Treasurefox's Rise of the Runelords (Inactive)

Game Master TreasureFox

We can have it all done during this day. You can rely on Saila, Andreste, Janis, and Ameiko to help. I'm not sure what's been sold and what hasn't. My guess is that everything that was from the Shadow Clock was already sold, but nothing from the Gull or the Temple.

she had studded leather, and just sin star thing, but thank you for the reminder.

All set

So 6,699.41 each.

Bright an early the next morning, the remnants of the Cobbled Shield set sail to Turtleback Ferry, waving goodbye to their companions on other adventures of their own. The party knows it's going to be a long, long trip, but they'll have some sights along the way.

They first sail up the Yondabakari river, with plenty of traffic along the river and the northern shore. They sail this portion for a full week, encountering a group of Goblin archers who set up a blockade with felled trees. They also encounter several ghostly knights riding at them from the river during one of the nights. One of the days has very little wind, and the Shield is pressed-ganged into helping row the ship to make it on schedule. Wabbit and Cleo share an oar for this, while Furnok proves to be quite successful. By the end of the week, the Shield dock at the trading town of Wartle. Wartle stands on stilts above the reeking marsh. Most of the citizens are peat farmers, swampers, and hunters. They spend a day at the Lean-to tavern, sleeping at a friendly swamper's floating house, and finding a new ship the next morn.

The next ship they take sails further up the Yondabakari river for a bit less than a week. During that time, the party encounter a Dire Alligator in the swamps. As marsh turns to grassland, and then to hills, the party gets a good view of the impenetrable Fenwall Mountains. The crew whisper their prayers to a wide variety of deities, praying for protection as they pass the mountains. They say that the mountains are host to terrible creatures known as Thunderbirds in the Shoanti tongue. Fortunately, the tell-tale clap of thunder from their wings are not heard this day. The ship pulls into the town of Whistledown. This small town is home to hundreds of Gnomes, and most of their buildings and furniture are sized to accommodate them. Wabbit and Cleo finally get to open doors where the handle is well within reach! And Furnok has to duck and hunch over to get through the doors. The town is full of crazy colours, some of which are illusions that flicker and change over time. There are roofs that are bright pink or deep blue, and wooden charms hang from them and whistle haunting tunes. The only human-sized building is the Azure Cup, but today it is the Scarlet Cup. As expected, the cups are bright red.

After a few days, it becomes clear that no ships are heading further East, so the party decides to hitch a ride on a trading caravan heading for the town of Ilsurian nearby. The Varisians on the caravan tell stories of Lake Syrantula, saying that an ancient and cursed people lived on the south shores of the lake. These people are known in the Varisian tongue as The Cursed Ones. They were settlers, who dug deep into the earth and stole its soul. As a result, the earth sought vengeance, and drowned the Cursed Ones in the Lake Syrantula. Their spires still stand beneath the waves, scraping ships that dare risk the monsters deep within. They warn to stay on the shores, and never venture into the misty center, or the southern shores. It is certain death.
A couple days later, the Shield enter the town of Ilsurian. Despite being a town, it is incredibly well fortified with stone walls and a large castle. Ilsurian is quite the oddity, because not only are they staunchly independent and militant, but they also venerate the Dead God Aroden as their Patron. Yes, they do realize that their Patron is dead, yet they still stubbornly preach his teachings and seek to preserve his ways. A single priest of Iomedae is present for healing services, but everything else is provided by the Silver Magi of Aroden.

The Shield wait for a long time in Ilsurian, before they finally come across a ship headed for Turtleback Ferry. They learn that all ships entering the Skull River must be accompanied by a paladin of Erastil, for the Ashwood on the Eastern side is a forbidden death trap for all but the best, and holiest, of rangers. Ghosts, vampires, werewolves, undead giants, and far worse roam this woodland. During the several days of sailing, the paladin bestows a gift to Cleo. She receives 10 masterwork silver arrows, and a silver holy symbol of Erastil with a compartment for a vial. The vial inside is a potion of Hide from Undead.

During this last sailing trip, the Shield learn as much as they can about Turtleback Ferry. Firstly, it got its name due to the colossal alligator snapping turtles that they hunted and turned the shells into ferries and boats. Only a small handful of hunters today are brave or crazy enough to fish for these monsters, and shoot them with their trademark giant crossbows. Many hunters have died doing so, but the rewards for such monsters is unrivalled. 50,000 gold pieces for an adult colossal alligator snapping turtle, with enough meat to feed the entire town for a day, a nigh-impenetrable boat hull, and much more. The town of Turtleback is staunchly pious to Erastil, with the high priest being the town mayor. Those who aren't fishermen in the town are mostly pig farmers, goat herders, and chicken keepers. The town stinks to high heaven, and the tannery and leatherworkers don't help matters. Still, Turtleback is famous for its Turtleback bacon, which is a favourite of the Dwarves of Janderhoff. Most of the people living there are a mix of Chelish and Varisian heritage, and they look down on outsiders. Hard workers who're willing to get their hands dirty will earn the respect of the townsfolk, but few have patience for city-slickers. But speaking of city-slickers, there is one place that has that feel to it. Out in Claybottom lake, lies what's called Paradise. It's a "pleasure barge", a gambling den with scantily-clad women, more alcohol than you could drown in, and tons of money. There are a few Turtleback townsfolk who've won big, big like alligator snapping turtle big. Mere entrance onto the barge is 100gp up front, and stories of people coming from all over Varisia, selling their land, their businesses, and even their wives or children to partake in the gamble. It's a haven of depravity.

And like clockwork, the ship finally spots Turtleback Ferry. On the Northern edge of Claybottom lake, slightly up the Skull River, lies the town of Turtleback Ferry. The smell of hog filth alerts the sailors before the wooden palisade does. As they pull into the dock, dozens of townsfolk gawk at the ship, examining it and its contents, cheering, trading coins with one another, and calling out prices before the wares are even shown.

One of the guards, standing upon a raised platform 15 feet above the dock, yells out "Welcome to Turtleback Ferry. If yer new, ye best look at the sign for the laws before steppin into the town proper. Ye'll want to talk to the guards or folk for directions."

A sign at the beginning of the dock lists the laws of town.

Cleo takes in a deep breath, and smiles, turning a little pink when sailors notice. "It seems like home" she mutters to herself.

At the guard "Thank you. They are very clear and to the point laws. Um... we need a place to stay for a night or two, if you wouldn't mind pointing us in a direction for that. Us 5. The goblin and the pig are both with us."

Horses, ponies and carts? I figure she would sell the cart and draft horse, what about her pony, did they have room to come with?

Medium sized domesticated creatures I'm not concerned about. So a pony or two is fine.

"Hold'up" Says the guard. "What's with the goblin, and why's it armed?"

Aggah sneers, and Cleo feels Aggah's desire to shoot the man up top to teach him a lesson.

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Later in the conversation

"And you." The guard points to Wabbit. "I ain't seen a symbol like that before. Who're you worshipping?"

Kemras, what holy symbols do you possess, and do you carry them openly?

"The goblin is armed because she is helping defeat evil in all forms that we find it in." racism being one of them, but she doesn't poit that out explicitly. "Erastil teaches that Family can come in any and every form. Aggah..." she rests her hand on the goblin's shoulder, both to explain who Aggah is and to settle her friend. "... is my family. There are no rules on that board stating one's outward appearance will bar them entry, or did I miss a line?"

The guard squints down, as if trying to find any incriminating evidence. "Fine, but ye best swing by the church an talk to Father Ferrus or Brother Henric about it. That Goblin's on yer tab, miss. The Taphouse's an inn for travelers without family to stay at. You'll find it on Skull's bank. Just follow the trail upriver a minute or two, an you'll find it. Big mug on the post. Can't miss it."

Cleo gets the sense that despite her faith, she's being judged.

-----------------------------

Acoris, if you'd like to introduce yourself, I think you'd be on these docks. I imagine you'd be looking a ware and seeking stories from the crew and passengers. You've certainly encountered Gnomes and Humans, but a Goblin might be a new one for you.

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Meanwhile, within the walls of Turtleback is a squat wooden building known as the Taphouse. The Taphouse is Turtleback's only inn, and is the most welcoming to travelers. Here, not far from the burning hearth, sits Kemras, nursing a drink as he tries to get the attention of the other patrons. The barkeep and cook is an older man called Galt, who welcomes each patron by name. New arrivals, like Kemras, get a complementary conversation, which is partly an interrogation.

There are currently five other people at the Taphouse, not including Kemras and Galt. Three men named Marcel, Andru, and Serban are around a shoddy table, playing dice as they day drink. A Gnomish woman with purple pig tails, named Quek is pouring over a giant book that's nearly as tall as she is. Finally, a scruffy looking man named Theedor is laying on a straw mat only a few feet from Kemras.
Kemras, feel free to describe yourself. Also, let me know how you want to get the attention of the patrons, so you can get some gossip and information.

Kemras sits quietly the Taphouse, hazel eyes flicking around to examine the room curiously. Were it not for the elegance of his features and his pointed ears, one might be forgiven for thinking he was a fully human Varisian, for that is how he is dressed.

He lets his dark hair flow freely to his shoulders, though his pointed ears poke out from within it, and wears the traditional Varisian scarf - the kapenia - which tells those familiar with Varisian culture about his family and caravan.

What bared flesh that he displays is covered in tattoos, another mark of his Varisian heritage. Most of these are of personal meaning, but are done in the usual style for such tattoos - only one minor exception exists, on his right wrist, where ivy wraps around him to spell out the elven word 'insight.'

On his left hip, he wears a finely crafted elven rapier with an elegantly decorative hilt. On his right hangs a simple but well-crafted mace (for it never hurts to be prepared), while he wears a sturdy backpack and a fine white short bow on his back.

Now, how did papa do it again...? The half-elf remains silent for a time - his father had always been a bit better at interacting with people than him - putting them at ease and so on. He had always been somewhat poor at small-talk, because his curiosity demanded answers sooner rather than later.

Kemras gifts Galt with a cheerful smile. "Ah, Galt." He says, his tone friendly. "Would you mind helping me out with a few things - I would like to get to know this lovely town a little better while I'm here."

He runs a hand through his hair ruefully. "I'm not very familiar with the area - and I don't really want to go haring off into the wilderness if it's too dangerous out there."

Inwardly, he winces. Maybe that was a little too direct... Oh well. Too late to change things now.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (13) + 12 = 25

"The church is a lovely suggestion. Thank you, sir." Cleo sows judgement with kindness and then looks to her friends. "Do you want to go together or split up?"

Acoris flitters among the new travelers, examining their wares as they offload things from the boat (but making no effort herself to assist). More than once she's told to scram as she tries to open various crates.

Looking almost like a small elf, but seemingly created of wood and vine rather than flesh and bone, the winged creature continues to move around the ship and docks, endlessly asking people questions until they shoo her away.

Then she spots Aggah and beelines towards him. "Well, hello my little green friend! I haven't seen a creature such as you before." she quickly flies in a circle around him, examining from every angle, noting with interest his sharp teeth. "Oooh, a carnivore." She looks at the halfling next to him, and notes both how similar and how different the two species are. "In the wild, one of you would eat the other. But in a place like this, you can come together as companions and dare I say friends. This thing you've all created, this concept, this..." she searches for the word... "civilization is a truly wondrous thing. Tell me, how did you meet? Where have you come from? What brings you here? Did you bring items to trade?" Running out of breath, she looks wide-eyed at the two.

"Ahhhhh" Aggah says as she's kind of overwhelmed. "Aggah tried to kill Cleo, but Cleo stopped Aggah. Then Cleo scared off Evil Mother with Good Father, and saved Goblins. Then gave Aggah lots o food. Best food Aggah ever tasted. Aggah been here ever since. Yes. Aggah was bad Goblin, but is now good Goblin, Aggah promise." She nods furiously, then looks over at Cleo for help.

"Yes, a very good goblin. A hero, in fact." Cleo says with some concern "Hello, Um... could you please settle down a bit? Often time quick movements in someone's bubble of personal space can be seen as threatening." she only explains the latter due to the creature's comments. "We're here to help the Rangers, not they will really need our help, but a worry is a worry and the worry pointed us here." she smiles kindly then. "Why are you here?"

Acoris lets out a lilting laugh. "You needn't fear me. My only enemies are those would exploit and unnecessarily damage the natural beauty of the world. For you to have spared one of the miraculous creatures of this world makes me think that we are more alike than I'd have guessed... Even though you are, erm, utterly without leaves." She says the last part barely above a whisper, as though it's something that Cleo would be ashamed of.

Still, not wanting them to rush off before she's gotten more answers, she begrudgingly stops flying around so rapidly. "I have heard of some of these worries. They say there are unnatural beings near. Spirits and undead horrors and monstrous werewolves. I haven't seen such things yet, myself, but I think that I would like to."

She pauses, considering the question. "I am here mostly because I was growing bored. Or at least restless. There is a lot of this world to see, and a lot of it that is worth trying to preserve. Parts of this land remind me of home, but it is alive in a different way. Less magical than home, perhaps, but that in itself is a kind of magic. Life is a wonderful thing, don't you think?"

"I should say I am pleased to meet you both, Aggah and Cleo. My name is Acoris."

Cleo is trying to keep up and does okay. Her manners kick in at the end "A pleasure to meet you as well, Acoris. I am... oh Aggah already told you. My full name is Cleo Gingerberry." the red-haired halfling gives a proper curtsey even though she is a mess from a week or more on the road. "Um... spirits, undead horrors, and monstrous werewolves, oh my. That sounds pretty awful, but if they really are out there someone has to face them I guess. Better us than poor souls without a proper shield." her's is a beaten scarred but solid hunk of metal. Still not her original, so her pat on the metal comes with a little sadness.

Wabbit LOVES traveling to new places particularly in the water. He had a grand old time on the trip fishing.... Thankfully didn't catch any of the giant turtles. Didn't catch much of anything really but had a grand ol time doing it.

Wabbit laughs at the rules.. He can abide by them... No problem. They just tickle his funny bone a bit.

"And you." The guard points to Wabbit. "I ain't seen a symbol like that before. Who're you worshipping?"

WHAT? you've never heard of Chaldira? Wabbit says aghast She's Desnas right hand woman and a virtuos God of courageous action. . Wabbit pauses to see if that clears things up for the guard.

If not Wabbit won't be completely surprised. Chaldira really needs a better press secretary

Wabbit escorts Cleo to the church. She's capable and can take care of herself but it's a new town and Aggah seems to be attracting some attention. Better safe than sorry.

Furnok... Looks like we're going to the church. You coming with or are you doing some recon on the quality of ale in the tap house? knowing the big man has to be thirsty after the long voyage

Wabbits irises turn gold as he inspects the flying fey creature... Not bothering to hide his evil-dar. When satisfied she's not a threat to Cleo and Aggah, Wabbit allows his curiosity to take over dontcha get tired flitting about like that or are you very light because your bones made of balsa wood so it's not a problem? Wabbit LOVES flying and is quite jealous of anyone possessing that ability
hope she doesn't mind me asking about her weight... Some women really DON'T like that

"This is Wabbit by the way, He of the Impeccable Tact and Manners" the latter said with a firm voice while looking at him. "And Furnok towering above use, and Bacon there who looks like he is considering tasting you. He won't. He's a good pig."

Galt smiles as he cleans a large mug, showing his missing tooth. "You got it, sir. Well I'll tell it straight, the wilds are a rough place. But if you know what you're doing, it's not so bad. So first, keep yourself out of Ashwood, that's the forest to the East over Skull River. Me buddy Tavian's been out there huntin t'ill three years ago. Said he was ambushed in broad daylight by ghosts, and came back so frail that it took a week even with Father Furrus' magic to get him back on his feet. The man looked like the life was sucked right out of him, and to this day, he's never really recovered. Two other's have walked in there to look for ruins, but they never came back."

He sets the mug down and walks over to the hearth to load in some more firewood. "The forest to the North's called Kreegwood, named after the Ogre tribe that use to live there. Bout ten years ago, Magnimar sent an order of archers called the Black Arrows to clean out the tribe and make a fort up there, called Fort Rannick. Still stands to this day, and they're the ones keepin Ogres and Giants from coming down the mountain. So Kreegwood ain't too bad, but there's still wild boars, firepelt cougars, an the odd Fey. Bewarned, that there be a witch livin in Kreegwood, called Onawa. Leave her alone an you'll be fine, but folk who enter her treehouse never come back quite right in the head. Black Arrows been lookin for her for years, but they've never found her. Sounds fishy to me. You hear rumours of her walking into town in the night, making trade like a devil. I say don't talk to her, never let her inside, none of that."

Then he heads into the cellar, motioning Kemras to follow. As he goes about cleaning the clutter and checking rat traps, he pours a little bit of something from a barrel and hands it to Kemras. "Dwarf Scotch. They trade all sorts of brews for their Turtleback bacon. Anyways, if you want to go West, you best take the ferry on Willow River, just below Lake Coal. If you try to cross on your own somewhere else, you'll be stepping straight into the Shimmerglens. It's a fey marsh that'll confuse even the best navigators. Not even Gnomes go in there. I could talk bout Lakes Claybottom and Coal, and the Wyvern mountains, and Skull's Crossing if you want, but that's the jist of it."

Pleased to meet you. I'll head to the church with you for now. Still wary of splitten from the party and all.

OINK!

Kemras listens intently, genuinely interested in the local wilderness - not only does he intend to venture out into it, but information is valuable for its own sake.

Hm… ghosts are bad news. The Ashwood might have old elven settlements, but I doubt it. Mierani was to the north, even in its heyday. So, avoiding the undead seems a reasonable choice. The half-elf scholar nods gravely at Galt’s words with regards to the Ashwood. ”I’d best avoid that, then. I’ve no wish to tangle with ghosts!” He chuckles.

I’d do it, if it were worth my time, but it’s not something I’m keen on. I know virtually nothing about the undead, so it’s best to be careful around them. Kemras’ eyes follow the innkeeper as he moves to the hearth. The Black Arrows he recognizes - one of his friends joined up after a time as a criminal in Magnimar. Since then, his friend had been on the straight and narrow - and it seems the Black Arrows remain a bastion against the ogres of the Kreegwood.

”I’ll keep in mind those animals - no use in taunting the wildlife, especially when you’re not out for food.” The fey, though… I wonder what sorts of fey are in the Kreegwood, and how many… seems like I might want to look into that. He grins slightly at the mention of the witch. ”Believe you me, friend, I’ll avoid the witch’s hut as best I can. I’m rather attached to my head and what’s inside it.”

The scholar follows the Galt down into the cellar, looking around curiously, and takes the drink cautiously. ”Dwarven stuff? Wow. Quality alcohol, that.” He sniffs it cautiously before taking a sip. Whew. Just as potent as in Magnimar, if not stronger. He wipes his eyes of tears surreptitiously. ”I’ll probably end up taking a ferry over to the other side of the river, myself. While it sounds like an interesting place, I do have to go visit an old friend at Fort Rannick sometime soon.” He shakes his head slightly.

Wyvern Mountains sound self-explanatory… best not to go there. No need to tempt angry dragons with poison tails. He muses silently, sucking on his teeth. ”Thanks for sharing, Galt. It’s always good to keep local wisdom in mind when you’re visiting.”

When Kemras gets back up into the common room, he takes a minute or so to examine everyone, silently assessing each person before continuing his search for information on his old friend, and the path through the Kreegwood to Fort Rannick.

Perception Take 20: 20 + 18 = 38 Taking 20 on Perception only takes a minute for Kemras, due to his swift search ability.

Today is the 29th of Neth, 4711AR. For those of you who are used to your coastal homes, we're out on the mountains now, albeit the swampy part of them. The weather is only just above freezing, and there's tons of moisture. Otherwise, the skies are only a bit cloudy, and the wind's fine. But Winter Court is definitely in session.

Wabbit diplomacy: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (14) + 11 = 25

The guard replies "Oh, is that right? Well Desna's all good and fine, so I 'spect Chaldira's good too. I'll try to remember that symbol."

Now given permission to pass, the Cobbled Shield (and fey companion) head into Turtleback Ferry. Past the first palisade are several muddy trails leading past houses and shops. Each shop has a sign on it with a drawing of the profession, so a cobbler's shop has the sign of a shoe, a baker has that of a loaf of bread. Near the shores of Claybottom lake floats a rowboat filled with flowers and trinkets. Townsfolk occasionally nod or say hello to the group as they walk by. Most of them are Varisian humans, but there are the occasional Shoanti, Halflings, or Gnomes.
Further into the town is yet another palisade, though it remains open without guard. The center of town has a proper cobblestone street, and contains only shops and businesses. The sound of hammer striking anvil is heard, as well as merchants selling their mundane wares. Water carriers haul their barrels uphill to these establishments. The tallest building is the church of Erastil, which is constructed in the traditional wooden lodge style with giant antlers displayed above the entrance. Slightly behind the center of town is a raised mound with a staircase leading up to a wooden wall complete with crenellations and a rampart. Standing behind this fortification is a small, two-story white-washed stone keep bearing the Magnimarian flag.

A crier in the center of town yells out
"A trade ship has just arrived in port! Bearing goods from Janderhoff, Kaer Maga, Biston, and Ilsurian! Dwarven ales, metal bars, animal feed, hemp and linen, and eclectic odds and ends. Market day starts now!"

Kemras first examines the three men playing dice. All three of them are clearly of Varisian heritage.
Andru is shorter and has baby cheeks. He doesn't have any tattoos, but he does wear the most colourful tunic and slacks, along with a very nice pair of cuffed boots. He's quite talkative, bringing up rumours and gossip he's heard or possibly made up.
Serban has a long face and thick nose, and the blush on his cheeks is already showing. He's the strongest-looking of the bunch, and bears lots of tattoos. None of the tattoos indicate a caravan, but instead feature a wingless dragon, a bunyip, and a two-headed fish. He wears plain linens and tall tared boots. Over his head is a wide-brimmed hat.
Marcel is probably the oldest with his sun-stained wiry figure. He sports the infamous Varisian pencil moustache, but his emerald eyes are glazed over. He clutches his long black hair as he takes another drink. Marcel's tattoos are quite mixed, with a sun tattoo, a fish tattoo, a serpent tattoo, and the seven-pointed star. He wears no more than basic linen slacks and a stained sleeveless shirt.
Andru proposes a toast: "To our fallen brethren of Paradise. May ol' Deadeye open his gates to ye! A new paradise awaits ye in Heaven!"
The whole Taphouse shouts out "Hear, hear!" And drinks.

Quek the Gnome sits upon a high chair at the bar. She has purple pigtails, large golden eyes, and is wearing a robe with so many colours and patterns that it can get dizzying. She's reading over a tome called The Sombre Nymph; A Warning of the Dangers of Utmost Beauty.
Theedor is a scruffy-looking Varisian man, who's resting on a straw mat by the hearth. His clothes are tattered, and his hair unwashed. Yet his eyes look quite bright, and he wears a perpetual smile. He carries a quarterstaff with a bag of belongings hanging from the top.

Kemras frowns slightly at the gamblers before shaking his head silently. I wonder why one of them doesn't have any tattoos. Even most urban Varisians have one or two. Maybe he just has some that are covered up by his body. Kind of defeats the purpose, if you ask me...

His eyes go to the next gambler, examining his tattoos appreciatively. Interesting choices. I wonder what the wingless dragon is supposed to be... Maybe some local legend? Or something else entirely?.

Knowledge (arcana): Wingless Dragon?: 1d20 + 15 ⇒ (10) + 15 = 25

Moving on to Marcel, he glances over the tattoos until his eyes fall upon the seven-pointed star. He inhales sharply, eyes widening. A sihedron? I didn't think there were any Thassilonian ruins around here! Most people wouldn't even think to of that symbol, let alone tattoo themselves with it!

I'm taking the liberty of assuming Kemras knows that the sihedron rune is associated with Thassilon, but if you would prefer I change that, GM, we can ignore his thoughts and just keep with the rest of the scene.

Before he moves, however, the toast goes out. Paradise? I think I've heard of that, but why would folk be fallen in association with it? Especially when it means they're dead? More things to ask them...

Kemras takes a brief glance at the gnome woman, blinking when he sees what she's reading. Interesting taste in literature to read in public. I wonder if it would bother the other locals... not really important, though. Her business, and all that.

He looks at Theedor momentarily. I wonder what he knows - or doesn't know - that he is smiling so freely...

With that, he rises from his position, and moves over to the gambling table. "'scuse me, folks. Mind if I join you?" He pulls out a handful of silver coins (of Magnimarian origin, of course). "I'd like to try my luck."

After a few hands go by and he gets the sense that the men might be relaxing near him, he begins asking questions. "Say, I heard you toasting earlier. What's the Paradise, and what happened with it?"

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (3) + 12 = 15

There. That's a safe enough start. Maybe I'll be able to learn more about the rune tattoo soon, but let's not rush it.

You definitely have the knowledge skills to reflect that you understand the Sihedron rune when you see it.

Kemras knows that there are wingless dragons living near the lands of Tian Xia, a faraway continent of exotic traditions. The vast majority of these dragons fly using magic.

Though his question raises some discomfort among the three, Kemras' willingness to play a few rounds helps create some basic rapport. Andru is the one who replies. "T'was a gambling den the likes of which ye've ne'er seen, Kemras. Floated in the middle of Claybottom was a big ol' barge, remade into a place of luxury. T'was around for a few years. Anyways, three days ago, well, three days and a night, the barge sank. Not a soul made it to shore. Lord have mercy on them." Serban takes a long draught, while Marcel looks deep into his mug.

Acoris smiles between each of the party members, pleased to see a fairly diverse group.

Wabbits irises turn gold as he inspects the flying fey creature... Not bothering to hide his evil-dar. When satisfied she's not a threat to Cleo and Aggah, Wabbit allows his curiosity to take over dontcha get tired flitting about like that or are you very light because your bones made of balsa wood so it's not a problem? Wabbit LOVES flying and is quite jealous of anyone possessing that ability

hope she doesn't mind me asking about her weight... Some women really DON'T like that

If Acoris is offended by Wabbit's invasive question (or the rib about her bones being weak), she it doesn't show. "You know, I don't know!" She replies, excitedly. "Perhaps my bones are hollow, like a birds. Or maybe magic helps... They are limited in power, though. If I were to fly too high up, the wind could strike me down. It's less of a problem in the Fey world..."

"Cleo says you've all come to help the Rangers. Have you faced many monsters before?"

"Too many." two simple words, but said with a weariness laced with loss. The young halfling collects herself, and gives a quick slight smile. "And why are you in town, Acoris. I don't know much about the Ferry but you don't seem like a native."

Acoris shakes her head, but remembering her promise to the gnomes about privacy, tries to keep her answer somewhat vague. "Oh, I'm not, but I've been coming to town more and more, trying to learn what I can of the world outside. I mean no disrespect to Turtleback, it is a lovely place! There are many friendly travelers such as yourselves to feed me stories. But I find more and more that I long for an adventure of my own."

"For a time, I lived among the gnomes." She continues after a brief pause. "I don't know if you know many, but they have a biological need to be amazed. Without it, they shrivel up and go pale and can even die! Turtleback has many people who are not gnomes and stay in this town, and make it their own, and are perfectly happy to talk with those who come through, to hear their stories, as I have."

She frowns, considering. "I think that all the sentient beings that I have met fit into those two categories: Those who seek out wonder and excitement for themselves, and those who are content to hear it from others, and only dream of it for themselves. And for too many years I have been the second kind of being."

Cleo listens along with the ups and downs of the willowy one's conversation, which has her smiling despite the sadness that had crept in "Well I fit nicely in your first category at the start of this, but now I'd happily be in the second if I could bring myself to turn away. So maybe there is room for a third?"

"Oh well, we need to see Father... Ferrus before they decide we are breaking some kind of law or something. If you ever wish to face certain death for all sorts of everything, let us know before we head out to check on the rangers."

Cleo is still a trusting sort, so inviting someone along is not abnormal for her at all.

Wabbit laughs nodding approvingly at Cleo and Furnok I LIKE this one

Even though we just met, I reckon we can trust them.

Bwee!

The Cobbled Shield and their new friend enter the Church of Erastil. Inside the rectangular lodge are about a dozen people. A priest dressed in white stands near a stone basin with the group of people, pouring holy water over the head of a newborn babe. The priest says in a commanding, yet gentle voice "I baptize you, in the name of the Father, and of the Stag, and of the Holy Spirit."

Behind the townsfolk is a large hearth that heats the entire lodge, decorated with antlers, a tapestry depicting a proud humanoid with the head of a stag and holding a longbow, a simple-looking longbow, and an enormous crossbow made of darkwood. The hearth lets smoke escape through a small opening in the ceiling.
Note for worshippers of Erastil, this is an altar that bestows magical properties. Take a look at the Altar of Erastil for details.
Everburning torches line the corners for extra light. Detailed over a large square of stretched leather is a picture of three people. The first person is wearing robes, carries a book, and wears the holy symbol of Erastil around his neck. The second person is wearing plate armour, carries a longbow, and wears a monastic scapular depicting the holy symbol of Erastil. The third person is wearing a plain tunic and slacks, with a coif on his head. He carries a scythe, and around his neck he wears the holy symbol of Erastil.

Near this picture is a tall and hefty priest wearing brown robes. The top of his brown hair is clean shaven, as is his strong jaw. He approaches the new group and in a deep but hushed voice, says
"Good day. I am Brother Henric. Father Ferrus is currently busy with baptism, for another half hour or so. Afterwards, the church will be open for prayer, confessional, or guidance from Father Ferrus. Is there anything I may be able to help you with? We have healing services, holy water, minor magic items, and spellcasting for pious adventurers."
Brother Henric gives a subtle nod to Acoris, showing recognition.

Kemras shakes his head sadly at the news. ”May they find their place at Old Deadeye’s side.” He utters in response to their mourning.

As he does so, he glances at the sihedron tattoo once more, attempting to determine whether it is a magical tattoo, such as some of the ones he’s seen in the past. It’s not an uncommon thing here in Varisia to get an enchanted tattoo… and if someone’s giving out ancient runes as tattoos, maybe they’re also enchanting them?

Due to his Item Lore ability, Kemras is able to tell whether an item is magical with a single round of examination. If it is, he can identify it, and if he exceeds the DC by 5 or more, he can tell if it is cursed.
Spellcraft if magical: 1d20 + 16 ⇒ (1) + 16 = 17 Welp.

Finally, he scratches his chin. ”Was there a storm? Barges don’t just sink like that… do they? I’ve not been on many boats, but… if it was around for a few years, what made it sink all of the sudden?” His instincts tingled - though he was usually more interested in mysteries of the ancient past, this, too is interesting to him.

Kemras does identify that the sihedron tattoo is indeed magic, but he's not aware of its function.

The men look to each other for confirmation, before Serban leans in to whisper a secret. His voice is raspier, and reeks of strong liquor. "Look, some of them folk think it were an accident, but if y'ask me, and ye do, I'se think it be Ol' Magga who done it. Dragged Paradise straight to the bottom o' Claybottom, she did."
The men nod reassuringly.

Kemras' hazel eyes widen slightly. It is magical! That’s… surprising. Is this some sort of cult? But I didn’t think that there were any ruins around here, so why would it be? Plus, this is a pretty devout settlement, and I don’t know that Old Deadeye’s priests would appreciate something like this… I could be wrong, though.

His attention snaps back to the present as Serban leans in. Oof. Alcohol smell… The scholar resists the urge to wrinkle his nose at the stench, trying hard to listen more carefully to the words he’s saying.
Knowledge (local): 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (9) + 13 = 22

He nods gravely at the mention of Black Magga, though, a frown slipping over his face. Well, he hasn't seen it, so I don't think it's likely. Probably just tavern-talk. I wonder what sort of accident would take down a ship like that... He sets the thought aside for later.

”Damnation, that’s horrible. Without a single survivor either... gods look after them all.” He says, finally, shaking his head sadly. ”Say, can I ask you a question? Well, one other than that.” Kemras nods at Serban, then Marcel. ”I noticed you have a wingless dragon there - from Tian Xia? It’s quite impressive, and I was wondering why you chose it.” He looks to Marcel. ”And you have an old rune from Thassilon right there. The symbol of Thassilon, in fact. Can I ask where you got it?” He indicates the sihedron.
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (12) + 12 = 24 Adding Inspiration for free thanks to the Expanded Inspiration talent. Inspiration: 1d6 ⇒ 4 Total is 28.

"You're full of questions." Marcel remarks, getting a bit miffed. He shows the Thassilonian tattoo, which is located on the underside of his left wrist. "I don't know anything bout Thasslon, but this was one of the perks of Paradise." He coughs again and takes a deep breath. "If you wore this, then you got twenty percent off all the gambling chips, and entrance was free. It adds up real quick."
Then he looks Kemras in the eyes. "Lots of people got this tattoo, some of them close friends or family. Many of them are sleeping at the bottom of the lake right now. I get you didn't know, but I'm not in a great mood to deal with games of twenty questions."
I used your first roll for the interaction, then modified the DC depending on your further questions. You can still opt to spend an hour or so with them in the hopes to raise their starting attitudes, but otherwise you can roll a new diplomacy check the next time you interact with them at another time/place.

"He's got the same nose as that Fey folk 'round town." Serban says, trying to stay somewhat jovial. "My tats are all bout monsters, and I were thinking bout getting one of Ol' Magga. It ain't a wingless dragon, but a sea serpent. Me thinks it'll help against any plagues that come in."

"What can I say? I'm an inquisitive sort. Especially when it comes to things about Thassilon." Kemras smiles mildly. "I'm sorry if I offended, of course. But my curiosity remains. If you'd rather not speak about it, that's all well and good. As I said, I was simply curious."

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (16) + 13 = 29

He scratches the back of his head, appearing somewhat embarrassed, but his eyes are clear and more intrigued than ever. Curious. It let them into Paradise for special gambling privileges… and it is enchanted. If I could only figure out how I’d be a lot happier. But it looks like they don’t want to talk any more about that… I wonder why. Should I ask them? Kemras sucks on his teeth thoughtfully.

He looks at them once more, assessing their moods, before nodding cheerfully. ”Very well then, let’s talk about happier things, hm?” The half-elf nods slightly. ”Sea serpent, eh? I’ve not heard much about them, but it’s better to be safe than sorry with that sort of thing.”

After playing a few more hands, he stands. ”I’m afraid I’d best keep what money I can now. I’ve some business elsewhere in town, and I’d best be on my way. It was good to meet you all.”

With that he exits the Taphouse. I think I remember that the mayor’s a priest of Erastil. I should go and meet with one of them… and maybe see if any other sihedron tattoos are enchanted. If it’s just the one, I think it’s related to Marcel… if it’s more than one, then it’s probably related to Paradise somehow.

The thought makes him frown. How does Paradise tie to Ancient Thassilon? Why would a gambling den use a sihedron to mark its special customers? Surely there’s something more appropriate, like a specific sort of coin, or a symbol of good luck?

He takes a breath of the bracingly chilly air, wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck and lower face. In any case, time to go to Erastil’s church.

Party meet-up time! Last spammy post for me. I feel like I'm hogging the spotlight a bit, and I apologize for that.

"Hello Henric" Cleo greets the man warmly, happy to be in a church of her faith for once. "I'm Cleo. Cleo Gingerberry. I was trained as an acolyte of Erastil in my village but unfortunately have wandered a bit from home. But not from Him, thankfully, or him from me." she touches her old wooden symbol hanging from her neck. She has the silver one tucked in her pouch, but the old one feels more right. "Your church is so much different than ours, of course, we were smaller, focused on the family aspect of the Grandfather. Yours feels... stronger?" the halfling doesn't have the proper words, but a touch colder might be one as well. She is fascinated at the differences and not being judgemental.

"The guard at the dock suggested we should visit, though I would have done so on my own. This is Furnok, Aggah, and Wabbit, my friends and family, and Acoris, a pleasant surprise but you already know her it seems."

Repost. Feel free to change your actions if you desire.

The Cobbled Shield and their new friend enter the Church of Erastil. Inside the rectangular lodge are about a dozen people. A priest dressed in brown stands near a simple wooden lectern. With a stern look, he addresses the flock. "Winter is not a time to sleep and wait out spring. There is wool to be spun and clothing to be made. Our children deserve fine, warm clothes afore Solstice. Beware the Yuletime Cat, as it stalks on such nights for the cold and helpless. Look out for one another during these harsh times, and help those in need as if they were your own brother or sister."

Behind the townsfolk is a large hearth that heats the entire lodge, decorated with antlers, a simple-looking longbow, an enormous crossbow made of darkwood, and a tapestry depicting a proud humanoid with the head of a stag and holding a longbow. The hearth lets smoke escape through a small opening in the ceiling.
Note for worshippers of Erastil, this is an altar that bestows magical properties. Take a look at the Altar of Erastil for details.
Everburning torches line the corners for extra light. An alms box stands by the entrance, where a tall and heft priest wearing brown robes stands. The top of his brown hair is clean shaven, as is his strong jaw. He approaches the new group and in a deep but hushed voice, says
"Good day. I am Brother Henric. Father Ferrus is currently busy, but the church will open again in half an hour. Is there anything I can help you with? We have healing services, holy water, minor magic items, and spellcasting for pious adventurers."
Brother Henric gives a subtle nod to Acoris, showing recognition.

I'll stick with the above. She probably won't think 'cold' as much now, but it is still different since the temple was just a home in her village

Wabbit is comfortable in the church of Erastil. It's not "home" like the rare Chaldiran church or the familiar Desnan. But Wabbit respects it and appreciates it for what it is. The faith of his cousin.

Brother Henric's eyes turn golden, then grey, then multicoloured, then pitch black, and finally return to their original brown hue. "Welcome. I see it's quite the diverse family. Sister Cleo and Mister Wabbit, your auras are powerful. Full of holy light, and Cleo's has Order as well." Looking at Acoris and Aggah he says "Some smaller auras of chaos are in your family. I suppose it keeps things lively, which is perfectly fine when kept in check. I've met lots of artists and other good folk with chaotic natures."
Turning back to Cleo, Brother Henric says "I see why the guard sent you here, but Aggah passes the test. None of you have auras of evil. I'll make sure to tell the guards that she's clear. While Father Ferrus handles spiritual tasks for the community, it's my job to keep Turtleback Ferry safe from corrupting forces. I make sure not a single soul in this town is led astray by the forces of evil, and that chaos is used for the light rather than the dark."
Changing the topic, he says "Father Ferrus will want to talk with you, sister Cleo. He normally gives gifts to travelling priests of Ol' Deadeye."

"Family comes in all shapes and sizes, it does." she smiles in return "It would be my pleasure to talk to Father Ferrus. You said he'll be busy for the next half hour, that will give us time to find rooms for the night and then come back. The Taphouse was recommended to us by the town greeter. Is that where you are staying, Acoris?"

Kemras arrives at the Church of Erastil after his journey through the (frankly uncomfortable) cold. The chill was pleasant at first, but now it’s really sort of seeping into my bones. I should look into getting some sort of warmer clothing.

Pushing through the doors, he pauses as there is already a crowd of… interesting people present. Two halflings, a human, and… a boar, I guess I could accept as normal. A goblin and a… His eyes widen slightly. Some sort of flying... vine-winged person. Wait, isn't there a fey like that? Try as he might, he cannot recall anything more than the vague sense that there might be denizens of the First World like the one before him.

Knowledge (nature) - Gathlain: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (5) + 12 = 17 plus Inspiration: 1d6 ⇒ 5 which doesn't cost a point because it's a knowledge skill he's trained in. That's a total of 22. I hope that's enough to get a vague sense that she's a fey, but not what kind? If it's not, we can disregard that thought.

He looks beyond the Shield to the lectern and the priest there. Hm. He looks busy... Probably should wait. Maybe the priest here will be of use. Kemras coughs politely, but softly. There's no reason to interrupt the ceremony that the Erastilians are observing, after all.

Once he is confident he has the attention he requires, and that he's not interrupting anything that cannot wait, he speaks. "Excuse me. I did not realize that there would be a sermon today. My name is Kemras Iuvescanu, and I had something to report to the priesthood of Erastil... but I see that it is busy here at the moment. Perhaps I should come back later?"

Even as he speaks, he looks around the church at the churchgoers to see whether he can see any other sihedron tattoos. Having more examples would be beneficial to his study, after all.
Perception (Inspired): 1d20 + 18 + 1d6 ⇒ (3) + 18 + (6) = 27 Not taking 20 because it takes a minute, which would seem rude here. Man, that was a pretty poor roll.

Cleo looks back to see a half elf "Oh, we're in the way then. Excuse us sir."

Brother Henric excuses himself to speak with Kemras, saying that Father Ferrus will be available in roughly a half hour.

Kemras knows of the fey creature called a Gathlain. Typically a very chaotic, mischievous, and capricious creature who's perfectly capable of good or evil depending on their emotions. Gathlains are known for their insaciable curiosity, which is less of an obsession, and more of an opportunistic and inquisitive nature. A Gathalin's worst nightmare is boredom, and they can bleach just like a Gnome does.

Kemras doesn't see any more sihedron runes. All he notices is that one of the churchgoers is reading a book while he holds a holy text overtop.

Taphouse next? Or would you like to do something else? It's noon-ish at the moment.

Kemras waves his hand hastily at Cleo. "Oh, not at all. I was just dropping by, and didn’t mean to interrupt…”

He ponders for a moment, before looking to Henric, nodding as the man says his superior will be available soon enough. Well, that’s reasonable enough…

Finally, he puts a name to the memory: Oh, a gathlain, that was the name… Hm. I didn’t realize there were any in Varisia, let alone in a backwater like Turtleback Ferry. The half-elf recalls the fey creature that the men at the Taphouse had made. He’d assumed then that it was a metaphorical statement, but perhaps it was more literal than he’d realized.

Setting the thought aside, the scholar blinks, realizing that Cleo is wearing the holy symbol of Erastil herself.

”Hm, perhaps you also would be interested in hearing what I have to say, and you seem less busy than the gentleman behind the lectern.” Kemras says, looking down (literally, not metaphorically) at the halfling priestess. ”In fact, I’m almost certain you would. Please, let’s speak outside.” Reluctant though I am to go back into the cold so quickly.

Goodness I swore I responed to this, sorry Kemras!

"Me? I'm not part of this temple, just passing through on our way to Fort Rannick. So I'm not sure how much I can help, but... I'm always willing to try if I can." the ginger-haired halfling nods and follows the half-elf out into the cold.