It is the night before the first day of Autumn. It is late in the evening at The Rusty Dragon - many who were gathered have left and returned home. There are other patrons in the bar, but the energy has died down dramatically. There are six of you who feel especially drawn to one another - as if you share a common bond.
The bartender poured you three pitchers of wine before heading off to bed. And now you sit, the Six, discussing your plans for the festival and the future.
Tosh's head nearly drops to the table as he slams his goblet on the board again. A deep groan crawls between his teeth and escapes his closed mouth.
"I have not been this deep in my cup in a long while my friends. Truly I could not have asked for a better send off."
Tosh smiles stupidly at the questioning looks his new friends cast his way.
"Its been two years! My time here is over and I must move on. I will go to the festival with you all tomorrow, but afterward I must bid you farewell. Traditions,you see?"
Tosh speaks as though his meaning and purpose were well known to all around him. Astute listeners can detect a hint of saddness and hesitation in his voice.
It seems Borhald's claim of Ulfen blood must be true, for other than some reddening of his fair complexion, the forester seems unaffected by the copious amounts of wine and ale he has imbibed. He answers Tosh in his low but deep voice. "You cannot stay here more than two years? What tradition is this?"
Oh I'm sure we all understand your need to leave us Tosh. Abandon us if you will. I shall cry myself to sleep tomorrow night. The tall flamboyant elf smiles and starts to laugh at his jest. He has never had a head for any sort of alcohol and this strong wine is making him a bit more daring than he would normally be. He is dressed in fine robes and his hands always seem to be moving of their own volition, making signs tracing sigils, and generally not sitting still.
"I am supposed to be finding my voice, my pass back into my family."
Tosh stops swaying suddenly and stares into space, glassy-eyed.
"I dissapointed my father."
The Varisian's shoulders heave gently as a brace of tears disappear into the forrest of hair on his lip.
"I can't sing tenor anymore! My voice has deepened and the customers don't like it. Papa says I'm useless now! But mama! Mama says she sees a destiny in me. I need to search it out! 'Two-years per town, two years for destiny to speak, then move on.' That is what she said. For twelve years I've roamed, and nothing! I like Sandpoint! I like the Rusty Dragon! I love my friends!" Tosh drops his voice to a whisper: a plea. "I don't want to go."
This will be my tenth festival in these parts. Aye, ten years I have made this my home. And yet . . . Something's different. There's a mood about.
shakes his head, as if clearing a fog
Tosh. Your future is your own. Not for your parents to decide. Your talents are well loved in this town.
Borhald takes another drink from his goblet, a puzzled expression on his face. "I understand the need to honor your parents... but have they heard you sing recently?"
Ameiko Kaijitsu, the Inn's owner, interrupts your conversation. "Of course not. Ol' Tosh is too shamed to return home and show his father how gifted he truly is." She pulls up a chair to the table. "I don't think it's time for you to leave us yet, Toshy, no matter your mother's prophesy."
Tosh smiles weakly. These are good men. Can it be this community is my destiny?
"You are all very kind. You may be right Ameiko. Perhaps I can stay a while longer."
Tosh gazes around the inn.
"I do feel bound to this place. That's a sort of destiny, right?"
It is evident Tosh is trying hard to convince himself to stay. He smiles again, then vomits on his boots.
Tactfoot gives Tosh a gently nod, indicating his is among non judgmental company.
Thinking to himself poor humans. They never learn the finer aspects of drink. If only one of them would listen long enough, I could educate on the greater joy of Halfling brewing. If only . . .
Borhald shakes his head, silently thanking Cayden for the fact that he was sitting far enough from the bard not to get splattered. He raises his cup to the tavern mistress. "You run a fine drinking house, lady. Here's to your health." He takes a long drink. "That was quite a crowd! Is the Swallowtail Festival the top holiday in Sandpoint?"
Vestad raises his glass when Borhald toasts the owner. "Indeed, a blessing upon this place."
Turning to Ameiko, "I too would like to know more of this festival. What does it celebrate?"
It is definitely one of the top holidays. It is a celebration honoring the goddess Desna.
Tosh looks much refreshed as he wipes the corners of his mouth with a kerchief.
"All the more important with the dedication of the new temple. I hear the festivities are to be unparalleled and I for one plan to use it as a chance to make some coin."
With that he begins re-tuning his mandolin.
"The festival is an annual tradition," Ameiko says. "Every year on the first day of autumn, we in Sandpoint participate in The Swallowtail Release in honor of the goddess Desna. It commemorates when an avatar of Desna fell to Golarion after a fierce battle with the goddess Lamashtu. She was discovered and nursed back to health by a blind child. To express her thanks, Desna transformed the child into a beautiful, immortal swallowtail butterfly so that he could explore the wonders of the whole world for all eternity."
She turns to Tosh, "And, as Tosh says, this year's festival will be our largest ever. For the past five years, we have been without a formal temple. Tomorrow, that chapter in our story ends and we begin anew with a formal place of worship. Now, if you'll excuse me, I should probably tend to the other guests. I can't play favorites, after all." And with that, she stands and leaves your table.
Borhald watches the young tavern mistress walk away with honest admiration. He then reaches for the pitcher to refill his cup, but thinks better of it. "The Song of the Spheres... she is worshiped even by my mother's fierce countrymen. Her patronage likely explains why this town is so friendly. Most places I go to, they think men such as myself are dangerous folk, wandering the wild..."
Tosh eyes Borhald carefully.
"My friend I think you are a peaceful man, but I also think you are one of the most dangerous men I have met. I doubt very much that you carry that sword without purpose."
Borhald blinks as he ponders Tosh's words... after all, he is not wholly unaffected by the wine and ale he has imbibed.
"I was trained to fight brigands, and other threats to our homestead... particularly those pests known as goblins... little good-for-nothings that will raid your farm at night, and try to burn your house just for fun... and worse if whipped into a semblance of order by one of their larger cousins... The young man turns grim as he speaks of the humanoids. It is obvious that he has seen this happen more than once. Then he laughs.
But you are right, in a way. I also realize that we look no better than brigands, in dusty leathers and with a bow or crossbow in sight, rarely spending more than one night in one place... bah, don't mind me, it's the wine speaking. Bottom line is, this Sandpoint is a right friendly place!"
Vestad looks Borhald over, searching for some badge of office. "I must admit my ignorance, you speak of being trained, and certainly look the part. To what sort of company do you belong? The city watch perhaps?"
"Nothing so formal, good priest. I hail from a sparsely settled region north of the Churlwood. The local folk have a militia of sorts, to protect the homesteaders and few villages from raiders and bandits, both human and humanoid. I was one of that company." He leans back in his chair and stretches his long legs.
"Are you here on business then? Are there bandits about? I may not be as hearty as you but I could be of some aid."
"I'm not too bad with a blade myself, though it has been a few years since my last test. Still, if it came to blades, I'd rather Borhald do the testing. How could I play if I were to hurt my hand?"
Tosh smiles lightly and plucks out an easy tune.
The more cowardly I seem now, the less work it'll be to prove them wrong later.
"Actually, I have just completed some business. I was hired to guide a merchant's train from Galduria. As they did not need a guide from here to Magnimar, my commission ended here. I heard much about the festival en route, and decided to see it for myself." He shrugs his broad shoulders. "Afterwards, I'll see what other work is available. If there is any fighting to be done, I would be glad for your help, of course"
The ranger only smiles at Tosh's comment. The man indeed looks like he knows how to handle a blade or three.
The six of you chat long into the night, with each leaving at different times to head back to your home or wherever you're staying.
The sun dawns over the quaint, seaside community of Sandpoint; its warm glow marking the first day of autumn. A gentle breeze carries with it the smell of the ocean, a whirl of leaves just beginning to tinge vibrant fall colors, and despite the early hour, the sounds of rejoicing. It is finally the morning of the Swallowtail Festival. As you all know, this year's celebration is commemorating the loss of the cathedral to the goddess Desna in a fire that also tragically claimed the lives of Father Ezakien Tobyn and his adopted daughter, Nualia, five years ago and its subsequent grand reconstruction.
Assuming you're awake after your long night of drinking and talking, you find yourselves in the town square in front of the magnificent basilica where a stage and podium have been erected amidst countless vendors’ tents and tables piled high with delicious pastries and tarts. Sitting and conversing quietly amongst themselves near the rear of the stage is a troupe of local notables. As a rabble swells around them an attractive woman with short auburn hair takes the podium. A hush falls on the crowd as she begins to speak.
"Greetings, friends! As most of you already know, my name is Kendra Deverin and I proudly serve as mayor of this great town. It is a pleasure to see so many faces, both fresh and familiar, joining us on this fine day. To any first-time visitors in the audience this morning, I wish to offer my personal welcome and I truly hope that you enjoy your stay here in Sandpoint. And to any of you that I see more regularly, thank you for taking time out of your busy lives to enjoy all of the attractions today's festival will have to offer. I think I even see that Larz Rovanky has managed to tear himself away from his work at the tannery to join us. And to think that I often joked that I wondered what old Larz would be doing if he hadn't been spending all his time getting his hide tanned." Laughter erupts among the crowd and many eyes turn toward a serious looking man with a sour expression. Kendra pauses to wave at him with a warm smile before continuing. "Every citizen of this town has done their civic duty of keeping this community strong even in times of tragedy and for that you all have my thanks. I wish not to keep you any longer from the festivities. So without further ado, let me introduce someone who readily will. Belor, get up here. Sheriff Hemlock, everybody!"
After a round of applause, a rather dour looking Shoanti man wearing an armored coat takes center stage and clears his throat after shaking hands with the mayor.
"Thank you, Mayor. Citizens! Even in the heat of celebration we would do well to remember the sad events that brought this day of merriment to us. And also let us not forget the poor souls that were lost but five years ago. I would like to invite you all to join me in a moment of silence to honor those lost on that fateful night. The sheriff lowers his head and most of the crowd joins him as he whispers prayers to Desna. There is an awkwardly long silence before he begins to speak once more. "In remembering, we don't allow mistakes to repeat themselves. I am of the understanding that there is a bonfire planned for this evening and I urge all of you, especially those with young children, to observe caution during this event. Please enjoy yourselves responsibly and know that my watch will never be more than a moment away. He pauses to briefly scan the crowd. "Cyrdak Drokkus, the proprietor of our local theatre would like a moment of your time before the celebrations get underway."
He gives a curt nod as the following applause is somewhat more muted than what Kendra had received and, unfazed, returns to his seat at the back of the stage, passing an older, brightly dressed man with a well groomed goatee who seems to be thoroughly enjoying the morning. As he reaches the podium he loosens his collar and winks to the crowd.
"Well, Sheriff, I think I speak for us all when I say thank you for that uplifting oratory. Now I know this town has been through some hard times, but just look at what we've accomplished." He flourishes toward the new cathedral. "And I'm telling you, as overseer of fundraising for the project, no expense was spared with this place. Solid stone and completely fireproof. Father Zantus' chamber pot? Solid gold! I kid you not. That is your taxes at work, ladies and gentlemen. Of course it was also financed by some very generous noble families. I think even the church may have chipped in a silver or two! Now, before I return to my seat, I'd like to take the opportunity to invite everyone to come and see the Sandpoint Theatre Group's latest production: The Harpy's Curse, debuting in just two evenings. Our female lead, Avisera the harpy queen, will be played by none other than the famous Magnimarian diva just to my right – Allishanda! Isn't she a thing of beauty, gentlemen?" He raises an eyebrow at some whistles from the audience as he motions to a haughty looking Chelexian dressed in noble's garb who readily poses to be gawked at. "Due to unforeseen circumstances, we actually have a few parts yet to be filled in the cast, so I encourage anyone who would like to be acting opposite our lovely mistress to come and see me after the festival for auditions. And now, for the moment I know you've all been waiting for, let me hear some applause for the highest of holiness himself, Father Zantus!"
The crowd cheers as Cyrdak motions to a surprisingly young man wearing the ceremonial robes of a priest of Desna. He smiles as he steps forward, noticeably abashed at the reception set up for him. He smiles and motions for the people to calm down, eventually beginning to speak.
"Thank you, Mr. Drokkus. Thank you, Sheriff. Mayor." He nods to each in turn. "Thank you, everyone, for taking me into your hearts and homes and letting me have the pleasure of becoming your new spiritual leader. I'll not bore you with another long speech, since you all appear to be eager to get to the celebrations. So, I officially declare the Swallowtail Festival underway! Please come see us here at noon for the release of the swallowtail butterflies. Enjoy the festival!" He is drowned out by cheers before he even finishes the thought.
Within minutes the crowd descends in all directions. Criers call out advertising activities of all sorts. All around you are carnival games waiting to be played, veritable mountains of free food and sweets begging to be eaten, the painted up pretty boys and girls of the Pixie's Kitten Brothel wandering about, drinking contests starting despite the early hour, and more.
Ah, a beautiful day for a celebration!
Viorela fondly reminisced of the times when she would attend festivals or carnivals with her parents as a child. She smiled to herself when she saw familiar games of chance or caught smells she recognized as the kinds of food you only get once or twice a year at events like these.
While she had worn her cured leather breastplate and spaulders last night in the inn to appear more of an "adventurous sort", today she had left those items at her aunt's and had come wearing a brightly colored dress.
She carried the road-worn backpack she had first purchased in her early teens, knowing she would procure some form of keepsake today. She had debated whether to bring any weapon at all to the fair then she heard Belaranduil's voice inside her head.
A warrior without a weapon at-hand is a casualty.
She had sighed and tucked away her curved knife into the bag. Perhaps today she had intended to forget about her training and just become a simple girl again.
Swelling with pride after her aunt's speech, she looked about for where to go next and spotted two of the men she shared drinks with last night - the bard and the woodsman.
Was it Tosh and Borhald? I don't see Soril.
She smiled in their direction and waved to get their attention.
Andwell Tactfoot arises early. Being a broker of information (among other talents), what is a festive holiday to most is a potently lucrative schmorgesborg of business opportunity to him. You see, there are two types of clients in his pocket. Those that want secrets of others, and those that want to keep secrets from others. When they bid against each other, well, that's a beautiful thing.
Being less interested in the politicos speech, and more in the reactions and whispers of the crowd, Tackfoot keeps an attentive ear and eye out anything that, well, is not meant for others to perceive.
Vors listens to the speeches attentively. He's rather taken aback by Cyrdak Drokkus' speech, finding it rather irreverent. However, since the crowd doesn't seem unduly insulted, he simply chalks it up to an unusual sense of humor.
He takes the time to catch up with the Sheriff, shaking his hand and saying a few words of greeting before moving off to find his new friends from last night. He spent the night nursing his ale, listening to the conversation and getting a feel for the assembly, not saying much at all. Now that Tosh is not quite so full of drink, Vors might speak with him about his concerns.
Tosh smiles widely. He looks very much the same as last night, however he is more refreshed and polished.
"You are stunning! Did you enjoy yourself last night?"
Tosh spies Vors heading their way and flags him down.
Over here my good man!"
This is a fine day indeed.
"I did, good sir. And, thank you." She raises an eyebrow at Tosh, who while refreshed and polished, does bear the subtlest sign of a man who continued to enjoy himself beyond her departure.
"I trust you kept the inn alive with tales of excitement until closing?"
"A pleasure, Mr. Malcroft." Viorela, hands holding the hem of her dress, curtsies. "I don't believe we had much time to speak last night."
Viorela looked around the crowd to see where her aunt wandered off to - perhaps to judge a pie-eating or tall-tale contest?
Tosh laughs loudly, his cheeks flushing.
"Oh it was...exciting."
"Good morning, Tosh. You're lookin' more chipper than I expected."
He turns to Viorela and gives a half-bow.
"Likewise, miss. I suppose we'll have more time ta speak today."
"So, Tosh, where are you planning to do your next performance? You've got a town-full of folk to pull an audience from."
"I'm not sure as yet master Malcroft. With so many distractions around, you've really got to feel the crowd, ya know? Otherwise you sing to their backs and your purse grows no fatter."
Tosh scans the streets packed with people, searching for a good place for a performance.
"People only turn their backs when they don't like what they see," a soft voice says. Turning, you see a beautiful, young Shoanti woman. You don't recognize her. "I'll wager a morning's worth of tips that I can earn more tips than you, Besnik. What do you say?" she asks with a smile.
Borhald listens to the speeches attentively, curious about how such a large town is organized. The young ranger is clad again in leathers and homespun, his sword still at his belt and his bow slung on his back next to a backpack. He did doff his cloak for the daytime, and a shirt of mail can be seen under his jerkin when he stands in the sunlight.
He smiles at Viorela's approach, admiring her with open sincerity as she joins them. "Good day to you, Miss Viorela. I see the wine we imbibed last night did not hurt Tosh's eyes. You are indeed quite pretty this morn!"
He gives her a slight bow of his head in greeting, slightly embarrassed despite (or maybe due to) his boldness.
"Last even you said you had been to this festival before. Any suggestions for where should some newcomers start to see the sights?".
At that moment he hears Tosh being challenged by the young Shoanti. He smiles, wondering how the irrepressible bard will answer.
"Well, Tosh, sounds like you've got competition. And call me Vors. I'm just a farm hand and master of nothing...not even my sister, as she'll be happy to attest to."
"I am glad of your friendship Vors."
Turning to the young lady,
"Pray tell lass, how will you out earn me when you have obviously heard of me while I know not a stitch of you?"
Tosh smiles benevolently, the slight, sharp edge of competition climbing into his eyes.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Tosh. Your words cause me offense. " The young lady says, loudly enough for those gathered to hear. "I simply want to see if the stories are true. And besides..." she leans in close so only you can hear:
"Tis better to be unknown, than known as a traveling failure."
Intimidate check:
She finishes whispering and in a whirl of scarfs and silk has spun away with arms raised. "I think the people are ready - aren't you?" she asks the crowd. There is a small cheer of affirmation from the gathered crowd. She turns her face back towards Tosh "Shall we play?"
"Good day to you, Miss Viorela.." He gives her a slight bow of his head in greeting, slightly embarrassed despite (or maybe due to) his boldness.
Viorela curtsies a second time for Borhald. "You are far too kind," she adds, also turning to the Shoanti woman.
At the bardic challenge, Viorela's face erupts in a wide grin as she mouths a "oooo" sound.
This should be good.
Viorela steps aside, working to lure Vors and Borhald along with her to stand among the front row of the crowd.
Tactfoot, ever observant of crowd behavior, is pleased to see his recent companions gathered around a rather spunky Shoanti woman. Using his small stature to advantage, he quickly worms his way to the front to stand near Viorela.
to Viorela;
Well well, lookie look. Our new tallfolk males have begun amusing them selves early this 'morn. And to think, Tosh was feeling unsure of himself last night. Lets see how is temperament is now.
Using your keen sense of hearing, you overhear two women talking.
"I don't know about that Tsuto," one woman says. "He's always been a strange boy. And even more so of late."
"Now, don't you go on about him again," the other says. "You know he's had a rough time of it - what with being a bastard child. Leave him alone."
** spoiler omitted **
hmm. Odd talk for a festive day.
Tactfoot stealthily positions himself to better observe the speakers. Looking/listening for signs that may glean their identity or that of their subject.perception
The women appear to be nondescript townspeople. But as you listen closer, you hear the key words "half-elf" and "Kaijitsu". Overall, tt appears as if the women are simply gossiping.
[ooc]Since you've been in town so long, you're familiar with the story of Tsuto Kaijitsu. He is the son of the owner of the Sandpoint Glassworks
I take note of this curious gossip, and will turn it over in my mind throughout the day.
time to rejoin my friends, and see how Tosh is fairing
I return to the bards activities . . .
Borhald stands besides his new acquaintances, awaiting with anticipation the showdown between Tosh and his challenger.
Tosh's smile vanishes as the young woman whispers in his ear. He stands with his shoulder slightly slumped as she capers away. Come on Tosh! This is how you make your name. Accept the challenge!
"Ladies first madam mystery." Tosh sweeps into an elegant, somewhat mocking bow, then stands tall with a practiced smile.
to Viorela: Well well, lookie look. Our new tallfolk males have begun amusing them selves early this 'morn. And to think, Tosh was feeling unsure of himself last night. Lets see how is temperament is now.
Viorela smiles down at the halfling, and is about to ask how Andwell is doing, but the halfling is already off in the crowd.
Oh, that one sure does love the gossip of housewives, you'd think he was an old maid with how he relishes any new news.
Viorela smiles down at the halfling, and is about to ask how Andwell is doing, but the halfling is already off in the crowd.
As if summoned by mere thought, the bright eyed Halfling is again at Viorela's side. His tasseled brown hair with it's streaks of blond gracefully framing his wide boyish grin.
"Ah, back so soon?"
Viorela smiles downward at the halfling.
"And I suppose now well informed of every secret crush in Sandpoint?"
"Excellent!" the young Shoanti says. She bows her head, raises her arms and prepares to dance.
Suddenly, her head snaps up and she begins to sway and move to the rhythm of her finger cymbals. She moves forward and back, spinning in circles and stomping her feet. The movement is trance-like.
Perform: Percussion -
Perform: Dance -
Her movement matches her beat flawlessly - she is very talented. The crowd enthusiastically encourages her. She does several more spins, bows and gestures to Tosh to begin.