"Are you, like, threatening us? Or just saying you're going to spill your stupid drinks everywhere?" Kilitsi questions the gnome bartender.
The gnome sighs. "Well, can't say I didn't warn you." His form shifts and changes, and in seconds, he assumes his true shape. With jet-black skin and a small but menacing pair of horns, this impish creature wields a large knife and a wicked grin. "Now we're going to have to get Sally Sharp-tongue involved," he says, running a finger lovingly along his knife's blade.
"You named your sword? What a drip!" Wispil taunts as he unleashes a blast of water and a spell.
for
The fey resists the fear spell, though he is still slightly shaken. He dodges Gentle Storm's darts, but Wispil's blast hits him in the chest.
The fey opens his mouth and exhales a cloud of clammy gray fog that makes you feel very sleepy! He then vaults over the bar, landing behind you all and then vanishing from sight!
Success: The creature is stupefied 1 for 1 round.
Failure: The creature falls unconscious. It wakes up automatically if it’s still unconscious after 1 minute.
Critical Failure: The creature falls unconscious. It wakes up automatically if it’s still unconscious after 1 hour.
HP 88/88 (if lose dying condition, use snarling badger talisman)
AC 23
Fort +13, Ref +13, Will +10; Ancestral Geometry roll: xx (Reflex/Will/Fort)
Hero points: 3
Effects: Stupefied 1, 1 round
"Where did he go?" Kilitsi whines.
As she looks around and tries to identify what the bartender really was -- without any luck -- a swarm of bees emerges from her fur, and flies over the bar, to where the fey leaped before it disappeared!
Alessandria starts to wobble, then scorches the air around her, clearing her own head by force!
Keeping a Thermal Nimbus surrounding her, Alessandria responds to the fey's invisiblity with the simple expedient of scouring the area with flames!
...Except for the pacted bees between her and the fey.
Changing her plan to keep to her sworn word, Alessandria shapes flame into a wicked scythe, slicing away to try to catch the invisible fey in her swings.
Wispil squawks in consternation and grows a tree next to himself, then hides behind it.
If the tree is in soil and survives to the end of the spell's duration, it remains as an ordinary, non-magical tree and continues to grow and thrive. The GM might determine that the tree disappears immediately in certain inhospitable situations.
Kilitsi's bees swarm around the spot where the fey disappeared, a few managing to sting him. Alessandria lands a good hit, eliciting a hiss of pain. Gentle Storm is unable to concentrate through the haze of dreams to cast a spell properly. Wispil conjures a tree to hide behind, and just in time, too, as the fey reappears, his blade aimed at the goose! The tree interposes itself, taking the hits for Wispil.
Wispil flutters away, landing behind Kilitsi, then unleashes a tirade at the dangerous fey.
HP 88/88 (if lose dying condition, use snarling badger talisman)
AC 23
Fort +13, Ref +13, Will +10; Ancestral Geometry roll: xx (Reflex/Will/Fort)
Hero points: 3
Effects:
"You, like, know I'm not a tree, right?" Kilitsi says as Wispil takes shelter behind her.
She lets the bees do whatever they want and charges toward the fey, axe swinging!
Now that the fey isn't shrouded in oathguarded bees, Alessandria unleashes a torrent of flames, hurling a fiery javelin through the trickster before calling it back to her hand like a hunting hawk!
The fey strikes as Wispil flies away, destroying the tree and nicking the goose! He resists Wispil's blistering invective, but Alessandria burns him with her aura, blast, and flying flame! Kilitsi moves in and lands a good hit with her axe. Gentle Storm's needles miss but he scores a critical hit with his spear!
The fey steps up to slice at the hulking Kilitsi, leaving deep, bleeding wounds!
Wispil lays some healing on his bovine shield and blasts at the fey.
and resist fire 4
for
Keeping the fey enveloped in her thermal nimbus, Alessandria whips her flame up into a wicked glaive and slashes it across the nimble trickster!
HP 41/88 (if lose dying condition, use snarling badger talisman)
AC 23
Fort +13, Ref +13, Will +10; Ancestral Geometry roll: xx (Reflex/Will/Fort)
Hero points: 2
Effects: 1d6 persistent bleed
Kilitsi's wounds quickly stop bleeding as she cuts furiously with her ax. "It's time to end this show. It's so played out."
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Gentlestorm gives up on attacking the willy foe and focuses instead on mending Kilitsi's wounds for a moment. Throwing a sort of seed at her and then channeling primal magic through them causing them to quickly sprout and weave into her flesh knitting it back together. He then jabs at the creature once more
Slashed, blasted, and burned, the wicked little fey finally groans and falls to the floor, sprawled out and bleeding profusely. Nothing blocks your way into the main theater now, though they are closed and locked.
With enough finagling, Gentle Storm is able to pick the lock. The higher ceiling and dim lighting of this magnificent performance hall lends it the appearance of an underground grotto. Two rows of luxurious velvet-lined seats separated by a single, wide aisle slope gently down toward the main stage. Illuminated by the footlights positioned along the edge of the stage, nine well-dressed gnomes are engaged in an elaborately choreographed dance routine alongside a group of winged sprites with shimmering wings, their steps set to the lively fiddle music emanating from the orchestra pit at the foot of the stage. In sharp contrast to their sprightly movements and the enthusiastic smiles plastered across their faces, the gnomes’ eyes betray a deep weariness shot through with desperation. An exhausted gnome wearing a mayoral sash dances nearby. Seated in an ornate throne on stage, Alacreon the Laughing Prince watches the performances with mild interest.
Upon noticing you, Alacreon motions for the orchestra to play quietly and rises to his feet to address you. "What’s this?" the satyr muses, an impish smirk creeping across his face. "More aficionados of the performing arts, come to see our show?"
He squints through the glare of the footlights. "Wait a minute. I know these folk. Friends of the Wildwood Lodge, they are. Welcome, friends! Take a seat; stay a while. Have a drink. The good mayor here was just about to give us a demonstration of his…" He glances about, seeking inspiration. "Juggling skills!" The satyr loudly thumps a wooden scepter on the stage as a wave of excited whispers ripples across the theater. "Berrywild! Head to the bar and bring us something for the good mayor to juggle."
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Gentlestorm slatgers some healing paste on the fey to make sure he won't bleed out on them, it's very likely this is all a prank gone far too far even for the fey involved.
Jiggling and jangling with the lock for so long was not what Gentlestorm had in mind and he was about to just suggest Kilitsi bust it down when it clicked open.
"Oh thank the green..."
Stepping in and finally ubstooping he unruffled his fur and strode down the steps towards the stage with the ithers.
"Oh my good Laughing Prince Alacreon sir, we are more than just allies of the lodge. We are allies of yours as well come to see why this performance has lasted so long. Surely you all bore of the task, though I am no stranger to the parties and galavanting nature of yourself and your subjects. I fear for the health of all that are here. Come take a break, I bring food plenty for all in attendance if only you'd leave the stage and quit this place."
HP 61/108 (if lose dying condition, use snarling badger talisman)
AC 23
Fort +13, Ref +13, Will +10; Ancestral Geometry roll: xx (Reflex/Will/Fort)
Hero points: 2
Effects:
"Must this show really keep going on, like, forever? It already has been too long."
Alacreon smirks and waves lazily at the dancers. "My friends, how could we be bored? This is the greatest show on Golarion! Music, dancing, singing, daring displays of athleticism and agility, japes and jests. These are dark times! Fey and city-folk at each other’s throats everywhere. What better time to bring us all together with the magic of the stage? Even seems like maybe we’ve unearthed some hidden talents in these good gnomes. Reawakened their fey blood—with theater!"
He looks at Kilitsi. "Has it really been so long, though? No windows in here. Can you really say a day’s passed without a sunset or a sunrise? Hardly! After all, we’re only halfway through the second act. It can’t have been that long!"
He turns back to Gentle Storm and his expression softens a bit. "But now that you are here, I am reminded of that lovely night we spent together during the Greenwood Gala. I would not say no to the chance to spend another night with you." He winks at the amurrun before looking to the other gathered fey. "I may be convinced to bring this show to a conclusion, but you may find my co-producers a bit more recalcitrant. So as I see it, there are two ways you can convince them. First, you could chase them off with violence. Alternately, if you are able to put on a spectacular performance worthy of ending this entertainment marathon, then I'm sure they'll accede to your demands."
Klitsi looks to Gentle Storm. She knows which of the two she'd prefer, but if he'd rather they be dancing animals for the fey prince, she'll play along.
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Biting his finger at the temptation and knowledge that he's most certainly on duty right now he turns to the group.
"I'd be a hard act to round off any fey antics. We're also not back at full after our last little confrontation. And I've no idea what you all may bring to the table when it comes to the performing arts as I wouldn't bring much myself. So I'd like your thoughts on the matter, you already know I wish to prevent bloodshed from all the sides if we can manage it."
"You want us to dance for your sicko friends?" Wispil asks. "Sure, I can put on a little show."
Alessandria snorts, but tosses her head in assent. "You may ply your trade, goose. I will stand ready if you fail."
Kilitsi pauses and blinks as she looks at Gentle Storm in a bit of confusion. She's got no experience on the stage, and suspect that will show.
"Like, I don't want to make them bleed either, but I'm not a trained human that can just dance whenever someone calls a tune."
"The floor is yours!" Alacreon says with a sweeping gesture. The other performers clear the stage as the audience leans forward eagerly to see what the goose has to offer!
Wispil gathers the remains of his dignity to do a little dance to entertain the crowd.
The crowd murmurs and coughs at Wispil's dance. Alacreon clucks his tongue. "You're losing them! You'll have to do better than that!" he chides.
Ugh. How do I get myself into these situations!
Sensing the crowd turning against him, Wispil tries once more to wiggle his tail feathers.
The tail wiggle proves to be a hit, and the crowd starts to whoop and cheer.
"That's more like it! Now, bring it on home!"
With a honk, Wispil struts across the stage.
"This is, like, super demeeeaning," Kilitsi says, watching Wispil shake his tail feathers. "Like, he's a biiird, not just some object."
Wispil finishes with a flourish, and the crowd goes wild! Alacreon applauds as well. "Bravo! Bravissimo!" The fey in the audience rises to their feat for a standing ovation. This buys Alacreon time to drop the curtain and the shoo the gnomes away to safety, ushering them out of the theater at last.
Once everybody is out, Alacreon turns back to you with a grin. "Well, it's been a time. We've laughed, we've cried! It's about time I made my own exit as well. But I'm sure I'll be seeing you soon. Until then." He blows a kiss to Gentle Storm before bounding out the door!
Left behind on the two thrones following Alacreon’s departure are an orchestral brooch and a wooden prop scepter that functions as a wand of fey flames. Additionally, for successfully liberating the captives, Mayor Greenbelt gives you 196 gp and awards each of you a garish ornamental key pendant that grants its wearer a +1 bonus to Diplomacy checks when prominently worn while interacting with Taldan gnomes.
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"Wait! Don't go yet. Lift this curse on me!" Wispil shouts too late at the retreating fey princeling. "Drat, I'm going to be a ridiculous goose forever." The irate goose ignores the treasures and mopes as his party-mates wrap things up with the mayor and the freed captives.
"Like, you weren't always a ridiculous goose? What kind of goose were you before?" Kilitsi asks.
Alessandria smiles ruefully at Alacreon as he saunters away, but that warmth is gone by the time she speaks with Mayor Greenbelt.
"Learn from your failure here. If you lack the will or wiles to keep yourself safe in our woods, then you must make wiser pacts."
"No, I wasn't any kind of goose!" Wispil protests to Kilitsi. "Or bird. Some kind of nymph or something told me I was a 'silly goose' and that I should 'look the part,' and BLAM!"
"I think I was a halfling. It's all a little fuzzy, to be honest."
You return to Corazal's grove. For the first time in weeks, the Wildwood seems quiet. The conrasu provides no further prognostications. And the timing couldn't be better, for it's almost time for the Wildwood Conclave.
Emorga All-Seer bids Corazal to open a pathway through the Elder Oaks back to the gala grounds. "The tim has come for me to join my fellow Lodge leadership in preparing for the impending conclave," the giant tortoise proclaims. "You have three days to rest and take care of any business you might have. Then, I would ask that you reconvene with me right before the conclave begins. I will see you then."
"Well, we've certainly done a good job of bringing peace to the forest," Wispil congratulates the group, but mostly himself. "Not that those filthy loggers really deserved our help."
Kiltis laughs at Wispil's joke. At least she's pretty certain the goose is pulling her fur.
With time to kill and nowhere to go (or at least nowhere to go that she feels confident she'd be able to return from), she decides to see what else Wispil has to say: "What fey?"
Alessandria isn't as good company as she had been at the festival. "It is good that the conclave draws near; the forest is not as peaceful as Wispil would wish. Everywhere it strains at those who would leash it."
Chapter 3: Fallen Leaves
Soon enough, the time comes to join Emorga again at the gala grounds. You find yourselves arriving at a very different gathering from the one you attended just a month prior. In place of the vibrant and festive atmosphere of the Greenwood Gala is a highly polarized environment evenly split between the extremes of existential dread and giddy anticipation. Some attendees despair over the seeming inevitability of open conflict and others revel at the thought of finally getting revenge against Taldor and Andoran for centuries of incremental overharvesting and disrespect. The tension and emotion in the air is palpable.
Emorga brings you back into her tent, looking at each of you in turn. “Well, here we are again. Though I don’t remember ever wanting so badly for different circumstances.” Emorga sighs deeply. “In about one day, delegates from across the Verduran Forest will gather in the amphitheater to choose a new leader for the Wildwood Lodge. Rarely does the whole forest vote on Lodge business, and with so many bloodthirsty voices, I fear we stand on the precipice of some greater conflict.
“Many have already begun gathering. We have the opportunity to change hearts and votes, so I ask you speak with old friends and make new ones among the delegates, ensuring as many as possible seek peace. Every voice calling for blood poses a risk to innocent lives.”
Emorga shakes her head irritably. “Valenar didn’t care much for folk outside the forest, it’s true. But he understood that our charge to protect the forest meant peace with those who live beyond it. He was a good man, a wise leader, and I fear for what the Lodge might become without his guidance."
Emorga identifies five new delegates worth investigating in the limited time available: the fey queen Ambrosia, the scarred unicorn Clydane, the infamous redcap Hobnail, the belligerent arboreal Oakadence, and a previously unknown raven leading a vast flock roosting in nearby trees. Much as Emorga supports the democratic process, she fears what a violent tyrant could accomplish if elected. While she speaks with several representatives—partly to identify a suitable candidate to back—she encourages you to meet with and convince the rest.
"Look, I don't want it peaceful, necessarily, but it seems like that's what's best right now," he says to Alessandria.
"It was a nymph, I'm almost sure. Or maybe a hag? I think she stole some of my memories when she transformed me. Or, there might just not be enough room in this goose's head for all of my intellect," he offers to Kiltsi.
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"So, what do you think the benefits of peaceful cooperation are? I can see what the loggers are getting from our forest, but what do we get from there, outside of a little trade?" Wispil tries to keep an open mind about the election.
"It does seem to be very cramped in there..."
***
"I do not agree that what we need is peace with those that hack at our borders and steal of our lands, but neither will a tyrant protect us without a still greater cost. Our hearts do not speak as one, Emorga, but you know my intentions, at least."
"Like that kind of explains some things?" Kilitsi says blithely in response to the goose's lack of intellect.
Later, she replies to his question: "They don't cut or burn the whole forest down? Maybe you should talk to Hobnail or Oakadence, in case it was Ambrosia who turned you into a goose."
With that thought in mind, she makes her way to learn about the fey queen.