Welcome, Heroes of Light:
It took a while, but you finally managed to make it to Sandpoint. The boat you were on was attacked by Pirates; you suffered bandits on the road; and you always seemed to arrive just AFTER the last inn room was taken at each coach house and pissant town you came to. It's almost like Pharasma was testing you.
Your perseverance has paid off, however, and you find yourself waiting in a line of people to get into the town: it looks like there's some sort of festival here today, and given the variety of dress here, it looks like people have come from as far away as Cheliax to attend.
While the Rusty Dragon is normally busy (as it's a well-known stop for both wandering adventurers and caravaneers alike), with the Swallowtail Festival (a new festival that commemorates the completion of the new church) heading into full swing today, you have been practically swamped.
While most people know you as something of a bouncer at the Dragon (as the locals call it), you handle all sorts of jobs of Ameiko, which in this case includes delivering the food to the outdoor stand that the Dragon is setting up for the festival.
The booth for the Dragon is directly across the square from the booth for The White Deer, Ameiko's direct competition in town. It looks like they have chosen to roast a Dire Boar over an open fire (Which was provided with great fanfare by Vorvashali Voon, the owner of The Feathered Serpent curio shop).
Looking around the town, you can see the pre-festival games are in full swing, with contests of all stripes, including what appears to be a foot race of some kind getting set up.
When you return after setting things up, Ameiko looks at you and says "Okay, you've done enough. Go have a good time." before pressing a half-dozen silver into your hand with a smile. Looking at the other employees, it's clear she's given everyone else the day off with a similar handshake and smile.
Your trip to Sandpoint from Magnimar, where your purse was stolen...twice...has been pretty uneventful. You took travelling with a caravan in exchange for a bit of song and storytelling, as well as being willing to offer a hand where needed.
The only exciting thing that happened to your group was one of the Halfling cooks fell off the top of a wagon after he drank too much wine and broke his arm.
That's not to say that you didn't see signs of battle, however: during your caravan's only day near the river, you saw a boat being attacked in the distance, and several times you saw the unmistakable signs of battle on the road, but nothing accosted you. It's likely that whoever was accosted managed to drive off the bandits, allowing your caravan to slip past while they were still licking their wounds.
The line to get into Sandpoint was rather long, so you parted ways with the caravaneer before he asked you to sign on again for another stint: your music was much-loved by the caravaneers, and several of them offered to buy you a pint or two at the "Dragon", which was apparently a local in "run by a goddess", as one of the caravaneers put it.
You would find out yourself, if this blasted line would ever move...
It had taken some convincing (and several potions), but you managed to get a letter of introduction from the headmaster of the Academia Metaphysik to Broderik Quink, a renowned-in-his-field expert on Thassilonian history and a general well-regarded scholar. You rode in a carriage bound for Sandpoint from Magnimar, passing several caravans along the way (after the driver spoke with the head of each caravan about the road conditions), but eventually you found yourself standing near the front of the line to get into the city.
Apparently, you arrived just as a local festival was starting...
The first thing you notice is someone dumping a bucket of water on your head, which after a moment you realize was actually mixed with sawdust, probably from the barroom floor.
"Wakey wakey, hands off snakey." said the 5'5" barmaid who went back outside and the similarly woke up someone sleeping on the table two down from you.
It was loud outside, and the throbbing in your head probably didn't help the situation. You walked out and dunked your head in the horse trough a couple of times to clear out the cobwebs, and as you came up for air, you saw that some sort of festival was taking place. You were about to walk back into the bar, a place called The White Deer, apparently, when the owner, a slab of beef named Garridan Viskalai, politely asked you to leave. Seeing as how you didn't want to brawl with the man, you obliged.
Now you find yourself wandering through the festival, with quite a few things to do, including what appears to be a wrestling pit and an arm-wrestling contest.
Conor stands impatiently in the line, trying to see over th crowd in his excitement, eager to take in the sights and sounds of the festival.
The young bard wasnt terribly impressive to look at. Young, barely an adult, above average height with a lean build. Longish blond hair framed blue eyes and a youthful face, often in need of a shave, though the hair grew in patchy.
His equipment, longsword, dagger, whip and bow, looked worn, but not from hard use, just from being old. In truth he had never yet drawn his blade in anger, just practice. His only "hot blooded" use of a weapon in his short life had been using his bow to take game on occasion, and he was a passable shot and decent fencer. The whip? Well that was just an affectation, he felt it made him look dashing, like an explorer of ancient places such as the hero in some books he had read.
He made up for the worn nature of his weapons with his studded leather, though equally as old, he polished the various studs and buckles to a shine.
Though not terribly impressive looking, folks who meet the young bard cant but help like his earnestness and youthful exuberance. His penchant for being able to spin a good yarn and singing voice were solid bonuses, though his decision to play pipes over a more bardly instrument was often questioned behind his back.
Still, Conor couldn't wait to get into Sandpoint. His first real new town since setting out on his own, and a festival to boot! Surely he could scrape enough coin together here to see some amazing things, and maybe even eat well.
If only this blasted line would move...
Amycus wobbles slightly, giving Garridan a toothy grin (with a noticeable gap where an incisor used to be) and tips an invisible hat to him before dunking in the trough and letting it shock his senses. He whips his head back and forth to slough off most of the water, and absently runs a hand over the stubble on both his long, narrow jawline and shaved scalp. Wonder where a bloke can get a shave in this place, he thinks, glaring bleary-eyed at the loud noises around him. Then he blinks, and frowns. Bugger. Where the hells am I?
He wanders through the crowds, taking in the sights, running his fingers along buildings, feeling rough wood and stone under his fingers to ground his spinning head. As his senses slowly return, he sees the wrestling pit and scowls.
"Bloody show 'im," he mutters.
Sober enough to function but still tipsy enough to make bad decisions, he saunters toward the pit. "Oi!" he calls. His speech is still a little slurred, but his thick Riddleport accent is obvious. He unbuttons his vest to reveal narrow shoulders and the hard, compact, lean muscle one normally attributes to a swimmer. Scars and pockmarks litter his chest and abdomen, and tattoos of wildly varying degrees of skill and artistry fill the skin on his arms, all the way from the shoulders down to the backs of his hands. "Who's up fer a row?"
A festival had to be happening today. Well, I suppose I wasn't going to meet Professor Quink until tomorrow anyway...
Velkan Voica dithers for a few minutes between keeping his hood on and taking it off, while waiting in line. Eventually he notices that there aren't many in line with a hood up, and decides that he should look less like a spy.
Pulling his hood down, he reveals his massive canines and green-tinged face; it becomes obvious for anyone looking back in line at him that he has orc blood in him. From behind, his bright red hair confuses matters, but his pointed ears still betray half of his ancestry.
Still waiting in line, he double checks some of the many pouches he has on his person to make sure that none of his concoctions have gone missing.
I suppose these will go to waste since there weren't any bandits on the road.
...I wonder if any pickpockets will be foolish enough to try taking any of these...
Velkan chuckles quietly before standing on tip-toe to try and see how much farther he has to go before reaching the front of the line.
Backpack slung over his back, holy symbol around his neck, and staff in hand, Tiro Turtleback looked around at his surroundings.
You owe me, Cornelius. You really owe me this time.
Perhaps this was Pharasma's will, but nothing seemed to be going right for Tiro. His dream of joining the Esoteric Order of the Palatine Eye seemed to be slipping through his grasp, and yet here he was, still standing in this damned line.
Freedom suited Tiro, however. As hard as it was to get used to, he thought he liked the change in status. He could choose the inn he stayed in, choose the company he kept, and no one could say anything about it.
Except somehow, Cornelius keeps finding his way into my thoughts, and directing my actions after his death. Better to find his brother soon and get this over with. Hopefully he'll be at this festival, or whatever it is.
Syeira can't help the look of surprise that flashes across her face. "Th... Thank you." she quickly utters before grabbing her staff and rushing out the door, unwilling to give Ameiko the opportunity to change her mind.
Syeira couldn't believe it. She was sure she was going to spend the day working in the Dragon on what should be the busiest day of the year but instead Ameiko closes it? Best not to dwell on it because now she could go and enjoy the festival. Ameiko really was a wonderful person to work for.
With no particular destination in mind Syeira wanders the festival, taking great interest in all of the newcomers and various bits of gossip. Sometimes Syeira would insert herself into the conversation, others she would just listen like a fly on the wall. Syeira's wandering led her to the foot race she noticed earlier in the day. She spends a few moments watching before moving on.
"I don't think I could win that one ... though maybe if I found a test of strength..." she idly thinks with a smirk as she continues to wander the festival.
As you wait your turn to talk to the town guard, you notice a rather odd ritual: people are looking into what appears to be a mirror, with a sign above it.
To pass the time and entertain those waiting, a troupe of Halfling jugglers and acrobats are moving through the crowd, doing flips and tricks for whatever the crowd is willing to tip them.
After the Ritual, the line shuffles in front of a pair of men, one of whom stares intently at each group that is presented to them and then notes down something in the ledger he is writing in; meanwhile the other, a powerfully-built Shoanti man, chats amiably with the group that is waiting.
Taking a look around, you see a sparse picking of adventurer types: there is a young Human male wearing a longsword, a whip, and a bow on his back. He looked like something out of one of the pathfinder chronicles; a Half-Orc, adorned in a great many pouches nervously checks through his posessions; Finally, there is a Halfling standing near the front of the line, who seems to be having a bad day, based on how he is mumbling to himself and glancing around angrily.
As you make your way into the main thuroughfare of the city, you see that a variety of booths that hold both food and drink abound; there are a pair of ringed off fighting pits, one apparently for wrestling while the other contains bare-knuckle brawling; there appears to be a footrace course set out, which is deliniated with poles set into the ground that fly cloth streamers died in several colors; there is an archery contest with a sign proclaiming it as such; finally, on the main steps of the theater, there seems to be a crowd gathered to watch two men talk to each other.
The largest display, however, is near the newly consecrated church; there is a podium and a silk ribbon is currently tied between two of the pillars that are out front.
Syeira watches a few of the fights before her competitive nature kicks in; her mind cataloging weaknesses in the fights. "What a weak left hook Marko has and Timon leaves himself wide open for a counter. If any of these guys tried this at the Dragon, I'd have them on the floor in a second" With that last thought, Syeira begins looking for where to sign up for a go with a sly grin on her face. "It's time to show these boys how its done. Plus its always fun seeing their faces when the "little" girl brings them down."
"Excuse me sirs," he says, bowing deeply. "Could you possibly direct me to a gentleman by the name of Vosk? I have urgent news to share with him, which I would prefer to pass to him directly, as it is quite sensitive in nature."
Realizing that he may have come on too strong, he continues.
"Also, this looks like quite the celebration. What's the occasion, if I may ask?"
As he reaches the orc, a halfling walks up and initiates conversation himself.
"Vosk? I know none by that name, but only just arrived here with the caravan of Heinrich Littlebird. I dont know how he came up with a name like that, he never would tell me." excited to have someone new to talk to, the bard starts rambling a bit "I dont know what is going on in ... Sandpoint is it? It looks like an impressive festival if only this blasted line would move." holding out a hand, "I'm Conor, of Magrimar, wanderer,adventurer, singer of songs, jack of all trades."
As Velkan gets nearer to the two men past the mirror, he notices another man, this one with three different obvious weapons on his person.
He looks well equipped, I wonder if he would be up for helping with some ancient ruins later...
After getting close to the two men, and deciding they aren't interesting enough to delay further, Velkan turns to see that he needn't go anywhere to try and make friends.
But before Velkan can even open his mouth to greet the man, a halfing nearby pipes up.
...and then this fellow speaks up before the they can answer
...Conor, huh?
well I suppose I should try to fit in.
Before anyone can respond to Conor, Velkan likewise cuts in, declaring "I also don't know where to find Vosk."
"It sounds like both of you two are new in town, like myself."
Velkan then indicates the man that the halfling was originally addressing. "Perhaps after this fellow gets a word in edge-wise, we can help each other out."
"I'm Velkan, by the way."
Velkan waits for the halfling to respond to Conor's outstretched hand before offering his own to both of them.
Conor smiles at the orc as they share greetings before looking around. "Anyone know what this festival is? Sparrow or something? Some kind of bird I heard, but what it means or is for I do not know."
Watching the various caravans and merchants shuffling in line. "I hope it is interesting, anyway."
"I don't know much about this place other than it's the home of my former employer's brother - the man I'm looking for, Naffer Vosk. Perhaps the festival will mean that I have an easier time finding him."
Tiro turns back to the men at the head of the line that seem to be in charge.
The three of you make your way to the front of the line, talking between you. You each notice that there is a mirror near the entrance of the town that has a plaque below it that reads Welcome to Sandpoint! Please stop to see yourself as we see you!
Arriving at the front, you see the Shoanti man is wearing a badge that clearly marks him as the local law. He says "Greeting friends, I am Sheriff Hemlock, and welcome to the town of Sandpoint. As you can see, you're just in time for the Swallowtail festival, a traditional Desnan festival that we are also using to give thanks that our new church has been completed. I know you're excited to enter the town, but we have just a bit of business with you first. Do any of you carry anything illegal, which includes slaves, foul necromancy, or poisons? Also, are any of you here to attempt murder or crime in this town?"
While his demeanor is friendly, it is also clear that he is serious about his questions.
The man sitting at the table next to him with a ledger stares intently at each of you ask you answer the Sheriff.
With a nod from the seated man, the Sheriff says "I just need each of your names for the ledger, and you gentlemen can enter the city."
The man at the desk writes down each of your names.
When you get close to the steps of the theater, you discover that there is something called a Rhetoric contest going on, which apparently involves arguing.
Making your way to the brawling pit, you see a rather muscular bruiser type waiting to enter as well.
"Oi," he says. "I feel like tusslin'." He makes absolutely no effort to hide his gaze as he appraises her. "Ye def'nitely look like ya kin handle yerself. You wrestle?"
Realizing she's staring, she shakes herself out of it. My appologies, you caught me by surprise. Can I handle myself? I take it you haven't been by the Dragon yet, else you would know the answer to that," Syeira says with a self assured smirk. "Though grappling isn't really my forte, I'm bit more of a brawler. She then extends her hand, looking to give a mighty squeeze when the man takes it as a test of strength. "Where are my manners, the name is Syeira by the way"
Once through the gate, he asks his companions [b]"Before I check the festival I was thinking a drink at this Dragon might be good, wash the roads dust from my throat. Care to join me?"
I didn't even learn any recipes for poison...
"And in the ledger you may write Velkan V-e-l-k-a-n Voica V-o-i-c-a"
"A drink sounds excellent. In fact, I have something I'd like to discuss over a pint. Tiro might be interested too. How about it, Tiro? Care to join us and hope that this Vosk fellow is at 'The Dragon'?"
the man running the fighting pit, who turns out to be on of the town guards, nods to the new contests and asks each their name, and what they want their battler name to be.
"Sure, I'll join you - though I must admit, I'm not much of a drinker. But perhaps you're right, Vosk may indeed be there. Or someone may know where he is."
As he waits, he makes no effort to hide his gaze as he watches his opponent stretch. Once she's ready, he settles into an apparently relaxed stance. This is gonna hurt, mate, he thinks to himself. Yer no grappler, and ye know it. Shoulda gone fer the boxin'. Ah well. What's life wi'out a lil' bit o' challenge, yeah? He gives her a toothy grin as he waits for the bell to ring.
The three of you make your way into the city, easily getting directions to the rather famous Rusty Dragon; you know you have arrived when you find the building with an iron dragon sitting atop it's roof which has rusted due to exposure to the elements.
There is a sign on the door that reads Closed for the festival.
The two of you enter the brawling pit, which is really just a round ring 15' square that is surrounded by foot-high stakes with rope tied around them.
"Step right up folks and place your bets. Will it be the muscle with the mouth, or the Queen of Slam? Place your bets now!"
turning to the both of you, he shrugs and then continues barking the match, describing each of your physiques and apparently fighting styles in great detail while the bookmakers take bets. After several minutes, the announcer fights "Now, we shall find out which if these two titans of the ring shall win this bout. Cheer your favorite to victory!"
He then turns to the two of you and simply says "Smash!"
I suppose I might as well explain about the expedition anyway. Also Tiro here seems awfully determined to complete his errand, maybe he'd be an asset on the trail as well.
...might be good if I can find Quink early, too...
Velkan grunts. "It seems we'll have to increase our alcohol consumption some other way."
"Perhaps we should just meander around this Swallowtail Festival and see if we can't find Vosk?"
...walk and talk...
Conor hides his disappointment poorly at the closing of the tavern he had been looking forward to for the entire, painfully long line waiting. Yet he sweeps the disappointment away with a grin. "Yes! There is much to see at this festival, and if this Vorsk character is here, he is likely doing much the same. Let's check it out."
As they walk Conor looks about ingerestedly, trying to soak everything all at once, chatting amicably with his companions about the things they see, happy to have found some likable folk so quickly in this new town.
A fortuitous portent, to be sure. This will be a great day!
"No magic here. I can't just react I need to think. He said his brother was the grappler... Just maybe..."
With that thought, Syeira looks for her opportunity. As the man reaches out with a light jab, Syeira twists to evade while reaching out for the man's wrist, hoping to pin his arm behind him.
Looking around the town, you see that a variety of booths that hold both food and drink abound; there are a pair of ringed off fighting pits, one apparently for wrestling while the other contains bare-knuckle brawling; there appears to be a footrace course set out, which is deliniated with poles set into the ground that fly cloth streamers died in several colors; there is an archery contest with a sign proclaiming it as such; finally, on the main steps of the theater, there seems to be a crowd gathered to watch two men talk to each other.
Amycus uses his extensive knowledge of pitfighting to attempt to bait his opponent, managing to perfectly set Syeira up for his next move. The cost of this, however, is the series of joint locks and grabs that he suffers.
Looking excitedly around the festival, the groups resident thespian is immediately drawn to the theatre, and the show that seems to be started. Trying to keep the excitement from his voice, at least a little, Conor points out the stage.
"Oh, a show. I'm going to go have to check that out!" if the others choose to go elsewhere, Conor shakes their hands once again and expresses pleasure at meeting them, and Hope's to see them again in this festival, or later at the Dragon.
Actually, I wonder if it's a debate. Quink might show up to listen, though I doubt a Desnan holiday would attract him as a speaker...
Velkan turns to Tiro before following Conor to the front of the theater
"Is Vosk the type to listen to debates?"
He walks with his new companions, but makes a quick stop off to grab a drink and some food - it had been a while since he'd had food of that quality.
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Both Amycus and Syeria focus on attempting to get the upper hand in wrestling, and it's clear after a moment who the better wrester is. She manages to maneuver Amycus into a good hold that lasts a moment before he is able to break free.
Conor makes his way to the steps in front of the theater, where it turns out that there appears to be some sort of debate contest going on between two men. after a few minutes, they both are applauded by the crowd, and then leave the steps. Then the proprietor of the theater, a Cheliaxian man, calls out to the crowd "Come now, surely there must be more among you who are skilled in the art of debate! WHat about you madam? Or you sir? Is there no one else?"
At that point, one of the locals, an older man who looks like he's worked the docks his entire life, ascends the steps.
"There's a brave soul. Anyone else?"
As you look about, you see a half-dozen food and drink stalls, but there are two that have drawn the largest crowd: one that hosts a direboar roasting on a spit, and another that is apparently serving a pair of dishes, manned by a Tianese woman.
Even as he recovers from his disappointment in the "theater" Conor cant suppress a wide grin aa ge thinks on how much happier he has become already, travelling, si ging, discovering new wonders daily. Sure the caravans can get boring, and walking in driving rain wasnt fun, and sure some times trail rations were tasteless or he might be hungry.
But all of that was better than slaving over ledgers in a dingy warehouse.
Still. This debate was kinda boring, and his eye starts wandering to the archery contest. Perhaps that would be more interesting.
"Awright," he huffs. "Ye got me, love. Let's call it a day, yeah?"
Velkan almost starts rambling, but thinks better of it.
"Anyway, if we don't have a good description of Vosk to go by, then I doubt we can make any headway in finding him today. I'll keep an ear out for his name, but for now I suppose I'll enjoy some of this fair's fare, and hope for a good debate at the theater."
Velkan tries to see if he can get anything good to drink for just a copper or two before moving on to join Conor on the footsteps of the theater.
Painfully sober now, he wanders around the festival, looking for other entertainments, making a mental note to stop at the "Dragon" at the end of the day for a pint. Have ta figure out where that is, o'course, he thinks as he threads his way through a small group of revelers. Place don't seem so big, can't be easy to miss.
He takes in the other attractions as he goes, hoping something will pique his interest.
As the sun is high in the sky, the crowd begins to move towards the stage set up next to the new church. The crowd goes quiet as the head priest, Father Zantus, begins to address the crowd:
"Greetings friends new and old. I welcome you to the christening of the new church, which we have chosen to hold on the day of the Swallowtail Festival, a ceremony which celebrates a successful harvest and the time for rest after a hard year's labors. I want to thank all of you who have worked so hard on this festival, and I believe"
Whatever Zantus was going to say next is drowned out by the sound of a great moaning, as if thousands of creatures were crying out in pain.
Then the screaming starts.
As your group, as well as the crowd, begins looking around for the source of the noise, it quickly becomes apparent that the sound is coming from behind the church.
Of greater concern, however, is the crowd. Something has frightened them to the extent that they begin fleeing in a frenzy, screaming as they do.
In short order, the square in front of the church is cleared of non-combatants, and as you look around, you see that there are a few people still standing:
*A Halfling man wearing Leather Armor and a sling-staff strapped on his back;
*A Human woman who appears to have just been in a scrap. She lacks armor, but is wearing both a crossbow and a staff on her back;
*A Half-Orc man wearing Padded Armor and a dagger on his hip in between the large belt pouches that hang from his belt;
*A Human man wearing Studded Leather Armor and longsword on one hip, a whip on the other, and a bow and shield on his back;
*A Human man who also looks like he just fought a fight, and though he lacks both weapons and armor, he looks like he can handle himself in a fight just fine.
Anyone else that might be considered a defender has been swept away by the crowd.
Arrayed before our heroes, and the cause of the riot, is a veritable sea of mindless undead. You can see both animated skeletons and more recent dead, some of which are feasting on the fallen from the ceremony.
As you each prepare to decide how to respond, you notice that any who stray near the church are vaporized by holy power.
A momentary chill washes over Tiro as he sees the undead - having spent most of his life in Ustalav, the sight of these creatures was not rare, but it certainly meant danger.
Fumbling for the holy symbol around his next, Tiro implores his goddess for aid. Thrusting the holy symbol toward a skeleton moving close to one of the citizens, he prays out loud, calling down Pharasma's wrath. The skeleton glows with energy, while a shield of force appears in the air in front of Tiro.
Momentarily shocked into inaction at the violence and brutality of the undead attack, for the first time seeing his beloved adventure yala turned real Conor almost freezes in place, blood cold.
But the clear voice of his newfound halfling companion calling down Pharasmas wrath on the undead abominations. Courage steeled, Conor calls for action, even as he starts casting a spell he read was supposed to be good against undead, at least according to the grimoire he had read.
"Steel your hearts, brave warriors. This is the stuff of legends. Stand forth and soon they will be singing our praises!: the bard roars out as he steps forwaed.
I hope that wasnt too corny, I'm pretty new at this
Even so, his spell completes and a skeleton is lined in a bright light as his magics unleash.
it worked!