GM Euan's Rise of the Runelords (Inactive)

Game Master Euan

Hasslo turns to the young woman. "Wh-what kind of adventure were you hoping to find?" she asks.

Hasslo ponders for a moment, overwhelmed by all the people about. "I'm tired of city life. I would bring some of the poorest kids in Magnimar to the forest for an afternoon. Seeing their delight brought me to tears." A single tear drops from his cheek. "I want to learn more about this world we call Golarion."

All her life, Tot has been told that emotions were weakness. She cannot reconcile the dwarf's obvious show of emotion. Was it to manipulate her? The mercenaries she'd fallen in with in Magnimar never tried this tactic on her. She brushes the thought aside, quietly chastising herself until the dwarf catches her attention again.

The dwarf points to some nearby trees. "Those are Pseudostuga menziessii as the Thassalonians called them. They're also known as Douglas Firs. There's so much life out there that I want to see and learn about."

There is something about the dwarf calling the tree by name that strikes Tot. Her instructors, while she was training, never deigned to teach her about nature besides how to hunt and dress game, how to cook it, and what to avoid while foraging. Nature is something to be endured, but here is a dwarf that wants to know more about it to be closer to it. She can't fathom why. It seems utterly backward to her, and she barely has time to move past the incongruity in her mind to catch what he asks nest.

He pulls out his shield and bashes it. "My dwarven blood runs deep too. I'm sure you have heard of Torag. Do you know much about the rest of the Dwarven pantheon - Angradd, Folgrit, Bolka, Grundinnar, Kols, Trudd, Dranngvit, Magrim... I want to venerate them. Make them proud. I can't accomplish that by staying in Magnimar."

Leather creaks as she tightens her grip on her quarterstaff. Religion, why did it have to be religion? She tries to keep her despair from showing as she replies.

"No, I don't know much about the fal-- dwarven gods," she answers, catching herself before letting slip the word false. Before she can begin to parse what Hasslo is saying, a newcomer vies for her attention.

"Seeking adventure, you say?" he asks, coming up beside her and giving her a warm smile. "I'm not certain if 'adventure' lies in our path, but a glorious time at a festival for certain. If, however, you'd like to hear of adventures, I've written some verse about many grand adventures I'd be all too happy to share with you miss...?" and he waits to hear her name.

Tot knows she looks like a coney cornered by a fox and can already feel her heart pounding as the urge to run and escape the situation falls over her. Her eyes are wide as saucers and freckles stand out more clearly as the color drains from her face.

"I- uh? T-tot!" her face reddens after she blurts out the moniker she'd gone by since leaving Egorian. "J-just call me Tot," she says as she looks away, hoping to avoid embarrassing herself further.

Not that it will do you much good, a voice that sounds awfully like her mother's scoffs in her head.

"Runes and glyphs...fascinating..." Tiasar takes out a small but thick notebook, setting it casually in the air as a quill joins it from his pocket. It begins to write in elegant elven. "I was thrilled when I came upon the Thassilonian research in Magnimar. The entire purpose of my journey is to expand my magical research and prowess, and an ancient civilization with their own kind of magic is exactly what I need to be looking into." He frowns as Gherix goes into more detail. "Hmm, I had not realized it was so driven by something such as desire. That sounds like something a sorcerer would be more apt to tap into. But runes and glyphs lean themselves towards scholarly pursuits rather than innate powers...very interesting." This time Tiasar seems too focused on the topic to be distracted by Gherix's hair. In fact he looks to be in very deep thought about the ancient magic. "I must admit I find myself crossed between frustration and excitement due to my ignorance on the topic. But I hope once I spend some time in the ruins I can shed myself of such ignorance. I wonder if the information will be helpful on in theories, or if it will be practical..." He trails off, lost in thought again. The floating quill pauses, waits for the notebook to turn a page, then continues writing.

'hmmm apparently my question was more serious than I thought.' Seeing Meg's frown, Seamus stops playing but continues running his fingers over the fretboard, 'A debt repaid, all honesty...no idea, hmm Zandu did always say 'the truth is always the easiest lie.' Laughing at Meg's 'snort' seeing the bottled pulled as if from no where, his laughter turns into a snort of his own. "You really are a follower of Cayden."

'No poor answers when there are no perceived idea. If I learned anything from the ladies at the Pixies Kitten, 'don't take anything at face value' your usually wrong.' Shrugging, Seamus smiles "There are no poor answers when there is no preconceived idea." He starts to gently play a Varisian tune, "As for me, that's easy, I'm going home." He wiggles his eyebrows at her and picks up the pace of the tune. "The question is 'What took me to Magnimar in the first place." He stops playing the lute, holding it in his left hand by the neck, he lifts both hands over his head, plastering an innocent look on his face, as if talking to a member of the watch. "Honest Ma'am, I went there to visit my parents."

He drops his arms and winks, "Yeah, going to Sandpoint is going home. I'm just curious why everyone else is going there. he smiles, looking at the group of walkers. 'And if I can make any money from it.'

Nalar hears the talk about Thassalon. He carefully picks up his cards, slides them back into their silk pouch, and puts them away. He grabs his gauntlets and puts them in his pack grabs his helm, and walks over to people discussing.

"You know, the Thassalonians were very into sculpture and monuments. Many of the monuments you see around were created by them. They were clearly very talented craftspeople." He says to either the whole group, or maybe no one in particular. It's hard to tell, as he isn't addressing any one person in particular.

He smiles and nods at the Dwarf who is rambling on and on about trees and nature, but doesn't interrupt the man's diatribe on nature.

"This guy has quite the passion for nature," he says, hooking his thumb in the direction of the Dwarf. "Poetry is the big passion for me. Writing, reciting, seeing the look on people's faces when my verses hit home for them. It's wonderful! I'm actually heading to Sandpoint to see if I can get a chance to perform some of my work at their theater. Lofty ambition to be sure, but it's my calling," he says with a confident nod even as he tries to ignore the quiet voice he can hear in the back of his head screaming at him that he has a different calling.

"What about you, Tot?" he asks, hoping to coax a little more interaction from the lovely gal, "what brings you to Sandpoint?"

My big question, then, is are you ok with the whole sentient item idea being there as it's just flavor text and not mechanical? Just wanted to make sure that was cool before I really flesh it out in narrative any more.

Then she turns her attention back to Tiasar saying, "Well, we must also bear in mind that studies into Thassilon are sometimes contrasting, so you can find accounts about the baser carnal desires as I indicated, but there are also those that swear the power came from them sacrificing innocents to ancient demons, some that swear the Thassilonian mages themselves were beings from other planes, and still others that attest that they had no advanced magics at all and that it is propaganda spread by folklore. Comparative studies, however, led me to conclusion that their power is most likely fueled from desires, longings, and lusts. I suppose finding the truth in that, verifying my conclusions if you will, is a major reason I wanted to come here. Oh," she says, looking at Tiasar's face, "you have a hair out of place, let me," and she brushes the hair back from him, just to see his reaction. The researcher is just possibly running her own social experiment to see if she can get a reaction from the Elf ;=)

He gives a wry smile. "With so many rumors and pieces of history I would be very surprised if there was not at least someth-" He trails off as she closes the distance between them and brushes her hand against his face. "Erhm..." The bird on his shoulder stares daggers at Gherix as Tiasar fumbles on his words, pale skin gaining something of a pink hue. The raven's talons dig in tightly; so tightly that Tiasar winces, and the distraction of the pain gets him to focus. "Yes-thank you." He forces out, stepping back and fussing with his hair.

Suddenly the wagons are called to a halt by Nichole, riding alongside a wagon a few ahead of this one. She and Nick, who joins her from the front, chat a moment. Nick rides down the line, calling out, ”Anyone a wheelwright? We’ve a broken spoke that’s bound to give way on the rougher road ahead. Anyone a wheelwright?!” He pauses by the group to see if anyone has any skills with carpentry.

Craft carpentry or even ships is ideal. Nearly any other craft would still help (-2 or -4 circumstance penalty depending on the craft), and of course a straight Intelligence check is also fine (untrained craft).
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If you are not on this list and feel you should be, or there is some other error, please let me know and I’ll correct it. Thanks!
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Intelligence: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (20) + 1 = 21

It’s just a wheel, mate. Here, let me do it... I have been in caravans now for decades. - says the cook, just getting down and fixing it - Don’t let me interrupt your conversation, kids. I like hearing it. We will be back in the road in no time.

Kronk was a practical, common man; unlearned, almost illiterate, his skills were those of the day-by-day life, experiences accumulated through routine and a hard life of work.

Delighted to, my friend! Let me just load it up for you, and if you'd join me on this good man's transport, I'd be most delighted!" It is difficult to tell if Toblacane is truly ensorcelled, or merely trying his best to be friendly, or even if he knows that there was no warehouse. His constantly smiling face made him almost unreadable.

Thank you for your consideration! I'm acting as if Toblacane failed his will save, not that it really matters, and is unaware of the lack of a warehouse.

Magnus smiles in satisfaction. "Well, please take my backpack--it's not that heavy and will help an old man," he says, though he retains his staff. He sits next to the young swashbuckler and assumes a professorial tone, not realizing his spell hadn't worked.

"You see, magic is the greatest of the arts. Any impossibility turned into a possibility is magic--that is done through indigo, and azure, and stippling! And furthermore! ...I forgot what I was saying…" he trails off.

He observes his new friend for a moment. "What is your name, dear fellow? Mine is Magnus--Magnus the Magnificent, they call me!" he adds theatrically. "You're heading to Sandpoint? What are you doing there? You are welcome to come, so long as you are not there to court Ameiko Kaijitsu. She's spoken for!"

"SHelyn grant me ability to see beauty even in a simple wheel. It was crafted by someone with skill and should be treated as such."
Guidance

Then, just to make sure, he grabs one of his Harrow cards from his deck and looks at it and smiles. "I feel this will bring me luck."

Touch of luck

craft: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (5) + 6 = 11
craft: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (9) + 6 = 15

She nods and keeps eye contact as she listens to Seamus. She laughs again at his play-acting of explaining himself to an interrogating party. Her mind immediately goes to a husband explaining his absence to a wife as opposed to the town watch, though. Corioles often had such explanations for his disappearences. She wonders what she would have found if she pried. "Why, you are just the picture of respectability, are you not! Visiting your dear parents off in the big city. I was there with my own parents for a while." She mirrors Seamus's tone and demeanor as she says so. She technically was--her parents, not Meg's--but she could play it as a dissembly. The more she avoided details about her background, the better.

Meg starts at the cart halting. Her hand immediately jumps for her sword--more out of fear than training--and lets her hand hover there as she carefully watches Nichole and Nick for any glances back towards her. Had someone found her out? Were they talking over the best way to capture her? As Nick begins his spiel about the wheel, Meg begins to relax. Was Meg good with carpentry? Should she be jumping up to offer her services for her cover? No no no, even if she was, putting herself on-show like that is a bad move. The more people paying attention to her, the more likely that someone figures out something is up with her. The balding cook taking the lead leaves her to take a long slow breath as she leans back into her seat. Her mind turns back to her conversation with Seamus. Home. Parents. She was a parent four days ago. Maybe she still would be if she had thought to bring them with her when she ran. What kind of parent would have run without grabbing her own children? She had no idea that he would do something so extreme, yes, but she should have at least had the instinct!

She shakes her head and takes another drink. She does not have the money or quality alcohol to jump past her Depressed Drunk phase to Happy Drunk--much less to Blackout Drunk--but the alternative is being an even worse giant bundle of nerves jumping at every noise.

Marku sits on the rear bumper of the last cart, perfectly situated to watch the great walls of Magnimar diminish and fade from view. And ah! A deep inhale brings him such invigorating scents, from that of wet heather to the loamy soil, from the mineral tang of the rain to the - ah. The numerous steaming piles of horse droppings that pass by beneath his wagon.

Tootling absent-mindedly on his recorder, the young, handsome man leans back against the packages and bundles, one leg swinging free, the other hiked up, and simply glories in being alive, en route to the magnificent Sandpoint Theater, where soon -

”Anyone a wheelwright? We’ve a broken spoke that’s bound to give way on the rougher road ahead. Anyone a wheelwright?!”

Frowning, perking up to peer over the front of his wagon, Marku sees Nick questing for aid, and frowns.

"They can't fix a wheel? What by the stars and fishes are we paying them for?"

With a careful leap he descends to a dry island of grass, and then picks his way to the lame wagon, where he stands to one side, shaking his head in admiration. "To think! That so glorious a caravan so filled with prestigious persons could set forth into the wilds without even a modicum of preparation. It beggars the mind!"

He casts around to see if other share his sentiment. "I'd fix it myself, but ah, I would hate to muddy these fine garments of mine."

But as Nalar moves forward to inspect the broken wheel, his expression brightens.

"We are in luck! The gods be praised. Here, my friend, a tune to inspire your fingers and sharpen your eye."

And so saying he lets loose a merry trill from his recorder.

She then turns her attention back to the Elf, fairly satisfied that her touch had rendered him into a ridiculous for of senselessness. I believe that boy might be smitten with me, she thought. How fascinating.

But instead of pursuing that farther, she asked him, "So, do you have any reason for heading to Sandpoint beyond the ruins, or is that the full reason? It's the ruins and the festival for me," and then she turns to Verona and says, "And Ronnie, my dear, I don't believe you'd mentioned what brings you to Sandpoint either," as Gheri remembers full well that she'd asked earlier but had not gotten an answer, so of course the researcher must push for information.

And she also offers Rastaf a"Thank you, this is lovely," in appreciation of the water. As a masterful manipulator, she's learned that a little appreciation can go a long way.

Tiasar half-turns his head to listen to the cry for a wheelwright. Hmm, it would have been useful if I had prepared mending today. I wonder how frequent such mundane repairs are necessary while adventuring, perhaps I should consider changing my spell repertoire when not expecting combat. As the situation stands, the heavyset chef (who he could smell even from this distance) seemed to have everything under control.

Distracted, looking towards the Nicks as they ride towards them, "I can tell you I pay my debts" Seamus glances back to Meg seeing her flinch towards her blade. "and I'm loyal to my friends." As Nick speaks and she visibly relaxes, he realizes he had began to reach for one of the daggers in his bandolier.

'What were you thinking? Fight the caravan escort?' Seamus looks from Meg to the large older man stepping forward offering to help, 'That's the man Toblacane said smells like cheese. He seems familiar but I just can't place it. May have to introduce myself later.' Turning back to Meg "It looks like they have plenty of volunteers, Hopefully the delay won't be long." As she pulls out her bottle of wine. "So will you be staying in Sandpoint long?"

knowledge (local): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (3) + 6 = 9

It seems she would have to answer Vindur's question after all.

"Looking for work," she answers quietly after a bit too long of a pause. "I heard there are monsters and they have bounties on them, or at least might bring in a good price," she adds as she watches and silently hopes that the two men working on the wagon wheel will need help.

She isn't too surprised when it appears that they have things well in hand. With a soft sigh of defeat she turns to Hasslo to see if the dwarf has anything to say, but seeing as he hasn't said anything since Vindur showed up, she isn't very hopeful. The silence as she feels Vindur's eyes on her is too much. She can feel her skin crawl and wants nothing more than to run and hide.

Weakness, her mother's voice hisses in her head, a damning curse that always managed to keep her in line even as she was berated for some imagined transgression.

"W-what kind of poetry do you write," she doesn't quite blurt out, and almost immediately her shoulders tense as she hears her mother's disdainful laugh echo in her head. She doesn't look to Vindur, but instead looks at Hasslo and silently begs him to save her from having to talk.

"The Chelaxians have outlawed everything fun and good in life, so of course everyone would be criminals to them!" She takes another drink and leans on her knuckles. "You must not have had to spend much time in the parts of society in which respect is demanded and assumed whether earned or not." She shrugs and smiles. "I do not mean that as a criticism. You are missing nothing worthwhile."

She does not fully process the implications of Seamus professing his loyalty to friends. Perhaps she has difficulty conceiving of anyone being her friend at this particular moment in her life. She is simply just not used to this level of constant anxiety.

As she calms, Meg is happy that Seamus has kept the conversation going. Something, anything to distract her from her thoughts. "I am thinking of staying at least to the end of the festival. I will see what Cayden has in-store for me." She takes another drink, throwing her head back as she lets the drink fill her veins. After a moment of reverie, she sits back up. "And you? What do you do when you are home and not, how did we put it, 'visiting your parents?'"

He gives her a warm smile and begins his response with, "A bounty hunter? That's quite impressive. What adventures you must have had," but not wanting to make her any more uncomfortable by requesting such a story, he continues, "But where are my manners? You asked me a question. I write all sorts of poetry, honestly. Some about histories and epic battles, some a bit more raucous and humorous, and most popular of all are the love poems. They tend to be more appreciated by the female patrons in the crowd," he says giving a shrug. "Perhaps they pretend the poems are for them; maybe it lets them dream of a truer, deeper love; something real for those stuck in loveless marriages...who's to say? All I know is that they're popular."

"Regardless, poetry's not all that hard, really. You simply need an interesting topic and the ability to rhyme. Here, let me show you. I'll do a poem about...you," and with that, he began, though in a quiet voice to keep it between them rather than his typical performance voice.

"Oh soft spoken slayer of sentinels of sin
Hunting what's without, defends those within
These walls, a facade of true safety, our keep
But she is the one who defends while we sleep."

"See? Basically a topic and rhymes gets the job done. But your work must truly be fascinating." As he regards the quiet little bounty hunter, that voice in the back of his mind, dim at the moment since his hood is down, seems to be pushing him towards her. A thought occurs to him, though he doesn't know if it's his own or the hood's, and he says, "I'll make you an offer, feel free to say no, though I hope you'll agree. I happen to be fairly decent in a scrape, have a bit of magical skill, and can even do some healing magic. If you'll have me, I'd happily come along for one of your hunts. I won't even ask for a cut of the reward. Simply having the story to tell will get me plenty of coin from performing. And as an added benefit, I can do the talking for you when you go to arrange the job since, if it's not too bold of me to say, it appears that social interaction might make you a bit uncomfortable. Apologies if that was too bold to say."

'Outlawed everything fun? Well, she's probably not Chelaxian then.' Nodding as she continued, 'Parts of Society demanded respect? more like they paid for it...but it sounds like she has spent time in high society' Noting her posture relaxing, 'Well whatever causes the tension seems to be gone, and she either has no idea or won't say.' Raising an eyebrow as she takes another swig of the wine, 'What do I do? How much should I tell? If she's in town long she'll find out most of it, not that most of it matters...'

For the first time, he gives her a hard look obviously trying to assess her. Then begins to gently strum on the lute, more a cord progression than an actual song. "What I do is survive. Most folks won't hire me so I work at a brothel.' Realizing how that sounded, he stutters, "Um, not like that. My mother worked there when I was younger. At least until she married my step dad, he was one of her regulars. Guess most of the people I consider family worked there. I had always helped with chores and odd jobs, so when my parents moved I asked if I could sleep in the barn and do chores and help around a bit for room and board."

He stops playing and holds the lute out, "That's where I learned to play this." Strumming his chord progression again, "So When I can, I play at Cracktooth’s Tavern for tips. If the weathers nice I play on the square for tips, that's where I'll be for the Swallowtail Festival, working the crowd." He looks at her a second time, sizing her up. With a perception of +10 and a sense motive of 0 he's better at seeing things than interpreting them :)

Shrugging "When we moved to my step fathers place he taught me other skills that people with quick nimble fingers would be good at." He stops doing the cord progression and furiously picks the strings in display. 'So sometimes I do work for his family. One of those 'high risk, high reward' things."

He stops playing the lute and gestures towards the people around them, "That's why I'm so interested in the reasons these folks are going to Sandpoint. Maybe they need a guide to the ancient sites of the town. Maybe I can recommend lodging and get a stipend from the innkeeper. Maybe I can recommend a courtesan who will share a large tip." He looks from the crowd back to Meg, starting to reach for a dagger to display, 'No, no, that's not smart.' he stops his hand before he reaches the bandolier, 'I don't need tell her I'm a cut purse, if she hasn't figured it out, she's not as smart as I think she is.'

He smiles letting his hand rest on the Lute, "When I saw how many people were headed to Sandpoint, It just seemed good business to learn about them. That's why I was following the group strumming my lute. Most people don't pay attention to servants or musicians. They become part of the terrain. You can learn a lot that way. Or you can just ask." He spreads his hands wide, implicating himself "Some folks will tell you their life's story."

He then continues strumming the lute lightly, "Either way to survive it helps to have both contacts and information."

Craft DC 15 to read the below (Nalar already made it, Kronk may roll again specifically for this check if he wishes)

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If you are not on this list and feel you should be, or there is some other error, please let me know and I’ll correct it. Thanks!
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And then she turns her attention back to Rastaf saying, "So, did you say you're from Sandpoint? What sort of things might we expect at the festival? Are there performances? I imagine lots of good food and maybe some fine wine for our Elven friend? Oooo, are there games where he might win me a prize?" she says, hooking a thumb at Tiasar and casting a sideways glance at him to see how he reacts.

Emerik heard there was some hiccup with the wheel. Well, that wasn't a surprise. The wheels on carts tended to be a weakness. Spokes snapped too easily if you hit a rut or hidden rock hard, jarring the wood hard and snapping it like dried kindly. Especially older or rotten wood.

But a solid wheel was too heavy, causing the cart to sink into the mud and making it a burden for the beasts to drag. There were ways to make either work, but in the end a cart would need new wheels. Or to have an old one fixed until it could be replaced. Sometimes that would take a while.

Gathering up his tools and gear, Emerik headed over to the broken down cart to find others seemed to be well ontop of the job. Not a big surprise. No one wanted to break down the content of the cart and carry them, after all. If that was even possible. Mostly, fixing the cart was the best idea.

It seemed like they had it in hand...hands, to be honest. Still, Emerik squinted at the wood for a moment. "I have some tools, if that'll help. Can help with the lifting, too." He looked at the cart dubiously on that one. He was a strong man, but it might take more than just him to lift it up and allow the wheel to be repaired.

Rastaf sees that the wheel problem is taken care of, which is good, since he never had any experience with such conveyances as a street kid. It's just his feet for him.

Then Tiasar is suddenly 5 feet further away. If you blinked you would have missed it, leaving onlookers unsure if they had just spaced out for a moment and didn't see him move. "Yes, I suppose a companion for the festival would be welcomed..." He mumbles, resembling an awkward teenager. It doesn't help that he's an elf who's not notably ancient, making it nearly impossible to place his real age.

Meanwhile, the raven on his shoulder looks to be contemplating all of the different ways it could peck Gherix's eyes out. It's normally stoic posture is replaced by puffing out its chest and fidgeting back and forth.

Eager to change the subject Tiasar jumps onto Rastaf's comment. "Prizes? Oh this festival sounds more and more interesting as I hear about it. Have you experienced it before?" He speaks quickly, the words tumbling out of his mouth.

That's a neat trick. It would come in handy in a fight. I've never been, but I've often heard that it's a big deal, so there should be plenty to see and do. I'd like to watch some acrobats, maybe listen to a good band. And eat!

Besides, I think the poor girl's a little too caught up in her own mess to worry about collecting bounties on fellow travelers at the moment. ;)

Seeing that Hasslo wasn't going to be saving her this time around, Tot turns her attention back to Vindur as he answers her question and she finds herself feeling grateful that he seems so willing to talk enough for the both of them.

At least until he starts composing a poem about her.

"Wha- No! you--" she starts to say, but her voice is even softer as she panics and Vin rolls right over her too-quiet protest.

Oh if he only knew! You were trained to be a killer and that's all your good at. Well, that and running a way, her mother's voice croons as her thoughts mock her.

She tries to seem interested and appreciative of the poem, but can only really manage an expressionless mask that does nothing to hide her flushing cheeks. She looks at him, her mask falling away as her eyes widen and her mouth hangs open in the start of... something. She can't tell if it was to protest, express her shock, or to accept; the words catch in her throat and she looks at him in disbelief for several moments before, again, embarrassment causes her to look away and down at the road in front of her.

"I-I guess that's one way to put it," she replies as she tries to figure out if this was a good thing, a bad thing, or if she could even bring herself to accept the offer regardless.

Oh, do accept it! It'll make it all the more easy to find you. Besides, it's not like you can keep from disappointing him anyway, is it? What will he say when he learns that you ran away? I can't imagine it'll be anything good about you, her mother says in her head. Her hands tighten on the quarterstaff again and part of her prays to any god listening that something would happen that would let her escape. A broken-down wagon, a raid by bandits or goblins, anything!

Please, if there is any god out there that'll listen to me, please get me out of this conversation! she silently cries out.

"Why would you want to be with me," she asks before she can clamp her mouth shut on the words as her silence goes on too long.

Nalar stands up from looking at the wheel. He puts his hand on Cook's arm and pulls him back from doing any work.

"Wait wait! See here... and here... and here... and here... There are many problems with this wagon. I'm not sure this wagon will make it all the way to Sandpoint. If you are able to, you need to fix all of these areas as well. Do you think you are capable of that?"

He moves away from Cook and looks to Nick. "This wagon is terrible. someone spent good time and money building this cart, and it is clearly not properly maintained. And you don't even travel with a wainwright or someone with skill to repair this if there is a problem? What kind of business are you running? "

A shadow ran across Verona's already pale face as she heard Gherix ask her question. A part of her knew that the question was likely innocuous. Indeed, many of the people of Sandpoint - the ones that were brave enough to ask the strange Ustalav - had asked her the question before. Still, even after all of those asks, such inquiries managed to still make her nervous and tight-lipped.

"I did not, no," she finally says quietly, her eyes looking off for a moment. "Forgive me, you seem kind, but... I do not vish to speak of it. Just know that I've been in Vandspoint for a few months time now as an apprentice to the local healer there, Miss. Velerin." Uncontrollably, Verona began to blush at thought of the elven healer, her cheeks turning a light shade of rosy red. "She has been very kind to me and taught me much. Perhaps she can teach you some things as vell if your villing to visit us at our clinic in town? She knows much about the healing arts and maybe even about Thassilon."

"Sorry," is all Vindur gets before she practically scurries off to see what the fuss is about. She listens to Nalar berate Nick, one of the caravan guards, and starts studying the the wagon herself, looking at the areas the man points out.

Profession(Soldier): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7 Not exactly how it's supposed to be used, but it would make sense for a soldier to know a few things about field repairs to carts since armies do move on their stomachs. Not that it matters in this case since she has no idea where to begin with that roll. ;)

Tot looks to Nalar, then to Nick and shrugs to admit she has no idea how to fix the issues.

"Is there enough room to move everything in this one to other wagons," she asks, her voice still soft, but more confident since she's more in her element now. If nothing else, they might have a way to lighten the load and improve the chances of the wagon surviving the trip to Sandpoint.

He holds up a leaf. The dwarf is overacting, as he is used to working with children. "This is Matricaria chamomilla as the ancient Thassalonians called it. You may have heard it called chamomile. It's great for teas. But did you know it can also ease stomach pains and reduce inflammation!"

Hasslo is definitely trying to show off his nature lore. He overhears Verona talk about being a healer. "I'm sure you know all of this. Perhaps we can trade knowledge - talk 'shop'. There's bounds of stuff I don't know about plants and healing. "

Still, the wood was in a sorry state. It probably would need shoring up. "It looks pretty simple, in terms of what's needed. I can carve parts to match those if its easier to replace than to repair, with a bit of time anyway. Wheels aren't my area of expertise, but nothing looks too complicated." He popped his carpentry tools on the ground, looking a little more closely at whether repair or replacement might be the better bet.

"You are too kind, Ronnie," she says when offered to be introduced to the local healer. "I just might take you up on that!"

She then turns her attention back to Rastaf. "Oh, I'd gotten it in my head that you were a Sandpoint local given how comfortable you seemed talking about the ruins and all," she says, silently berating herself since she got a detail wrong. She's a scholar a researcher she cannot afford to let her mind be distracted by silly little things like messing with an Elf boy and getting details wrong.

Bluff to Play It off Like a Casual Mistake Instead of Letting on that She's Berating Herself: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (4) + 6 = 10

Even as she's quietly stressing out about that inside, Aros comes walking up beside her and rubs against her leg in an almost cat-like way. Why yes he is her emotional support animal, thank you for asking.

"Oh, there's my handsome boy!" she says. "This is my constant companion, Aros. Are you animal people, Tiasar and Rastaf? I know you are, Ronnie," she says, remembering seeing the other witch's familiar earlier.

He moves away from Cook and looks to Nick. "This wagon is terrible. someone spent good time and money building this cart, and it is clearly not properly maintained. And you don't even travel with a wainwright or someone with skill to repair this if there is a problem? What kind of business are you running?"

Nick looks up in some surprise, ”We’re here for the goblins and bandits, not the wheels.” he shrugs and looks to the driver and his wife, a young couple, clearly just starting out in life. From the looks of their possessions, what little they have on their wagon, they’re farmers - likely headed out to homestead in the Sandpoint hinterlands.

The young man confirms as much, saying, ”We just need to get the wagon southeast of Egan’s Wood. If you could help us, we’d be much obliged. We haven’t much for the repairs, but we do have more apples. I saw some of you liked them. A bushel to you, good cook, or any really" he eyes Emerik, "...if you can help us.” It’s clear he doesn’t have much more than that he can offer, save his building supplies and seed.

Emerik is pretty sure that replacement is the way to go, but that could take all afternoon. A few repairs though will get the group on the road in less than a half hour.

As I mentioned earlier, no need to make a roll for these repairs. DC 10, and you can take-10, so it’s a wash especially with Emerik’s tools.
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If you are not on this list and feel you should be, or there is some other error, please let me know and I’ll correct it. Thanks!
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Read the spoiler if you get a sense motive of 25+

Confident that she has covered herself, she continues. ”Anyways, I helped him with charity work, so such matters are of little bother. Your set of skills appear to be most useful. I could see why you would be a valuable ally to keep around. I appreciate the candor. I am sincerely sorry that I cannot match it with my own. Simply know that it is not out of any malicious desire that I keep that counsel to myself.” She does feel bad for lying to him when she is being so forthright. She so rarely received candor from anyone aside from Sapphira—or perhaps she should say “Sappho”—that she would be remiss at letting it go unrewarded. ”I also apologize about the ‘sing for your snack’ business. I was in a bit of a fey mood. Perhaps I shall have to engage your services as a guide in recompense.” She produces another gold piece and flips it between her fingers.

Sleight of Hand: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (13) + 6 = 19

Kronk identifies other points to fix and is happy to share with anyone that asks, or volunteer the information if no one says anything. Regardless, the man keeps anything else more to himself. He wasn't trying to shine or anything - but to actually get the caravan moving again - and was honestly happy to be of any help.

As he finishes, he again seeks a dark corner for some more napping. He was sweating a lot already, and felt as if his shirt wasn't being enough to dry it all... So it was probably a sign that his body was already overheating enough with the work. A good cold mug would go well now..., he thought. In truth, he was happier mostly to be watching the adventurers interact, joyfully being fed their stories and aspirations. He just felt naturally unimportant close to their impressive shiny armors, weapons and spellbooks, so it was time to give them space.

"Depends on if we have the afternoon to spare, or a half hour to spare now." He looked around, not willing to make the call himself. He didn't really mind either way.

He nodded to the cook as the man passed along. Maybe he could get some tips off the man when dinner was going, later. Cooking was more of a hobby for him, but he enjoyed it and wasn't terrible at making food.

The girl. She is a hunter of monsters. She will lead you to the evil, comes the oddly duck-like voice in his head.

She's lovely and she just seems to need help. I already told you, I'm just going to Sandpoint for the sake of the stage," he thinks back while walking forward, and being distracted as he is, runs into Hasslo as the Dwarf is enthusiastically going on about a leaf he found.

"Sorry. What? Chamomile? A yes, the tea. I could go for some tea," he says even as the dwarf turns his attention to some of the other travelers.

But the evil grows! the duck-voice calls out in his head.

"I could definitely use that calming tea," he says again, and with that, he decides to innocently head in the direction of the broken down wagon smiling as he says, "I've got two free hands to lend to the cause," and then to the fellow who offered payment of apples, "and no need for any payment for me, good friend. Just happy to be useful."

As he does this, he tries to catch a glimpse of Tot out of the corner of his eye without actually making her uncomfortable by giving her direct eye contact to see if he can read in her body language if he might have offended her in some way...or maybe if she's impressed with him?

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (20) + 4 = 24

'May speak frankly, If I'm any more frank, Hemlock will be meeting the caravan to have a talk with me.' Crinkling his eyebrows as she verbally stumbles. ''Friend,.. boyfriend...beau ...ah Sappho....' he looks from her to the bottle and nods, Noting her glance towards the short strawberry-blond speaking with the poet with colored hairtips. 'We may need to talk about that.'

Looking back toward Meg as she continued, 'Helped with charity work? Curious, A valuable ally, well that's something.' He cocks his head when she pauses again, 'Apologize? For that? Engage me for my services?' Smiling Seamus waives his hands, "Don't apologize, If you want to hire me I'll earn my pay. If I can't do the job I'll tell you. As for charity, it's just another type of debt and the easiest debts to pay are ones you don't have."

He smiles, "Because of that little stunt, not only did I get an apple but also a brief conversation with that elf over there." He points to where Tiasar is speaking with, Gherix, "He, and I believe her as well, wants to see some of the archeological dig sites."

He then points to where Toblacane is putting on the old mans pack, "And hearing that introduction the swashbuckler said he would hire me to guide him around Sandpoint."

He then looks back towards where the little blond had been speaking to Vindur, Seeing only the poet, he looks around finding her where they are working on the wagon wheel. He leans in toward Meg. "I thought I heard the little soldier tell the poet that she was a bounty hunter. Now I know she said monsters, but if she hunts people too. He shrugs, Well, I'd rather know now instead of later," He smiles, his green eyes sparkling, shifting to a lighter color. almost daring Meg. Interested in wandering over and having a talk with her, or do you think Sappho wouldn't want you doing 'charity' work keeping a Varisian lutist out of trouble with Hemlock."

He excuses himself from the current conversation and approaches the folks working on it. I can hold some stuff together while you fix it, if you need a hand.

Young Marku pockets his recorder as the cook finishes the wheel, inclines his head to listen as the farmer couple atop the wagon offer apples, and takes a sliding step forward.

"Ah, good yeoman! You've a generous heart, and it'll stand you in good stead where you're going. I'll accept an apple as payment for my assistance, and count it a fair exchange."

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (11) + 7 = 18

He then turns to regard the sparse crowd, noting the knots of conversation, the varied nature of those gathered, and sets a foot atop the repaired wagon wheel so as to strike a rakish pose.

But his heart's not in it; he's far outside the world he knows, and standing in this muddy track surrounded by strangers, he suddenly finds himself longing for his old haunts in Magnimar. So, tossing a gold coin for effect, he snatches it out of the air, ripples it across his fingers, makes it disappear as a matter of course, and then starts wandering back to rear of the caravan.

Sleight of Hand: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (18) + 7 = 25

So adding a bit more background to Hasslo to help flesh him out a bit more.

After Hasslo's mother died, he was devastated. Ravura was Hasslo's best friend. But it was life and Hasslo had to accept that. The dwarf knew little about his parent's life before coming to Magnimar. He knew they had travelled from out east but the details were hazy. And he never indulged them.

It took about a week after Ravura's death before he started to get organized - there need to be a burial of course. He also needed to go through his parent's things. The dwarven family had lived most of their life in the slums and Hasslo knew little of wealth. But what he found was a shock. Two ancient dwarven war shields. Artwork. Dwarven crafted jewelry. Letters. Hasslo spent hours reading the letters. His parents - Ravura and Marmin - were old dwarven slaves from Molthune. This was an astounding discovery - it shook him to the core.

Hasslo didn't know what to do with the artwork and jewelry. He sold it all for a huge chunk of money. And he thought, 'My parents wanted the best for me. They escaped slavery and provided me the best they could. They taught me the Dwarven way.'.

So Hasslo set off. Nothing was tying him down to Magnimar except for his program for inner city kids. Some old Pathfinders helped set it up and were more than willing to take it over as Hasslo left. Off to Sandpoint with the caravan. Learn more about the world, the dwarves, nature, whatever life throws at him.

Hasslo has yet to pick a third trait. Was thinking Tracker of the Society but that requires time with the Pathfinder Society. May also chose Magical Knack which may change Hasslo's backstory a bit.

Other than that, Hasslo is complete I believe. Will go over and make sure everything is up to date.

Hasslo talks to Vindur about Chamomile. "Don't you love the smell?". The dwarf only half pays attention to the group fixing the wheel. He looks back and forth - not reading the room. "Does anyone have warm water? I should brew some tea.". Hasslo pulls out his teapot and cuts up some chamomile leafs in there to let them steep.

She instead marvels at his productive hobnobbing. "Clever, clever. I shall not underestimate you again, darling!" She listens closely as he whispers his concerns. She nods, careful not to stare at the subject of conversation. She stares very intently at Seamus for a moment, then laughs, tapping her pointer finger on his shoulder. "Why Seamus! What a horrible joke. Absolutely shameful! Or perhaps Seam-ful?"

Sense Motive DC 23 to open

Perception DC 25 to open

Meg is quite pleased with herself for that trick. Sapphira had come up with it ages ago and it was one of their favorites. They always joked that they would put a pamphlet someday of the little deceptions they had learned from years dealing with high society.

Meg leans over the side of the cart and waves for the bounty huntress's attention. "Quick, darling, while the poet is away!"