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Clementine arrives at the Green Thread only for the innkeeper to hand him his letter and point him in the direction of his departed colleagues. “Thank you ma’am - must’ve been the short legs that done did me in!” he quips around the envelope that occupies both his hands. “Yes, I’ll be sure to go find them. Yes, they can’t have gotten far. Many thanks!”
He tries to read as he walks, but after putting his foot through the gilded paper he decides to focus on one thing at a time. Carefully he puts the invitation back into its envelope. Carefully he sandwiches the envelope between his back and his pack. Carefully he surveys his surroundings…
…and finds himself in a field rather in town like he expected. Sweet peas, from the looks of it. “I don’t suppose you know the way to this… ah, one moment…” He excuses himself for a moment to a particularly green specimen to pluck the envelope back out and extract the letter. “…yes, there it is, thank you ever so much for waiting. A Madame Jamandi Aldori, I believe it is. Her estate, that is. Do you…? No? No worries, and my apologies for bothering you on this fine day.” He tips an imaginary cap to his imaginary conversation partner, then starts walking again.
Thankfully, all it takes is the word “Jamandi” to get a young shepherd to point him in the right direction. The same thing happens when the fairy boy meets a butcher, a baker, and a candlestick maker on the road. “Or maybe the tall folks call them chandlers now?” he wonders to himself as he crests a low (to someone with longer legs at least) hill.
And there, on the other side of the valley, he sees it. A proper little village, with some proper vegetation decorating it. And a long line of people heading towards it… “Haha! There they are!” He waves a few times, then shrugs when nobody in the brightly-colored island amid the sea of brown and grey coats waves back. “Too far away I suppose. Welp, nothing else to do for it then!” Whistling, he begins walking once more.
“…’Scues me…pardon…coming through…just slipping past you there… Aha, there you all are! What took you so long, eh?” Clementine grins cheekily, hands on his hips as he stands before the other members of the fae-pack.
Several other groups and individuals draw the attention as the line snakes slowly forward. A group clad in plate armour from head to toe, their close helmets offering no glimpse of the face underneath, are given a wide berth by others, and whispers travel up and down the line about the Iron Wraiths - a group of former crusaders from Mendev. It is said that they never take their helmets off, their faces horribly scarred by their encounters with the demons of the Worldwound.
A little closer, several young men dressed rather ostentatiously form a boisterous group as they gesticulate widely, speak a little too loudly, and frequently glance around. In contrast with these, a few men and women wearing rather simple attire cluster together in silence, their weathered skin and calloused hands hinting at hard labour outdoors. Another group gathers around their leader, a handsome man dressed all in black, with silver trim on his leather jerkin. They speak little - a few words, a glance, a slight movement of the head - but their casual assuredness speaks of long familiarity with each other.
Here and there, a few figures stand out - either by their stature, their features, their distinctive attire, or by some notable item or weapon that they carry. A tall, muscular woman wearing animal skins is animatedly recounting something to a small circle of listeners, who gasp when she draws her massive greatsword from the leather scabbard across her back, the blade almost as tall as she is. Another woman is drawing the eye of everyone near through her exceptional beauty, although she seems uncomfortable with the attention.
Not everyone is human, either. There are dwarves, halflings, elves, gnomes, as expected in a city and at an event that draws adventurers from all over. There are even a few people who clearly have an orc ancestor, a couple of lizardfolk, and several individuals with planar or otherworldly lineages. Thus, while the fae-pack does receive more than their share of curious glances, nobody seems to question their right to be present.
Roots is seen knocking politely on an armored figure's leg, belonging to group clad in plate armour from head to toe, their close helmets offering no glimpse of the face underneath, are given a wide berth by others, and whispers travel up and down the line about the Iron Wraiths - a group of former crusaders from Mendev. It is said that they never take their helmets off, their faces horribly scarred by their encounters with the demons of the Worldwound.
Excuse me! My name is Roots-Sink-Deep! Are you a mandalorian?
The small Root leshy smiles.
Halrod loves a good party and as someone who has sought answers for decades, he has learned the value of acquaintances. He circulates through the hall, greeting those he knows and making an effort to learn as many names and shake as many hands as he can. He makes certain to spend as much time with the humans as with the others. Lady Jamandi is likely to be a human, after all.
"Well met. I am Halrod of Wyvernstone. It's an honor to meet you."
Nidintu's eye is drawn to the claymore-wielding storyteller, and he moves over to the small group around her, examining the workmanship of her blade as best he can while attempting to listen in on her story, perhaps asking relevant questions if he can. Social skills are not exactly his forte, but he has a broad enough knowledge base that he hopes to cover this deficiency with pertinent inquiry.
"Greetings. My name is Nidintu-Bel, and I had a few questions about your tale..."
Unfortunately, the blade is moving too quickly for him to make out any significant details, and the garrulous elf is so preoccupied with his ill-conceived examination that he is incapable of gathering any meaningful information.
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"I think I understand the nature of the duty you speak of. The priest who raised my brother and me, Taavor Ardeth, devoted his life to gathering and cataloguing the wisdom of those who came before, in the hopes that it might guide those who come after. I learned much about the legends and folktales of the River Kingdoms under his tutelage - for instance, in the village of Tazenda, they say that giants once lived in the Tors of Levenines, carving their homes into the rock."
"Wow, that must be an amazing place to visit either way! Maybe we can have that be the stage for one of the play's scenes and have an epic confrontation where the Prince Clanar polymorphs into a giant and destroys part of the mountain in his fight with the evil fey!" The Naiad puts aside her dinner momentarily to begin taking notes. "But there has to be more to it. Hm... maybe the maid drew him there to distract him while she dealt with her competition? To add extre tension, as every moment he spends there is one too many."
After scribbling a few notes, her eyes narrow and she looks back up at the fighter. "Wait, you say you were raised by a priest but somehow became a river bandit? How did that happen?"
She turns with interest when Lani speaks of another interesting event happening on the way, but as she doesn't seem keen on speaking more of it she lets it go for now.
"What is a 'manda-lore-ian'? A Mandarin that makes you better at remembering stories? Did that make the knights oversized, animated librarian fruits?" She smiled at the thought, amused. "No wonder that didn't want anyone to see their bodies!"
Chalking it up to Roots' sillyness - there was no way a human sized fruit of any kind could hold up its own weight, let alone armor - she instead begins approaching the uncomfortable, beautiful woman and her score of admirers.
Still, curiosity did get the better of her and she tries to get a look at their hidden plated faces in passing.
"Want me to distract them for you?" She winks at the woman.
Unless stopped, she would hop on a nearby and draw her harp.
Once there, she was suddenly aware of just how many people there were, and whether she could really pull this off.
...But the moment of hesitation passes. She was a nymph, trained for this sort of thing her entire life! Surely she could manage when it really mattered, like making a good first impression on all other perhaps future allies -or enemies, admittedly- gathered here.
"Everyone, If I may have your attention! My name is Phoebe, from the River Glades of the Thousand Voices, and my group and I would like to thank you and Lady Man- Jamandi for your hospitality in inviting us to your city and this event. As thanks, I offer a return gift: the ballad of Kallipheia, first to settle in the forest, to help ease our wait..."
The melody is enchanting and pleasant, a song based around hardship and finding and creating a new home. Which was fitting for the situation, or so she figured!
The Iron Wraith peers down at Roots-Sink-Deep knocking on his greaves. His voice muffled a little by the helmet, he addresses the leshy. "Are you lost, little one? Or have you come to cheer on those who are about to test their mettle against the Stolen Lands?" Another Iron Wraith leans in to offer her opinion. "I think maybe they work for Lady Jamandi. Gardening or something." A third draws themselves up. "What did they say? Mandorian? Is that an insult?"
Halrod greets several of the nearby groups and individuals waiting in line, and receives polite greetings in return - for the most part. An elven woman, her long black hair accentuating the extreme pallor of her skin, watches him guardedly from a distance, her gloved hand loosely wrapped around the snaith of a massive scythe.
The muscular woman concludes her tale - something involving a grueling battle with a group of bandits who tried to waylay her on the road to Restov - although Nidintu-Bel arrives too late to hear all the details. The sword does not seem to be particularly well-made, and the huge blade bears nicks here and there, but it has been carefully maintained. Its wielder turns to Nidintu-Bel as he speaks, her fists on her hips and her chin raised in challenge. "If your questions are about whether or not it's true, you can save your breath. Amiri doesn't tell lies."
Nearby, Phoebe begins her ballad, and conversations quiet as people turn to watch. At the front of her audience, the nymph notices a halfling woman listening raptly, now and then scribbling notes in her large leather-bound journal.
Lani looks around the crowded room, taking in all the sights, smells, and sounds that are flooding her heightened senses. So many people! So many potential marks to prank!
Her eyes linger on the tall, beautiful woman who looks uncomfortable. In another life, perhaps, she would have approached the woman and attempted to ingratiate herself with her, but her new status quo means that such an effort now would more than likely be doomed to failure.
Instead, she hangs back and observes the soiree, trying to pick out the notable personages present.
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Lani quickly discovers that there isn't anyone truly notable in the queue outside Lady Jamandi Aldori's manor - why, if they would have been rich and famous they wouldn't be here, rubbing elbows with all manners of adventurers and people looking to make their fortune. A few of them are known, some for their deeds and reputation, like the Iron Wraiths, others for their parentage, like the group of third and fourth sons from noble families.
Little by little, the winding line is swallowed by the double doors that guard the entrance of the manor, and the group finds themselves inside just as the first drops of freezing rain begin to fall. The interior of the manor is considerably warmer than the outside, thick rugs covering the cold stone floors, the walls plastered white and adorned with a layer of dark wood paneling. Velvet draperies flank the wide windows set with coloured panes of glass. The hallways and rooms are high-ceilinged and illuminated by numerous cinnamon-scented lamps, with oil paintings and hunting trophies displayed here and there. The effect is at once imposing and welcoming.
The servants are all wearing Lady Aldori's livery of green and red as well as her heraldic blazon - party per pale gules and vert charged with two crossed dueling swords argent (that is to say, the field is divided into two vertical halves, one red and one green, bearing two crossed dueling swords in silver). They lead everyone into the Great Hall, which is certainly deserving of the moniker "great".
The spacious hall has been prepared for a great feast, with nine long tables and the accompanying benches arranged around the central portion of the room, covered with pristine white tablecloth and set with plates and utensils, as well as mugs, goblets, glasses and pitchers. Armed guards are posted at intervals along the walls and flanking the many doors leading out of the hall, their posture watchful. A blazing fire crackles in a large fireplace opposite the entrance, warming the cavernous space. Two massive crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling twenty feet above, bathing the room in light together with the lamps set in the walls, high above the painted murals of idyllic woodland scenes of nymphs frolicking amid waterfalls, satyrs dancing with fauns in wooded glades and various winged fairy creatures flitting through the tress.
The scent of roasted meat, caramelized onions, herbs and other delicious aromatic smells fill the room, but no food is in sight yet, as the servants guide everyone to their assigned seats.
Peering up, up, up at the Iron Wraith peering down at Roots-Sink-Deep knocking on his greaves, the smiling Root leshy bows.
My friends and I are going on an adventure! I like your armor. I am not allow to wear cool armor though because Erastil says so.
Roots turns his expressive blue eyes to the other two Iron Wraiths.
A mandalorian is A Mandarin that makes you better at remembering stories. I just thought you all looked real cool!
The Druid then winks at Phoebe.
Waving good-bye, Roots makes his way over to where Phoebe is reciting poetry. The small leshy plops down on the floor in front of her and stares raptured.
Roots is seen sitting in the rain until ushered inside....
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"Wait, you say you were raised by a priest but somehow became a river bandit? How did that happen?"
Nidintu remains silent for a moment, his eyes downcast. After a brief pause, he speaks, a note of sorrow in his voice. "Ardeth died, as mortals are wont to do. It was not a painful or prolonged death - he once told me of some of his friends who went to fight in the Worldwound, and I'm certain perishing peacefully in his sleep at a great age was vastly preferable to being flensed alive by demons, as they were." He sighs. "Still, I miss him sometimes. He wasn't just my mentor, he was like a father to Vanrith and me - a better one than he who sired me, by all accounts." The warrior speaks this last phrase with uncharacteristic bitterness in his voice.
After a moment, however, he is mostly back to his ordinary self, though his mood seems to have been slightly soured by his unpleasant reminiscence. "After that, I tried to support myself as best I could. Vanrith had long since left for Pitax to seek his fortune, taking with him his eerie manuscripts and many of Ardeth's more... unnatural grimoires. I tried a wide variety of careers and settled on one at which I possess some skill - as it turns out, I am a terrible farmhand, a mediocre hunter, a good smith, and an excellent bandit, when the circumstances call for it."
He looks over at Phoebe, his voice apologetic. "I'm afraid it's a bit mundane to make a good story, but it's the only life I've known." After a pause, he seems to regain his customary enthusiasm. "Of course, that's all behind me now, and Erastil has shown me the error of my ways. I am excited to do his will and glad to be traveling with such illustrious companions as yourself, Miss Phoebe."
Nidintu looks around at the massive hall in awe, marveling at the massive construction. "This hall may be larger than some villages I've visited. Do all nobles live in such opulence?" As the party is seated, he looks around at the other adventurers at the table. If he notices any strange faces, he greets them warmly. "Greetings! This expedition charter is a truly fascinating opportunity, wouldn't you say? Incidentally, may I inquire as to your names?"
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There are others being shown to the fae pack's table, which is positioned lengthwise from north to south and can comfortably seat a dozen.
The tall woman with the taller sword, who called herself Amiri, sits towards the head of the table, her weight lifting the other end of the bench off the ground. A tumble to the floor is narrowly averted as a handsome man in his late thirties quickly reaches out a hand to steady the bench before seating himself on the other end. His clothes are black with silver trim, the quality of the material and cut evident. His long, dark gray hair is worn in a bun, and his jaw bears the shadow of a beard. The pommel guard of the sword scabbarded at his side bears a crest - four hatchets arranged in a circle.
"Good evening, my name is Maegar Varn, a pleasure to meet you all. And yes, this is a fascinating opportunity." Maegar Varn's voice is rich and cultured, with only a hint of roughness.
The pale elven woman with the scythe also seats herself at the table. "Jaethal," is all she says, presumably her name. Like Maegar, she wears dark clothing. Her long, black hair is unbound, and she wears no jewelry.
Contrasting Jaethals' reserved demeanor, the halfling who was so taken with Phoebe's performance earlier waves cheerfully before hopping on the bench opposite of Maegar. "Hi, I'm Linzi! I'm so excited to be here, so many great heroes in the making!" She brushes her brown cloak over her shoulder, reveling a suit leather armor dyed leaf-green, then plonks a great leather-bound journal in front of her on the table, sending the plates and goblets clattering.
Linzi's cheerful introduction is met with a scoff from another guest, a gnome impeccably dressed in fine robes and silks, who looks more like a stately noble or diplomat than an adventurer. "I am the famous scholar Tartuccio, and the only one worthy of ruling the Stolen Lands!" he proclaims.
"Fame is fleeting, we will all end up as dust before Groetus," counters a middle-aged dwarf with a bald head and a long, salt-and-pepper beard as he seats himself ponderously at the table. "My name is Harrim, travelers."
The seventh guest is a tall woman of outstanding beauty. Her blond hair is cut short, the ends barely brushing her jaw, and her striking blue eyes are reserved and distant. She has the physique of a warrior, and the plate armor she wears, together with her sheathed sword and her shield make clear her martial inclinations. She nods politely to everyone else. "My name is Valerie. I am honored to be here."
There is no time for more introductions or conversation, as a sudden hush descends over the hall upon the entrance of Lady Jamandi Aldori herself, a striking half-elven woman wearing a fine leather coat over a sparkling mail shirt, an Aldori dueling sword with a bright silver pommel hanging at her hip. She is accompanied by a middle-aged human man wearing finely tailored clothes fit for a noble.
The two of them make their way to the head table at the northern end of the room, in front of the fireplace, where they remain standing. The man speaks first.
"Greetings, heroes! I am Ioseph Sellemius, lord mayor of Restov. And this," he gestures to the half-elven woman beside him, "is Lady Jamandi Aldori. We both thank you for answering her call for heroes. There are many of you here, but we need only the best for this great task."
Lady Jamandi offers the room a slight smile before she speaks. "South of here, beyond Brevoy's border, lie the Stolen Lands. This disputed territory has been claimed time and again by would-be settlers, but it has never been held for long. Restov intend for this to change." She pauses, her gaze sweeping over those seated at the tables in front of her. "If you have enough courage to drive off or pacify the dangerous denizens of the Stolen Lands, you can claim territory for yourselves and name yourselves baronesses or barons. Restov intends to recognize the legitimacy of the new rulers of this land, and none of the other neighboring realms care enough to challenge you. We are prepared to provide backing as a trade partner and military ally. If you claim the land, you will have my - indeed, all of Restov's - support!"
Lady Jamandi raises her goblet. "But the details of your individual missions and charters into the Stolen Lands can wait. I raise my glass to you, brave heroes! For now, let us eat and enjoy the evening. Tomorrow promises to be a very busy day."
As she finishes speaking, servants begin circulating around the room with platter heaped with food, or carrying pitchers of ale, fruit juice or water. The first course is a side of crisp greens flavored with savory oils and chopped walnuts, accompanied by a creamy mushroom soup seasoned with pepper and thyme.
Halrod would like to observe Linzi and Maegar Varn to learn the best way to approach them each.
Roots-Sink-Deep enters the dinning hall with his expressive blue eyes roaming and wondering every direction! The mere opulence displayed in this huge manor makes the druid giggle.
How do they even have the time to appreciate all this stuff? Every time my eyes rest on something, there seems to be yet another something to rest them on!
Roots (eventually) follows the others to be seated at a long table with others from the outside time. The Root leshy smiles, waves, dances, twirls and bounces onto a vacated seat!
Hello! I am Roots-Sink-Deep! I am an adventuring hero!
The small giggling druid proceeds to eat, drink (water), and talk, talk, talk....
That is a big sword! My you are fancy! A scythe! I really like your suit leather armor dyed leaf-green! Famous scholar! Neat! What's a scholar! We will all end up as dust before Groetus? Like dust in the wind? I like wind too! My eyes are blue too!
The Root leshy actually does quiet as the Hosts of this fine affair begin their respective speeches. He does seem a bit fidgety though....
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As the first course is served, Nidintu looks at the dizzying array of utensils at the table with the good-natured bewilderment of one who has primarily eaten using a hunting knife for the past century. He recognizes the broad categories present - fork, knife, spoon - but is baffled by the sheer volume of redundant implements.
After a moment, however, he is eagerly eating the provided food and drinking water, looking around the table and taking stock of his dinner companions. While not precisely vulgar, his table manners are utilitarian, and he seems to have little knowledge of the finer points of etiquette - for instance, how to use a salad fork or even how to distinguish it from other kinds of fork.
Amiri and Valerie seem to be warriors of some sort, Harrim appears to be a philosopher, and this Maegar strikes me as a merchant. Linzi has the characteristics of a scholar, while Mister Tartuccio seems quite the windbag - though I realize my own position as the proverbial kettle in this situation. And Miss Jaethal... Nidintu gives a long look at the pale elf. ...must be a farmer.
He turns to address the diminutive halfling sitting near him. "Miss Linzi, your book reminds me of a rare tome I once saw, though only from a distance. Tell me, have you ever heard of Rul Thaven, the Truthseer of Ulthar?" Nidintu spends the next while expounding on an eerie tale of a man who saw the world as it truly was and the fatal vision that drove him mad. "They say he recorded what he saw in a journal, much like your own. Some dismiss it as myth, but I saw it! That dark grimoire crossed my path for but an instant, yet the mere fact of its existence fills me with dread. Our world is a fragile bubble of life amidst a dark and hostile universe - but who can say for certain what lurks at the threshold, waiting for an opportunity to act?
Realizing that his tale has darkened the mood somewhat, he clears his throat. "Still, such matters are rarely as they truly seem. These sorts of tales grow with each telling - like as not, this Rul Thaven was a simple scholar whose journal was significantly more mundane than it's made out to be."
The warrior turns to Amiri. "Miss Amiri, you seem quite physically capable, but I have long held that the key to enjoying one's strength is a good sense of humor. Let me tell you about a trick I once played on my friend Erik..." Nidintu spends the rest of the first course telling Amiri a humorous anecdote wherein he repeatedly climbs a rope one-handed with a full-grown sheep under his arm in an attempt to convince his friend that yew trees are so called because ewes grow on them like fruit - though he does leave out the part where both he and his friend were bandits at the time, instead claiming that they were farmhands. "...and the moment he looks up into the tree, a branch breaks and a sheep lands on his head!" Nidintu begins laughing at his comical reminiscence. "The sheep was fine, but he couldn't see straight for days! He never walked under a yew tree for the rest of his life!"
Impeccably dressed in fine robes and silks, Tartuccio looks more like a stately gnome prince than an actual adventurer.
Discovery: Nature, Perception, Society
Influence skills: Arcana, Deception (to give him a false sense of superiority), Diplomacy, Intimidation, Performance
Roots grins at all the food spread out upon the table! The Root leshy sidles up next to Tartuccio.
A gnome impeccably dressed in fine robes and silks, who looks more like a stately noble or diplomat than an adventurer?
Roots lets out a gasp so loud that the servers behind their seats turn, trip, catch acrobatically their respective trays and continue on course to deliver even more plates of deliciousness!
Roots winks.
You can only be the famous Tartuccio!
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Linzi listens raptly to Nidintu-Bel's story. "Rul Thaven, the Truthseer of Ulthar..." The halfling shivers. "Even if there is no truth to the tale, the name alone sounds worthy of a story! And yes, there are many dark things out there, but I say that shouldn't stop us from enjoying life!" As if to underline her point, she reaches for her mug and takes a swig of apple cider.
The sheep anecdote is amusing enough, but when the former bandit illustrates it with the aid of a barrel, Amiri bursts into laughter that echoes off the high ceiling, slamming her fist on the table.
"O-ho-hooo! Did you get any rams up there? Ahhahaha!"
As Roots-Sink-Deep addresses him, the gnome Tartuccio flicks some invisible lint off his velvet half-cloak. "Indeed, it is I. You are perhaps not as ignorant as you look."
Roots swallows hard. His grin wavering a bit.
That is what I've been told.
The leshy stuffs a whole piece of rhubarb pie into his mouth.
Roots-Sink-Deep does recall of the connection between gnomes and the First World - all of them have some kind of innate magic, and indeed Tartuccio' handkerchief is embroidered with symbols and runes. Likely someone who is knowledgeable about arcane matters can have an easier time conversing with the arrogant gnome.
After conversing with Roots, Lani sets her sights on her first target. She smooths out her tunic and plasters a smile on her face as she catches Tartuccio's gaze. "It is good to see another of our ilk among this gathering. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lani Bralani, practitioner of witchcraft. You yourself are inclined in the arcane arts, are you not? I would love to pick your brain about the finer points of our shared dweomercraft."
Lani proceeds to engage in technical talk with Tartuccio.
Roots turns to whisper to Lani.Got one to go!
Harold's Discovery checks are successful:
- Success for Linzi
- Critical Success for Maegar VarnChoose one of the following for Linzi, and two for Maegar:
- the influence skill with the lowest DC for that NPC
- one of the NPC's weakness
- one of the NPC's resistance
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Halrod settles for observing two of the other guests at their table, the halfling Linzi and the human Maegar Varn.
Linzi is clearly interested in the performing arts, perking up whenever there is a mention of a story or song, and constantly sketching and scribbling in her journal. Thus, one could infer that showcasing their own talents in singing, dancing, storytelling or other arts would easily gain the halfling's appreciation and favor.
Maegar Varn seems to have had an upbringing in one of the many minor noble families of Brevoy and appears to be a keen student of history. Presumably, historical topics tied to Brevoy, nobility or politics would be of high interest to him.
Tartuccio sniffs as Lani introduces herself as a witch. "Well, I always held that witchcraft is one of the baser forms of arcane practice, but I suppose I can share some of my expertise on the topic."
Phoebe glances at Linzi's journal, as the halfling is seated next to her. "Those are some wonderful sketches. But you've barely touched your food! Do you not like greens? Here, do you know the story of the dandelion?" As Linzi shakes her head, the naiad begins. "A very long time ago, when all the natural things on Golarion were being given shape and names, the dandelion was asked what it wanted to look like. The dandelion thought about it, but could not decide, so it asked for some more time. After a while, the dandelion was asked again what it wanted to look like. It sighed, and looked up, where the sun was shining. 'The sun is so beautiful, I want to look like that.' Then night came, and with it the moon and stars shone in the sky. The dandelion sighed again, looking up. 'The moon is so enchanting, I want to look like that. But the stars are all so pretty, like a river of lights. I want to look like the stars.' Then, some say it was the Green Mother, others say it was Gozreh, but who can know for sure, the power in charge of plants granted the dandelion's wish - to look like the sun, moon and stars, depending on the season of its life."
Linzi chuckles. "What an interesting story. Could you imagine how much work it would be to talk to every plant though?" The halfling thinks for a moment, then adds. "It could make a nice rhyme for children though! Here, help me write it!" The two put their heads together, trying and discarding verses until they settle on a simple song with a catchy tune.
Wished to be the most beautiful ever seen,
"I want to look like the sun so bright,
And the moon and stars that light up the night!"
The goddess Gozreh heard its plea,
And granted its wish for all to see,
The dandelion turned golden with light,
Shining bright, like the sun so bright.
Then it turned pearly white and round,
A perfect moon, floating above the ground,
Then the wind blew and carried away,
The dandelion's seeds, like stars in a way.
Hearing the beautiful nature song, Roots excited begins to grab some cardboard and wearing his Michael Jackson jacket and leather pants, he begins some basic break dancing!
What!what!
Brief flashes of light and the barely-audible sound of effervescent wings fluttering pepper the dinner conversations as Clementine pops up to the table and back down to his seat with a handful of leaves or a single oiled walnut on his acorn cap. “I don’t know if I should ask for a booster seat or a place at the children’s table,” he quips to the grumpy-looking dwarf beside him. “What do you think?” He listens carefully to the response, coming up with leading questions in his head to keep Harrim talking.
Or he would, if his conversation partner wasn’t as expressive as a rock. Thankfully, Phoebe and Linzi are having a much more exciting discussion two chairs down. “That must have been one smart dandelion,” he adds with a grin, standing on the table between goblets. “The ones back home just talk like this.” He pulls his traveling plant out from behind his back, then pretends to talk to it. “Well howdy there folks! I like sunshine and rain and dirt and…”
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Harrims is morosely pushing some wilted leaves around his plate, and barely lifts his head as Clementine addresses him. His own chin barely clears the edge of the table. "It is futile to be angered at the lack of consideration, but I see your point."
Linzi is a more pleasant conversation partner, on the other hand. "Wow, you understand what plants say? Are you a druid? I've never met a druid before."
As the guests chat and mingle, the second course is brought to the table - trays of waterfowl wings and thighs, the skin crispy and glistening, drizzled with a reddish sauce that promises a fiery experience. For those who do not consume meat, a mushroom-based alternative is provided, garnished with roasted hazelnuts.
Snippets of conversation drift from around the hall.
"...family must be very pleased, Baron Drelev. ...expanding trade..."
"...so then I said, I said - 'Watch where you put that!' - right? And then, then he said..."
"...access to fresh water is the most crucial element! You can have the most defensible..."
As the new course is set before them, everyone begins to eat, some quickly reaching for their mugs and goblets to quench the spiciness of the sauce. The Iron Wraiths eat mostly in silence, methodically gnawing every bit of meat off the bone, like any soldier who knows to eat their fill before a long march, or a battle. They have, in fact, taken their helmets off, revealing battle-scarred faces of men and women, some of them grizzled, others younger. At another table, someone with a twisted sense of humour has seated the noble scions next to the farmers and shepherds, and the tensions between the two groups is palpable.
Roots quietly backs away from the gnome. The munching of rhubarb pie echoing off into the distance.
Turning to find a tall and muscular human woman, clad in a mix of animal skins, leathers, and battle-scarred hide armor, wearing a massive greatsword in a leather scabbard across her back, the Root leshy grins.
Neat armor! Erastil likes leather. Are you a friend of His? He charged me with protecting the wilds! I am Roots!
Nidintu furrows his brow at Roots's strange outburst. "What?" First he procures pie from who knows where, and now this?
After a moment, however, the eccentric leshy's strange episode is all but forgotten as the next course is served. He continues his conversation with Amiri, telling the hide-bound warrior of various bandit skirmishes he has taken part in, though attempting to conceal what particular side he fought on as before. "If I'm not mistaken, I heard you talking earlier about your battles with bandits on your way here? I have been in several combats of a similar nature - I remember vividly when a caravan from Pitax was waylaid by bandits near the small town of Rossem. Twenty warriors stood against us that day, their swords glistening in the sunlight, but we did not yield..."
Once he concludes his tale, however, the elf falls silent (quite a feat in and of itself, given his long-windedness), paying attention to the actions of Valerie. Miss Valerie has the bearing of a warrior, much as Miss Amiri does, but I sense the two are drastically different. She hasn't said much so far - I wonder why?
Lani makes a face when Tartuccio belittles her craft. "Perhaps you simply haven't had much experience with witchcraft. Allow me to demonstrate what I can do." She proceeds to show off some of her cantrips and hexes, hoping to make some more headway with the stuck-up gnome.
As interested as Halrod is in Linzi and Maegar Varn, he deduces that he may not be the best person to speak to them, so he instead approaches Lady Jamandi and tries to learn some of her reasons for sponsoring these expeditions.
"Lady, my companions and I appreciate the invitation and we wish to know as much as we can about your goals in funding these expeditions. It would be well if we understood each other from the beginning."
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Roots-Sink-Deep watches Amiri for a while (about 14 seconds) as it becomes clear that the buff warrior-woman greatly enjoys displays of strength and athleticism. She blinks at the leshy as the torrent of words spill out of him.
"A friend of Erastil? I suppose that I am rather comfortable in the wilderness, but I am not one of his followers. And you say you protect the wilds? That's very brave of you."
She tears into the food with great enthusiasm, clearly someone who appreciates a good source of protein. As Nidintu-Bel recounts his ambiguously-worded bandit battles, Amiri's eyes light up and she begins to gesticulate with the chicken bone she's holding.
"Yeah, some bandits were stupid enough to try and jump me on the way here! But they were smart enough to run when I drew my sword, haha!"
Valerie raises her head at the discussion about fighting, but then returns her attention to the food when details are not forthcoming.
On the other side of the table, Tartuccio seems taken aback that Lani would challenge his stated opinion, although her demonstrations seem to intrigue him at least a little.
"Well! Perhaps I have misjudged you. It does not happen often, I assure you! Tell me one thing though, how do witches like you come by their magic? I cannot say that I bothered to research the topic, so perhaps you can enlighten me."
Lady Jamandi smiles politely at Halrod. "My good sir, please enjoy the feast for now. We will discuss all these topics tomorrow."
Roots-Sink-Deep blushes at Amiri's words. The Root leshy absently grabs for a turkey leg (to emulate the cool Barbarian), but comes away with a vineful of mashed potatoes.
Separately, you can attempt a Society, Brevoy Lore or Politics Lore to recall knowledge about Lady Jamandi Aldori herself. Influence information for the NPCs will be added in the Campaign tab.
Clementine works slowly on a leg of duck, checking back in with Harrim every so often to see if the dwarf's tankard needs a refill or his plate a second helping. If he gets enough spice in his system, maybe he'll open up - one end or the other! He giggles to himself at the thought.
His attention drifts after a while though, landing on a very long wheat chopper - and the woman it belongs to. "Some more goose, ma'am?" he asks, hopping up onto the table for easy access to the platter. "It'll bring some color back into your cheeks - certainly has for mine, hah!"
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Even without the introduction from earlier, Halrod would have recognized Lady Jamandi as one of the Aldori swordlords, a wealthy and influential woman who is held to be one of Restov's greatest warriors.
As Clementine offers Harrim a full pitcher for his tankard, he can hear the dwarf mutter to himself, a little disappointed. "...the only one of my kind here. A pity." It sounds like he would be eager to speak with other dwarves.
Jaethal visibly stiffens at the comment about her pale appearance, but accepts the sprite's offering of more food. While the elf seems reserved and not inclined to engage in conversation, she also seems... lonely. Clementine thinks that if someone were to approach her with kindness, Jaethal might open up.
Phoebe engages Maegar Varn in conversation, asking about his goals in the Stolen Lands. The noble warms up to the topic quickly. "Well, there is nothing waiting for me at home in my father's lands, with me being a third son and all, so I gathered a number of faithful companions and we are all determined to make our own way together. I already drafted the plan of our first village..." He begins to arrange mugs and platters and utensils, all the while explaining about defensive positions, tactical advantage and lines of sight until Phoebe's eyes glaze over. He notices her inattention and chuckles self-consciously. "I apologize, I get carried away when discussing this."
The main course arrives - a whole roast boar for each table, with the traditional glazed apple in its mouth. The vegetarian version is lentil stew with chunks of carrots and onions in a rich truffle sauce. The servants carve up the boar for the guests, offering everyone their choice of cut. Pitchers are refilled, and drinks of all kinds continue to flow freely.
Some of the guests are becoming rather merry, many of them raising toasts to Lady Jamandi Aldori and her hospitality, others loudly boasting of their exploits and their worthiness of ruling the Stolen Lands.
Lani proceeds to educate Tartuccio on the finer points of pact magic. What begins as an enthralling lecture, however, soon turns disastrous as Glitterbloom, bored of the long talk, begins prancing playfully around the table, splattering Lani with stew and ale!
"Glitterbloom! Bad girl!" Lani scolds her, using prestidigiation to clean her soiled garments with long minutes of concentration.
Root's blue eyes roam over the other seated at the table with him. His bark face lights up at the seventh guest is a tall woman of outstanding beauty. Her blond hair is cut short, the ends barely brushing her jaw, and her striking blue eyes are reserved and distant. She has the physique of a warrior, and the plate armor she wears, together with her sheathed sword and her shield make clear her martial inclinations. She nods politely to everyone else. "My name is Valerie. I am honored to be here."
Straightening his garments, brushing his vine-like hair and popping at mint into his mouth, the proud Root leshy turns to face Valerie.
Well how you doin'! Your armor has a really nice shine. What type of oils do you use?
The druid--not wanting to seem desperate--also turns his attention to Jaethal is deathly pale and wears dark clothing. Her raven-black hair is long, and she has no jewelry. Leaning against the table next to her is a massive, wickedly sharp scythe.
That is a wickedly sharp looking scythe! I like your hair! Looks like a raven!
Nidintu accepts a cut of meat when offered, thanking the servant carving the boar as he does so. He then attempts to resume his discussion with his newfound friend Amiri, asking about the massive claymore she carries and moving the conversation into fighting styles if the opportunity presents itself, interested in hearing the warrior's opinions on the topic. "Miss Amiri, I couldn't help but notice the blade you carry. It resembles to some extent weapons I've seen from the lowland villages near Pitax, but there are distinct differences. May I inquire as to where you got it? My friend Konstantin once told me that two-handed weapons are best wielded in this stance, but I've always preferred this one myself..." As Nidintu talks, he pulls out his maul to make his points, demonstrating the various weapon stances as he discusses them.
After his discussion with Amiri, the tiefling turns his attention to the eerie Jaethal, attempting to strike up a conversation with the pale elf. "Speaking of weapons, Miss Jaethal, I noticed the scythe you carry with you. Are you a farmer, Miss?"
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While the imminent danger of having his fine clothes dirtied does nothing to endear Glitterbloom and Lani to Tartuccio, the gnome is at least marginally appreciative of the lecture and seems a little friendlier.
Valerie turns to the inquisitive leshy. "Why, thank you. I use linseed oil to maintain my armor and weapons. Beeswax too, when I can get it, but that is more expensive, and more difficult to apply. I am surprised that you would be interested in such topics, though."
As Roots-Sink-Deep turns towards Jaethal, he notices something - a discreet patch of embroidery, black on black, depicting a fly with an inverted skull motif on its back. The symbol likely has some significance to it, perhaps someone versed in religious matters would be able to have a conversation about it with the pale elf.
Roots also notices that Jaethal seems to appreciate self-confidence and shows of strength, as she glances appreciatively at Amiri and Nidintu-Bel, who are trading boastful tales.
At the other end of the table, Amiri visibly puffs up as Nidintu-Bel brings up her sword. "O-ho-hooo, you want to know the tale of this? This is no villager sword, you can be sure of that! A frost giant wielded this blade, until I killed him and took it for my own! You're not entirely wrong about the stance, but the balance on this sword is very different, so this is how I wield it. Took me months of practice to find the right stance!"
Jaethal raises a dark eyebrow at the question. "I am most definitely not a farmer. You must not have met many farmers, that you would confuse me with one."
Clementine takes a bite of the boar’s candied apple, leaning nonchalantly against the cooked snout and assessing the situation here in the middle of the long table. Slowly, an idea sprouts, and he grins to himself.
“Catch!” A small piece of apple, carved into the rough shape of a sunflower, flies slowly through the air to the stoic, grim-faced warrior in a wide arc with plenty of time to react. Clementine, for his part, watches her reaction to the surprise and frivolity.
He then gives an encore for the stoic, grim-faced warrior across from her.
Valerie extends a hand over the table to prevent the piece of apple from falling into the cider pitcher. Her mouth narrows into a line at Clementine's antics, and the sprite gets the feeling that the stoic warrior does not approve of such jokes.
Maegar Varn seems to be busying himself with the food, and thus is difficult to read.
After giving him some time to eat, Phoebe tries to engage the noble again. "Oh, I'm sorry, it's just that I am unfamiliar with a lot of the things you mentioned. I was born and raised in the forest, so talk of villages and cities is a little foreign to me." Maegar Varn nods and smiles politely, then turns his attention to other guests.
Roots smiles at Valerie a bit wider.
Tell me about yourself.
As the guests finish the main course, servants clear away the trays and dishes, then begin to bring in the dessert - honey cakes, berries with sweet cream, glazed apples, an assortment of cheeses and fresh fruit, all accompanied by pitchers of cider, mead, and fruit juice.
By this point most everyone is sated, some of those less accustomed with banquets of this size beginning to doze off, their chins drooping to their chests.
Valerie smiles at the diminutive leshy. "What would you like to know? I was born in a noble family, but now I am seeking to make my own way. There was... an order that I joined, but I disagreed with their methods, so I left."
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Nidintu's aureate eyes widen behind his glasses as Amiri relates her tale. "I am certainly impressed, Amiri Giant-Slayer. Giants are said to be deadly foes - I sincerely doubt I could challenge one and emerge unscathed." The warrior spends the rest of the feast swapping tales with Amiri...
...specifically, a story from his brief but enjoyable time as a smith wherein he had to lift a cart loaded down with ore out of a deep ditch ("...must have weighed a quarter ton, but that ore needed to get in, so I...")...
...one from his days as a hunter where he slayed a particularly ornery wild boar with a well-placed shot ("...charged me, I thought I was done for, but I took aim, commended the arrow to Erastil, and...")...
...and a particularly interesting tale of when he punched out a local bully with the "charming" nickname of "Big Ugly" in a bar fight ("...so after I broke the table over his head and he picked up his teeth off the floor, I said to him 'I think you dropped something - your spine!' Ha-ha!!!").
Clementine wanders back down the table to his empty seat, plucking raspberries and blueberries and strawberries and... cranberries? Interesting choice, but maybe they taste different to tall folk. And cloudberries and blackberries from their bowls to fill his own cup of cream. "I call it a mountain-berry," he quips to Linzi as he hops back to the bench. "Special fae secret recipe - don't tell anyone, or Grandpa Clove will sprinkle you with sawdust."
"Now, what would you recommend for a second helping?" He gestures to the wide array of desserts on display. "I don't think I've seen this many sweets since that bumblebee got caught in a berry bush last year."
Lani continues her discussion with Tartuccio, hoping to leave enough of an impression on the gnome to benefit the group later on.
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Nidintu-Bel's praise is certainly welcome by Amiri, who in turn doesn't question the tiefling's tales too closely, instead laughing and thumping her fist on the table.
"One of these days I will like to see you in action, friend!" She bends to retrieve a dagger from one of her boots, flipping it handle first before offering it to Nidintu-Bel. "Here, this one has served me well. Just make sure to use it to kill something bigger than you, eh? Work your way up towards a giant, hahahaha."
Linzi's face scrunches up at the mention of sawdust. "Eugh, that doesn't sound nice! But wait, what bumblebee? Was it a- a normal bumblebee, or a faerie one?"
Nodding at Lani's explanations on pact magic, the gnome Tartuccio seems to become a little friendlier, interrupting the young witch less than before. "That actually gives me an idea for a new spell..."
Halrod approaches Valerie.
"Madame, I pray you will forgive my companions their antics. We are a joyful band, but honorable and true, I assure you. We will oppose banditry in the Stolen Lands with all our might."
"I am Halrod of Wyvernstone and I have sought out all the ways of this land for many years. It is strange to be working with others after all that time, but life is often that way. What brings you to this gathering, if I may ask?"