"Jolly? Are you kidding? Puppets are creepy as f+&! and they should all be set afloat on a barge and burned," Farrina declares with a smirk. "But if that's not feasible, then we can follow Esirelle's lead and introduce them to some Hodgers and Rammerstein."
She then begins humming a few bars of Getting To Know You.
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Cerulean although not in their true form feels the hackles rise on their neck as the dolls begins laughing, 'at them'. The world around them grows dark and far too large the marionette dolls seeming to distend the real space around them to become daunting towering figures. Cerulean's breath hastens in response as their heart begins to pound with the erratic panic of old memories dredged from the darkest recesses thought forgotten. Pointing, laughing, mocking, with faces obscured by phantasmal streetlamps, the world spinning beyond them, but always in view no matter how Cerulean tried to turn away.
The flying toothy mawed sack spirits only work to intensify Cerulean's panic and they soon hunker down, in an attempt to look as small and unimposing as possible.
From their fetal crouch they spoke more than sang at first, a comforting song when these sorts of things happened, likely from Cerulean's childhood. Their voice mostly went into their knees and chest but enough resonated out to be heard by those nearby.
"Five little ducks went swimming one day, over the hill and far away.
Mummy duck said, quack, quack, quack, quack. But only four little ducks came back.
Four little ducks went swimming one day, over the hill and far away.
Mummy duck said, quack, quack, quack, quack. But only three little ducks came back.
Three little ducks went swimming one day, over the hill and far away.
Mummy duck said, quack, quack, quack, quack. But only two little ducks came back.
Two little ducks went swimming one day, over the hill and far away.
Mummy duck said, quack, quack, quack, quack. But only one little duck came back.
One little duck went swimming one day, over the hill and far away.
Mummy duck said, quack, quack, quack, quack. But only no little ducks came back.
Sad mummy duck went swimming one day,
over the hill and far away.
The sad mummy duck said, quack, quack, quack, quack.
All of the five little ducks came back."
Cerulean, Esirelle, and Farrina raise their voices in song, successfully distracting and entertaining the haunted puppets. Entranced by the music, they forget their anguish and despair, and they quickly become inert once again as the haunt disperses.
That lets the rest of the group focus on the undead. Kharya, Timdok, and Cassiel all focus on the same foe, destroying one of the evil spirits.
The three remaining enemies continue to bite at Kharya!
Tim shrugs off his goosebumps, "Good work with those creepy puppets, you singing sparrows!"
He steps over to attack the next spirit, putting himself behind the specter.
for
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for
"Gaaahhh" Kharya hisses as one of the spirits fastens onto her calf. "You're really scared of puppets, Farrina? They're toys for children! You afraid of tops an puzzle cubes too?"
She wheels on one of the creatures, and hammers her fist down into them.
HP 127/127
AC 28
Fort +19, Ref +18, Will (mysterious resolve) +21
Halfling Luck: Skill/saving throw []; attack/Perception []
Hero points: 2
Focus Points: 3/3
Spells (DC 31): 1st [][][][]; 2nd [][][][]; 3rd [][][][]; 4th [][][][]; 5th [][][][]; 6th [][][][] GP []
Effects: Cursebound 1 (-5 speed)
The spirits that move her give Esirelle insight into what these spirits are and what they're weak to. And then she blasts one.
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Cerulean slowly calms after the laughing ceases looking up and seeing things back to normal. Though the sack ghosts are still floating about doing what they do best, rip apart their allies. Cerulean quickly concocts a powerful booster and coagulant moving over to Khayra to slip it into one of her armor's soft spots granting the Azer a powerful adrenal boost.
"Tops and puzzles don't bother me," Farrina replies, keeping her focus on the undead. "But puppets and porcelain dolls can get f%%@ed for all I'm concerned."
"... with fire."
As usual, a brief, brilliant flash of light pulses out as Kharya is struck. Cassiel tries to time two quick strikes before raising his shield.
Esirelle learns that these creatures are weak of fortitude, though their lack of any physical bodies might make it difficult to exploit that weakness.
With a dazzling display of might and magic, you destroy another evil spirit. The two remaining undead shift their ire onto Cassiel, but he manages to fend off their gnashing teeth with his shield.
HP 127/127
AC 28
Fort +19, Ref +18, Will (mysterious resolve) +21
Halfling Luck: Skill/saving throw []; attack/Perception []
Hero points: 2
Focus Points: 3/3
Spells (DC 31): 1st [][][][]; 2nd [][][][]; 3rd [][][][]; 4th [][][][]; 5th [][][][]; 6th [x][][][] GP []
Effects: Cursebound 1 (-5 speed)
"Attack their substance as best you can," Esirelle urges her companions, following suit with her own magic.
Unsure whether these creatures are actually undead and can be hurt by vitality, Esirelle decides to blind them instead. "It is time to bring the lights down, and for you to leave the stage," she scolds.
"At least you know to get fire involved when you f+$! things..." Kharya grumbles, her smile at Farrina's banter hidden by her helm.
Cassiel tilts his head slightly, his eyes darting between Farrina and Kharya as they exchange banter about fire and... something else. Clearly confused, he starts to speak but clamps his mouth shut as he tries to ascertain what is being discussed in the middle of this battle. Frustrated, he blurts out "Get fire involved when you... what?!"
He swings twice and then adjusts his grip on his shield, raising it again. "Are... are we still talking about puppets? Did I miss something?"
"Try and keep up, Cassie, Dear," Farrina calls out with a laugh. "We're discussing the best ways to deal with puppets, both possessed and not so much."
Kharya's shoulders shake with suppressed laughter. "Sure, Cass. Only fighting." Prude
Timdok circles around again and attacks one of the remaining creatures.
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The remaining two undead fall swiftly to your attacks!
"She says, 'Let's hold an audition in an abandoned warehouse!' So atmospheric, so haunted," Timdok grunts. [b]"Heavens save us from such romantic ideas."
Farrina gives an exaggerated shudder.
"I hate the undead," she complains. "Misdirection and illusion don't work for s!&# on them."
Producing a pair of small red spheres in one hand, she begins rolling them back and forth across her knuckles. "Give me a good drunken dock worker
or bored guard any day." With a quick flip of her fingers, both spheres change color to blue. "I can have one of those eating out of my well-manicured hand in no time."
Esirelle takes 10 minutes to center herself, returning to the current time. "Regardless," she says, "we did well. It looks like we're becoming a well-timed stichomythia again, which is nice to see.
"Let's look around, and see if there's anything else down here to indicate what's going on."
Spending several minutes searching among the many old and moldy puppets (including pirates, knights, a huge range of animals, and sundry parts of monstrous creatures) reveals the following items: a doll’s head whose eyes are made of aquamarine and worth 100 gp each, a miniature painting inside a rusty locket set with tiny emeralds depicting a heavily scarred, smiling dwarf worth 250 gp, and a greater ventriloquist’s ring.
The exit from this room leads to a long hallway set with alcoves along the north and south wall that ends in an old wooden door at the far end. Decaying piles of old theatrical supplies clutter each alcove, save for the furthest alcove to the northeast. The north wall of that alcove bears a message in gray paint that reads, "Have you seen Him?"
Smears of blood and signs of a recent struggle are readily apparent in the middle of the room. Studying the signs, Timdok confirms that a half dozen or so humanoids left the blood trail, but the trail seems to end here. A thorough search reveals a secret door in the wall that the message is written on.
Past the secret door, this room’s north and south walls have been divided into smaller cell-like alcoves by wooden partitions. Those to the north appear to have been converted into cells, while to the south, the walls have been knocked down to make a larger offset sleeping area, complete with bedroll and small bookshelf. To the west, a collapse of rubble blocks a passageway further beyond. The middle of the room features a low table, and with a few rocking chairs, it might have once been a comfortable place to relax between acts, but today, this furniture is moldering and decaying. Dozens of short messages scrawled in gray paint adorn the walls throughout.
The messages on the wall repeat the two messages you saw earlier, as well as other phrases such as "Your hearth is cold," "These skies are dead," "Time eats us all," and "Will you find the Ashen Man?"
Six bloodied and bruised people are in the cells, tihglty bound and gagged. They squirm and begin to whimper to get your attention. Sitting comfortably in one of the rocking chairs. is a ragged, imposing woman. She dresses the part of a vagabond, her thick layers of mismatched furs, strips of leather, and layered filthy clothing functioning as hide armor that she’s enhanced with runes. An executioner's axe rests across her lap, its haft stained red with blood. A tiny bat nestles in her hair under her hood. She's attended by four awful monstrosities tangles of floating nerves dangling from human brains.
"Welcome to my boudoir," the woman says. "I am the Final Herald. Explain your intrusion here."
"We've come to rescue those actors, love," Timdok points at the captives. "And what would you say you're doing here? This is a theater, not a temple."
"Ah, but what are temples, but theaters for worship?" Farrina offers. "The congregation is both audience and performer, playing to themselves and whatever powers that may choose to observe."
She watches the strange woman for any reaction.
"And if you're the 'Final Herald'," she asks, "Then what or whom, pray tell, do you herald besides a tailor sadly lacking in skill and imagination?"
"I am the Herald of the Ashen Man. He is Asmodeus's anger made flesh, anger from the sundering of His holy nation of Cheliax. He is the promise of Golarion's imminent doom."
The woman slowly stands from the chair and waves her hand at the bound prisoners. "I had wondered when someone would arrive to rescue these fools. We have a situation, my dears. I do not relish a fight, and it's best for you all to live long enough to witness the end of our world, but at the same time, I can't let any of you leave. I have little reason to trust you to keep quiet about me, or to let me live on here while we all wait for the Ashen Man's promise. Have you any notions on how best we might solve this situation?"
"We could send you to meet you boss," Tim offers. "Tell him a Chelaxian halfling helped you on your way."
"Are you just ... sitting down here, waiting? That doesn't seem very herald-y. Except maybe for these poor six people. Who are they?" Esirelle asks before things devolve to their inevitable conclusion.
The Final Herald scowls at Timdok before turning to Esirelle. "Yes, I have been waiting. The Ashen Man has chosen me to witness the apocalypse, and in return, I will be among the few that He transports away from this dying world to somewhere better. These people--actors, they call themselves!--barged into my home, fleeing the undead spirit that lurks beneath the stage. I had no choice but to capture them.
"Do you see the conundrum they placed me in? The Ashen Man does not condone sacrifice. The more who live to see the end, the more glorious that annihilation shall be! But if I let them go, they would reveal my presence to the authorities above. And if I killed them, well, that would have resulted in an investigation into their fate, and then I would be discovered as well. Little did I know that you were coming here as I dithered about what to do.
"Here is my offer: I will let the prisoners, and you, leave this place uncontested if you promise to leave me alone and not to inform the city's authorities about my home down here. I promise, I have no desire to do harm to you or anyone else in this city. As I said, we'll all be gone soon enough, and the more of us who can bear witness to the Ashen Man's promise, the better. Killing anybody before then is a waste of watching eyes for the end of it all."
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Cassiel steps forward and locks eyes with the Final Herald.
"Your faith is clear, and your conviction evident. But waiting here in the dark, hoarding fear and suffering... well, it diminishes the strength of what you claim to herald. If the Ashen Man values life to witness his promise, as you say, then why keep these people bound in torment? Their survival, unmarred by needless pain, would only add to the glory of what you believe is to come."
He motions toward the actors. "Let them go, and prove that your faith is more than just words or hollow threats. We will leave this place as you request, and you can await your Ashen Man without interference. But know this, if your actions turn to harm, or if you deceive us, I will see it as my duty to intervene."
"You have my word, as a champion of all that is just and true. Let this be resolved without bloodshed, and let your faith shine brighter than your threats."
The Final Herald considers Cassiel for several long moments, then she nods. ”Very well. I will trust you to keep your word.” She waves her hand at the prisoners again. ”Take them with you and leave me be.”
Cassiel inclines his head in a solemn nod. "Your decision honors your faith and spares unnecessary suffering. I will ensure no harm comes to you from us, and I will hold to my word."
He would like to move to the captives to free them, but decides he's best served standing at the vanguard facing the Herald while his allies free them from their bonds.
While his party is freeing the actors, he engages the Herald in more conversation. Perhaps it's to keep them busy, or maybe Cassiel just can't resist the opportunity to speak on this subject. "May your faith carry you through to whatever end you seek. But remember, peace is often found in the choices we make before the end, not in the waiting."
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Cerulean moves in once Cassiel makes it safe, he's got a good judge of character and she knows that if things go wrong later they can deal with it then. But right now hostages, well they hope that Farrina's haughty attitude doesn't get the better of her and works on freeing the captives as quickly as possible.
"Don't fret lovelies, we'll get you out and I'll take care of your wounds once we get back out of here. I've got the perfect thing for groups that'll take the edge of this dark place off your minds."
"Don't fret lovelies, we'll get you out and I'll take care of your wounds once we get back out of here. I've got the perfect thing for groups that'll take the edge of this dark place off your minds."
"Ooo ... more of that divine dwarvish whiskey?" Farrina questions, her disposition taking an upturn.
The actors are hungry and dehydrated but grateful for the rescue. You escort them out of the theater basement to safety.
Far from being frustrated that her audition fell apart, She is incredibly relieved to see the actors safe and pays each one a generous amount of hazard pay for inadvertently putting them in danger, going further to offer them jobs as stagehands if they still trust her.
Fallenta genuinely had no idea that Swan’s Shadow Theater was so dangerous and apologizes profusely for sending you into peril... yet she also can’t help but observe and glorify your success. She graciously offers all of her spellcasting skills to heal you or otherwise help you recover.
When you reveal your deal with the Final Herald, Fallenta trusts your judgment and pronises to spend the money and resources she otherwise would’ve used to rebuild the theater into keeping it secure from others accidently stumbling into the building and disturbing its dangerous resident.
"Let it be known that you have passed your audition with flying colors!" Falenta says. "Indeed, I am compelled to offer you roles as coproducers for the opera rather than as mere consultants. For your initial troubles, I shall arrange for a payment of 100 pp to each of you. Let's call it your last consulting fee. Afterward, your payment will be tied to the finished opera’s box office proceeds as coproducers, but I promise you will get shares equal to my own.
"So, rest and recover. When you are ready, we will begin creating our opera together!"
"Seems like putting a fist through her face would've been a lot more direct. Having an opera ghost in the cellar can only drive away the crowds," grumbles Kharya, already considering her points on the backend.
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Once outside and finding a safe place to have the captives settle down, Cerulean takes what looks like a large brick from their bag, stripping the thick paper wrapping off to reveal a multi-layered animal fat-like object with a candle wick poking from the top.
"Afraid not Farrina, though if you want more I can get some from my stores. Though it's hard to call it dwarven when it's no longer dwarven made isn't it?"
Setting the brick down they light the fuse which burns shockingly quickly hitting the top of the brick and producing an almost immediate haze of Eucalyptus scented smoke that fills the surrounding area. It has the sudden result of causing everyone's nasal cavity to open up, their breathing becoming unerringly clear. The second layer down is a gaseous mix of orange with a tinge of peppermint which reinforces the bodies immune system while whetting the appetite, while warding away any incessant vermin. Lastly comes the layer from which bursts forth vanilla and gingerbread scented smoke inciting a subtle calming effect on everyone.
During the waiting process Cerulean takes care of their wounds and gives them a once over to make sure they haven't been exposed to any dangerous substance, poison, mold, or disease from their time in the dank underground.
"I'm sorry I've got no food for you all, and that's a bit more difficult to come up with on the spot compared to simple snacks."
"Well, not a bad reward for a day's work," Timdok reflects. "Kharya, if we go around putting our fists through everyone in this city with weird ideas, we won't have any time to plan our glorious opera. Besides, I imagine our clever producer will manage it into some sort of tax write-off."
Tim takes the rest of the day off, maybe poking around the city's markets for somewhere to spend a little of the lucre.
Now that you have convinced Fallenta beyond any shadow of a doubt that you're the right ones to inspire her next big work, the famous director and writer is ready to get started on actually creating the opera’s libretto. She expects to work on this project for quite some time and gently declines any requests to help with writing the libretto; she points out that as coproducers, there’s a lot of equally important work you can tackle while Fallenta works on the booklet.
Fallenta informs you that the process of creating an opera will take quite some time and that you're expected to remain in Kintargo for the entire period. As coproducers of Fallenta’s opera, she’s able to pay for each of you to enjoy up to a fine cost of living at no cost to you, be it accommodations in the Feathered Fox or elsewhere in the city. The entire party can choose to opt out of these payments, which allows Fallenta to put these funds toward the opera’s production.
After recovering from your audition, Fallenta calls for a meeting at her suite at the Feathered Fox. Fallenta begins the meeting by explaining she’s chosen to write this opera in the classic style of Chelaxian operas, in no small part because it delights her to use that nation’s traditions to debut her latest work in Ravounel, but also because she’s long admired this particular style of opera. She further notes that Chelaxian opera is further subdivided into three categories: histria (spectacular operas focusing on epic tales), prepostera (comedic operas focusing on more lighthearted fare), and verita (dramatic operas that seek to depict the truth and reality of life). For now, the specific style of opera isn’t important.
Fallenta goes on to say that while she’s heard plenty about your adventures—certainly enough to convince her that your story would make an excellent opera—the time has come for you to give her full details on your stories. She explains that the opera will begin with an overture, the instrumental theme that sets the mood for the piece, and that each of the opera’s three acts will be interspersed with an intermission. As for the opera’s structure, Fallenta wants to use the three acts as follows.
• Act I will deal with your early adventuring careers, including how you initially came together and began your first great adventure, but also spending time showing the genesis of your enemy.
• Act II covers the bulk of your great adventure, potentially including your first direct clash with your enemy.
• Act III focuses on your harrowing final adventures and culminates with your final battle against your enemy.
Esirelle looks around. "I guess our story perhaps starts with me? And conveniently enough, it all started here in Kintargo ..." the halfling recounts. She details her decision to leave with her family -- glossing over the fact that she had some idea the revolution was coming -- and to eventually end up serving on a river pirate vessel on the far side of Avistan. From there, she gather the companions...
She trails off, allowing someone else to pick up the tale from there.
"Kharya, if we go around putting our fists through everyone in this city with weird ideas, we won't have any time to plan our glorious opera."
"Doesn't have to be everyone, maybe just the loonies taking hostages right in front of us."
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Cerulean takes the payment pouch in hand and let's their mind wander a bit at the possibilities if, this is how show producers were paid here in Kintagoro perhaps they got into the wrong profession. Then again their life's work wouldn't have gotten this far if they'd just sat back and tried to write screen plays, and the vast wealth of experience from both sides of the proverbial coin did them well.
After listening to the others speak on their entry into the group Cerulean is a bit hesitant, but owns up to their past.
"If we're doing an accurate retelling then I can easily say that I was not part of the group for a large portion of their first few adventures together. My tale interacting with the group would actually begin on the side of our now shared foe. If you were to look a bit further back however, I was born in Rahadoum, my mother worked extensively within the Pathfinder society in her youth, I never knew my father, and studied the alchemical arts in Merab. Until an unfortunate accident due to the incompetence of a son of noble birth which left me scarred and expelled with no hope of return."
They squeezed their own arms uncomfortably at that adding in a small quip towards Cass, "That's why I've never been fond of gods much to Cassiel's consternation. For all the good they've done me old habits die hard."
Pulling a small flask and a small swig from the container Cerulean continues. "Some years after that while struggling to make ends meet eith my now crippled reputation I was eventually approached by a curious individual with a proposal that would ensure I got the necessary funding and test 'material' for my furthered studies. Later I would learn that this was one of the cultists of Akhenaten my actions would contribute to the detriment of the party as well as many common people." They tighten their jaw for a few moments, "I'm not proud of what I did in the pursuit of scientific discovery and perfection and if I could go back and stop myself I would. But I can't let their sacrifices be for naught now."
Glancing to the side, they rattle off a few more less interesting details about wooing several high profile individuals through various means of trickery and teansmutation, mostly to gain access to information, precious materials, and continued funding for their master. "Of course, Akhenaten was not a kind and just master. I was comissioned several times to deploy armaments to stop the meddling adventurers from disrupting our plans."
They look to Farrina with a woeful sigh, "To think I almost deprived the world of your beautiful face with that phosphorus gas in Eto. I also don't know how Timdok's eyebrows ever recovered from the various firebombs. But I'm glad they did."
Drawing their attention from the group for a moment and back to Fallenta Cer decided to wrap up the long winded bits. "Regardless we had a handful of encounters going forward from those moments. Lacing food with parasites, skullduggery while wearing a different face, the lsit goes on really. Eventually Akhenaten got fed up with my failures and gave me an ultimatum, of course which I failed the task spectacularly. I thought I was as good as dead when the other members of the otganization left me for dead, in the center of my own latest trap with the very people it was meant to get rid of. But then Cassiel... well, I'll be honest darling, I still don't know why you offered me mercy, but I've done my best to try and make up for my evils while I can. World domination isn't up my alley anyway, I just wanted to prove myself as an alchemical genius and crack my own Sun Orchid formula among other things. Think of how many people could be mended in this world with the proper medical treatment."
Cassiel listens intently as each recounts their history. When it's his turn to speak, he starts in response to the alchemist.
Cerulean, the reason I offered you mercy is simple. I saw the potential for redemption. In your brilliance, even when misdirected, there was the capacity for great good. It was never about your past sins, but the future I believed you could choose to create."
He offers a broad smile to Cerulean before turning back to Fallenta.
"I was in Kintargo when Esirelle approached me. I’d been seeking purpose, a cause that aligned with the ideals I held dear. She showed me an old map, worn and mysterious, and spoke of a hidden lair containing not riches that didn't concern me. It was teh truths long buried I was interested in. I may not have joined the cause had her determination not been so magnetic."
He pauses, a faint smile softening his expression. "It didn’t take long for her to persuade me to join her quest. Something about her resolve, her sense of destiny, made it impossible to say no. Together with Isabella, who at the time seemed a trustworthy ally, we delved into the unknown."
Cassiel’s tone grows heavier as he continues. "The lair was unlike anything I had ever seen. Our first encounter was harrowing. Fragments of our memories were stolen, leaving us with more questions than answers and a gnawing sense of loss. I knew then that this was no simple treasure hunt. It was the beginning of something far greater... A battle for the very essence of who we were."
He looks toward Esirelle, a nod of respect in her direction. "Esirelle’s drive to continue, even after that encounter, solidified my commitment. Whatever we had lost, I swore to help her reclaim it, and to ensure that Akhenaten would never have the chance to steal from anyone else again."
"Well, my introduction to the group was simple," Timdok tells Fallenta. "I was at loose ends in Sothis, trying to lay low, drinking too much mupute, and taking odd jobs between games of drouge."
"Well, Esirelle came with the oddest job I'd hear of: Tracking a villain deep into the desert to retrieve some stolen memories. Now, I myself have some memories I wouldn't mind being stolen, but the crew needed someone a bit rough and tumble, and my experience with poisons didn't go amiss when we were out in scorpion country."
"Rilzan my once-home is a place of metal and wheels, cogs and teeth. Ask your stagehands what it means to put a finger or foot in the wrong place in a machine like that. No matter her crown, Mother could never change the workings of Rilzan. The graven paths of its routines matched the unchanging rhythm of her heart.
Father didn't fit, but he was an outsider, a Pahmet djinn-binder whose skills were bound and pacted to the Noble Niush. I am told that they loved one another to the limits of their ability, but when his term was up, he gave up his position as consort as well. He left behind a stable portal to the Dominion of Flame, and me, 76th daughter of the Noble Niush.
I didn't fit. It was a problem. I wasn't high enough in the succession to be relevant, but there was still a place for me in Rilzan that was ill-fitted to the brazen half-breed they had. If a piece in your mechanism doesn't fit, then either the piece or the mechanism will break. Mother had made that choice before, but she showed me what mercy she has. Perhaps she loved Father more than I know. She removed me from the mechanism, took me from the line, from my duties. I had a month to make what I could for myself, and then it was time to find my own life.
I traveled through father's portal, made a bond with Inferno, to house and keep her, to feed her and heed her in exchange for her aid. We traveled into the Darklands that surrounded Rilzan, and then, following the echoes of roars and shouts I hurled myself into the maw of a slavering megalania." She smiles. "Where I met Cassiel, Esirelle... and Isabella Maupin."
Fallenta takes notes as you recall the start of your stories. ”Very good. I would like to use your coming together as a theme for the opera’s chorus. So then what, would you say, was the most important part of your party’s formation? In particular, what is it that brought you together, and why did you stay together thereafter?”
"I have ... visions, I guess you could say," Esirelle says, after thinking about it. "Not like prophecy. Sometimes I get flashes, but more a sense of what could be, even what should be. I saw people I could work with, and that we could accomplish important things ... or maybe more that bad things would happen if we didn't work together. Bad things still happened anyway, but I think not AS bad."
She thinks a bit more.
"Why did we stay together? The bourbon helped."
Cassiel nods thoughtfully as Esirelle speaks, his gaze distant as if recalling those early days. "Esirelle’s visions, even if she didn’t call them prophecy, gave us direction when we had none. She had this uncanny ability to see threads of fate, to know who would matter in ways none of us could fully grasp at the time. It wasn’t just about chasing Akhenaten or unearthing ancient secrets... it was about answering a call, whether we realized it or not."
He folds his arms across his chest. "For me, what bound us together wasn’t just the shared goal but the understanding that each of us brought something irreplaceable to the table. Esirelle’s intuition, Timdok’s resourcefulness, Kharya’s resilience, Farrina’s brilliance, Cerulean’s ingenuity... even Isabella, before her betrayal that is, well she had her role. We complemented each other in ways that made our group stronger than any of us could have been alone."
Cassiel glances around the room at his companions. "But why did we stay together? We weren’t just a group of adventurers anymore. No. We became something closer to family. And family, for better or worse, sticks together."
Fallenta writes “FAMILY” in big letters and underlines it.
”Wonderful! Now, let’s move on to Act II. Tell me of your trials during the bulk of your great adventure. I suspect this Act will be the longest, so I would like to include a ‘spotlight’ moment for each of the actors playing you. They’ll each have a chance to perform an aria—a solo song that encapsulates your essence. So I’d like each of you to single out the most important event in your adventuring career and contextualize its emotional impact. Was it a fearful moment? A joyous one? A shameful one? A humorous one? Something else? Inquiring minds want to know!”