The sun rides high in the autumn sky as the eager crowds of Sandpoint gather for the Swallowtail Festival. The celebration is certainly a welcome one, for the troubles known now as the Late Unpleasantness have left their mark on the past five years. First, there was Chopper, a deranged sociopath who plagued Sandpoint's once quiet streets for years, and the grisly nature of his predations only served to amplify the locals horror when they learned that this madman was none other than the local eccentric Jarvis Stoot. Not a month after his predations were brought to a bloody end, the Cathedral of Desna, the spiritual and communal center of Sandpoint, was consumed in a terrible conflagration, a tragedy that claimed the lives of Father Tobyn and his daughter Nualia.
For many, these events were simply too much, and most of the citizenry has simply tried to forget that they ever occurred. It has not been easy, but most people have placed the Late Unpleasantness behind them, pouring their energy into the construction of the new cathedral, which you stand before now. The Swallowtail Festival is more than a praise to Desna this year - it is a celebration of new beginnings. With the opening of the new church, the people of Sandpoint look now to the future, and hope to leave the dark years in the past.
Though the festival isn't scheduled to begin properly for another hour, things are well underway. Throngs of villagers gather in the central square, many of them marveling at the new cathedral (despite the fact that it has stood, nearly finished, for nearly a year now), while others pedal their wares on the street. The crisp morning air is energizing, and the the rising sun splashes brilliant hues of orange over across the blue sky, as if Desna herself has blessed this day with her vibrancy. All told, the Swallowtail Festival promises to be an auspicious beginning for a new Sandpoint.
Lila wanders about the festival in full traditional wizard regalia. Floor length robes; cloak; wide brimmed, pointy hat; and pointy, almost curly toed shoes. All in various shades of purple, with white and gold accents, and a spot of light blue. (No stars or moons, though. There's only so much dignity she's willing to sacrifice for tradition!) She carries a slightly gnarled wooden staff.
She wanders the festival, sampling food (if offered), and examining the wares. She pays particular attention to any clothing or cloth displayed. If pestered, she will momentarily entertain children with displays of Prestidigitation. Her ferret familiar Sanja may peek her head out once in a while to see what's going on.
She has been in town for a couple of days, wearing the above get-up the whole time she's been out in public. She had originally intended to move on toward Riddleport. When she heard about the festival and the dedication of the temple, she decided to stay. This is a once-in-a-lifetime event and she wants to see it. Riddleport can wait a couple more days.
Haken was always very popular with the Sandpoint children when he came to visit. They thronged the one who looked like a child with a pet bear. Rumble liked all the rubbing and scratching she got from the children; it was more that she normally got in a week from Haken. She offered her gratitude by standing up and giving them the roar they all hoped for. Even though she was still young, she looked formidable. The children squealed with delight as they scattered to tell their parents they'd touched a real bear.
Haken smiled. "Come on, girl. We need to purchase a new stewpot before the festival begins."
Normally, Haken wouldn't bring Rumble into town, but it was a festival and there were a few other druids with their companions with them, too. They set out looking for a peddler with a good stewpot, happily accepting any foodsamples they were offered. Rumble especially loved the ales.
Vors exits the inn dressed in full armor, sword at his hip and bow unstrung across his back. Over the armor he wears a rust-colored tunic trimmed in green; it is plain, but clean and well tended. A symbol of Erastil, fashioned of age-darkened wood, sits prominently upon his chest, hanging from a leather cord about his neck. He stands over six feet in height with a long, lean frame. Behind him skips a girl of about twelve, bearing a strong familial resemblance in a homespun dress, long hair flying free behind her. As they reach the street, he turns to the girl, fishing some coins from his pouch and handing them to her.
"Here, take these and go enjoy yourself. Mind yer manners. If'n there's any trouble, you find Uncle Belor or one of his deputies. Meet me back in the common room afore sunset, now. Have fun, Evie."
Vors gives her a quick hug and watches her run off into the crowd, a smile on his face. Then he begins to wander the town, occasionally raising a hand to wave a greeting to a familiar face.
I am unusually pensive today and I find myself growing restless. I am grateful that Ameiko has allowed me to perform at the Rusty Dragon in exchange for my room and board, but the sleepy stagnation of the past few days in Sandpoint threatens to crowd out happier thoughts. It seems my performances at the Dragon have been well received but I find myself thinking, “I left the sisterhood for this?” Am I to sing for my supper for the remainder of my days? The festival seems to be an opportunity to perhaps find an escort to take me the rest of the way to Magnimar.
My somber mood clashes with the happy hum of the people around me as they prepare for the festival. Children dart and play with brightly colored clothes which elicit a thin smile from my lips and lift my spirits. They are so bright and vital... I think envy them.
I approach the booth where Bethana is serving up the Rusty Dragon's spicy fare and, from the line, business seems to be good. I agreed to sing to the patrons who visit the Dragon's booth and Ameiko has a small area has been set aside where festival goers can sit, eat, and listen. I promised Bethana that I would sing something with a bit more cheer today. She's so sweet. Standing on the stage, I turn away from the few assembled already. I close my eyes for a moment and recall the teachings of Sister Helena. "Awareness," she would start, "is not just what we see. It is not just what we taste. It is not just what we feel. Awareness comes from the harmony of all of these as we perceive the world around us." I breathe in deeply and smell subtle scent of perfumed wash that somebody has used too much of. I taste the dust on my tongue but yet, there is something that I feel that I cannot yet make out like a quiet shadow in my conscious mind. With my back to the assembled festival goers I open my eyes, and let my cloak fall, turn, and sing.
Calla smiles as the sunlight caresses her pale face, laughing at the children running around the streets near the new cathedral.
"Ah hope that thing's well trained," she murmurs to no one in particular as she passes a black bear seemingly performing for the children, her hand straying to the dagger strapped to her waist just in case. "Ah'd hate to see something mar this celebration."
Looking around for some food, she approaches a stand where a half-elven street performing is playing a jaunty tune. Tapping her foot, she listens to the tune and watches the goings-on around her while she waits for her plate to be delivered.
After getting her meal, Calla will make her way toward the bear, and the halfling who seems to be accompanying it.
"Good afternoon," she says, nodding her head. "Ah've seen a fair amount of strange things in mah life, but ah don't think ah've ever seen a bear bard."
"A bard she is not, my lady," replies Haken with a friendly smile, shielding his eyes as he has to look up a good bit. "Just a friend who would perform just about anything for the rubbings and scratchings the children offer in return. I'm Haken and this is Rumble. If I may venture a guess, I'd say you're Chelaxian. Am I right, miss? I grew up outside of Westcrown, but I haven't been back in several years. Lovely festival, isn't?"
"Mah parents were indeed from Cheliax, but Ah was raised in Magnimar," she replies, a slight bite to her words as she speaks about her parents.
She smiles, though as she continues. [b]"Ah'm called Calla. And it does indeed seem to be a nice festival. Ah 'spect the Desnans must be awfully proud of their new cathedral."
"Calla! Like the lily! That's a pretty name, miss. We are very happy to have this cathedral, not that I'm any priest or anything. I actually prefer to worship her under the stars, as they are hers. But she deserves a pretty building like this one after her last one burnt down a few years back. That was just before I arrived here."
Vors' progress is halted as the strains of a familiar melody reach him from the nearby stage. He moves up to stand close and listen. By the end of the song his eyes are glistening slightly. Mildly embarrassed, he quickly wipes them with a hand before applauding with the rest of the audience.
"The lily," Calla repeats, her voice seemingly slightly bitter, and her accent missing. "Well, I suppose that's one way of gilding it."
After a rueful smile, her voice returns to normal: "The last temple burned down, you say? What happened? Ah'm afraid Ah only arrived in Sandport recently."
Calla's inquiry is interrupted by a shrill whistle that pierces the murmurs of the masses and turns all heads towards the cathedral. Mayor Kendra Deverin stands before the doors, with Sheriff Hemlock and the well-liked Father Zantus standing beside her. At the foot of the stairs, Cyrak Drokkus, proprietor of the local theater and a noted entertainer himself, lowers his fingers from his lips as gradual hush falls over the crowd.
"Fine people of Sandpoint!" he greets the crowd with a bow and a flourish. "I must say I'm rather wounded that you all seem to having such a grand time before the festivities have even begun, and as much as I love to watch the bustle of the square, I think it's high time we started this festival properly. But first, our honored mayor would like a word with you..."
Mayor Deverin steps forward, rolling her eyes at Cyrak's antics, though smiling in spite of herself. She proceeds to address the crowd eloquently and enthusiastically, offering her thanks to those who have aided in the project over these last five years, as well as those who have turned out for the festival. Her promise of new beginning for Sandpoint seems not only sincere, but possible, and her virulent excitement quickly spreads through the crowd, and when she steps down, Sheriff Hemlock is met with raucous fanfare.
The sheriff's stern demeanor quickly quiets the citizenry, though, as he calls for a moment of silence to honor those who were lost during the Late Unpleasantness, imploring the people not to forgot those who have been lost. His request is met with several nods and quiet murmurs of agreement, but he does serve to stifle the crowd's enthusiasm.
His fatalistic tang, though, is quickly dispelled as Cyrak once again bounds to the fore, and recites a rather irreverent (but certainly comical) recap of the financial and organizational fumbles of the town during the course of the new cathedral's construction. He elicits several laughs from the people before tossing in a bit of shameless self-promotion, inviting all present to attend the debut of his new play, "The Harpy's Curse," which will debut the following evening and feature the Magnimarian diva Allishanda in the lead roll.
By this time, the crowd is rather eager to get things started, and so Father Zantus keeps his speech short and succinct, leading those gathered through a short hymn to Desna as a large sealed wagon is wheeled in front of the building, painted a deep blue and dotted with stars. As he finishes his recitation, he spreads his arms wide, announcing the Swallowtail Festival underway. The doors of the wagon spring open, and hundreds of brilliant swallowtail butterflies spill out, flowing through the audience before taking to the sky in a brilliant azure cloud, and then dispersing into the surrounding area, where the children chase them about town, grasping eagerly at their flitting wings.
The festival goes into full bloom now, with merchant stalls opening wide, and large groups of caterers, drawn from every inn and tavern in the city, begin to set up for lunch.
"Now here's a strapping fellow," I muse silently to myself as I make a point to end my song prematurely for Cyrak Drokkus' announcement and the opening of the festival. Politely giving deference to the mayor and sherrif's statements, I turn my eyes from their introduction back to Vors eyeing him intently. "I wonder if he could be enticed to escort me to Magnimar," I consider silently as I let a small smile twist on my lips. Continuing to appraise this man, I muse, "He seemed moved by that last one, I wonder if he can be reached."
My mind races for a song that I can use to reach out and, with a barely perceptable, arch of my eyebrow, I have it. I recall a song from my days in the temple of Callistra called "Sweet the Sting" about strangers meeting. It was usually sun to entertain the pious visitors at the temple before the more carnal portion of the evening would commence but it should do. Somewhat seductive in tone, the song should serve it's purpose and hopefully it will connect.
The festival leaps into activity and I set my shoulders. Taking a breath, I start to sway slowly as I begin the sultry song:
With a strut into my view
his shoulder squared sure defiantly
He said "I, I have heard
That you can play
the way I like it to
be played."
I said, "I can play, anyway
that you want
but first I want...
I want to know.
Is it sweet, sweet,
the savored sting?
Is it real... this infusion?
Can it heal where others
before have failed?
If so, then somebody
shake shake shake me sane.
Because I am inching ever closer
to the tip of this wasp's tail.
Lila is perusing fabrics at one of the merchants when the lyrics finally reach her brain. She turns to see who is singing and takes note of the attractive half-elf woman as well as the armor clad human warrior. "Hmph. They stand out almost as much as I do," she thinks to herself. When the song is done, she gives her familiar a silver piece and instructs the ferret to deliver it to the singer.
Meanwhile, she examines various fabrics and starts excitedly placing them together, imagining how they would look on a garment. She will happily listen to any input the merchant may have and discuss which combinations would work best. Then she realizes that she has neither the time, nor the tools to make the garment she is piecing together in her mind. She downheartedly puts the bales back where she found them and apologizes to the merchant for wasting their time.
Then she remembers she did not instruct her familiar to return.
After chatting with Calla for several minutes, Haken turn to Rumble, who is obviously very bored. "Well, you big rug, should we go check the taverns for some work? It's been a few weeks since anyone's needing any guiding around here. Gods know I'll have had my fill of civilization after today." Rumble looks up at Haken, clearly as bored by that prospect as by anything else they'd done yet today, except for entertaining the children, of course. "Don't look at me like that, girl. I'll buy you an ale - what do you say?" At that, the small bear gives Haken a 'Well, if we must.' look and climbs to her feet. They begin to wander toward the White Deer, keeping to the fringe of the crown when possible.
A few people begin to toss coins P'aye's way, many of them stopping to watch, and it's not long before a small crowd has gathered around her, clearly impressed. You hear a few people proudly whispering that they've seen you perform at the Rusty Dragon. Cacophonous cheers follow the end of your song, and are quickly halted by a familiar whistle as Cyrak pushes his way through the masses.
"Well done, miss!" he lauds. "A hymn to Callistria, if I'm not mistaken? Personally, I've always found religious compositions to be a bit dull, but Callistrites have some of the few psalms that move beyond the unapologetic toadying that you see in so many other churches!" He leans in closely, whispering in your ear, "Though that was, perhaps, a little high brow for the crowd. I doubt any of them got the double entendre. Clear a space!" he exclaims as he leaps back and presents an open palm to the crowd. All chatter stops and all eyes turn to the two of you as a lute is placed into Cyrak's waiting hand. "A contest, is in order, I think, for the Song of Spheres also knows how to sing. What say you, miss? Do you wish to test your stinging sonnets against my moonlit melodies?"
At first, no one seems interested in the services of a guide, as no one is going to leave town during the Swallowtail Festival. The ale is free, though, and Rumble is making a habit of going around and draining unattended mugs, which seems to amuse most of the onlookers more than it irritates them (after all, they can just get another ale).
"A drinking bear! How novel!" A well-dressed young man approaches you, a swagger in his step. A well-bred bloodhound trots eagerly at his heel, though as its master nears Rumble, it lowers its ears and offers a low growl. "Easy boy, this is a trained, bear, can't you see?" The man offers the dog a quick scratch behind the ears, which seems to placate it a bit. "Good to meet you, good to meet you! Sorry about Rufus there. He used to tracking other animals, not making nice with them. But he'll learn!" He wags a finger at his hound in mock admonishment.
"But where are my manners! I am Aldern Foxglove," he says with a shallow bow, "visiting for the Swallowtail Festival! I heard you say that you were a guide? I'm actually going to be in the area for another day or two - hunting boar, you see - and I could certainly use the services of someone who knows the land. Would you care to accompany me tomorrow? I'll pay you, of course!"
Vors gives the lovely bard a friendly smile when she makes eye contact with him, but is noticeably uncomfortable under her continued scrutiny. He appears to genuinely appreciate the artistry of her next song, but it is clear from his face that he find the song titillating and possibly even a little shocking. Still, he applauds loudly with the rest of the crowd upon its completion. When the audience begins tossing coins up onto the stage, he seems surprised, but then quickly fishes in his pouch for a coin, after taking note of the color of the currency being tossed.
Cyrdak's challenge brings another smile to Vors' face, and he moves closer to the stage in anticipation of the contest. The sudden scurrying appearance of the ferret distracts him. He watches, amused, as it delivers the coin to the bard. He leans down to take a closer look at it.
"Well, hello there little feller. Aren't you a clever one? Who do you belong to then?"
Hearing a familiar song, Calla will make her way back toward the music. Ah've not heard that song in a long time, she thinks. What are the odds that there would be another Calistrian here, but Ah s'pose the Goddess provides.
Before she arrives, though, the other entertainer suddenly steps in. Calla scowls briefly as he tries to claim the crowd's attention for himself. Perhaps Calistria guided mah feet in this direction earlier for a reason, making sure Ah'd be close enough to hear her temple song. Trying to take attention from mah goddess just won't do, mah friend, not at all.
A small, secretive smile crosses her lips as she watches the contest unfold.
She'll wait until Cyrak is about to play and quietly cast Daze. DC 13
Stooping quickly to pick up the rest of the assembled silver and copper coin only to pause quizzically at the ferret that delivered a silver, I stand to face Cyrak who has barged onto my stage.
"Why Cyrak," I say with a smile on my lips and a tone with a sweet edge to it, "I did not figure you for much of a... religious man. Indeed, that was a Callistrian Hymn." Letting the pregnant pause before the word "religious" sink in a bit (knowing what many men visited the shrines of Callistra for) until the chuckles bubble to the surface, I continue by offering up a shiny coin over my head with a smile beaming on my face, "What say, Mr. Heretic, that we each put a gold piece on the wager to add some spice to the stew? You know we at the Rusty Dragon like it... spicy."
Letting the word "spicy" linger for a moment too, I turn away from Cyrak with an exaggerated pivot and play up to the crowd's jeers and cheers, "Good people! As Cyrak and I are humble performers at your service, the choice of victor will be yours by applause. Are you good people up for a bit of an artist's duel? My voice versus Cyrak's lute with gold to back it up!" Waiting for the noise to dim a bit, I flip my coin to Vors and say, "Be a dear will you and hold this for me? You seem like a fellow that a woman can trust." With a quick wink at Vors, I turn smiling to Cyrak, I say, "Are you ready?"
Cyrak grins slyly as he takes a deferring bow. "A cavalier, I am not, but what kind of philistine would I be if I did not allow the lady the first song? Please, my dear, begin whenever you're ready."
Lila squeezes through to the front of the gathering crowd, noticing that the human warrior is talking to her familiar. "Sanja! There you are. What have you been up to, you little scamp?" She turns to the warrior and says "I'm sorry, sir. I'm sure she didn't mean to be a bother." As she speaks, she turns her gaze to those on stage, so as to speak to them as well, before returning to the warrior.
"No bother at all, gentle lady. I was just complimentin' her on her cleverness." He then turns back to Sanja. "My apologies, little one, for callin' ye 'feller'. Vors Malcroft at yer service, ladies," he says, making a short bow to Lila and Sanja.
Vors then catches the thrown coin, and nods his assent to P'Aye, keeping the coin tucked in his hand and watching the contest with interest.
"My name is Lila. And this is Sanja" she says, indicating her familiar. "But you knew that already. Are you here for the festival?"
"Well met, Lila. Yes, I came inta town from Whistler's Grange, about a day south of here. I'm here with my lil' sister, Evie. And yourself?"
"Such a gentleman," I say overloud for the audience, "I have a special song to me about love and the confusion that comes with it called 'Hide and Seek'...
Taking a deep breath to center myself, I begin my song with a series of lilting notes:
Where are we?
What the hell is going on?
The dust has only just begun to form
crop circles in the wood floor.
Sinking feeling.
Spin me round again.
I rub my eyes,
this can't be happening.
When busy streets a mess with people
would stop to hold their heads heavy
Hide and seek.
Dreams and glowing evenings.
All those years...
they were here first.
Oily marks appear on walls
where pleasure moments hung before the takeover,
the sweeping insensitivity of this still life
Hide and seek
trains and sewing machines (oh, you won't catch me around here)
blood and tears (hearts)
they were here first
Mmmm whatcha say,
Mmm that you only meant well?
Well of course you did.
Mmmm whatcha say,
Mmmm that it's all for the best?
Of course it is.
Mmmm whatcha say,
Mmmm that it's just what we need?
You decided this.
Whatcha say?
Mmmm what did she say?
Ransom notes keep falling out your mouth
your sweet talk is just a paper word cut out.
Speak no feelings, no I don't believe you
you don't care a bit,
you don't care a bit
(hide and seek)
ransom notes keep falling out your mouth
your sweet talk is just a paper word cut out.
(hide and seek)
speak no feeling no i don't believe you
you don't care a bit,
you don't care a (you don't care a) bit
(hide and seek)
oh no, you don't care a bit
oh no, you don't care a bit
(hide and seek)
oh no, you don't care a bit
you don't care a bit
you don't care a bit
Lila suspends her conversation with Vors while P'Aye sings. She applauds when the song is done. Before Cyrak begins his turn, she turns to Vors and says "I'm from Magnimar. I was on my way to Riddleport when the caravan I was with stopped here for the festival."
Cyrak says nothing, simply grinning from ear to ear as he readies his lute. Taking a few quick plucks to test the tuning, he is about to begin, but no sooner have his fingers touched the strings than an ear-shattered explosion rolls through the air, followed by the frantic barking of a stray dog. Cyrak stops and looks northward to the origin of the deafening retort, as does the rest of the gathered crowd.
From the corner of your eye, you see a rush of movement and hear a gleeful cackle, then a pained yelp, and the dog's barking comes to a sudden stop. Beneath the wagon, the creature lies dead. There is a yawning gash in its throat, and blood is pooling rapidly around its head.
Frantic whispers spread rapidly through the crowd, and Father Zantus takes the stage, hoping to calm the people. Before he can speak, though, another sound reaches your ears. First a woman's scream, coming from the north, then a dreadful chorus of high pitched voices, singing one of the more morbid songs you've heard. The gruesome lyrics send a shiver up your spine:
Goblins chew and goblins bite,
Goblins cut and goblins fight!
Stab the dog and cut the horse,
Goblins eat and take by force!
Goblins race and goblins jump,
Goblins slash and goblins bump!
Burn the skin and mash the head,
Goblins here and you be dead!
Chase the baby catch the pup,
Bonk the head to shut it up!
Bones be cracked and flesh be stewed,
We be goblins, you be food!
Calla's eyes widen at the sudden interruption. Goddess, she thinks, this isn't what I intended to happen!
P'aye Perception:
Haken Perception:
Vors Perception:
Lila Perception:
"What was that?! And who in the name of the gods is singing that horrible song?"
Reflexively taking a defensive posture, I look to the north and, in a hissing whisper, say, "Goblins!"
Her eyes narrowing at the horrific interruption to the festival, Calla looks around wildly for something more dangerous than the simple dagger at her belt: something she could use as a club, or even better a spear or quarterstaff in the square, possibly being used to hold up some fabric.
Perception:
Initiative, if you want it:
Perception:
Vors frowns, pulling his longbow from his back and stringing it, sparing a glance to P'Aye.
"By the horns, I hope yer wrong, noble'dy. If any of you can swing a blade, you should take my sword. I'll be wantin' it back; it belonged to me da."
Initiative, for later:
Haken's initiative:
Rumble's initiative:
Lila's initiative:
"Attack!" "Look out!"
Haken draws and loads his halfling slingstaff with a stone.
Rumble power attacks the same goblin again if it's still standing (). If it's dead then she charges and power attacks the nearest of the other 2 that they've seen ().
"I am no stranger to a blade sir," I say to Vors. Testing the blade quickly, I take up a defensive posture making sure that Vors has no trouble picking out targets. "My name is P'Aye," I say with
The square explodes into action as goblin darts out from beneath a wagon and charges straight for Haken. With a gleeful cackle and a wild swing, it makes a poorly executed attack against the halfling, but it is far too eager in its assault, and nearly trips over its own feet in the rush to reach him. Its able to steady itself, and seems to be pretending it has just pulled off some brilliantly engineered feat in acrobatics, but it has wasted the momentum of its charge.
Nearby, another one of the creatures reveals itself, hopping into the crowd and rolling between Vors' legs. Its wickedly curved blade finds its mark, and it creates a deep gash in his thigh. The goblin gives out a cry of victory as it sees the ruby-red drops falling from its blade, and it seems about ready to dance when it realizes its prey is still alive. With a surprised yelp, it turns back to Vors, ready to renew its assault.
A third goblins pops out from behind a merchant's stall, and the canvasing upon which it stands dips beneath its weight. A piece of flint in each hand, it reaches out towards P'Aye and begins striking them together frantically, attempting to light her hair on fire. Before it can make any progress towards that end, however, the canvas gives way, and it falls to pavement below.
"Well met, P'Aye---ARGH! Hells take you, you little green bastard!"
Calla winces in sympathetic pain as she sees the blade cut deep into the stranger's leg. Realizing she doesn't have time to run for her bow, she'll instead cast a spell, to try to give the man a chance to run.
"Lady of the Sudden Sting, from this goblin vengeance wring; let him learn to fear your gaze, his feeble mind in a daze."