I'm really sorry to do this to you all, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to drop this game. I've recently gotten a promotion at work, which is good, but it's also meant that I'm run off my feet trying to keep track of everything. PbP has been something to look forward to, but I'm afraid I started this campaign without being fully aware of the challenges involved in Play-by-Post GMing. I'm often up until 2 trying to figure things out for this game, and in the light of day, none of it makes any sense, certainly not enough to incorporate into a post. Something has to give, and I'm afraid that I'm simply not ready for the challenge of GMing.
I'm sorry to do this, but know that it doesn't reflect poorly on any of you in any way - you've been amazing players, and I appreciate your willingness to suffer through my bumbling plots for these months of play. I wish you well in your other campaigns and any future endeavors.
At Garen's challenge, the sheriff scowls, crossing his arms. "Frankly, I don't see how any of us can do much at this point. Father Zantus has been informed of the developments, but we don't know who in town is aiding the goblins, and we don't have the numbers to raid one of their settlements, not even with you six." Sheriff Hemlock sighs, and his face softens. "Look, I want to track down these maniacs just as badly as you do. In a perfect world, I'd be out there, taking the fight to them now. But at the moment, there's no course of action that won't do more harm than good, so the best thing we can do is nothing and hope things work out."
Other than the Swallowtail Festival, nothing major in the way of holy days or other religious celebrations is coming to mind.
You do recall something about a splinter group of Desnan militants known as the Order of the Black Butterfly, around the time of the Chelish settlement - the faith of Desna is a disorganized affair, but in their prime, most Varisian priests in the area warned their flocks about their influence, which is about as close to excommunication as you can get with Desnans.
The zealots attacked settlers who strayed too close to the Lost Coast, trying to drive them off - around the time of Sandpoint's founding, most of them were wiped out in an ill-conceived attack on Magnimar, and the remnants faded into obscurity. Their captured leaders were publicly hanged at the urging of the burgeoning Sandpoint Mercantile League - it's not inconceivable that the order might resent the town and its people.
At the questions from Tot and Izzy, Naffer Vosk nods. "Good quethtions, both of you. Tobyn wath a good man - helped me get on my feet in this town - and I can't think of a single enemy he had. Far be it from me to thpeak ill of the dead, but hith daughter, Nualia, was a bit of a brat at timeth - thtill, I don't think anyone hated her enough to dethecrate her corpthe."
The sheriff seems agitated at Garen's questions, grimacing. "Well, everyone assumed the fire was set by Chopper, a local killer who started his work around the same time. Casper, the old sheriff, tracked him down - we..." He takes a moment to compose himself - he seems pale, and nervous sweat gleams on his forehead. "There were things in his home. Dark things. We burned most of them, smashed the ones that didn't catch, but there might still be a few in care of Headmaster Gandelus, the director of the orphanage - he's an arcane scholar of sorts, studies all sorts of trinkets that surface around these parts. I'll see what I can dig up." He seems distracted, perhaps by some dark memory, but he does catch the tail end of Garen's next question. "Blood hounds? Some of the deputies might have hunting dogs - nothing much, though, we aren't equipped to handle this sort of thing."
Noticing his distress, Shaelu steps in. "Look, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I've done some poking around of my own - this discovery changes things. I had a look at some of the corpses from the festival - they weren't killed by goblins. Maybe a human, maybe an elf, even a tall dwarf, but the angle's all wrong for those stumpy little runts, and the blade was too fine. Someone in town is working with the goblins, and I'm going to find out who it is. You six are heroes, and every eye in the town is on you - if you're seen poking around, and you will be seen, gossip will spread like wildfire, and our traitor will know we're on the hunt. The best thing you can do is to go about your business, enjoy being heroes for a few days - I'll contact you if I find anything."
As Ari and Tot discuss, the guard leads the group through the narrow streets of Sandpoint to the squat Sandpoint Garrison, a solid-looking building of stone that houses the town's militia and armory. Ushering them in, the guard shows them to the sheriff's office, a modest room at the back of the garrison. Within, the heroes of Sandpoint see the familiar Shoanti guardsman who delivered the speech on fire safety at the Swallowtail Festival, but two others are present. Erridon recognizes the hunchbacked man of around forty winters in the dirt-stained clothes of a peasant as Naffer Vosk, the town's lisping gravedigger and one of its most zealous worshipers of Sarenrae, but the other figure, a tall elven woman in rough hunter's clothes, is unfamiliar even to him.
Noticing the party, the sheriff nods curtly to them. "There you are. I won't take up too much of your time, so we'll keep this brief. Naffer here-" At this, he nods to the hunchbacked gravedigger. "-was doing his rounds earlier today when he noticed an issue with the Tobyn crypt. As near as he can tell, someone used the goblin attack as a diversion - they stole two bodies, that of Father Tobyn, the old priest, and that of Nualia Tobyn, his daughter." The gravedigger nods vehemently, speaking up. "Weren't no goblinth, that'th for sure. I know goblin trackth, and those weren't them." He glances around nervously, tracing a warding sign in the air to keep away evil. "I don't know what whoever thith ith needed corptheth for - probably dark magicth. It'th definitely a bad portent."
The half-elven woman steps forward next, nodding to the party and extending a hand to shake. "Pleasure to meet you all - I'm Shaelu Andosana. I've heard a great deal about your exploits. I was out hunting the night of the raid - trying to track down old Koruvus - but I wish I could have been there. Actually, it's about the raid that I'd like to speak with you. There are five major goblin tribes in the region, and, traditionally, they’re pretty good at keeping each other in line with intertribal squabbles and the like. The Seven Tooth, Licktoad, and Birdcruncher tribes mostly keep themselves to themselves - I trade with them from time to time - and the Mosswood and Thistletop tribes are too lazy and too stupid, respectively, to pose a real threat to Sandpoint. Yet despite that, we still had a raid - what's more, goblins from all five of the tribes were involved."
"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."
Perhaps noticing the growing impatience of his erstwhile audience, Aldern turns back soon after showing them the Wisher's Well, returning to the Goblin Squash Stables as the sun creeps high in the sky.
As the group nears the simple stables, they spot Otis and Cy, seemingly in a deep argument with a member of the Sandpoint Militia. Drawing nearer, they catch the tail end of the guardsman's tirade. "...not know where they went? Lord Foxglove hired you, for Desna's sake!" Otis crosses his arms, jutting his bearded chin pugnaciously. "Hired us, told us he didn't need our help, and paid us anyway. Him and his pals are out somewhere - we don't know where, do we, Cy?" Seemingly unmoved from his position leaning against the hitching post, the lanky Eriksson brother adds his two copper pinch to the conversation. "Ayep. Don't know, don't give a damn." Spotting the eclectic group approaching, he nods in their direction, indicating their presence to the others. "...Still don't give a damn."
Leaving the Eriksson brothers to their own devices, the guard approaches the party. "Sorry to bother you, but Sheriff Hemlock insisted. He said there's some new news about the goblin raid - said that as the ones responsible for saving the town, you deserved to know. Naffer Vosk from the graveyard is there, and some hunter from out of town - I'd get there quick, if I was you."
Following Aldern's lead, the group make their way out of Sandpoint proper and into the sprawling quilt of rich yellow fields and green pastures that mark the Sandpoint Hinterlands, the vast expanse of fields studded with old farmhouses leaning like drunks in the wind which provide Sandpoint, and indeed settlements as far as Korvosa, with the much-needed foodstuffs that both king and commoner need to survive. Pulling ahead of the group, Aldern stops his horse short with the skill of a trained rider, sweeping his arm out in a dramatic gesture that encompasses the grand vista. "So, what do you think? Breadbasket of the Lost Coast, that's for sure!"
As the party continues on, Aldern pulls back from the front of the line to the middle, addressing the whole of the group. "It's actually lucky I was passing through here - or unlucky, depending on how you see it. I don't live in Sandpoint, you see - I was passing through from Magnimar, meeting with some tradesmen about some renovations on my old family home. The Foxgloves are an old family, you know - we've been in these parts since long before Sandpoint was even a dream in old Alamon Scarnetti's head. People always talk about the history of Sandpoint, but people have lived here much longer - I mean settlement, obviously, not just the Varisian nomads." He chuckles, pointing out a distant ring of stones surrounding a wide hole in the ground, like a blemish on the surface of the idyllic countryside, a decrepit cottage slumping in disrepair nearby. "That there's the Wisher's Well - it's got quite the story associated with it, you know!"
"Apparently, back when this place was all forest, some old homesteader found that ring of stones there, some giant's well or something, and decided to build his home nearby. His wife fell in and drowned; not quite sure how, it seems pretty hard to miss; but when he went down there to look for her, he found something - not sure on that, either - that told him it would grant his most dear wish - to reunite him with his wife - in exchange for something. Blood. For years afterwards, he waylaid travelers, explorers, nomads, more or less anyone who ventured into his part of the woods. He murdered them, then dumped their bodies into that well. According to the legend, when he killed his sevenfold seventh sacrifice, the beast of the Wisher's Well reached up from its dark slumber and pulled him down into the well, reuniting him with his wife in death."
The nobleman shudders at the story's gruesome conclusion. "Certainly a dark tale, wouldn't you say? When I was a boy, growing up with my aunt and uncle in Magnimar, I would come out here every so often, just to ride and take in the sights. My uncle's servants always warned me away from the Wisher's Well, though - they said that if I wasn't careful, the beast of the Well would reach up and drag me down to the depths, just like that rustic's wife all those years ago!"
As the members of Sandpoint's impromptu band of heroes discuss the meaning of heroism, Aldern nods along, hanging on their every word, but when Tot brings up the boar spears again, he grimaces, shaking his head. "No, no, let's just forget it. What I really wanted to do was learn more about the heroes who saved my life, so whether there's a boar hunt or not is really immaterial. If you all don't mind, though, I'd still rather like to at the very least ride with you, learn who you are, where you've come from, that sort of thing." As Otis steps forward, a look of indignation on his face, Aldern glares at the rotund woodsman. "Yes, I'll still pay you, Otis, whether we go on this boar hunt or not. Happy?" Fumbling in his pocket for his coin purse, he fishes out a handful of gold coins and hands them to the woodsman, muttering under his breath about 'backwater freeloaders.'
As the group sets out, Aldern starts out at the front of the group, his easy mannerisms making it clear that he's had a great deal of experience before, but after a few minutes, he falls back to join the rest of the group, glancing at Garen's Ragathiel amulet curiously. "So tell me, my friend, from where do you hail? Your amulet there is certainly interesting - it... sort of reminds me of the statue in Iomedae's temple, in Magnimar, but not quite. Are you some sort of holy warrior, then?"
Aldern looks slightly concerned as the group brings up boar spears. "H-hold on, you're saying we need special weapons for this?" He sighs, glancing back at the Eriksson brothers. "You know, it would have been nice to know that before I planned this whole boar hunt!" Otis raises his hands defensively. "Hey, now, I'm a trapper, not no hunter - besides, I never go after big things like boars. Those things'll kill you quicker'n you can blink, ain't that right, Cy?" From the hitching post, the other Eriksson brother chimes in with his two cents. "Damn fool thing t' do." Nodding in agreement, Otis crosses his arms. "I said I could show ya where Old Irontusk is, not how to kill a chargin' boar!"
Sighing, Aldern pinches the bridge of his nose, exasperated. "...Okay, okay, forget the boar hunt. Could we at least go for a ride? You six saved my life, and I'd like to know more about you - who you are, where you've came from, all that." He clears his throat, looking self-conscious. "I... I've always wanted to be a hero, like you six, but I've never had the bravery - I'd like to know about you, because, in a very real way, you six are who I always wanted to be but never had the strength to become."
"That is amazing, sir, unnecessary but greatly appreciated. We were glad to help."
Foxglove grins, raising his hands. "No, no, there's no need for all this 'not necessary' talk, I think. You saved my life, even if you couldn't save my guard dog, and there are a great many people who owe you a debt of gratitude. I am a rich man, so I can pay a little more than most of the commoners here, that's all. Believe me, I saw your heroics at the North Gate - you six deserve every copper pinch of what I'm giving you. And just wait until you see the horses I've picked out for you before turning down my offer, okay?" Moving towards the door of the Rusty Dragon, the nobleman motions the party to follow him, guiding them to the Goblin Squash Stables, Sandpoint's finest and only purveyor of horses and associated accoutrements.
Outside the squat wooden building, the group spots a pair of brown-haired humans, dressed in rough clothing. The taller of the two, a lean, beardless man, leans against an empty hitching post, staring at the fluffy clouds drifting by overhead, while his much stouter companion noisily eats an apple, dribbling its juice down his scraggly beard. Noticing them, Aldern turns to face the party, nodding towards the two. "The Eriksson brothers here will be our guides - they're local rustics I found on the path from Magnimar, and they know the Tickwood better than anyone else." Spotting Aldern Foxglove, the fat man rushes up to him, seizing his hand and pumping it vigorously up and down. "Mister Foxglove! Ain't every day we come into town at all, much less get paid by some high-falutin' fella, ain't it, Cy?" The taller man, glancing over at the group but still not budging from his place by the hitching post, wordlessly shakes his head. Releasing Lord Foxglove's hand, the short man rounds on the party, shaking each of their hands in turn while Aldern tries to rub some life back into his digits. "So you're those fancy heroes around here? Real pleasure! Name's Otis, and over there's m' brother Cy. So, Mister Foxglove here said you city-folk were lookin' to do some hunting, right?" Shaking his head at the energetic woodsman's antics, Aldern takes the opportunity to head into the stables while Otis Eriksson proceeds to talk the ear off all present. "Why, it's deep in the Tickwood itself you'll find that ancient beast, old Irontusks. Nearly took m' leg off, that boar did! I was checkin' one 'a m' traps, when all 'a the sudden, there he is, burstin' out of the bushes with blazin' hellfire in his eyes, ain't that right, Cy?" The quieter Eriksson brother slowly nods assent from the hitching post. "Ayup. Blazin' hellfire."
Otis's story is interrupted at a loud whistle from Aldern, emerging from the stables with a handful of horse's reigns clutched in each fist. Trailed by a cluster of fine-looking horses, he makes his way over to the party, gesturing for them to pick out which of the horses they would like.
One combat trained light horse plus saddle for each character - a pony for Izzy. Feel free to describe your horse, if you want.
Question to GM Mokmurian. Was it 60 GP total, or 60 GP each?
Apologies, I should have been more clear - it was sixty gold in total, to be split six ways. Each of you does get a combat-trained light horse/pony and saddle, though, so there's that.
Tot wrote:
Speaking of gold, how are we calculating how much Tot earns? Per day, per week? Based on how much she got for helping out, it's a number of silver equal to the roll. If that's the case, then for two days, that'd be 16 silver a day. Does that seem a bit much?
It seems high at first glance, but as per the rules for Profession, a week's worth of work (5 days) nets you your result in GP divided by 2 - 1 GP = 10 SP, so 10 SP divided by 2 per point of check result means check result in SP per day. It's just an interpretation of the rules, broken down by day. As a corollary, I also note that while I wasn't intending it that way at first, Ameiko's generosity means that she's shaping up to be both a good friend to the party and a truly atrocious tavern owner.
Again, I apologize for my slow posting in this campaign.
As the sun sets on the dark events of the Swallowtail Festival, the town of Sandpoint retires to their beds, most of its citizens falling almost immediately into sleep as the adrenaline surge that carried them through the fateful events of the night wears off - already, the frenzied goblins seem less of an event and more of a fevered dream for many. When the new day dawns, however, the previous day's events prove to be as enduring as any other; the dead are still dead, but among those who lived, the Sandpoint residents and transients who acquitted themselves well in the raid are still heroes. The death of the goblin rat-rider seemed to be the turning point in the battle; after he fell, the remaining goblins mostly fled or killed themselves out of either stupidity or a desire not to be caught - as such, the group that managed to slay him is hailed as heroes, not least thanks to the vociferous praise of Aldern Foxglove, standing out as capable heroes in stark contrast to Sandpoint's town guard, which struggled against the goblin onslaught and failed to kill more than a handful.
In the course of perhaps a day or so, the members of the motley group that helped to drive back the goblins become known throughout town. Both Grod and Garen meet many townspeople interested in their warrior gods and how their teachings can make someone into a hero, despite neither god being worshiped to any real degree in Sandpoint. Cyrdak Drokkus seeks Izzy out and asks her all kinds of details about the group's heroics against the goblins, which he compiles into a brief play with the working title of 'The Story of the Journey of the Heroes of Sandpoint.' Largely thanks to Izzy's efforts, however, Tot's name goes largely unknown, though she becomes known by sight as the 'Mysterious Stranger.' Both Zorlen and Erridon are treated as vaunted heroes by the locals, and though Pennae Kesk grumbles bitterly about Zorlen's return to the town, all but a handful of Sandpoint's people ignore her.
It is around mid-day on the second day after the goblin attack when Aldern Foxglove seeks out the motley band having lunch in the Rusty Dragon's taproom. Approaching the group with a wide grin on his face, he shakes every member of the party's hand before finding a chair, pulling a large and suspiciously bulging pouch from his pocket and setting it in the middle of the table. "I'm so glad I found you all here. Now, I've been thinking long and hard about how I could repay you for saving my life - consider this the first part. There's sixty gold sails in there - nothing in comparison to my debt to you fine people, but I called in a few favors, and I've purchased a gift of sorts for all of you down at the Goblin Squash Stables. Six of the most agile horses money can buy - combat broken and all." He glances around the party hopefully, gauging their reactions to his offered reward.
The party efficiently butchers several of the fallen goblins, but at the words of Grod and Garen, the group stops the bloodshed, instead turning their attentions towards the injured victim cornered in the alleyway. Getting to his feet unsteadily and brushing himself off, the young man appears to be more or less the archetypical 'dandy' - his ruffled shirt and ponytail are the latest in Magnimaran high fashion, and though he wears a fine scabbard at his side, he clutches his masterfully crafted longsword itself like a peasant holding a tree branch, clearly unaware of how to use the weapon. He has only a handful of minor wounds on him, including a profusely bleeding cut on his cheek - Garen's medical knowledge tells him that this man will have a scar or two at worst.
As the party approaches the end of the alleyway, the man lurches forward somewhat unsteadily to meet them, seizing Garen's hand and emphatically pumping it up and down. "You have my gratitude, sir, my undying gratitude! My name is Aldern Foxglove - I was visiting my manor some distance to the south of here when..." He looks around anxiously, searching for more foes. "Well! I certainly won't be taking the roads with this sort of turmoil!" Clearing his throat, he turns back to Garen. "I'm... afraid I don't have much on me at the moment, but after this is all over, find me at the Rusty Dragon - I'll be in town a few more days, and it would be remiss of me not to reward you for saving my life."
Exiting the alleyway, the party finds that most of the goblin invasion has burned itself out - the Sandpoint Militia has broken the back of the goblin warband, and survivors are fleeing north en masse, leaping over the edge of Junker's Cliff to their deaths rather than perish on the end of a human blade. In the aftermath of the invasion, few want to continue the Festival, instead returning to their homes to bury their dead - the only ones left in the streets are a few of the town guardsmen, who begin the long work of clearing the rubble of their town's festival. Like a belated omen, dark stormclouds gather in the sky above Sandpoint, and while the rain coming down from them in a modest drizzle serves as another nail in the coffin of the Swallowtail Festival, it does keep the isolated blazes that sprang up around the town from becoming a serious threat.
Amidst the aftermath of the invasion, Ameiko Kaijitsu, owner of the Rusty Dragon, seeks you out, looking significantly more ragged than you saw her earlier that day - her clothes are covered in goblin blood, and her rapier is stained with the same. Despite her appearance, she brightens up at the sight of the eclectic group, making her way over to join them. "Hey, congratulations! You're the talk of the town! Looks like that wolf-skulled one you killed was their leader or something - anyway, the whole thing started to break apart once they saw he was dead." Grinning, she claps Grom good-naturedly on the arm, absently rubbing her hand as it rebounds off the half-orc's solid steel armor. "Anyway, your room and board at the Rusty Dragon are free for the next week - it's the least I can do for Sandpoint's heroes." Digging in her pockets, she produces a handful of coins, giving Tot back the gold coin she had paid earlier that day. She also repays anyone else who had already paid for their night's lodgings, but it looks as though Tot was the only one - again, correct me if I'm wrong. The long day and bloody ending to the Swallowtail Festival have put a drain on everyone, and most of the town's inhabitants want nothing more than to go to sleep, hoping against hope that they will awake the following day to find that the horrors that took place at the Festival were simply a nightmare...
Izzy's spell finally finishes casting, taking hold of the minds of every one of the goblins and their leader's loathsome mount. The group of foes crumples to the ground, their snores punctuated by Grod splitting one's skull in two with his greataxe.
Combat is effectively over - do you want to coup de grace the enemies or capture them for interrogation? I'll have a post up soon for the aftermath.
The goblin commander raises his bow defensively to protect himself from the magical energies Zorlen sends at him, but the tiefling feels the flimsy wood of the bow snap in his grasp, and the weapon splinters. Scowling, the goblin with the wolf skull drops the remains of his bow, drawing his amateurishly made blade as his mount leaps at Garen and swiping at the paladin with his flimsy polearm. "Varch will kill the metal one - then Varch will be the strongest!"
Behind him, the other three goblins gang up on Zorlen for daring to cast such a spell on Varch, snarling curses at the mage. "Your elf-magic is a tricksy trick, horns! Goblins are smart - you can't trick us with your elf-magics!"
Forging on, the party moves out of the ruined Cathedral square and towards the north gate, the streets that just hours ago were bustling with excitement and activity now lit by the fires of the pyromaniacal goblins. From neighboring streets, they hear the occasional echo of screams or Sandpoint's guards fighting back the goblin attack, as though the squat buildings lining the street are relaying the chaos of the goblin invasion.
One cry stands out as more than an echo, though - in a cramped alleyway near the north gate, a goblin wearing a fox's skull as a helmet and riding a mangy-looking canine with the features of a rat menaces a nobleman cowering against the wall at the other end of the dead-end alleyway. A fierce-looking guard dog lies in a pool of its own blood at the feet of the goblin's ratlike mount, and a trio of goblins follows at their mounted leader's heels, snarling at the trapped nobleman.
As the party nears the group, the leader's head snaps around to glare at you, and he grins, pointing at the group with one hand as he draws a flimsy-looking bow with the other. "Kill the longshanks! Varch Runtboss commands it!"
The goblin crumples to the now-bloodstained ground in two halves, its look of utter terror at Grod's bellowed challenge still frozen on its face.
Combat over - for now, that is.
As the band of heroes takes a moment to catch their breath, they see that the Cathedral square has fallen into chaos. Large bands of the goblins, perhaps thirty in all, run amok, some ravaging the storefronts that open onto the square while others make a spirited effort to set the main stage ablaze, dark plumes of smoke wafting up to form ominous clouds against the gathering sunset. The people of Sandpoint are not entirely defenseless, however - for every two goblins ransacking the town, the broken form of a third lies on the hard-packed dirt of the Cathedral square, with only one or two human corpses speaking to the fierce fighting in the ruins of the Festival.
By the time the group has dispatched another host of manic goblins and rescued a pair of trapped townsfolk, most of the citizens of Sandpoint have fled, with the better part of the raid following them, but from some ways to the north, the party can hear a voice raised in a scream, followed by frantic barking that cuts off with a pained yelp.
Erridon has heard of the Seven Tooth tribe - their primary settlements lie nestled in the shadows of Shank's Wood to the east. They have a reputation around town as nuisances on the order of raccoons, infamous for scrounging on Junker's Beach, Sandpoint's scrapheap, for food and supplies. Most of the time, however, they're not aggressive in the slightest - in fact, a handful of farmers in Sandpoint's hinterlands have arrangements of a sort with the goblins, trading food (mostly pickles) for the town proper's mostly-functional cast-offs.
Why they're attacking the town they depend on for their livelihood at all, let alone in such a coordinated manner, is a mystery - any goblins stupid enough to bite the hand that feeds them would presumably also be stupid enough to be incapable of infiltrating the town and launching a concerted attack.
Will (not that it matters):1d20 - 1 ⇒ (9) - 1 = 8
Erridon's spell takes hold of the lead goblin's mind, causing him to stumble - Tot's longsword removing his head, however, makes this fact largely academic in nature. One of the other goblins snarls and lunges at Garen, only to meet his demise on the end of his blade. The remaining goblin holds back, intimidated by the deaths of his two comrades, but after a moment's indecision, he steps forward, scowling as he slashes at Tot's armored form. "Longshanks not kill Nork! Nork is invincible!"
As the lunch rush comes to a finish, Ameiko seeks out Tot, Erridon, and Zorlen, beaming. "Thank you all - you've really helped me out. Here - you three deserve something for your troubles. And you - Tot, you said your name was, right? As it happens, I'm in need of a cook. Would you at all be interested?"
Zorlen and Erridon receive 24 silver pieces for their work - Tot receives 26.
The festivities extend throughout the latter half of the day, and all six of the intrepid caravan guards do well at the events, winning several prizes. Tot, Zorlen, and Erridon get off to a bit of a late start, but they still do quite well. Erridon, with his keen analytical mind and his experience working in a general store, is able to quite easily estimate the number of nuts Old Man Tovald, a local farmer, has managed to fit inside of a large jar, while Zorlen beats out local tavern owner Cracktooth Berinni in Brodert Quink's... imaginatively named 'Phantasmag-lore-ia' trivia challenge. Meanwhile, as the only two to defeat the town's armorer Savah Bevaniky in her challenge to all comers, Garen and Grod's names are cheered throughout the town for hours. Both Izzy and Tot struggle for a bit with the Festival's challenges, Tot because of her insecurities and Izzy because of indecision from the sheer number of fun-looking events, but when a talent show of sorts begins near the wainwright's shop, Izzy's songs and Tot's impressive knife flourishes draw quite a crowd, netting the two women a tie as the contest's two winners. The people of Sandpoint aren't terribly suspicious, as a rule, and Tot's unusual aptitude with the knife is attributed to her extraordinary skill as a cook.
As the sun sinks low on the horizon, the people of Sandpoint gather in the expansive courtyard before the Cathedral to hear Father Zantus recite the Prayer of First Dreaming, which will officially consecrate the newly built Cathedral for all the gods of Sandpoint. The crowd chatters excitedly about the ceremony and the bonfire that will follow, but as a sharp retort, like the crack of distant thunder, slices through the excited crowd, the buzz of two dozen conversations quickly hushes as all heads turn toward the central podium, where Father Zantus has somewhat shakily (whether due to his advanced age or Ameiko's delicious mead) taken the stage.
He clears his throat, takes a breath to speak... only to be cut off as a woman’s scream slices through the air. A few moments later, another scream rises, then another. Beyond them, a sudden surge of strange new voices rises - high-pitched, tittering shrieks that sound not quite human. The crowd parts and something low to the ground races by, giggling with disturbing glee as the raucous sound of a strange song begins, chanted from shrill, scratchy voices seemingly everywhere around the Cathedral plaza.
The Goblin Song:
Goblins chew and goblins bite.
Goblins cut and goblins fight.
Stab the dog and cut the horse,
Goblins eat and take by force!
Goblins race and goblins jump
Goblins slash and goblins bump.
Burn the skin and mash the head,
Goblins here and you be dead!
Chase the baby, catch the pup.
Bonk the head to shut it up.
Bones be cracked, flesh be stewed,
We be goblins! You be food!
As the crowd shrieks and begins to scatter, a trio of short, ugly creatures that even the most provincial of the heroes recognizes as goblins appear from a narrow side street, grinning maniacally as they brandish amateurishly made knives. Spotting a group of taller folk too brave to flee immediately at their approach (that is, the party), the goblin in the lead cackles as he hefts his blade. "The Seventooth tribe is best at killing longshanks! Wanna see?"
At the offers of Tot, Zorlen, and Erridon, Ameiko grins gratefully. "Would you? I'm sorry to be an imposition, but I could really use the help. It won't be for long, don't worry - the lunch rush will be over in about a half an hour or so."
Profession (cook) if you want to help with the meal, Perception if you want to look for people waiting for food, empty tables, dishes to be washed, etc.
The old man spinning tall tales looks up as the party comes to sit at his table, raising his eyebrows. "You folk in town for th' Festival? Don't recognize none 'a ya but Eri there." He extends a gnarled hand in greeting. "Pleasure to meet ya. Name's Rogors Craesby. I used to own this place, y'know, way back when. Called it the 'Logger's Folly' after old Alamon Scarnetti - you lot heard about that story yet? I tell ya, this town's got its share of dark secrets."
He shifts in his chair to fully face the party, revealing a jagged scar across the left side of his face, directly over his missing ear. "Oh, I could tell you young'uns stories - why, 'twere the beast of the Wisher's Well itself that took my ear, ten long years ago..." As Ameiko passes behind Craesby on her way back to the bar, she punches him good-naturedly in the arm. "You lost your ear in a bar fight, you old coot! I wouldn't listen to Rogors here if I were you - he's told more tall tales than he's had hot meals."
Knowledge (Local) DC 15, Knowledge (History) DC 20, or Eridon/Zorlen:
Alamon Scarnetti was a lumber merchant and one of the founders of Sandpoint, head of one of the Magnimar merchant families that came to negotiate land from the native Varisians. He was quite enthusiastic about the prospect of using the locals' insights into the land to form a more stable community, so it came as a great shock to everyone when he went mad during a negotiation, killing four Varisian leaders before being killed himself. His actions set back the establishment of Sandpoint by years, and his name is cursed in town.
Izzy:
Cyrdrak looks sheepish as Izzy confronts him with her earlier request for an audition. "Gimblewabe? I think I remember yours - it's certainly more..." With some difficulty, he manages to extract his hand from Izzy's grip, wincing slightly as he tries to rub some life back into his digits. "...energetic than most of my other actors. I'll take a look at it again and get back to you after tomorrow's performance."
Grod:
Father Zantus nods to Grod as the half-orc warpriest approaches. "Greetings. Are you enjoying the Festival?" At Grod's request, he shrugs, nodding to the rapidly emptying courtyard. "Empty ground? Swing a cat. Of course there's room, but I'm afraid you may not find too many worshipers - as I told that young Ragathielan man, few here in Sandpoint are warriors. Still, I wish you the best with your ceremony."
As some of the townspeople start to glance Zorlen's way, Isidiana's keen ears pick out some of the finer details of their muttering. There are a handful of superstitious townsfolk who think his returning to the community is an ill omen - most of these seem to be centered around a lean, hard-faced woman with iron-gray hair in a bun, who glares daggers at Zorlen whenever he's not looking, and oftentimes when he is. However, many of the whispers in the crowd are far more sympathetic - Izzy manages to overhear a few. "Such a tragedy for all of Sandpoint - but when you think about it, that young man got the worst of it. First his caretaker Father Tobyn dies, then that old biddy Pennae gets the town riled up and throws him out! Someone should get a proper welcome to Sandpoint together for him - we wouldn't want to send him off again, not after he's just returned." "That 'un there, he's a local boy - used t' see him playin' by the docks, I remember. Left t' study magic in Magnimar, I heard; learned how t' do all that fancy book-castin', shapin' th' weather, all that. Well, Sandpoint treats its folk proper, and so long as I'm around he won't be wantin' for a warm meal or a place to sleep."
After the crowd disperses, Izzy homes in on the man who spoke for the theater, cornering him as he descends from the podium. He notices the diminutive gnome moving towards him, extending a hand in greeting. "Cyrdak Drokkus. How can I help you, miss..."
As the rest of the group makes their way to the Rusty Dragon, they quickly find that they are far from the only people in town eating lunch there - it's already more or less full by the time the group gets there. At the table where they sat earlier that morning, there are still six seats left, the other two taken up by an old man telling tall tales to a fascinated merchant from the caravan. "...an' when they came in the morning and found 'im, 'is whole face were bleached white as bone, it were!" Ameiko moves to and fro between the tables, bringing out trays of delicious curry-spiced salmon and tankards of winterdrop mead - noticing the motley group, she nods to them, though she seems too busy to stop and chat. The food is delicious, the savory taste of the salmon contrasting well with the sweet mead, and it seems that most of the town has tried to make their way to the Rusty Dragon if they can.
As noon draws near, the group makes their way into the cathedral square - while the plaza was quiet and tranquil in the early hours of the morning, by now, it is a veritable riot of activity, with most of the town's population packed into the square and the streets surrounding, though the town's small population means that there is still quite a bit of room to move around. In the back of the makeshift stage, four chairs hold occupants, with a fifth seat conspicuously empty.
The party gets settled just as the first speaker, a middle-aged woman in the fine clothes of an official, steps up to the podium at the front of the platform and clears her throat. "Good morning to all of you, and thank you for being here to celebrate with us. For the - I don't know, ten? - people who don't already know me, my name is Kendra Deverin, and I am proud to serve the people of Sandpoint as their mayor. Today, we are here for our annual celebration - on this one day in the year, Larz Rovanky leaves his musty tanner's shop and sees the light of day." Mild laughter follows this last bit, punctuated by angry muttering from an irascible-looking old man in a tanner's apron. After a moment, the mayor continues, chuckling. "I jest, I jest. No, today, on the day of the Swallowpoint Festival, after five years of hard winters, five years of blight, five years of darkness, we here in Sandpoint are finally back on our feet - and there's no better way to show that and show our thanks to the gods for our fortune than with the dedication of this; the Sandpoint Cathedral!"
Applause rings out from the crowd as the mayor sits back down, dying out as the next speaker, a tall Shoanti man with a sword at his belt, takes the stage. "With the excitement over the festival, I would feel remiss in my duties as your sheriff if I neglected your safety on this momentous day - I expect we're all looking forward to the bonfire later this evening, but vigilance is needed to ensure the fire doesn't spread beyond the designated boundaries. With that in mind, I ask you to take a moment in memory of those who died during the Sandpoint Fire five years ago today - their deaths are keenly felt, and I am sure that all of my fellow citizens wish to prevent further accidents like this from happening." The crowd remains mostly silent throughout the sheriff's speech, though a few suspicious looks are thrown Zorlen's way, and muttered whispers spring up throughout the throng of people.
A moment of silence follows the sheriff's words of warning, with some of the town notables on the podium casting frustrated glances at the empty chair. After a minute, a man with a well-groomed beard and flashy clothing steps forward, grinning. "Well, as I'm sure you all know, the esteemed Lord Kaijitsu was scheduled to speak here at the beginning of the Festival, but word has recently come to us that he is ill and will be unable to attend. Well, I for one wish him well, as I'm sure all here do, and with the gods' grace, he may get the better of this illness that has prevented his attendance here the past twenty-five consecutive years." His raised eyebrows indicate what he thinks of Lord Kaijitsu's 'illness,' and several in the crowd scoff or grumble to themselves. "Well, I'm certainly sorry he missed so many exciting events we have planned for today! The people of Sandpoint have worked very hard to ensure that this year's Festival is a success, and I'm sure it will exceed anyone's wildest dreams. Lunch is free courtesy of the taverns and inns of our fine community, and the bonfire will begin at sunset. Tomorrow, if you have the time, Sandpoint's own theater will be putting on a performance of 'The Harpy's Curse' - starring the famous Allishanda of Magnimar as Avisera the Harpy Queen!"
As the theater's director sits back down, the last one to speak stands - an old man, bent with age, in the simple robes of a Desnan priest, who Garen recognizes as Father Zantus. He motions to unseen assistants around the side of the cathedral, and a pair of priests wheel out a large wagon covered with a white sheet. After a moment, he turns back to the crowd, beginning his sermon. "Long ago, in the far-off lands between the stars, Desna was injured in her travels through the many worlds - near her death at the hands of a great evil, she fell to Golarion, gravely wounded. For many days, she wandered the desolate hill country where she had fallen - when all seemed lost, however, she found solace with a blind child whose parents had passed, a young girl who came across the injured Desna near her home. The young orphan had little enough to spare, but what she did have, she readily shared with the wounded goddess, nursing her back to health. For the girl's selflessness, Desna granted her deepest wish - that she would be turned into a butterfly, for all eternity free to journey the worlds and experience what she had never known." At a motion of the old man's hand, the other priests throw back the cloth over the wagon, revealing a furious swarm of hundreds of swallowtail butterflies, their bright wings mixing in the air as they fly away, forming a whirlwind of ethereally beautiful colors. "On this day, we celebrate the thousand children of Desna, that they might soar the winds forevermore. And now, let us begin the Festival!"
At Father Zantus's announcement, the crowd rapidly disperses, moving towards inns and taverns or seeking out one of the festival activities around the town to take part in.
Following what little he can remember of Jaakko's directions and the help of passers-by, Garen makes his way to the Rusty Dragon, a tall building with a rusted weathervane in the shape of a dragon affixed above its door. Brushing past two heavyset farmers on their way out, he finds himself in a mostly empty common room, inhabited only by an old woman peacefully asleep in a comfortable chair near the fire and the other caravan guards. At the sound of another entry, muffled cursing in an unfamiliar tongue comes from the kitchen area, and after a moment of muted clangs and thuds, an exasperated-looking Tian woman makes her way out from the back of the tavern. "Look, I like conversation as much as the next person, but at some point, you can have salmon for lunch or you can have..." She stops short as she sees Garen, looking him up and down curiously. "...Sorry about that - I thought you were that scholar Brodert, here to gossip before the Festival. I take it you're in with the Mica Peak caravan? I'd say Horizon Glory, but with that much armor on you don't peg me as the sailing type. Needing a room? It's five silver for the night and a good meal come morning - less that if you can get a good story going come nightfall."
Ready to move on to noon and the start of the Festival whenever.
At Zorlen's response, Ameiko nods understandingly. "Well, I'm glad to hear you didn't run into anything too dangerous, at least. It can be a dangerous place out there - trust me, I know!" The Tian innkeeper rubs at her left sleeve, wincing. "I did a bit of adventuring myself after you left - suffice to say, I think I've had enough excitement for a lifetime." When Zorlen mentions why he's here for the festival, Ameiko raises her eyebrows. "Well, I'd keep my eyes peeled if I were you. I don't imagine you'll get any real trouble - Sheriff Hemlock's pretty good about stopping fights - but the Festival today marks five years since the fire. Five years since that Nualia died - and I'm sure you don't need reminding that there were some pretty nasty rumors flying around town before you left. What with her being angelkith and all, I think some people might see your presence as a... I don't know, an insult of sorts, I suppose. Keep an eye out for Ven Vinder and Pennae Kesk especially - Ven never really liked you, to be honest, and Pennae's convinced you set the fire to burn down her home, as revenge for how she always used to treat you."
As the conversation moves on to the foes the group has faced over the years, Ameiko's eyes widen in disbelief as Grod and Tot talk about how to most efficiently kill giants, and she shakes her head incredulously. "Hold on a minute - you mean to tell me that you two have actually faced down an ogre?" She looks between the two warriors, her eyebrows raised. Her apprizing gaze seems to linger on Tot, trying to reconcile the tiny tiefling's alleged combat prowess and her youthful appearance and mismatched gear. "You can't just say something like that and leave it hanging there! I still have to finish my preparations for the Festival, but I'll tell you what, later on, how about you stop by here for drinks during the bonfire - with that sort of story, I'll be buying."
Zorlen, Erridon:
Nualia Tobyn was the daughter of the old priest Ezakiel Tobyn, who died alongside her father when the old chapel burned down. It was fairly widely known that she was angelkith, and many townspeople idolized her, thought she could do no wrong. Far be it from anyone to speak ill of the dead, but both of you vaguely recall her as a condescending harpy, constantly asserting some sort of moral superiority over the 'pitiable' townspeople, and you recall a small, mostly silent minority of townspeople who felt much the same thing.
Sandpoint Cathedral:
Father Zantus sets his broom aside as Garen states his primary articles of faith. "Well, young man, I appreciate your offer of help, but the Festival itself is in only an hour or so - we'd be rather remiss in our duties if we weren't already done with our tasks, wouldn't we? If you wish, though, you are welcome to come into the presbytery and rest for a while. We've no shrine to Iomedae - Sandpoint has more plowshares than swords, as I'm sure you've seen - but you're free to rest and set aside your own blade for a time."
Ameiko busies herself behind the counter for a moment, returning to the eclectic group's table with three mugs of ale. At Tot's question, she smiles. "You're looking for a job, is that it? Well, I'll be rather busy today, but if you check in tomorrow, I'll see what I can find." As Erridon and Zorlen enter, she glances up at the two, her eyes widening as she sees Zorlen. "Zorlen Brightstar? It is you! I'd recognize those horns anywhere, you old spellslinger! Heard you'd gone off to seek your fortune after that business with the old chapel - have any good stories from your travels?"
Moving back behind the bar, she fills another pair of mugs, setting them on the table where Izzy, Grod, and Tot sit. "Erridon filled you in a bit on what's gone on while you've been away? You haven't met the new priest yet, have you? Old Father Tobyn was a good priest - very good to you, if I recall - but this new one, Father Zantus, I think you'll like him. Used to be a rancher from Harse, came here to see the holy stones by the old chapel - when he found out about our troubles, he immediately settled his affairs in Harse and started working to help our town get back on its feet." Bringing over a mug of ale and a chair from nearby for herself, she nods at Zoren, raising her eyebrows expectantly. "So tell me, what have you been up to all these years?"
Sandpoint Cathedral:
As Garen makes his way towards the temple, the air of excitement permeating the rest of Sandpoint seems to fade, to be replaced by a sense of duty - not necessarily arduous or unwanted, but a duty that must be performed well nonetheless. The barely contained energy that filled the marketplace is gone, and rather than rushing to and fro doing last-minute preparations, the cathedral square is rather quiet, the priests having finished their work the previous day - sounds still trickle in from the surrounding shops and from deeper in the village, but there is some undefinable air of placidity about the place. Over the courtyard, the presence of the vast cathedral itself hangs like a kindly father, the sun just rising above its lofty spires.
Approaching the main gates of the grand cathedral, Garen spies only one other figure - an old man, his form bent and frail with age. Dressed in the unadorned robes of a Desnan priest, he methodically sweeps the stage set up in the east side of the square, humming an old hymn to himself as he works. "...And O, that wand'ring shepherd, he lifts his voice in praise; For deep among the stars that night, he spies his goddess's..."
At Garen's approach, he looks up, stopping his song. "Why, hello there, child! You're a pilgrim, here for the Festival, I presume?" Shifting the broom to one hand, he approaches, his other hand extended in greeting. "My name is Abstalar Zantus - I'm the high priest here." Giving a faint chuckle, he glances at the broom in his hand, the corners of his lined mouth twitching up in a smile. "Plenty of my acolytes would say this is beneath me - that a high priest shouldn't be cleaning and such - but I've always felt it... soothing, in a way. I started life as a ranch-hand, you know - even later, when I owned the ranch, I would get up before dawn every day to muck out the stables. It reminded me of who I was, how I got to be where I am. As a priest, it reminds me every day that before all else, my duty is to my congregation, that I cannot lose sight of what is important." He nods to Garen's armor, his eyes lingering on the intricately engraved shield. "You bear the sword and the wing on your armaments - I recognize that symbol well. Tell me, what do you do every day to show your faith in your god?"
Following her instincts - that is to say, wandering randomly - Izzy spots a building with a rather unusual sign - where most of the businesses around have standard signboards with the shop's name and perhaps an appropriate illustration, for instance the loaf of bread drawn over the door of the Avertin Bakery, here a rusted weathervane in the shape of a dragon hangs from the signpost above the doorframe.
Taking this as a sign that she's come across the right place, Izzy bursts in dramatically. Contrary to what Jaakko said about the place's boisterous clientele, it seems that most of the patrons are out preparing for the Festival. The only ones still there are a pair of thickset farmers industriously eating breakfast, a gnome woodsman in the corner sharpening his axe (who Izzy recognizes as her cousin Lenark), and an elderly woman sitting in a comfortable-looking chair near the fire. Behind the bar, a rough-looking Tian woman is dozing on a stool brought from the front of the bar, clearly not expecting more visitors - as Izzy immediately launches into her song, she wakes with a start, losing her balance and toppling to the floor with a loud crash. After a moment, she gets back to her feet, brushing herself off - her muttered curses in Tien are barely audible over the sound of Izzy's singing. After a moment, however, she tilts her head to one side, curious about the actual words of the song the half-mad gnome plays for the tavern.
Much like Tot, Lenark's angry storming out of the tavern seems to be the tipping point for her, and she bursts out laughing. After Izzy finishes her impromptu concert, the Tian woman approaches the motley group, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "Pleasure to meet you - I'm Ameiko, the owner here. Let me guess, you're new in town from the caravan? I tell you, that was the funniest thing I've seen in days!" Looking the group up and down, her eyes linger on their heavy packs, and she raises her eyebrows. "Jaakko sent you, didn't he? You'll be needing lodgings for the Festival, I suppose?"
She grins, moving back behind the bar and setting a handful of mugs on the table. "Five silver gets you a room and a hot meal come morning. Nothing for the gnome there - I can't say I haven't heard that first song before, Lenark's a regular here, but never with such..." The innkeeper pauses for a moment, searching for the best word. "...energy. So, anything I can get you before the Festival? I'm afraid we're rather busy getting ready for the Festival lunch, but I can get you some beer, ale, spirits from Janderhoff, that sort of thing. If you want to stop in later during the Festival, we'll have spiced mead then! It's an old family recipe - my grandfather brought it over the Crown of the World from Minkai."
I'll have something up for the Cathedral in a bit.
At the news of Sheriff Avertin's replacement, Jaakko seems saddened. "Well, he'll be missed, that's for sure - I might go check in on the old man at some point, see how he's doing. Just the latest in a long line of misfortunes, from what I hear - Sandpoint hasn't had an easy time of it recently." As the group continues on down the southern road, however, he seems to cheer up, giving a friendly wave when Erridon reappears. "There you are! My thanks again for helping out with that case. Now your parents have all their work done, they won't miss the Festival!"
Making their way further into the heart of the quaint town, the group begins to see the spirit the locals have put into this celebration - every step, it seems, there are more banners, more decorative lanterns, more paper swallowtail butterflies hanging from eaves, and by the time the motley band reaches the Sandpoint Market near the docks, quite a crowd has begun to form. The Festival itself doesn't start until midday, but market stalls are already being converted to run the various games and competitions that will go throughout the day. Many of the stalls, such as the Three-Legged Race and the ever-popular Splat the Rat, are bedecked in colorful, bright colors, perfect for the younger children of the town, while at the other end of the market, two older men squabble over how to hang a sign marked "Tales of Terror" by an impromptu stage set up in the open workroom of the wainwright's shop. A scruffy-looking terrier with a stick clamped firmly between its canine jaws bounds between the legs of the party, followed by a pair of laughing children chasing their pet.
In the nearby harbor, the Chelish brigantine has moored, and many of the wagons from the Micah Peak caravan stand nearby - sailors load the cargo from the wagons onto the ship as an official-looking man with a plume in his peaked cap animatedly talks with Tolmar, the caravan master. Noticing you, the lean merchant motions you over with one hand, fishing in his pocket for his notebook as he pushes his spectacles up his hooked nose. "Now, let's s-see here - you're all settled with the c-company. My f-friends, your contract with Mica Peak has officially r-run its course." He makes some marks next to columns in his notebook, snapping it shut as he looks up at the party. "Now, of c-course, you're welcome to j-join us on the route back at the same p-pay, but for n-now, enjoy the F-festival. We won't be able to r-restock until tomorrow a-anyway." A grin flashes across his face, so quick that it might be mistaken for a trick of the light. "How I've m-missed those pastries the b-baker used to make - still, a s-sweet tooth is far from the w-worst vice." Shaking his head, he returns back to his dealings with the captain of the Horizon Glory, periodically referring back to his notebook for one of the rows and columns into which he meticulously records every aspect of the caravan under his command.
Jaakko's eyes raise as Erridon gives him the pouch with the gold coins. "Well, isn't that convenient!" He hands over the heavy case to Erridon. "I'd say 'be careful with it,' but I don't know how much damage you can do to that one. It's a dorn-dergar, straight out of Kraggodan - don't know what your parents want with that, but I was able to find it with some digging. Give them my regards, you hear?"
Turning back to the rest of the group, he motions them to follow as he sets off down Market Street. "Now, as for lodgings, there's two places you can stay. White Deer's a bit nicer, but I think there might be trouble there - Viskalai, the innkeeper, he can be a bit... rough around the edges. Don't think he'll be keen on orc-bloods and hellspawn and such staying at his place." He glances apologetically at Grod, Zorlen, and Tot. "I don't much like the man myself, but that's the way it is, I'm afraid. You'll have better luck trying the Rusty Dragon - I think you'd like it more there anyhow. You seem like the capable lot - the owner Ameiko, she's got a standing offer of sorts. Everyone who can impress her in some way - with a story of bravery and heroism, cooking up a wonderful dish she's never had, anything like that, they get free drinks, free rooms, everything. Not much excitement in this little town, from the times I've been here, but most of what there is goes on in the Dragon's taproom."
After a moment, he stops, glancing around and furrowing his brow as though seeking something that isn't there. "Well, most times I've been here, Sheriff Avertin's wanted to meet all the new arrivals, make sure the won't cause trouble. Wonder what's keeping him?"
Cumulative DC 10 Knowledge (Local) or Erridon:
Casp Avertin was the old sheriff - he's since been replaced by Belor Hemlock, though, around five years ago.
Cumulative DC 15 Knowledge (Local) or Erridon:
Sheriff Avertin was replaced during the murdering spree of the killer known as Chopper, a local woodcarver named Jervis Stoot who went mad and started practicing his trade on the living body.
Cumulative DC 20 Knowledge (Local) or Erridon:
Avertin came across Chopper and badly wounded him, then tracked him back to his home on what is now referred to as Chopper's Isle alongside a handful of guards. In the ensuing chaos, two died, and three were driven mad - Sheriff Avertin among them - and to this day, none who were present dare speak of what occurred in that bloodstained night. His lieutenant, Belor Hemlock, took over his role, and he was sent for treatment in a nearby sanatorium.
At the border of Sandpoint proper, a motley crowd begins to form around the sign welcoming visitors into the small seaside town. As the six heroes gather on the knoll, renewing old acquaintances or taking in the quaint vista of the town going about its preparations for the festival, the caravan, weary from the two-day journey out of Magnimar and eager to offload their goods before the festivities, continues on its way, trundling along at the steady pace of the stolid draft-horses' gait.
As one of the cart-horses plods past, a figure hops down from his perch at the back of the wagon, dragging a bulky, heavy-looking carrying case with him as he makes his way over to the group. Insinuating himself between the members of the impromptu gathering with the grace of a Taldan courtier and the subtlety of a charging Rull warbeast, a fat, white-bearded dwarf in the comfortable-looking clothes of a merchant pushes his way into the group, stopping as he sees Errilon and dropping the case at his feet with a solid-sounding clang. Mopping the sweat from his bald head with a handkerchief, the rotund dwarf rushes up to the young sylph, seizing his hand and pumping it up and down vigorously. "Angradd's beard, for a moment there, I thought you were my old friend Donald! You're his son, right? What was the name... Erikson? He talked about you all the time - I'm Jaakko, I'm a friend of his." He peers intently at the taller sylph, craning his head this way and that to examine his old friend's son. "Let's see... you've got the jaw of your father... and the eyes of your mo... Well!" He laughs heartily, giving the slender young man a firm slap on the back. "Well, we've all got our own little quirks, no harm in that!"
Moving back to where he dropped the heavy case, he picks it back up again with a grunt of effort, following the retreating form of the caravan as the line of carts makes its way into the market square. "Well, much as I'd love to stay and talk with you, I've got a package for your parents." The rotund dwarf motions to the other members of the motley group on the hillside as he makes his way into town. "First time in Sandpoint, the rest of you? Once my job's done, I'd be happy to show you around. You'll be wanting to find lodgings before the Festival, too - the bonfires go late into the night, and you don't want to miss the fun because you're haggling with old Viskalai over the price of a room!"
On an ordinary day, only a handful of conscientious farmers are likely to rise with the sun in the sleepy town of Sandpoint - the first Swallowtail Festival in five years is no ordinary day, however, and almost every inhabitant of the village is out and about by the time the sun rises behind the newly constructed Sandpoint Cathedral, casting the shadows of its seven spires halfway to the jagged cliffs of Chopper's Isle, where eerily silent birds still wing overhead as if bearing silent witness to the horrific nights not too long ago when the people of Sandpoint lived in fear. Nearby, the squat ruins of the Old Light loom over the mouth of the Sandpoint Harbor like a dilapidated sentinel, watching as a Chelish brigantine slowly makes its way in to dock and offload its cargo before the Festival begins.
From the south, another group of merchants approaches with a similar purpose - a caravan from the Mica Peak Trading Company, a small mercantile house from Janderhoff, has traveled west from Magnimar to meet the Horizon Glory, a merchant ship out of Kintargo, away from the prying eyes and exorbitant 'dock taxes' of the often-corrupt harbormaster of Magnimar. As the caravan emerges from the shade of Tickwood Forest and approaches the Sandpoint Bridge, a weathered sign comes into view, bearing a greeting and a reminder to adhere the town's laws.
WELCOME TO SANDPOINT! PLEASE STOP TO SEE YOURSELF AS WE SEE YOU!
Below the lettering, a chipped mirror is attached to the sign, reflecting the members of the caravan as they pass by...
Enter our heroes!
Erridon Drallen:
Your parents are busy preparing for the festival, but before they close their shop for the day, they would like you to pick up a specialty item they've imported from Magnimar at the request of the orphanage director, Ilsoari Gandelus. The delivery should come in on the Mica Peak caravan - they've given you a pouch with fifty gold pieces and instructions to pay it to a dwarf named Jaakko Hjerson on the incoming caravan.
Not sure about who knows who? Mokmurian do you want us to know one another before we arrive in Sandpoint?
Well, we had been discussing how our characters might meet each other in AdamWarnock's Discord server - 'members of the same caravan' was floated as a suggestion, but don't feel bound by it. Also, being in the same caravan doesn't necessarily mean you have any further acquaintance than probably knowing each other's faces - feel free to discuss with the other players and see who has cause to know who. For instance, if AdamWarnock decides that Tot's shy nature, marginalized status as a tiefling, and limited experiences with the faiths of good mean that she's tried to avoid the caravan's paladin, the two characters may well start off the adventure as virtual strangers. Again, this is just an example, however - pretty much any extent of prior social interaction or lack thereof you decide on is fine, whether as a group or on a case-by-case basis.
I am still waiting to see if Kára Hjortrdóttir and Erridon Drallen are accepting the invitation to my campaign. The characters in my campaign are Jenni Torlini, Marha Suntouch and Ntisi Kwazeel.
Go ahead and offer an invitation to any of the other players aside the five listed above, Mokmurian.
Apologies - I thought that your invitations to the initial three meant that I was free to finish recruitment, so I had already invited Erridon to the original campaign. Sorry for any confusion on my end.
Unfortunately, Aldizog has dropped due to an unexpected conflict - my desire isn't to step on GM_Drake's toes, but I'd be happy to accept another player. I understand that he's still making his selections, though, so I'll wait for him to okay it before making another pick.
1 Rova, 4702 Absalom Reckoning. Deep within the farthest reaches of a distant mountain range lies an ancient massif, one whose name is lost to history. As the sun sets on the long-forgotten spire, its dying light paints its silhouette red, as if nature itself still bears witness to the blood spilled on its slopes in horrific rites since time immemorial. At the very peak of the cyclopean mountain lies a place where the border between worlds is almost thin enough to see through, a place where aeons ago, humanity's hubris and the unknowable motives of creatures beyond mortal understanding collided to form a pinpoint tear in the fabric of reality. In the valley below, the humans who once called this inhospitable home had long ago created a city of gold and jewels, its splendor nevertheless a pale imitation of the incomprehensible spires glimpsed through the tear in the world. Over the years, the strange forces at play in the skies above the city have gradually loosened the valley's hold on reality, and time and space have grown fickle as the valley is stretched, pulled between the world of Golarion and an unknowable place beyond.
Long have the towers of this lost city lain empty, inhabited only by the ghosts of ages past... but now, something stirs amid the ruins. In the city's depths, a probing mortal once again meets the cold inhumanity of the realms beyond, and in the darkness of the city between worlds, ancient magic flares to life once more, heralding the return of an evil that casts long shadows over the entire continent of Avistan. Across the realm, the darkness lashes against the world of light like waves breaking along a cliff. And far away, within the bustling frontier town of Sandpoint, the darkness finds a hold in three souls. That night, death stalks the streets of Sandpoint as a blazing light illuminates the unquiet night...
Five Years Later...
For the first time in several years, Sandpoint comes to life for the Swallowtail Festival - throughout the town, shops close and farmers stop their tasks as they prepare to celebrate the age-old festival. For hundreds of years, the nomadic Varisians of the area have celebrated the turning of the seasons from summer to fall, but with the arrival of Chelish settlers from the east, the annual celebration has become a harvest festival, signaling the local farmers to prepare for the harsh winters endemic to the Lost Coast.
Five years ago, tragedy struck the town on the day of the Swallowtail Festival, when the local temple burned to the ground, killing Father Tobyn, the town's priest of Desna. For the past few years, Sandpoint has fallen on hard times, with heat waves, blighted crops and unusually fierce winters bringing the town close to the brink of destruction at some of its lowest moments, and some of the more superstitious locals have muttered of curses and dark magic - this year, however, Sandpoint's fortunes seem to have turned around, and with the construction of the new Sandpoint Cathedral in place of the lost temple, the townspeople are once again looking forward to celebrating their newfound prosperity and the blessings of the gods. As the town prepares for the annual celebration, an unlikely group of heroes converges on the town of Sandpoint, brought together by fate for some greater purpose...
If you don't want to go through the trouble, I already have a discord server set up. I'd be more than happy to handle the admin stuff. Ridge is even there already. :D
Anyway, thanks for picking me. I'm excited to see how this goes!
EDIT: Would you mind letting us post a dot in Gameplay? This would let the game show up on our campaign tab.
I appreciate your offer, Adam - I don't mean to impose, but joining an existing Discord server might be better.
As for the Gameplay tab, I'm working on my initial post now - I hope to have it up shortly.
I hope posting this in your recruitment thread is not a etiquette violation, Mokmurian, as you have already selected the characters for your campaign.
I'm not sure about forum etiquette in general, but in my case, I have no problems with it - as I said, there were lots of great characters submitted, and I'm feeling a bit guilty about not being able to accommodate all of them. Another campaign in the same recruitment thread means that all these great players will have another chance for their characters to get into an AP they wanted to play in. Best of luck to you and those selected!
After a good deal of work, I have finally managed to narrow down my selections to six. It was not easy by any means - quite frankly, I wish I could run two or even three tables to accommodate all the great concepts in here.
If the following characters could check in to the Discussion thread when able:
Congratulations to all those selected! I might try to create a Discord server for this group at a later date, given the notorious finicky nature of the Paizo messageboards, but for now, this will serve as our discussion area.
Well, it's the 27th, and it looks like everyone who's interested has submitted a character - I'll be closing recruitment, and I hope to have decisions up before tomorrow. Unless I missed something, the following is a full list of the players who have applied:
What is the main difference between a runesage and a wizard that specializes in Thassilonian? I haven't really played wizard's before.
Thassilonian specialists are basically just D&D 3.5E specialists - in exchange for more potent school abilities, their opposition schools are strictly defined by their choice of specialist school, and they can't cast spells at all from said schools. Runesages are more complex - they have the same school restrictions, but in exchange for their bonded item/familiar, they get the ability to eschew certain material components, as well as switch between schools at significant cost.
I edited AND conscientiously object to Question 20, but look forward to our discussion of lines ... and veils ... and pronouns. I think it will be a good chat.
Well, my intention isn't to offend anyone, but as mentioned in the initial post, the list isn't mine - I took it from another Rise of the Runelords recruitment I applied to a few months ago, and the GM there found it on Reddit. It simply seemed like a good way to summarize a character's fluff in an easily accessible way, but if you'd like, I can see if I can find the original link so you can take it up with the initial poster.
Erryll Reyven II wrote:
Would you discuss, at whatever length you are comfortable with, what your player's take away should be when they read: "I hope to finish the campaign, but if I leave, I will inform the players first."
Sure! Apologies if my wording was unclear. All I mean to say is that I'll do everything I can to keep the game from dying, but that if something comes up and I do have to leave, I'll let everyone know - I promise I won't ghost.
As a corollary to that, I'll do my best to post regularly as well - I've been trawling the boards for a while, and it seems like most games don't die out to a family emergency or some such as much as they just fizzle through apathy when participants don't want to have to deal with an ever-growing backlog of posts. With that in mind, I'll do my best to post daily, but at the same time, I commit to posting at the very latest once a week (when on a tight work deadline or the like) unless I give prior notice (vacations, intense research postings, etc, might take longer).
Hey, GM, quick question. I'm confused as of to what is missing from my (updated) submission? Could you clarify? Thank you.
Well, as I mentioned before in my previous character index, I'll largely be making my decisions based on the RP questions submitted, but ideally, I'd also like a stat block - it's liable to be a difficult decision process, and how well each character fits in mechanically with the others will be a consideration. A party comprised entirely of monks, irrespective of the roleplaying skill of the players themselves, is unlikely to last long with the sorts of challenges Rise of the Runelords throws at them at even moderate levels.
If I missed yours, I apologize, but it seemed that your posts re: backstory/questionnaire are so far the entirety of your submission - don't get me wrong, they're very well-written, but I'm having a bit of difficulty understanding what exactly Buttons would do (in terms of combat situations, that is) if she opened a door and found a handful of zombies standing behind it, for instance. Does she hang back and pepper them with arrows? Charge in and scatter them with a battleaxe? Freeze them solid with spells? Take control of them with dark necromantic magics? While it's not necessarily a death sentence if your character doesn't have a ludicrously optimized build, I would like at least a sense of what role your character will fill in the party.
Three days left in the recruitment, so I thought it fitting to update the list. Again, if I have miscategorized any of your submissions, please speak up - this list is as much for me as it is for the other players, and I'll likely be referencing one such list at the end of recruitment to determine applicants.
Lots of phenomenal players so far - I'm starting to feel a bit self-conscious regarding my own skills as a GM, and I certainly won't have an easy time deciding!
*Unless I can convince you, oh wise, generous, magnanimous, merciful, and handsome GM, that since the Butchering Axe's description states that it is "A creation of the orc smiths of Belkzen", that a half-orc's Orcish Weapon Familiarity should allow me to treat it as a martial weapon, even though it doesn't have "orc" in the name. Pretty please?
Unfortunately, I'm inclined to agree with the Paizo people on this one - most of the racial weapons (elven curve blade, orc double axe, gnomish piston maul, etc) are simply different approaches to what is fundamentally the same type of weapon, i.e. a Belkzen orc/half-orc given standard training in weaponry would learn how to use an axe with a head at the other end instead of a standard battleaxe, or an elven guardsman might learn thrusts and parries for a curve blade rather than a longsword.
A butchering axe, on the other hand, is so explicitly large and unwieldy that it wouldn't be part of the martial weapons training regimen - even in Belkzen, only a few elite orc warriors (those with significantly above-average strength [even leaving out PC exceptionalism, only 13% of 4d6-drop-lowest rolls would hit the target number for an orc's Str score] who take the appropriate Exotic Weapon Proficiency feat) would be able to lift it, much less use it effectively in combat. Analogously, the M1 Abrams is "a creation of the human smiths of Chrysler Defense," but even the average U.S. Army soldier doesn't know how to operate one at the end of basic training.
As always, this is simply as I see it at the moment, and I could very well have missed something. If anyone takes exception to any of the categorizations I have here - you still want to fiddle with your character, or you posted your concept somewhere I missed - I would be happy to take a second look.
Also, I thought it might be worth clarifying - while I'll be looking at backstories and roleplaying opportunities over stat blocks, I would still prefer one if you have one created. With so many great submissions, I'll undoubtedly have my work cut out for me, and stat blocks might let me better determine which PCs will work best with other PCs, and how well a given PC meshes with other characters in the group may well serve as a tie-breaker in some cases.
Ex-class archetypes will be allowed at 1st level, including the fallen paladin. If you're inclined to seek a redemption path and remove the ex-class archetype, I'd be happy to discuss it with you if your character is selected.
As for AdamWarnock's questions, I have no problems with your character concept. Ability scores can be dropped as low as 7, pre-modifiers, as per the point buy system - a score of 5, however, will likely have an impact on the game, such as badly damaging related skills.
Lots of great submissions so far! There's still a whole week left - I doubt this will be an easy choice!
In response to Delmoth's question, alchemists would indeed get the merged feat Catch Off Guard instead of Throw Anything - it fits more into the theme of removing unnecessary feat taxes and opening up options for players.
Addressing Cashmerez's question, but also directed at the group as a whole, I'm largely okay with you altering the flavor/fluff of a class so long as you can articulate your idea with the existing rules - your medium's spirits could be the lingering souls of his childhood friends, facets of a once-great mage's shattered mind, alternate/future selves, or even abstract Jungian hero-archetypes. A summoner's eidolon might be the spirit of a long-dead hero, an embodiment of the summoner's memories of a lost loved one, or a fiend masquerading as an obscure deity.
I've always held that a character is a concept first and foremost and a stat block second - if your concept requires a slightly unorthodox flavoring of the stat block, I say go for it. The goal is to have fun, after all.
Occult classes are in use, but bear in mind that the AP was written with divine/arcane casters in mind - you're unlikely to get a kineticist's diadem without specifically looking for/crafting one, for instance.
I apologize, I probably should have been more clear. For the record, hybrid classes like Bloodrager and non-core base classes like Alchemist are also allowed.
