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An attractive, young Varisian woman sits reclines in an overstuffed chair in one of the Grand Lodge common rooms. Clustered around her, is a small array of other Pathfinders, largely of Andoran inclination. The image is almost comical, as if she were a priest at mass, or perhaps a grandfather holding court before a gaggle of grandchildren.
"... -icked down the door we poured out onto the landing. The slaves were shackled below. Most were slumped hopelessly in their shackles, their eyes dull and almost lifeless. One however stood rebelliously before his captor, his eyes firey with defiance in the face of a raised whip.
With a loud voice I cried out, 'For Andoran!' All eyes turned to me as I drew my bow and loosed an arrow at the slaver," she pauses dramatically, "and missed completely!"
The small assembly takes a moment to process the change in tone then joins the woman's laughter.
"I swear that I have never been happier to have companions with better aim than myself. I stuck to raising morale for the rest of that battle while Teacup blasted a hole bigger than a melon in the biggest slaver's chest!"
There is a chorus of approval as she leans back and smiles.
"But enough about my exploits. Let's hear some of your tales of claiming victory in the name of Freedom and Democracy."
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A young man, sitting with the assembly, listened to the story with fascination and heartily shared a laugh with the others and then he spoke up.
"Aye, I have seen my fair share of missed opportunities with my pistol," he said with with a chuckle.
"Fortunately, Ragathiel blessed my aim in my recent trek to the north for the Lodge." He patted his double barrel pistol holstered at his side. "We ventured into an abandoned brewery, and after a few tussells, freed the remnants of a barbarian tribe from some goblin slavers."
Pulls a silver flask from an inner pocket, and takes a drink of the fine whiskey.
"After we freed the tribes people from their bonds. The Osirion said that we needed to eliminate one more threat - a white dragon, that was in the area. Well in order to protect these people I, and my allies step forward, and we went into the next room and encountered the beastie."
Shivers from the memory of the cold and takes another drink.
"Luckily it was not old, but still a threat. The monster subdued the wizard and then the cleric. Then it brutally injured our swordsman. Praise to Ragathiel, that during the fight I struck two excellent shots - the second burying deep into the skull of the critter - killing it." He said with a smile and touching a silver holy symbol at his neck, a symbol of Ragathiel."After that encounter, smuggling the freed tribe out of the city was an easy task. But I am glad to back in a warmer climate."
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"A tale of valor to be sure. Teacup, the man I mentioned, is a gunslinger too. A musket master. Personally I like the look of a pistol better, but I guess that's just me." She smiles warmly.
"I am Violca Grey, dancer, songstress, and storyteller. Terrible with a bow, worse with a rapier, but inspiring to fight alongside." Violca chuckles. "Perhaps it's not the magic of my music that makes others around me perform better in combat, but rather a mundane seeming of doing better by comparrison."
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"I know the feeling, Miss Grey", says a distinctly Chelaxian looking teenage boy in light armor with a bow and sword. "I do most of my fighting with a bow, too, but I haven't been too successful with it yet."
"Just recently, I was on a mission to stop some Chelaxian slavers", his face shows some disgust, but you can't tell if it's Cheliax or slavers he hates more, "and I only hit with two of my arrows the entire mission. Luckily, I was working with a half-elf who was very good with her elven curve blade, along with some other well armed companions."
"But like you, I know how to inspire my colleagues to greater heights, mostly with inspiring speeches. It's amazing the magic that a well timed yell of 'FREEDOM!!!' can carry."
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"You needn't call me 'Miss Grey,' my given name's Violca and I do so like hearing it," Violca says with a wry smile. "Especially from handsome young men who have the courage to stand in the face of oppression."
Violca continues, "I'll tell you a favorite story of mine, about an old friend of a friend. It doesn't have the freeing of slaves or the furthering of the Andoran cause, but it does reinforce the necessity of strong leadership.
"His name was Fred and he was a dwarf. I don't know why his parents thought that Fred was a good dwarven name, but it doesn't do to judge. Anyway, Fred was not what you'd call a socially inclined individual. He tended to be that 'I hit it with my axe' kind of adventurer." She gives Corin a knowning look "I'm sure you've met a few of those in your time, however short it has been.
"Fred the Dwarf, however, ran into a situation where he needed more than one blade. War was brewing and the people needed a battle-strong leader. In an immense effort, he raised and rallied a whole army. The morning of the great battle dawned cool and misty. This was Fred's climatic moment. He stood before his array of troops and gave the most inspiring speech ever and since.
"He spoke of the power of unity, of how they could do anything if they worked together. With a cheer and a loud cry, they charged over the ridge towards the enemy line.
"It would have been the perfect moment if the enemy had not, as desperate gambit, taken on the services of an amateur illusionist. The caster caused a swarm of illusionary giant bees to rise out of the mists in hopes of gaining a few extra moments of preparation.
"Fred the Dwarf crested the ridge and saw the bees rise up. Never the perceptive type, he failed to see through the illusion. With terror in his voice he shouted out, 'BEES! Every man for himself!' and he turned tail and fled with his entire army close on his heels."
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From the corner a small but very plump halfling piped up, his reedy tenor awakening the large riding dog curled up next to him.
"Certainly a great folly and a great story" he chuckled at the recounted antics of the dwarf. "But there is certainly something to be said for one with that much spirit, no matter how .... Mislead. In fact a great friend of mine, a Paladin in the service of silver crusade, started off quite Rough and had quite a few follies of his own. But his dedication and strong moral code certainly kept me and frostfang (he gestures to his dog) here out of trouble."
He smiles at the memories of his adventures and his hand tightens around his favored weapon, a heavy iron frying pan.
"Even I am often considered quite incompetent, but I suppose most folks like to keep me around because of my own wanderlust and zeal for adventure. Plus, who doesn't fancy a good ballad now and then, I've been able to charm even the most aggresive trolls with my antics, and there's something to be said for the power of comradery."
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Another woman from Varisia, this one with tattoos that almost glow with a soft light, struts on into the room. Her eyes an impossible color, and her hair a mixture of russet and shadow, she smiles widely to the gathering. "Greetings to everyone, and Freedom to all." Her voice is trained as a singer, low and melodious. "Such tales of the Cause!"
She sweeps to a seat, and crosses her legs as she leans on one hand. The diminutive songbird comes from her back and takes a favored perch on her outstretched hand. "Last freeing we did was a spirit of a grave guard, a hulking brute who deserved better than he was assigned. I have no skill at all with pistol or bow, but just the same we were prepared for the white dragon we might have met, and fortunately there was none. Lost undead souls, however, were released to their gods."
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A young, red-headed woman in faded yet well-polished half-plate, her left eye covered by a rough patch, walks into the room with a nervous expression - probably from joining the evening so late, after the fire has died down and much of the drink consumed [translation - if this qualifies as thread necromancy, I'm very, very sorry - I'm new].
"Fine stories all, and thanks to Lady Violca for beginning them," she says, her words roughened by the dialect of Fusil. "As a native-born Andoren, it is truly awe-inspiring to hear the voices of so many who came to the cause of freedom despite being born in other lands." She sighs. "Though the righteousness of the cause does not necessarily translate to great victories. The tales I could tell of pitfalls in full armour and Goblin bards throwing bottles of grease...dangers that they fail to warn Neophyte Paladins of, somehow. Though perhaps the worst was when I crossed swords with the Magus."
She leans forward, a faraway look in her one grey eye. "My comrades Steerpike, Simeon and Razim - brave men all,though not of our faction - had each tried and failed to strike the Magus from afar, with bow and spear. Calling upon Iomedae and the Sacred Hawk Lymirin, I raced towards him, sword raised high and Their strength filling me...but when I swung, my blade passed through an illusion. Then, the true Magus appeared from thin air, directly behind me, and stabbed with a lightning-infused rapier. Though I was able to wound him sore, his second attack plunged me into unconsciousness, from which I likely would not have woken if Simeon had not 'borrowed' my Healing Wand"
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"I have not yet faced a sword-wielding spellslinger, but I do know my own magicks. Deception and subterfuge are part and parcel to some, and vigilance is required."
Sheliantha clears her throat, and smiles widely. "I have studied fighting paladins and their evil counterparts, however. You are protected from most of what I can throw, but be wary of things that can affect you with but a touch, such as those some magi use."
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The clank of armor is heard down the hallway, and a moment later the light from outside is blotted out as a man turns into the room. He looks to be in a mood most foul, the corners of his shirt and parts of his armor blackened as if by fire. Two greatswords of differing makes crisscross his back. He sees the gathering but doesn't approach, preferring the corner of the common room and the simple ability to listen. Any attempts to get him to come over will be met with a slight smile and a negating gesture. Friendly, but not social-able.
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Sichelgaita bites her lip, then speaks again. "I serve Andoran as best I can, as a loyal citizen and a lover of freedom," she says slowly. "But...is Andoran served by me? I'm a Paladin, after all - not the most subtle of warriors, even though our mission sometimes requires subtlety. Does anyone think...I could end up being a liability?"
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The Varisian beauty reaches to touch a tattoo on her back, one of many, and smiles. "I think that there are many roles that can help the Cause. I talk quite a bit, and fortunately, people tend to listen. There is quite a bit of call for armed and armored types, such as you here." She spreads her hands encompassing Sichelgaita (not Sea-Shell), straightforward Jerry, and the loner in the corner.
"It is in teamwork that missions get accomplished, in my experience. I could not stand toe-to-toe with some devil bearing away captives, nor the shade of a hag come to extract misguided vengeance. Only with brave and stout warriors at my side can I expect success."
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Sichelgaita smiles, partly in acknowledgement,partly in gratitude for the compliment, and partly in thanks for certain rules regarding her name being mentioned. "The others can have the 'stout', but being considered 'brave' means a lot to me," she observes. "And thank you for trying to put my mind at ease. At first, it wasn't something I thought much of - so far, I've met no situations that couldn't be solved by making any opponents listen to Reason here." As she says 'Reason', she pats the hilt of her masterworked longsword. "But...I think too much, and thinking turns to worrying."