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Almost 200 years ago, when the land that was to become Nirmathas was still a vassal of the empire of Cheliax, the northern reaches of the Fangwood were a wild and untamed place. The crusades that laid low the Whispering Tyrant to the north were a distant memory, and those who remained were intent upon keeping the orcs of Belkzen and the remaining undead from Ustalav in check. As a result, the great forest was full of danger, from marauding orcs to deadly predators, making it unsafe for merchants hoping to trade with the growing community of Skelt in the foothills of the Mindspin Mountains to the west. But there were some keen on wrestling with this danger.
Ekat Kassen was once such person: a crusader and fortune seeker who came to serve Lastwall in the year 4515 AR . While he fought with distinction, he soon realized that he wanted more from life and left the Lastwall military to find his fortune elsewhere. His travels took him all over the region around Lake Encarthan, and he decided to settle down in 4522 (after a very profitable adventure). Using a sizable portion of his fortune, he set out to tame a small area of the Fangwood on the banks of the Tourondel River. The location made it a natural stopover for those traveling up and down the river to Skelt. For the next 10 years, the town, which was then known as Kassen’s Hold, grew and prospered.
But that all changed when a group of ruthless mercenaries began attacking the town. After 2 months of relentless raids, the townsfolk managed to locate the mercenary camp in an ancient crypt deep in the forest. Ekat himself led the expedition to end the mercenary threat once and for all. The battle was terribly bloody, with only a few townsfolk coming back to tell the tale. In the end, Ekat suffered a mortal wound. He died 2 days later, on the 11th day of Neth, 4535. In honor of their beloved founder, the townsfolk buried Kassen in the ancient crypt, interring his bones in a place of honor, along with the townsfolk that lost their lives in the bitter struggle. They placed an eternal flame above Kassen’s final resting place, so that all who visited might find warmth in the wilderness.
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This is the story that you have heard growing up. Every year, the mayor tells it with solemn pomp and circumstance. And most years, the mayor leads an honor guard of important townspeople to the crypt to light a lantern from the Everflame and bring it back to town. It is preserved all winter, a symbol of the town's resilience.
It has been four years since the mayor last decided to send a group of young heroes to the crypt. You may have even known one or two of them. Last year, the mayor's dignitaries included Colbin Vetnar (the woodcutter guildmaster), Holgast (an old sage who lives in a tower at the edge of town), Arnama Lastrid (a skilled ranger with experience fighting Molthune), and Olmira Treesong (an eccentric druid even by druidic standards).
Today is the 3rd of Neth in the year 4709 AR, one day before the 174th anniversary of the day that Ekat Kassen and his men set out from town to protect their brethren from the dread mercenary threat. The winter winds are beginning to blow. This is your year--you know it is. You're just waiting for the official invitation.
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Median got up, brushed out her tangled long, dark hair, and put it in a ponytail. She ate with her siblings, and then got her training with her father out of the way quickly. Luckily, that wasn't too difficult because he expected her to be working at the forge today, but Braggar had let her off for the day after she begged extensively.
She took along her Cold Iron Light Mace that she had made at the forge recently because she wanted to show it off, threw the rest of her stuff in her backpack, including arrows in case her mom let her practice with her bow, and then took off. She walked towards the forge at first, just in case her father was watching, but as soon as she got out of sight of the house, she made a beeline for the Fang Wood. She was going to visit her mother, Olmira Treesong, and get a play-by-play of her experience in the crypt, maybe get her to draw some maps even, so that she would be prepared for what was coming.
I mean, she hadn't saved the boy because she wanted to be a hero, but honestly, it made her a shoe-in for the trip. She wasn't sure who else was going to be chosen... maybe the kid that had stood up to Grimscar? Sledge, right? Maybe the shepherd kid, too. She had heard from one of her siblings that he had saved Sir Drama... Dramott rather, the one who was always bragging about Lastwall. Spot number 4 was up in the air, but if it were up to her, it would either be her half-brother that was just younger than she was, or the ranger apprentice. He looked like he would be good in a fight.
Too much daydreaming. She needed to pay attention in case something in the wood saw her as an easy target. She hurried on her way to visit her mother, looking forward to seeing her and getting some important information.
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"Unbelievable..." Khuvaan muttered to himself, grunting with effort as he dragged the wild boar carcaus behind him along the old hunter's trail. It hadn't been his intention to go hunting this morning. Quite the opposite.
Having a rare 'day off' from his usual duties and responsibilities to Arnama, he'd intended to do some fishing and perhaps swimming if the weather stayed warm enough. But instead, the tall, lean half-orc had come across an aging, obviously wounded and utterly savage boar. The beast had awkwardly charged out of a tangle of trees and shrubery, hobbling on three legs and a fourth that all but dangled at an odd angle. The young ranger tried to turn the situation, but despite his efforts to calm the boar down, it decided to pick a fight.
Not that it had been much of a fight, to be sure. Khuvaan knew better than to engage the snarling beast in combat, but instead had moved quickly to stand behind a tree trunk, and proceeded to use it as cover while firing arrows at the creature from a distance. While it tried to charge him, it was hobbled by its injured leg, and he was more than fast enough to move around the tree trunk to evade the wounded boar.
Perhaps less than heroic, but definitely it was an effective strategy. The boar was dead without much of a fuss...but this left the young ranger with the obligation to haul the body back to town. Too much meat and fur to waste, such as it was.
Again, the half-orc grunted with effort, changing his grip on the rope he'd used to bind the boar's legs together, then continued plodding back towards Kassen, and making much slower progress than he wanted. At this rate, half the afternoon would be gone before he settled this matter, and his opportunity for a relaxing day would be gone...
Sledge watched the proceedings of the day with what he hoped was an expression of polite interest instead of chilly indifference. He had spent all night practicing the expression in the mirror. He felt a small twinge of frustration that he hadn't spent the evening copying more spells out of the old man's books, but it was important to prioritize. This was a big deal, and if he was chosen it was important to have the right facial expressions.
He had to sneak out of his house of course. His father would probably expect him to continue his sculptures. Funds were running rather low. A new mouth to feed constantly drained their meager savings. And Sledge's mother had always been the more talented of his two parents when it came to pottery. It was only through doublespeak and half formed threats that Sledge has allowed to continue his apprenticeship. No, there was no love lost between Sledge and his father. Between Sledge and his infant brother though... well it was too early to tell. Sledge thought.
He would spend some time in the woods first. He decided. Spend some time alone, where he wouldn't need to contort his face. Practice a few spells, smash a few things with the flail. He was getting better at not hitting himself with it. At that thought he grinned, a real smile. It was not particularly pleasant.
Who was that on the road into town? Sledge's mind tried to recall the name. Khuvaan was it? Probably best to avoid saying the name if he could. The orc/elf had helped him train before, once or twice, but they really hadn't had much interaction. Noting the man's struggle with the meat he had, and sensing an opportunity to ingratiate himself, Sledge called out, "I see you're struggling with your load friend. Would you like some help moving it?"
Median's journey to Olmira's grove in the woods outside of town is thankfully uneventful--no injured boars, mischievous fey, or bandits to harass her on this particular expedition. As the young sorceress emerges into the grove, she sees and hears the gaggle of squirrels and birds chittering and chirping through the canopy above. There is the smell of something brewing or distilling--pungent, tangy, and burning the nose a little, notes of tree sap and some kind of local shrub no doubt.
Before Median can knock on the door of her mother's hut, she hears a baritone voice and the door opens. A plump, weathered man walks out, smiling as he puts a fishmerman's hat on. "No need to worry, Olmira, she'll do just fine."
This is Kassen's mayor, Jonark Uptal. He turns to seeing Median arrive and chuckles a bit. "Aha, were your ears burning, Median? Well your timing could not be more appropriate. Here I thought I'd have to find you at the smithy, but you've saved me a trip! Olmira, can we trouble you a bit longer?"
Olmira Treesong stands just past the threshold, bedecked in a dress of woven oak leaves. "Oh yes, no trouble. Come in sweetie. Do you want something to drink?" A thrush takes the opportunity of the open door to fly in and settle in Olmira's wild gray hair after circling her for a few moments. She looks up at the bird and shakes her head gently. "No, no, I don't think you'll enjoy this particular concoction, Oliver, but Median might. Ah, yes, tell Phillipa about it, these are some of her favorite flavors."
If Median comes in, then her mother pours three cups of the unknown brown liquid, setting aside a thimbleful near a washbasin while the thrush flies out. Mayor Uptal wrinkles his nose and politely takes a sip.
"Median, I'm pleased to inform you that you have been chosen to go on the Quest for the Everflame this year. You've been at the ceremony enough times, so you know more or less what to expect. Be in the center of town at noon tomorrow. Travel light and carry only what you absolutely need: weapons, armor, spellbooks--" he clears his throat, remembering that her father seemed intent on eschewing such formal teaching methods, "--that sort of thing. We'll provide rations and other equipment for the journey. And that's about that!"
He puts the cup down and makes a rocking motion like he is getting ready to leave. There is a faint sound of scratching at the door during this pause, and the mayor settles back down. "Oh, right. Any questions?"
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Thank you for the honor, Mayor. Uh, did you tell my father already? I didn't even know that you... I mean, he... I guess, well, my father doesn't know that I come out here, so if you could tell him as though I didn't already know, that might be best. He thinks I am at the smithy.
She realizes that she might be offending him by criticizing how he told her, and quickly adds
...but I'm really, really grateful, and honored to be chosen. I'll be ready!
I don't have any questions, but maybe I'll have some after I talk to my mom about when she went. Can I ask you later?
Who was that on the road into town? Sledge's mind tried to recall the name. Khuvaan was it? Probably best to avoid saying the name if he could. The orc/elf had helped him train before, once or twice, but they really hadn't had much interaction. Noting the man's struggle with the meat he had, and sensing an opportunity to ingratiate himself, Sledge called out, "I see you're struggling with your load friend. Would you like some help moving it?"
Khuvaan sighed inwardly at the sight of the frequently difficult Kassen resident, but gave Sledge a nod of welcome anyway and said, "Aye. An extra hand would be welcome. This old beast is heavier than he looks..."
The half-orc paused where he was, temporarily lowering his load, and wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve. To be honest, he was surprised by the offer of assistance from the other young man, but he tried not to let it show.
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"Come on now, Winter, pick up the scent!" The halfling boy was trying to track down the last missing sheep. Which was not a typical task. Most of the time, the sheep were all clustered together, and not scattered. Of course, most of the time, there wouldn't be a big gash in the fence where some beast--a wild boar by the looks of the damage--busted through overnight. By the time Farmer Marcus went out in the morning, most of the sheep had scattered and headed for the hills. Between Farmer Marcus, Silvio, and Winter, they were thankfully found. All of them except stubborn old Nelly, that is.
"Woof!" Winter barked back, and started sniffing excitedly. Surely he'd picked up the trail! Silvio started jogging with hope. The sooner he could finish this up, the sooner he could head into town. Farmer Marcus said he could take the rest of the day off. For all the trouble he went through. And of course because the Quest for the Everflame would begin tomorrow!
At last, as the halfling and his dog crested a hill, Silvio saw her. "Bring her back boy!" Winter circled around to herd the sheep back while Silvio took a more direct path. As Old Nelly headed away from Winter, Silvio cut off the alternate path. Between the two of them, the lost sheep was finally headed back home. "You gave us a good workout, Nelly! Glad nothing out here got to you before we did!" He headed onward with excitement at his great success.
"Oh, Moltus knows," the Mayor replies. He raises an eyebrow at the rest of Median's uncertain, evasive reply. He then nods almost conspiratorially at both Median and Olmira. "Later then. There's still much to prepare for tomorrow, and I need to track down the others. Remember: noon in the center of town."
He leaves the cup of brown liquid mostly undrunk and exits the hut. As the door opens, a squirrel scurries across the floor and takes a perch on the cup now abandoned by the Mayor, dipping its head in and almost falling in the process. Olmira laughs, waving a hand at the departing mayor, and then relaxes with her daughter.
"Well, Median, did the wind tell you anything on your way here?"
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Elsewhere in the woodlands surrounding Kassen, three other youths are dealing with the varied aftermath of a wild boar gone injured and rampaging. Between collecting sheep from where it wrecked a fence to putting it down before it could cause more damage, they are unwittingly proving the further case for why the Mayor is looking for them this day. But the arc of his path may not intersect with theirs just yet. Soon.
With as far out as he has wandered, Silvio may not expect to see another person, but someone spots him. As he passes under a tall tree, a voice calls out to him.
"Oi, Silvio!"
If the halfling looks up, he doesn't see anyone for a while. But then there is a rustle of leaves and a lithe figure drops down to the ground beside him, hood up but no weapons drawn. A moment later, a yipping bark announces another creature who runs down the side of the tree: smaller than Winter and possessing features reasonably attributable to both a cat and a dog. As the ranger lets down her hood, it confirms her identity: this is Arnama Lastrid and her thylacine companion Cyrano. She draws back up to her full height. Even if she is not particularly tall for a human, she stands well above Silvio. Cyrano meanwhile bays playfully at Winter, jumping back and forth.
"Sheep-herding, I see," she announces obviously. She pauses, fixing Silvio with a stare. "The Mayor is looking for you, by the way. Might try to find you at Marcus' farm. Just don't make yourself too scarce." She then looks off deeper into the forest. "I don't suppose you've seen Khuvaan out here, have you?"
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Thank you, Mayor. I'll be there.
After the mayor had left, she laughed with her mother and said
Did you see his face when he took a sip? That was hilarious.
I was wondering if you would tell me the story of when you went to the crypt. Insight into what I am going to be facing would be good... and I would love advice about what to take. Mostly though, I just want to hear what you thought and what it was like for you.
Khuvaan trudged along, straining a bit under the weight of the boar, though his burden was definitely made easier due to Sledge's assistance. The silence as they traveled, however, concerned the half-orc in a way that it usually did not. More than comfortable traveling through the forest by himself, it was rare that he had a companion, and even rarer that it wasn't his mentor.
Just to make converstaion, the lanky ranger offers, "So...what do you think about the ceremony tomorrow? I'm pretty sure Median's gonna go..."
Olmira sniffs her own beverage after Median's comment. "I may need to adjust the recipe if I plan to take this to the Tavern. It would be nice to have the mayor's endorsement. Oh dear..."
She looks out a window when Median asks about the crypt, considering the question. "I don't want to spoil it for you, Median, and I'm not much of a storyteller besides. As the Mayor said, the town will provide most of what you need. And then you'll have each other, you and the other three, to rely on each other. Trust each other and work together." The druid looks back at her daughter, kind eyes wide and blinking slowly. "What I can tell you is that the Crypt is about 40 miles south of here. The Fangwood has many potential dangers. And the Crypt? Well, it's old. You're not allergic to dust, are you?"
Olmira laughs again. Median gets the impression that if her mother knows something about the Quest that her lips are sealed, but on the other hand she doesn't seem too worried. "It was an honor to go last year, and reminded me of when I went first when I was younger. Just a bit older than you, actually. It was certainly easier last year without the...ooh, never mind that."
Median has heard stories--more likely theories--from children in town about what happens during the quest, but knows from experience that all of the adults are very tight-lipped about it. There might be someone in town who is willing to open up, but it won't be Olmira.
Sledge had preferred the silence. It meant that he didn't have to worry about putting his foot in something. The ceremony. Seemed to be on everyone's mind, even stoic Khuvaan's.
"It's... quaint." Sledge starts, with his usual calculated affect. He had only one real skill when it came to speaking, and that was criticism. "Trite perhaps. There's no reason why it needs to be flame brought from over 40 miles away. A symbolic lantern would work just as well. I very much would like to go." The last sentence comes out all at once, a far cry from the rest of what Sledge had said. There was an earnest tone there that he desperately hoped Khuvaan wouldn't pick up on, or would at least have the good grace to not make any comment about. Maybe he'd let them go back to the silence.
The half-orc hrmphed, shaking his head and then chuckling. Typical Sledge. Finds a way to complain about...well, just about everything.
This thought was fleeting, though, and Khuvaan dropped back into silence as the duo continued on. Well, I tried...
Silvio is definitely caught by surprise as a hidden figure calls out to him. But it's soon a pleasant surprise. "Miss Arnama! The mayor wants to see me? It's true then?" Silvio had wanted this. He had known this. But to finally hear it from someone . . . Silvio's faithfulness had paid off. Ill-at ease with the ranger's stare, he looks out into the woods as the ranger mention Khuvaan.
"You know, now that you mention it. Was scurrying all over today fetching sheep, you know, and was keeping an eye out for angry boars and their tracks . . ." Silvio paused momentarily, pointedly continuing to refuse any eye contact, as the memory of Arnama kneeling over Tolmir's limp body came over him. He shook away the memory. "Thought I saw a big fella's step joining the boar's trail. Might've been Khuvaan?"
In the meantime, Winter starts matching Cyrano's bounces, before playfully pouncing as the two get tangled up in a wrestling match. "Here, Winter! Here, Cyrano!" Silvio pulls out some jerky and gives a bite to each of them, before giving Cyrano a playful rub. "There's a good boy." . Cyrano seems to enjoy the attention, and they share a moment together before Silvio bids farewell to them both, heading back to Marcus.
After dropping off old Nelly with the other sheep, he pulls out some feed for Winter and leaves the dog outside as he heads excitedly into Marcus's farmhouse.
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Median was disappointed that her mother wouldn't tell her anything. She had planned to stay a while, but since this wasn't helping her prepare, and the mayor had mentioned that her father already knew, she figured she should probably go back to town, in case he was looking for her.
She stayed for a chat, and then headed back.
She realized that she was also somewhat relieved. If it was really dangerous, her mother would have warned her.
Arnama blinks at Silvio's hopeful expression. "Yes, it's true that he wants to see you," she says blankly, trying to get him to not read anymore into the situation than that. But it doesn't seem to be working. She seems relieved when the halfling moves on to answer her query.
"That's what I figured," she says. [smaller]"Give that boy a day off to rest and he works anyway."[/b] She mumbles her musing under her breath, but isn't taking pains to hide her thoughts from Silvio.
She lets Cyrano and Winter tangle, seeming amused that the two get along. If anything, she scratches under Winter's chin when Silvio seems ready to move on. But her conversational abilities leave something to be desired, if Silvio desired them.
Although the Mayor isn't present right when Silvio arrives at Marcus' house, it doesn't take too much longer for him to arrive. His purple shirt looks out of place on the farm, but his fishing hat almost seems to counterbalance the mismatch.
"Silvio," Jonark says, seeming to relish in the pomp of the moment, "I'm pleased to inform you that..."
"Any questions?"
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The silence between Sledge and Khuvaan is not necessarily interrupted because the person slinking up on them is taking reasonable pains to avoid detection while she tracks them. But rather than Khuvaan noticing that they are being followed, it's actually Sledge who gets the odd sensation of being watched. A few moments later, the thylacine Cyrano breaks formation and runs towards the half-orc. Arnama Lastrid steps out onto the road and regards the two of them dragging the boar along.
"Many hands make light work," she says. "But so does a blessing. Did you meditate this morning, or did you forget the importance of your preparations again?"
Arnama strides over to Khuvaan, utters a small prayer, and touches him on the shoulder. Khuvaan instantly feels significantly stronger.
"Now let's get you back to town," she says, not wanting to make the same mistake twice in a row.
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Olmira seems perplexed that Median is so quick to leave. She seems to have been enjoying their chat quite a lot and was just getting ready to offer some target practice out behind the hut when Median moves to leave. "Well all right then. I'll see you in town tomorrow!"
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See you then! says Median, not wanting to make things muddier by explaining. Maybe it was best this way, but getting shut out like that was hard, and no one seemed to understand how hard it was to juggle things with her father. It was best to get back. In fact, maybe her father knew something... he would be sure to tell her, so that their family could gain advantage and power, right? She didn't care about that the way he did, but it could be useful in this case.
She made a beeline for home.
Silvio fidgets with excitement as he and Marcus wait for the mayor's arrival. He decides to get some fresh sheep's milk for the occasion, which he offers to the mayor on his arrival.
Silvio beams brightly as the mayor partakes in pomp and circumstance to announce his selection. "Thank you, Mayor Uptal! It's a real honor to be selected. Sir Dramott has been training me for a while now. Winter and I even have some armor! I'll be ready at the town square at noon tomorrow."
The eager halfling asks what seems like the obvious next question. "Who else has been selected to go on the Quest for the Everflame?"
"We're being follow-" Sledge stops talking as Arnama becomes visible. He had taken a hand off the boar, and had been preparing to cast a spell, but the familiar face put him at... well it wasn't exactly ease, but certainly not paranoia either.
Ranger magic. I've been neglecting to study it. A mistake I will rectify soon.
Slightly peeved that his attempt at making himself useful had been rendered moot, Sledge nevertheless continues to walk with Khuvaan.
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Although the Vargidan estate is not the largest building in Kassen, it is certainly the most ostentatious. Its gothic architecture seems like it would be more appropriate in Ustalav, and the outside itself has earned the building an eerie reputation. The inside doesn't consistently bear out the promise of scares, but few other than the Vardigans are aware of that because most outsiders have never been invited in.
The foyer has twin staircases spiraling up to the second floor, where Median finds the two dour Vargidan servants standing vigil when she enters. "You're not at work," they say in unison. What ever will Moltus say?" the left one, a sunken-eyed gray-haired man named Darius drones. "Probably nothing good," replies the right one, a severe woman with a gray bun and spectacles named Farrah. They stare down at Median and seem to not even blink. That has to be just a trick of the shadows they stand in, though, right?
The tension is broken by a giggle and the patter of a pair of slippers rapidly alternating on the wooden floor as one of Median's younger brothers comes careening into the room from the first floor library. "Methian!" he cries. "You're back! Wanna play any gameth with me?" smiling and displaying two missing front teeth.
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The mayor sniffs the offered sheep's milk, smiles, and takes a good long drink. "Ah, good, good. I'm sure you and the dog will do just fine." He pulls a scrap of elk jerky from a pocket in his vest and passes it to Winter, stealing a few scritches behind the dog's ears.
"Well, let's see," the Mayor says, considering his route. "I've informed Median Vargidan, and next I'll had back into town and look for that young man who trains with Ms. Lastrid: Khuvaan. Do you know him? And then," he traces the map in his mind, "Yes, Sledge Potterson. Hopefully he's with Master Horgus."
Satisfied, the Mayor takes another drink of the milk, seeming to enjoy it. He also looks like he's trying hard to think of something to advance a bit of small talk.
"Oh! Did anything happen with you and that lass, Clover? I thought she was sweet on you."
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Arnama shepherds Sledge and Khuvaan back to the city limits. If neither the half-orc nor the other human offer anything in the way of conversation, she doesn't oblige either. That makes it a rather quiet walk. Entering from the western edge of town, Arnama's house is one of the first part the outer walls separating buildings from forest and field. She begins to go in, before turning towards the two young men.
"If you want to clean and butcher the beast yourself, come on in. Otherwise, take it to Bill Boddekke. Then, Khuvaan, since you're in town, could you come back here for a spell? And Sledge, you might want to stop in with Horgus."
She goes inside, not waiting for a response from either man.
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Day off because I got invited to go on the trip to the Crypt of the Everflame Median says to appease the servants, knowing that if she doesn't, her father will hear about it.
To her little brother she says
Maybe we can play a little later, Brody. Right now I need to find father. Do you know where he is? In his office?
Khuvaan remains quiet, chagrined by the fact that he had indeed forgotten to do his morning meditations, and hadn't offered more than a "Yes, Ma'am." or No, Ma'am." towards his mentor. But that was the way of things, often with Arnama. Out in the wild, just the two of them, Khuvaan would feel more than free to speak to her and speak his mind. But get them back near town, and around others? The tall, young man sighed.
His mood darkened, the half-orc said to Sledge, "Lets just drop this off with Master Boddenkke, and he can add it to whatever food's being prepared for tomorrow..." Without waiting for a real reply, Khuvaan heads to the butchery, heading to the back entrance as he'd done many times before with fresh kills from hunting. He set the heavy beast down on one of the tables with little effort...his mentor's spell was really quite impressive...and then gave Sledge a nod and a simple, "Thanks." before heading back to Mistress Lastrid's home.
A tinge of annoyance flickered through Sledge's mind at Khuvaan's dismissal. A couple of layered enchantments would fix that attitude of his... Then he mentally chastises himself. And thoughts like that are why no one likes you Sledge.
Now in town, and with not much to do, Sledge looks around. Perhaps something interesting might happen around him. Interesting things never happen to him, but in a town of experts, all sorts of strange things occurred. He stood their somewhat lamely. Really should have thought this through a little better.
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Silvio blushes as the mayor mentions Clover. "Might be the other way round, Mayor. I think I'm just a friend to her," he says disappointedly. "She really loves Winter, though." He wonders if the mayor knew something he didn't.
"That's a fine group you've assembled," adds Silvio, considering the names. "Khuvaan and I run into each other from time to time. He's pretty gruff, but I figure that's normal for elf-orcs." Or was it orc-elfs? Silvio wasn't really sure which came first.
"And Median, well she's quite the hero, isn't she? Found that boy in the Fangwood when everyone else gave up." Though the Vardigans were strange folk for sure he thought to himself.
The last name was a bit of a surprise. "Didn't expect Sledge to get picked," he blurts out. Probably some clever manipulation on his part, Silvio decides.
"Can I walk you back to town, Mayor Uptal? Marcus is giving me the rest of the day off, and I want to make sure I'm ready for tomorrow!"
Darius and Farrah nod, withdrawing deeper into the shadows without a word. Brody, meanwhile, pouts but nods. "Okay. Lather, then. He'th in hith offith."
The youth goes off running, and Farrah's voice calls out ethereally from the second floor. "No running inside the house, Brody," stern and audible, but not yelled. Brody hops, almost tripping over his feet, before slowing down, waving goodbye to Median, and crossing to the other side of the house.
Median does find her father in his office as promised. Rather than being stacked with books like one might expect in the office, there are a variety of odd pieces of arcana, a collection that Vargidan has amassed over the years, all immaculately polished and displayed. Moltus Vargidan himself is a tall, thin man with long white hair that cascades down to his knees. "If you are back, then I assume that the Mayor found you, yes?"
Even before she asks him about the Quest, Moltus waves his hand. "The Crypt is of no importance, Median. It is a mere distraction. But if you insist on going, then you had better practice your magic every day. I'll know if you don't."
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The Mayor listens to Silvio's thoughts and then gratefully accepts the offer to walk back to town. "I'm sure Sir Dramott will be happy to hear from you!"
He finishes the sheep's milk, thanks Farmer Marcus for his generous hospitality, and ambles alongside the halfling, taking care to measure his steps in time with the halfling's so that it doesn't appear like he's blatantly slowing down.
Their timing, however, works out perfectly well. Khuvaan has just turned back towards the butcher as the Mayor and Silvio round the corner to see Sledge Potterson lookingly idly around.
"Mr. Potterson!" the Mayor exclaims. He looks at the dour youth with a bit of apprehension that melts away as civic-mindedness returns, and then sees Khuvaan just further down the road. "And Khuvaan as well. Just the next people I was looking for. Might I speak to you both somewhere off of these streets?"
He nods to Silvio. "Thank you for the conversation and the escort, young man. You're welcome to join us or else be on your way to whatever you care to do on this day off."
Assuming that Khuvaan returns to his mentor's house as requested, the Mayor doffs his hat and looks around at the gathered. He clears his throat once the door is closed and, with the practice of someone who has delivered this same "speech" multiple times, begins again. "Khuvaan. Sledge. I'm pleased to inform you both that..."
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(fail)
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Median responds to her father:
What do you mean it is unimportant? You're wrong. The entire town is focused on this. It draws attention. The Mayor is involved. People know who you are if you participate. If you are concerned with how we look, then help me know what to expect so I can look sufficiently heroic.
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"How we 'look' to the rabble is of no great importance," Moltus says wearily. "When I was your age I was asked to go and I refused! Why should I care about some stale crypt when I have phenomenal cosmic power flowing through my veins, to command and control the universe?"
The haughty lecturing, complete with the admission that her father has not set foot in the Crypt of the Everflame, indicate to Median that she may not get much out of the old man. He never did like sharing his secrets, if he even had them.
As Moltus considers what Median is asking, he narrows his gaze at her, glancing over towards a crystal ball in the corner of the office. "Ah, I see...you want to witness more of my spells. You wish to benefit from the arts of divination! I see through your tricks, girl." He shakes his head in disappointment. "Not today. Clever try, though."
The Vargidan library, on the other hand, might have something...if she can find the right book.
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Median sighs, frustrated as usual with her father who contradicted himself more and more, and who seemed to be fraying at the edges. She loved him, of course, but she was also wary, and increasingly worried that if he truly lost it, he would do it in a way that was destructive to her siblings. She decided to pacify him and let him think that he was right about her reasons.
Well, you wouldn't think much of me if I weren't trying to get more magic and power all the time. I am going to go to the crypt anyway though. I'm sure I can squeeze some positive influence out of it, along with examining the workings of a permanent flame. I can't do that yet, but maybe I can pick up something about the idea of it.
She went to find Brody to play a game with him, and then after the game, resigned, headed to the library. There was certainly some information in there, but getting it out was like pulling teeth. She enjoyed reading for pleasure, but trying to find facts was going to take a while. Her own fault for putting it off though, she supposed. She had been so sure that her mother would help her out. That disappointment still flavored her mind as she pulled down some books about the history of the town and started reading.
"Reelection year already Mr. Mayor?" Sledge smiles humorlessly. "You have my vote sir. Anything I can do to give you a hand?" It is impossible to tell if Sledge is being sarcastic or not. He's not even sure himself. "Regardless, thank you for the honor of being chosen." He makes an earnest effort to bring some humanity into his voice, "I'd actually quite like to shake the reputation I've made for myself, but as you can see, old habits and all that..." he trails off with a wave, falling back into the tried and true technique of plausible deniability.
"Thanks, Mayor Uptal. I'm sure you have lots to do!" Silvio takes his leave.
He then looks toward his wolf companion. "Come on, Winter, let's find Sir Dramott and tell him the good news!" He will head to wherever he might expect Sir Dramott at this hour.
Moltus Vargidan smiles when Median mentions examining the flame. He hums fancifully to himself. "Cleverer yet."
Brody is thrilled to have some time with his big sister. The time spent there energizes Median for a trip to the library. Say what you will about her father, but he has amassed quite the collection. And for their part, Farrah and Darius have managed a reasonable organization. With a sufficiently narrow goal in mind, Median settles down to read for the rest of the day.
Median finds an old history of the town. Much of it recounts the history that she is familiar with: Ekat Kassen was a Lastwall Crusader who retired from fighting orcs and the undead to go on a grand adventure. He eventually settled and founded the town of Kassen's hold, using his ample resources to help the town prosper. He then gave his life fighting a group of mercenaries that had been raiding the town. But this book also gives a name to the leader of the mercenaries: a man named Asar Vergas.
This by itself might not be particularly noteworthy, except that Median later finds a book about Ekat Kassen's adventures before founding the town. And this book details his traveling companions. The stories are actually interesting enough that she doesn't mind reading, as they flesh out Kassen's adventures quite a bit more. Most of what the people of Kassen cared about is what he did after founding the town, but here are stories of gold and dragons! And it names Kassen's companions, too, detailing their exploits in as much detail. There was elven ranger named Delaab, an elven wizard named Iramine, and...a human fighter named Asar.
Could they be the same person?
---
When Sledge mentions the election, the Mayor nods solemnly. "Democracy is the life's blood of Nirmathas." He doesn't say it, but his implication is clear: he'd rather this than live under the thumb of those imperialistic Molthuni bastards down south. Kassen is far enough away from Molthune that the town has never really seen the fighting of their neighbors, but even a frontier town like Kassen has Nirmathi pride in their democratic principles.
"But the election is later, and now is now! As for your reputation, what ever do you mean?"
Mayor Uptal turns to Khuvaan. "What about you, young man? Do you accept this honor? Do you have any questions?"
---
Silvio tries to find Sir Dramott in his home first, but finds a note that he has gone to pray. Although there is no Temple to Iomedae in Kassen, Silvio well knows that Father Prasst has allowed the paladin to set up a small shrine there. The walk is easy: Silvio could easily cut through the back way, walking around a lovely oak tree whose leaves are vibrant shades of yellow, gold, and copper.
Sir Dramott is indeed deep in prayer with his longsword held across his lap. He does not seem to notice as his protégé walks in, so deep is he in reverence.
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Median reads some interesting stuff that might relate to the crypt, but when she finds herself falling asleep over the books, she realizes that it's already been a long day, and she goes to check and make sure all her siblings are headed to bed, then goes up to her room and gets ready for bed herself, making sure everything is packed and ready for the next day.
Then she falls asleep, dreaming of what will come.
"..I'm pleased to inform you that you have been chosen to go on the Quest for the Everflame this year. You've been at the ceremony enough times, so you know more or less what to expect. Be in the center of town at noon tomorrow. Travel light and carry only what you absolutely need: weapons, armor, spellbooks--that sort of thing. We'll provide rations and other equipment for the journey. And that's about that!"
To say that Khuvaan is surprised to be invited for the annual ceremony is an understatement. It wasn't often that he felt actually part of the community at large...more of an outsider. The tall half-orc's jaw literally drops, and it's a long moment before the ranger's apprentice can reply.
"I, uh...Of course I'll go, your honor. It'd be an...um, honor." Khuvaan makes a face of frustration at his own lack of diplomatic flair. "I'll do my best to make Kassen, and Mistress Lastrid proud."
With this last bit, he offers a small head nod...almost a nervous bow, then glances over at Sledge, and gives him a nod as well.
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No matter how excited he might be, Silvio knows better than to interrupt the prayers of Sir Dramott, so he excuses himself for a time in search of Father Prasst. And will spill his guts to the Father if he finds him.
"Father Prasst! Have you heard? I've been chosen to go on the Quest for the Everflame! I mean, I knew it was going to happen. But for it to actually happen. Well, it's such an honor!" He looks to Father Praast for approval before realizing something. "Did you have anything to do with it? Me being chosen, that is."
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Arnama smiles and laughs wryly at Khuvaan's befuddlement. "We'll talk more when we have some time to ourselves. Not that I'm kicking you out, Mayor, Mr. Potterson, but I'd like to have a few moments with my apprentice ahead of the quest."
The Mayor nods and bows his head. "Of course! I'll get out of your hair. There is much to prepare before tomorrow, and...well, I'd like to go fishing if I can."
He leaves, nudging Sledge to follow him (a bit more forcefully if he doesn't pick up on the cues). On the way out, the Mayor starts talking to Sledge about the campaign. "If you're offering, Sledge, it might be helpful to know if people have any concerns about the town outside of what comes up at town meetings..."
He encourages the young painter to go speak with his arcane mentor when he gets a chance, pointing out that Holgast could have some words of wisdom from his own experience in the Crypt.
---
Once she and Khuvaan are alone, Arnama Lastrid sighs and removes her bow. The thylacine Cyrano turns in a few circles on a modest rug in the main living space before settling down in a happy rest. Hunting seemed to be done for the day.
"You'll do well," she says at last. "I wish I had been able to go when I was your age. But...well, I wasn't living here yet."
She looks uncomfortable, like she may want to open up about something to Khuvaan, but uncertain whether their relationship extends that way. Khuvaan knows that Arnama was part of the Mayor's honor guard last year, but this discomfort doesn't seem to be related to that. It's up to Khuvaan whether he wants to press his mentor or move on to discuss something else.
---
The Temple of Erastil is reasonably busy at this time of day. There are two other acolytes seeing to their duties when Silvio arrives, along with a few townspeople other than Sir Dramott present at different shrines, offering their obeisances. The Temple is the only stone building in town, humble though it still is. Decorations are minimal here: a few pairs of stag horns, bows, and arrows sparsely surround the walls. The acoylyes quietly welcome Silvio and usher towards Father Prasst's room at the back of the Temple.
"Come in, Brother Errico," comes the initial response to Silvio's gushing excitement.
Father Rantal Prasst is a young man , but he carries himself with the temperament (and tired eyes) of someone much older. His room is well-organized. When Silvio enters, he sees that Rantal has a few books open on his desk, and he is scrawling something on parchment. The young cleric of Erastil looks up as Silvio continues his excitement.
"Congratulations are well in order. And--well, yes I suppose Sir Dramott and I have been discussing your progress and jointly went to the Mayor to recommend your candidacy."
Neither Sir Dramott nor Father Prasst are Kassen natives, but it appears that they have both come to appreciate the history and traditions of this quiet little village.
"You serve your community well, but many people still don't necessarily know you well. You do good work with the animals, but what of the people? I think this will be a good opportunity for you."
He smiles and nods to a chair in the room. "May I offer you any tea?"
The mayor was good with his words. Sledge respected that. He nods politely to Khuvaan and Arnama on his way out.
"Of course Mr. Mayor. If I hear any concerns, you'll be the first to know."
Sledge raises an eyebrow at the recommendation to talk to Holgast, but wisely avoids speaking ill of the old man. "I won't keep you from your fishing any longer Mr. Mayor." The way that Sledge said mayor was slightly drawn out. "I will take what you advised to heart, and go to Holgast. Please do have a pleasant day, and thank you again for considering me." It's not the words themselves, it's how they are said that really drives home their meaning. And Sledge's words of thanks sound rusty and hollow, as if he is unused to using them, and still unsure of how he feels about such pleasentries.
==
Holgast probably isn't even awake yet. Plenty of time left in the day. Perhaps he would go see what Damira was doing before going to the mage's house. He headed off towards where he suspects she might be. Which apparently, might be anywhere.
Mayor Uptal seems pleased that Sledge agrees with his proposal, and so he leaves him with a smile, whistling as he returns to his home .
Sledge ponders where Dimira might be, but can't quite place it. She might be at home, or she could be at work. But which work? Was today a tavern day, or a woods day? If it was a woods day, then good luck finding her until the day was over. Well, it's Toilday , so she's probably off somewhere at work. Sledge could check the Woodcutter's Guildhall , or maybe see if she's at the Seven Silvers . He has no idea where her home is, or if she even lives in the town proper.
As Median drifts off to sleep, she thinks about who in town might be more well-versed in its history. The town had no official historian that she could think of, but there had to be some likely suspects...
Bards tend to be good with those sorts of things! But Jocyn Elmaran had only lived here for four years. Wizards are bookish types, so maybe the old sage Holgast knows something. Oh, and dwarves live for a long time, too! Braggar didn't look that old, and Median had never asked him how long he'd lived here, but there was a chance. The only other person that she reckoned might be familiar with the history was the Mayor.
One of them might even still be awake. She had read for a lot of the day, but surely the Tavern was still open. Jocyn might even still be entertaining.
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Once the idea was in her head, she couldn't sleep, so she got out of bed, got dressed again, slipped out of the house as quietly as possible, and hurried down to the tavern, looking for Jocyn. She wasn't old enough to know from personal experience, but surely as a bard Jocyn would know all of the stories, and be able to tell her if her theory about the evil Asar and the good Asar being the same person was possible.
The Seven Silvers Tavern is, other than the Temple of Erastil, likely the only building in town open at this time of the night. And while it isn't exactly hopping, it's busy enough. Median can hear a lute punctuated with muted clapping and laughter as she walks closer. As she opens the tavern's wide double doors, the song comes spilling out into the street.
Sera was never quite an agreeable girl;
Her tongue tells tales of rebellion.
But she was so fast,
And quick with her bow,
No one quite knew where she came from.
Sera was never quite the quietest girl;
Her attacks are loud and they’re joyful.
But she knew the ways of nobler men,
And she knew how to enrage them.
She would always like to say,
“Why change the past,
when you can own this day?”
Today she will fight,
To keep her way.
She’s a rogue and a thief,
And she’ll tempt your fate.
Sera was never quite the wealthiest girl;
Some say she lives in a tavern.
But she was so sharp,
and quick with bow;
Arrows strike like a dragon.
Sera was never quite the gentlest girl;
Her eyes were sharp like a razor.
But she knew the ways of commoner men,
And she knew just how to use them.
The patrons applaud raucously, and Median sees several people go to the stage and drop coins into a hat sitting there. Gold coins even! Jocyn is making an absolute killing this evening.
"All right folks," announces the bard as the applause begins to fade away. The fair-haired half-elf beams from his stool, lowering his lute and enjoying the adulation. "I need to take a break and wet my whistle. I'll be back for more, don't you worry. And don't forget to tip the rest of the staff, too!"
Jocyn grabs the hat and lute and stands up. He then limps over to the bar, favoring his left leg. "Jimes," he calls out as he slowly approaches. "The usual."
"Right there, yeah," says the halfling in response, grabbing a series of bottles and seeming to work remarkable alchemy with liquor, ice, and glassware. At remarkable speed, out comes something cloudy green with gold speckles in it. The halfling grins, sliding it across the bar, where it looks at though it is about to careen off the edge and crash!--right as Jocyn sits down and gently stops it with a finger. The two laugh heartily and then the halfling pours himself a glass of something frothy.
Median sees another familiar face at the other end of the bar as well: the woodcutter Grimscar, a half-orc with a notorious temper.
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Median nods to Grimscar if he is looking her way, not wanting to offend him, and walks up to Jocyn.
Amazing performance, Jocyn. Do you mind if I ask you a question?
Do you know any stories or songs that actually give the names of Kassen's companions, or stories about them? I was researching today and came across the name Asar both as one of his companions but also as one of the raiders that were attacking when he was killed. Coincidence, historical mistake in the records, or was it an ally that turned around and betrayed him? Do you know?
She doesn't mention "Vergas" as a last name, not wanting to bias the bard towards one interpretation, and also wanting to use the name as a possible confirmation fact if it comes out in another source.
Once she and Khuvaan are alone, Arnama Lastrid sighs and removes her bow. The thylacine Cyrano turns in a few circles on a modest rug in the main living space before settling down in a happy rest. Hunting seemed to be done for the day.
"You'll do well," she says at last. "I wish I had been able to go when I was your age. But...well, I wasn't living here yet."She looks uncomfortable, like she may want to open up about something to Khuvaan, but uncertain whether their relationship extends that way. Khuvaan knows that Arnama was part of the Mayor's honor guard last year, but this discomfort doesn't seem to be related to that. It's up to Khuvaan whether he wants to press his mentor or move on to discuss something else.
---
The tall half-orc watches Cyrano settle, and then looks over at his mentor for a long moment, unsure as to how to proceed. Their quiet moments were usually just that...quiet. Learning to move stealthily through the forest, or through the ruins of a city was always an exercise with silence. Generally Khuvaan had grown used this fact.
Other times, Arnama would bellow at him for some failed task or simply to challenge him to push himself when he was feeling exhausted and unable to go on...and usually it worked, sparking the fire within the somber apprentice to do just that.
But this didn't feel like that. It felt like a moment...of change.
Something new, between them, a moment to grow or to pull back...but change in one way or another. Khuvaan knew he could choose to let matters lie, but for once, he knew that would be the wrong approach. He ponders this and then shrugs before asking, "Was that during the time you were off training with the rangers? During the war with Molthune?"
Jocyn glances over at Median as she comes over, smiling at the praise. "Well thank you for that." He gently nudges the hat full of coins in your direction, trying not to be too obvious but implying that coin is even more valuable praise than words.
"Researching, eh? Trying to move in on my turf? Songwriting?" He chuckles and shrugs, looking at the young sorceress. "Look, you seem like a nice kid, but I'm on my break right now and I don't really want to talk shop."
He turns back to the bar takes a deep sip of his drink.
---
Arnama half-grunts, half-sighs in a vaguely "Mhmm" sounding response. "I guess I am that old," she says with an eye roll. "Right. The Freedom War started 61 years ago, as you know. This," she gestures around them, "was my parents' house then. But I wasn't born here. I was born in the South, where they were soldiers."
Arnama stretches, groaning as some of her joints crack. She sits down in a chair, looking weary. "Neither of us are from Kassen, Khuvaan. But we're still here."
She looks at Khuvaan, struggling to find the words to express herself. "We're here, hmm? We're a part of this place because we choose to be. If people accept you, it's cuz you show 'em they can trust you. Folks remembered my parents when I came here as a grown lass, but none of them knew me. I could have rested on their reputation, but that would have done me no good. So now I am my own. I make myself belong."
She fixes her piercing gaze on Khuvaan. "That's what you've got to do. Never mind...you know." Your father.
The Temple of Erastil is reasonably busy at this time of day. There are two other acolytes seeing to their duties when Silvio arrives, along with a few townspeople other than Sir Dramott present at different shrines, offering their obeisances. The Temple is the only stone building in town, humble though it still is. Decorations are minimal here: a few pairs of stag horns, bows, and arrows sparsely surround the walls. The acoylyes quietly welcome Silvio and usher towards Father Prasst's room at the back of the Temple.
"Come in, Brother Errico," comes the initial response to Silvio's gushing excitement.
Father Rantal Prasst is a young man (possibly even slightly younger than Silvio, given the differeces in halfling and human rates of maturity), but he carries himself with the temperament (and tired eyes) of someone much older. His room is well-organized. When Silvio enters, he sees that Rantal has a few books open on his desk, and he is scrawling something on parchment. The young cleric of Erastil looks up as Silvio continues his excitement.
"Congratulations are well in order. And--well, yes I suppose Sir Dramott and I have been discussing your progress and jointly went to the Mayor to recommend your candidacy."
Neither Sir Dramott nor Father Prasst are Kassen natives, but it appears that they have both come to appreciate the history and traditions of this quiet little village.
"You serve your community well, but many people still don't necessarily know you well. You do good work with the animals, but what of the people? I think this will be a good opportunity for you."
He smiles and nods to a chair in the room. "May I offer you any tea?"
"Please, Father--I should be the one to serve us tea," he replies, when offered some. Silvio sees that the tea has already been prepared, but he is at least able to pour the tea, even if he has to reach up awkwardly given the table height.
He hands a teacup to Prasst before getting his own. "Thanks for believing in me, Father. I know Erastil teaches about serving the community. And I want to do that. I want to be a guardian, to serve and protect others. That's why being chosen for the Quest means so much to me--it's a way to demonstrate everything I've learned out in the real world!" Silvio seems to be subtly admitting that Kassen was not the real world in his mind.
He takes a sip of his tea. "Have you done the quest before? How should I prepare?" Silvio knows the adults are not to say too much, but Silvio hoped his question would encourage guidance without spoiling the adventure.
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Median is used to being brushed off, and having to fight for what she wants, so she tries again. She sees what he is hinting at, so she digs in her pocket, coming up with 7 gold, 3 silver.
She dumps it in his hat.
Please. That's all the money I have. This is important to me, and I have to go to the crypt in the morning, so I won't have time to catch you when it is more convenient. I promise I am not writing a song about it. Just research for going to the crypt. No one who has gone will tell me anything. Give me 5 minutes of your break, and I promise not to pester you again.