"It was the eyes! She hypnotized me with those cute puppy-dog eyes!" Eostre protests.
"Magnimar? I supposed that does seem the best choice if she does have family there," Sylvia reflects.
Taking in the thanks, she waves it off, "It was nothing more than anyone else would have done in our position. Regardless, wherever your road takes you, I wish the roses in to ever be in bloom along it and true safety to you and yours. I only wish we could have done more."
"You're such a softy, Sis," Nicat says as Eostre explains her feeding of strange dogs, ignoring the fact that he started it.
With the announcement of the family's decision less momentous than he expected, Nicat says, "Okay, they're headed to Magnimar. What are we doing today?"
Eistre rolls her eyes.
"Well, I wanted to check back with Brodert Quink about those notes I gave him, and talk to that smith lady about some weapons training. I doubt you'd find Thasslionian history that interesting, though."
"yes, be well, and be safe."
The Barrets thank the party one last time before they leave the Rusty Dragon. Petal sniffs at the door on her way out, but is promptly called away.
Ilya, having been suspiciously quiet the entire time, speaks up. "Hmm... I thought they thanked us already. You know, I could have sworn they did a couple of days ago. Or... was that a month in advance? I suppose it could've gone either way, really."
Finishing breakfast, Eostre hops down from her barstool,and picks up her glaive.
"Anyone interested in joining me on my trip to Brodert Quink's?"
Nicats get to his feet, jumps down off the bench he's sitting on, and says, "Sure, let's go, Eostre. I'll watch your back."
*sigh* "Alright, Nicat. I suppose Brodert's cats can keep you occupied while the adults are talking." Eostre says.
"I can come along as well if you like," Ekan offers, "it will give nicat another target." The monk gives a gentle smile
"Brodert Quink? I'm not sure I recognize the name, but I will come, as well," Sylvia chimes in. "I would see as much of the town as possible."
"Thanks, everybody. Well, no sense in wasting time! Let's go. See you later, Ameiko!" Eostre trundles into the lead.
Ilya waves off the group as they begin to leave the Rusty Dragon. "Go on ahead without me--I believe I was about to ask Ameiko about prospective magic shops here. I know I asked her ten minutes ago, but I think it might bear repeating..."
The sky outdoors hasn't cleared up any--the clouds overhead continue to gather together. If the citizens hurrying about are any indication, it looks like it's going to rain soon.
The party reaches Brodert Quink's home by the Old Light without incident. The door is shut tight. A *scratching* can be heard behind the door.
"Um, Eostre?" Nicat inquires quietly, "Does your friend Quink usually make that noise? Maybe we should check it out, so we can get inside before the rain starts."
He then walks up to the door and listens more closely at it, and tries to peek through the keyhole to see what might be making that sound.
The scratching stops as Nicat approaches, then starts again.
Nicat listens at the door, noting how loud the *scratching* is. He also hears a soft *meow.*
He glimpses what looks like a very messy study through the keyhole... and... is someone snoring inside?
"Um, Eostre?" Nicat inquires quietly, "Does your friend Quink usually make that noise? Maybe we should check it out, so we can get inside before the rain starts."
He then walks up to the door and listens more closely at it, and tries to peek through the keyhole to see what might be making that sound.
"Nicat, the man shares his home with three cats! Scratching'd be a normal sound!" Eostre replies, exasperatedly rolling her eyes.
She pushes him aside and pounds on the door.
"BRODERT! IT'S EOSTRE FROM THE OTHER DAY!"
"I doubt the cats will appreciate the pounding and shouting," Nicat helpfully points out, "nor will whoever is trying to sleep in there..."
There's a muffled shout of surprise followed by a loud THUMP when Eostre pounds on the door and shouts. The scratching abruptly stops.
"FbbubbuhhWHA--?! Yes yes! Coming!" The man's voice calls out, followed by hurried shuffling.
The front door opens, revealing a bald old man, his pale blue robe wrinkled and hanging open around his bony, hairy chest. His beard and moustache are messy, as if he's just literally rolled out of bed. He hurriedly adjusts his robe so that he's more adequately covered.
"Um--*ahem* Yes? What's so important that you decided to wake me up on the day I decided to sleep in?" He squints at the party, his lack of glasses necessitating the effort.
"I was checking in to see if you've gleaned anything of value from that sheaf of notes I gave you the day after the Festival. My friends and fellow deputies decided to accompany me...wait, you actually SLEEP IN?!"
Eostre seems sincerely surprised by the idea.
"Only times I've ever done that have been on nights where I was studying so late I fell asleep at the desk."
Leaning on her glaive, watching the two scholars with some amusement, Sylvia feels the need to comment, "And yesterday. When you came down with the bag of ice clutched to your head at lunchtime? Though I don't know if that's sleeping in if you wake up and then go back to sleep an short time later..." Sylvia teases.
Eostre's face turns bright red.
"That...that doesn't count! I got myself hungover from Ameiko's best stout!"
Nicat grins broadly and claps Eostre on the shoulder, reaching as high as he can to do so. "You know what, Sis?" he exclaims, "Our friends are right, we do have a lot in common! Next time you're going to tie one on with Ameiko's stout, give me a shout and I'll match you pint for pint!"
Realizing he's shouting right in front of the sleepy man's door, he quiets down ever so slightly and says, "Yeah, did you learn anything from the notes from the Festival?" Then, a puzzled look on his face, he asks himself, "Notes from the Festival? Someone was taking notes? Where's the fun in that?"
Eostre facepalms.
"They're not notes from the Festival, Nicat. I brought them with me from Riddleport and gave them to Brodert the day after it."
Ekan looks more than a little amused, but politely contains his smile. "You must understand, sir, Eostre has a hunger for knowledge. I'm sure a learned man such as yourself understands how that is. The papers bring a mystery, and , while I don't claim to know her too well, perhaps Eostre believes mysteries should be solved."
Brodert Quink blinks rapidly as the party speaks. He appears to still be trying to wake up.
"Er... notes?" He rubs his eyes with one hand. Then his eyes widen. "OH! Those! Yes yes yes, I know what you mean!"
He steps back inside his house, his front door still wide open. "Now, let's see... where did I leave the blasted things? I swear, if any of you decided to use them as scratching material--" He mutters to himself as he digs through the pile of papers on his desk. A pair of cats (one small and yellow-furred, the other with a black-and-white coat) look between him and the party, the yellow-furred one quizzically tilting its head.
"Come in, come in! Don't mind the cats--they're perfectly well-behaved when visitors come around!" Quink says without looking up. "Usually..."
Eostre follows him, hovering over his shoulder as he searches.
"I've seen messier desks, believe it or not."
"Oh, thank you. It feels like we've been standing out here for days. You wouldn't happen to have anything to drink, would you? Some tea, perhaps? So what are these notes on? If you don't mind me asking, that is. I doubt I could help with anything" Sylvia looks around at the cats and the mess, "...Academic in nature."
Nicat, being a great fan of cats, steps inside the cluttered house looks around a bit, then approaches the little yellow cat gently. "Hi Kit," he says softly, extending a hand to scratch its head. If his companions pay Nicat any mind, they notice that he is quite uncharacteristically quiet and calm.
Devoting most of his attention to the small, yellow-furred beast, Nicat listens with half an ear to hear what Quink has to say. "Kind of funny," he comments to the cat, "that a bunch of sheriff's deputies are here to see what your master has to say about a bunch of old notes, huh? Hardly stopping goblin attacks, is it?"
The yellow-furred cat doesn't object to Nicat scratching its head and speaking to it. It looks down and around the halfling's feet. The black-and-white cat walks next to the elderly scholar's leg.
"One minute please..." Brodert pulls a sheaf of papers from his desk and sets them on his kitchen table. He then walks over to a cupboard and takes out an iron teapot and several cups, resting them on the nearby counter before scooping some water into it and resting it over the home's fireplace. "It'll take some time for that to boil--now, where did I leave my tea bags..."
Eostre recognizes the papers as the notes she left Quink to examine. They're in almost the same condition as she gave him last, with several passages now underlined with freshly dried ink.
Eostre scans the underlined portions.
"Brodert, you wouldn't happen to have coffee, would you? I know the Dragon somehow gets a supply but I was sincerely surprised to find it so far from a major trade hub."
"Unfortunately, no." Brodert returns to the kitchen table, shrugging his shoulders. "I've never really liked the stuff--tends to keep me awake and irritable well into the night."
The yellow cat gives a small *meow* before hopping up on the kitchen table.
"Oh--you've noticed what I found?" The scholar looks over Eostre's shoulder. The teapot in the fireplace begins to whistle.
"Runewell...hmmm."
She scratches a spot on her glaive as she leans on it.
"I remember Paulinus muttering something about that once. Something about it being a "key" of some sort. Not sure if he was speaking literally or if he meant the "key" to a breakthrough. What does this runewell thing have to do with Sandpoint?"
Ekan looks curious, but feels more than a little lost at the subject.
Eostre turns from the notes, noticing Ekan's expression.
"Question, Ekan? Maybe you're not a student of pre-Absalom-Reckoning history, but you certainly don't seem UNinterested in the discussion."
Brodert shrugs as he moves toward the kettle on the fireplace. "Well, that's just it, Eostre." He takes the kettle off before bringing it to the counter and setting it down next to the cups.
"From what I've read, a 'runewell' is, supposedly, a device of no small magical power. They're said to have been used by ancient Thassilon as a font for their rulers' powers. They were designed to feed off of a specific vice in exchange for arcane power--sloth, wrath, lust, greed, and so on. To that end, they were capable of amplifying emotions tied to their vice." The elderly scholar reaches into a cupboard and retrieves several tea bags and a spoon. He shivers as he speaks, and the black-and-white cat's tail briefly turns very bushy. "And since Old Light is a Thassilonian creation..." He trails off as he moves to pour the contents of the kettle into the cups.
"*ahem* Sister Jahlyn, how do you like your tea?"
The monk answers Eostre "The god I follow is one of history, among other things, so I have a..layman's education. I honestly do believe that one cannot advance unless one knows where he started, and where those before him came from. It's the same for nations, I suppose. If Varisia is to be built on, then it needs to know its foundations."
Nicat nods sagely at Ekan’s statement, as if the luck-blessed halfling regularly ponders the actions of his forebears in order to learn from them and avoid their mistakes. When he opens his mouth to share the wisdom this has bestowed upon him, he says, ”I like mine black, with lots of sugar!”
Eostre nods at Ekan's statement.
"I can respect that, Ekan. Your god kind of thinks like a dwarf, then. I think we'll get along just fine."
She turns to Brodert, refusing the tea. Paulinus drank it like it was nectar from Heaven, but it always just tasted like piss to her.
"You believe the Old Light conceals one of these runewells?"
Eostre's eyes light up hungrily.
"What more must be done if we're to find it?"
Brodert pours Nicat his requested tea before looking over at Eostre. "Well, truth be told, it's only a theory I have--I don't know if there is a runewell under the town at all."
He leaves the other ingredients for anyone to make their own cup of tea and walks over to the table. The yellow-furred cat *purrs*.
"Although it would explain more than a few things, as of late..."
"Care to elaborate? Bear in mind I've only been here a few days and don't know what's happened here in town prior to that."
"Indeed, if you see some connections, please do share."
"And if there might be a runewell under the town," Nicat asks, curiosity mixing with concern in his voice, "where would it be? Deputies need to know this stuff, to keep people safe, don't you know."
"Huh. Got a point there, Nicat," Eostre says, turning with a surprised look on her face.
"If these things are powered by sin, they could well affect the behavior of the townsfolk. In Riddleport such a shift would likely go unnoticed, because it's so ridden with vice, but a small town like this, with simple, good-hearted folk...um, no offense, it'd definitely be noticeable."
"None taken, I'd see it as a compliment," Ekan says.
"If these things are powered by sin, they could well affect the behavior of the townsfolk. In Riddleport such a shift would likely go unnoticed, because it's so ridden with vice, but a small town like this, with simple, good-hearted folk...um, no offense, it'd definitely be noticeable."
Brodert hands Nicat's tea off to him before speaking again. "Well, Eostre... please, keep in mind this is only a theory I have, but I am wondering if it has something to do with the Late Unpleasantness..."
He clears his throat. "See, Sandpoint's always had its share of troubles, but, well, five years ago the town was terrorized by a brutal serial killer: the Chopper." The cats stop what they're doing and look up at him. "He was known for his habit of carving deep wounds into his victims with woodworking knives--almost makes me wonder why he wasn't called the Carver. It would have been more apropos."
"Anyway, the Chopper's murders continued for a month--his last two victims included the old sheriff, may Desna rest his soul." The scholar sighs. "Sheriff Hemlock was able to track the Chopper down..."
Quink's hands are beginning to tremble. "And only a few months afterward, the old cathedral to Desna was burned to ashes. If those events weren't related somehow, I'd be decidedly surprised."
The Chopper, as it turns out, was a local eccentric named Jervis Stoot. He was a man who was obsessed with carving birds into every building in town he thought deserved them. His skill with his knives was nothing short of brilliant--and though he was a bizarre man, and claimed the little island north of the Old Light as his home, he was also one of the nicest people to ever walk Sandpoint`s streets. He had never displayed any violent tendencies or behaviours until the murders began...
Nicat sips his tea and listens somberly to Quink's description of the Chopper, then adds his own recollections of that terrible time. "I remember the Chopper, though people don't talk about him much. Jervis Stoot was his name. Kind of an odd fellow, lived on the little island just north of the Old Light here, but I'll tell you, he was really nice before he started killing people, everybody said so. He used woodworking knives because he was a woodcarver, and a good one. He used to carve beautiful birds into buildings all over town, just because he felt they'd fit there. And they were really gorgeous."
After a pause, he continues, "But like I said, he never did anything to make anyone think he could do such terrible things, and then he started killing people. So maybe this runewell had something to do with it. I wonder if someone should go take a look at where he lived, see if the runewell's out there?"
Eostre blanches a bit at Brodert and Nicat's descriptions of Chopper.
"Holy slag!" she says quietly. She'd seen men like that before. Men who'd brutally tear you apart with a smile on their face, like they were arranging a bowl of petunias. Men who, if you met them on the street, seemed like the nicest people in the world. Tammerhawk was one of those men.
She leans on her glaive as her legs get a bit wobbly and she tries to take a deep breath.
"Ahem...well, yes, that makes sense. Perhaps the runewell was what the Old Light was built to house and its close, extended proximity to Mr. Stoot's home drove him mad. I've read of magical artifacts capable of altering or dominating the minds of the weak."
"Aye, perhaps that is the case... a normal person in the vicinity of a runewell when it first awakens would feel an inkling of the vice it is tied to. I can only imagine what would happen if someone were next to a runewell when its powers come alive again..." Brodert looks back at his desk before shuffling over to it and rummaging around once more.
"Now, is there anything else you wished to speak to me about? And incidentally, do you need your notes back?" He asks, not looking up from his papers.
"Based on Stoot's rampage, what vice would you say this hypothetical runewell is linked with? And what kind of event activates something like that?"
She shifts from one foot to another for a minute, her wide hips bumping a pile of scrolls over.
"I'm staying in town indefinitely to investigate the Old Light, so I imagine I'll be here often. We can talk more later. Thank you for the tea and the information."
"If I had to guess, the runewell would be linked to wrath. No other vice fits the pattern." Brodert says, not looking up from his notes.
"And you're welcome."