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For posterity!
Nyx grins maniacally
The Varisian sits on a tavern bench, idly flipping a juggling club in one hand, occasionally dropping it to land on top of his foot, before he kicks it back up to continue flipping in his hand. His other hand holds a mug, from which he takes scattered, short sips, as he watches the patrons around him.
A young man sips water from a table in the corner, his eyes studying each person briefly before moving to the next. Occasionally he takes a quick note on a scrap of parchment before returning to his observations.
As he camps along the Lost Coast Road near Sandpoint, Khalbar silently weeps for his lost wife and child. He has followed them for weeks from his homeland to this small village with a tall tower standing near the sea. Tomorrow he will enter the town, and see if any traces of his family or those who took them are present. Woe to those who have taken them, if he finds them. Nothing will be able to stop the vengeance he feels in his heart.
Sven traveled along the road from Magnimar, his search for knowledge unsuccessful. The city was an unwelcome place, and he was more comfortable on the road. Naesehorn waddled along contentedly beside him, periodically munching on grass and shoots that sprung up from between the paving stones on the crude road.
Sven made his way towards slowly Sandpoint for the opening of the new cathedral, hoping to pay his respects to Desna and perhaps speak with a scholar of giant lore for more information about their practices and history.
Sandpoint is a quiet, peaceful town nestled right on the Lost Coast of Varisia. Originally settled as a spot to get away from the city life of Magnimar, this village has become a regular stop for traders and travelers throughout Varisia. It’s relaxed way of life, laws, and tolerance for religion has made it a place for traveled people to settle down, while rumors of ruins, local devils, and special food and drinks draw adventurers and sightseers from all over throughout the year.
As the seagulls caw, and a gentle breeze sweeps through the town on this fine, clear day, Sandpoint is buzzing with excitement. Today is the 23rd of Rova, the beginning of the Autumn Equinox and the much-anticipated start of the Swallowtail Festival. The Swallowtail Festival is a religious festival for Desna, involving lots of food, games, and releasing of butterflies, and it is often celebrated by most, even if they do not particularly follow Desna’s teachings or ways.
Any festival is bound to draw visitors, and caravans and travelers often time their visits to purposefully coincide with them. However, for Sandpoint, this festival has another purpose this year. For the last five years, the people of Sandpoint have attended services within temporary wooden huts after a tragic, mysterious fire claimed the old church building along with the life of the head priest of Sandpoint and his daughter. The people still don’t like to talk about that period of time that they call the Late Unpleasantness.
After five years of hard work, however, the people of Sandpoint have finally finished the construction of their new cathedral. A beautiful stone structure, the building clearly reflects the effort and dedication they put into it and makes quite a statement among the mostly wooden homes here in Sandpoint, even more so than the old ruins at the edge of town. Large, expensive, stain-glass windows adorn the walls, each representing one of the six main deities of Sandpoint and shining brightly in the sunlight. And today is the very day that the cathedral is to be commemorated and consecrated for use.
On the first day of this extended festival, the people of Sandpoint have been busily preparing, even as travelers and merchants begin to arrive and set up their stalls. Banners and steamers hang from buildings throughout the main thoroughfare. The overall mood is quite celebratory and festive, with few unable to keep a smile from their face. For those that live in Sandpoint, the beautiful day greets them with anxious approval for the happenings, while those from out of town receive a slight sprint in their step as the fair-weather beckons them on.
As travelers come up to the wooden bridges along the eastern side of town that make the boundaries of the town proper, they are greeted by a small sign with a small mirror attached and the inscription in common:
“Welcome to Sandpoint.
Please stop to see yourself as we see you.”
And with that, they enter into the small, quaint town of Sandpoint.
People have been up for hours, several merchants have set up tents to vend their wares of food, clothes, local crafts, souvenirs, and beverages. As the stalls are just beginning to finish setting up shop, and the banners are finally rolled out, news of the welcoming speech beginning draws most of the crowd to the town square. The Swallowtail Festival begins promptly as scheduled, and the turnout for the opening speeches is quite respectable. A stage has been set up in front of the cathedral and a woman with short auburn hair stands in the center. Behind her sit four wooden chairs, three of them occupied. The square before the church is crowded now, merchants hawking their goods join other locals and travelers as Mayor Deverin walks to the front of the stage. As the crowd notices her, the chatter begins to die down and eyes turn to the stage. She smiles and begins to speak.
"Good morning everyone." The attractive and personable woman welcomes the crowd with her usual friendly attitude. Her excitement is obvious and proves contagious as she welcomes visitors and locals alike. "I see everyone’s arrived. Even Larz Rovanky has left off tanning hides to be here. I’m sure his workers are glad it’s not their hides getting tanned, at least not today." When the chuckles died down and Larz stops glowering past a reluctant smile, Mayor Deverin continues.
"It's wonderful to see so many of you here to join us on this proud day, and I'd like to extend my welcome to the many new faces I see in the crowd. As Mayor, I’d like to welcome you on behalf of the town. I hope you all are enjoying your stay here in Sandpoint and I sincerely hope that you're having a wonderful time. Our town has much to offer and I hope we can consider you as new friends. Spend some time in Sandpoint and you’ll grow to love it like we do. And even if you don’t stay long, spend your money while you’re here!"
Several of the merchants give a vigorous applause, and the Mayor lets the crowd settle before continuing over the remaining chuckles. "And to all of the old faces I see, thank you for coming and thank you for everything that each of you has done to keep this town strong. Thank you especially for all the time, sweat, and love you've put into building this fine cathedral. Sandpoint didn't seem complete without a church. We've always had heart. The true heart of Sandpoint is you, her people. But now we have an expression of that heart, and we built it ourselves!"
"Anyway, I think I can smell the lunch our tavern keepers are cooking already. A round of applause to Ameiko, Garridan, Cracktooth, and Jargie! I'm sure Father Zantus can spare an extra prayer that they don't burn anything before we get to eat it." More cheering erupts. "Now, since you have three more of us to stand here through, I'm going to sit down. Today as mayor I am declaring a town order to have fun! This is my favorite time of year!"
The crowd responds with a roar, and its a while before the Mayor could continue over the applause. "Without further ado, let me welcome our dutiful Sheriff, Belor Hemlock to the stage!" She indicates a dark-skinned, bulky man, clearly of Shoanti descent, wearing his armor and armed with a prestigious looking sword. Sheriff Hemlock nods and steps forward onto the stage as the Mayor takes a seat.
"Thank you, Mayor. First off, let us have a moment of silence." He bows his head and begins speaking, "Let us remember the memories of those friends and family members who lost their lives in the tragic blaze that made our new cathedral necessary. Cherish those memories and may the blessings of our Gods see them happy and well in the Afterlife." He raises his head and stands in silence for a moment scanning the crowd.
"Over the next three days all instances of wrong-doing will be dealt with swiftly and to the fullest extent of the law. No exceptions. As the sheriff of Sandpoint, I, Belor Hemlock, would also like to welcome everyone to enjoy themselves today, and you may or may not be aware of the planned bonfire at the beach tonight... it looks to be a promising festival. Do trust that I will be monitoring the level of safe conduct late into the evening. I am trusting our fun will lean to the side of caution. If you are a militia member, remember where your duties lay, and help Sandpoint keep the peace. Thank you." With that the sheriff steps back awkwardly and beckons with his hand, for the next speaker to approach.
The next speaker is quite a contrast to the Sheriff; he is brightly dressed, sports a well-groomed goatee, and seems to be thoroughly enjoying the day. As he reaches the center stage he loosens his collar a bit, winks into the crowd and starts to talk:
"Well, thank you Sheriff for that uplifting oratory. Don't worry I doubt there will be any fun for you to stress over today. If things get out of hand you can ask Ameiko to take the stage and put us all to sleep with one of her stories." The crowd responds with a combination of chuckles and offended heckles.
Without a beat Ameiko shouts from her merchant tent "What about the story of your last flop at the theater? I'm almost done with my newest ballad, I call it Cyrdak the Unimpressive! Who wants to hear?"
The crowd responds with laughter and cheers. Amieko can still be heard shouting over the crowd "Your secret boyfriend helped me come up with the name!"
Cyrdak stands awkwardly waiting out the crowds laughter to die down. After the noise finally quiets Cyrdak continues with a forced smile as if nothing happened, "We can all agree, this is our time to celebrate! I know this town has been through some hard times, but we don't lay down easily. Look at what we've accomplished!" He motions towards the church. "And I'm telling you, they spared no expense with this place. Father Zantus' chamber pot? It's solid gold and comes with a singing choir standing nearby. It's no doubt our neighbors and nobles put a pretty copper into the construction of this joint. And to think they wanted nothing in return, but to enlighten us and our taxes for many lifetimes to come. But worry not about your coin purse, I've heard from the father himself that the gods are getting their gold together to help pay for this place. But don't take it from me, let me hand the stage off to the man who's in charge here. But before I let him get things going I'd like to take this opportunity to extend my personal invitation to each and every one of you to the new production of "The Harpy's Curse" starring the world-famous Magnimarian diva Allishanda as Avisera the harpy queen! It's all premiering tonight and continuing throughout the next two weeks at the Theater. Come see it, it will be fabulous! And now join me in a bit of applause for his holiness himself, Father Zantus!"
The crowd cheers as Cyrdak motions Zantus to the center stage. The young priest looks noticeably abashed at the reception set up for him. He wears the traditional ceremonial robes of a priest of Desna and a shiny silver holy symbol about his neck. He smiles and tries to calm the crowd down, eventually speaking when the applause has subsided: "Ahem, thank you. Thank you Cyrdak. And thank all of you for coming to join us on this most Holy day."
“Today ushers in the new Fall season. A season I have always thought was named appropriately, as today was the day Desna fell from the heavens during battle with Lamashtu."
"Though all the world wept for the loss of the goddess, it is said that she survived. She was discovered, on the rocks of a beach, by a blind orphan, forgotten and cast aside by the rest of the world. Though the orphan didn't know who the goddess was and could do little for the her wounds, she still stayed by her side, holding a vigil on the beach, tending to her as best she could and praying to her god, Desna. When other followers had abandoned Desna, the orphan empathized and held hope in her faith. Through the care of this orphan Desna recovered and revealed herself to the blind girl. In return for the orphans care and continued faith Desna transformed her into an angel and offered the girl ascension to Desna's palace in the heavens. It is now there and forever that they shall remain."
Father Zantus motions toward the newly finished cathedral, the sunlight glittering off the stained glass windows. “This story reminds us that tragedy is just a setback, not an end. Though our place of worship was destroyed, and our previous priest, Father Tobyn, perished in the flame, we have persevered as Desna would desire, and built anew. Today is our day of new beginnings. Our day of ascension. Friends of Sandpoint, I declare the Swallowtail Festival officially underway!"
An acolyte throws off the canvas of a nearby wagon, revealing thousands of swallowtail butterflies...the Children of Desna. He opens the cages and the crowd begins to applaud as butterflies flutter in every direction through the crowd, and eager children begin chasing them.
Moments later, as the crowd begins to move, ready to start, Father Zantus quickly yells out, "There will be free lunch served at each of the local taverns starting immediately, so everyone please enjoy this treat on us!" Father Zantus and the others step off the stage and the crowd begins to disperse to enjoy the festival. You know that numerous games and contests have been setup for the festivities. However, with lunch provided free, at the expense of the town, this promptly draws most to the taverns, and it isn't long until you find yourself at the Rusty Dragon Inn, the rest already full, with this place not much better. People crowd the interior and strangers sit with each other to enjoy the delicious food. However, an almost empty table, one of the last remaining places to sit, lines one of the sides, offering seats for you.
Only one other patron lies face down at the head of the table, a dwarf by appearance. The many empty mugs in front of him indicate the cause of his current state. But there is at least a spot to sit and enjoy a meal.
A tall striking elf with bright green eyes sits at a table in the tavern. A pile of notes haphazardly spread across the table in front of him. Placed dangerously close to the notes is a goblet of wine. He periodically grabs a sheet and reads it intensely, a puzzled expression on his face. Occasionally he looks up at the other customers, sipping his wine as he examines them. Of particular note is a colourful man performing impressive feats of dexterity with a juggling club and another intense individual who is also working with notes on his table, if not quite so many or as messy as the elf's own notes.
Adarion immerses himself in the middle of the festival, enjoying the unique blend of colours, smells and sounds that can only be found at a festival. He smiles at the jokes and jibes of the speakers and listens intently as the priest tells his story. As the butterflies are released he lets out a peal of laughter and applauds, obvious happiness present on his face.
He eventually enters the Rusty Dragon with a hopeful look on his face. Ameiko's dish was likely to be delicious, if the smells over the past few days were anything to go by, and he was looking forward to trying it. He looks amusedly at the dwarf lying face-down on the table, sits down in an open seat and orders Ameiko's dish, his mouth watering at the smell already present throughout the tavern.
Sven reaches Sandpoint’s town square just as the mayor is starting her speech. He stands in the back with Naesehorn, not wanting to cause a scene as a late arrival and listening carefully to the different speakers. When Father Zantus speaks, he listens more intently and carefully and nods along to the words. He is delighted at the release of the swallowtails, but holds tightly to Naesehorn’s fur when they spill out of their cage, not wanting the beast to get startled or frightened.
When Zantus recommends the free lunch, he realizes that he hasn’t had a nicely cooked in some time, and he makes his way to the Rusty Dragon. There, he says to Naesehorn, ”Stay, erm, hereish, but eat grass and whatnot. I’ll try to get you some oats.” He pats the creature on the nose and heads inside, his eyes adjusting to the relative darkness of the tavern. He spots a free seat at one of the empty tables and slides himself into an open spot, giving himself room to move around a bit. He waits patiently for someone to serve him, unsure of the proper custom for free grub in these parts.
Moving with the dawn, the young Varisian sits on the edge of his mother's bed, looking at the fortieth black candle, burning low on the table next to him. He sits for a few moments, rubbing near his eyes, but avoiding them as well as he has been avoiding tears.
He picks up the ball of black wax made from the stubs of thirty-nine other black candles, and presses it down onto the remnants of the last one, snuffing out the flame, and then working the mass until it is a rough ball again. The ball of wax goes into a belt pouch, and he gathers a wine skin as he heads out the door.
The few people out and preparing for the festival this early receive a smile and greeting from the performer as the son walks past the stage and cathedral, towards the pauper's corner of the graveyard. Already gathered there are a small group of Varisians, the Mvashti's and a few others who were friends of Nadya. There is no performer's greeting here, just nods as the young man walks to the head of the still unmarked grave. There, he pulls out the ball of black wax, and those with him grow quiet. With the wax in hand, he walks clockwise around the grave to the foot, where one of the men has already dug a deep hole. "The period of mourning is ended. The candles have burned, taking your fear, your angry, your hurt, and your shame away from your spirit, freeing it to live in joy as you embark on the last great journey. We bury them here, with your body, that you will never need know them again." He puts the wax in the hole, and puts some of the dirt back in the hole on top of it. He stops after the second trowel to catch himself, before forcing himself to continue.
Rising, he completes his path around the grave. He presents the wineskin, opens it and takes a sip. "Freedom." he says as he passes the wineskin clockwise. Each of the Varisians takes a sip and says a word as they pass the skin along, none repeating the word of another. "Joy." "Laughter." "Sunshine." "Family." and so on. When the wineskin returns to Gudada, he holds his head up, fighting his emotions. "We release you from the prison that has been holding you. Seek Desna and her great caravan. Travel and enjoy the sights and adventures you missed while you were here. Celebrate your life, and the lives of your children, as we have celebrated yours." As he mentions celebration, he pours the rest of the wineskin's contents on the head of the grave.
He starts to say something else, but releases only a quiet squeak before closing his mouth and stepping back. Niska steps up and says a few more words that Gudada never hears, before finally declaring "There is no longer anyone here to mourn." The group disperses slowly, 'Dada leaving last. He hesitates at the edge of the graveyard, the son unable to stop the tears at this point, before he shakes his head and returns to the performer, and the tears stop.
The performer returns to the home that used to belong to his mother to gather the day's tools. The son stops to wash his face before fading back behind his performer's mask again. 'Dada the juggler and acrobat leaves to start the day's work.
Chewing on some of what Cracktooth was offering for lunch, because that's the kitchen he could beg some out of early, while the speeches are being given, Gudada seems at ease, ready to begin a performance when they give him the chance. As the butterflies are released, he drops what was left of his lunch and buries his face in his hand for a few moments before he can recover, restoring the performer for the audience.
The delay destroyed his plan to lead the most well-to-do of the crowd towards the Rusty Dragon, and left him playing catch-up. Too much traffic for a quick pass to attract attention . . .. Guess I'll have to do this the old-fashioned way. He ends up taking up a position across the street from the Dragon's open doors, where he places another scarf out instead of a hat, and puts his tools along the building wall before turning back to the as-of-yet unwilling audience.
"Today is a day of celebration, a day we restore the glory of the church for Desna and her companions! Companions like Cayden! He's always one for a celebration, now, isn't he?" As he's talking, the young man picks up various juggling props until he has a five-piece waterfall pattern flowing, the pieces include a juggling club, a ball, a small closed box, an apple, and a wooden mug. "One thing we all know about Cayden, he likes to celebrate a certain way, doesn't he? One I think most of you enjoy, too, am I right?" As gets to the word "way" he reaches into the waterfall pattern and holds the mug in isolation, front and center, for just a second, throwing the other objects higher to create the pause in his timing. "As much as I would love to join you with a mug or two, you might notice my scarf is a little, well, empty. If you would fix that for me, I might be able to do something about my mug being dry . . .." At the word "empty", he holds the club for a second, clearly pointing at his scarf on the ground.
The small village was full of more people in one place than Khalbar had ever seen. He had heard tell of the cities of the coastlands, but did not expect taht Sandpoint would be so full. As he entered the town and saw his reflection in the mirror, he looked for a moment. His features were drawn and gaunt, more than he had remembered seeing. The tattoos that covered his arms and head glistened in the warmth of the autumnal sun, and his long black hair was pulled back in a queue.
He pushed on into the village, past vendors and wagons filled with goods. It was clearly some kind of market day here. As he looked around in wonder at all the wealth on display, he saw the crowd gathered in front of a new building filled with sparkling glass. It appeared it was some kind of festival honoring the Great Dreamer, the deity he pledged his faith to. He watched with wonder as another Shoanti man, Hemlock (though that wasn't a tribal name), spoke to the crowd. He seemed to be a lawman of some kind, and Khalbar thought it lucky that a brother of the plains might have a lead on the slavers said to be using Sandpoint as a base. He made a note to find this Hemlock later.
When free food was mentioned, Khalbar's stomach rumbled indicating once again that its owner has been too busy following his lost family to take care of his basic needs. He stayed near the back of the crowd, and ended up in a smoky tavern which was already quite full. Outside he stops for a moment to watch the brightly dressed Varisian perform, but he is wise enough (or has just been around Varisians enough) to put one hand on his leather purse, filled with the only coins he has in the world. Smiling at the show, but unaware of the need to drops coins, he shoulders inside and stand in the line for free food.
Gathering up the proffered free meal, he spied the only available seat and took it, next to a tall thin man with green eyes and pointed ears. Khalbar couldn't help but stare at the strange man, strange like he had never seen.
Bartholomew spends the morning helping Ven with the shop - Ven being outside to draw visitors and regulars alike to "an actual shop with actual inventory, not some wagon with who-knows-what," and Bartholomew being inside making exchanges and restocking the shelves.
As the crowds gather for the opening speeches, Ven leaves Bartholomew to tidy up the shop before closing the doors for the midday meal. "Not going to get much business with the taverns offering free food," Ven had told him, and Bartholomew had seen no reason to object. After restocking the shelves and stowing the morning's earnings in the safe, Bartholomew made it to the gathering just in time to see the release of the butterflies. Where did they get all those butterflies? he thinks to himself as he watches the swarm disperse. Who supplied them? Are they farmed, or does someone go out into the fields with a net? Deciding that pursuing the line of thought that the annual festival could be devastating to the surrounding ecology is not worth the time at this moment, Bartholomew allows himself to be swept up in the crowd and eventually deposited in the Rusty Dragon.
Shrugging, Bartholomew looks for a place to sit and sees a table with a few empty seats left - and a dwarf face-down on the table. Curious, he approaches and studies the man for a few seconds before taking a seat. Passed out already? he wonders.
Sven speaks up after the other folks arrive at his table, ”Hullo Mr. Elf, I was told there was to be lunch provided here. Do you know if we ask for it to be served or wait?” he asks the elf sitting next to him, peering at them quizzically. Sven is tall for a half-orc, and taller than most of those assembled in the room, so he seems to be crouching over the table as he speaks.
He looks unkempt and bedraggled, and has an earthy smell to him. His clothes appears especially unkempt because they are of the heavy winter variety, that he has loosened here and there, appearing to be slightly uncomfortable in the temperate environs of southern Varisia. His clothes appear to be of the style found in the land of the Linnorm Kings, and his gravelly voice is accented with skaldic inflection. Hanging from his clothes at the seams, and from his intricate, matted braids are bones of various creatures, some appearing to be teeth. Much of this remains partially obfuscated as he hunches over the long table watching the new arrivals and waiting for a response.
You put on a great performance, but it's difficult to compete with free food, especially from the Rusty Dragon which almost always has the festival favorite meal. Even so, you manage to garner a half dozen silver from your work.
As you filter into the Rusty Dragon a waitress stops by to clean some of the empty mugs from the table and take your order then rushes off. Anyone who has been in town for a bit notes she is not the regular barmaid that graces this tavern, but seems to be temporary help with the massive influx of people. The tavern is quite loud and boisterous around you, all of the many patrons enjoying the great meals that are set before them. As your meal of curry-spiced salmon and early winter drop mead comes out, you find the food to be exceptionally good. The dwarf, oblivious to the rest of you remains steadily passed out at the head of the table.
Adarion looks around with interest at the varied crowd in the tavern, much more numerous and diverse than normal, while he waits for his food to arrive. His meal arrives just before a hulking half-orc enters the tavern and sits down near him, unnoticed by Adarion who is immersed in the scents and tastes of his dish. He emits various grunts and other noises of approval as he eats the dish, clearly enjoying it and not very aware of his surroundings, thereby missing the others who seat themselves nearby as well.
He startles as someone addresses him, unaware that he had more company than the presumed comatose dwarf. "Ah. Apologies, apologies! I was just enjoying..." At this point he looks up.. and up further...at the huge half-orc, stopping mid-sentence and pausing for a moment in surprise. "My, my... you are quite...large." He finishes lamely, then smiles genuinely at the half-orc, obviously not meaning any offence by his statement. "Ah, yes. The serving girl should be... Ah, here she is now. She'll take your order and bring your food to you when ready."
Surprised by the half-orc's presence at the table he looks around and notices others are now seated there too. One was the man he had noted earlier in the week, taking notes at another table in the tavern, and the other another huge individual, sharing many similar features to Sheriff Hemlock, although he had a much wilder look to him. Shoanti perhaps? he thinks to himself. He notices the man's stare, thinking that perhaps his inattentiveness may have offended him.
"Where are my manners? I've not been a very good table fellow!" he exclaims ruefully. "Let me introduce myself. My name is Adarion Ysavil, a pleasure to meet you all." He extends his hand to those present at his table, skipping the still-comatose dwarf.
A tall, fair-skinned humanoid who stands out from the gathered revelers with his striking hair that shines like metal, half black and half white, is not easily missed not only for his unusual appearance but also for his actions; he is constantly casting spells and muttering to himself about magic.
"Magic is all things, and in all things. It is in the air, the stone, the flame, the water. It is time, space, and the void. It will nurture you, it will consume you, and always will it be your master! Magic is all things..."
He takes one of the empty seats at the Rusty Dragon, grinning a wide, half-mad grin at everyone presently seated. ”Blessings of the All-Seeing Eye?” asks Nyx to no one in particular as he waves hand, drawing a lighted sigil in the air before him, glowing arcane emanations coming from his outstretched hand which is offered in a gesture of a handshake.
”Adarion. Pleasure to meet you, I am Sven. I come from the north,” Sven says by way of an explanation. Sven shakes Adarion’s hand politely and smiles when his serving girl comes by, ”Please, miss. I will take whatever food you have. I am not particular.” When she leaves he turns back to Adarion, ”You can guess I am more comfortable outside but when it comes to a hot meal, who am I to say no? It is nice to eat with you all.” He nods at the other folks at the table.
When the priest arrives and draws his rune in the air, Sven watches closely as the sigil hangs ominous above the table.
Sven extends his hand to Nyx and says, ”Yes, I am interested in the primal magic that runs through the bones of this land. Do you know of it?” while shaking and looking in Nyx’s eyes.
Khalbar nods to the elf as he makes a greeting, but doesn't speak more than his name. "Khalbar" pointing at himself to make his meaning clear. Khal' unfamiliarity with the Common tongue makes him reticent to say more. He grunts a greeting to the half-orc who is perhaps even larger than him. Such half-breeds were known, unfortunately, on the Plains, usually the child of violence or captivity. Such thoughts take him back to is own missing wife and child and his grip on the wooden flatware tightens reflexively, snapping off his spoon at the hilt.
Surprised by the noise, his attention comes back to te present and he shrugs at the broken utensil. Watching the strange man with white and black hair draw sigils in the air. Khalbar leans away from the magic instinctively, his innate distrust in such obvious displays of that power, readily apparent.
"Magic." says Khalbar rather crossly. "Stop magic. Bad magic." He waves at Nyx as if annoyed.
Trying to ignore the obvious displays, Khalbar notices the alchemist poking about on the passed out dwarf. He makes eye contact and says, "Dwarf sleeping from drink, yes? Not hurt? Until tomorrow, eh?" to the other, sliding over to make enough room for Bart to sit.
"His vital signs are stable, yes," Bartholomew responds. "I'm not seeing any injury." He nods politely at the Shoanti and takes the offered seat, looking curiously at the metallic-haired stranger. Is that a condition? he wonders, or perhaps a headpiece? Perhaps religious in nature?
Realizing he has left the elf waiting for his hand, Bartholomew reaches across the table and shakes it. "Bartholomew," he replies. "I don't recall seeing you around - are you a visitor to Sandpoint? I hope you're enjoying the festival." His voice does not quite sound convincing, as if he is reading from a script in his head.
Not long after Bartholomew finishes prodding the dwarf and giving his review, the dwarf slowly looks up, his eyes red and not focusing on anything. Now that you can see his face, the locals recognize him as Sandpoint's Locksmith, Volioker Briskalberd. "उन विस्फोटित बिंदु कान कहां हैं? मैं नहीं कर रहा हूँ मैं कहता हूँ। नहीं हुआ। आप! वे कहाँ गए? है ना? ठीक। मैं उन्हें खुद मिल जाऊंगा।" he blurts out.
After staring at the group for less than five seconds, he sloppily gets up out of his seat, grabs the closest mug, which happens to be one of your drinks, and leaves. Stumbling through the tavern, he leaves a trail of spilled mead in his wake by the time he reaches the door.
Bartholomew shrugs. "He's going to be very disappointed when he realizes that's water," he says as he gets up to find a replacement mug. "Does anyone know what he was mumbling about?"
Sven grunts a greeting in response to Khalbar. When the barbarian expresses concern about magic, Sven waves off the behavior, ”Do not worry, he is likely trying to be friendly,” and goes back to his feast.
When one of the serving people comes by he asks them, ”do you have any loose oats or barley? I can pay. I need just about enough for a large pony. If not, any of your vegetables scraps would be appreciated.”
Adarion listens as Sven replies to his greeting. "I must admit I've not seen much of the lands outside my homeland. Your home must be an interesting place." he says.
Adarion turns to Khalbar as Sven talks to the waitress and nods at him with a smile. "Khalbar," he says pointing at the large man, then points back at himself saying "Adarion." He turns back to Sven as he finishes his order. "I'm more of an indoors person myself, but I can certainly appreciate the beauty of the outdoors and I do enjoy the occasional jaunt through the forest," he says in reply to the half-orc's statement.
His attention is drawn away to a snapping sound but before he can see the cause of it a strange metallic-haired fellow introduces himself dramatically with a spell. Adarion's eyes seem to glimmer as he looks at the spell being cast.
Adarion notes Khalbar's reaction to the magic and, having seen Sven shake the man's hand without incident, hesitantly shakes the metallic-haired man's hand.
He snorts in amusement at Khalbar's statement about the dwarf not hurting until tomorrow and listens with interest to Bartholomew's statement about the dwarf's health. He shakes Bartholomew's hand and replies to his questions saying "Yes, I am rather new to Sandpoint. I've been here about a week now, staying in this very inn. Arriving before the festival was a coincidence but one that is appreciated. I have enjoyed it immensely so far."
He looks on with interest as the dwarf blearily awakes, mutters something and grabs the tankard before wandering away. He snorts in amusement again at Bartholomew's statement about the mug containing water. "I couldn't understand what he was saying. I presume it was dwarven but I do not know the language myself."
Khalbar eats the spicy salmon, something he has never had before, with relish, though the strange spices and flavors slow him down a bit. Anything is better than the dried venison and waybread that he has been eating for the past few days while on the road. The winter mead is fine and he gets up for another tankard, offering to get refills for anyone else at the table with a simple gesture.
When he returns, he listens to the others discussion with interest, even if he mostly remains silent himself. When Sven asks about oats or barley, Khalbar is interested. "Horse?" he says keeping the monosyllabic conversation going, while raising an eyebrow in interest.
Sven nods at Adarion, ”Yas, the wilds are not for everyone, that is understandable. But for some of us, we do not always fit in with more um... civilized environments.” Sven smiles at Adarion.
He nods at Khalbar, ”Like a horse but with a big horn and more fur. They are more common elsewhere in the world. I do not know what southrons would call them, he is ’Naesehorn’ in my mother’s tongue. In orcish it would be ‘хирсүү’. In giantish, I suppose it might be ‘nefkok’.” He shrugs. ”They are often ornerny beasts but my Naesehorn is gentle most of the time. I would not rile him up! Yes... that was messy when that happened.” Sven has a look on his face which is a cross between pride and being disturbed.
When Sven inquires about oats the waitress shakes her head "No we don't have anything like that, you might try the Goblin Squash Stables though. Of course, you're welcome to any vegetables scraps if you want to rummage through the trash out back."
The Goblin Squash Stables is known as the local stables for travelers and farmers looking for a good mare or related supplies. Though it is much more well known for its owner, Daviren Hosk. His hatred for all goblins is almost legendary, and ever since he retired from adventuring, he has offered rewards for dead goblins.
As you eat and get to know each other a bit better, the tavern starts to slowly empty as patrons start to filter out into the streets to see about the various festivities to be had.
Sven feels ever-so-slightly, divinely skillful for the next minute. Nyx shakes the man’s hand firmly, his eyes opening widely with excitement when Sven expresses interest in magic. ”The All-Seeing Eye has been informing me of magical stirrings in this area; I know not yet the exact manner, but I certainly intend to find out! For magic is all things, and in all things...and the magic in this region seems to be expanding as of late.”
Noticing Khalbar’s surprise and hesitation, Nyx grins reassuringly if not half-maniacally at the man. ”Oh, on the contrary, my good man! GOOOOD magic!"
Nyx offers anyone else seated ‘the blessings of the All-Seeing-Eye,’ which is just more guidance, and shakes the hand of any/all who welcome it as he introduces himself around the table. ”I have no idea what the intoxicated fellow was mumbling about, but I certainly don’t envy his state on the morrow when his drinks finally wear off…” Nyx saves any vegetable scraps from his dinner for Sven, along with a few whole pieces.
Addressing Sven again, after hearing him speak of his companion, Nyx asks excitedly, ”Is your Naesehorn a magical beast, perhaps??
"I'd better get back to the shop," Bartholomew says as he finishes his food. "Oh yeah. Be sure to stop by Ven's shop before leaving town - we're certain to have what you need." His monotone sales pitch finished, he leaves the tavern and returns to work.
Sven nods his head at the waitress, and thanks her.
Turning to Nyx, Sven shakes his head, ”I do not believe so. There are some companions that are stuffed with magical energy, changing them a bit, but he’s just a small Naesehorn. If I keep feeding him he might grow a bit, which is a little unnatural. I cannot say. Perhaps it is nothing more than the magic of a towering oak or newly born cub, a primal magic, but I can feel it under my feet in certain places in Varisia. I cannot do more than tap into it, so I will leave the speculation about the specifics to sages and folks with bigger brains than me!” he chuckles to himself.
Sven nods to Bart as he leaves, ”Thank you for the company.”
Finishing his first routine of the afternoon, the performer gathers up his coins and tools before heading into the Rusty Dragon. "Leaving already? I can't believe you've had enough of both the salmon and the ale?" He does slow, some, as he passes and addresses Bartholomew on his way in. He takes a seat at the table, smiling at those already seated. "Well met, I should say. I am Gudada, a simple performer. How has the celebration been treating you?" He looks around at those seated, looking to see who accepts the offer of conversation.
Finished with the spicy salmon, Khalbar is about to get up and go back outside when Gudada arrives. He sits back down and acknowledges the performer with a curt nod. He does know enough about Varisians to move one hand to the purse filled with his few coins as well.
"Juggler?" he asks, raising the end of the single word t make it more a question than a statement.
"That, too, friend. Travelers have to be ready for audiences that might not like their best material. I also do some tumbling, play the lute, some escape tricks if I must, and even a few squeezing demonstrations if the crowd is unusually difficult. How about yourselves? What do you do?"
Adarion listens in on the conversation about magic, intrigued about a subject that is also personal to him. He waves goodbye to Bartholomew as he leaves and catches sight of the colourful man he had seen in the inn earlier in the week. He happily greets the man as he sits down with them. "Ah, a pleasure to meet you Gudada. My name is Adarion."
He listens with interest to Gudada's response to Khalbar, having seen the man practising with his equipment in the inn, and is impressed by the breadth of the man's skills. "I am just a novice scholar. My research brought me to Sandpoint just before the festival. A fortunate coincidence as it's been wonderful so far! Do you travel much for your work? I'd imagine that would be a wonderful way to travel Golarion."
"Passing through," is all Khalbar says, though the pain in his eyes is just below the surface, easily seen by those who wish to look.
'Dada nods as Khalbar communicates far more than he says. "A scholar, you say? As I understand things, that's not a very lucrative line of work. Involves too much time stuck in rooms alone, no pretty girls at hand . . .." He winks at the help as one of the girls goes by.
"Traveling safely requires companions, a family of sorts. That's why so many Varisians gather in caravans. Far safer than traveling alone, and, well, most others don't want to trust us the way you need to trust your traveling companions." He shrugs. "Besides, I don't play that well, honestly, and if I'm simply backing up some dancers, we tend to make more money than if we have to depend on my playing."
Once you reach the shop, you find Shayliss waiting at the door for you. She waves excitedly as you approach and smiles "Ah you're back! Papa won't let me leave without a proper chaperon. He's worried I'll end up like my sister Katrine in some no-good secret romance." She latches onto your arm and looks up at you pleadingly "Will you take me to the festival? Pretty, pretty please?"
Adarion laughs at Gudada's statement. "That would depend on the scholar and at the pretty girl in question. Some scholars prefer field work to just studying in a room alone, as you say, and, believe it or not, some pretty girls find that sort of thing interesting. Not as many as those that are interested in your standard fun and excitement, I'll give you that, but still a surprising amount, especially if the scholar engages in fieldwork." He finishes with a cheeky grin on his face and gives the help just as good a wink as Gudada.
He listens as Gudada talks about travelling and nods along at what he is saying. "I can certainly see the advantage to travelling in a group with those you trust. I often travelled with a group of trusted companions while back at home. There is a sense of comfort and reliability that you have travelling that way that you just don't have while alone!"
The humor of the discussion, and many of the clever words, are lost on Khalbaar who sits blankly, drinking the fine ale and not doing much else.
Bartholomew shrugs. "Very well. Did you have someplace in mind particularly, or did you want to wander and see what catches your eye?" As the two of them walk, Bartholomew studies the people around him - out of habit more than intention - and can't keep his thoughts from getting distracted.
Twenty minutes before she passes out from the drink.
Those are some expensive pieces of fabric compared to the rest of that outfit.
Does that contraption even do anything?
As the waitress brings Gudada a plate and drink, she looks to the rest of you and asks "Anyone need anything else? Stay as long as you like, but we'll be closing up the kitchen from the free food soon as we start to prep for this evening."
As you walk and your mind wanders, Shayliss continually interrupts your train of thought asking you "How do you think I would look in this dress?", "What do you think about this jewelry?", "Does this scarf bring out the green in my eyes?" and similar questions focused on herself.
Sven gathers the vegetables from Nyx and his own plate, and stands up from the table, noting a break in the conversation. He watches the Varisian cautiously, and then says ”Thank you all for the company and for the food. I hope you all find what you are looking for.” He nods to the waitress, and passes her two silver pieces. ”I am sorry I don’t have more.” He leaves and moves to the rear of the tavern with the food, and lowers the dish to the elasmotherium. He then looks around for the scrap pile and takes anything that is fresh for his companion, adding it to the repast. He pats Naesehorn’s horn while she eats, and washes some of the grime from his hands at a nearby basin. When she finishes eating, he leads her on a meandering trip back towards the festival, taking in the geography, geology, and the buildings in the area, and making note of anything interesting along the way.
Khalbar understand the mealtime is past, and with little else do to until he can make contact with the sheriff, he decides to wander back to the festival to pass the time. He venerates Desna, and in so doing, perhaps the Dreamer will pass him the luck he needs to find a clue about his lost family.
Nodding silently to the others, he stands, and leaves a few silver coins on the table as well. Eventually making his way back to whatever was on the schedule next.
Before leaving he makes arrangements for a room at this inn, if there are any to be had.