"When someone dies, she disposes of the body. She sees the Call for Heroes as an opportunity; if she hears you intend to volunteer, she'll be measuring you for a coffin."
"I don't want to go in a box when I'm dead," Revka replies flatly. "That sounds really boring." It's not clear whether she's joking or not. "Goblins are usually cremated," she adds in response to the unasked question. "Whoosh..." Her arms go up and outwards to punctuate the words, and she shivers thinking about the bonfire.
As quick as she dropped the subject she turns back to it, instantly cheerful again. "So, what did you do to earn the medal? And will you be volunteering again today? Or is it a once-only kind of deal, to be selected?
"So, what did you do to earn the medal? And will you be volunteering again today? Or is it a once-only kind of deal, to be selected?
"Oh no," he assures her, "the council likes to hire repeat heroes. That way, you've proved you're reliable; you can get the job done. This," he holds the token up for her observation once more before tucking it back into his pocket, "there was a pack of dangerous wolves attacking local livestock. My friends and I, we took care of them; killed the leaders, and the other wolves ran away back into the wood. That's how I earned that."
“Ms Valaskin, pleased to meet you,” answers Gellius as he takes her hand in the formal, Chelaxian manner, gesturing for her to join them. “I do try to cover all contingencies, but will confess I’m not always as prepared as I should be. However, I’m always on the lookout for friendly advice if you have any to offer. Wine?”
"Not just advice," she replies, "peace of mind. Adventuring is a dangerous business; you never know what perils you might be called upon to face. You don't want to burden your family and friends in their hour of loss with a lot of upsetting arrangements, or worse -- end up in a pauper's grave. I offer a very generous plan to Breachill's heroes: an upfront discount whether you're successful in your mission or not, and if you should be summoned to Pharasma's judgment before you've come to the end of the installment schedule, the balance of the debt is completely forgiven!"
Revka settles in for Neven to share the tale of his adventure, but her enthousiasm quickly drops as he tells it. "That's it? You killed some wolves?" She sounds very disappointed and slumps back in her chair. "I was thinking you'd have stopped an army of hobgoblins from invading the country; Find out a necromancer that turns all the villagers to zombies? Stop a cataclysm that would see the entire village go up in flame?" She gives him a critical look, hoping there's something more...
Darla heads back to the bar and to work, but she can't quite hide the ghost of a smile that plays upon her lips when Revka downplays Deckard the Braggart's level of heroism when she hears that he only killed some scrawny wolves.
Finished with his stew, Gethric pushes it back from himself with a contented sigh before stretching and patting his belly. He looks around the room trying to get a gauge on how many hands might get raised for the call.
Revka settles in for Neven to share the tale of his adventure, but her enthousiasm quickly drops as he tells it. "That's it? You killed some wolves?" She sounds very disappointed and slumps back in her chair. "I was thinking you'd have stopped an army of hobgoblins from invading the country; Find out a necromancer that turns all the villagers to zombies? Stop a cataclysm that would see the entire village go up in flame?" She gives him a critical look, hoping there's something more...
"I, er.... Hobgoblins? Necromancers?!? "
Revka is quickly bored with Neven, who can't tell a good story and apparently knows very little of what threatens the town. She looks down at her bowl of stew to find it empty. "I'm going to get some more. Bye. Nice talking to you." As quickly as that, she's hopped off her chair and is gone.
As she makes her way over to the bar, a thought occurs to her. This is the second person that had trouble speaking. Maybe a wierd sickness has come over the town, one which leaves them all babbling?
At the bar, Revka waits with her empty bowl for Mrs. Uskwold to refill it. She finds herself close to the two halflings sitting there. "Hi. I'm Revka," she introduces herself. "You are both halflings, right? Is it true that Desna smiles on all halflings?"
The male halfling turns to regard the newly arrived fellow short person and after a brief furrowing of brow pats his chest to add "Gethric... and I've never given the thoughts of the gods much of my by-the-way..." pausing the think on the matter further before adding "Would give her tired cheeks though... if she were obliged to smile over all halflings..."
”I’m Aronida. Maybe Desna smiles on some halflings, but I don’t think she smiles on us all. I’ve known far too many who didn’t seem to have any luck.”
Aronida looks at the goblin curiously. ”Are you also answering the Call for Heroes?”
"I offer a very generous plan to Breachill's heroes: an upfront discount whether you're successful in your mission or not, and if you should be summoned to Pharasma's judgment before you've come to the end of the installment schedule, the balance of the debt is completely forgiven!"
"Well, it sounds like I'd be a fool not to listen to what you offer," smiles Gellius easily. "Perhaps I should stop by at your business later? Listen to your terms and make the necessary arrangements before heading off into whatever dangers we may face."
"Well, it sounds like I'd be a fool not to listen to what you offer," smiles Gellius easily. "Perhaps I should stop by at your business later? Listen to your terms and make the necessary arrangements before heading off into whatever dangers we may face."
"Absolutely!" she beams. "Morta's Mortuary, just south of the eastern gate. I'll be at the Call, as well, if you have any further questions. Best of luck to you!" She hops from her stool, tosses back what's left of her wine, and moves to locate other potential customers.
"That woman," Quentino Posandi remarks, once she's out of earshot, "would bury her own mother cheerfully. Did, as a matter of fact."
Gellius chuckles at Quentino's quip.
"Yes, I get the feeling she regards this venture as something of a business opportunity," he replies. "Still, I'm sure many of the 'heroes' who come visiting your town are just as concerned with the coin as they are with any heroics."
"How nice to meet you," Revka says. She grins in what she thinks is a friendly smile. "Well, she is a goddess," she replies to Gethric. "Smiling over all halflings should be possible. But not all the time," she concedes to Aronida.
"Indeed, I am here to volunteer," she then says, trying to raise herself up a bit straighter. "You two as well?" She leans in and drops her voice. "I have the feeling something bad is going to happen to the town, and I want to help and stop it. There seem to be nice people in Breachill, and I don't want to see them get hurt..."
"Yep, here to volunteer. I'm still relatively new to Breachill; I've only been living here about a year. Volunteering makes me feel like part of the community." Aronida stretches out her arms with a grin. "I'm a hunter by trade, and a lot of these jobs revolve around hunting some random pests in the area. So it's a good fit."
Her grin fades as the goblin drops her voice. Something bad? Lowering her own voice, she asks, "What makes you think something's going to happen?"
"I bake rolls... care for one?" gesturing towards the kerchief with still two or three dark rye rolls 'pon it. "Though hopefully it's more the poke stuff with pointy things and sneak around that the council's after to give me a shot. If it's all take things from the top shelf and see over walls I think we're all out of luck"
Revka's eyes momentarily glaze over when Aronida speaks. "Part of a community... I'd like that too, I think. Except, I like wandering around from place to place as well. You can't really do both, can you?" She's about to answer the halfling's hushed question when she spots something from the corner of her eye. She almost has both hands into Gethric's kerchief before his words truly register. "Oh, care for one, you said..." She takes up one roll, eyeing the other longingly. She unceremoniously stuffs it in her mouth and it is gone in two bites. "Hmm... fluffy!"
She chuckles at Gethric's description of what the Call could be about, but her mood quickly turns serious as she leans in closer. "It's... I think it has something to do with fire. Desna has been sending me visions - dreams, you know? It's always lots of fire, and I think this village is somehow involved. I think this one isn't just hunting some wolves..."
An alarum breaks into Revka's whispered warning; Trinil Uskwold is ringing a brass bell attached to the wall behind the bar. "Last call!" she announces, hanging the metal beater stick back on the hook by the bell. "Last call before the Call for Heroes! Anyone need their cup topped off for the toasts?"
As Trinil finishes speaking, she sends her two remaining children out into the crowd, each bearing pitchers of the most popular ale and red wine to top off folks' cups for the impending toasts. Darla makes it a point to stop at the table with the two halflings and the goblin sitting around it. She also visits the table with Councilman Posandi, Morta Valaskin, and Handsome Fancypants seated at it.
Dreams of fire? Ordinarily Aronida would scoff at someone claiming to have been sent visions from the gods. But this goblin seems so...earnest. She's clearly a follower of Desna; she might even be a cleric. Maybe there's something to these dreams after all.
Aronida is interrupted in these musings by the call for toasts. Shaking her head, she forces a smile back onto her face. Regardless, the town isn't on fire right now. I'll just have to keep an eye on things...and see if there's any unusual requests at the Call.
By the time Darla makes it to her table, the smile is genuine again. "Hi Darla, I'll take a small glass of that Brown Ale for the toasts." She has no intention of offering one herself, but it's only polite to participate.
Once she has her drink, she leans back and waits for the toasts to start.
Gethric keeps to his half-nursed flagon of aqua vitae for the upcoming toasts, turning to regard the room with more intent than his fellow short-shanks for the nearing span.
When everyone has a full cup, Trinil leads off. "To Granddad," she raises her glass to a portrait in pride of place on the wall. "May today's heroes measure up to the standard you set us."
Everyone drinks to the tavern keeper's grandfather.
Revka take a small cup of wine from Darla. She doesn't know about toasts, but is always eager for ways to fit in and she quickly catches on. After a few more toasts, she adds her own.
"To Desna," she says while raising her glass and holding her holy symbol in the other hand. "Let her give us dreams to chase, and may she forever smile on Breachill." She intends for the latter part to sound optimistic, but it comes out vaguely wishful.
Gethric raises his mug and takes a sip at each toast, but doesn't see fit to add his own. He does scan the room to see if there are any who are abstaining from toasting though.
Accepting a refill from Darla, Gellius settles back to hear the toasts.
"Thank you," he smiles to her, "all this talk of heroing is thirsty work!"
There's a cordial response to Revka's toast, particularly from those who venerate the Tender of Dreams.
A woman in Neven Deckard's group rises to toast "homegrown heroes," to a rousing cheer from the center table.
An older man at the side of the room wishes, "May we command success by deserving it," in what might be a swipe at the rowdy lumberjacks, who drink desultorily.
A young man counters by proposing a drink "to grog, grub, and glory," to a much more enthusiastic response.
Revka isn't quite sure what to make of the toasts. Homegrown heroes? I thought everyone in Breachill liked adventurers from outside the town? She gives Gethric and Aronida a quizzical look, and politely raises her glass at each toast to drink a bit.
After what seems to be the last toast, Revka leans in to both halflings again. "Are we now going to ssee the chief?" She seems to get a bit nervous, and the alcohol appears to have an effect on her already. She slurs just the slightest bit.
Aronida smiles at the goblin. "Yes, the toasts are finished so it's time to go to the town hall. We'll see there what kind of jobs they have this month."
She considers for a minute. I haven't interacted much with goblins before, but this one seems nice. And if there is something to her visions of fire, it might be a good idea to stay close. "If they have a job that requires multiple people, want to apply together? I can shoot things, Gethric can stab things, and you can ensure Desna is smiling on us while we do."
While waiting for a reply she leaves a few coins for payment and gathers her things, ready to head across the street with the others.
As Revka and Aronida confer, Quentino Posandi gets to his feet and clears his throat. The tavern falls silent as he raises his glass. "Gentlefolk, to Breachill and the kindness of strangers!"
"The kindness of strangers," is answered around the room as the patrons of the tavern drink.
"Now," Posandi announces, setting his drink on the bar, "let's cross the street and get down to business."
Revka looks very happy at Aronida's proposal, then suddenly worried. Applying together?! Is that a thing? Should I have found a group beforehand? Why didn't I know about this? PANIC!
She's interrupted by the toast from the balding man. That sounds more like it. Maybe he's not so bad, despite the hair on his face... She cheers the toast and answers along with the others at the tavern. Once she's finished her drink, the sudden panic has disappeared. Maybe I should have found a ground beforehand, but I just got asked for one! Someone wanted me to join them. That's even better!!! She gives Aronida a very wide grin, baring all her teeth. "If we can apply together, I would be vvery h-happy to do so!"
She sets her empty cup upon the bar and fiddles around in her belt pouch, looking carefully at the coins Aronida leaves to match them.
Gethric considers the proposal to join for a few moments before shrugging and responding "Sure, sounds reasonable" making sure to honor the last toast before making vertical and looking to follow the crowd.
Finishing his drink, Gellius joins the others in the trek across the road, walking with Quentino Posandi. As the assorted people move, he tries to size up the likely participants and separate them from those purely there for the spectacle.
I think I'll steer well clear of that one, he muses to himself as he once more spots the brash past winner. I'm willing to bet he'll turn tail at the first sign of real danger.
He continues to casually survey the crowd, paying particular attention to those with weapons and armor.
From the Wizard's Grace, it is only a short stroll down the road to the town hall. The late summer sun is beating directly down on the town, sparkling off the surface of Breach Creek, bleaching blond the grass, and wilting the flowers in the windowboxes and beds along the road, despite the best efforts of gardeners pumping water up from Breach Creek at the towers behind Town Hall morning and evening.
Two sets of double doors lead into a large rotunda, one hundred feet in diameter. Concentric arcs of chairs face a raised round stage in the center of the room, lit by large braziers at its lip. A half-dozen children are seated on the stage. At its foot, a long, rectangular table is set up with five chairs. Four of them are already occupied by two human women, a male dwarf, and a female gnome; Quentino Posandi strolls up the right aisle and takes the last chair.
Everyone else starts to file into the rows of seats. A double-stairway between the doors at the back of the room leads up to more seating in a second-story gallery, but it seems more convenient for those seeking employment to be on the main floor; Neven Deckard and his crew fill in a row at the front on the left.
Behind the stage, a wall separates the rotunda from the rest of the building, a short flight of stairs on either side of the stage leading to open doorways to another hallway.
Revka stays close to Aronida during their walk to the town hall. The fresh air does her good, and by the time that they take a seat she's lost her alcohol buzz. She's still quite excited and a little intimidated. It makes the goblin quiet and a bit uncertain. She tries to look everywhere at once. "Which one is the chief"?" she asks while looking at the five figures on the stage.
The dwarf at the councilors' table is Jorsk Hinterclaw, the scion of a silver mining family from Kraggodan. He was a smith's apprentice at home but left for a life of adventure, eventually participating in the Call for Heroes in Breachill himself. He gained such a good reputation in the town that he settled here and began to dabble in public service.
The other human woman is Melma Ann Sendari, and the gnome is Trini Sprizzlegig.
The dwarf at the councilors' table is Jorsk Hinterclaw, and the older human woman is Melma Ann Sendari.
The gnome unmistakably is Trini Sprizzlegig. A first-generation resident of Breachill, she immigrated as a young child with her parents from the gnomish town of Brastlewark in Cheliax. Trini is a deeply kind and empathetic woman, if a little manic, and her propensity for helping others led her to earn a spot on the council. Perhaps one of its flightiest members, Trini is nevertheless one of the staunchest voices for helping those in need -- and for welcoming adventurers from far-off locales or unusual backgrounds.
The only other human female is nearer Posandi's age; this must be Melma Ann Sendari. He told you quite a bit about her, given her Chelish background. Her family sided against the Thrunes during the Chelish Civil War and had to flee the country, eventually settling in Breachill shortly after Citadel Altaerein was founded. According to Posandi, she understands diplomacy and statesmanship better than anyone else on the council.
The gnome, unmistakably, is Trini Sprizzlegig. Her family also immigrated from Cheliax, specifically from the gnomish town of Brastlewark, when Trini was a young child. You gathered from Posandi's manner of speaking about her that he is not her biggest fan: "flighty" and "manic" were the words he used.
The fifth councilor is a male dwarf he didn't mention.
Quietly responding to Revka "The serious lady - Greta." Gethric takes in the council and realises that it's likely the gnomish that would be on their side when it comes to the quick.
Moving to the front row of seats, Gellius takes a seat on the opposite end from Neven and his friends. Smiling politely to those around him, he doesn't speak much, devoting his attention to the councillors and paying particular attention to the interactions between them.
”Let’s head up to the front,” Aronida whispers. She smiles. ”We’ll need to if we want to see anything!”
Avoiding Neven’s boisterous group, she ends up sitting next to the finely-dressed man who’d been talking to Posandi earlier. She waits calmly for the proceedings to start.
I hope it’s just the normal routine, and that Revka’s visions are wrong.
“Good afternoon,” smiles Gellius as Aronida sits beside him inclining his head slightly. “My name is Gellius. Gellius Tauranor. I’m new to the town. Are you here to answer the call too? Or just for the excitement?”
Revka takes in the serious woman who's apparently the town chief. Right. Let's see if we can make a good impression. She holds herself as tall as she can't while following Aronida to their places,but spoils the effort by nickering at the halfling's joke.
When the man next to them introduces himself, Revka answers before Aronida even gets the Chance. She half-leans over to get a closer look at him. "I'm Revka. We're here to volunteer as well. As a group!"
Once the party has taken their seats, they have the time to look around them -- and look up. The interior of the dome of the rotunda is divided into sections like the spokes of a wheel, each section telling a portion of a story. In one, a group of humans shivers in a collection of ramshackle hovels; in the next, a man in golden robes has arrived on the scene, his very presence giving off a warm glow that limns nearby objects with light; in the next, spring has arrived, and the robed man is holding a sheaf of parchments and pointing as around him busy, happy people build sturdy houses and sow grain; in the next, the robed man is leaving what is now a prosperous little town, its citizens massed to wave him a farewell; and in the last, a statue in the likeness of the robed man has been erected, as humans with small children in their arms gather around, along with a dwarf, an elf, and a gnome.
When the man next to them introduces himself, Revka answers before Aronida even gets the Chance. She half-leans over to get a closer look at him. "I'm Revka. We're here to volunteer as well. As a group!"
"Pleased to meet you, Revka. That sounds wise to me, things are always easier with friends to watch your back," nodding towards Neven and his crew. "For all his boasts, I'm sure our proud friend over there had plenty of help from those around him." Glancing up at the mural on the roof, he admires the pictorial story of the town's glowing savior.
"This town has something of a history of heroes, by the looks," he muses casually to himself. "I wonder who that man was?"
"I've assumed he was the town's founder, though I haven't asked." Aronida shakes her head. "I suppose some hero worship is to be expected, particularly in this town, but I still find that display overly ostentatious."
"Admittedly I'm somewhat of a newcomer myself, having only lived here a year. Perhaps I simply don't understand the local customs. I'm Aronida, by the way." She considers offering her hand for a handshake, but refrains. She's always found the gesture uncomfortable when dealing with the larger races.
"What made you decide to come here for the Call?"
Darla cleans off tables at the Wizard's Grace as quickly as possible before scooting down the street to the Town Hall. Once inside, she grabs the nearest open seat to the stage and settles in to hear the latest Call.
As the crowd settles in, the party notices a familiar face: the halfling Calmont Trenault, his sheaf of papers in hand, is seated near the front, looking around him with an air of preemptive defiance, as if expecting to be argued with and already preparing to give as good as he gets. Next to him is a tall man with a wide-brimmed straw hat perched on his balding head.
“Well partly, it’s to spread my wings a little,” Gellius explains. “I’m from a large family with some pretty clear ideas of what I should do with my life. Before I tie myself down too much, I thought I’d get out and see the world a little.”
“I heard about Citadel Altaerain in my reading,” he continues. “just out of town, I believe. I thought it sounded like something worth seeing. Now the Hellknights have up and left.”
“Tell me, Aronida. Any idea what’s got our Halfling friend so worked up? He looks ready to bite someone’s head off.”
Aronida looks behind her to where Calmont is sitting. "I have no idea. I've never spoken to him before." She remembers the scene in the tavern and winces. I hope he's not here to request that Revka be kicked out of town!
Revka follows the conversation between Aronida and Gellius with interest. She doesn't much care for the ceiling, instead she's more interested with the other people in the room. When Gellius mentions the gray-haired halfling, Revka joins in the conversation again. "I'm not sure, but I think there's something wrong with him," she whispers. "Earlier, when I went over to introduce myself, he wanted to speak but he couldn't utter a single coherent word! Everything came out garbled, and then he just stormed off. It's a bit worrying, I think..."
The woman in the center of the table -- Greta Gardania -- rises to gavel the meeting to order. Easily the youngest member of the council, she doesn't appear to have seen her thirtieth summer yet and is dressed in traditional Qadiran fashion. "Friends, citizens, honored guests," she begins, "the council welcomes you to the Erastus Call for Heroes. As always, we open our gathering with a reminder why Breachill exists and why we meet here every month to allow people to petition for assistance. This month's perfomers are...," she glances at a paper on the table before her, "Odith Sone, Ambald Beagmann, Geoffrey Eger, Reyny Hewe, and Cece Gare."
The children on the high stage get to their feet, and excited murmurs from among the spectators indicate which are their mothers. "We are lost and cold and hungry," intones one apple-cheeked youngster, theatrically shivering despite the many people fanning themselves in the warm room. "Who will help us? Who would ever help a stranger?"
"I will," a boy nearly tripping over too-large golden robes announces. "I am Lamond Breachton, and I will help you strangers."
The whole skit can't last longer than five minutes, but it feels much longer. Having seen it many times before, the councilors quietly look over some of their papers without turning their heads to crane up at the stage behind them, with the notable exception of Trini Sprizzlegig who appears to be enjoying the spectacle immensely. She leads the applause when the children take a bow and sit down again on the stage, seemingly every bit as enthusiastic as the young thespians' relatives in the audience. The rest of the citizens display no more than polite boredom.