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If something happens to Gunty's bread, Emma will riot

Emma drew back in surprise at Hannelia's outburst. In her mind, Hannelia had always been the one who was in control, who always had a grasp of the situation. Emma had, perhaps too many times, felt out of her depth on their adventures. She reached across the table and gently took Hannelia's hand. "Hey," she said softly, her voice steady despite the flutter in her chest. [b]"I'm still here. We all are. Even Constantine, for as much as he's been through, is still here."

She took a moment to gather her thoughts, unaccustomed to seeing the normally composed bard so emotionally raw. "You know," Emma said after a moment, "before I came to Saringallow, I thought being strong meant handling everything alone. Carrying every burden by yourself." She shook her head. "That was...a result of my flawed beliefs. Learned behavior. I was wrong. She was wrong. That's not strength—it's just stubbornness. And it leads to breaking, eventually."

Most of the other patrons were involved in their own matters, or else, deliberately ignoring them and not wanting to intrude on the moment. In the relative privacy, Emma's voice grew softer, more earnest.

"You can't be everywhere at once, Hannelia. None of us can. I was there as well, next to Constantine when it happened. And I felt just as powerless. If I'd been quicker, stronger, smarter—what could I have done differently? If I'd been using the extent of my abilities, could I have seen the danger and stopped him? I don't know. That'll always haunt me. But we also can't let it control us in the present, and prevent us from helping others. Or from helping ourselves. And Hannelia, you're already doing so much—supporting your father, mentoring Shel, worrying about Sirio and Constantine, not to mention your Pathfinder duties." She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "We all feel responsible for those we care about. It's... what makes us who we are. Do you think I wasn't worried about you when you were off on your own?" Her own voice broke a little at that. "You're the one who went off to the most dangerous city in the Inner Sea region without any of us to watch your back."

Emma hesitated, then added, "But you know what I've learned since coming to Saringallow? That sometimes the strongest thing you can do is trust others to handle themselves. To believe in them." She gave Hannelia's hand another squeeze. "Like I believe in you."

She released Hannelia's hand and leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting to the embers in the tavern's hearth.

Later that evening, at the Witch's End, she found Roger already installed at his usual table, regaling a small crowd with tales of their adventures.

"...and then, as if the very gates of the Abyss had swung open, there she stood - the devil herself! Wings darker than a moonless night, blacker than a raven's plume, spread wide in all their terrifying glory!" Roger was exclaiming, his gestures wild and grandiose. "Her bow was drawn taut, an arrow nocked and ready to send our souls hurtling into the waiting arms of Pharasma herself!" A few of the people listening in, including Morvinarr, gasped. "But then," he continued, leaning in closer as though sharing a secret. "Our fearless Hawk, quicker with his wit than any rogue with a dagger, faster than the most seasoned wizard with his spells - he steps forward! He parleys with this demoness and strikes a deal that not only saves our hides but leaves us standing tall!"

Emma slipped into a seat beside him. "Don't forget the part where we fought drakes," she said with a smile.

Roger beamed at her. "Emma! Just in time! I was gonna loop back to that part." He pushed a mug toward her. "Alcie's finest."

"Cheers." Emma took a grateful sip. "Have you seen Hannelia? I heard she's back in town."

"Think I saw her earlier—least I think it were earlier—heading to the mayor's house," Roger said, taking a long pull from his own mug.

Emma nodded, savoring the warm, spiced taste of Alcie's autumn ale. The tavern was comfortably crowded this evening—not packed to the rafters as it sometimes got during festivals, but with enough patrons to create a pleasant hum of conversation. Firelight danced across the worn wooden tables, and the smell of hearty stew wafted from the kitchen.

Emma settled into the comfortable rhythm of tavern life, listening to Roger embellish their adventures for an increasingly enthusiastic audience.

"And then the first drake, twice the size of this tavern, lunged at Emma with jaws that could snap a ship in half!" Roger was saying, his hands mimicking enormous gnashing teeth.

Emma rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "It wasn't quite that big," she corrected, but found herself enjoying the storytelling nonetheless. There was something reassuring about being back in Saringallow, where their exploits could be transformed into tavern tales rather than life-or-death situations.

The tavern door swung open, letting in a gust of cool evening air that made the nearest candles flicker. Emma glanced up automatically—and promptly inhaled her drink instead of swallowing it.

Framed in the doorway, illuminated by the warm glow of the tavern lights, stood Hannelia. But not quite the Hannelia who had left them months ago. Her long hair, which had always cascaded down her back in a practical ponytail, was now cut in a stylish bob that framed her face perfectly. The shorter style accentuated her high cheekbones and brought attention to her expressive eyes. She wore a deep blue tunic with subtle silver embroidery at the collar and cuffs—clearly Absalom fashion, and clearly expensive.

Emma coughed violently, ale burning its way down the wrong pipe as Roger thumped her helpfully on the back.

"You alright there?" he asked, amusement evident in his voice.

"Fine," Emma wheezed, eyes watering. "Just—went down wrong."

The bard moved through the tavern with effortless grace, greeting familiar faces with warm smiles. When had she become so... poised? So sophisticated? Emma suddenly felt acutely aware of her own travel-worn appearance—the simple tunic and trousers she'd thrown on, her hair hastily pulled back, the smudge of soot from Gordrek's shop that she'd probably failed to wipe completely from her cheek.

What in Iomedae’s name is wrong with me? Emma thought frantically, trying to sort through the jumble of emotions coursing through her. This is a dangerous line of thought.

The bard's new bob swung neatly as she scanned the room, her face lighting up when she spotted Emma and Roger.

"There you are!" Hannelia called, making her way over. "I heard you all returned yesterday. Successful venture?"

"Good to see ya, lass," Roger said, lifting his mug. "Ye missed a hell of a battle, I’ll tell ya that much!"

Emma tried to compose herself, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Welcome back," she managed, voice still a bit raspy from her coughing fit. "You look... different. Good different. Hair." She winced. "Your hair looks good, I mean."

She quickly refocused herself, shaking her head. Jealousy was a bad look on her, she thought.

(It is jealousy, right? a small voice whispered in her head. No, of course it is.)

She’d never really been the sort to get her hair done up back home, and her late mother hadn’t either. For most of her childhood, haircuts had been a quick affair. Her hair had always been kept at a short, manageable length for practicality when training. She'd never really put much thought to it.

Hannelia's hand went to her bob self-consciously. "Thank you. It's taking some getting used to, but it seemed practical for Absalom's climate." She pulled out a chair and joined them at the table. "So, tell me everything."

Roger launched enthusiastically into the tale again, this time with even more embellishments. Emma found herself watching Hannelia's reactions more than contributing to the story. The bard listened intently, her expressions shifting from surprise to concern to admiration as Roger described their encounters with the drakes, the rakshasa, and finally the erinyes.

"An actual erinyes?" Hannelia asked. "And Hawk talked her down?"

"He was brilliant," Emma admitted. "I was ready to draw steel, which would have been..."

"Suicidal," Roger supplied helpfully.

"I was going to say 'ill-advised,'" Emma said with a wry smile.

Hannelia's laughter was bright and melodious. "I missed you all terribly," she admitted. "Absalom was fascinating, of course, but there's something about adventuring with friends that can't be replaced."

"We missed you too," Emma said, perhaps a bit too quickly. "The group dynamic wasn't the same without you."

"So what were you up to in the big city?" Roger asked, signaling Alcie for another round of drinks. "Hobnobbing with the nobs, by the looks of your fancy new clothes."

Hannelia rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "I can’t say much," she admitted. "Not about the particulars, anyway. That’s kind of the way it is with the Pathfinder Society and all. But it wasn't all work," Hannelia continued, accepting the mug Alcie slid across the table to her with a grateful nod. "Absalom is... overwhelming. The Grand Lodge alone is bigger than half of Saringallow. And the markets! You could spend a lifetime browsing the stalls and never see everything twice."

Hannelia described the towering spires of the Ascendant Court, the chaos of the Coins district, and the strange wonders for sale in the Peddler's Belt. The bard's eyes lit up as she spoke, her hands moving expressively, painting pictures with words in a way that made Emma feel as though she were walking those distant streets herself.

"And the people there," Hannelia said, shaking her head in wonder. "Every race, every nationality you can imagine, all mixing together. I met a Garundi woman who trades exclusively in magical inks, a Tian monk who can fold paper into animals that come to life, and a halfling who claims to be over two hundred years old and sells memories in bottles."

"Memories in bottles?" Emma asked, intrigued despite herself. "How does that work?"

"I have no idea," Hannelia admitted with a laugh. "I was too afraid to ask for a demonstration. But the bottles glowed with different colors, and he said each one contained a moment of perfect happiness or terrible sorrow or breathtaking wonder."

"Sounds like a load of horse dung to me," Roger said.

Hannelia smiled. "Probably. But that's Absalom for you—even the charlatans are fascinating."

With apologies to Hallowsinder. Banter between Emma and Roger is just too much fun!

"Is that the only concern? Well, then. I think we can trust Pava to pay our wages-- if nothing else, Chelish tend to pay their debts-- so I don't mind fronting the coins."

"I can contribute some as well," Emma says with a shrug. "At least to help cover. Just let me know." She watches as Majara starts rummaging through her many various packs. "Or perhaps you already have this well in hand," she adds wryly as the gnome produces some platinum.

"Now that would be a tattoo alright... cover your eyes, Miss Blackford, Iomedae no doubt wishes her champions to avoid this sort of 'art'...."

Emma rolls her eyes at the jab, but when she takes a glance, feels her cheeks flush crimson. While Hawk's statement about Piren Bluff was more or less true, she had never opted to get such a tattoo. She clears her throat and mutters something about not being an art critic, studiously avoiding both Majara and Hawk's eyes.

It turns its gaze on Emma. ”You should help usssss. Protect those who wish harm on the girl.” The words are cunning and carry the power of suggestion.

Will Save: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (11) + 9 = 20

For a moment, Emma feels an alien presence slither into her mind, cold and insistent. Her hand instinctively moves to her sword's hilt. Yes, why shouldn't she help them? The girl needs protection... from whom? The confusion lasts only seconds before Emma's training and faith surge forward, burning away the fog of manipulation like morning sun through mist.

She draws Redemption with purpose, the holy blade's light pulsing brighter as if sharing in her indignation.

"I think NOT," Emma growls, her voice steady and clear. She catches Hawk's wary glance from the corner of her eye before it transitions to relief as he sees she's shaken off the enchantment.

Emma turns fully toward the serpentine creature, her stance shifting from defensive to offensive. "Attempting to corrupt my mind and twist my purpose? You face a paladin of Iomedae, creature. Your deceptions find no purchase here!"

With Redemption held high, she advances, calling upon the Inheritor's divine power. Holy energy crackles along the blade as Emma brings judgment to bear upon the beast.

Redemption Attack + Smite: 1d20 + 9 + 3 ⇒ (14) + 9 + 3 = 26
Redemption Damage + Smite + Elec: 1d8 + 4 + 4 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 4 + 4 + 1 = 14

Reflex Save: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (12) + 5 = 17

As the flame drake hurtles past, Emma doesn't hesitate—with Redemption in hand, she brings the sword down upon the beast, raking it across the crimson scales along its side. She pivots forward, twisting to thrust upward, her blade slashing through the membrane of its left wing. The beast roars in agony, and through its bellowing, she hears Roger moving on its opposite flank. For a heartbeat, she fears the pirate has missed—but then the entire drake spasms and goes limp, its severed head thumping against the ground separate from its body.

"Ha!" Emma cries, victory humming through her veins as bright and vibrant as her blessed sword. "That was incredible!"

The plan had actually worked! Not just worked—succeeded beyond their wildest expectations. They'd managed to slay the beast before it could even clear the cave entrance. Part of her feels almost disappointed; she'd imagined an epic battle from the old stories, standing resolute with shield and sword against a mighty drake.

Still, there's no denying the thrill of their victory. She hoists Redemption high, sharing a triumphant look with Roger over their fallen prey. "Thank you, Iomedae!" Emma shouts to the heavens. "For on this day, we have—"

A thunderous impact cuts her short, reverberating through the ground and up her spine, rattling her armor and forcing her back several paces. The dead drake hasn't moved. Another boom echoes from within the cave.

She barely has time to share a horrified glance with Roger before a second drake emerges from the gloom.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me—!"

Time seems to slow as her shield rises instinctively. A burst of orange flame erupts from the cave mouth—

BOOOOOM!

The blast nearly overwhelms her. Only her shield, the protective potion, and perhaps a touch of divine favor keep her standing as soot, ash, and fire rain down around her. The world becomes a chaos of crackling flames and bestial fury, everything obscured by the inferno.

A second drake. Her mind races as she coughs through the smoke. Their entire strategy had centered on a single beast! How had no one known about this one?

She wipes her face, her gauntlet coming away black with soot. Her eyes sting, and her muscles quiver from the strain. When she looks toward Roger's position, her heart stops—where the pirate had stood, there's nothing but ash and bone. Then she remembers his cloak, and forces herself to trust he's still there, hidden from sight.

Through her ringing ears, she hears Hawkren's voice cutting through the chaos. "Fall back, Emma!"

Her thoughts feel sluggish, several steps behind reality as she stumbles toward her companions. They could adapt their strategy—draw this drake out too, face it on their terms. As she moves, she reaches out to Iomedae once more, calling upon her holy energies for the battle to come.

A second drake! She allows herself a grim smile. Perhaps she'd get her story-worthy confrontation after all.

As a wave of blistering fire lances past, making her skin feel as though she's spent too long in the sun on a clear day, Emma draws back in surprise, eyes wide. Her grip tightens on Redemption, preparing for the Drake to appear, even as she glances over restlessly at Hawkren, the unfortunate recipient of the fire attack, wanting to go and check on her ally.

At the very least, it seems to have dealt with the goblin dogs.

But for the plan to work, she has to remain where she is. She glances over at Roger, but of course, can see nothing.

Would've been nice to have a way to communicate, she thinks to herself. Alas, it's too late for that now.

She closes her eyes and whispers a prayer to Iomedae, to bring the full might of her divine energies to bear in the battle. "Hear me Inheritor," she whispers, so softly it's more like mouthing the words. "Lend me your aid in ridding the world of an evil spawn."

Potential Redemption AoO + Smite + Flanking + Invis: 1d20 + 9 + 3 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 9 + 3 + 2 + 2 = 18
Potential Redemption AoO Damage + Smite + Elec: 1d8 + 4 + 4 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 4 + 4 + 1 = 12

Ready Redemption Attack + Smite + Flanking + Invis: 1d20 + 9 + 3 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (10) + 9 + 3 + 2 + 2 = 26
Ready Redemption Damage + Smite + Elec: 1d8 + 4 + 4 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 4 + 4 + 1 = 14

Whichever attack happens to hit first, the damage from Smite is 8 instead of 4.

Wrinkling her nose at the sight of the goblin dogs, Emma maintains her position, knowing that the plan involves her remaining hidden for now. Nearby she assumes - hopes - that Roger is following the same plan.

Even though the drake hasn't made an appearance yet, Emma finds her heart pounding in anticipation of the beast making an appearance.

Emma throws a grin in Hawkren's direction as he comes up to the attic. "That's fair," she admits. "I'm rather fond of the red-tailed ones myself."

You can thank Animorphs for that.

She crosses her arms as Majara fiddles with the lock. Owls, stupid? Emma isn't sure she can buy into that. They'd have to be at least a little clever to be such talented hunters at night. Sure, crows and ravens were undeniably smart. Now, doves, sparrows, they were dumb. Well, dumb by bird standards, anyway. And the chicken wasn't exactly the brightest creature around either. Not that she'd had much experience with any of the aforementioned birds. Nor was she sure how one would determine a bird's general intelligence anyway. Were there aptitude tests for birds? Is that how chickens had become a commonplace food item? 'Sorry, your intelligence score is a bit low, and you're tasty. Unfortunate combo for you. I'm afraid it's out of my hands now.'

Emma scratched at her nose to hide her grin.

Majara's fiddling continues... and continues... and continues some more. At a certain point, Emma raises her brow and clears her throat. "Er... do you want me to try to just bash it--"

"Engineering isn't quick!" Majara snaps.

Emma holds up her hands and lets the gnome get back to work. Eventually, the lock clicks open. Majara shoots her a glare and then opens it.

"I bet an owl could have opened it quicker," Emma mutters as she follows.

Will Save: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (13) + 9 = 22 Yep!
Perception Check: 1d20 ⇒ 5 Hell nope!
Spellcraft Check: 1d20 ⇒ 14 Also nope!

Emma isn't necessarily startled by the sudden appearance or the demand, nor is she startled when Hawk makes a not entirely masculine noise afterward.

No.

It's the sight of Majara gasping and drawing back that causes Emma to pause for a moment. She tightens her grip on Redemption, ready to take a swing at whatever the hell the thing is. 'The erinyes from before, but no statue' Majara had said... what did that mean? Something about that didn't feel right.

There was something else going on.

Thankfully, once she realizes this, she is able to fight off whatever it is this thing is doing. At Hawk's pronouncement that it's a haunt, Emma's eyes widen, and she moves forward. She's not sure that swinging her sword at such a creature would do any good - it'd be rather embarrassing if she took a swing at it and nothing happened.

Instead, she maneuvers closer to the creature and closes her eyes, channeling a surge of positive energy.

Paladin Channel Positive Energy, DC 15: 2d6 ⇒ (1, 3) = 4

This would be back on the boat before we arrive, when Hawkren gave Emma the gift.

As dawn broke and Emma geared up to head back to Saringallow with her companions, she found herself standing on the deck of the Mermaid's Klivanion as it cut through the shimmering morning mist. Despite feeling a little disheartened by her performance in the recent battle against the half-Ogre spellcaster, it was hard not to feel uplifted while soaking up the warm sunlight and taking in the crisp air as they sailed down the Conerica River. With each passing mile, it felt like they were nearing Saringallow.

Home.

Home. The thought made her smile. It was nice to have a place to think of that really did feel like home.

Movement across the deck caught her eye. Hawkren, emerging onto the deck. He gave her a slight smile before veering off to talk to Hannelia, but Emma figured it wouldn’t be long until the tattooist came over to talk to her. Hopefully he was feeling alright—when Emma had tried to pursue the spellcaster the night before, Hawkren had been left behind to deal with the swarm of spiders it had summoned. Emma wouldn’t feel so bad about it if it wasn’t for the fact that she hadn’t even gotten a single hit on the spellcaster thanks to losing her footing while climbing off the boat.

After speaking with Hannelia, Hawkren slowly maneuvered his way towards her. As he weaved through the crowd of sailors and passengers to reach her, she crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow inquisitively. He sauntered closer with a mischievous grin and lifted his hands up in a playful gesture of surrender. “I come in peace, bearing a gift,” he said.

“A gift? Why did you get me something? I should be the one getting something for you after last night!” Emma said with a laugh as he pulled out a small card-like piece of vellum from his pocket and handed it to her. She took it nonchalantly at first, not sure what to expect, but when she looks down at it, her expression changed to one of shock. She stood up straight, forgetting any sense of coolness or composure.

“This is a bit large for a cameo, unfortunately… but I hope I got her likeness right.”

Lucia.

Her mother…

Emma’s hands trembled slightly as she gazed at the drawing that Hawkren had skillfully created. The image is strikingly familiar, and memories flood back to her. Her mother appeared exactly as she remembered—perhaps even more stunning than before. Being away from Piren's Bluff for so long has made some details hazy in Emma's mind, but the sight of the portrait is enough to bring them back in vivid detail.

“I’m not great at drawing people from memory,” Hawkren continues. “I hope I’ve captured something of her. If it’s wrong, I’m happy to give it another go.”

Emma remains silent for a long while, her gaze fixed on the drawing in front of her. She can sense Hawkren's presence nearby, as he shifts uncomfortably, seeming unsure of what to do next.

Emma shakes her head with a disbelieving laugh. "You can't be serious. Did you really just say you struggle with drawing people from memory?" She shook her head and whispered, "Hawkren, this is perfect." Her fingers delicately trace the lines of the sketch, afraid that her touch might smudge the ink. Every detail of her mother's face is captured in meticulous lines, not just her physical appearance, but also the essence of strength and kindness that always radiated from her eyes, even in the toughest moments. "Thank you," Emma breathed, trying to keep herself composed because breaking down on the deck of Mermaid's Klivanion was not a part of her plans for the day.

Hawkren gives a small, relieved smile and touches his hand to his heart. "I'm glad. She was a beautiful woman—I wanted to do her justice."

"I need a moment," she admits quietly. "Just... thank you."

Hawkren nods, understanding in his eyes. He claps a hand on her shoulder, his grip surprisingly gentle, and then he walks away, making his way through the crew and letting Emma have her moment.

Emma’s eyes remain transfixed on the portrait of her mother. It was rare, this kind gift of remembrance, especially in the adventuring lifestyle she had chosen. The moments of serenity were few and far between. This was so much more than a drawing—it was a piece of home she could carry with her, a constant reminder that her roots were not forgotten.

Letting out a deep breath, Emma carefully folded the sketch and tucked it into a pouch attached to her belt, close to where her hand naturally rested when on guard. She would have to find a safer place for it later, when they were back in Saringallow. For now though, it felt good to have it near.

She reached up to touch the holy symbol hanging around her neck—a longsword crossed over a sunburst—an emblem of Iomedae. It was one of the only keepsakes she’d taken from her mother when she’d died. It had felt… right, somehow, to have it.

The symbol was warm beneath her fingers, the brass not yet tarnished despite their recent battles. The sunburst's rays spread out from the intersection of the blades, a promise of hope after conflict's resolution. The edges were worn smooth from her constant handling and sometimes she could have sworn she felt an echo of her mother's touch on it.

She took a deep breath, releasing it in a slow exhale as she dropped her hand, the symbol swinging against her chest armor with a soft chime that echoed strangely inside her head. There was peace there, in the familiar sound and action. A comforting ritual that centered her.

”We should definitely be friends, Emma. May I call you Emma? We have so much in common… we both adore women.” He chuckles, ”I swear, I wasn’t trying to lure you here under false pretenses. I do want to talk about your mother. And, since you’ve been so disarmingly candid… When I ask a woman out, I try to be very clear about my intentions.”

"That sounds nice Hawkren. Thanks. And I'm sorry."

Emma ruefully rubs the back of her head, knowing how she must look after practicing with her sword not too long before. Her hair is disheveled and she probably doesn't smell of roses.

"You may of course call me Emma," she says with a laugh. "As you can probably tell, I'm not great with this sort of thing." She lets out a sigh, looking out at the water, and speaks in a lower tone. "Shel was interested, I think, but then the mayor went and turned into a giant bug and there was a whole cult thing, so... and no sightings of merfolk on this voyage yet. My bad luck knows no limit. Alas."

He gestures towards a waiting chair for her and only sits after she does so. ”I’m no wizard, with a bit of scrounging the ship provided everything – save these cups, my dubious company, and the wine."

"Well, still, it's impressive. And dubious company - I think I'm fine with that. That seems to be par for the course for me as of late. Have you met Roger yet?" She smiles.

"To your mother and fond remembrances of a great lady."

He takes a sip and savors it as he regards the water for a moment. "Could you describe her… her looks and bearing? I’m hoping I crossed her path and just never caught her name."

She takes a sip of the wine and raises her eyebrows. She was far from a connoisseur of such things, but even to her unrefined taste, she could tell the wine was high quality.

"This is very good." She raises her glass in response and takes another sip. "Thank you, once again."

Emma tilts her head to the side, frowning. For a time, she doesn't speak, idly sipping at the wine and drudging through her memories. Memories she hadn't thought of in some time now.

"She was... a stern woman. Gray eyes, very sharp, always catching anything going on around her. Very focused on her mission, maintaining her skills, and training my own." She looks down at her calloused hands. "But she wasn't always business. There were moments where her kindness and dedication shone through. Sometimes, I think, she may have been a little too hard on me, but, ultimately, I think it worked out well." She laughed. "It was always fun to watch her disarm some of the more headstrong paladins and knights who came through. No one ever expected her to have such a strong voice, but she had one. She barked out orders once that sounded so commanding, half a contingent of knights ended up marching straight into a wall when she commanded them to. She once ended a brawl after a group of fighters drank too much simply by standing there and gazing at them until they went about their business elsewhere." She looks back at Hawkren. "She had shortish hair, a scar on her cheek and and chin..."

They were details she hadn't thought of in a long time, but now, she can see them clearly in her minds eye.

"She was many things. I miss her, even still." She looks back at Hawkren. "Does any of that help?"

Against the evening chill, Hawk takes his hair down and buttons up his woolen vest. He sets up a couple chairs with a small table between them facing the rail. From his pack, he pulls a pair of fine cups along with the bottle of wine which he uncorks so it can breathe. He takes a seat and enjoys the night, watching fish deftly breaking the river’s surface to snatch low-flying bugs in a gloom so deep that no one with normal eyes could see the sport.

Running a bit late as she'd been practicing some manuevers with her relatively new sword, Emma arrived with Hannelia in tow. They'd only just caught sight of Hawkren when Hannelia reached out and stopped Emma before they went any further. Hannelia had a sort of amused smile on her face, and Emma's face was scrunched up in slight confusion - the scene before her seemed oddly intimate.

"I think perhaps you may have gotten confused," Hannelia says in a low voice. [b]"I believe his invitation was extended to you, and only to you."

Emma let out a sigh. "Iomedae... I am not good at recognizing this sort of thing. I wasn't even really thinking of that sort of thing..." She lets out a sigh. "Now I feel bad. I'm, er, I'm not really interested in men that way."

Hannelia smiled at the paladin. “Emma! Relax. He’s not expecting your hand in marriage. You don’t have to do or talk about anything you don’t want to. Including about your mother. He seems like s decent guy - did Shel show you her artwork six or merely five times?"

Emma laughed. "Eight, I think."

"See? Just relax, and have fun. Tell him upfront that you didn't understand, he seems like the sort that won't take it hard. And if he's insistent, then probably don’t blast him with divine power - unless he's very insistent. I’ll tell you about my first boyfriend another time - not my finest hour. But mostly just have try and enjoy yourself. You deserve a chance to relax."

Hawkren happened to look over before Hannelia departed. Emma gave an awkward wave as Hannelia squeezed her shoulder and departed.

Emma wasn’t really sure what to make of it but she already felt embarrassed enough for not realizing how Hawkren probably saw it.

"Hey," Emma said awkwardly as she approached. "This is quite the set up. How did you manage to arrange all of this? It's quite impressive. I...--" She mentally kicked herself. Get it together, Emma, she told herself. "I fear there may have been a bit of a misunderstanding? I mean, I'm happy to spend some time with you, but - oh, blast it, let me start over. I'm - I guess you could say I'm mostly interested in women? Not that I'm assuming this was supposed to be romantic or anything! Just in case it was - I just didn't want to give you the wrong impression and I fear I may have..." Emma trailed off, letting her hands drop. "And I'm rambling. I apologize."

The bustling crowd in the White Stag tavern is a nice change of pace to Emma, even though their mood isn't exactly a triumphant one. Yes, they had defeated the Mayor and the cult in Ravenmoor, but it had come at a cost - a pricey one, as evidenced by the silence of their companion at the table with them.

Still, the town would hopefully have a better future ahead of them thanks to their efforts, and Shel would have a chance at a better life elsewhere as well - it was good, she decided, that Shel was coming with them. Even if she ultimately ended up returning to Ravenmoor, her experiences outside of it would end up expanding her worldview. As someone who had spent a good deal of her time at Piren's Bluff before heading off on her own, she could appreciate how broadening a trip elsewhere could be, even if it was to a relatively small place like Saringallow.

Sirio's arrival leads to a somewhat mixed reaction from Emma, for a variety of reasons, not least of which is that she knows his reaction to Constantine is going to be hard to deal with.

That, and the fact that they'd disagreed in the past on matters made their relationship a somewhat rocky one...yet, there was denying that he was a familiar sight, and it was nice to see him again.

"Friends!" Sirio calls. "Friends of Saringallow." Emma lets out a slight snort at the use of the name. "Listen, as I've been at court, I've managed to sway the nobility to our side. We are just as good as already having full claim to the manor. They are quite pleased with your performance. As is the Church. We're sending missionaries..." He pauses for a moment, after having taken a double take at Constantine's listless eyes. Emma winces at the reaction. "Constantine? Connie?" Sirio snaps his fingers. "What's wrong with him? What in the Nine Hells happened?"

"Mental contact with a powerful eldritch outsider is the current theory," Majara says. "He began acting oddly after that, and after our last battle lapsed into full non-responsiveness, such as you see. A cleric may be able to do more for him than I can. Father Ruvarra assisted Gellion, I believe."

Emma nods. "I'm sorry Sirio - truly. We don't fully understand what happened. But Majara is correct - Father Ruvarra is absolutely one we should seek out the moment we return to Saringallow. Things spiraled out of control rather quickly, and well..." Emma shrugs helplessly. "I'm sorry," she says again.

Sirio's usual composure slips, and he doesn't really appear to hear much of what is said after. Emma keeps her distance for now - if Sirio wants to talk, he'll talk.

Instead, she focuses on what Majara says next.

"And there's another thing. I..." Majara begins, hesitating. "Well. I found working with your group to be acceptable. If you need a hand to fill in until Mr. Fioritura is feeling better, I... would be willing, I suppose."

Emma smiles at the gnome. "Majara, I didn't even think there was a question of that," she says. "You've fought with and beside us, showing a great amount of courage - and some much needed practicality. Beyond being a solid asset to the group, I've enjoyed having you along - even if much of what you say regarding your work tends to go over my head." She glances around the table. "As far as I'm concerned, at least, you're already an official part of this group."

----------

Gaining passage on the Mermaid’s Kilvanion ends up being a good thing. Her experience with boat travel the first time around doesn't seem to strike her as bad this time around - perhaps tangling with a Blightspawn and dealing with a cult was enough to make travel by sea seem not as bad.

She also finds delight in the name. In an offhand comment to Roger, she remarks that she'd love to see an actual mermaid on the voyage - something of a fantasy she'd had ever since she was a younger girl. When she was younger she thought it would have been great fun to be a mermaid. When she was a bit older, her interests shifted more in wishing she could spend time with a mermaid.

"Say, Roger, have you ever encountered any mermaids on your journeys?" she asks Roger at one point, curious at the pirate's perspective.

One of the passengers is a red-headed dwarf woman, dressed in a long patterned green tunic. Her ensemble is belted at the waist into a dress, evoking a sort of similar image to a jester's outfit. The expression on her face betrays her feelings of awkwardness. Not speaking the language herself, she simply gives the woman a respectful nod.

At the bow of the ship is a man, clearly a traveler from elsewhere if his garb and tattoos are any indication. His black hair is in a ponytail, and he has a silver walking staff that rests against the rail.

One of the most alluring people is a tall woman standing with two attendants. Her delicate features are framed by ringlets of tightly coiled dark hair. She is dressed as a Calistrian priest, leaving little to the imagination, nor doing much to protect against the elements. Emma feels a blush rise to her cheeks as she regards the priest, but she gives her a respectful nod all the same. Iomedae and Calistria aren't exactly the closest of the deities, but they aren't as opposed as some others.

Besides, she just can't bring herself to feel animosity towards anyone that beautiful. A character flaw to be sure. And an unworthy thought on my part. At least I'm aware of it - that's something, right?

To her amusement, she notes that Shel is very taken with the priest, and hides a smile behind her hand.

"Um," Shel asks in a carrying whisper, "why is that lady wearing clothes that ain’t really clothes?"

At this, Emma does laugh, but Scrent's coughing fit over the woman's clothes (or rather, lack of) manages to keep it hidden enough.

It does draw the attention of the tattooed man, however, who looks over at Shel.

"That is precisely her point, young lady."

"Begging your pardon, Mister," she says. "I ain't sure I understand. You're saying that she wants people to look at her and see her... her whole body?"

More or less, Emma thinks. Iomedae forgive me, I know I should disapprove, but...

"Apologies for eavesdropping, my ears are sharp. And, yes, she wants to be seen but more importantly - desired. It’s a facet of her faith. Calistria is the goddess of lust. First time in Elidir?"

"Yes. I’m Shel Lupescu," the woman says, giving a curtsy that makes Emma smile. "Nice to meet you, Mister. An’ these are my friends."

Emma gives a polite nod to the man. "Emma Blackford," she says by way of introduction.

"Our young friend is from a smaller village," Majara explains. "I doubt Calistria has many followers there."

"Very likely not," Emma agrees.

Majara leans in closer to Shel and adds, "Not only lust. Trickery, revenge. It is wise to be respectful to her clergy, if only out of self-preservation."

"A wise point," Emma murmurs to Shel after.

Majara thrusts a hand upwards. "Pricknettle. Or Majara. Are you creator or canvas only?"

Emma smiles at the gnome's blunt introduction and settles back to watch the exchange. To her surprise, Majara ends up getting a tattoo done. Emma watches with interest, having never seen the procedure done before herself.

To her greater surprise, Shel ends up getting one next - her first instinct, to Emma's surprise, is to step in and ensure it's what Shel wants - but then she stops herself. Part of having Shel leave her town was getting to experience new things - such as this. What better way to begin her newfound independence by exercising her choices to do exactly that?

Despite this, Hawkren appears to be very skilled at what he does, and both Majara and Shel are pleased with the end result of his work. Emma finds herself impressed as well.

"It's perfect!" Shel says. "Thank you so much, Mister Hawk, I love it! I'm going to go and show Miss Hannelia."

Watching her run off with a smile, Emma approaches Hawk a few moments later. "You're very gifted," she compliments him. "And in regards to Shel there, that was a very kind gesture. As Majara said, she's from a smaller village and this is her first real taste of the larger world. After the experiences she had over the past few days, it's incredibly nice to see her smile like that again."

Emma's hand tightens on the hilt of her sword as Hannelia's words sink in. A pang of shame stings her, an unwanted echo of old voices and doubts. The road to Saringallow, her adopted home, beckons. It promises rest and the familiar comforts of the manor and inn. Yet, a deeper truth weighs on her heart. Isn't the paladin's path about more than slaying demons? Isn't it about easing burdens, great and small?

Hannelia's retreating form and Majara's steady work offer no answers. Lost in thought, Emma finds herself moving. She leaves the house, shedding her armor and any symbol of her order. Clad in simple clothes, she returns to the village.

There's a hesitancy in her first steps, the weight of yesterday's battle still clinging to her. Yet, with a resolute breath, she extends a hand. She holds a gate, mends fences splintered by fear, offers quiet words when welcomed and respectful silence when not. Some refuse her help, and she accepts this with a gentle nod. Others offer her meals, a gratitude that warms more than food. These hours blur, a mosaic of small gestures, fleeting smiles, and the lingering scent of woodsmoke and fear.

Emma spots a small figure struggling with a heavy basket of laundry near the edge of the village. The child, a young girl with tangled braids and a mud-streaked face, heaves the basket with visible effort. Without a second thought, Emma approaches.

"May I help with that?" she asks, her voice gentle.

The girl startles, eyes widening. She hesitates for a moment, then reluctantly nods, clutching the basket a little closer.

Together, they walk toward a humble cottage. The path winds past a half-tended garden, the remains of vegetables hinting at the disruptions caused by recent events.

"Mama's not been feeling well," the girl admits in a small voice. "Since... since we lost my papa..." Her gaze drops to her scuffed boots. "Before all of this. I know something bad happened, but not really what."

Emma hesitates. "Something bad did happen," she says finally. "But it's been handled. At least the fighting part." She looks down at the girl. "What's wrong with your mama?"

"She has a lot of bad days. Days where she doesn't wanna do nothing."

Emma offers a sympathetic smile. "Loss does strange things to a body," she says. "When my mama passed, it took me near a month to work up the strength to pick up my sword again."

The girl glances up in surprise, then a flicker of understanding crosses her face.

"Is that your sword?" the girl asks.

Emma sets down the load and unsheaths her sword, which sheds its soft golden light. "Not my original one. But yes."

"It's pretty."

Emma laughs. "Could use some polishing, but yeah, I agree."

They finish the walk in comfortable silence, and at the cottage door, the girl finally offers a shy smile.

"Thank you, kind lady," she murmurs before disappearing inside.

Emma nods at the door with a slight smile.

In the end, Emma feels good for having done what she can. There's still a lot of challenges ahead, and she hasn't stopped worrying about Constantine since he became unresponsive. But she knows it's important not to lose touch with the part of herself that simply wants to lend a hand where needed.

She sighs and begins heading back towards the party, ready to do whatever it is that comes next.

Will Save: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (8) + 7 = 15
Spellcraft, Untrained: 1d20 ⇒ 2

Holy shit. Right on the nose. That was close. Well, I have no idea what he was casting, but I was just able to resist it.

For a moment, Emma feels herself stiffen up, as though her joints have been encased in some kind of stone. Her eyes widen in surprise and she jerks back slightly, grip on her sword loosening up slightly. She's keenly aware of the ominous presence of the mayor standing in front of her...

But then she looks over at Constantine, who says part of her oaths, and it fills her with resolve, giving her the strength to push past it.

"Strength before weakness," she continues, looking at Constantine with a grateful nod.

Then she turns back to the Mayor, grip upon her sword firm once more. "Nice try."

Longsword Attack: 1d20 + 8 + 2 ⇒ (9) + 8 + 2 = 19
Slashing Damage: 1d8 + 4 + 3 ⇒ (4) + 4 + 3 = 11

”You happened to Shel.” She spits. ”You confused her. We asked her to do this. To approach you. But she refused. If we don’t get that ugly, red-headed, dog-mannered cityboy back, my Shel will have to take his place. So sayeth the Dream Tender. I do what it takes to serve. I done it many times before. But I will not give up my Shel, y’hear? If you give me the redhead or go into the maze, you can save my daughter.”

She raises her palms and says, "This is our last chance. Maze or redhead. No tricks." She glances at Roger.

"Anya Lupescu, you will be silent! Your say in what's going on here is at an end," Emma snaps, grip tightening on her sword, causing it to twitch slightly, making the shadows around her bounce a bit as the light emanating from the sword shifts slightly. "You're not taking anyone anywhere. There will be a reckoning here for what's been done - I swear it to Iomedae."

With that being said, she's not sure she sees many options open to them save to go after Shel, however unknown the dangers may be. Leaving Shel to a dark fate is not something she's willing to accept. So much so, she realizes, that she finds herself resolved to go after Shel...Emma will not...can not...stand by while a decent person pays the price for the mistakes of the selfish and fearful.

"She refused because Shel has clearly learned some lessons about right and wrong, something she self-evidently did not pick up from you," [Hannelia] shoots back. "I don't see you volunteering to exchange places."

"I don't sense any explicit evil from Anya," Emma remarks in a low voice, narrowing her gaze at Anya. "But I think it's pretty obvious by now that doesn't mean a whole lot."

Hannelia's words have put things into perspective for Emma.

There was no denying that her relationship with her mom had been complicated, but there was also no denying that her mother would've laid down her life in defense of Emma's without hesitation. That Anya was more interested in her own self preservation...even her willingness to sacrifice others in 'defense' of Shel...said volumes about her morality, or lack there of.

"Shel deserves better than you," she remarks coldly. "It's obvious any decency she has came from anywhere else but you."

"If this Shel is a decent sort," the words are aimed more at the others in the party than at Mrs. Lupescu, "then I'm not opposed to attempting a rescue, but point-the-first: Kyle is hardly well enough for rigorous travel or journey into danger, and she's just proven we can hardly assume he'll be safe if we leave him here. Point-the-second: I propose Anya be left restrained so we know she's not running to tell some other cultists we're coming. Point-the-third: we still have that other essence Emma detected here. I dislike leaving it at our back. Again, we are on our own timetable, not hers."

"I'll vouch for her," Hannelia replies. "She was very helpful to me and Emma. And she's just a girl, really." She takes a deep breath, "Starting with the last bit first, you know I never like to do that either, so I'm ok with neutralising it quickly."

Emma nods gravely. "I'll vouch for Shel as well. She doesn't deserve the situation she's in because of this...this ill-intended, naive, misguided cult!" Her grip on the glowing longsword tightens once more as she speaks. "While I'm not exactly eager to leave an unknown evil at our backs, I'm also not comfortable with leaving Shel to suffer at the hands of this cult. We'll have to confront them sooner or later, and the quicker we move, the better chance she has." She turns to Anya. "That being said, I can't say I object to the idea of leaving her tied up. Elias, I know you've been through a lot, but so far, we've been throwing a lot of ideas around about you without much feedback - what do you see as your best avenue here? Would you feel comfortable with the plan proposed?"

"She is telling the truth that Shel is in danger." Constantine takes a step towards Anya. The smile is long gone from his face, as is any trace of blood, but his pupils are rapidly dilating and undilating. "You pegged me as a fine specimen when we met. As a potential suitor. But your daughter is her own person." Another step. "She should make her own choices, not be beholden to your whims." Step. "You happened to Shel long before we did." Step. "Your service to the Gossamer King did this. And we are here to break this village's spear."

Constantine has left Emma on edge since his encounter with...whatever it was that had done this to him. But his words in this moment hit home with what she herself is feeling, and she finds herself agreeing with his words. She steps up beside the man, grip still strong on her longsword.

"Amen," she remarks softly, face resolute as she stands in line with Constantine.

Perception: 1d20 ⇒ 11

Lol, nope.

Eyes wide at Constantine's sudden change in demeanor, Emma lurches forward when he begins to grab at his own neck, grabbing his hands in turn and doing what she can to prevent...whatever it is that's going on here.

For all the time they've spent together, she realizes, there's still a lot she doesn't know about the man, or his history, or his abilities. Assuming this is something related to his abilities, and not something else entirely - something maybe related to this place, or this cult, and what's going on here. Perhaps it was a lingering effect from something he'd touched before.

She listens to the words, feeling a chill run down her spine as he drones on in an even tone.

"Constantine!" she says when he seems to be done, keeping as firm a grip as she can on his hands, lest he try to strangle himself. "Snap out of it! Are you okay? What in Iomedae's name was that??"

"It is his sword," she says after a long pause, her brows beetled. "The wing-hilt is new. I'd wager new enchantments too. He..."

Majara grimaces at the blade, then sets it down to lean against a wall, brushing her hands off. "Elias once had a sword named Retribution. Not Redemption. He took justice...." Another pause. "...seriously. Once upon a time. Less so when last I saw him."

Frowning, Majara tucks her hands under her armpits and rocks a bit on her feet. "Perhaps he renamed the sword," she offers.

"And perhaps-- probably, judging by the mongrelmen words-- he's dead now." The gnome exhales but shows no great grief beyond that huff of breath.

"I'm sorry," Emma says, nodding to Majara. "Until we find him, though, we don't know for sure what ultimately happened to Elias. With any luck, we may still be able to find him alive." Her thoughts drift to Talon. "People have survived worse," she adds in an undertone.

Emma looks over at the sword - it is very finely crafted - she can tell as much just from a cursory glance. Given that a longsword is Iomedae's chosen weapon, a part of her longs to reach out and try it out. "What should we do with the sword in the meantime, then? Keep it until we find out the ultimate fade of Elias? We could give it back to him should he still be alive, or else bury it with him should he not - or give it to his kin, I suppose, should he have any."

--------

"Aye, I was with Hannelia for pretty much the entire time we were separated. Given what we're facing though, it might be a good idea not to do that again, unless we have absolutely no choice."

Of course, saying as much was probably as good as jinxing it so that they would, ultimately, have no choice but to do just that.

Fate loved to mock her like that, after all.

"If we haven't found this thing by the time night falls and we need to rest, then we may have to come up with a watch system instead; I don't think I'd be able to fully sleep knowing one of us could get snatched or impersonated in the middle of the night."

She glances at Roger with a hint of a smile on her face. "I don't suppose you ever had any adventures with impersonators or body snatchers during your voyages?"

--------

Emma heads up closer to the others and skirts around Majara, Roger, and Constantine to get up closer to the stirges. She'll be damned if she doesn't get a chance to help out this time. At the very least, once they kill these beasts, they'll be able to talk normally again.

Longsword Attack: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (17) + 8 = 25
Longsword Damage, Slashing: 1d8 + 3 ⇒ (2) + 3 = 5

"Maybe we could go and see if there are any shops, Emma?" she suggests. "I'm not expecting much in such a small place but I assume there must be at least a trading post of some description? The owner will likely know what's happening in town and probably isn't a bad person to try and befriend."

Emma smiles gratefully. She's a bit overwhelmed by the bustle of activity around them. "Yes, that would work for me."

”The Trading post is just down the road in the square . It’s the only store in town, unless you count the weaver and the barber. My daughter Shel should be minding the store.”

"Thank you ma'am," Emma says with a polite nod, fighting a slight smile as the woman leads Constantine away by the arm. Hopefully Constantine would be able to take advantage of Anya's interest and get some more information from the woman.

The mayor was obviously brushing them off as quickly as he could - though the mayor likely was in fact busy with a lot of the prep work for the festival, she was becoming increasingly certain that he was hiding something from them. She just wasn't sure what it was. Certainly a part of it was due to the fact that they were outsiders looking to poke into town business; it was only natural to be suspicious of their intent for showing up and asking pointed questions. The mayor could very well just be the sort of politician that was always up to something, without his intentions being nefarious. It's entirely possible that he had nothing to do with Elias's disappearance. It was also possible that he was directly involved. It was a moot point until they had more information.

"Trading post seems worth checking out then," Hannelia says, breaking into her thoughts. "Perhaps the barber and weaver too for the sake of completeness? But first things first."

"Sounds like as good a place as any to start. The barber and weaver are possibilities, though I'll admit, I'm starting to get a bad feeling about all of this." Emma lets out a small sigh. "Perhaps it's just the thought of Roger and Majara on their own in this crowd. But I won't let that distract me."

They continue on towards the shop, pausing briefly before entering. Emma can barely make out a woman's voice from inside, sounding as though she were rehearsing something.

"Shall we go and meet the future Mrs Sarini then?" Hannelia asks.

At this, Emma lets out a loud but undignified snort of a laugh, and it takes her a moment to regain her composure. "Yes, lets," she says with a smile. "If we make a good impression, perhaps we can be in the wedding."

"...and so the crops’ corruption was lured away on the soft wings of dreaming moths-- Oh! I didn’t see you there. I was just rehearsing for my big night. I’m Shel Lupescu, pleasure to make your acquaintance. What’re your names?”

Much to her embarrassment, Emma is actually struck a bit speechless at the sight of Shel. It's obvious to see why she's going to be a contender for the title of queen at the festival. She finds herself blushing slightly. Thankfully, Hannelia handles the introductions while Emma comes back to her senses. She clears her throat and makes a show of inspecting some of the spears on display, hoping the blush isn't as obvious as she fears it might be.

Neither the place nor the time! she chides herself.

At Hannelia's prompting, Shel launches into a story about Ravenmoor's history of it's founding and of the festival. Whether or not it's accurate, she can't say - she'd have to consult official records to be sure of that. But regardless, it's a well told story, and she finds herself smiling at the end of it.

"That was very well done! You have a gift for telling stories it would seem," Emma says, nodding to Shel. "And quite informative - we're not especially familiar with the area, you see."

Why is it always some kind of creature? Why can't it ever be a rabbit? Then again, knowing pathfinder, it'd probably be a bloodsucking rabbit...

Emma doesn't even try to hide her smile when Roger makes his comment about the name "Friends of Saringallow" - and while Emma can admit that it's a perhaps a bit too on the nose for her tastes, it nevertheless gets the point across. At least for now, it's what they'll likely be known for.

There is the promise of potential adventures yet ahead of them; there hasn't been any official discussion about it yet, but Emma feels as though they've got a good thing going here so far. They've proven they can work well together, despite her initial misgivings at working with an agent of Asmodeus.

Half their party sounds like the set up for a bad joke - a pirate, a cleric of hell, and an Iomedean paladin walk into a bar...

Roger probably has a joke along those lines already. She'll have to ask him when she gets the chance.

---------

The following day, when the Mayor makes her announcement regarding Constantine's heritage, Emma remains close by in a silent offering of support.

At first, she's worried that old prejudices might cause the crowd to turn against them; but in the end, it proves to be a baseless one.

Her heart swells with pride as the various people they've helped step forward to offer their testimonials. Hopefully it will help Constantine come to terms with who he is - that he doesn't have to be defined by a family name. That he can take that which is his by right and redeem it through his actions and purpose.

Later that night, at the inn, Emma nudges Constantine at the table and raises her mug.

"I think that went well today, my friend. Congratulations on what promises to be a new beginning. Here's to stepping out from the shadows of the past and forging ahead into the future."

---------

The next couple days are surprisingly peaceful.

After the hectic events leading up to them, it feels odd to wake up and not begin preparing to charge headfirst into a dangerous scenario.

Not that she doesn't keep up her training, of course. She still maintains her weapons and armor, still goes for a run, still practices her swordplay. She enjoys drilling with the guards; she'd already enjoyed a sort of silent respect with them before, but there's something new there now.

People nod and recognize her when she's out and about in the town. People she's never met before will smile and nod at her. Nolaria asks shy questions about Iomedae, which Emma is always happy to answer.

Every day, she stops in for a bit of fresh bread from the bakery - though the gruff baker always insists it's free, she always insists on leaving a tip just the same.

It's....nice.

It wasn't ever something she sought out or even considered to be a possibility. Seeking out fame had never been her intention. But it's still nice - to see that people are happy to see her. She'd seen knights and paladins get similar treatment back home at Piren's Bluff, including her mother.

Even so, she does her best not to take advantage of it. Some nights, she still spends in the guard barracks. Despite everything, the simple surroundings still suit her.

-------------

The day is young when Emma sets out from the town. A few of the guards give polite greetings to her as she sets out. It's not unusual for her to leave for an early run around the town.

Today, though, she has something else in mind. She hasn't spoken of this to the others. It seems unlikely, though it's possible one of them might get curious if they see her and follow - not that it would be an issue. Still, this was something she had to do for herself.

When she had set out from Piren's Bluff, it had been...a test of sorts. The death of her mother had hit her hard, and she hadn't been sure of what to do. So much of her life had revolved around her mom - trying to live up to the examples she'd set and the ideals she'd expected.

It hadn't always been an easy life, nor a rewarding one. And in the wake of that loss, she'd found herself wondering - who was Emma Blackford?

There was so much to life she hadn't been able to get a chance to experience. So much of the world she hadn't seen. Her first stumbling attempts at romance had been horribly awkward. Despite her appreciation of her mother and her lessons, there were many times when Emma had felt stifled - even trapped.

The obvious choice to prove herself was to set out into the world and see if she could make it on her own. A chance to see if all the years of training and study had paid off. And a chance to see if it was even the right choice for her.

She walks through the woods for a time, taking in the sights, enjoying the quiet stillness of the morning. No demonbile infested bugs leap out at her today. Just a few woodland creatures who keep their distance at the noise her armor makes as she winds through the forest.

Finally, she reaches a clearing - it seems suitable for her needs. She sets down her pack and withdraws a small locket. It had belonged to her mom - it had been with her ever since she'd left Piren's Bluff. A piece of the past to hold on to.

Compared to Constantine and Sirio's past, hers seemed ridiculously pampered. And yet, after all they'd gone through and the recent revelations, something had finally clicked for Emma.

For a moment, she stands still, holding the locket to her chest. She offers a quick prayer to Iomedae, then sets the locket down at the base of a nearby tree.

She withdraws her sword and begins to move, executing a few of the basic maneuvers. As she moves, the old words spring up. This is something she hasn't done since her mother was still alive.

"Life before death," she murmurs, grip firm on the sword as she whirls it gracefully through the air. "Strength before weakness." The branches crack beneath her as she continues her steps. "Journey before destination!"

For a while, she falls silent, save for the swinging of her sword. Even with the cool breeze of the morning, it's not long before she's worked up a bit of a sweat.

It feels good. It makes her feel alive.

"I will protect those who cannot protect themselves," Emma continues. "I will honor those who have come before me. I will seek freedom for those who are in bondage. I will unite instead of divide."

The old words flow faster now. Her mother had taught them to her in her childhood. It had become something of a ritual. Later, during her studies, Emma had been somewhat confused - they weren't necessarily teachings of Iomedae. And yet, her mother had held these words, these sayings, in high regard. She'd spent years drilling them into Emma. She'd claimed someone she held in high regard had taught her those lessons when she was young - though she never spoke of who it had been or why they had taught them to her.

"I will protect even those who I oppose, so long as it is right. I will listen to those who have been ignored. I will take responsibility for what I have done. If I must fall, if I must fail..." Her voice trails off for a moment, and her hand drifts up to her chest, tracing the spot where Talon's arrow had pierced her. Even after the healing, there's still a scar that will always serve as a grim reminder. "If I must fail, I will rise each time, better than I was before."

There are tears now, silently rolling down Emma's face. She doesn't swipe them away; instead, she gently puts away her sword and walks back to the tree, where the locket still lays. She takes out a small hand trowel and begins to dig away at the dirt.

When enough has been cleared away, she takes the locket and puts it into the ground. Gently, she swipes the dirt over the freshly dug hole, until the locket is no longer visible. She plants a small symbol of Iomedae at the spot, and places a hand atop it.

"I accept....I accept there will be those I cannot protect," she finally says in a shaky voice. "I don't know if what I saw when I was in the twilight between life and death was real...but...I choose to believe it was. I miss you. Despite all the rules and expectations....I miss you. But I think I'm finally ready to move on, and become my own woman. I think you would be proud of that. I like to think so anyway." Emma smiles slightly, still crying softly. "So much of my life was spent trying to live up to your example. I don't think I ever would be able to do, to be honest. I still doubt myself. I've made these friends...they're a good bunch. I think they believe in me, even if I don't always believe in myself. I feel as though I've let them down more often than not when it comes to combat, but...we've got something going here. Something promising. And I want to see it through." She lets out a sigh. "I miss you, but throughout this whole business with Constantine...moving beyond the shadow of his family and working on establishing his own legacy seems to be the best path forward for him. And, I think perhaps the same is true for me." She stands up. "I'll always love you mom."

With another prayer to Iomedae - perhaps a selfish one, to keep this small area protected from storms and wildlife and whatever else may happen by - she gathers up her gear and begins the trek back towards...home? Is that what Saringallow is to her now? It's hard to say. It certainly feels like a home, even if it may not end up becoming her long term one. Regardless, it's where her friends are.

And though a few tears still fall, Emma feels lighter than she has in months. She holds her head up high and smiles at the prospect of whatever the future may bring.

"Gods!" Emma cries, nearly retching from the sight of the man bursting apart to reveal...well, truth be told, she's not exactly sure what this foul creature is, other than it radiates a sense of wrongness that sets her on edge. If anything, the sight of it steels her resolve; they can't be allowed to fail here.

With a quick prayer to Iomedae, she once again calls upon the holy energy to heal her wounds.

Lay on Hands, Swift Action, Self: 1d6 ⇒ 4

Whatever this thing is, it's clearly evil - it's reaction to her smite was enough to prove that - and has already stated it's intent to take over her own body next.

"Iomedae preserve me, you are a foul looking creature," Emma remarks with a scowl. "No matter. You like to puppet bodies do you? I think it's high time we put an end to that." She jerks her head towards Constantine. "And besides, weren't you listening? You're trespassing."

And with that, Emma steps forward into the space that Constantine had previously occupied.

It makes it more difficult to get a direct strike against the demon, but it doesn't matter. Not now.

Knowing what this foul creature intends for her, and what it's just done to it's previous host, makes her just that much more determined to destroy it. It cannot be allowed to continue to 'puppet' anyone else, least of all her own body.

Masterwork Cold Iron Longsword, Smite, Bless, FBB, Cover Penalty: 1d20 + 7 + 2 + 1 + 1 - 2 ⇒ (18) + 7 + 2 + 1 + 1 - 2 = 27
Damage, Smite, FBB: 1d8 + 3 + 1 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 3 + 1 + 1 = 11

Knowledge Religion: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (6) + 5 = 11
Reflex Save: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (10) + 2 = 12

Following the ominous pronouncement from the voice, Emma isn't sure what to expect when they enter the following room.

Perhaps it had been foolish of her to expect a tangible threat for them to fight, but she's caught off guard when the haphazard looking room seems to be devoid of any discernable threat. The bits of music that seem to be coming from somewhere in the room don't exactly do much to set her mind at ease, either. She walks in with the others, frowning, waiting for something to happen, half expecting some kind of monster to come charging through the wall.

She doesn't have to wait long.

Moments after they've entered, Roger lets out a yelp and throws his falchion at a mirror, causing it to shatter. Emma lets out a cry of surprise and shields her face, wondering what had set the pirate off. Before she can get a chance to ask, bits of glass and other debris begin to swirl around by some kind of unseen wind, almost as though in tune with the snippets of music.

The debris catches her off guard, and she winces as bits of glass tear into her skin. Hannelia, also seemingly caught off guard, takes cover from the debris. Emma raises her shield against the debris, though the damage has already been done. At least it hadn't hurt too much.

"Spirits!" he shouts. "Positive energy, holy water, performative displays, or treating injuries will allay them."

Of course, Emma thinks. Probably should have been obvious, given what's going on and where we are. She has a vial of holy water that they'd received, but in the chaos of the moment, she isn't sure where exactly to use it. Hannelia seems equally confused by what to do, even as Constantine begins to use his - whether he has a sense for where to use it, or is simply guessing, she's not sure.

And then, apparently taking the bit about performative displays to heart, Roger begins to sing and dance around the room.

For a moment, the absurdity of the action dwarfs everything else going on, and Emma simply watches as the grizzled pirate sings and dances.

Emma can't help but smile. Of all the lessons she'd been taught over the years...

Much of her life back home had been about training. She'd learned various forms of combat. She'd gone over bits of history and religious lore. She'd studied under the tutelage of various soldiers and guards as they passed through. Life at the fort had never been lacking for tasks to be done, and her mother was never shy about assigning various duties for Emma to perform.

But this particular lesson had come from someone else.

This flashback is completely irrelevant to the plot, but I got a decently high roll for the dance and decided to have a little bit of fun.

Performative Dance: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 2 = 19

"Performative displays..." Emma muttered. "Constantine, you better be right about this."

And then, letting out a sigh, Emma moved forward and joined Roger in his movements. She let him handle the singing - god knows her voice would probably be enough to knock the spirits unconscious and then the rest of the party as well. But she let herself relax and did her best to match her movements with Rogers - weaving around the room in time with the various objects still floating around.

Constantine Sarini.

Well. Emma rubs at her face and rocks back and forth on the balls of her feet. Well, well.

That was...

That was something.

Before this moment, she had been sulking a bit. It was indulgent and probably a bit childish of her. She was doing a little better in regards to trusting herself and acting with more confidence, but...once again, she'd found herself nearly done in by one of the demonic insects. It wasn't a question of whether or not she felt it was right to place herself in harms way to try and protect others - it was a question, however, of whether or not she was any good at it. What good was a paladin who could barely protect herself?

So deep in her thoughts, she hadn't even gotten a chance to attack the frog when it had appeared, though it was just as well - she couldn't stand the taste of them at any rate. She had no trouble steering clear of the corpse afterwards, letting the others take their turns in poking and prodding at it.

She never would've even noticed the resemblance in the pictures, with how lost in her head she was.

Not until it was pointed out.

And now, here they were.

This revelation changed the context of a lot of things. And right now, it was like clearing the slate. Here they were, a group of companions, and yet...at the same time, it was as though they'd been moved back to square one. Everything needed to be recontextualized, reconsidered.

It was as though they were meeting again for the first time.

Emma wasn't a local, and so, she wasn't as familiar with the specific history of this particular group of Sarini's. But she had heard the name before. It was one of the more wider known noble names out of Cheliax. She'd been taught of the House before, with their not particularly glamorous nickname "Lapdogs of Hell." Some of the things that the noble family had been infamous for were...troubling, to say the least. It was enough for her to know that this manor was likely going to hold some dark secrets, even if she wasn't familiar with the particular group in question.

Emma watches from a distance as Hannelia winces slightly as Sirio begins to eagerly engage with Constantine, urging him to take on the family name. As observant as she is, it's likely that Hannelia had noticed the resemblance in the painting - and just as likely that she hadn't planned on mentioning it. She'd gotten to know the other woman well enough by this point that she knew Hannelia would've preferred not to bring it up until they weren't in the middle of their investigation.

She continues watching as Roger tries to diplomatically dissuade Sirio from doing so, and then as Sirio snaps back and persists.

And then there was Constantine.

Emma regards her companion with slightly narrowed eyes.

This entire time, he had been essentially lying about his identity. It seemed suspect at best. Had Constantine known that there were dark goings on at this manor at the very beginning? And if he had, why would he not want to suggest investigating the manor far earlier than they had? Had Constantine known that something - that Wormgnash - had been manipulating things behind the scenes? Maybe he hadn't known that there was a direct connection, but even so, he had likely been worried about it coming up and was hoping it wouldn't be the case. Or perhaps he was under the thrall of something more powerful, but...

Emma tilts her head, frowning, combing through her memories of their time together.

How many times had Contantine been there in the thick of things with them, ready to take on whatever challenged them along the way? He was always asking their group if they were alright after a battle, and showing concern when anyone was hurt. He and Emma had stood side by side on more than one occasion - she'd never felt any doubt in the moment that Constantine wasn't to be trusted, that he wouldn't have done his best to defend her had the opportunity arisen. It's a strange kind of trust that can spring up in a battle, but it does tend to reveal a lot about a person. He had shown concern for what they had been forced to kill, and had questioned the need to do it. His earlier question regarding the nature of people made a lot more sense now in context. Were people born bad? It hadn't stuck out as particularly odd at the time, but now, in retrospect, it seemed incredibly likely that Constantine had been wondering about this very moment, the moment where his lineage had been laid bare before them.

Emma looks to Hannelia. She's reasonably certain that Hannelia has come to the same conclusion she has.

Regardless of what his surname may be...Constantine is a good man.

"Constantine...I don't care what your family name is. Sarini or Fioritura, it matters not. Not to me. I've gotten to know you, as Constantine, both through conversation, and through your actions standing by our side in battle."

She turns to look at Sirio. "I know you two have a history, and I don't know what your stake in this fully is - Iomedae knows I'm not the most observant person in the world. This isn't something Constantine has to decide right at this moment, and regardless of what he does or doesn't decide to do, it's his decision to make. And if he doesn't want to talk about it right now, that's also his decision to make."

She turns back to Constantine. "I trust you. I know that you're a good man - your actions have shown us this." She walks up closer to Constantine. "Do you remember when we were investigating that gravesite? I reached out with my senses, looking for any traces of evil...I never got a ping from you." She hesitates, looking at the others, thinking over her words carefully. Constantine's statement from before...

"Earlier, you mentioned that no one is born bad, and it's what people do that matters. Well, what you've done has told me everything I need to know. You can't choose your family - something my Mom often said, especially when in reference to my erstwhile father - but you can choose what you do. You can choose what you become. And you don't owe the Sarini family name a thing if that's how you feel about it."

"Well, that is rather unpleasant," replies Hannelia with a touch of understatement to the paladin's words to cover up her also-lurching stomach. "'Fully exsanguinated' is a dreadfully clinical term for something that's genuinely vile. Though I would say," she continues, meeting Emma's eye "for someone who's 'not the best' you appear to have turned up something the rest of us have overlooked in double quick time. One day, Emma, I'd like to meet your mother and thank her for the job she's done molding you into the amazing woman that you are."

Emma tries and fails to hide the blush that springs up at the compliment, even as her words send a ripple of surprise through Emma. It would feel awfully inappropriate to pick that particular moment to remark that her mother has actually passed on - there's a time and a place, and it would only diminish the sentiment of what Hannelia was saying. Emma rubs the back of her head, not quite meeting Hannelia's gaze. "Ah, well, you know....well, thank you," she manages. "You all managed to uncover a lot more than I did, though," she continues with a bit of a shrug. "If only the subject matter wasn't so gruesome."

She gives Hannelia a grateful smile and goes back to looking at the documents.

However, it's not long after that Constantine and Sirio begin to exchange barbed words. What starts off as a few muttered comments quickly becomes heated. Feeling her muscles tense up at the sudden intensity between the two men, her eyes drift back and forth between them.

She hasn't really seen Constantine get angry like this before. For that matter, she hasn't really seen Sirio grow this heated either. Emma finds herself wondering if she should get involved - though at this point, it seems that either man might resort to throwing punches, and she's not sure if it would do more harm than good to get involved. She might just escalate things further.

"Gentlemen," she says in an exaggeratedly polite tone, "would you be so kind as to take this dispute outside. There are librarians present, and I for one would prefer to be able to return here another day. And," she adds, dropping her voice to a stage whisper and choosing her words carefully, "when we do get out of here, you two are going to explain what in the Nine Hells is going on between you. Plenty of it is going over my head but we can all tell that something is amiss, even if Emma's too polite to say anything, and Roger too relaxed. Swing your weapons around if you like, but get it out of your system before we head out for the Sarini place because we can't afford to have anything undermining the team once we're there," she finishes in an icy tone.

The bard's words, cutting the tension with an edge as sharp as any sword, end up resolving the situation for the moment. Both Sirio and Constantine seem to come to themselves. The tension hasn't gone, not exactly, but the chill in the air had warmed somewhat - winter giving away to give a glimpse of the possibility of spring. Constantine looks abashed, but Sirio storms off after having his say.

Still, for the moment, the situation was over.

Emma turns to Hannelia, impressed. "Well handled, and spoken truly," she says in an awed voice, unable to keep the smile from her face. "We do have more important matters to be focusing on. Still, if words were able to cause physical harm, I do believe our two compatriots would find themselves in beds next to Talon." She turns to Constantine, frowning quizzically at the man, wanting to speak to him, but not quite sure what to say or how to broach the subject. She decides to let it go for now - either Constantine will open up on his own or he'll keep his matters private. In an undertone to Hannelia, she adds, "I thank for you for the earlier compliment, but in truth? You're pretty amazing yourself. We'd have never have made it this far if it hadn't been for you."

----------------------

That evening, Emma opts to dine at the Witch's End with the rest of the group, though she still plans on spending her evening in the barracks to sleep. Given that they're likely to set out on the morrow, it only makes sense for them to be in a singular group that evening, lest they have any last minute plans to come out with. Plus, there's no denying that the food is much better here than at the barracks - not that the food at the barracks is bad, necessarily, but it's hard to deny the comfort that a well cooked meal can provide.

Still, the tension from earlier is still lingering somewhat. Emma eyes the two men warily as they eat, wondering if it's about to boil over again. At least wait until we're done with the meal, she thinks to herself. Almost immediately after this thought, Constantine begins to speak. Dammit.

"So, obviously, Sirio and I have known each other longer than a few days," he begins.

"Yes," Emma snaps, unable to stop herself. "Obviously." The sarcasm is clearly evident in her tone. Perhaps she simply wasn't being observant enough, but personally, she hadn't had a clue that the two men had known each other prior to this.

”If you hadn’t already guessed, Ms. Venator, (and I will return to calling you that for now) Mr. Fioritura and I have a bit of history. I won’t speak on his behalf except to say we were raised in the same orphanage in the wake of the war. It is some turn of fortune then that we should happen to answer the same call to adventure. Whether that fortune is good or bad remains to be seen, however.”

"Right. Raised by the Devil Nuns. A joyous experience."

At the mention of Devil Nuns, Emma finds herself stiffening in surprise, unable to mask her distaste or the anger that follows. Oh, she knew about the Devil Nuns alright. Her mother, and the other Paladins who took up residence or had passed through, had had plenty of things to say about some of the awful practices in Isger. One of the worst she'd heard of was the so-called Devil Nuns. More officially, they were as the Sisters of the Golden Erinyes. Aligned with the Church of Asmodeus, and formed in the aftermath of the Goblinblood Wars, their goal was simple, but disturbing - to take in those left homeless or orphaned by the war and raise them as worshippers of Asmodeus. Perfectly legal in Isger, but...just the very idea of such a practice was enough to send a shiver of dislike through Emma. That any organization out there would see fit to take children and indoctrinate them to such an awful ideology was unthinkable.

And to think, Constantine and Sirio were brothers, and they had been taken in by them?

Suddenly, everything about Sirio made a lot more sense. And yet, she didn't find herself disliking the man himself. If anything, she now felt sorry for him - raised in such a manner, was it any surprise that Sirio seemed as though he had darker tendencies? She didn't think he'd been fully corrupted by their teachings - even if Sirio himself didn't realize it. After all, he was here, and he'd been helping them on their mission this entire time. As far as she could tell, there was no ulterior motive that Sirio was working on...at least, none that were obvious.

And to think that Constantine had been raised in a similar way? It was hard to believe, given how different the two seemed. Constantine tended to be kinder and more well reasoned. It was a good reminder for Emma that you could never truly understand a person just from a surface glance. They'd only known each other for a handful of days now.

She looks down in mild surprise to find that she's gripping the edge of the table. Slowly, she releases it, and lifts her gaze up to look at Constantine, and then Sirio. She yearns to speak ill of the 'Devil Nuns' after all the terrible things she's heard of them, but...

"And so we come to our own reckoning. We've found out a lot of useful information from our contacts and at the archives, well done everyone. It's not a complete picture but as someone who has grown up with the Sarini name hanging heavily over town, at least having a clearer picture - as unpleasant as it is - makes them feel more real than the faceless bogeymen of stories."

She looks round the table. "As the estate is a way out of town, I think it's better to go on the morrow. Call me superstitious but I'd prefer not to be sneaking around the place by night. In the meantime, is there anything else we need to do this afternoon? Should we report what we found to Mayor Trinelli? Is everyone fully recovered or could anyone use some healing? And I'm going to check out a few stores to ensure I'm fully provisioned if anyone would care to join me?"

At Hannelia's words, Emma does her best to tamper down the righteous anger that surged up at the mention of the Devil Nuns. Right, she thinks. Mission first. Focus on seeing this through. You were brought in to handle this job, and the safety of this town and the people who have been hurt so far take precedence. Any other worries can come after that, should we all survive whatever may come.

Constantine and Sirio make a toast, clearing aimed at each other. Emma raises her own glass. "To Gellion, and Talon, and all those who have found themselves facing the worst kind of corruption and darkness, only to once again return to the light. May it never be too late for anyone to find the strength and opportunity to find redemption."

As she takes a sip of her own cider, she gazes at the two men, first at Constantine, and then at Sirio. Then, pointedly ignoring the pair of them, she returns her attention to Hannelia.

"I think the morning is for the best. Superstition or not, it will serve us well to have natural lighting should we need it. Frankly, regardless of the reason, I'd feel better if we got a nights sleep before heading out. None of us know what we might face. And I'd be happy to accompany you to stock up on any supplies we may need, Hannelia. Fortune favors the bold...and the well prepared." She frowns slightly at the next bit. "As far as the Mayor, it might be prudent to inform her we'll be taking our leave for the manor, at the very least. Should the worst happen, it would be good for at least someone to know the full scope of what we're dealing with."

It's a victory to be sure, but not a particularly joyous one. Not for Emma at least.

All in all, they'd managed to come through the battle once again, albeit with new wounds and scars to show for it.

Gingerly, Emma touches her chest - though the wounds have been healed, she can still feel a ghost of the pain from the arrow that had struck her before, nearly killing her on the spot. The alien hatred in Talon's eyes as he'd loosed the shot...it would be hard to forget. Such a contrast to the otherwise calm demeanor the man had previously possessed.

That was a close call. Too close, perhaps. Thank you Iomedae for seeing me through it.

The corpse of Mezzodarath, now reduced to it's natural size, makes Emma clench her jaw. The demon spawn had fought ferociously, but she held no respect for it.

With a sigh, Emma turns away to look at the unconscious form of Talon.

Constantine had been able to knock the ranger unconscious, but Talon was far from being out of danger. The poor man was still...corrupted. Consumed by darkness, a shadow of what he had been. If there was any justice in the world, they'd be able to get him some help and perhaps Talon could be restored.

Silently, Emma joins the efforts in getting rid of the demonic bile and ooze, reflecting on the battle. She speaks when others ask her questions or ask for help in moving something, but otherwise, she remains silent. As always, moments where they might have been able to turn the tide flash through her mind. It can pay to look at the mistakes you've made in order to learn and try to prevent repeating them in the future - every battle you came through alive was another chance to learn and adapt for the future.

When they find the information about Wormgnash, and the collection of maps and plans and chaotic entries of Mezzodarath, it's not exactly encouraging news. The goblins had clearly been getting organized at the direction of another - this Wormgnash. Just the name was an ill omen given what they'd faced already. Once they returned with Talon, their next priority would have to be tracking this creature down. Informing the mayor of this latest discovery was obviously a priority - she would be able to distribute it properly to the other towns in the area and hopefully muster up some kind of defense for the town folk and farm holders in the area, just in case. Still, it was clear their group was united in the fact that they would be going after this Wormgnash - they'd been through too much, shed too much blood, to not see this through now. The only thing that remained to be seen was whether or not Wormgnash was the one behind all of this, or if it was simply another link in this demonic chain.

--------------------------------

"It sounds like Saringallow is still in danger even without a bunch of goblins plotting to roll over it. Whomever or whatever this Wormgnash is, we'll have to get back and warn Mayor Trinelli."

But all of the reading has gotten Constantine more philosophical, especially after reading Mezzodarath's journals. Over a decent meal of salted meats, he huffs. "You would have thought that after a whole generation torn apart by this bloody war that we'd be over it. But we're still dealing with the sins, trials, and travails of our parents. How many lives have to be lost in this damned conflict?"

"I've studied a fair amount of history," Emma tells Constantine. "As part of my training back home. Granted, I've forgotten many of the particulars - why they write those texts in the driest manner possible, I'll never understand. But I digress." Emma clears her throat. "There's a lot of depressing patterns about how conflicts will ebb and flow over time - cycles of civilizations pushing back and falling against outside forces time and time again. It's clear that the previous conflicts with the goblins in this region left a scar that never fully healed. When we find this Wormgnash, perhaps it will provide some insight - do they have some kind of connection to the previous conflict? All I can say is that despite the fact that we're dealing with the fallout of conflicts past, we're still here to stand and force the waves to part. With any luck, our efforts will be enough to shift things far enough into the light that there won't be a threat of this happening again."

--------------------------------------

As they place the awkwardly limp body of Talon on the mule, Emma takes a moment to address him, even though he's unconscious and bound. "One way or another, I promise you will not remain this way," she tells him.

As they turn away from the mule, Emma claps Constantine on the back.

"Well fought my friend," she says. She turns to Hannelia. "And you - that was some excellent shooting - and healing. And you were able to keep the battlefield under some semblance of control with some well timed spells Sirio." Perhaps it's trite, but she feels it's important to acknowledge the group after the battle, now that they have a little distance from it. "And Roger, you fought as fiercely as ever. I look forward to seeing how you spin this tale at the next tavern."

Emma finds herself sitting at a table, staring down at an empty plate. She frowns, feeling confused - how had she gotten here? The place seemed familiar. The scent of a burning woodfire drifted in through the windows, and a faint golden light shone in, though Emma had trouble making sense of anything outside.

A woman approached and began scooping food onto Emma's plate. "Eat up my dear, eat up. You'll need to keep your energy up for what's to come."

Emma glanced up. For a moment, her eyes widened in shock, and her breath faltered. The sight of the woman before her...

It was her mother - and, well, of course, who else would it be? They often ate meals together whenever it was possible. There was no reason that seeing that familiar visage should make her heart skip a beat. Slowly, she lessened her grip on the arms of the chair, frowning. Her mind felt like it was a half second too slow, unable to make the connections it should have.

"What is it? Don't just stare at me like that girl, you look like you've seen a ghost. Eat up, meals are important you know!"

"Thanks," Emma said. It felt strange to talk, like she had cotton in her mouth. She frowned down at the food, at a loss for what else to say. It looked like a serving of some kind of bird, but a tougher kind of meat than usual. Not chicken or turkey. "What...what is this?"

Her mother sat across from her and gazed at her across the table, the familiar twinkling glint in her eye. Something about the situation felt increasingly off. She couldn't remember how she'd gotten here. Or why it felt wrong to have her mother sitting there. Why should it feel odd? This was something they did regularly.

"It's an important meal, Emma. You know this. Meal times are significant. They represent a connection, and we spent many a meal here at this table." Her mother's gaze intensified. "We had both happy and sad moments at this table. Such is life. Lessons come in unexpected forms. We must deal with them as best as we are able. We must adapt as best we can."

"I...I'm so confused. Something about this doesn't feel...right." Emma shook her head. "I was...doing something important."

"Emma. Please listen to me. It wasn't your fault."

Emma wracked her brain, trying to think. Had she messed up in a recent training session? She couldn't think of anything specific. Certainly she'd remember if she'd injured someone or broken something, unless they'd tried to hide it from her. But that didn't seem right either.

She rubbed her face, trying to clear the fog from her mind. "I don't understand."

"What happened to me - it wasn't your fault. There wasn't anything you could have done. Sometimes, things just happen. You have to let it go. It's an unfair burden."

Emma slowly raised her head. A memory pierced through the fog. "You're...dead," she whispered. "You died." Then she glanced down at herself. "Am...am I dead?"

Her mother very deliberately did not answer. Instead, she lowered her gaze to Emma's plate of food. "You should eat. You're going to need your energy."

Emma looked down at the food. "I don't understand." Then, in a very small voice. "Mom?"

"It wasn't your fault sweetheart," her mother repeated in a firm voice. "Let it go."

Confusion met with fear and regret. Still feeling as though she were moving through a fog, she reached down and cut off a piece of the bird. She lifted it up, and glanced at her mom, who nodded encouragingly. Frowning, Emma took a bite.

It tasted bitter and wrong - and a moment later, pain spread through her mouth and she let out a gasp and spit out something hard and sharp. She lifted a hand to her mouth and gasped slightly when she saw it come away wet with blood.

It was a birds talon.

"What...?" she demanded in horror.

"Like I said. Many important lessons, often unexpected. Those talons can be very dangerous, but serve a purpose, as do all things."

Everything began to feel odd, as though the light was becoming brighter. Things were fading, and Emma felt as though she were falling into a void.

"Remember what I told you? The words my father said to me, and his father before him?" her mother asked, voice fading. "I will take responsibility for what I have done...."

"...if I must fall, I will rise each time a better person," Emma finished.

And everything was swallowed by the light.

-----------------

"Come on Emma, up you get. Your goddess needs you. We need you."

Emma's eyes flew open in a sudden rush. Pain shot through her body, followed quickly by the sensation of healing energies. She could see Hannelia standing over her, looking focused on her task. Her memories were fragmented, and her breathing came in short gasps. She remembered the goblins, and remembered seeing Talon...

Talon.

Oh Iomedae, had Talon really shot her? She could still feel a dull ache in her chest. The shock of seeing her former friend staring at her with such hate in his eyes.

"Hannelia!" Emma gasped. She realized quickly that the only reason she was awake at all was because of Hannelia's actions to save her. "Iomedae bless you, you beautifully talented woman!" she gasped out, her mind desiring to move in all directions with no traction. She blinked rapidly, scrambling to make sense of her current situation. "Did we win?" Then she craned her head to see a massive goblin creature of some kind. "Oh gods - never mind, still in the thick of it!"

Closing her eyes, Emma sends out a quick prayer to Iomedae. Oh Inheritor, grant me the strength needed to withstand these evil creatures and keep my friends safe.

Lay On hands, Self, Swift Action: 1d6 ⇒ 2

The healing energies that swell within aren't as substantial as Emma may have liked, but nevertheless, it would have to do.

Looking back up at the massive...thing...Emma shuddered slightly. That thing would likely pack quite the punch. She would need to brace herself before even attempting to strike at the thing. Gripping her shield tightly, Emma withdraws her body into a defensive position before slowly rising, falling back onto the old teachings from her days back home - funny, something about the thought of home and training sent a warm sensation through her. Odd.

Then, centering her gravity as much as possible, she braces for whatever the large creature may attempt to do in the next few moments.

Not grabbing my weapon just yet, but I'm going for Full Defense. Should give me a +4 to AC and will hopefully help negate the AOO that the big guy will get as a result of me standing. The healing from my lay on hands wasn't much but will hopefully help keep me standing for more than one hit. Probably gonna need to do lay on hands again next turn if that's possible.

The magical auras emanating the bottles seem to align with the labels on them so Hannelia is happy to take them at face value. As she places them back into the straw to keep them safe, she turns to face Sirio. "I thank you for your confidence in my abilities to slide those notes out but, uh," she swallows, disliking admitting her vulnerability, "there's a difference between something like this," - she gestures to the box - "and that." She looks at her hands and shrugs. "Delicate? Perhaps. Practiced? Not at that. I've opened dozens of locks, I've planned and practiced, I know how it works - and that preparation gives me the best chance of succeeding. It might sound simple but I've not done the same with moving paper, seeing how it reacts in different liquids, testing which direction to move it in is likely to do the least damage. And not knowing that makes me doubt myself more than I'd like. I know what I can do - and I'm good at it - but I also know what my limitations are."

She pauses to see how Sirio, or any of the others, react to what she's saying. "You know how some people don't like surprises?" she continues, "That's me. I can't say I love them. And yeah, I know that sounds a bit crazy given what we're doing here trying to unravel these disappearances but even in amongst all this madness, I'm definitely happier when I know what's what."

Emma glances around the room as the group waits for Talon to return. It's an ominous air that lingers, given all they've encountered so far. Given what they've seen and uncovered, it seems likely that future discoveries will likewise be shrouded in darkness. Thus far, being part of a party hasn't been quite what she has expected. Not because of the others - no, so far, she's been humbled by their skills and quick thinking in battle. No, it's her own performance that makes her take pause and wonder if perhaps she's made a mistake. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting really...just...not this. Not abyssal corruption.

Shaking her head, she looks at the others around her. There's no way she's abandoning them now. She just hopes that she doesn't prove to be any more of a disappointment further down the line. Thus far, she feels like one of the most ill equipped. She hadn't even thought to bring a cold iron weapon. What kind of Paladin was she?

Enough! she ordered herself. There was time enough later to reflect more upon this. But for now, she had to stay focused. She thought of her mother's trainings. It had been unorthodox at times, to say the least. She'd known this much based upon the reactions of a handful of other Paladins who had stopped in and given her odd looks at some of the questions Emma had asked. She'd gone to her mother and asked about it - why her mother taught things that seemed contrary to others who served Iomedae. "I understand your worries and frustrations Em. I do. But the thing of it is, I've seen a lot of situations throughout my service. The world very rarely fits into a predictable box. You need to be prepared to work with others who don't share your beliefs, because more often than not, that's what the world will thrust at you. You can't always pick your team. You definitely can't pick the situation. But you absolutely can pick the way you approach it."

With a sigh, Emma stops her pacing and looks over to Hannelia. Hoping she's not overstepping her bounds, she steps closer and gestures for her attention. "I just wanted to say, I appreciate your efforts earlier. I'm of a same mind, I think. I never cared much for surprises. My mom, who taught me, she loved them. She made them part of my training. Sometimes I wish she hadn't, and had just stuck with the traditional methods, but...either way. Your skill is admirable. It's not easy to step out of your comfort zone and do something you're not used to."[/b] She looks around at the others, smiling slightly. An odd group to be sure, but she's enjoyed working with them so far. "I have a feeling we'll have to step outside of our comfort zones a few more times before this is all said and done. I just wanted to acknowledge that now...as it's entirely possible you may need to throw those words back in my face at some point in the future." She laughs softly to let Hannelia know that she's kidding.

...For the most part.

-------------

"I dunno about you, but at this point I think we should give him a good lump on the head or two. Talk to him after his scally done deeds are all a wreck." Roger seems to think action first, nonlethally, then talking.

Emma frowns as she listens to the group debating over how to handle Gellion when they find him. Not if - but when. She's sure enough of this by now. They're close to seeing this through - this part of it at least, at least. There's truly no telling what may come next. Given their luck so far though, it was probably going to be something crawly and gross.

At Roger's words, Emma holds up her hands. "I must agree with Sirio here," she protests. "We should consider a nonviolent approach first. Perhaps it won't work, but it's worth a try. That's not to say that we shouldn't take precautions - perhaps Talon could stay back and concealed as best as possible and have a draw on him, should it prove possible to do so upon finding him. Either way, if we go in with swords drawn and ill intent, it will set the tone of whatever happens next. It's not a decision that we can easily undo, and should it be possible to avoid further bloodshed, I think we should take it." She lowers her hands and sighs. "I am not foolish however. Not entirely, at least. I know that it's unlikely that the peaceful approach will work, and we should absolutely be ready to subdue him. But it's one of the things my mom always stressed. You can't dictate what the situation will be...but you can decide how you approach it."

-------------

Once the answer to that is resolved and they are alone again, Constantine seconds his recommendation.

"We have a few cold iron weapons now--mine and Sirio's, along with a single arrowhead), but we'll need more. We should go to Saringallow Sundries and ensure that we are prepared for our trip to the warehouse. And from there, we should return to Pricknettle's Potions and Poultices and let Majara know what we have learned. Then we'll go to this warehouse."

Emma nods resolutely at Constantine's words. Almost instinctively, her hand reaches down to the blade she brought with her. A generic blade, but it's served her well thus far. While much of her mother's teachings had been unusual, she had been very adamant about trusting in your weapon. That it should be an extension of your self, and not simply just a weapon. Thus far, her weapon has been simply that - a tool, and one that hasn't been meeting her needs. Perhaps it was time to correct that.

"Yes, absolutely," she finally says. "That's a good idea Constantine. Given everything that's occurred so far, it would be a very prudent idea to have more cold iron available to us. I doubt we've encountered the last of abyssal corruption. While time is of the essence, it would be a good idea to be prepared for what may lie ahead."