The beginning...
The sound of a rooster on a nearby farm drifted through the early morning fog.
Men called out in the pre-dawn , moving about the camp, hitching horse and ox to wagons.
Fires were doused and the caravan-master's voice rose up and over the suddenly busy meadow, "Up and moving! We're behind schedule and the Swallowtail Festival won't wait for us! Up! Up! Hitch that wagon, there...."
Children were gathered and if too young, put aboard a wagon, the older children could walk.
Soon enough the wagons were lined up as the wagon-master strode purposefuly up and down the line, nodding his approval.
With a wave of his hand he sent some men mounted on horses ahead to scout the trail, then mounting the first wagon in line, rose up and indicated the caravan could begin to roll out of the meadow , on its journey towards Sandpoint.
Kemras finishes charging one of the many tokens he carries around with him with his magical energy, and takes a deep breath as he draws himself upwards. A Festival... Kemras rubs his chin. He hadn't really intended to come to Sandpoint in time for this celebration, but from what the other caravaners had said, it was something he might enjoy.
Cracking his neck, he follows alongside the caravan, smiling at the children as they are gathered up. It's not so long ago that I was in that position. He'd actually spent more time in that position than most of his age-mates, having been slow to grow up.
Shaking off the memory, he takes a deep breath of the morning air. "Looks like Sarenrae's not quite gotten rid of our fog yet." He observes to no one in particular.
The ashen-pale young woman that had joined the caravan in Magnimar has already packed up her gear by the time the caravan master has announced that it was time to move. Her blood-red eyes and the dark-scaled tail nervously coiling around her hips and legs tell of her fiendish blood. Her scruffy, ill-fitting clothing and oddly well maintained weapons, belts, and boots tell a tale of their own, and one that wise Varisians want nothing to do with. So she keeps her distance, feeling the others' unease with her presence.
After a while, she's walking by Kemras, letting him get a good look at her. She's short, barely taller than a dwarf, and slender, looking like she should barely be able to drag the heavy pack on her back much less carry it and keep up with the caravan's pace, nor does she look like she should know how to use the greatsword balanced on her shoulder by the arm drapped over the hilt. Her hair under the hood of her cloak must be a fright if the strands going wherever they please are any indication. She doesn't look Kemras' way, instead looking at her feet, the road just ahead of her, or off into the trees.
Amaryllis was up well before the call to pack up came, taking a bit of time to limber up and stretch before having to sit in the wagon for another long leg of the journey to Sandpoint. She took long, nimble steps, pivoting into a few loose twirls along the edge of camp, swirling the morning mist around her as she moved, the soft jingly of her jewelry and the chains reinforcing the scarf wrapped around her waist chiming in the morning air with every motion.
With the call to leave however, she quickly collected her pack and made her way back into the camp, giving a wry smile as she passes Kemras on her way to make sure Cirandiu was up and moving, "Then we'll have to greet the Dawnflower ourselves rather than waiting for her to greet us, yes?" She states in an almost musical tone, running a hand through her wavy, almost ink-colored hair as she passed.
A tall slim elf, his pale skin and hair contrasting against his dark clothes, stood leaning against a tree, watching the caravanners prepare for the journey to Sandpoint. Firavel had joined the caravan of festival-goers from a different caravan from Magnimar that had a more northern destination.
He watched the smaller children wriggle in their wagon as they barely contained their excitement for some festival that was soon to occur at their destination. He almost felt jealous of their innocence, something he didn't really experience much of, his mother training him to be a tool from a young age. No one here seems concerned. Was my information off? Another day without being to wet my blade in vengeance? Is the Savored Sting giving me a temporary reprieve, a calm before the storm? He shakes himself out of his dark reverie as the caravan begins to move. He leans away from the tree and smoothly shifts into a quick walk to join the line.
He walks in silence for a few minutes, looking around at the variety of people joining the caravan, from children to the elderly, humans to even a tiefling! Such a motley assortment of people... What is... he decides to voice his question rather than contemplate it in silence: "What is this festival in Sandpoint about?"
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Kemras glances briefly at the small woman, considering her carefully. A strange one, this. Joined up before me, but from Magnimar. I'm sure I'd recall someone so exotic if I'd encountered her before. Well, no matter. Seems she doesn't want to talk at the moment. Still, his eyes linger briefly on her tail. What grace...
Shaking himself mentally, he looks to Amaryllis. "I'm never one to turn down a journey." He says with a wry smile. Not entirely true, but true enough. He flicks his kapenia over one shoulder and makes ready to continue.
The elf's question gives him pause, and he casts his mind back to anything he's heard of the festival. "I believe it has to do with commemorating a legend of Desna... something to do with transformation and recovery after a clash with the Mother of Monsters." He makes a warding gesture, rubbing one of his tattoos.
Unaware of Kemras' scrutiny, Tot continues along beside him. She listens to the Varisian talking with Amaryllis and Firavel with half an ear, at least until Kemras started talking about the Mother of Monsters. She stops looking around and turns her head towards the trio, though she still doesn't look up at them.
Raised in Cheliax and trained in Nidal, she never heard much about faiths other than that of Asmodeus and Zon Kuthon, and Desna was one of those gods that had been labeled as dangerous and subversive, along with any other god that was not allied with Hell, she realizes. Like so many things that don't pertain to fighting or survival in the wilderness, Tot knows almost nothing about any of what the others are talking about. She doesn't know who the Dawnflower is, except that they are related to the sun. Desna is equally as mysterious, if not more so. The Mother of Monsters sounds pretty self-explanatory, and she wonders if this one was responsible for creating goblins. Small they may be, but they are monsters all the same.
When there's a lull in the conversation, curiosity gets the better of Tot.
"W-what kind of gods are the Dawnflower and Desna," she asks the others. Her voice is soft and musical, though she lacks the confidence to sing well. She still doesn't look any of them in the face, but she's turned enough towards them that they can see her face and her blood-red eyes pointed at the ground, as well as her snarled white hair covering some of her face.
The final member of the group, having joined the caravan while they had camped halfway their travel, takes in the chatter quietly.
Audra hadn't gone off to Sandpoint for the festivities, but this caravan was good as any a source of protection, if any of the mercenaries came after a fleeing young woman. Young taken relatively, of course, she'd outlive them by long, when it came to age.
As far as she had seen, Audra had noticed but one other who stood out as much as herself, in appearance.
Rather shy a girl. I wonder, would she too be different, when push comes to shove?
W-what kind of gods are the Dawnflower and Desna
While not being schooled much in religious matters, Desna had been one of worship for the traveling Sczarni families she had met thus far.
At this she speaks for almost the first time since convincing the caravan master to have her travel along. She herself traveled in common traveler's attire in blues with the occasional light green accent.
"The Dawnflower is a goddess of retribution on the irredeemable, and of forgiveness to those that open up to bettering their lives.
Desna is one of freedom and luck, and travel."
Zolren had gotten up early, having had yet another nightmare ridden night. He kept mostly away from everyone else during the journey, knowing all too well how some viewed his kind.
But the small tiefling woman caught his attention. Like himself, she had kept her distance from the others, and yet now a crowd was quickly forming around her. With the conversation turning to a topic he's quite familiar with, given his upbringing, he decides to join the group. Hopefully she'll feel more comfortable with another tiefling besides her.
Nodding at the sylph's words, he adds "Desna urges us to go out into the world, see new places and experience life to the best of our ability." Zolren looks onto the distance as he says his piece, his voice heavy with a nostalgic tone with hints of guilt. His right hand instinctively moves to touch the holy symbol he still wears, hidden underneath his shirt.
Refocusing his attention on the group, he continues. "The festival is indeed a religious event rooted in a Desnan legend. But it's also a time when the whole town comes together and celebrate. I'm sure you will all enjoy it."
Freedom, Tot remembers being told once, is a word used by anarchists, hedonists, and other criminals to shirk responsibility and justify their debauchery. Mercy was a weakness touted as a virtue by many of those same people. Perfection was the one true standard, she'd been taught. Then about a year ago, the same people who had taught her that planned to put a dagger through her heart. In the year since, she has found it a struggle to sort through the truths and the lies. She realizes that she doesn't know enough about anything and wonders if maybe these people know what she wants to learn.
Tot fidgets as more people gather around. Even before she'd been ambushed in Korvosa, she wasn't fond of large groups, but now she has to actively fight the impulse to run from them, especially if she is the focus of their attention. She shifts her position to be closer to the trees if she needs to run and focuses on the questions she has rather than the growing urge to find some place to hide.
"Wh-what's the legend," she asks Zorlen, speaking more in the past couple of minutes than she has in the past two weeks.
Kemras glances at Audra, then Zorlen. Truly, this is an incredibly unusual group. I'm used to being the one to get the most strange looks, but I practically blend in here. It's a strange feeling for him. I wonder if I should be grateful. No, he decides, that's a bridge too far. Others are even more isolated than him, and he should be grateful? No. I should try to reach out to them.
Once Zorlen has answered Tot's question, he adds one of his own. "You've been to this festival before?"
Firavel rubs his chin in thought. I can't see how the town would celebrate if they were aware of some impending attack. I can't be the only one to have heard the rumors, he thought but kept silent for now.
The talk of religion also went over his head, my faith falls only to Calistria and I'm still getting used to the human perversion of her, but he listened as the festival was rooted in Desnan religion. He recalled his mother mentioning that Desna was, at least, something of an ally to Calistria for some reason or another, so perhaps there could still be something of interest in the story behind it.
With the call to leave however, she quickly collected her pack and made her way back into the camp, giving a wry smile as she passes Kemras on her way to make sure Cirandiu was up and moving, "Then we'll have to greet the Dawnflower ourselves rather than waiting for her to greet us, yes?" She states in an almost musical tone, running a hand through her wavy, almost ink-colored hair as she passed.
"Aw, come on Ama," Cirandiu yawns good-naturedly as the woman comes to check in on him. "Can't a guy watch the stars all night without having to be up and moving before the crack of dawn." He smiles, running a hand through his heavily greying tousled hair. Light-hearted jokes about their respective deities and their contrasting hours of worship has been a long-running theme between the two of them.
He stretches, pulling his deep blue robes around himself to ward off any lingering chill. Cirandiu was genuinely delighted to have bumped into Amaryllis in Whistledown, even more so to have the opportunity to travel with his old friend again as it turned out they were both headed to Sandpoint. As a regular traveller across the crisscrossing roads and trails of Varisia, Cirandiu has got to know dozens of people over the years, including fellow wanderers like his bardic companion. He doesn't immediately recognise any of the other travellers with the caravan but to the young priest they are hopefully just friends he has yet to meet.
By the sounds of it a debate about the gods has already broken out, perhaps a touch serious for the time of day. Cirandiu yawns again. Coffee first, he thinks, hoping that he'll be able to get a mug from somewhere, then he'll be ready to launch himself into the conversation with gusto.
"Wh-what's the legend," she asks Zorlen, speaking more in the past couple of minutes than she has in the past two weeks.
Heh. We haven't even reached Sandpoint, and yet here I am already slipping back into the role of the studious desnan acolyte.
"Our companion has the right of it." Zorlen gestures towards Kemras as he speaks. "The legend speaks of a blind orphan child, who discovered a wounded avatar of Desna after she fell to Golarion, following a fierce battle against the Mother of Monsters. The child managed to nurse her back to health, and in thanks, Desna turned him into a beautiful immortal swallowtail butterfly, so that he could explore the wonders of the world forever."
Once Zorlen has answered Tot's question, he adds one of his own. "You've been to this festival before?"
Zorlen gives a small chuckle at the question.
"I was born and raised in Sandpoint, by the desnan church, no less, so I'm quite familiar with it." Zorlen looks away from the half-elf for a moment, gazing forward towards their destination, and his smile drops somewhat. "But it has been a while since my last festival. I've... Been away for a quite a long time."
Despite the brevity of its telling, Tot hangs onto Zorlen's words as he relays the tale. There were no legends or stories around the holy days of the Asmodean Church, at least none were ever told to her. Emotions and curiosity were needless flaws in a weapon after all. A weapon need only obey. Legends and stories are things that are new to the young tiefling, and she has always been a curious girl.
"Why a swallowtail butterfly," she asks after a little while, the question weighing on her as she went over the legend over and over again in her head.
"The Dawnflower is a goddess of retribution on the irredeemable, and of forgiveness to those that open up to bettering their lives.
Desna is one of freedom and luck, and travel."
"More than that, Sarenrae is the embodiment of the sun itself, and goddess of life and healing." Amaryllis adds before smirking a bit as her traveling companion protested being awoken.
"The early bird gets the worm as they say, and I'd hate to see you have to walk the long trek alone." She teases back with a sly grin and a playful nudge.
As she makes her way towards the wagons she pipes up to answer Tot's question, "Well, while I can't say why a swallowtail specifically, butterflies are a favored creature of Desna, as though they are normally short lived, they are free to fly where they please." She states, holding up a finger to mimic the stance of a lecturer before bursting into a fit of giggles as she continues on.
The others can see Tot blush before she looks away.
I-is she making fun of me, the scruffy-looking fighter wonders as Amaryllis giggles. She figures that she should be grateful that so many seemingly knowledgeable people are willing to answer her questions, but she's finding it difficult as paranoia starts to creep in.
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"The Dawnflower is a goddess of retribution on the irredeemable, and of forgiveness to those that open up to bettering their lives.
Desna is one of freedom and luck, and travel.""More than that, Sarenrae is the embodiment of the sun itself, and goddess of life and healing." Amaryllis adds before smirking a bit as her traveling companion protested being awoken.
"That too, i'm told. Yet the former points give a more ring of awe to the duality in her nature, really. Much like the weather, it can wrathful from above at times, yet comforting and beautiful at other times."
Kemras looks curiously at Zorlen. "Is that so? I suppose you're glad to be heading home, then." He looks again at the others. Two and a half Varisians, two tieflings, and... I'm not sure what Audra is. What an unusual group.
Shaking his head, he focuses on the conversation again. "There are a great many mystery cults in Magnimar. It's a shame I never really had the chance to explore them in any depth." He says aloud. "It would've been quite interesting to learn more about them."
Cirandiu takes the jest in the spirit it was intended and returns Amaryllis' smile. Both of them know that he regularly does undertake solo travel happily, though he is rarely one to pass up good company. Having successfully managed to cadge some coffee, he returns to the lively debate and sits down cross-legged on the ground. He cups the mug in both hands before taking a sip: bitter, rich, warming.
"All true of course," he chimes in, "but," he addresses himself to the blushing, somewhat scrawny-looking young woman who has been asking most of the questions, "what our friends are neglecting here is the big picture. Now, some of us are fortunate enough to have been touched by the loving hand of Pulura - mistress of stars and constellations, travellers and the lonely -" he clarifies, "but even the most devout priest will oftentimes look beyond their patron deity. For instance, suppose that someone has rudely awoken you at an unconscionably early hour." He looks pointedly at Amaryllis as he says this last bit, though the smile playing on his lips shows he is not being serious. "It would be churlish of me to deny the beauty of the dawn and not to give thanks to Sarenrae for it."
Cirandiu is on a roll now, enjoying holding court. "Similarly, I'll offer Abadar my blessing for the coins in my purse, thank Erastil for the land's infinite bounty, and it will be Cayden Cailean's name I'll be toasting as I raise a mug of ale later tonight, regardless of my devotion to the Shimmering Maiden."
"What I'm saying," Cirandiu says kindly to Tot, "is that it doesn't necessarily matter what you know of the gods. Folk offer thanks and prayers to any and all of them depending on the circumstances. You are asking fine questions and you can learn and find out at your own pace. Certainly there's more than enough discourse and literature to keep you busy for several lifetimes. Not to mention friendly discussion." He spreads his arms wide around the assembled group to reinforce his point. "And if it turns out that there is one who speaks to you more closely, the one in your heart, then that's your patron. Indeed they are probably there already keeping watch over you, whether you have a name that you can give to them or not." He smiles, idly rubbing the faded scar that runs down his otherwise handsome face.
I doubt any god is watching over me, except maybe to laugh, Tot thinks as Cirandiu finishes speaking.
"Are you a priest," she asks him. Though she tries to keep it from her tone, there's a edge of something bitter when she says priest.
"It probably wouldn't be the first word I'd use to describe myself - stargazer, scholar, wanderer to name three that I'd probably choose sooner - but yes, you could also call me that," Cirandiu smiles. "Regardless of label or title, I have been blessed with good fortune by Pulura and have thus dedicated myself to her service and, in line with her teachings, aiding others."
He puts down his cup, sensing from her reserved body language that it would be prudent to let the woman lead - or not - in terms of any warrior's handclasp or other physical greeting. "Cirandiu Florean," he says, "call me Cir. Delighted to make your acquaintance this fine morning, Miss...?"
"Sorry is the hare with one hole, eh?" She mused as Cirandiu finished his sermon, her smile only widening... Though it quickly faded as she began to pick up on Tot's persistent agitation over the topic; almost recognizing a hint of it from her own past experiences.
"Ah." She hums, noting the hidden venom in the word priest, shooting the man it was directed at a meaningful, sympathetic look, "Sounds like this might be a bit of a sore spot for you, huh? Though I won't pry if you don't wish to share." She assures the pale skinned woman in as soft and friendly a tone as she could muster.
"And you can call me Amaryllis." She adds as Cirandiu introduces himself, giving a mock curtsy with her waist scarf.
"T-tot. Just Tot," the young woman answers when asked her name. Before she can say anything else, Amaryllis tries to soothe her irritation and introduces herself. Realizing that she'd let on more than she really wanted to, she shrinks down under the bard's gaze.
"S-sorry," she apologizes, "bad memories."
She looks down at her feet as she rubs her arm. She'd hoped to learn more, but it seems that her past is coloring her tone more than she'd like.
"Do you follow a god, too," she asks, hoping to move past the moment.
The woman does not seem comfortable so Cirandiu is glad that Amaryllis is taking a gentle approach. "Hi Tot," he says kindly. "Nothing to apologise for and it's absolutely your prerogative on what you want to talk about or share. If you have questions that I can answer I'll do so to the best of my ability. And I'm more than happy to listen if you want to talk but if you want to keep things to yourself, I completely understand. Nobody enjoys raking through unpleasant memories."
Firavel scratches the back of his head, as some in the caravan gather nearby to continue their conversation about the festival, religion and other niceties. The mundane topics and lack of concern in their voices aside, perhaps, from the skittish tiefling, was starting to bother him.
"Pardon the interruption, but has there been any rumors of... trouble mobilizing in the countryside near Sandpoint? I had heard something but as there appears to be none around remotely alarmed at such a possibility, I'm starting to think my information was in error."
"If it is, then I guess it can't hurt to relax and enjoy the festival," he finishes with a wry smile.
The half-elf watches the interplay without speaking. Curiouser and curiouser. Shaking his head, he speaks. "I'm Kemras." He says by way of introduction. "And I do walk with the Song of Spheres as best I can, but I'm hardly the most devout person."
Kemras looks sharply at the elf, starting. I almost forgot he was here. Got to keep focused. Things aren't always safe on the roads. Still, he considers the question more carefully. "I haven't heard anything, but that doesn't mean there's nothing afoot... still, I don't think that anything will be able to attack Sandpoint outright - I'd definitely have heard of an army mobilizing or the like." He looks to Zorlen for confirmation of his assessment of Sandpoint's defensive outlook.
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"Pardon the interruption, but has there been any rumors of... trouble mobilizing in the countryside near Sandpoint? I had heard something but as there appears to be none around remotely alarmed at such a possibility, I'm starting to think my information was in error."
Not near Sandpoint, as far as i know. Glad to be away from Magnimar's surroundings.
Still walking a little behind the others, save maybe Kemras.
"Something haunting you, would i be right? Be sure it won't consume you. A wise woman once told me, "try finding a way to unburden yourself", in whatever fashion or company you require for it."
If Tot looks around for the whispered message, Audra shows a meaningful look, yet in a way an understanding person would offer, the tips of her hair seemingly moving as if touched by a faint air current.
Amaryllis nods to Cirandu's statement, piping up to add, "Everyone has their demons. It's up to them to decide if they'll fight them alone or not."
She then glances to Firavel, raising a brow at the question and rubbing her chin thoughtfully, "Can't say I've heard anything of the sort... Though given the event going on I can imagine some less than reputable folks are up to something or another." She hums, sounding as if she has experience with such things, "I suppose all the more reason to keep an eye on your surroundings, and a hand on your purse."
Tot's definitely hiding some things from how carefully she's choosing her words. The whispered message definitely doesn't help her nerves, and she jumps when she hears the words.
"That requires trust, doesn't it," Tot asks, showing a familiarity with the spell the belies her shabby dress. "Someone once told me that trust is for fools. In my experience, he was right."
Tot jumps a little bit about the time the talk of gathering giants and monsters starts up. She tries to listen to the conversation, but finds too many threads going on at once, a shortcoming her siblings had always twitted her on. Still, she hears the others advising her and apparently showing concern for her.
"Is it normal for people around here to show concern for strangers?"
"Blind trust can be dangerous, agreed. So a fair measure of caution is indeed healthy, but i figure the latter is yours already."
(Corner of Audra's mouth slightly curls up a moment)
"If by 'here' you mean present company," Audra gives the others a quick look over.
"Two plausible reasons, i figure. One, they are obviously in fair spirits, so they become curious about those less so. Second, even if in fair spirits, it may even be a bit to calm their own minds."
Audra may well deliberately hold back on saying anything that would turn the chatterboxes' attention towards herself as well, given her sharing her thoughts and the message spell can be intercepted by the accute of hearing.
"Regardless, i reckon time will show trustworth. I'm cautious like that as well."
"Me neither," Cirandiu adds. "Though there are always potential dangers on the road. As for the festival, I agree with Ama - it creates lots of opportunities for people, some unfortunately less savoury than others." He scratches his beard. "But the corollary is that the town will be on its guard more because the festival is such an important event. Everyone is going to want it to go off without a hitch."
He turns to Kemras and hails him. "Oh, and hi Kemras! Good to be travelling with you."
Cirandiu then turns to the elf. "Being that you appear to have heard things that have escaped the ears of the rest of us, would you care to enlighten us about this trouble?"
Kemras looks curiously at Zorlen. "Is that so? I suppose you're glad to be heading home, then."
Zorlen ponders on Kemras question for a moment, before replying.
"I suppose I am. It will be nice to see how everyone is doing and be able to enjoy the festival again. And I'm curious about the new cathedral as well." Zorlen smiles at the half-elf as he answers, but the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, which look sadly back to the distance. "I hope these years brought other positive changes to the town as well."
Firavel's question brings his focus swiftly back to the conversation, however, a look of fear and urgency in his eyes.
Those nightmares... Could they be a premonition of some sort?
"I've heard nothing either... But that doesn't mean there's no basis for the rumours you've heard. There's bound to be unsavoury characters trying to take advantage of people at the festival, but the guard should be able to handle most of them, I think." While he tries his best to hide his concern, some notes of worry creep into Zorlen's voice. "But that didn't sound like the kind of trouble you were referring to. Could you share what you 've heard?"
Demons, huh? Gods, I hope not. Once was enough. Kemras shakes his head slightly. More metaphorical demons, though... well, that's true enough. How is Uncle Zandu, anyways? He shakes his head again, pushing the thought aside.
He smiles (only slightly forced) at Cirandiu. "Good to be traveling with you, as well. I haven't had much of a chance to talk with you since I joined up, but I think we'll probably have the chance to do plenty of chatting once we get to Sandpoint."
As the others turn to inquire about Firavel's information, he falls silent again, pondering the whispered discussion between the two women. Tiefling, trust issues? Chelaxian, probably. Might be Nidalese, which is almost worse, but... probably not. He thinks of what he knows about that infernal empire. Not a good place for anyone, but I don't think they like tieflings at all, either. Of course, the shyness might just be a ploy, but what would a Chelish agent have any interest in doing this far north?
"I don't think any amount of time will be enough," she whispers back, though it's unclear if she's talking about for her to trust others or for others to trust her.
As Tot walks along, half-listening to the conversation around her, she wonders if she'll always be on the run. Amaryllis is wrong. If anyone learns who she actually is, she's certain that they'll never trust her. Even if they don't, how is a tiefling supposed to gain trust? She supposes she can ask Zorlen, it seems others like and trust him, but she can't bring herself to ask him how he does it.
She falls silent as the journey continues, wondering if this is her life now. Will she walk until she collapses somewhere? Will she ever find a place to call her home?
And what is home, anyway? It's not like I belong anywhere.
** spoiler omitted **
As Tot walks along, half-listening to the conversation around her, she wonders if she'll always be on the run. Amaryllis is wrong. If anyone learns who she actually is, she's certain that they'll never trust her. Even if they don't, how is a tiefling supposed to gain trust? She supposes she can ask Zorlen, it seems others like and trust him, but she can't bring herself to ask him how he does it.
She falls silent as the journey continues, wondering if this is her life now. Will she walk until she collapses somewhere? Will she ever find a place to call her home?
And what is home, anyway? It's not like I belong anywhere.
"Why do you want to talk to me," Tot asks.
** spoiler omitted **
"The offer stands, but the if at all and when and what, i will leave that up to you."
Tot doesn't reply to Audra, but it isn't hard for the druid to see that she's given the tiefling some food for thought.
Can I let someone get even that close to me?
She's quiet as she ponders the question and its implications.
He smiles (only slightly forced) at Cirandiu. "Good to be traveling with you, as well. I haven't had much of a chance to talk with you since I joined up, but I think we'll probably have the chance to do plenty of chatting once we get to Sandpoint."
"Plenty of time for that," Cirandiu smiles back. "And always happy to make the time if you'd care to. Learning about the rich tapestry that is people's lives is rarely wasted as far as I'm concerned."
He smiles (only slightly forced) at Cirandiu. "Good to be traveling with you, as well. I haven't had much of a chance to talk with you since I joined up, but I think we'll probably have the chance to do plenty of chatting once we get to Sandpoint.""Plenty of time for that," Cirandiu smiles back. "And always happy to make the time if you'd care to. Learning about the rich tapestry that is people's lives is rarely wasted as far as I'm concerned."
And there we have it.
Audra figures she doesn't have to give Tot a knowing look. Cirandiu saying this out loud confirms the (presumed private) whispered conversation she had with the tiefling.
Tot doesn't know how applicable Audra's reasoning here is, so she just nods, hoping to avoid causing any issues between her and the druid. It's hardly like her life is a rich tapestry. Up until the night she overheard her brother planning to sacrifice her to some devil, she had been destined to be just one more blade for House Thrune, and since then, it'd just been a blur, mostly. Could she let someone get that close to her? She doubted it.
But, she has to admit, at least the sentiment is nice.
Kemras keeps an ear open for the continued exchange of the two women, but nods at Cirandiu as cheerily as he can muster. "Exactly. If only so long as the Festival lasts... how long does it last?"
Zorlen quietly listens to the others as they talk, content to hear the exchange as he waits for the elf's reply.
"The festival itself lasts for a single day" he answers Kemras. "It is held on the first day of autumn every year. But as you can imagine, the festive mood stays with the town for a bit longer. Particularly this year, I believe, as it also marks the completion of the town's new cathedral."
Those who head north from Magnimmar along the rocky coastline quickly find themselves in a peculiar country. Fog drapes the rolling landscape, floating spectrally along damp and lonely moors. Small woodlands grace the region, their tangled deptehs redolent of nettles and pepperwood and pine sap, while futher inland, river valleys lined by majestic redwoods wind between ragged tors and limestone escarpments. The region's vastness and sense of isolation have earned it its local name -- The Lost Coast
And so the colorful caravan made its way down the Long Coast road, past verdant fields of tall grass, through dark, mystery shrouded woods, along precipitous cliffs high above the pounding sea. The sights and sounds of Varisia were on full display as our group talked and grew to know each other; even if only by a small amount.
The cavaran master, one Killeg Silvnstri, attempted to keep the caravan on schedule, but much like it's citizenry, Varisia could show a mercurial streak. A strong storm from the sea cost the man two days, a search for two missing children in the woods...1 day, a dispute between two families...2 more days.
By the time the farms of Sandpoint came into view over a rise in the road, Killeg's hair must have gone at least two shades greyer than when he left Magnimmar!
Much cheered by the proximity of their destination, even the horses and Ox pulling the wagons picked up their step, encouraged by Killeg's exhortations.
As the caravan makes it's way past the farms, a rider gallops forth bareback, elbows and feet akimbo. A boy , not more than 11 or 12, reins up his horse and calls out "Killeg! You're late!" with a cheerful laugh. Killeg chuckles and nods, "Been a trying journey , Ren, your Pa in town?". "He sure is....I'll ride ahead and let him know your almost there, " the boy says , before looking concerned and leaning forward over his horses' neck, "You brought them?"
Killeg tilts his head back and laughs loud, as if letting all of the stress of the journey out, "Indeed, Ren...we have them."
With a wide smile the boy waves and sets off in the direction of Sandpoint, slowly reducing to a small cloud of dust on the road ahead.
With a wry smile, Kellig turns to you and says, "Fireworks...the children love them!"
Once crossing the deep cut of the Foxclove River, the farmland spreads out to the east, tidy roads and farm buildings dotting the gentle rise and fall of the Farmlands. As the ford of the Soggy River is slowly crossed, Killeg keeps his scouts on high alert , for the Brinestump Marsh was nearby, famous haunt of goblins and other monsters. The rocky sides of Ashen Rise looms ahead and to the right of the Road, flying beasts can be seen circling its heights. Soon the crossing of Cougar Creek is made, and the high flat rocks of the Devil's Platter bunch up into a collection of low mountains, around the base of which the Long Coast Road wends it's way.
Rounding the last of the mountains, the Pyre, a promontory sacred to the ancient Varisians comes into view, beyond that the sea....and Sandpoint, it's Old Light tower jutting above the small town.
Sanpoint Harbor is filled with the masts of ships, having journeyed to the town for the Swallowtail festival. Even from here, brighty colored pennants can be seen streaming from every high point in the town. The new Cathedral can be seen gleaming above Tanner's Bridge, over the Trandarok River.
"Come now! It's the last leg!" bellows Killeg, giving energy to the tired horses and people alike.
Soon Sandpoint proper is before the caravan, only its eponymous bridge to cross. However, the hurry that had possessed the caravan before dies away as each member of the caravan takes a moment to stand before a mirror attached to the gate there, with a message painted on a sign beside it Welcome to Sandpoint! Please stop to see yourself as we see you!
Whatever shred of hope Tot had of finding a job here in Sandpoint is gone when she sees herself in the mirror. Her white hair hadn't been cut in over a year, and despite her best attempts to tame it, it half-covered her face. Her clothes are worn and travel stained, but they had not be anything near fine when she'd pulled them off the men she'd killed when they'd attacked her in Korvosa. The armor made her look and feel like some girl playing pretend with scraps she'd found. The mishmash of her clothing and armor only made the better made equipment that had so far survived her journey look like she had stolen it, which she guesses, is true after a fashion.
She ducks her head and pulls the hood of her cloak low in an effort to hide her red eyes and hope that she wouldn't be stopped after entering town. She had hoped to find a place to rest after traveling constantly for more than a year, but after seeing herself in the mirror for the first time in a long, long time, she wonders if she'll even be allowed in. No town wanted some tiefling vagabond wandering about and potentially causing trouble.
Probably the exception to most, if not all of the caravan, Audra looks up at the thunderstorm with excitement. As if it was something fun.
Like Tot has her notable white hair, Audra has a strong blue hue to it reminiscent of a clear blue sky. At times its tips seem to move as if a faint breeze brushes them. Not constantly, but sometimes. There are some light colored patterns on her skin.
Her attire is blues and greens. Unbuttoning the upper collar of her vest, she wears a simple varisian style necklace.
Kemras takes the brief chance to glance at himself in the mirror shard, eyes narrowing slightly. Elven, human... what difference does it make? I'm me, first and foremost. Not unhandsome, but also nowhere near as compelling as his father or uncle were. Noting the faintest hints of dark circles under his eyes, he frowns. Am I really that tired?
Shaking his head. Well, I wear my heritages proudly, anyways. He casts a glance down at his tattooed arms. It's always good to take a moment of self-reflection. I wonder if that's deliberate on the town's part... The half-elf casts his eyes towards the town. Only one wall? Maybe we should be worried about what he said.
Zorlen makes a stop by the mirror as well, yaking of his hood for a moment.
He has grown quite a bit from when he left town that fateful day five years ago. But he doubts anyone would have trouble recognising him. He knew he stood out, especially with his hood down: horns, tail, deep red skin, bright yellow eyes. Most should notice the resemblance, especially the ones who used to point him out as the cause for any misfortune. Or they would, if they spared more than a glance at him.
Has it really been five years already? I feel I've changed quite a bit since then. What about everyone else?"
"It's a pity the mirror can't tell us the whole truth. Especially for us." He says as he steps besides Tot. "You can never be sure how the people will react to what they see. Unfortunately, superstitions run deep in the minds of some of the people here. Probably not unlike other places you've been to. I just hope it doesn't prevent you from enjoying the festival." he gives the woman a small smile. "I don't know for how long you'll be staying, but if you ever want someone to talk to who you can be sure won't be bothered by who you are, feel free to come see me."