the marketplace just inside the Javan Gate. It would be too much hassle to get to the berries, which seem to have been stacked under some other boxes of produce.
Tanith shares in the farmers' burdens, nodding in understanding.
When the farmer mentions the buried status of his wares, the big Kordite is happy to help lift the crates to get at the berries (and perhaps stretch out and show off a bit).
Tanith shrugs and wishes Kord's blessings on him.
Flynt chuckles as Tanith's efforts are shut down by the obsessive farmer.
"I am surprised by the level of security," he says. "We are all too small to be giants. What do they wish to keep out?"
|
|
The people generally ignore Sol, or else haven't heard him; it's hard to tell.
After almost 45 minute wait, the majority of your group finally reaches the front of the line. A guardsman clad in shining chainmail, wearing the colors of the Sterich Guard and carrying a large hand-and-a-half sword strapped to his back steps forward. He gives you all a few appraising glances then clears his throat to speak: "By the order of her Excellent Magnitude, the Marchioness, I am required to ask you the following questions. You are required to answer truthfully. This is for your own protection and that of the people of Istivin. Your cooperation is expected and ... appreciated." After this he gives a perfunctory smile, although most of it is lost under this thick, black beard. He pulls out a large ledger and quill and turns to the first of you.
Tanith approaches the questioning guard and offers him a firm handshake before he begins.
What is your name?
Tanith.
What is your purpose in Istivin?
"I grew up here. I am returning with my friends to see how things have fared since the giants came."
How long have you been traveling together?
"Off and on, close to eight years now."
What is your religion?
"I am a servant of the Mighty Kord."
Where did you get that armor?
"I bought it and had it fitted from a smith in Keoland. My friend here enchanted it for me."
Have you ever been to Saltmarsh?
"I don't believe so."
Why not?
"I've never needed to."
Have you been having any nightmares lately?
"The teachings of the Brawler let me sleep soundly each night."
"Have you ever been killed?"
Tanith laughs at the question, "No."
Have you ever been hurt by undead?
He nods.
How many torches are you carrying?
"None."
How about gold? Where were those coins minted? Why haven't you spent them yet?
"Near two-hundred lions. I still carry them because I haven't met the right woman", he finishes with a laugh.
Solaufyn politely answers the questions. "I am Solaufyn Ithilnelle of Celene. I come to Istivin at the invitation of Marshall Karri Velthundle. I follow the elven goddess Hanali Celanil. I made these myself, actually. I have never been to Saltmarsh. That's in Keoland, isn't it? The hear the weather is dreadful that far south. Nightmares? All right... no I haven't. Neither have I been killed or hurt by undead. This circlet provides all the light I need. Money? A few hundred lions. I imagine they were minted in Niole Dra. Why haven't I spent them? Well, I do have to have money to eat."
Solaufyn will make a Sense Motive check to get a feeling about the line of questioning. Why are these questions being asked of us? he wonders.
What is your name?
"Flynt."
What is your purpose in Istivin?
"I was invited back."
How long have you been traveling together?
"Little less than a decade. But it feels like forever."
What is your religion?
"I occasionally revere the Laughing Rogue."
Where did you get that armor?
"Some greatful dwarves crafted it for me and I had Morti here enchant it."
Have you been to the saltmarsh?
"Nope."
Why not?
"Why would I?"
Have you been having any nightmares lately?
"Nope, too busy being in bed to have nightmares." Flynt smirks as he answers that one.
Have you ever been killed?
"Not for other's lack of trying."
Have you ever been hurt by undead?
"I've been injured by just about everything."
How many torches are you carrying?
"None. Though I should pick some up."
How about gold? Where were those coins minted? Why haven't you spent them yet?
"Also not nearly enough. I haven't spent them because I haven't seen a bar or a brothel in too long."
|
|
Solaufyn will make a Sense Motive check 1d20 + 14 to get a feeling about the line of questioning. Why are these questions being asked of us? he wonders.
It's quite obvious that the guard has been asking these questions a lot recently, as he is quite bored of them. He clearly doesn't know why he has been asked to do this.
It's quite obvious that the guard has been asking these questions a lot recently, as he is quite bored of them. He clearly doesn't know why he has been asked to do this.
On Saltmarsh: Knowledge(local) - Perhaps Saltmarsh has been experiencing some undead problems lately, and nightmares are a symptom?
|
|
On Saltmarsh: Knowledge(local) 1d20 + 27 - Perhaps Saltmarsh has been experiencing some undead problems lately, and nightmares are a symptom?
Even with his encyclopaedic knowledge, Sol seems almost completely baffled by these questions. The only thing that strikes a familiar chord is the question about nightmares. A number of people coming from Istivin as of late have reported worse nightmares than usual while staying in the capital. No one knows why these have been happening.
What is your name?
"Mortifice."
What is your purpose in Istivin?
"I am interested in attending church here."
What is your religion?
"I am a priest of Mayaheine."
How long have you been traveling together?
"About eight years. We're old buddies."
What is your religion?
"You asked me that already."
Where did you get that armor?
"Crafted it myself. I do work on commission too, if you're interested."
Have you been to the saltmarsh?
"The whatwhere now?."
Why not?
"Never heard of it. But now that you mention it, it doesn't sound like the type of place I'd like to visit"
Have you been having any nightmares lately?
"I used to have this recurring dream where I was standing in front of the whole congregation in my underwear, but that was yeeears ago."
Have you ever been killed?
Mortifice raises an eyebrow. "No, the Shield Maiden protects me."
Have you ever been hurt by undead?
"During the war we ventured through the Stark Mounds and were harassed a bit, but we took no serious injuries from them."
How many torches are you carrying?
"None. I can see well enough in the dark, and have a magic sword that provides light to allies."
How about gold? Where were those coins minted? Why haven't you spent them yet?
"I have enough to pay my tithes, my taxes, and my upgrade fees. I couldn't rightly say where they've all been minted, but I haven't spent them because I haven't gotten through this gate yet."
Tanith looks at the guard, looks at the bear, and then looks at the guard again.
"Boris and I share a bond, yes, but I'm no druid. I'm a warrior and a servant of the Brawler", he punctuates the second part by flexing his thickly muscled right arm showing off the brightly tattooed symbol of Kord running the length of his forearm.
"Oh and just so you don't shoot him down." Flynt whistles and Tobias flutters down to land on his arm. "I am also not a druid, but Tobias is my companion."
Tanith nods at Flynt's introduction and answers the guard.
"I hadn't planning on fighting at the Circus", the big Kordite says while shaking his head. "But it might be a nice distraction."
"Who's the Keeper? The name isn't familiar."
"I'd bet on you. What little money I have anyway. I'm gonna take a guess and say he's the champ."
|
|
The guard shrugs, "You new, huh? Well, by the look of you, you could give the Keeper a run for his money. Just make sure you know what all his hands are doing." He gives Tanith a knowing wink before waving him through. He then nods to Flynt and Tobias, and waves them through as well.
As your group passes through Javan Gate a sense of foreboding fills your hearts, as if you had just heard about the death of a loved one. Something is amiss in Istivin, but it is hard to pinpoint exactly how you all know this. Perhaps it is the distant coldness in people's eyes, maybe that the shadows seem darker and longer here, sounds seems harsher and more shrill, people hold themselves as if there is no joy in their life.
You have all seen first hand what a war can do to people, how one can loose hope, become bitter and callous to the pain of others, but here is something different, something even more sinister: It is a cold detachment with something darker lurking behind it: rage.
You cross into Gate Square and immediately see the dozens of beggars huddled around small fires against the cold of the early spring morning. Upon seeing your group they leap to their feet, shuffling toward you. Many have lost limbs, eyes or ears, most likely in the war. They push towards you, surrounding you quickly and hold out thin arms for anything you can spare.
A particularly thin, blind old man clutches at the hem of Sol's clothing, "Spare a copper for a blind old man, sir?"
Tanith grins and claps the trapper on the back, "Thanks Flynt. That means a lot. Kord teaches us that the word of a friend is stronger than steel."
"The Keeper wasn't the champ when I was around but a lot can happen in eight years."
Tanith frowns once the city's malaise settles over him, a rare expression for the Suel.
A particularly thin, blind old man clutches at the hem of Sol's clothing, "Spare a copper for a blind old man, sir?"
Solaufyn graciously hands him a silver piece. "There, go get yourself a hot meal," he says to comfort him.
He then turns to the group. "Something isn't right here, gentlemen. I have not felt like this since the Glades of Shadows Lurking. It is as if, for these people, the brightness of their souls has been dimmed to barely candlelight."
He gestures to indicate the whole city. "There is a lot for us to do. The people are little more than cold husks. We need to revive them."
"Well to be fair, Ollidamara teaches to never make a sucker's bet. Which is betting against you. Did you eat several cows whole while we were away? And you're welcome."
Flynt tries to not look uncomfortable as people try to pan handle him. He did feel sorry for them, but he did not have nearly enough money to help them. "How do we do that, Sol?"
Tanith's mirth quickly returns and he laughs at Flynt's question.
"One of the first lessons that is taught in the Book of Iron is that a body is only as strong as the food that fuels it; To be as strong as a bull one must eat like a bull."
"Except instead of grass it's usually meat", he finishes with a deep laugh.
Tanith notes the beggars rapdily swarming the elf.
"You need a hand there Sol?"
"Wait, that doesn't make sense at all... We should probably help him before he gets mobbed."