The stone giant looked down the starlit-valley from the spire that loomed over the long dead city. The face craved-- no, not carved-- sculpted, shaped, and formed by magic in the mountain side sneered down the length of the valley where the city lay. He'd seen that visage many times in his journey to this place. He wondered who it had been. Whoever it was, the owner of that impressive look of disdain and contempt was long dead.
The wind bit at him, and despite his impressive fortitude, the thin air was making him feel dizzy. Being as hardy as stone and rock did not make him invincible, and the chill this high into the mountains could kill even him. He would not die here, not so close to his goal. The power he sought was close. The power and the vindication that would come with it. He would make those that cast him out pay dearly for not recognizing his genius, his talent.
He turned back to the doorway and went back inside the spire. The air here was comfortable, even warm, and more than enough to rid him of the lightheadedness from earlier. His goal was close, he reminded himself. His strides were already long, but his pace was quickened by the anticipation and excite he felt. So close, only a few more steps and it would be his, his vindication, his ascension to the mightiest of his kind.
He walked into the chamber at the pinnacle of the spire, a large well dominated the center. It was filled with a cold liquid that smoked and steamed, covering the floor in a thin layer of fog. Beyond it was an arcane contraption that exuded power. Even if his mind had not been attuned to those energies, he was certain that he'd have felt the power radiating off of it. Greed for power, greed for vindication, greed for everything he felt due to him drove him on. He would have what was rightfully his!
He touched the contraption, and time froze around him. Gracefully arcing arms and sections of the contraption's shell began to move, and the stone giant realized his folly. This thing was a doorway, and he'd just opened it. He could not move. He could not even scream as he felt his doom coming to meet him with the same meticulousness that this complex door between planes had been designed and constructed with.
An ancient and powerful presence bore down on him as the door finished opening. He could feel it stirring even as he felt his heart thundering in his chest. Despite his lack of martial prowess, he was not the coward he'd been named, but he could only feel terror as he gazed into the stygian abyss this waking power had languished in for only the gods know how long.
The stone giant heard a sigh, then an inquisitive hum. The silence that followed was deafening, The laughter that came next was even more so.
"Oh what a delicious greed you have," the laughing voice said in a tongue that had not been spoken for almost ten thousand years, yet the stone giant could understand it. He fell to his knees as he looked on in horrified awe. A tiny voice in the back of his mind gibbered that the stories his mother and grandmother had told him as a young boy were true, and he'd awakened one of the monsters from his kind's oldest and most frightening legends.
"Tell me, giant, Who is it that you serve?" The voice was amused, but behind the affability was a threat that the giant was certain the owner of that voice could easily carry out.
It all clicked into place for the giant in that moment. He now realized how wrong he'd been to assume that the man whose face he'd seen on the mountainside was dead. He felt as if his skull would be crushed as he frantically worked some moisture back into his suddenly stone dry mouth.
"Y-you, M-my Master," he stammered, his normally booming voice a hoarse croak.
"And my name?"
"L-lord Karzoug!" Sweat poured from the giant's brow as he prostrated himself.
"Good," Karzoug purred. "Now tell me of what has happened during my slumber, my greedy servant." As the ancient and powerful wizard spoke, the well behind the stone giant began to glow. "Then we can discuss how you can help me claim what is mine."
===
Far away, in a small coastal town, everyone suddenly woke from frightening nightmares, that none seemed to remember, in a rage. For most, the rage faded quickly. For three of the townspeople, it found root, and festered.
The White Deer Inn and Tavern is sizable, with an impressive view of the Varisian Gulf to the north. Garridan Viskalai owns the White Deer and runs the place with the aid of his family and a few locals. The rates are comprable to the Rusty Dragon, despite the fact the White Deer is cleaner and more spacious.
Unfortunately, while a decent man, Garridan isn't the friendliest sort, a bit too gruff, and that attitude seems to have the locals preferring the Rusty Dragon. However, Garridan's family is hard working, and try to compensate for Garridan's little short comings.
And so it is, currently at least, Ojwoj Viskalai better known to most here as Scrapeknee, is at the counter ready to help any guests who need anything.
Scapeknee is out of the 'goofy looking' phase of his teen years, having filled out to a handsome enough fellow. He has abandoned the shaved look and now keeps his dark hair to the shoulders. Scrapeknee's eyes are a warm amber. Like most Shoanti, he has a ruddy tone to his skin. He is not the most athletic fellow but he's in tune enough. His clothing is a mix of Shoanti and local fashion when he thinks about fashion at all.
The dandied young woman comes down as she has every day this week with an armload of books. Two heavy tomes and three slim ones, precariously perched on top of each other.
"Good Moring, Ojwoj!" she calls out across the taproom, moving to the table in the corner that she has occupied every day without fail this last week.
"Is it breakfast time?" she asks pleasantly as she thumps the pile down, losing one to the floor, causing her to scramble to get it back as if it is the most precious treasure in the world. Once recovered, she quickly straightens, dislodging a lock of bluish-black hair from the complicated bun massed on the back of her head. Instead of redoing, she pushes the errant strands back over her pointed ear and then looks to the handsome enough fellow in the local fashion with an arched brow of question.
A slight rumble from her belly echoed for those with good hearing.
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Scrapeknee brightens to see Cailyn come down.
At the question of breakfast time, he nods "I can get you something if you like, surely. We have some rolls, or can heat up some bacon and egg scramble, or if you want maybe a weed wrap?" The weedwraps are Strips of candied venison wrapped in fresh seaweed; very chewy and much tastier than their name would imply. He sniffs the air, it smells like his Aunt is working with bread already,"If you're really hungry we can mix it up a bit."
"What books are you reading today?" He asks out of curiosity. Their guest is a real bookwyrm and he has noticed.
"Oh, yes. Please." she answers, with a bright relish that leaves it unclear if she was answering yes to the last suggestion or simply to all of it.
"Legends of the Unkind and Unrelenting." Cailyn taps the biggest, almost tipping her pile again. A quick restacking has her pointing out one about Theories Arcane Weaving, another about Ham, one more just about old wizards that lived around here once, and the last with a simple title about Farming, but the way her cheeks flush suddenly could make someone think it really isn't about farming.
Too quickly she changes the subject "How has your day been? Any new visitors, things, or stories?"
Trying to decipher her affirmation on the food, he nods and peeks into the kitchen, "Aunt Tansy, can we have one plate with a seaweed wrap with an egg bacon scramble to the side? I think that's what our guest wants. Yes, Miss Vanderale is up."
Then he comes back out "Won't be a tick," Scrapeknee assures their guest it will be fast but good.
"Legends of the unkind and Unrelenting? Sounds grim." Then at the last book, when she blushes, he's tempted to ask for clarification, wonders if might be rude to, and by the time he sorts out more, she's already changed the subject.
"How has your day been? Any new visitors, things, or stories?"
"Well, Bones Connolly is back, took a room, asked me to be on the look out for a sailor with one leg but nothing ever comes of that. Sarla," He says naming one of his cousins who works here, "Is itching to show off her new dress for the upcoming swallowtail festival. Lots of new faces in town for that, of course. Some old ones returned." The young man looks curious, "I do get curious about where they've all been at times, but it's flattering Sandpoint is special enough to get so much care and attention." A smile of honesty "Good for business too, of course, for which we are grateful."
"' Commerce excites a community's lifeblood' or a better one might be 'A coin spent is good for all'" Cailyn recites, frowning a little at the second one "Hmmm, I don't remember where that one came from." that seems to bother her a little. "The first is from my mother, ever the eager merchant."
"More importantly though..." she abandons her table to lean over the counter practically beaming with curiosity "Please tell me about this mysterious sailor with one leg???" the story sounds like a treasure indeed!
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"You're mother has a point," He nods, "And a gift for words I am thinking."
"More importantly though..." she abandons her table to lean over the counter practically beaming with curiosity "Please tell me about this mysterious sailor with one leg???" the story sounds like a treasure indeed!
His eyebrows rise in surprise. He hadn't expected her to care much, "Oh that's old news. Every other season or so it seems Bones comes in, rents a room for a few weeks, and holes up as if the Sandpoint Devil were on his tail. Talks about a one legged sailor who is going to visit asking for him. And to let him know if said sailor comes in doing so. Never happens. I think he comes here for our view of the harbor. I do know that Bones used to serve on a ship called 'Steven's Son' because he mentioned it when he was drunk one evening."
Her smile tugs downward just a tick as Ojwoj talks about her mother having a point. Her mild faltering isn't about the saying, just about Mother being right about anything.
'Like sending her perfectly fine with being indoors daughter out in the world to Make Something of herself.' she thinks.
The memory of her mother snapping out the word Anything, in the place of Something, still was sharp.
But that worry is for tomorrow. Right now there is a story, which she drinks up as avidly as any available tea. As the story ends, she nods sagely, "I will endeavor to be on the lookout for good master Bones' Steven's Son." A promise she is serious about.
Then she remembers the rules of conversation. Cailyn is not a natural speaker, not magnetically charismatic. Any and all ability to converse and convince has come from practice, study, and developing guidelines.
In this conversation, the story was something that attracted Her. Ojwoj's most warming was when he mentioned Sandpoint and potentially the desire for seeing... More? She was unsure there.
The half-elf settled into a stool, forgetting about her table, and asked "Have you lived here your entire life?"
Scrapeknee misses the slight loss of smile. but he is glad she liked his ramblings about one of their quirkier guests.
The half-elf settled into a stool, forgetting about her table, and asked "Have you lived here your entire life?"
"Oh, well, I.." OjWoj sniffs the air, "Pardon, answer that in just a minute. Your food is ready." He moves to the kitchen, that bad leg requiring a bit of a lift and drag, but he seems to have handling it down to routine.
When he returns, he lays down before her a plate of a bacon and egg scramble, zestfully done with spices both local and imported. And laid with it, one of the White Deer specialties, a weed Wrap. The chewy sweet wrap should actually complement the savory angle of the egg/bacon scramble. The eating utensils are put by the side. No doubt Cailyn has had fancier, but it smells great.
"I hope you like it," Scrapeknee says, "And we can grind some dark pepper on it if you like." He remembers her question, "Well, I moved here for good almost ten years ago. I have vague memories of travel with mom," A proud look at that, "She was a great rider, star guide, and I'm told a warrior. She first took me here to visit her brothers and my grandparents, who settled here. But ...she died, rather heroicly. My uncles, Sheriff Belor and Garridan raised me since then, more or less." His face falls at mention of loss of his mother. He probably shouldn't play card games but there is also pride in her.
Scrapeknee goes on, "Between riding with the local militia for the Sheriff, and working here with locals coming through, no doubt I'm a Sandpointer, born here or not, but there's some famlies, as you know, who have roots here so deep you'd need a squad of dwarves with a pick axe to dig them all up." A nod of respect , no doubt intended for her own family and herself, "But what of you? I mean, I know you must be here for the Swallowtail festival, but you travel a lot, or are you mostly a Magnimar city gal? I'm not mocking, I haven't been far from Sandpoint since I was a kid and never even to the big cities"
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A 6'4" half-orc woman in a red linen shirt and black leather bodice slouches over a small table. The tattoo of fire on her eye, the scraggy undercut with tips of her black hair dyed red, the huge laced black boots all say, "I hope I look like a badass." The look of intense concentration, complete with tip of her tongue sticking out between her tusked lower teeth, belies the effect almost tragically.
A stack of wooden nickels sits on the table, next to a small oil-burner, with which she is heating a stylus and using to make delicate marks on one of the discs of wood--tracing the design she sketched on it in graphite: a butterfly.
She snarls at the result, tosses it onto the floor, and starts over with a new wooden chip, taking a deep breath and deciding to go slower.
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"No, no, just hold my legs up, old bean, and don't forget that they're attached to me! This is how it's done! Yes, there we go! Splendid! Now just let me get to fingering..."
It wasn't the most dignified of positions, but then that was rather the point; Willie had found that dignity had a way of obstructing one's fun. He was currently lying flat on his back, one half of him supported by a barstool and the other by a helpful young chap who was lifting his gleaming white spatterdashes higher than their maker had presumably ever intended. All the better for the gentleman's audience to see him. And what a sight he made.
"Now let me just reach up..." A discordant note belched its way through the Rusty Dragon as Willie reached for the piano he lay in front of. "That's a rummy place to put a D1! Let's try that again..."
Those inn patrons who had cared to gather about him weren't best accustomed to seeing what was clearly some example of that strangest of breeds, aristocrats, engaged in a bit of hokey-pokey. The nobility was known for many things, but levity was not among them. And yet young Wilberforce had had few qualms engaging other guests at the Rusty Dragon this evening, whether with chatter or drink, both of them spirited. It was in talk that he had let slip a little party trick of his - namely playing the piano upside down - and when predictably challenged, had gamely doffed his fine coat to find himself in his current position.
None were more pleased than Willie himself when he actually managed to coax something recognizable as a tune from the keys, even situated below them as he was. Truth be told, he hadn't practiced this routine very often - fewer still in any state to remember doing so.
"What did I tell you?" he said in returning to the world of the perpendicular with some help. "Ballyhoo, I told you I could do it. I believe someone owes me a drink!"
No small order considering how the young man didn't consider anything with fewer than seven ingredients a proper drink. Still, most would agree that he had earned it, especially as he had proven himself rather generous with his own gold so far.
"Thank you please, I think I'll have it right here actually," he said in accepting a glass of something almost luminous and seating himself in front of the piano, a tidy little spinet. "What do you say? Have we heard enough tunes? Barmaid!" he called. "May I?"
Within the second, the inn was livened further by one playful ditty after another as the city boy tickled the ivories and tickled them well. He looked as comfortable as a farmer on his field.
"Another bride," he sang, "another loon
Another sunny honeymoon
Another season, another reason
For makin' whoopee
A lot of shoes, a lot of rice
The groom is nervous, he answers twice
Its really killin' that he's so willin'
To make whoopee
Now picture a little love nest
Down where the roses cling
Picture the same sweet love nest
Think what a year can bring
He's washing dishes and baby clothes
He's so ambitious, he even sews
But don't forget, folks
That's what you get, folks, for makin' whoopee."
No one would call Willie's singing quite up to par with his finger work, but the young man had a light, pleasant baritone that accompanied the piano well enough. It helped that his voice carried all the earnestness of his innocent - some would say vacuous - eyes, lending it an endearing charm. Which was coincidentally his own estimation of Sandpoint so far: endearing if a little dull, a bit like a dumb puppy. In terms of shelters to excommunicate oneself to, it really wasn't too bad. And yet there was no denying he missed Magnimar. He missed the nightlife, the fun, the glitz & glamour. Granted, the Rusty Dragon was an unexpected delight, its entertainment venue well stocked with instruments, but still. How long should he avoid his Aunt Arabella, he wondered? He hadn't fled to Sandpoint with much of a plan.
Bah, a worry for another day. For now he had drink, music and passable-to-firm company. Someone cheered on his music. Willie was quite good at making friends. Well, friends for an evening, anyway.
"In search o' maidens, go knights so bold
Caught by dragons, hoarded like gold
That's why it won't be, you'll never catch me
In makin' whoopee..."
Cailyn listened as attentively as she did the story, between bites and obvious enjoyment of those bites. When questions turned back to her, she shrugged. "I'm not even much of a city dweller, more of a homebody, content to live through stories." she sighs, looking a tad wistful, as only an idle rich person could "But my parents disagree. Mother's been teaching me all my life to be a merchant and for the last six months I've traveled with my father on the Battered Mare, which is a fine ship no matter the odd name, learning as best I could sea life. And now am to find my own way in the world..." she looks back to her pile of books "... once I'm done with my current reading of course." which she has been doing all week.
Cailyn listened as attentively as she did the story, between bites and obvious enjoyment of those bites. When questions turned back to her, she shrugged. "I'm not even much of a city dweller, more of a homebody, content to live through stories." she sighs, looking a tad wistful, as only an idle rich person could "But my parents disagree. Mother's been teaching me all my life to be a merchant and for the last six months I've traveled with my father on the Battered Mare, which is a fine ship no matter the odd name, learning as best I could sea life. And now am to find my own way in the world..." she looks back to her pile of books "... once I'm done with my current reading of course." which she has been doing all week.
A smile at the reading, "Sounds like your true calling is either running a book shop or working as a librarian in one of those huge libraries in a great city even if you're not a city dweller yourself." Realizing he might be oversharing, he admits, "It can be... hard trying to find your way. Your elders suggest a path, and then there is this... pressure to please them. THey're only looking after us. I know that. But, well, speaking for myself, one of my uncles has abandoned his Shoanti Heritage, and he tells me how I can do anything I want but... it seems like throwing away something precious. My other Uncle runs this inn, and I know he would suggest I return to our tribe. Take up our old traditions. Rubus will get the Inn, I suspect. He IS the man's eldest son. Me? I..." A sheepish look, "I want to do what I should, but I don't know what that is, not exactly. You don't have the same situation, of course, but it does sound like they have some pressure on you like the pressure I feel. Begging your pardon if I'm presuming"
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It's early in the morning when Conrad leaves his bedroom to eat his breakfast.
Well, relatively early in the morning, at least - that is to say, a solid hour later than usual. He curses himself for that. There was enough to see in Sandpoint that he didn't want to waste too much time sleeping, and the Fatman's Feedbag's bedding certainly encouraged those unfortunate enough to lie on it not to prolong their sufferings more than humanly possible. But last night had been short and full of strange nightmares -something about a face in stone and a dwarfed giant...
Just thinking about it sent a shiver down Conrad's spine. He knew himself well enough to reckon that his dreams were scarce and unimaginative, filled with day-to-day chores, familiar faces and embarrassing scenarios, and for the life of him he couldn't explain where he might have come across such bizarre... things. Certainly not in books. He would have remembered the pictures. And written words tended to evoke nothing else than little ants wriggling on a white tablecloth, looking for a way out -but stuck...
It's a dishevelled, tired young man who sits at a random table in the inn. He looks like he hasn't had a good night of sleep in quite some time, or taken a shower, or done laundry, although that might be attributed to the Fatman's Feedbag lack of equipment in both of those areas. It was the innkeeper's generous intuition that he shouldn't invest in luxuries his penniless guests couldn't make profitable - so they could save money to spend on cheap beer instead. The inn's seediness only added, after all, to the number of things they wanted to forget about.
Today was a quiet day. Perhaps the vast majority of the customers were still digesting the revelries of the previous night. In fact, no one seemed to be there except the half-orc woman Conrad had bumped into quite a few times during his stay.
The look of her was quite striking, in that it seemed to indicate she'd be quite alright with striking you. Back in Pinebrook, there had sometimes been half-orcs looking for part-time jobs amongst the woodcutters, and none of them had shown a particularly friendly personality -or stayed for very long, for that matter. Between her tattoo, the sword she kept at her side, and her aloof demeanor, the woman seemed no exception. Yet, for all the times Conrad watched her out of the corner of his eye in case she decided to start trouble, she seemed mostly to keep to herself.
Today, her occupation was of a different sort. Conrad watched, fascinated, as the woman carved intricate designs into a piece of wood with a flame. He'd seen a few artists work up close before -he'd spent most of his time in Sandpoint hoping to be hired by some Shelynite painter or performer, to no avail. But this was the first time he witnessed such a technique. He'd never seen anyone work with fire before.
He doesn't realise he's staring before his gaze meets the woman's. Conrad's face flushes red. He's aware he should be saying something, but he's never been good with words.
Instead, he blurts out, much more timidly than he'd have liked: "A-Are you a Shelynite?"
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Cailyn's blue eyes narrow on him. The reason why held at bay as she chews the lovely bite of weed wrap. Her eyes had to open wide as the flavor hit her, surprised at how amazing it was. She then proceeded to point to the marvel and nod happily as she chews.
Finally, she swallows and resumes her narrowed eye look. "You are rather wise for your age, you know?"
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Cailyn's blue eyes narrow on him. The reason why held at bay as she chews the lovely bite of weed wrap. Her eyes had to open wide as the flavor hit her, surprised at how amazing it was. She then proceeded to point to the marvel and nod happily as she chews.
Finally, she swallows and resumes her narrowed eye look. "You are rather wise for your age, you know?"
"Pshaw," He snorts a bit at that, "If I were wise for my age I'd know where I was going. Instead i just know I don't know. And that's about as wise as realizing you need to get inside during a thunderstorm when there's no place to get inside to for miles. Sure, you realize you're in trouble, but you have no idea how to better that situation."/[B] A chuckle [B]"Don't get me wrong. I have a good life. I'm lucky to BE alive." he pats his bad leg. "Should have died when I fell off a roof a few years ago. But instead I lived, got a deed name out of it, and while I won't win any races I'm healthy enough. But wisdom? Not my strong point I suspect."
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"Hmm, wise And humble." she grumbled, but it seemed to be meant as a good-natured tease instead of an actual complaint. She had noticed the barkeep's leg over the edge of a book these last few days, and had wanted to ask. Since it might be a story, but asking about an injury might bring the pain of it back to the surface.
Causing pain was against the rules of conversation... at least for her.
But HE brought it up "Why were you on the roof?" she asked with thinly veiled interest, hoping to draw out the details.
"Hmm, wise And humble." she grumbled, but it seemed to be meant as a good-natured tease instead of an actual complaint. She had noticed the barkeep's leg over the edge of a book these last few days, and had wanted to ask. Since it might be a story, but asking about an injury might bring the pain of it back to the surface.
Causing pain was against the rules of conversation... at least for her.
But HE brought it up "Why were you on the roof?" she asked with thinly veiled interest, hoping to draw out the details.
"Because I was 14 years of age, and got into a double dare," Scrapeknee blushes but only faintly, "It was over pride, and Shoanti Stargazing lessons my mother gave me. I went to the tallest building , the Deverin Manor to be exact, to read the stars there. The stars, I guess, informed me I was an idiot. I fell, tore my leg up, and survived. It's how I got the deed name Scrapeknee." he seems almost proud of the name.
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Dare starts at the voice addressing her, and comes a hair's breadth away from jabbing herself with the hot tip of her stylus. She hisses, but looks up to see the young man who had been furtively getting out of her way most of the time she had been here.
She had been torn between introducing herself and not. There was benefit to being seen as intimidating--and she needed the Vhiskis to know she could be useful in that way. Still, something about his shyness reminded her of the children who used to cling to the back her shirt as she stared down bullies when she was younger, and stirred a similar protective instinct. Even if his crooked nose suggested he could at least take a punch, and, given the nature of this fine establishment, probably deliver one.
As such, she holds back on the curse she was on the verge of shouting, and instead gives him an incredulous look. "Am I a what?" She almost scowls, but then her face switches to a lopsided smile. "Doubt the goddess of beauty has room for prayers from a face like mine."
One eyebrow, cut through with ancient burn scarring (that is what the flame tattoo conceals), twitches. "Why d'you ask?" She looks back down at her wooden nickel, and goes to reheat her stylus on the flame.
"Because I was 14 years of age, and got into a double dare," Scrapeknee blushes but only faintly, "It was over pride, and Shoanti Stargazing lessons my mother gave me. I went to the tallest building , the Deverin Manor to be exact, to read the stars there. The stars, I guess, informed me I was an idiot. I fell, tore my leg up, and survived. It's how I got the deed name Scrapeknee." he seems almost proud of the name.
"So wisdom came later in life?" Cailyn teased, since it seemed like most of the negative of the accident had been replaced with acceptance. And he seemed like the sort that would rather receive a smile instead of any amount of pity.
"Well I think it sounds like the great starting point of a legend. Maybe I will read about you in one of my books sooner or later." she is serious, not teasing, because there is Something nagging at the edge of her mind, telling her Scrapeknee will be something Great.
As she contemplates this, her fork scrapes the nice porcelain plate, making her look down and notice the unthinkable: her Plate was empty. "Oh, um, could I get another of those weed things?"
A chuckle at the later in life bit. And a light blush at the idea HE would ever be in a book.
As she contemplates this, her fork scrapes the nice porcelain plate, making her look down and notice the unthinkable: her Plate was empty. "Oh, um, could I get another of those weed things?"
"Certainly" he says, "We have a few more, and looks like the crowds we're hoping far aren't coming in yet."
At that, the door DOES open, and Scrapeknee turns to greet whoever, only to see it is his cousin, Sarla. A pretty girl of sixteen winters, her hair long and with flowers braided in it.
"Oh," Scrapeknee says, "Hello, Sarla. Thought we had another customer. You remember Miss Cailyn Vanderale?"
For a moment, Sarla doesn't seem to hear or notice her cousin, rather a happy expression as she hums a tune, then she blinks realizing someone else IS here, then "Oh yes, need me to change your sheets, Miss?"
"Where have you been anyway?" Scrapeknee inquires.
"Don't tell papa, I went by the Dragon, just to peek. They have this man playing the most HEAVENLY music." Sarla is wistful.
"They've got a musician now?" Scrapeknee sighs for a different reason, "Dandy. I don't think we can draw one of those."
Sarla shakes off her admiration of the musical talent she heard long enough to fuss at Scrapeknee, "The Festival means almost every room gets filled. And bringing it up to papa will just have him all scowly."
"AND he might figure out you and your friends were mooning over some wandering minstrel." Scrapeknee teases, the dynamic almost sibling like.
"UGH." Sarla rolls her eyes so hard it is almost audible, then, with practiced skill, ignores her cousin and turns back to their guest. The fact that some of her friends were indeed gawking is not the point. He shall never have the satisfaction of being seen as right. "So, change of sheets or anything else?"
Cailyn waves as she cleans any remnants of breakfast off her face. "Please, just the sheets." The rest of her room could be considered a mess by some, but organized in her own mind.
Dimly she thinks that making it in world might include making one's own bed on occasion, but she quickly sweeps that thought away.
"Was this minstrel a lanky, dark-haired, blue-eyed Taldan dandy?" Miss Vanderale could easily be referred to as a dandy herself since she dresses in the latest fashions just as her cousin does. The difference of dandyness here though is scale. As in she is within the bounds of the scale, and Willie lept off long ago.
Cailyn waves as she cleans any remnants of breakfast off her face. "Please, just the sheets." The rest of her room could be considered a mess by some, but organized in her own mind.
Dimly she thinks that making it in world might include making one's own bed on occasion, but she quickly sweeps that thought away.
"Was this minstrel a lanky, dark-haired, blue-eyed Taldan dandy?" Miss Vanderale could easily be referred to as a dandy herself since she dresses in the latest fashions just as her cousin does. The difference of dandyness here though is scale. As in she is within the bounds of the scale, and Willie lept off long ago.
At that, Sarla tilts her head, that's now how she would have worded it, but "Narrow of face, rather... innocent eyes of azure, and... yes, that sounds like him." She admits "He did seem to be of the aristocratic set, much like yourself miss." Respectfully.
Scrapeknee has stepped out, and returned with ... "Your Seaweed wrap. Hope you enjoy this as much as the other." He sets it down before Cailyn. Then, having overheard, "Is this Aristocrat trouble?"
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Cailyn's attention focused on the yummy treat, and answered honestly "Yes." then corrected herself "No, not really. I mean, he IS when you are an anxious teenage wallflower stuck going to a ball you really didn't want to be at. But his heart is in the right place. Usually." she did not want to remember that Dance Ever.
She looks up at Scrapknee and then Sarla "He's my cousin." she said with a rueful smile.
Cailyn's attention focused on the yummy treat, and answered honestly "Yes." then corrected herself "No, not really. I mean, he IS when you are an anxious teenage wallflower stuck going to a ball you really didn't want to be at. But his heart is in the right place. Usually." she did not want to remember that Dance Ever.
Scrapeknee was worried, but then relaxes, a bit. "Oh, I see. Well," He cheers up, "if his heart is in the right place but he still gets in trouble, he might fit right in in Sandpoint."
She looks up at Scrapknee and then Sarla "He's my cousin." she said with a rueful smile.
Sarla without missing a beat, glances at OjWoj, then back at Cailyn, then offers up "Trade you."
"HEY," OjWoj huffs, exaggerating his offense for the sake of family ritual "About those sheets?"
Sarla flashes him a triumphant smile, nods her head to Cailyn "Right on it. Nice talking to you." And up she goes.
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Conrad goes even redder in the face, if possible - and not just because the half-orc's disbelief and skepticism unknowingly echoed his own insecurities. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair. "J-Just look-k-king for work, that's all," he answers a bit defensively. "And I d-don't really think faces c-c-come a lot into that. I j-just assumed."
Embarrassment makes it even harder to get the words out. He hates it.
He points at her wooden creations. "So you're g-g-going to sell those a-at the festival?"
Before the girl could ascend to the upper rooms, Cailyn called out "Trade accepted. You get Wilberforce Whyte-Vetillus as your third cousin once removed on your mother's side. And I am now..." she looked back and forth between the two, a quizzical look on her face "First cousin to one OjWoj Scrapeknee?"
After a moment, she smiled brightly, and then offered "Would you like to be introduced to your new cousin?" she offered the younger girl, with an assumption that Willie would be returning to the Dragon that evening to continue his nighttime activities.
While Cailyn would rather stay in the Deer, she should probably attempt to keep in touch with the only family she has here... Only family besides newly acquired honorary cousins of course. And having a Reason is better for her mental health when Willie was involved. "You would be invited as well, dear cousin OjWoj."
Sarla gets caught one foot on the first step, then hears she has a deal and looks highly amused.
OjWoj explains, "Usually it's one or the other, name wise. Though no reason it can' be both. OjWoj "Scrapeknee" Viskalai would work if you like, though I actually prefer Scrapeknee as it is the closest thing I have to a deed name. Among Shoanti, I am still stuck on my child name." He blushes.
"You and my dad are the only ones who fuss over that,Sarla tells Ojwoj, "And its great you survived, but not sure that's like a 'deed'"
He shrugs haplessly, "Closest thing I've got, and either ways is ok."
After a moment, she smiled brightly, and then offered "Would you like to be introduced to your new cousin?" she offered the younger girl, with an assumption that Willie would be returning to the Dragon that evening to continue his nighttime activities.
While Cailyn would rather stay in the Deer, she should probably attempt to keep in touch with the only family she has here... Only family besides newly acquired honorary cousins of course. And having a Reason is better for her mental health when Willie was involved. "You would be invited as well, dear cousin OjWoj."
Sarla looks tempted, then shakes her head, "I'd love to. But it's my turn to work at the inn" She glances over at OjWoj "Your new cousin is due his turn for some hours off though."
Scrapeknee looks amused rather than hapless at this, "If you would like the company, 'Cousin Cailyn'. Uncle Garridan might kill me if he finds out I'm paying for anything over there, but let's live dangerously."
Cailyn seems to drink up the information. Any information in truth. And vows to see if there is a bookstore in Sandpoint, that might have a book on Shoanti culture.
"Thank you, Cousin Scrapeknee. An outing would be delightful, even if it is into enemy territory." for both of them.
Cailyn seems to drink up the information. Any information in truth. And vows to see if there is a bookstore in Sandpoint, that might have a book on Shoanti culture.
"Thank you, Cousin Scrapeknee. An outing would be delightful, even if it is into enemy territory." for both of them.
"Sure, I'll show you around a bit. Hope you're the patient sort, I don't do fast," he pats his bad leg without shame.
"You two have fun," Sarla waves them off.
When they head out of the door, true to his word, Scrapeknee points out a few places on the way to the dragon. Many of which she already no doubt knew and some she didn't.
While Cailyn wouldn't mind a tour, she does suggest it start later in the day, since her cousin will not be awake until at least noon... unless he has changed, which is entirely possible.
Conrad goes even redder in the face, if possible - and not just because the half-orc's disbelief and skepticism unknowingly echoed his own insecurities. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair. "J-Just look-k-king for work, that's all," he answers a bit defensively. "And I d-don't really think faces c-c-come a lot into that. I j-just assumed."
Embarrassment makes it even harder to get the words out. He hates it.
He points at her wooden creations. "So you're g-g-going to sell those a-at the festival?"
Bless. He reminded her of little Ike. "Looking for work myself. 'Uncle' Jubrayl hasn't gotten back to me yet. Are the Shelynites hiring?"
To his second question, she nods. "Bit short o' coin, if I'm honest." She holds out her work. "Be honest. Any good?"
While Cailyn wouldn't mind a tour, she does suggest it start later in the day, since her cousin will not be awake until at least noon... unless he has changed, which is entirely possible.
A confused look passes over Scrapeknee, "Why would anyone sleep till noon? You'll never get any work done that way."
It is obvious that certain big city lifestyles are a mystery to him.
"And sure, it can wait."
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"Looking for work myself. 'Uncle' Jubrayl hasn't gotten back to me yet. Are the Shelynites hiring?"
'I w-wouldn't know," Conrad gives a little shrug. "They're not hiring mme. B-B-But I'm not an artist l-like you."
""Be honest. Any good?"
"Er," Conrad squints to have a better look at the butterfly. He doesn't dare admitting that his art critic skills are close to zero. It certainly looks good to him. "Pretty g-good," he says, earnestly wishing it to be true.
"How d-d-do you d-d-o the little c-curly things?" he points at the details on the butterfly's wings. "Looks c-complicated!"
As evening starts to creep up, Cailyn comes down into the taproom of the White Deer, which is pleasantly calm, at least in Cailyn's opinion. The young half-elf has changed into a simple dress of navy blue over layered dark gold. Well maybe not That simple. Her long black hair has bluebells and yellow tulips woven in. A choice after seeing Sarla's lovely accessories from earlier
"Are you ready to invade enemy territory?" she asks Scrapeknee with a quick smile.
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As evening starts to creep up, Cailyn comes down into the taproom of the White Deer, which is pleasantly calm, at least in Cailyn's opinion. The young half-elf has changed into a simple dress of navy blue over layered dark gold. Well maybe not That simple. Her long black hair has bluebells and yellow tulips woven in. A choice after seeing Sarla's lovely accessories from earlier
"Are you ready to invade enemy territory?" she asks Scrapeknee with a quick smile.
He notices the hair change, and admires, "Looks nice, uhm, if you don't mind me saying so. And yes, let's head out to the ..." He lowers his voice "Other place."
Scrapeknee has changed into a fresh leather jerkin and with gray woolen trousers. His shoes are moccasins. Those familiar with Shoanti garb might recognize some of these touches. He opens the door for her as they head out, "Hurry, before Uncle Garridan starts asking for details."
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Well, she'd been in town a few days, and hadn't been taken in by the Sheriff yet. That, she could only hope, was a good sign. It helped, probably, that Lita had kept quiet, kept to herself, kept her walking routes out of the way and in hours that the Sandpoint residents would be less likely to stumble upon her. She rose early enough to watch the sun rise, and walk around town in the pre-dawn twilight, and would spend her days alternatively re-acquainting herself with the town and its surrounding areas or in her room, with her journal.
Of course the one night, the first night, she had chosen to try and truly test the waters, put herself out among the people, the Rusty Dragon Inn had some sort of commotion in the tavern. 'Some sort of commotion', in this case, of course means Willie's display on the piano. Lita had noticed the noise of the crowd a while before she'd noticed who had caught their attention, but that changed at the first discordant note. That brought her attention to a pair of spats, hoisted into the air by another patron, and belonging to... some nobleman, by the looks of him, trying to muddle his way through some song on the piano, while upside down. For some reason.
Some people truly did just have so much time on their hands, and so little sense in their heads for what to do with it.
Lita huffed a short, quiet laugh, shaking her head and taking a sip of her drink. It wasn't long, though, before she found herself tapping the tip of a cloven hoof against the spot on the stool where she'd rested it, enjoying the music - and, indeed, the bustle of the crowd - almost against her own better judgement.
'Oh, alright,' she thought, as if her internal monologue could address her old mentor. 'You're right, maybe this doesn't have to be so bad.'
"Thank you, sir" Cailyn smiles, remembering her manners. As they enter the night air, she slips her arm into his, since that is what someone being escorted is supposed to do, based on a lifetime of etiquette.
"How far is this Rust Dragon?" she asks, slipping her sachel up her other arm, a battered leather piece that has no place with her fine dress but doesn't seem to want to be parted with.
"Looking for work myself. 'Uncle' Jubrayl hasn't gotten back to me yet. Are the Shelynites hiring?"'I w-wouldn't know," Conrad gives a little shrug. "They're not hiring mme. B-B-But I'm not an artist l-like you."
Dare frowns, puzzled. "Then why did you ask me if I was a Shelynite? She waves her hand, not really expecting an answer.
"The curls? Just the right pen tip." She puts a final touch on the coin, then holds it out to him, as though to press it into his hand. "Listen, kid," says the woman who is probably at most about 19, "This work is makin' me thirsty. If I buy a drink I'd rather not go broke on the swill they sling here. Gonna check out that Rusty Dragon a few streets up. Wanna come?"
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"Thank you, sir" Cailyn smiles, remembering her manners. As they enter the night air, she slips her arm into his, since that is what someone being escorted is supposed to do, based on a lifetime of etiquette.
Scrapeknee wasn't expecting that, but adapts and guides her. He is not normally self conscious about his limp, but tonight he hopes it doesn't ... well, embarrass him, or her? or both? This is fancy stuff, but then she is of one of the fancy families, and manners maketh man.
"The honor is mine." He says politely. It IS a lovely night and he can't help but glance up at the stars and smile before they get going.
He guides her southward for a bit.
"How far is this Rust Dragon?" she asks, slipping her sachel up her other arm, a battered leather piece that has no place with her fine dress but doesn't seem to want to be parted with.
"The Rusty Dragon is almost to the other side of town. Southern side to the Deer's North. The good news? Sandpoint's not that big." They meander down Church Street, near the Cathedral soon to be the center of a holiday events to come. Down High Street and twist down Festival street. He makes idle comments on the various buildings here and there, they curve through the market area, and finally come to the Rusty Dragon, which is, unlike the White Deer, quite lively. It's a bit dirtier and definitely messier than the White Deer, but none can deny IT is the more popular place in town.
"Behold the enemy," Wryly, "With it's devious plan of being likable." He tilts his head, "And Musical." He opens the door for her.
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The Rusty Dragon is lively tonight, and not just because of Willie' inverted number. Ameiko, Bethan, and a few of the local girls that work as servers are all busy serving food and drinks. A crew of an Ulfen longship laded with goods from the far north and beyond the Crown of the World jeer playfully at the dandy after he finishes and start into a rousing and bawdy tune, helpfully translated from its original Skald to the more common Taldane. The heady scent of fine liquor, hopped beer, fresh ale, and sweet mead mixes with spices from all corners of Golarion. The warm lighting casts a golden glow over the scene. True, the Rusty Dragon does have that feel of age, a patina of history that is sorely lacking in a town with less than half a century behind it. It is not so neat and tidy as the White Deer, but Scrapeknee hits upon the secret to its success, especially among the increasing number of adventurers that seek out the lost secrets of Thassilon. The Rusty Dragon is just welcoming in a way the White Deer isn't.
If the White Deet is the stuffy uncle that's always minding his p's and q's, then the Rusty Dragon is the eccentric cousin that's always just a little off beat, but likable, even charming, and to stretch the metaphor to the breaking point, The Hagfish is the lovable uncle with the crazy stories that teaches you things you probably shouldn't know, and the Fatman's Feedbag is the black sheep of the family that's always looking to dig up everyone's dirty laundry and start a fight.
Oddball metaphors aside, The atmosphere hums with excitement as the Swallowtail Festival is only a couple of days away now. The Rusty Dragon is already full, if the shaking of the head of the young lass working the check-in counter is anything to go by when someone carrying a pack asks her a question. It seems that the White Deer will be seeing some business after all as the person leaves with his companions. The Dragon's taproom, however, does have some room to spare, a table for eight opens up as a group pays for their meals and drinks and leaves.
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" "Then why did you ask me if I was a Shelynite?
Ah. The dreaded question had finally reared its head. Conrad does his best to remain composed as he answers: "Nothing -well, I was w-wondering if I c-could find someone like m-me."
He knows he shouldn't be ashamed of his beliefs. He still avoids the half-orc's gaze. "I've never b-been to the D-Dragon. Is it far?"
Cailyn takes in the Dragon, "It certainly is... chaotic." her voice pitched to carry over at least some of the noise. Raising her voice makes it lose its inflection so it is hard to tell if she is just being kind to the Deer but the way her hand tightens on Scrapeknee's arm might be telling him she really doesn't like crowds.
She does love history though, and the Dragon is seeping in it. After smoothing out her dress to sit properly on the bench, she lets her fingers trace the scarred wood of the table, a wistful yearning to know on her face.
But losing oneself in wondering about the stories an inanimate object could tell does not make one a good dining companion, so she turns her attention back to Scrapeknee "What is good here?"
" "Then why did you ask me if I was a Shelynite?Ah. The dreaded question had finally reared its head. Conrad does his best to remain composed as he answers: "Nothing -well, I was w-wondering if I c-could find someone like m-me."
Another quirk of the eyebrow, and another lopsided smile. "Aye, not all of us shout our faiths. Though some might carve it on our faces." She taps the flame tattoo on her eye.
He knows he shouldn't be ashamed of his beliefs. He still avoids the half-orc's gaze. "I've never b-been to the D-Dragon. Is it far?"
"Nope, just a short walk up Salmon Street. Come on." She puts out her burner, caps it carefully, and packs up her kit carefully and slings it over her shoulder. She may have already decided someone needs to look after this guy. Might as well be her.
Lupia Marietti
Cailyn takes in the Dragon, "It certainly is... chaotic." her voice pitched to carry over at least some of the noise. Raising her voice makes it lose its inflection so it is hard to tell if she is just being kind to the Deer but the way her hand tightens on Scrapeknee's arm might be telling him she really doesn't like crowds.
"The Deer will be more like this, but quieter in a few days I hope, chaotic or no. The closer it gets to the festival, the more folks come into Sandpoint" While he has personally nothing against the Rusty Dragon, it IS frustrating that the White Deer has bigger rooms, is cleaner, and still doesn't get as much attention. He knows part of it is his Uncle Garridan is gruff and even, sometimes, off putting. Maybe Rubus will do better one day. Without thinking about it, he positions himself to act as a shield to the crowd as they move to a seat.
A few locals see him, and wave , a few tease about him being here instead of the White Deer, but it is mostly lost in the din as he waves back with his free hand.
Soon enough though, Cailyn is in that bench. Scrapeknee sits near her.
But losing oneself in wondering about the stories an inanimate object could tell does not make one a good dining companion, so she turns her attention back to Scrapeknee "What is good here?"
"Well, the foods here run a little spicy, and Amieko sometimes gets... 'inventive' which can lead to joys or sorrow. Obviously I don't come here often so I'm a bit behind, but I do recall the mutton strips aren't bad. They had a mushroom tart a year ago that didn't do damage to anyone's innards. Not sure if they still have that." OjWoj says "We could try to flag someone down and ask if you want? But those are two I recall."
Indeed, Scrapeknee is looking about as if reacquainting himself rather than as an old pro. He wonders if he should feel guilty. Not like he's stabbing his Uncle Garridan in the back per se, but there is a touch of silly guilt along with equally immature but self aware glee at the 'rebellion' of it all.
He does smile as he sees the Rusty Dragon seems to be full up enough that the White Deer will get the overflow.
Cailyn listens and nods, looking up from the table as people pass in front of them. Quick darting looks, then settling back down to her steady firmness of the wood. Distracted as she was, she missed the emotions in her eating companion.
"Those sound lovely." she says just as a server comes over to ask what they could like. "Oh, the mushroom tart and mutton strips... and a bowl of soup that soup there."" she pointed to a tray passing them. "Not that exact bowl, of course, that would be rude." she laughed nervously, then she looked at Scapeknee "What would you like? My treat, for helping me Explore the city."
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What sort of activity constituted 'making whoopee', anyway? Willie wasn't entirely sure and wasn't about to ask now. The young man knew all too well his grey matter was more akin a hue of swan egg white in terms of general knowledge, but that was no reason to air one's faults. 'Open your mouth and be thought a fool,' or however the saying went. All he knew was that people found the phrase worthy of a chortle when sung, and that was enough for him.
As was one minstrel per party. Upon the northern raiders' yodeling drowning out his own tintinnabulation, Wilberforce retired from the Rusty Dragon's piano, satisfied that they would maintain the requisite festive atmosphere. Drink in hand, he ambled from the eighty-eights to nowhere-in-particular, just taking in the now buzzing inn and wandering the crowd to dole out smiles and witticisms among the patrons like a scoutmaster doled out marshmallows. This was where he was at his best, he thought. To nourish a merry gathering and be nourished by it in turn - why, if not for that bally sun insisting on rising over a new day of chores, work and sensibility (all things Willie was mercifully exempt from), he sometimes wondered whether he couldn't keep it all going into infinity!
And on the topic of sensibility, there sat his cousin Cailyn. The gent's smile only widened upon spotting the young woman. While she was a frightful nib, Willie held no real ill will towards her. He just wasn't one for books and, er... books and... sailing? Willie pondered for a moment, an exercise he wasn't used to. Was this an apt description of the half-elf? It struck him that he really didn't know his cousin all that well. Never mind that, his point was that they simply didn't have much in common. Not much beyond blood, however thin. But then blood counted for a great deal among the better classes.
"What-ho, Cailyn, my old top!" Wilberforce plopped into a chair at her table, smile broader than his lanky frame. "You look crisp as a candied apple and not half as sweet this evening. How are you?"
He wasn't drunk yet, not quite. Truth be told, Willie was usually rather good at pacing himself, utilizing spirits as the social lubricant they were often touted as. Good company was the end; drink was merely the means!
"Are you going to introduce me to your friend?" The blue eyes fell on the young fellow in the funny dress accompanying Cailyn. Willie liked meeting new people.
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Cailyn listens and nods, looking up from the table as people pass in front of them. Quick darting looks, then settling back down to her steady firmness of the wood. Distracted as she was, she missed the emotions in her eating companion.
"Those sound lovely." she says just as a server comes over to ask what they could like. "Oh, the mushroom tart and mutton strips... and a bowl of soup that soup there."" she pointed to a tray passing them. "Not that exact bowl, of course, that would be rude." she laughed nervously, then she looked at Scapeknee "What would you like? My treat, for helping me Explore the city."
"I'll just have a mutton strip and a potato, thank you" He says to the server. Then says to Cailyn "Kind of you to pay, but I'm okay. I really haven't shown you much. Wait till you hear about the Curious Goblin. It's not open at night, and might not be for the festival proper either, but I think it would be up your alley."
He is about to say more, when Willie plops into a seat next to them.
He's so surprised he forgets to introduce HIMSELF
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Cailyn was curious about the curious goblin and exactly what her 'alley' would be, but then Willie arrived.
Cailyn's delight in Willie finding them instead of her having to go into the crowd to get his attention was quick and then muddled at his description of her. She didn't rightly know if she had been complimented or insulted... maybe both?
No matter. "It is... nice to see you as well, Wilberforce." her eyes took him in and she frowned just a little "Are you doing okay? Your hair is a right fright. I have a comb... one moment." she had been distracted and missed the amazing upside down playing, but she does rummage through her sachel and pull out an ornate comb, handing it to her cousin. "Now, yes, introductions. This is Scrapeknee Viskalai, the destined survivor of a near-tragic fall. I do expect great things from him, so decided he should meet you." 'Great' things was one of Willie's trends. Well, at least they were Greatly talked about things.
It wasn't exactly the reason why, but saying I wanted to check up on you, because you are my only family anywhere near sounded sad. And saying, I traded your cousinship away to young woman for this young man, sounded rather odd.