GM Spazmodeus presents Rise of the Rune Lords

Game Master Spazmodeus

"Had graves been dug up, I might agree with you, Audra, but a crypt being broken into? That seems like even more effort than digging up corpses." Kemras rubs his chin, wishing the stubble weren't so bothersome. "Also a good question, Audra. Perhaps that person was simply strong enough to beat the goblins enough to make them obey? And then promising them violence agains the town..." He shakes his head. "I'm engaging in far more speculation than I should. We need more information before we can make any serious conclusions."

The half-elf glances at the knight aspirant. "You have a talent for bringing up some truly terrible possibilities, my friend."

The Sheriff nods with satisfaction at the thoroughness in which the group discusses the possibilities , then in answer to Bulvariu's question, "Let us find out! Come help me with the door slab..."

He and Bulvarius grasp the heaving stone slab and slide it more to the side, allowing more light to enter and providing enough room to enter.

As they do so, however, a bony hand grasps the edge of the and an animated skeleton comes into view, followed closed by another.

With a shout of surprise, the Sheriff jumps back, pulling Bulvarius with him. Then, he yells in outrage, "Foul necromancy! Come, help me destroy them!"

He leaps forward and with the groups help, the two skeleton are reduced to shards of bone.

Then , hardly breathing hard, Hemlock look into the tomb, satisfied the nothing else dangerous remained, "I will fetch Father Zantus, why don't you take a look inside....". He then

Didn't see the point in running a combat with you guys and Hemlock, a 4th level fighter, against 2 skeletons..."

Totally fine. Looks like you're missing part of your post, though.

Joanna clamps her jaw shut to keep from screaming in fright as the skeletons clamber up from the depths of the crypt. Before she can do much more than draw her borrowed shortsword, the fight is over. Still she can feel her heart thundering in her chest. For all of the talk of what they might find, she hadn't expected to find anything, she realizes, especially not the undead.

When Sheriff Hemlock asks them to investigate the crypt, Joanna nods jerkily. She shakes as the adrenaline wears off and the rest of her body catches up with conscious mind. With a deep breath, she moves the lights into the crypt and braces herself for what she might find.

Note to self: get some sort of weapon that can bash apart bones if you keep delving into tombs. Kemras puts his rapier away, feeling somewhat useless. "Well. That was... unpleasantly unexpected. Is everyone alright?" They slowly step into the tomb, examining it as carefully as they're able while keeping their guard up.

Perception, Take 10: 10 + 11 = 21 +1 if there are any traps.

Joanna's balls of light cast numerous shadows in the dim mausoleum. Rows of nooks on the walls contain urns and other religious paraphernalia , and in the middle are a number of stone sarcophagi.

You immediately notice that one of the stone sarcophagi has been opened...and that there are no remains within! The sarcophagus bears the name of Ezakien Tobyn, Father Zantus' predecessor.

"Huh." Kemras picks up a robe from the corner. "Not sure what this is, but I doubt it was left here by the grave keepers." He looks to the others with an inquisitively raised brow.

Still can't identify magical items or whatnot, but the GM can roll either Spellcraft or Knowledge (arcana), both with +7, to see if he knows anything - I'm not sure whether either would apply without actual magical senses that he lacks.

Bulvarius flashes a hard smile at Kemras' comment;

"Let the fates send us its worst my friend, how else will be earn our names and places in the great songs and stories."

As the skeletons are overcome, the big Hellknight Aspirant lowers his braced spear with a frown;

Note to self: A bludgeoning weapon would be best against such foes...

Peering into the tomb he comments on the lack of one key content:

"Huh. No goblin-ghouls..."

There is lint of disappointment in the warriors voice.

"You were actually looking forward to those," Joanna squeaks.

Joanna doesn't have detect Magic, so no identifying the robe for her either.

Sorry, busy busy weekend!

As the investigation of the tomb continues, Hemlock and Father Zantus return, the good Father entering and exclaiming his shock at the disappearance of Ezakien Tobyn's remains.

Hemlock frowns, looking at Kemras "Perhaps your early idea that the attack was a distraction so that this could be done....but to what end?". He seems visibly shook at the idea, then sees what Kemras has in his hands, "What's that you've there?"

Kemras shakes his head, amused at Bulvarius' not-quite-complaint, but looks to the tomb with a frown when Hemlock and Zantus mention who was removed from it. "Forgive me, but is there some significance to that? I'd assume he is a recent priest here, unless the criminal we have is significantly older - an elf or a dwarf, perhaps... though the tracks didn't seem like a dwarf's, I think."

He turns his eyes to the Sheriff, shaking his head. "I'm not entirely certain. It seems likely to have been the bigger humanoid's, but why it was left behind is beyond me."

"Father Tobyn was the previous head priest in Sandpoint. He died in a fire that also claimed Sara's mother five years ago," Joanna says softly to Kemras' question.

Figured Joanna would know since she's been visiting Sandpoint for years to spend time with her cousin, Sara.

Looking at Sara, Audra sympathizes.
Granted, she didn't know 100%, but in all likelihood her own mother was dead.

"Sorry for your loss."

Bulvarius leans against his pike, mulling the situation with a furrowed brow;

"So grave robbers then? Was he buried with kirk valuables... or vestments of his office?"

The Sheriff places his fists on his hips, rocks back and forth on the ball s of his feet, and sucks air in through his teeth, "I dislike strange things happening in my town..."

"Father, can you look at the robe..." he asks the distracted priest.

Father Zantus looks up abruptly from where he had been staring at the empty sarcophagus of his predecessor, "What...oh, yes.". He takes the robe from Kemras, and mutters a few holy words while passing his hand over the found item.

He nods after a moment of contemplation, "This is...or rather was, a magical robe. Hmmm....I believe these patch spots once held patches that were taken off to manifest a summons. Hmmm, perhaps those skeleons..."
he says quietly.

"That sounds ominous. Not only did they take Father Tobyn's remains, they left behind undead monsters to attack anyone that came to see what had happened here. I suppose the robe's useless now; otherwise, why leave it behind?"

Joanna shivers visibly. She does not like the implications of these events. Someone appears to have rallied the goblins and attacked Sandpoint as a distraction to gather the remains of the previous head priest. Once they had done that, they'd left behind undead to cause further harm and panic.

"Sheriff Hemlock, can you think of anyone that would hate Father Tobyn and Sandpoint enough to do this," she asks.

"A recent enough tragedy." Kemras muses, his brow furrowed. Shaking his head inwardly, he looks at Sara, his expression sympathetic. "I hope this doesn't open old wounds." He says gently.

When Zantus identifies the robe as magical, the half-elf considers it closely, attempting to identify what might mark it as such. Foreshadowing for his second level ability to do that.

"If it has to do with a priest who died five years ago, I have to imagine that it's someone who was deeply involved with him on a personal level, rather than on a professional or religious level. Otherwise, Father Zantus would've been the target." He nods respectfully to the Desnan priest. "Did he have any close relations? Or, did he hold any policies that differ from how Father Zantus handles things?"

Kemras pauses. "But that still leaves us with the question: why now? It could just be that the Festival would make sure a large number of people were gathered outside the new Cathedral... but that would bring the crowd closer to the cemetery. Which would have made things more difficult had there not been a goblin attack..." He trails off, thinking furiously.

"It might have made it easier for the goblins to sneak in though, with everyone being distracted, and the attack did cause a lot of panic. Who's going to pay attention to a grave yard while a goblin's trying to tear your face off?"

Father Zantus sadly shakes his head, "Tobyn's only family, his daughter Nualia also perished in the fire...."

Hemlock nods at the opinions being offered, then says solemnly, "Right now we know nothing as to why, just the what. Please, keep what you have seen here to yourselves, if this got out, it would only serve to frighten the townsfolk more that they already are. Here, let us put the sarcophagus right...."

He then grabs an end of the sarcophagus lid and starts to slide it back into place.

After the lid sealed the sarcophagus once again, the Sheriff leads you and Father Zantus back outside, where he helps to move the main door back into place.

Then with a shake of his head, "Strange times...I only wish " he began but was interrupted by one of his Watchmen running up.

Breathless, he tells Hemlock, "She's back..."

"Ah some good news, for once." he declares, "Come let us see what our good friend Shalelu has to say about the goblin goings on out in the wilderness!"

A dead family in its entirety... unlikely to be personal in that way, then. So maybe some sort of necromantic interests? Kemras shakes his head slightly. I don't know enough. We'll have to think on it some more...

The arrival of the watchman and Hemlock's declaration bring the half-elf out of his thoughts. "Shalelu?" He asks the natives.

"She's an elf that's lived around Sandpoint for a long time, but that's about all I know," Joanna tells Kemras.

.

She wakes early. Not from noise or light. Just the end of dreaming.

There's a loft above the tannery with slanted ceilings and a window that sticks when it rains. The floor groans when she moves, and the blankets always smell faintly of cedar bark and salt. She keeps her herbs strung in bundles from the rafters — angelica, comfrey, ironroot. The scents remind her of home, and of the weeks she spent in the forest alone, deciding whether to come here at all.

Below, the town wakes without her. That's part of what she likes about it.

And yet, on mornings when she's slow to rise, when the light slips through the shutters and dust catches in the air, she feels it. The absence of voices not ancestral, not dead. A shape beside her, imagined. A body to press her toes against under the covers. Someone who breathes in sync with her, just once.

She sighs and throws on her coat. It's not useful to want things that can't be kept.

She trades her goods in the morning—bundles of dried herbs and foraged tinctures, wrapped in waxed paper and tied with twine or corked in small vials. The man at the general store doesn't speak much to her, which suits her fine, but he seems to take her trade seriously. There's a girl there too—always watching, always a question behind her eyes. Esgean doesn't answer questions that haven't been asked.

Elsewhere, she's nodded to a man with ink-stained fingers and a permanent smirk, buying paper at the bookshop. He smelled like rosemary and chalk dust. She thinks he might be an actor. Or wants to be. They didn't speak.

The woman who handles the theater has a voice like a bell tower. Esgean doesn't know her name. But someone must have told her not to chase off the girl with the wild cat. So she hasn't.

Most days, she spends an hour or two in the woods beyond the southern rise, basket in hand, Rejke weaving between the ferns. She picks carefully, never more than she needs, and leaves quiet thanks behind — a hair, a coin, a thread from her sleeve. She's always known the wild doesn't belong to her. It isn't a temple; it doesn't forgive. Still, she walks its quiet paths with reverence. The smell of wet loam and crushed pine needles reminds her she's part of something that doesn't care who she is. That's comforting.

But there are places, even just past the treeline, where the quiet is too still. Places where the light doesn't fall right. Where no birds sing. Rejke growls low in his throat when they pass them, and Esgean never stays long.

Sometimes she brushes his side as they walk, as if he were a person. Sometimes she thinks he is.

Afternoons belong to silence. She writes things down in her little leather book: overheard words, strange weather, names she doesn't remember learning. Rejke dozes beside her. When he twitches in his sleep, she smooths the fur between his ears.

Once, she caught a young acolyte at the shrine watching her from across the street. No robes, just a vest and sandals. He looked like someone trying to decide whether to speak. He didn't. She was sad about that, but she didn't let on.

In the evenings she sits in the shadows of the Sandpoint Theater, listening to lines spoken by half-lit voices. She doesn't join, but she lingers after. Sometimes she sings. Quiet, old songs. Not in any language she speaks while awake. She's certain someone listens. Not because they should. Not because she deserves it. Just because... sometimes people do.

Sandpoint has a rhythm she understands. It doesn't ask much. Doesn't demand confessions. She buys bread. She makes her deliveries. She walks the cliffs alone. On the surface, it looks like a small life.

But beneath it, something breathes. She feels it under her bare feet. In the grain of the theater wood. In the pull of the tide at night.

The voices haven't spoken in months. But they never really leave.

And neither does the feeling that one day soon, someone might reach for her. Might say her name without fear or pity. Might mean it.

Joanna follows the Sheriff, wondering who he has in mind.

Marbyn is deep into a game of dice at the Hagfish when she's found. In aggregate she's winning, which would typically mean she would angle for some way out of going, because winning!

But, she's also been doing a fair amount of boasting about her role in thwarting the goblin attack, as well as having earned the regard of the sheriff. There have been doubts among the listeners, after all Marbyn doesn't look at all dangerous or impressive in the ways that earn respect from large men with weapons. Sometimes an intangible win can be more delicious than a tangible one. Marbyn is content to trade the possibility of a little more silver to see the doubters eat crow.

Without looking up at the man, Marbyn asks "so I'm not under arrest?" When the guardsman affirms she isn't under arrest, she picks up her coins and begins to stand. She stumbles slightly though, bumping against the man beside her.

"Pardon me old salt", she says to the sailor, "too much liquor too early I suppose." She gives the man a pat on the shoulder and joins the guardsman.

"All right mister soldier lead on. I'm very anxious to hear what Shalelu has to report to me."

When they're outside and on their way up the street, Marbyn opens her hand to take a good look at the button she plucked from the sailor's vest when she bumped him. It's a nice one, off-white in color with a pearly sheen. Probably made from oyster shell.

"Who's Shalelu?" Marbyn asks the guardsman as she moves the button around to see how it catches the light at different angles.

Sleight of Hand (snatch a button): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (12) + 6 = 18

The wind has turned. She can smell it on the stone.

Esgean stands at the edge of Sandpoint’s market square, Rejke at her side — the bobcat’s tail flicking in lazy rhythm as he noses at a crate of salted fish. She should be bartering now, selling the last of the dried ghostleaf and boilwort. But her satchel is still full. She’s been standing here for some time, unmoving, chewing the inside of her cheek. Too many eyes. Too much noise. Laughter. She can't tell if it's real or nervous.

The festival had turned red so quickly.

She had stood in the street when the goblins came, bare feet slick on spilled cider, calling vines from the dirt and flame from her palm. She had cracked a goblin’s skull with her quarterstaff and watched it fold like wet parchment. It wasn’t until later — when the cheers started — that her hands began to shake.

That was how many days ago? Still, the shaking comes. A voice cuts the air like a thrown knife. She flinches.

The Sheriff bids you come to the Garrison! Shalelu’s returned — he’d have you present for her report! Come quick!

Rejke lifts his head, ears forward. Esgean doesn’t move.

Shalelu. The name pulls at her chest like an old scar. The hunter-woman from the woods. A watcher. A blade in the dark. Esgean doesn't know her, but she knows of her.

Something stirs in her — not quite fear, not quite hope. Something old. She remembers another time: a cold stairwell carved into the bones of the earth, her breath fogging in the dark, the smell of wet graveclothes and rot. She had come out alive. But something had followed her. It had just taken this long to catch up.

Rejke growls, low. Esgean exhales. She shoulders her satchel. She does not run — but she walks quickly. The drape of her cloak brushes the cobbles like a whisper. There’s a weight in her stomach she can't name. Something’s beginning. Something big. Something terrible.

And she’s part of it now.

A young man finds himself yet again sitting in the Rusty Dragon, drinking in anger. "Hey Sergyn, let's take it easy today, ok?", says the halfing Bethana. The young man waves her off and sips from his mug.

He has recently arrived from Magnimar, to bury his mother, who died in the goblin raid. Anyone talking to him will quickly hear his hatred for goblins. He actually helped with a problem or two regarding hidden goblins, but that's not enough for him.

Bethana actually smiles wide when a courier comes in and asks Sergyn to come talk to the sheriff regarding Shalelu and her arrival. It takes the young man a minute to realize it has something to do with helping with goblins. Upon realizing this, he gets up with resolve and struts towards the door. He tosses a coin to the halfling and has the courier lead the way. "Windy, is it?", says the courier when Sergyn takes an off step to the side. He just grunts and moves on.

Bulvarius allows the notion of grave-robbery and risen dead to slide from his focus - those who committed such acts would be served just retribution soon enough...

At the mention of an Elf, he nods - perhaps the portents this Shalelu would bring may (gods willing) relate to foes worthy of his pike and burgeoning repute...

The burly Armiger hefted his spear and followed in the Sheriff's wake.

Willowy and tall with a bramble of fiery red hair, Esgean is fair but odd, and young men her age shy away from her. Some of that has to do with the wild cat that is always at her side. She has acquired a simple hide vest and chooses to wear skirts trimmed with woven vines and leaves. She is usually barefoot, having learned how to step carefully.

Rejke moves first. Always does.

A shift of muscle. Ears forward. The stillness of a predator who hasn’t decided yet if the thing in front of him is worth the leap.

She follows his gaze. The bard. The soldier. The man with the pike. The festival flashes up in her mind like sun off glass—Joanna’s voice cutting through the din, the warpriest’s hammer falling, a spearhead catching the light like a shard of the moon.

The yard smells of iron and dust and the sour tang of sweat. Guardsmen striking harder than they need to. Young ones trying to impress. She can feel their eyes sliding over her—measuring, dismissing, wondering.

The sheriff mumbles something about introductions, his boots clunking up the step, and then it’s just the lot of them in the open air. Too much sky overhead.

She takes a breath. It catches. Her fingers find the strap of her satchel and curl into it.

"Esgean Eyre," she says, voice even but low. "This is Rejke."

The bobcat blinks slow, tail flicking, the gesture lazy but not careless.

"We were on Tower Street when the goblins came." She immediately regrets saying that. Why would they care? "We… did what we could."

She studies their faces one by one. The set of the jaw, the way they carry their weight. What they show without meaning to.

"If Shalelu’s come back, it won’t be for good news." Why would she say that? How does she know? Esgean looks away, embarrassed.

Rejke yawns and sets about cleaning his face.

Other PCs may recognize Esgean and her ever-present bobcat from the Market or General Store where she sells herbs and tinctures. Or possibly from the theater if they hang around late enough to hear the willowy girl sing softly by herself.

By the time Sheriff Hemlock arrives with the rest of the crew in tow, Marbyn has had time for quite a lot of ear-bending. The other two with her, named Esgean and Sergyn, have heard a great deal about her past in Magnimar. Marbyn has almost eagerly told them she is in Sandpoint because she owed quite a bit of money after a run of poor luck with dice and cards, so she needed to leave the city for a while until things there blew over.

From there Marbyn moves right on into a meticulous account of all the things she did during the goblin attack, which could be summed up by a more laconic teller as 'I did what I could to help out here and there where I found trouble'.

All the chattering Marbyn is inflicting is surprisingly less annoying than one might assume. Mainly this is because of the lack of self-aggrandizement in the story. Instead, Marbyn comes across as extremely thrilled to have been part of something so dramatic and exciting. Her affect is so cheery and familiar one might think she's catching up with friends she hasn't seen in a while about the best day of her life.

When the sheriff arrives with the others, Marbyn cuts off and marches over to greet them. She is halfling short and and small, with quite long brownish blonde or blondish brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her face, featuring large, friendly hazel green eyes is very pretty. Marbyn's attractiveness is wholesome in a way that doesn't mesh well with the biography she's recounted. It's far easier to picture her baking bread or milking goats than it is to see her at a card table.

Marbyn approaches each of the newcomers, shakes their hand, and introduces herself as Marbyn Dapper.

"I'm very pleased to shortly be listening to a report from Shalelu with you all. Now, who is Shalelu again?"

At the introductions to Esgean, Rejke and Marbyn the heavyset young warrior nods and bows in greeting;

"Well met my friends. I am Bulvarius of Korvosa's noble House Bromathan. An aspirant of the Order of the Pike I seek beasts and monsters of legend to test my skill and spear-point against... If any of you know of such creatures I would love to hear your lore."

He smiles ackwardly, his deep crimson Hellknight leather creaking as he leans against his towering longspear.

Those who have lived in Sandpoint for a while would recognize Joanna as a semi-regular visitor, a cousin of some sort of the Deverins and quite close to Sara Deverin. She looks young, sixteen perhaps, and is on the short side, standing five feet tall, with long raven-black hair and striking blue-gray eyes. Her fair skin is freckled, and curiously, she's wearing what appears to be some of Ameiko's things.

"Well met, Miss Eyre, Rejke, and Miss Dapper. I am Joanna. I've met Shalelu only a time or two. She's an elf that keeps an eye out for trouble in the Hinterlands from what I understand."

Marbyn is too busy checking out Bulvarius's armor to notice much about Joanna. There's something about the armor that seems a little familiar but she can't put her finger on it.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (1) + 6 = 7

At first, Sergyn doesn't really react to Esgean and Rejke. He recognizes her as a druid and agrees that Shalelu arriving isn't usually good news. However he blurts out "Maybe we can rid the world of more goblins." It's clear he doesn't like them.

As Marbyn tells about his adventures, Sergyn stays silent and even angry. If asked, he says "My mother died in this attack."

Sergyn, having lived in Sandpoint before moving to Magnimar 5 years ago, replies to Marbyn "Shalelu is a half-elf that keeps the goblins tribes in the region in check. She usually only comes to town for supplies, but if she's here, she must have news about goblins. Maybe she even found out why they attacked the town." His eyes water.

After Bulvarius introduces himself, Sergyn says "It's good to have someone as brave as you, but I doubt goblins fit your description of monsters of legend."

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5

He looks at Joanna and stops himself before patronizing her.

SM: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (11) + 3 = 14

There are two kinds of people in this world: those that wanted to pet Rejke and those that wanted to turn him into a hat. Joanna seemed well-intentioned, but one could not be certain.

Esgean tilts her head slightly at the bard, blue-gray eyes bright as frost under dark lashes. For all Joanna's gentleness, there was something about her voice, something that rang clear as a bell through Esgean's ribs and made her feel like she'd stepped barefoot onto cold morning grass.

Rejke, for his part, slinks forward a pace, curling himself into a loose sit near Marbyn's boots. The halfling's chatter doesn't bother him; his tufted ears swivel with every bright lilt of her voice. It's hard not to feel lighter when Marbyn is speaking, as though she's somehow made the goblin horror into a story small enough to be carried. Pocket-sized.

The cavalier's words draw Esgean's gaze back. "Beasts and monsters," she echoes softly, her expression unreadable. "You'll not have to wait long. The land breeds them as quick as rain grows mushrooms." She almost smiles, but the thought of blood and steel twisting again through the quiet hills of her home withers it.

Sergyn's grief lingers in the air like smoke. Esgean lowers her eyes. "I'm sorry for your mother," she says simply, without the softness people usually try to layer over words like that. The truth is hard enough without wrapping.

Rejke yawns again, flashing sharp teeth, then nudges Marbyn's calf with the blunt curve of his head, as if to ask whether she belongs to the first kind of person—or the second.

Marbyn bends down, it isn't too far, to pet the cat some. But her mind is elsewhere, on Sergyn. If what Sergyn said was some sort of response to Marbyn, the connection is completely lost on her.

She walks over to him while digging into the pouch on her belt. She brings out a shiny, pearly button and presses it into his hand.

"I'm sorry your mother died. Take this button. It' a lucky button."

He says "Thank you" to Marbyn. He doesn't know what to do with the button. He studied under the great master Pririeh Aan and doesn't believe in lucky charms. Still, it would be bad manners to throw it away just now. He puts it in his pocket and gives a half smile, trying to reassure Marbyn. He feels silly "why am I the one reassuring him_", he thinks to himself.

Bulvarius nods gravely at the news and words exchanged;

"My condolences for your loss Maester. Brave? Some would say too brave for my own good... And while goblins make poor fare for my renown, they will do well enough to hone my pikework and tactical acumen. As Mistress Eyre says when we face the true monsters of this wild realm I wish to be ready."

Sergyn feels the buzz of excitement in his hands. He says "Thank you, sir. Well, then. If anyone else has some very revelatory detail to share, please do now. If not, I think it's time to talk to Shalelu. I hope I get to see you guys poke some goblins real strong. I have some spells for the exact same purpose too."

He does, indeed, wait to see if anyone else was sharing something. For now he just trusts the new heroes of Sandpoint and wishes to see if his apprenticeship has actually taught him something real.

Joanna keeps her mouth closed on the apology she senses Sergyn doesn't want. She doesn't have anything to reveal, and shakes her head when he looks her way.

"I think you have the right of it," she tells Sergyn. "It's time to see what Shalelu has to tell us."

"Indeed, it is!" declares Sheriff Hemlock from the door, "Come." he says then steps inside.

He leads the group through the stone walled corridors of the inner keep to a room bound by tall , iron bound wood doors.

Pushing his way in, he advances, indicating to you to enter and make yourselves comfortable.

On the far side of the room, illuminated by multiple beams of sunlight piercing the narrow windows, stands Shalelu Andosana. She herself stands before a map of the environs around Sandpoint.

Almost unnoticed, sitting in a chair in the corner, the Mayor of Sandpoint, Kenrda Deverin , watches in silence.

Shalelu nods at your arrival, stating, "Greetings, Heroes of the Festival, you are well met and I am glad to see you fit and hale. "

She seems to be about to continue, when she's interrupted by Sheriff Hemlock, "For those that don't know her, Shalelu's sort of an unofficial member of the town guard, " he begins, Shalelu smirks at his comment. He continues, "She's been a thorn in the side of the local goblin tribes for years and few know what those critters are up to better than her." he says, as if he were proud of her. Then he frowns, "But...Sandpoint's not the only town to see trouble from the gobs, there's been an increase in goblin activity all along the Lost Coast, particularly in the Dale between Nettlewood and Mosswood. Only a few days ago, a farm south of Mosswood was burned to the ground by the gobs, only Shalelu's timely presence saved the family living there."

Seeing that he may be treading on Shalelu's area of expertise, Hemlock backs away to stand at the wall.

Clearing her throat, Shalelu speaks "Belor's told me of your work against the goblins­ well don e. I 've dedicated the last several years of my life to keeping them from causing too much trouble around these parts, but they're tenacious and fecund little runts. Like weeds that bite. There are fi ve major goblin tribes in the region, and, traditionally, they're pretty good at keeping each other in line with intertribal squabbles and the like. Yet from what I 've been able to piece together, members of all five tribes were involved in the raid on Sandpoint. A fair number of the Mosswood goblins I dealt with yesterday were already pretty beat up, and there was a lot of chatter about the 'longshanks' who killed so many of them. Now that I 've met you, it seems obvious from their descriptions who they were talking about. Seems like you've made an impression . In any event, the fact that the five tribes are working together disturbs me. Goblin tribes don't get along unless they've got something big planned, and big plans require big bosses. I 'm afraid that someone's moved in on the goblins and organized them. And judging by these recent raids, what they're organizing seems like bad news for all of us."

Hemlock steps from the wall, declaring, "With this information, I'm going to take some of my guards with me down to Magnimar to see about getting additional soldiers stationed here until the extent of this gob threat can be determined. While I'm gone, I'd appreciate it if you all kept up a public presence in Sandpoint , the locals seem to have taken you and seeing you around town will do a lot for keeping worries down over the next few days. "

He takes a breath, "Shalelu's going to sniff around Shank's Wood, Brinestump, Mosswood, Devil's Platter and other places the gobs live to see if she can find any more information on what's going on."

He then slaps his hands together and rubs them vigorously, looking expectantly at you all, "All agreed, then?"

"I don't mind helping Sandpoint in anyway that I am able," Joanna says. "That said, what exactly do you mean for us to do?"

Sergyn is a bit uncomfortable in the keep. He's never been in such a military place, feeling more at home in a library or at home. He stays silent most of the time. He is impressed at Shalelu's presence filling the room.

He gains extra respect for her for taking care of such a large region. Unfortunately he doesn't know much about the geography of the region, so he can't keep up with Shalelu's explanation of the goblin tribes, as much as he would want to.

As the monologue ends, he nods with resolve, thinking he'll do exactly as he's asked. However, as Joanna asks what the sheriff expects from him and the others, he realizes that they never asked for anything specific. Being seen around town is something that he has been doing, accidentally. He spends time at the Rusty Dragon, which is a place with usually a lot of people.

Bulvarius listens intently, his broad brow furrowing at the notion of the goblins being organised...

"Big plans require big bosses"... Something to test mettle and metal against perhaps...

When talk turns of their role in the Sherriff's stead, the Aspirant of the Pike's brow turns to a frown;

"Lady Whitehall has a point. What powers do we have? Do you mean to formally deputise us Sheriff? Should those grave robbers return are we empowered to administer justice as we see fit... As a Hellknight Armiger I will not baulk at punishing the unlawful, but there are those who may take umbrage at my administering of The Chain..."

Knowledge Lowest is a +2: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (11) + 2 = 13

Joanna's lips thin as Bulvarius mentions The Chain. She's heard more than she cares to about the Hellknights, and some seem all to eager to do just what the young armiger said others might take umbrage to.

"I don't think Sheriff Hemlock is asking us to be jailor, judge, and jury," she says perhaps a bit more tartly than is polite.

"I can walk the streets, if that is what the town needs," Esgean says quietly, almost more to herself than to the group. "The people here… they know my face now. They’ve seen me at the Festival, at the chapel, out gathering herbs. If my being seen helps them feel less alone, then I’ll do that." She glances down, smoothing Rejke’s spotted fur.

Her brow furrows, uncertain, as she looks between the others. "But if the goblins are truly gathering under one hand, I would rather be out there with Shalelu than waiting here. Weeds don’t stop spreading because you stand and watch the garden gate."

Rejke chuffs softly, a low sound in his throat, as if punctuating her words. Esgean straightens her shoulders a little, emboldened by his nearness. "Still… if Sheriff Hemlock asks it, I will stay. But we ought to know—what signs do you want us to watch for in town? And what should we do, if trouble comes while you are away?"

She bites her lip, then adds, with the faintest smile: "Rejke doesn’t like waiting either."

Esgean studies Bulvarius a moment, then glances toward Joanna.

"The Chain might be yours to follow," she says, tone steady, "but not all of us walk with its weight. The wild has its own order — harsher in some ways, kinder in others."

Her eyes soften as they move to Joanna, and she gives a small nod.

"She's right. Sheriff didn’t set us up as judges and jailers. We're here to protect, nothing more." She leaves off the obvious for now.

Esgean lets out a slow breath, brushing her thumb through Rejke’s fur. "Your Chain, her voice, my roots… we'll be stronger for bringing them together. Stronger than if we tried to force one path on everyone."

Sergyn adds "Maybe we can do a bit more than just parade around town? If we can't find any goblins to... dispose of, maybe we can do something for the town's morale, and reassure people that any goblin will meet a swift end if they come here again."

Seeing the questions in the others' faces, he continues "What if we put together a play to elevate the heroes' prowess in battle and oversight? I would recommend an epic, since a comedy might sit wrong with those who lost dear ones in the raid.", he pauses for a few moments, then looks at the others hoping to see a reaction to his words.

Joanna shakes her head.

"A ballad or perhaps a concerto we could do relatively quickly, but a play would take a good bit of time to put on," she says.