Session 49.5
May 22-July 9, 2018
Campaign Timeline
With that in mind he toys with the parchment in front of him. It’s a list of sorts. A to-do list for himself to be more precise. The party has almost a week before leaving town and there is much to be accomplished first.
In his precise elvish handwriting the list reads as follows:
“Well dye my hair and call me a Gnome!” Brodert calls out when he sees Daellin standing in his doorway. “Come in, come in, friend. How are you?” Quint motions him toward a worn chair, shooing his cat, Bakrakhan away. Daellin sits and the two catch up for what seems like hours.
She sees him, instantly recognizing him, and then breaks down crying. She sobs and wails loudly to the point that several evening strollers start to look, though one comes over to help. Daellin, the gentleman that he is, helps her back inside the General Store. Looking around, Daellin realizes the place looks to be in quite the state of disarray. He can smell sour wine and after helping Shayliss sit, finds his foot stick in a sticky spill of some sort. The room is dark, even for his Elven eyes so he grabs a candle and lights it.
“I'm pretty sure we'll be enjoying our first drinks on you, friend,” he says as he draws his knife. “And here’s some information for ya. It's probably not safe to be walking alone on the streets at night.” He chuckles as do his companions. “So do be a good gentleman and drop your purse right there and that's all we'll be needing from you this evening.” Daellin finds himself on Water Street, just off of Main Street. He is backed up to the high stone walls of the Turandarok Academy, the small city’s only real learning institution. Immediately across the streets sits the Sandpoint Fish Market, now closed up and dark. To the west on Water Street, right next to the fishmarket sits the Hagfish, one of Sandpoint’s other taverns that caters to fishermen and gamblers. Daellin can see the light spilling from the dirty window 50 feet away. His destination, the Rusty Dragon, lies off to the east, some 300 feet or so, past the open Sandpoint Market yard down Market Street. Most of the buildings between him and the Rusty Dragon he assumes are closed for the night or local residences.
In return, the thug swings a nasty looking club down right at Daellin’s head, but the easy to read strike was not angled correctly, no doubt due to the low light and shifting shadows, and cleanly misses. The attacker takes a quick step back away from Daellin.
“It is good to see you, friend,” the tall Shoanti greets him and shakes his hand vigorously. “I received word that you and your friends tracked the Skinsaw Cult down in Magnimar and dealt with them. That is most good news. Our town is forever indebted to you. I only wish your homecoming had been more festive and less, well, bloody.” Sheriff Hemlock sits down in the seat formerly taken by Ameiko and nods his head and declines when Daellin offers to pour him a glass of wine.
The manor house is empty and quiet. As he meanders through the Kajitsu family home, he marvels at all the exotic and expensive decorations and objects. Obviously Ameiko’s father and his Glassworks had been doing something right. He sighs as he recalls the gruesome fate that Ameiko’s father, Lonjiku Kaijitsu, had come to at the hands of his own son and that devil Nualia. Daellin stops in his tracks and lets out a sigh when he comes to a large, framed painting of Tsuto, Ameiko’s half brother, hanging on the wall. How terrible, he thinks to himself, for Ameiko to have to deal with all of this. Her brother, who kidnapped her and killed her father, only to be put down by Daellin and his companions. He wonders if she has any clue that the axe hanging above her bar is the actual weapon that separated Tsuto’s head from his body? Yet she still seems to accept all of this easily. He sighs and smiles weakly. Pushing all these thoughts out of his mind, Daellin gathers up his clothing and belongings, finds a few bites to eat in the kitchen and heads to town to attend to several things before his meeting with the sheriff.
As he turns the corner at the town garrison building, Daellin nearly runs into a Varisian woman moving at a quick pace. She stops short and barely avoids Daellin. Quickly sizing her up, he sees that she is probably somewhere around 40, though not yet showing the signs of age that Humans of that age begin to show. Her dark, long hair is held up with a delicate silver hair piece, with several intricate braids and falling down over her shoulders. She wears quite a light and revealing outfit for this late in Neth, showing many of her Varisian tattoos. Daellin is sure he has seen her around before, but is not quite sure who she is. She smiles at him coyly as she says, “Excuse me,” softly while she slips past him.
A wise woman, a fortune teller named Amendra, saw our pride swell and sought to bring the word of Desna back to our people. Many cast away their fortunes to follow Amendra, while others chose to remain in their beautiful city. One morning, Amendra led the faithful away to find a new life as wanderers. That evening, a mysterious disaster struck the golden city, and all those who stayed behind died in the cataclysm.
Amendra taught our people that the quest for riches has led us astray. We forsake all property and settlement because we know it leads only to misery. Some think we wander aimlessly across Varisia, but we actually follow the path Amendra once took. My mother told me that, when we finally reach the end of the trail she left, Amendra herself will return and show us where our destiny lies.” She coughs, reaches out for her granddaughter, “Besshie, Besshie, be a good girl and lead me back to my room please,” she croaks. The young woman helps her to her feet and they shuffle back into the bowels of the building. Daellin turns and looks at Belor, he is smiling slightly, a look Daellin has never seen on the normally stoic lawman, but a look he holds well. The dark skinned Shoanti sees Daellin looking at him and he quickly purses his lips back into their familiar straight line.
“Hmmm, the Shoanti have many different views, most of which revolve around fighting, killing and surviving. All of our cautionary tales involve repelling invaders, being tricked by tshamek, outsiders, or of struggling to overcome natural challenges, which of course were thrust upon us by outsiders. As a whole, they are a untrusting and angry lot. I come from the Shiikirri-Quah, Hawk Clan, and they are considered the most peaceful quah. Some other tribes even thought us, them, weak, but that was not the case. The elders of the quah, after many generations of strife, came to realize that working with, and living side by side with the Chelish tshamek was the only way we were going to survive. Some took that farther and cast off the primitive ways of the Shoanti and have fully embraced integration. My parents did just that, climbed down the Storval Stair for the last time and left the needlessly harsh Shoanti way behind. It was hard at first, living in someone else’s culture, following their rules, but in time I have seen that it is beneficial. In my youth, before we left, if there ever was a problem, if you believe that someone had wronged you, you challenged them. The fight was not always to the death, but an injury sustained in a duel was often fatal, if not something that would impair you for the remainder of your days, and any type of impairment on the Rise is just lingering death. Unfortunately, attacking and killing everyone you think has done wrong only weakens and shrinks the tribe, I have seen that first hand. That is not the way. So though I believe there to be wrong doing here in Sandpoint, I cannot merely attack it, drive it out, kill it. Laws are set to provide safety for all, structure, order. If I know something to be wrong, if I have proof, I will follow it and set things right, but without order, there is only chaos. In our recent time of troubles, I found myself in a position where chaos was threatening to overwhelm me, our town, all of us. I was forced to reach outside and ask for help, ask YOUR help. But allowing outside help comes at a cost, there are many faces to consider. While I and Sandpoint will forever be thankful for your help, it did bring about changes. My position as Sheriff was diminished because I was seen as not capable of dealing with the problem, though everyone knows that this was far beyond the means of a small town sheriff. It does not matter, I could not handle it, there have already been attempts to oust me from office, Scarnetti wants me gone, he has never liked the idea of a “primitive barbarian” in this position. I am fortunate to have the support of Mayor Deverin and many of the townsfolk, but not all.” The sheriff is interrupted by shouts and cries of “fire!” coming from somewhere nearby. As he leaps to his feet, a young boy goes running by, “Fire on the docks! Fire!” The Sheriff, as well as several other folk nearby turn and run south toward the docks.
Ignoring the senseless chatter from the crowd Daellin rushes up to Kaye. With a grim look of determination on his face he lightly puts a hand on her shoulder. He appraises the damage to the building and the speed at which the flames are spreading. Not wasting any time on pleasantries he asks her immediately, “How many people are left inside? Would they be on the second or third floors, or both?”
“You have a lot of nerve, Viskalai, calling me that, you dressed up barbarian rock fucker. Or was it wild boars? I forget.” Jubrayl sneers at him and Daellin sees the Sheriff tense up and raise his hand as if he is about to punch the smiling Varisian.
A disheveled portly man comes shuffling out of the Fatman’s Feedbag and clears his throat loudly. “Yes Mr. Vhiski and his associates here are good friends and neighbors. They were inside the Feedbag having a drink when the call went up, they all leapt to action. I for one am glad they prevented the fire from spreading to this side of the street. There it looks as if very little damage has touched other buildings at all. I believe we owe them thanks,” he cheers Jubrayl again and others follow his lead.
Sunday 21st of Neth
Daellin Makes a List
Idly Daellin picks at the loose threads hanging from the arm of the sofa. Dilapidated and faded to a dull red it sits rather more comfortably than it looks. What once might have been gold filigree embellishes the fabric. Considering the sad state that the manor was in when they arrived it’s really quite surprising that it survived. Daellin feels that the sofa looks rather how he feels at the moment, tired and worn out and in need of a bit of fixing up.
With that in mind he toys with the parchment in front of him. It’s a list of sorts. A to-do list for himself to be more precise. The party has almost a week before leaving town and there is much to be accomplished first.
In his precise elvish handwriting the list reads as follows:
Pick up comb - Should have done this much earlier. How can anyone survive without one? I mean honestly who puts their hair through this torture? I’ve seen the way Ehlyna caresses that beard of hers. Perhaps I should have asked her for advice. Dwarven ways may be crude but it’s better than nothing. Ehlyna’s beard was attractive in a rough, uncouth sort of fashion. Not that I was looking of course.Find Tailor - Perhaps miracle worker might be more appropriate though. The stains on my clothes are now set and the smell is hard to describe. Surely someone can restore them back to their former glory? It may require more of a mage than a tailor ... or perhaps some combination of? I need to be presentable if I am to adequately represent the Wayfinders and the Pathfinders now too.
Return to Sandpoint - A few skips through the clouds and I can be there in no time. Perhaps I should check if the Pathfinders need anything delivered as I go? Should be interesting to see how things fare in Sandpoint. I do hope the spell books will be interesting. Brodert Quink might be just the person to see for this!
New Clothes - I’ll be damned if Samad didn’t get some fine looking footwear. Has got me thinking that I need something new ... can’t wait to see what I’ll find!
Find bladesmith - It might finally be time to upgrade Maelos. Hopefully Savah won’t be too upset with me if I do make a change. It’s been a fine weapon so far and it’s beauty can not be denied. Perhaps it can be enchanted? Finding a suitable replacement could be difficult but may be easier in the long run. If I do keep it I’ll have to make sure and fill it’s magical reservoir.
Talk to Orianna - If we are to leave her in charge of the manor we need to have a frank discussion. Imperative to make sure everyone is on the same page. Don’t want any surprises while we are gone.
Find armorer - Surely someone here has experience working with hydra leather. Should be able to make a formidable suit of armor that is both lightweight and tough. My father was able to work miracles with bark he would be intrigued by the possibility of working with hydra skin.
While Daellin works on his list he waits to see if anyone would like to join him on some of his errands. He’s heard the sound of several people knocking about but so far no one has poked their heads into the study. Well perhaps if he made a few of the quick stops first there might be someone available afterwards. Shrugging to himself Daellin grabs his gear and strides towards the door. Passing through the kitchen he grabs one of Nesme’s fresh sweet rolls.
Out on the streets of Magnimar, Daellin heads to the enchanter, Arran Ceray, originally recommended by the Pathfinders guild, and recently utilized by numerous members of the party.
The Brass Manor
The walk to the Brass Manor, Arran Ceray’s shop, is not a long one. Daellin pulls his cloak tight around him as he walks. It seems that the weather, which had been holding onto the warmth of summer for some time, has finally shifted to the cooler autumn weather that was to be expected in the late month of Neth. He was happy that Sheila offered to deal with various captured loot for the group, promising to sell it off for a fair price.
As the tall Elf makes his way through the streets of the city, he notes that much of the traffic consists of very well dressed folk making their way toward the various temples of the city. It is Sunday, he realizes, the day of rest and religion, and then wonders if he will even find Arran Ceray’s shop open for business. He looks around, knowing that Maginmar is home and host to many different religions and shrines and wonders if there is a shrine to Alseta the Welcomer, the Elven Goddess of Portals, Transitions and Years. He knows that even back home in Clewynvian, there was not much of an organized religion devoted to her, so he doubted that he would find a church here, but maybe a small shrine or statue.
When he arrives at the shop, he does find the door closed and locked, but peering into the window, he sees the enchantress sitting at a workbench table with some items in front of her. She looks up and sees Daellin. Smiling, she motions him back to the door and invites him in.
“Greetings, Daellin. I am glad to see you have made it back to Magnimar in one piece. I have the brush you wanted. It took me longer than I expected to get it from my associate, but it is here now and available for you. Tell me, what new and exciting adventures have you been on since I have seen you last?” the Garundi woman asks him. Daellin notes that the things she had been working on at the workbench have been covered by a silk covering, hiding them from prying eyes. Daellin explains to her what sort of stuff he was interested in having done with his sword and Arran says she can do it, but it will take a week and she will need most of the cash up front to procure the necessary enchantment materials.
Daellin takes the enchanted brush and gives it only the most cursory of inspections. With a flourish he spins the brush around and pockets it safely away. “I trust this bush will do honor to your reputation for fine craftsmanship. I only wish I had the opportunity to pick it up earlier. The trials and tribulations we went through as a party were nothing compared to the pain of trying to get the knots out of my hair each night. I’d almost rather face the hydra again than go roughing it even one more time.”
Amid a full retelling of their recent adventures Daellin makes the necessary arrangements for getting Arran the payment for the scheduled work on Maelos. He can’t help but be dismayed by how quickly his share of the loot is dwindling. The excitement over the transformation Maelos is about to undergo quickly squashes any buyers remorse.
“Do you have anyone that might be able to help me out with a little cleaning project?” Daellin blushes, “Honestly it’s a bit more than a cleaning I’m in need of. It is so hard to stay presentable when traveling and the road is sooo hard on my attire.”
“Of course, that's what this brush is for. Do you have the clothes with you? Why, yes, let me see them.” Daellin produces the soiled garments and Arran runs the brush back and forth several times over then until, magically, they are clean again. “Just like that!”
Daellin can’t quite contain himself over the immaculate shape his clothes are now in. With Arran’s permission he uses a side room to change into his good clothes. He neatly folds the other set and stores them in his pack.
“Working on anything exciting?” He enquirers of the enchantress. “You always seem to have the most interesting projects and you know how curious I am.”
“Oh, you know, just stuff. I can't talk about other commissions. Will you be needing your sword recharged and your armor reconstituted as well, I assume? I should be able to take off that by tomorrow,” she explains.
“If you would be so kind as to have Maelos fully charged I would greatly appreciate it. I can return in a week to pick it up then after all the enchantments are completed. If I could pick my armor up tomorrow that allow me to to complete a few other tasks while waiting on Maelos.” Daellin hands over his suit of armor to Arran.
She happily takes his offered gear and payment. “Ooh, that ring is new,” she says, noticing his newly acquired Ring of Swimming. “May I see it?”
With hardly a second thought Daellin slips the ring off of his finger and places it in Arran’s outstretched hand. “We believe it to be a Ring Of Swimming. Are you familiar with these devices?
She takes it and looks at it, then examines it through some sort of jeweled lens. “Yes, Ring of Swimming. Very nice. I'll give you 35 thousand for it in coin or 40 toward the enchantments on your blade,” she says as she hands it back to him.
Daellin’s eyes widen slightly at the figure. “That is an impressive amount of money Arran. It would be disingenuous of me to say that your offer was not tempting. Do you mind if I take some time to consider it?”
She bows to Daellin, “But of course, friend. Just let me know. An item like that is definitely something I could sell quickly enough!” She eyes Daellin’s newly cleaned clothes. “You know, they look nice and clean and smell nice too, but you realize there is a ton of stitching broken and some small tears there on the lacing? What were you doing? Fighting your way through the dungeon wearing these?” She speaks a few arcane words and waves her fingers at Daellin and the garments are magically repaired. “No charge, she says. You’re a good customer. Please send your companions to me if they too are looking for some gear upgrades!”
Daellin thanks her profusely for her services. He promises to give her his highest recommendation to the rest of the party. He also reminds her that he will get back in touch with her regarding the possible sale of the enchanted ring. With all his tasks completed here he steps back out into the streets of Magnimar.
Meanwhile...
Meanwhile, back at the Manor house, the group busies themselves with various tasks. Oriana and the Grey Maidens have taken up residence in one of the two large family rooms on the main floor. They all seem to have had a significant shift in personality since leaving the Lady’s Light and having the entire situation explained to them. Orianna says she plans to reform the Grey Maidens into a force for good and return to Korvosa, not in an attempt to retake the city in honor of their deposed Queen, but in service to the city itself. She knows that it will take time and preparation for a campaign such as this and agrees that she and her girls need some time to rest and recuperate. She plans, with permission from the group, to remain in Magnimar until the spring and then return to her home city to the east. One of the younger Maidens, Josobbi, or Jo as you know her, has expressed some interest in retiring from her order and possibly traveling to Kaer Maga the following week. Oriana has given her blessing if this is something the Heroes of Sandpoint are interested in. Likewise, Ehlyna has stated that she plans to leave the group soon, though will travel most of the way to Kaer Maga with them before breaking off to return to her ancestral home of Janderhoff for some rest and thoughtful work in the mines. A short time later, Daellin returns to the Manor and hears this news.
A Quick Visit to Sandpoint
Saddened by the upcoming departure of Elhana, Daellin is a bit melancholic about adding anyone to the party. The Gray Maidens have been a great friend to the group though and he reluctantly agrees.
Daellin stops by the kitchen and grabs some food for the road. With a flourish he makes his goodbyes to the rest of the party and steps out into the courtyard. Once there he pauses for a short while making sure that his mana reserves are at their limit. He takes an inventory of his gear making sure that everything is securely fastened in place.
Head bowed and arms outstretched he begins his incantation. A few quiet words in Elvish and Daellin leaps into the air. With great strides he bounds from cloud to cloud and in a rush of air lands in the meeting yard of the Sandpoint Cathedral. Daellin considered landing outside of town, but with an broad grin he realized that wouldn’t quite be the appropriate homecoming for one of the towns heroes. He smiles as he touched down in the same ground that birthed the bond with companions just two months ago when the Thistletop Goblins attacked the Swallowtail Festival. With a brisk step he strides out into the streets of Sandpoint heading for the residence of Brodert Quink.
The sun is not at its highest yet, though Daellin notes that its highest isn't all that high anymore. Several local residents take note of his magical landing and he hears whispers of his name, some wave and clap as he heads to the small phouse near the base of the Old Light.
“Well dye my hair and call me a Gnome!” Brodert calls out when he sees Daellin standing in his doorway. “Come in, come in, friend. How are you?” Quint motions him toward a worn chair, shooing his cat, Bakrakhan away. Daellin sits and the two catch up for what seems like hours.
Unfortunately for Brodert, Daellin’s thorough and heavily embellished recounting of the party’s adventures does take hours. While talking the two enjoy several cups of tea. Daellin gently strokes the cat as it purrs contentedly. At one time, Bakrakhan would have have been a problem for the elf. Now that he has the enchanted brush however he no longer fears cat hair on his good clothes.
Setting the cat down gently Daellin reaches into his pack and draws out the spellbooks. With care he positions the books in front of Brodert. “Here are the tomes I mentioned my dear Brodert. I hope pray tell that you can make more sense of them than my comrades and I could.” Daellin sits back into the snug chair and takes another long draw from his cup of tea while he waits on the sage.
The older Human looks at the three tomes with wide eyes and takes a step back. “What? Where? I’m.. um… These are in pristine condition, nothing like the relics you brought back to me before. Where in the world did you get these? From Runelord Sorshen’s sanctuary in the Lady’s Light, of course. These are spell books? Are THESE the books that nearly killed poor, dear Ehlyna? Oh my,” he quickly sets them down and backs away. “Are they safe? Are you sure?” Once Daellin assures his friend that they books pose no danger, he gingerly flips open the cover of one of them. Many “oohs” and “aahs” can be heard from the old man and after a moment, Daellin knows that he will not have any further interactions with Brodert Quint this day. He strokes the cat, Bak, one final time then shows himself out. The sun is setting, low over the darkening Varisian Gulf. The sky is clearing up, only a few clouds, probably enough that he could make it back to Magnimar, but he will probably need to stick around at least until the morning to figure out an arrangement on the books with Quint. Quite a few of the nearby stores and shops are closing for the night, though he can hear the familiar din coming from the dock area where the couple taverns and inns are located down the hill.
Daellin whistles an old Elvish tune as he heads for the dock area. He still has the image of Quints surprised face stuck in his mind as he grins to himself. The elderly scholar will likely be up all night perusing the magical tomes. It will probably also be the highlight of the Humans year. Perhaps by morning Brodert will have sated his thirst for knowledge enough to answer a few of Daellin’s questions.
In the meantime it’s been far to long since the elf has enjoyed a hot meal, a comfortable bed and perhaps some interesting company. Picking up his pace a bit he heads towards the taverns with only slightly less enthusiasm than when he was shopping.
An Old Friend's Sad Tale
Making his way through the familiar yet seemingly strange town, Daellin sees a young woman pulling down the shutters over a store. It is Vinder’s General Store. The woman is struggling to get the shutter unlatched over one of the windows. She is grunting and reaching for it, leaning out over barrel stacked against the front of the store. She slips and stumbles into the side of the building. With a cry of desperation, she turns and slumps over the barrel. From her side profile, Daellin recognizes her as Shayliss Vinder, the daughter of the owner and a one time lover of his old companion, Zursat.
A slight frown crosses Daellin’s otherwise handsome face as he notices the young lass’ plight. He quickly approaches her with what he hopes is a non threatening fashion and doing his best not to startle her. “Shayliss, is that you my lady? How may I assist you?” Without waiting for a response he releases the latch on the shutter. “There, there my dear we’ve got that latch taken care of now.” Daelin moves a bit closer offering her a hand up off of the barrel and smiles warmly at her.
She sees him, instantly recognizing him, and then breaks down crying. She sobs and wails loudly to the point that several evening strollers start to look, though one comes over to help. Daellin, the gentleman that he is, helps her back inside the General Store. Looking around, Daellin realizes the place looks to be in quite the state of disarray. He can smell sour wine and after helping Shayliss sit, finds his foot stick in a sticky spill of some sort. The room is dark, even for his Elven eyes so he grabs a candle and lights it.
Daellin sits beside her and attempts to console her as best he can. Taking visual stock of his surroundings and afraid to look at what exactly he’s stepping in he talks quietly and confidently to her. “Shayliss I don’t mean to intrude upon your affairs but what is going on? The last time my friends and I were here this place was immaculate. Business was booming and I would have recommended your store to anyone. Is there anything I may assist you with?”
“These last two months have just been so hard. First Zursat, then Katrine and the others. After we lost Katrine, my mother, well, she didn't handle it well. She sort of just went inside herself. My father did the opposite. He worked himself so hard. Making more and more deals on good. And drinking. A lot. I think he must have gotten himself on business with the wrong sort of people. That Guaril Karela and his Sczarni creeps started hanging around more and more. Father kept drinking more and more. I was left to the to the shop. And, well it's been more difficult lately,” she pays her belly, “and I anticipate it will only get worse over the next months.” She dabs at her eyes with a colorful piece of fabric that Daellin recognizes as one of his old friend’s scarfs. She forces a smile and stands up. “Thank you, Daellin, really. It is nice to see you again. I'm fine. I just need to clean up a bit in here is all. I can manage.” She starts moving around the room straightening up the mess.
Daellin is stunned for a brief moment as he processes all that she has told him. “You’re pregnant? With Zursats baby?” He stammers in a most uncharacteristic fashion. “My apologies. I am rude. It is none of my business of course. Zursat however was a great friend of mine and I cannot help but enquire after his affairs.”
Daellin begins to help her pick up the store as he talks. His sense of duty to Zursat and his empathy with the woman's plight has him determined to help her. How could things get so bad so quickly he wonders to himself.
He has many questions beyond just the paternity of the baby. While working he gently tries to get information from her. “Where is your father now? What can you tell me of these shady business dealings? What mess do you think your father has gotten into?”
The girl becomes defensive, “Of course it's Zursat’s child! Who else’s would it be? What are you trying to say?” She stops and lowers her head. “Oh, Daellin, I'm sorry. I forgot who I was talking to. There have been a lot of rumors. None of them nice. As for my father's business?” She holds her hands out to her sides, “I have no idea. No doubt borrowed money from them, or agreed to transport goods for them. I don't know. He's out on a merchandise run through the surrounding communities right now. Should be back in a few days.” She sits again, starting out a dark window. “Things here just haven't been the same. The murders have stopped. The danger is gone, but things are just not good. Glassworks closed. Lumber mill still closed. We are getting some tourism though. That's funny. Sandpoint’s famous. But there's so many strangers in town now. Crowds sometimes. And no offense to you and your friends, but there have been adventurers. Lots of them. And, sure, they bring coin in, but they cause lots of trouble. They don't follow the rules. Always strutting around like they own the place. Bb above the law. Using violence to solve every problem. It's just so much to handle.” She looks up to the Elf, “I'm sorry. I'm going on too much. You go on now. I'm sure you have people to see. I'm sure Ameiko will want to speak to you.”
Daellin wraps Shayliss in his arms and gives her a warm hug. “Don’t worry Shayliss my friends and I are here for you. In honor of Zursats memory you can always come to us for anything. I think that I will be paying Ameiko a visit here rather soon. It seems like we do have a lot to catch up on.” Daellin releases her from his embrace gives her a shallow bow and heads back out the door.
Daellin’s mind is racing as he heads for a rendezvous with Ameiko. “How could things change so fast here in Sandpoint? Not for the first time he wonders at the short lived races and the whirlwind that encompasses their lives. He’s not sure if he will ever get used to it.
The Seedy Streets of Sandpoint
A thought then occurs to him, WAS Sandpoint so good to begin with? It had seemed to him, but maybe it really wasn’t. He shook his head, breathing in deeply of the cool night air. As he does so, he catches a whiff of something smoky, sweet and bitter at the same time.
“Where ya headed, kind sir?” he hears a voice call out from the shadows ahead. Three forms step out of an alley into the street ahead of him. The appear to be young Humans of the Varisian stock, teenagers probably, definitely no more than 20 summers old. He hears the scuffing of boots on gravel and turns to see two more youth slide out of the shadows behind him. The lead Varisian speaks again, this time Daellin detects a slight slur in his voice, as if he may be a little tipsy. “All dressed up and nowhere to go, Elf?” The speaker rests his hand on a long knife at his belt. The other boys carry assorted weapons, though no actual swords. Daellin’s hand slips to his belt for Maelos’s hilt, but remembers he left it in Magnimar. He quickly looks around but spots no one else nearby.
Daellin smiles confidently hoping that his bravado will startle these lads and help them regain their senses. His eyes seem to glitter with the reflected light of the moon or is it the anticipation of a fight? He does not draw his blade yet but does pull his cloak back away from its hilt. “I’m actually headed to the Rusty Dragon my young friend. If you and your young associates would care to join me the first round is on me. I’ve been gone from town for awhile and could use some information.” Daellin pauses for a moment to let these urchins think it over before continuing. Turned as he is with the would be muggers on his left and right he continues talking until they start to make an aggressive move against him. “I can guarantee you that a free drink at my expense is the best outcome that you can possibly expect to have this evening.”
“I'm pretty sure we'll be enjoying our first drinks on you, friend,” he says as he draws his knife. “And here’s some information for ya. It's probably not safe to be walking alone on the streets at night.” He chuckles as do his companions. “So do be a good gentleman and drop your purse right there and that's all we'll be needing from you this evening.” Daellin finds himself on Water Street, just off of Main Street. He is backed up to the high stone walls of the Turandarok Academy, the small city’s only real learning institution. Immediately across the streets sits the Sandpoint Fish Market, now closed up and dark. To the west on Water Street, right next to the fishmarket sits the Hagfish, one of Sandpoint’s other taverns that caters to fishermen and gamblers. Daellin can see the light spilling from the dirty window 50 feet away. His destination, the Rusty Dragon, lies off to the east, some 300 feet or so, past the open Sandpoint Market yard down Market Street. Most of the buildings between him and the Rusty Dragon he assumes are closed for the night or local residences.
Daellin sighs, “Rest assured I do not seek this conflict with you my friends. It appears however that you will not be dissuaded by a voice of reason this night. Perhaps after my blade has had its chance to speak you shall be convinced of the sheer folly of your actions this evening. I may even hope those of you who survive might seek a new profession for yourselves.”
Daellin activates the shard as he mutters under his breath in elvish, “beleg horth!” He quickly draws Shadows Kiss in what must seem like a blur to his opponents and advances. He closes the gap between the nearest opponent in heroic speed and makes two quick slashes first across, then back, at the unguarded torso of his opponent. His movements are deceptive and hard for the street tough to follow scoring two hits. Blood flows freely from the wounds as the thug doubles over holding his chest in surprise and shock. His knife slips out of numb fingers making a crunching sound in the loose gravel.
Still under the effects of the shard he advances forward hooking around the wounded thug in and stepping up on the flank of the next unlucky opponent. Daellin makes a single slash against his torso. His rapid movements confuse the thug and allow him to score a second hit.
Daellin’s magically enhanced quickness seems to catch the street thugs off guard. The first Varisian youth goes down with an grunt and lays motionless in a growing pool of blood. The second thug also receives bloody gash but manages to keep his footing and his grip firmly on his hatchet, though he does look to be stunned from the blow. Behind him, Daellin hears the leader urge the other two on, “What are you waiting for, get him!” he hisses softly!
Daellin sees the one closest to the wall draw his long knife and step forward, keeping near the stone wall of the Turandok academy while the other one rushes forward and ends with a great lunge, striking at Daellin from a distance and ending in a low crouch. His attack, though, was off target and misses. The leader of the group, steps up behind the approaching assailant with knife.
Daellin follows up on his opponent with two more slashes at the thugs torso. Both strikes dig deep into the thug and blood flows freely onto the ground. His left arm covered in the blood of his assailants he frowns in anger. He yells at the humans, not expecting a reply, “When will you short lived humans ever respect what time you have? When will enough be enough?” He steps forward and slashes at the next thug determined to throw his life away for a pocketful of valuables.
Two more strikes from Shadow Kiss are enough to take down the thug with the hatchet but the club wielding Varisian tough is able to dodge out of the way of Daellin’s last attack.
In return, the thug swings a nasty looking club down right at Daellin’s head, but the easy to read strike was not angled correctly, no doubt due to the low light and shifting shadows, and cleanly misses. The attacker takes a quick step back away from Daellin.
Nearby, the leader of the group pushes his remaining lackey toward Daellin then turns and runs in the opposite direction, disappearing behind the corner of the Academy. The two remaining thugs look unsure about what they should do next while the other two continue to lay on the ground, bleeding.
With blood dripping from the edge of Shadow Kiss, he appears to be more demon than elf under the failing moonlight. His thoughts are a jumble of mixed emotions. Was Sandpoint always this rough or has the small town fallen hard times so quickly? Realizing that these questions should be pondered when he’s not under threat of getting his head bashed in, Daellin steps forward pressing the attack. Again Shadow Kiss lashes out in blinding speed with a pair of horizontal cuts against the thugs torso.
But the attack does not work out the way Daellin expected. As he slashes the young man leaps backward in a retreating attempt to avoid the bloody, knife wielding, demon Elf. Seeing his foe shift position, Daellin attempts to change his grip, allowing for a little extra reach, but the blood from his other targets has made Shadow Kiss’s grip slippery and the dark blade goes flying from his hand, right past the surprised thug’s shoulder and embeds itself in a large wooden shutter of the fish market over 10 feet away.
Entirely nonplussed at the turn of events, in fact even somehow expecting this to happen Daellin fast draws his silver long knife. He has long considered carrying even more knives. With a mental shrug he slashes at the attacker with his backup weapon. His strike is on target and he opens up a large gash across the chest of the thug.
The thug cries out in pain and throws his club down, raising his hands in front of him, pleading for mercy.
Daellin yells out in his best imitation of an authoritarian voice, “Lie down and place your hands where I can see them. Remain still and you shall be spared.” Seeing the thug accept the offer and lie down, the elf turns to the final attacker. “How about you?! Do you wish to join your companions?”
The remaining attacker, eyes wide with fear, mumbles something incoherent then turns to flee the scene.
With a snort of disgust at the cowards backside Daellin whips the blood from his silver knife and sheaths it. He walks over to his knife and retrieves Shadow Kiss from the exterior of the merchants domicile. He moves to the most wounded of his attackers performing first aid in an effort to stop the bleeding and stabilize his wounds. He then moves on to each of his downed opponents in an effort to prevent any deaths this evening.
Daellin finds that the second man he took down is the worst off, and definitely near death. The pool of blood from his numerous stomach wounds is spreading around him. The third attacker, who is still laying on the ground, starts to panic, “Oh my god, by Desna, what did you do, we were only messing around, no one was gonna hurt you! You killed them!” He starts crying with his face in the dirt and gravel of Water Street.
As Daellin rips strips of clothing from the downed assailant he responds to the thug. “Stop your whining or I’ll finish the job I started! What in the seven hells did you expect to happen? Your companions are alive for the moment, but I don’t have to save their miserable lives.”
As Daellin finishes applying some dirty bandages to the second injured Varisian, light floods the street as the doors to the Hagfish swing open. Sounds of drinking and merrymaking fill the air as several patrons exit onto the street. One of them sees Daellin kneeling over several downed forms in the streets and calls out, “Ho there, what is going on, what is the meaning of this?”
Daellin responds to their calls, “I was ambushed by these louts and was forced to defend myself. Apparently they didn’t recognize me and thought I’d be an easy mark. Send someone after the Sheriff! I have a few inept thieves that need to spend some time in his jail.”
Daellin steps over to the crying thug. He flips the man over and starts tending to his wounds as well. “It’s time for you to start talking! I have questions and you are going to provide some answers. Fist of all, who do you and the rest of theses idiots work for?” Daellin rips the man's shirt and begins dressing his wound. He continues to interrogate the human as he works. “Where did your buddies run off to? What was your buddies names?”
The Varisia squirms on the ground, “Whaddya mean? We don't work for none. Just trying to make a little coin. An that was Vodsiv an Kove that runner off. Man, we wasn't gonna hurt ya err nothing, not least to you turnt into that blood demon an started cutting us all up.”
The crowd from the Hagfish arrives, slowly approaching the scene. Several of them hold weapons ready. “We have called for Sheriff Hemlock. But who are you? You say these three attacked you?” A Human of obvious Chelish descent says. But before Daellin can answer someone else in the crowd calls out, “Ahh, behold, it's Daellin pSilverbough, one of the Heroes of Sandpoint! He's a companion of that great Dwarf warrior, Ehlyna. No matter what he's done, is for the good of us all, I says!” At this pronouncement, the three remaining punks are hauled to their feet and roughly manhandled by the crowd. Several shouts of joy and thanks go up and Daellin feels numerous hands slapping him in the back and grabbing his arm and shoulder.
Another man approaches, he looks somewhat familiar but Daellin can't put a name with his face. “What brings you back to Sandpoint? We heard some time ago that you and your companions finally put a stop to the Skinsaw Man and tracked his cult to Magnimar and dealt with them as well. So good to see you again, friend. Where are the rest of your companions? Is Ehlyna here as well?”
Daellin takes a deep breath and swallows his pride and ignores them somehow managing to get his name wrong. These poor people are obviously a little daft in the head. He smiles oddly to himself, they even somehow think Elyhna is the more prestigious member of the party. Humans can manage to screw up even the most obvious of situations. It’s at times like these that Daellin starts to believe all the stories he’s heard from his kin about how dysfunctional humans really are.
“Take heart my dear man, Elyhna is safe and sound. She sends her sincere regard even though she could not join me today. She and the rest of my companions have other rather more pressing affairs to attend to at the moment. Even I cannot stay too long I am afraid. In fact I had not planned on troubling all you good folk, but for these poor louts who had the misfortune of trying to waylay me this evening.”
“I was on my over to the Rusty Dragon to talk to Ameiko about some affairs here in Sandpoint. Things have changed a fair bit since I passed through here last and I’m trying to catch-up. If you would be so kind as to have the Sheriff join me there I would be indebted to you my good sir.”
He shakes the humans hand vigorously and waves a friendly goodbye to the crowd. In no time Daellin’s long strides take him out of their sight and before he realizes it he’s walking into the great room of the Rusty Dragon. He enters rather abruptly, his mind still processing Shayliss’ plight and his encounter with the thugs.
He looks around for Ameiko, hoping that she’s working the bar tonight. This mess is getting more complicated the longer he’s been here. He’s hoping the proprietor can straighten some of this mess out.
Return to the Rusty Dragon
“By Calistria's honeyed hive! I sure wasn't expecting to see you this evening, Daellin.” Ameiko looks him up and down and smirks, “or is it Lord Daellin now, your majesty. It seems the big city life is working for you, friend. Where are the others?” she asks happily. Her smile dims a bit when she hears that they have not come, but still seems genuinely happy that Daellin is there. “So, you haven't burned down the manor house yet, have you? Someday, you know, I will be wanting that place back. But no worries. In doing fine here in Sandpoint and it's not like the house here is lacking.” She reaches behind the bar and produces a bottle of wine. Elvish wine, and pours two glasses. “So what brings you back to the Lost Coast?”
Daellin’s eyes sparkle at the sight of the wine. “Is this anything like the batch you had when last we met? That was a truly extraordinary vintage! Ahh Ameiko you spoil me. Truly I cannot express how grateful I am. It is no exaggeration to say that was the first and last true wine I’ve had since leaving home.”
He pauses for a moment and appraises Ameiko. “Do you have time to sit and share a bottle with me this evening? I have much to discuss and I cannot imagine finer company in all of the Lost Coast.” He finishes with a smile and waits expectantly for her reply.
She motions for her barback, a young Varisian, to take over the bar and motions Daellin to join her at a dark booth near the end of the bar. A duo of Halfling minstrels play soft, haunting music from the corner stage. The room is about half full but most of the patrons seem content sitting quietly and mulling over their drinks.
“You like the wine? Good. Got it from some Ulfen traders a few weeks ago. This is my first chance to open it. Been a tough time getting any Northern Elvish wine of late. I can get stuff from Kyonin easy enough, but for the price, it's pretty bland. Not even close to this Celwynvian White Rose. Though not that anyone about these parts could tell the difference.” She laughs quietly. “So, what shall we discuss?” She tips her glass in his direction.
Daellin takes his glass in silence and swirls the dark liquid slowly. He raises the glass and breathes deeply of its aroma savoring every bit. He takes a healthy draw and allows the flavors to awaken his palette. Setting the glass down he focus’ again on Ameiko.
“Again I thank you for this. It is a most excellent spirit and greatly reminds me of the forested field of my homeland. This White Rose vintage you see is named after the vintners great granddaughter. It’s a reference to her delicate alabaster skin, an exquisite young maiden with whom I had the pleasure of ... well that may be a story for another time”. Daellin coughs into the sleeve of his coat to hide the blush creeping up his pointed ears. He takes another drink, this time with the haste even a dwarf would be proud of.
“I came back to Sandpoint for many things. One of which was to deliver some spellbooks to Broderick Quink. After a pleasant visit with him earlier this evening I took his leave and headed here. But a pair of events have unfolded that delayed my reaching you.”
This time with his emotions under better control he takes a sip of the wine and continues. “I accidentally bumped into Shayliss and spent some time helping her clean up her shop.” He pauses and looks at Ameiko with a slight frown. “I’m afraid I don’t know how to say this tactfully. I was made aware of her ‘situation’ in regards to Zursats seed.” Again Daellin pauses, he seems genuinely moved by the plight of the girl and his late companions child.
“Hmm, yes. There has been talk of this but it wasn't public knowledge. That poor family has had nothing but sour luck in the last few months. Poor Katrine, though you know better than most how disturbing all that was. Vin seems to have lost his mind and sense recently, though I understand it. I lost my family as well and I wasn't even close to them. It's a shame, really. Many townsfolk would be more than happy to help, but Vin refuses and ends up driving them away. It seems that some of the newer Varisian residents have been hanging out at his store and harassing them. I'm all for cultural diversity, but these rascals are bad for business, it seems,” she pauses to pour more wine.
“What you say aligns with what Shayliss herself has told me and with what I have observed since coming back. If I may be direct, what can I do to help? The mother and child have needs that I feel honorbound to assist with. Zursat was a boon companion with whom I felt privileged to travel with. I can leave funds for them but after what I have witnessed I feel more needs to be done. Can you tell me anything about the fathers financial woes?” Daellin takes another sip of the excellent wine.
Ameiko considers this for a moment, “Sadly, beyond money, I don't know what you can do. Bring their daughter back? Erase the memory of her grisly murder from their minds? No. Really, money would help but giving them a sack of coins right now will probably do no good. Vin has squandered the family savings, if word on the street is true. Maybe talk to Master Gandethus at the Academy. Set up some sort of trust or scholarship for the baby. That could at least take some pressure off of poor Shay. But Vin, I just don't know. He's always been a good, strong and moral man. A town leader. Nowadays he seems more like the town lout. Drinking during the day, not that there's a problem with that. It's just not his thing. Gambling at the Feedbag, dealing with too many of those new Varisians.”
Daellin is familiar with the Fatman’s Feedbag, a rough and dirty dive bar down on the docks. Hangout of many of Sandpoint's more unsavory residents as well as itinerant sailors docked in the harbor. He recalls Kallin and Zursat having run-ins with some of them in the past.
Daellin contemplates all that he and Ameiko have discussed. Perhaps she is right. There may not be anything he can do to straighten out Vin’s varied deficiencies. Not for the first time he grieves for the chaos that fills most humans lives.
“Ameiko I think you have the right idea about Shayliss’ child. I will visit the academy first thing in the morning and enquire after a scholarship for when the child is ready. It may not be a solution to all of their problems but it will provide some hope for the family.”
With at least some clarity about what to do for Shayliss Daellin begins to relax a bit and enjoy his wine. He hasn’t ruled out a visit to the Fatman's Feedbag at some point, but it doesn’t seem as urgent as it once was. He orders some food and enjoys the company.
“Will you be staying in Sandpoint tonight?” Ameiko asks him, “I can have a room made up for you? Or you can join me over at my place later,” she smiles at him coyly.
Daellin smiles back warmly. “Why Ameiko are you trying to take advantage of me in my inebriated state? I think perhaps I will join you this evening If you can stand my company for a bit longer. My only plans yet for this evening is to have a discussion with the sheriff about some ruffians I encountered on my way here. It won’t take too long I hope.”
The Sheriff Arrives
Almost as if on cue, the Sheriff Belor Hemlock comes striding in the door. He sees Daellin and Ameiko in the corner and approaches. He nods at Ameiko, who quickly excuses herself with a smile and a quiet, “I’ll see you later,” to Daellin. She once again takes her place back at the bar.
“It is good to see you, friend,” the tall Shoanti greets him and shakes his hand vigorously. “I received word that you and your friends tracked the Skinsaw Cult down in Magnimar and dealt with them. That is most good news. Our town is forever indebted to you. I only wish your homecoming had been more festive and less, well, bloody.” Sheriff Hemlock sits down in the seat formerly taken by Ameiko and nods his head and declines when Daellin offers to pour him a glass of wine.
Daellin shrugs when Hemlock declines the wine and tops off his own glass instead. “You are turning down some of the finest White Rose that i've had the pleasure of sampling in a very long time my friend. Your loss is my gain however.” He stops and takes a health draft of the wine. “It does feel like years have passed just since I have spoken with you last.”
“My companions and I have been very busy in these last few months. Not the least item among many; we have ensured that the Skinsaw cult will no longer trouble anyone again. I have no trouble saying that those scoundrels will not be missed by anyone. Speaking of worthless louts,, you obviously have heard of the warm welcome I received this evening?”
“Ahh, yes, you did a number on those scoundrels, but I think they’ll live. The streets of Sandpoint aren’t as safe as they used to be. Shortly after you all pursued the cult back to Magnimar, things seemed to quiet down and I had to send the Iron Carnival on their way. We could not continue to pay for them and the honorable Lord Mayor and House of Ushers back in Magnimar were not going to keep paying for it. On the surface, the town really benefited from all the unpleasantness, the stories, the monsters, the treasure, its Heroes,” he smiles wryly and nods his head in Daellin’s direction. “We had more than enough treasure hunters and adventurers coming through, using us as their base of operations. Sure they bought supplies and utilized our services, some of them even brought in some treasure and tales of their own, but that kind of notoriety also brings other elements, the criminals, the con artists, the thugs, the drug pushers. Flayleaf is pretty rampant these days, especially amongst the young Varisians. That’s what those boys were on. It gives you a “feel no pain” kind of high. Makes ya a little aggressive after prolonged use as well. They probably wouldn’t have killed you, but they would have definitely hurt you if given the chance, though they just as well would have run off with your purse or whatever else you had thrown at them. Clearly they didn’t know you were one of the ‘Heroes.’ He laughs and calls to Ameiko for a mug of coffee. “I am truly glad to see you, tonight friend, and I am sorry for the reception you received, but I am loathe to say that the decline of this town was in no small part due to the heroic rise of you and your friends.” The sheriff sighs and takes a big gulp of the coffee when Ameiko delivers it to him.
“Belor, If things have really taken such a downturn after my friends and I left then I cannot help but feel at least some responsibility for what’s going on here in Sandpoint. This community was instrumental in allowing my companions and I to accomplish our mission here. There has to be something that I can do to help? Surely there is a wanted criminal that needs brought to justice? Perhaps a meeting to be set up? A damsel in distress that needs rescuing?” Daellin cannot help but give Ameiko a glance when he mentions this. “You are well aware of my capabilities and intentions. Ask a boon my good friend and I will do anything in my power to assist you. It is time we made Sandpoint great again!”
Belor sets his coffee down, squares his shoulders and gives a look closely imitating a grouchy bear woken too early from its winter hibernation. He clears his throat and begins to speak. Before he can get a word in though, Daellin smoothly cuts him off with practiced ease. “Before you answer just yet my friend be aware that you don’t need to make a decision tonight. You see I already have made plans for this evening and the morning is spoken for as well. Let us agree instead to meet again on the morrow. For convenience I shall call on you around noon tomorrow. I think your office would be the most convenient place wouldn’t you agree? This will give you ample time to contemplate how we may best save Sandpoint from herself. It will also give me some time to rest and recuperate after my long journey.”
Daellin doesn’t give the Sheriff a chance to reply other than the most rudimentary assent before he ushers him out the door. Returning to his table Daellin smiles smugly to himself, thinking he handled the situation quite well. He’s still smiling as he sips on his wine and waits for Ameiko to shut down the Rusty Dragon for the evening.
Sunday nights are traditionally slow nights in the tavern business and after a few more hours, the minstrels have finished their songs and the patrons have all stumbled their way home. Ameiko dismisses her evening help and moves about the room putting the lanterns out. Finally just the big stone fireplace is all that lights the room, it's soft, red embers sending tiny flashes of light that glint and sparkle of the shiny axe that hangs prominently above the bar. ‘Dammit, you again?’ the Elf thinks to himself as the carved visage of Ehlyna seems to wink at him in the dying light.
“Forgive me Ehlyna, I do hope you understand. I’ve wanted to do that all evening.” Daellin says as he takes a lightly soiled napkin from the table and flips it up and over the carved image of his friend ... er companion. Definitely starts to feel a bit more relaxed without that bearded face staring smugly down at him. He looks around for where Amekio has gotten off to. He wonders if he should have spoken with Kaellin and asked some pointed questions of his new found familiarity with all things intimate.
Monday 22nd of Neth
Sandpoint Business
Daellin wakes up the following morning feeling rested and refreshed. He is alone in the master bedroom of Ameiko’s family home on the small promontory just across Sandpoint Harbor. He rises and opens the curtains on the large windows facing out over the Varisian Gulf. The sun is up now, though he cannot see it as his view is facing west. He feels the chill of the cold outside permeating through the window and walls. Several ships can be seen in the distance, sailing back and forth across the Gulf. Ameiko is nowhere to be seen, he assumes she has risen early and already headed into town to open the Rusty Dragon.
The manor house is empty and quiet. As he meanders through the Kajitsu family home, he marvels at all the exotic and expensive decorations and objects. Obviously Ameiko’s father and his Glassworks had been doing something right. He sighs as he recalls the gruesome fate that Ameiko’s father, Lonjiku Kaijitsu, had come to at the hands of his own son and that devil Nualia. Daellin stops in his tracks and lets out a sigh when he comes to a large, framed painting of Tsuto, Ameiko’s half brother, hanging on the wall. How terrible, he thinks to himself, for Ameiko to have to deal with all of this. Her brother, who kidnapped her and killed her father, only to be put down by Daellin and his companions. He wonders if she has any clue that the axe hanging above her bar is the actual weapon that separated Tsuto’s head from his body? Yet she still seems to accept all of this easily. He sighs and smiles weakly. Pushing all these thoughts out of his mind, Daellin gathers up his clothing and belongings, finds a few bites to eat in the kitchen and heads to town to attend to several things before his meeting with the sheriff.
Daellin decides to head over and check in on Brodert. When he left the sage was definitely excited about the tomes he had delivered. It probably wasn’t any exaggeration to say that he spent every waking moment since Daelin left researching those books.
Bordert explains that the books look to be a magical grimoire interspersed with personal notes and journal entries in the margins, blank pages and in some cases between lines and even words. With Brodert's limited Thassalonian translation skills being limited to only the mundane letting, he is still quite certain that the spell book part details some magical style that would have been key to the Runelord of Lust. The journal notes, on the other hand, were slightly easier to work through, though some passages and even entire sections were written so sloppily and erratically they are unreadable, with the added detriment of potentially making the magical writing on those pages useless as well. From what he could piece together, the secondary writing was penned by one of Sorshen’s followers, concubines or slaves. “Probably everyone in Sorshen's realm fell under all three titles at one point or another,” Brodert quips. He continues that the author, possibly a demon of some kind, had originally imprisoned in some sort of glass golem and used as a kind of gatekeeper it guide in Sorshen's realm. At some point after the fall of Eurythnia and the rest of Thassalonian, this demon was freed from her glass prison by her mother, another demon, and tricked into taking over guardianship of the Lady's Light. This incensed the demon and she took her anger out on the structure and many of its inhabitants. Somehow, though over the millennia, this demon guardian lost control of her mind and eventually began to believe she was actually Sorshen herself. She attempted to refill the tower with beings she though should inhabit it and then proceeded to rule over her kingdom of lust all the while slipping deeper into insanity. “Not that all demons aren't insane to begin with,” ends Brodert, with a long meow from Back for emphasis. “If only I could translate the magical writing, but, sadly, to my great and frequent dismay, the Art has never chosen me. Ilsoari could read the magic, of course, but he does not know enough Thassalonian to do so. I don't know enough to teach him, and anyway, have you ever tried to teach a teacher something? They're the absolute worst students.” He blushes for a moment then smiles, “but please don't tell the old chap I said that.”
This information confirms what Daellin suspected of Sorshen but doesn’t really provide any significant new insight. He asks Brodert if he’s interested in purchasing the books or if he thinks Ilsoari might be. At this point Daellin is interested in getting the books sold and moving on.
Brodert is happy to purchase the book for a reasonable price and promises to get word to Daellin if he unlocks any further mysteries about it.
Daellin thanks Brodert for his hospitality and makes a fond farewell. Daellin is happy to have this whole business with the tomes concluded. He considers himself fortunate to have a friend such as Brodert.
Once again out on the streets of Sandpoint the dashing young Elf heads for the Sheriff's office. The mid morning traffic is mild but getting busier the closer it gets to lunch. He takes care to makes sure that the hilts of his knives are visible to any other impulsive idiots who might think they’ve found an easy mark. Confident he won’t have any more trouble he whistles an Elven marching tune as he walks.
As he turns the corner at the town garrison building, Daellin nearly runs into a Varisian woman moving at a quick pace. She stops short and barely avoids Daellin. Quickly sizing her up, he sees that she is probably somewhere around 40, though not yet showing the signs of age that Humans of that age begin to show. Her dark, long hair is held up with a delicate silver hair piece, with several intricate braids and falling down over her shoulders. She wears quite a light and revealing outfit for this late in Neth, showing many of her Varisian tattoos. Daellin is sure he has seen her around before, but is not quite sure who she is. She smiles at him coyly as she says, “Excuse me,” softly while she slips past him.
Daellin allows his momentum to spin him around as the Varisian slips past him. “Please forgive me my lady for the intrusion. I cannot escape the feeling that we have met before. My name is Daellin, may I have the honor of knowing yours?” The elf studies her intently trying to recall exactly who she is and where they have met before. It would be unusual for him to forget such a remarkable woman.
She stops and turns and puts her hand out for him to take it, “I am Kaye Tesarani, yes, we have met before, but only in passing and right after you and your friends saved our quaint little town from the Goblin menace at the Swallowtail Festival. I do not believe we have been formally introduced though.” She bows and lets him kiss her hand, as is the proper introduction. “Sadly, I do not get out much, my business keeps me, well, busy.” She smiles as Daellin asks her what her business is. “My business is pleasure. Come see me sometime. The Pixie’s Kitten is always open.” She gives him a wink as she turns and walks, no saunters, away down the street. Daellin blushes for a moment as he realizes that he now remembers. The Pixie’s Kitten is Sandpoint’s brothel just a block from the Rusty Dragon. He ponders on that for a moment until he is brought back to the present by a loud clearing of the throat behind him.
“Good to see you again, friend,” Belor Hemlock says, standing behind Daellin with his arms crossed across his wide chest. “I see you made the acquaintance of Miss Tesarani.”
With a grin that stretches from one pointed ear to the other the elf pulls his gaze away from Kaye’s rather well proportioned posterior. He addresses the sheriff warmly. “Good morning my friend. I’ve been busy addressing some business this morning ... and taking in some of the scenery of course. I seem to be running a bit early today. Would you care to join me for a bite to eat? We can discuss Sandpoint’s current situation over a hot meal. Yesterday’s exploits have left me famished.”
Risa's Place
“That sounds fine, let’s head over to Risa’s. It’s quiet there, we can talk.” The Sheriff leads the way east into town, past the looming 3-story town hall along Tower Street. Daellin smiles as they pass between Savah’s Armory and the Pillbug’s Pantry before turning onto High Street. The Sandpoint Cathedral can be seen sitting high above them to the left, on top of the stony rise that separates the upper part of the town with the lower. Kind of like Magnimar, Daellin thinks to himself. The Sheriff turns quickly down a narrow alley between some residences and they emerge on Undercliff Way. The Sheriff points ahead to a quaint little building nestled right up against the base of the cliff. “Risa’s Place,” he announces. Daellin was aware of this tavern, but had never been here. The smithy and tannery lie further down the road before it crosses one of the bridges across the Turandarok River and out of town.
Risa’s Place is a homely little place, more like a large, but intimate dining room in someone’s home. The Sheriff tells Daellin that Risa no longer runs the Place, she is old and her health is failing, but her children carry on the tradition of good food and better atmosphere, and if one is lucky, Risa occasionally comes out to the dining room to tell one of her old stories. A meal of some game bird and Risa’s famous spiced potatoes and cider hits the spot. “So, tell me Daellin, how do you see us ‘Making Sandpoint Great Again?’” he folds his hands in front of him on the table patiently.
“Well to be perfectly honest with you Belor I’m not really sure. You see, my companions and I are preparing for another mission afield. Before we leave I do have is a few days downtime in between that I have still available. I was hoping that you might have a project in need of a solution. Something that my particular skill set might be able to remedy for you.”
Daellin picks at piece of bird still clinging to a thigh bone and savors it slowly. The subtle herbs and spices sending his taste buds on a thrilling ride of flavor. He washes it down with an equally delicious draft of cider. Wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin he again addresses Belor.
“I figured you would know best what could be done to help me clean up Sandpoint. There are many things I could do for this community. Surely there is some ruffian that needs to be tracked down? A bandit that needs to be brought to justice perhaps? A lost artifact recovered? A peace negotiated between opposing business leaders? A young maiden that needs protection? Maybe even an important package that needs to be delivered?”
“Surely a man in your position has a wish list of items to be done when the opportunity arises. Today I am here to make at least one of those wishes come true.” Daellin chuckles a bit at this, trying to envision himself as some sort of dijinn who appears to grant the people of Sandpoint a boon. “All you have to do is ask and I will do my best to make it happen.” Daellin tips his mug of cider to the sheriff and takes a long drink as he awaits Belor’s reply.
Belor smiles, “Oh I see, Daellin, the Hero of Sandpoint has returned, how can he once again save the town. Quite the noble offer, and it truly is appreciated. But I am not sure how you could help. I mean, things have been rough, but it is hard to pinpoint the source of it all. I’d swear by my mother’s klar that Jubrayl Vhiski is behind all of it, or maybe Guaril Karela. I know they’re Sczarni, but in all my years, I’ve never been able to pin anything on ‘em. I’ve caught a few flayleaf pushers, some Varisians that like to hang out down at the Fatman’s Feedbag, but what do you do with them? That flayleaf is bad, tears ya up, but if someone wants it, they got the right to have it, right? I mean, I’m always looking to see where it’s coming in, but nothing. I just don’t know, friend. I really do appreciate your offer of help, but I just don’t know what to say. Get my people off the flayleaf, that would help, but until they don’t want it…” He trails off, sipping his cider and staring off out the window.
There is some commotion at the back of the room and Daellin turns to see a very old woman being led out by a young lady, no doubt her granddaughter or some other close relation. “Ahh, Risa,” Belor comments. She must be coming out to tell a story. The old woman is led to a cushioned rocking chair in the corner of the room, next to a burning wood stove. She sits and adjusts her long, well-worn skirts, clears her throat loudly and then spits on the floor.
“Grandmother, we’re inside, the dining room!” the girl, in her late teens or early twenties, says to her while looking around the room with an embarrassed look on her face. Her grandmother replies with something about her name on the sign out front and waves her off.
“Would you like to hear a story?” she asks no one in particular. “I will tell you the tale of Amendra and our Varisian destiny. Yes. That is it.” She rocks back and forth in her chair a few times then comes to a rest. She closes her eyes and it almost seems as if she has fallen alseep, then slowly, quietly she begins talking, telling her tale. “The way my mother told it to me, was that we once ruled a magnificent kingdom. We were kings and queens who lived in towers of gold and silver. We were so rich, vain, and powerful that we allowed a shadow to enter our hearts. We forgot our role as Desna’s chosen.
A wise woman, a fortune teller named Amendra, saw our pride swell and sought to bring the word of Desna back to our people. Many cast away their fortunes to follow Amendra, while others chose to remain in their beautiful city. One morning, Amendra led the faithful away to find a new life as wanderers. That evening, a mysterious disaster struck the golden city, and all those who stayed behind died in the cataclysm.
Amendra taught our people that the quest for riches has led us astray. We forsake all property and settlement because we know it leads only to misery. Some think we wander aimlessly across Varisia, but we actually follow the path Amendra once took. My mother told me that, when we finally reach the end of the trail she left, Amendra herself will return and show us where our destiny lies.” She coughs, reaches out for her granddaughter, “Besshie, Besshie, be a good girl and lead me back to my room please,” she croaks. The young woman helps her to her feet and they shuffle back into the bowels of the building. Daellin turns and looks at Belor, he is smiling slightly, a look Daellin has never seen on the normally stoic lawman, but a look he holds well. The dark skinned Shoanti sees Daellin looking at him and he quickly purses his lips back into their familiar straight line.
Daellin takes a long draw from his cider as Risa is escorted out of the room by her granddaughter. As he sets the mug back on the table he wonders to himself about the sheriff. Not for the first time he realizes he has a hard time reading the sheriffs intent.
For Daellin growing up in the Elven community, the security of its people was a burden shared by all. The idea of the sheriff brushing off his generous offer for help is alien to his way of thinking. More particularly concerning is the sheriffs lack of concern about the towns obviously poor state of affairs. It’s as if the human was afraid of his role as protector of the town getting upstaged. Daellin makes a mental shrug and moves on for the moment.
“You seem to find Risa’s story amusing my friend? Tell me Belor, do the Shoanti views vary so differently than the Varisians?”
“Hmmm, the Shoanti have many different views, most of which revolve around fighting, killing and surviving. All of our cautionary tales involve repelling invaders, being tricked by tshamek, outsiders, or of struggling to overcome natural challenges, which of course were thrust upon us by outsiders. As a whole, they are a untrusting and angry lot. I come from the Shiikirri-Quah, Hawk Clan, and they are considered the most peaceful quah. Some other tribes even thought us, them, weak, but that was not the case. The elders of the quah, after many generations of strife, came to realize that working with, and living side by side with the Chelish tshamek was the only way we were going to survive. Some took that farther and cast off the primitive ways of the Shoanti and have fully embraced integration. My parents did just that, climbed down the Storval Stair for the last time and left the needlessly harsh Shoanti way behind. It was hard at first, living in someone else’s culture, following their rules, but in time I have seen that it is beneficial. In my youth, before we left, if there ever was a problem, if you believe that someone had wronged you, you challenged them. The fight was not always to the death, but an injury sustained in a duel was often fatal, if not something that would impair you for the remainder of your days, and any type of impairment on the Rise is just lingering death. Unfortunately, attacking and killing everyone you think has done wrong only weakens and shrinks the tribe, I have seen that first hand. That is not the way. So though I believe there to be wrong doing here in Sandpoint, I cannot merely attack it, drive it out, kill it. Laws are set to provide safety for all, structure, order. If I know something to be wrong, if I have proof, I will follow it and set things right, but without order, there is only chaos. In our recent time of troubles, I found myself in a position where chaos was threatening to overwhelm me, our town, all of us. I was forced to reach outside and ask for help, ask YOUR help. But allowing outside help comes at a cost, there are many faces to consider. While I and Sandpoint will forever be thankful for your help, it did bring about changes. My position as Sheriff was diminished because I was seen as not capable of dealing with the problem, though everyone knows that this was far beyond the means of a small town sheriff. It does not matter, I could not handle it, there have already been attempts to oust me from office, Scarnetti wants me gone, he has never liked the idea of a “primitive barbarian” in this position. I am fortunate to have the support of Mayor Deverin and many of the townsfolk, but not all.” The sheriff is interrupted by shouts and cries of “fire!” coming from somewhere nearby. As he leaps to his feet, a young boy goes running by, “Fire on the docks! Fire!” The Sheriff, as well as several other folk nearby turn and run south toward the docks.
Fire!
Daellin quickly drains the last of his cider and slams his mug down on the table. He follows the sheriff closely as they cut through the streets of Sandpoint and head down towards the docks. Daellin has spent enough time around city life to realize how devastating a fire can be. He is determined to help in any way possible.
As the two men run south through the streets of town, more and more people respond to the cries of fire and follow them. Almost immediately, Daellin can smell smoke and feel the tingling burn in his eyes. In just a minute, they arrive at the source of the commotion. A tall, 3 story building at the corner of Salmon and Razor Streets, just a block down from the Rusty Dragon Inn, is on fire! Sheriff Hemlock gasps and lets out a nearly inaudible, “no…” as he sees the fire. The first floor of the timber and brick building are on fire, though it has spread to the 2nd floor in one area. Smoke is billowing out of all the windows. Shouts and cries can be heard from all directions. A handful of citizens are hurriedly dragging buckets from the docks another block to the southwest. Daellin can see another large group of people hauling buckets from the docks and dousing the surrounding buildings along Salmon Street. There are also quite a few folk crowding in nearby streets and alleys watching the conflagration. A huge Shoanti man, shirtless and covered in black soot, comes running out of the front door, carrying a small woman and an older gentleman under each arm. Five feet from the door, they collapse hard on the ground. Daellin sees the woman he bumped into earlier, Kaye Tesarani, nearby crying and shouting for help, yelling that there are still many people in side. Daellin quickly realizes that this building in flames is the infamous Pixie’s Kitten, the Sandpoint house of pleasure. As he thinks about how he can help best, Daellin hears a voice behind him scoffing, “Let the vile place burn. Just a bunch of dirty whores anyway!”
Ignoring the senseless chatter from the crowd Daellin rushes up to Kaye. With a grim look of determination on his face he lightly puts a hand on her shoulder. He appraises the damage to the building and the speed at which the flames are spreading. Not wasting any time on pleasantries he asks her immediately, “How many people are left inside? Would they be on the second or third floors, or both?”
As he waits for Miss Tesarani to respond Daellin begins an incantation. He casts flight and triggers the shard. He eyes a second story window and prepares to fly into it once Kaye answers him.
She turns to him, her face red and covered in sweat despite the lateness of season, her makeup is running down her face, giving her a terrifying mask fear. “What? I, um, well, there are up to 15 or more people inside, I think. Both floors, how can you get up there?” She sees the Sheriff and rushes to him, burying her face in his burly chest, crying. The citizens continue their bucket brigade, but Daellin sees that will only slow the spreading of the flame a little bit. A third floor window bursts open and a young, naked Human woman leans out coughing and calling for help, she is pulled back in and a fat, bald Human man fills up the space. He shouts for help and looks around for some avenue of escape.
Daellin yells up at the humans leaning out the window. “Hold on! Help is on its way!” Not waiting for a reply he springs into action. He drops his pack on the ground and withdraws his silken rope. With a great leap he jumps into the air and flies up to the open window. He pushes his way past the obese patron and lands in the bedroom. Quickly tying the rope to the window sill, he throws the other end out the window. He addresses the indignant human, “Start climbing, it’s going to get warm in here very soon. You,uh, might want to cover up a bit though, don’t want too much of a show for the crowd out there.” Grinning ear to ear he ignores what is sure to be an ungrateful reply by the human and he promptly forgets about him.
The large Human wraps himself in a blanket and looks at the thin rope trailing out the window. He starts to say something, but then rushes back to the window when a billowing cloud of smoke come in under the door. He grunts as he clambers over the windowsill and out the window, his pudgy fingers gripping the thin, spider silk rope tightly. The large man disappears with a few strained curse words as he begins climbing down.
With a fluid motion he whips a sheet off of the tousled bed and wraps it around the fair shoulders of the attractive human lass. “Excuse me for being a bit forward, but may I be of service miss ...” he bends slightly and scoops the stunned woman up into his arms.
Daellin hears shouts and a short cry, followed by a heavy thud outside the window.
“Hold on tightly now! We don’t have any time to spare!” With a low grunt he steps back to the window and leaps through it. With the young lady in his arms he glides down to the ground and deposits her next to Kaye. He offers a short bow to them both and turns back to the Pixie’s Kitten.
It is then that he notices that the fat man obviously did not complete his climb to safety, but in fact fell from somewhere around the second floor. Several townsfolk are helping him, now uncovered again, move away from the fire. He limps heavily and cries out in pain at every movement. For a moment, he locks eyes with Daellin and gives him a nasty glare.
Once more Daellin leaps into the air, this time aiming for a second story window. He dives through the open window. Keeping low he searches for more people trapped inside.
Daellin works hard, helping several more people from the fire before he runs out of energy to maintain the flight spell effectively. Once safely back on the ground, he sees that the bucket brigade is finally doing some good, with the help from several obvious arcane and divine casters, shooting sprays of water, dirt and sand at the burning building. All the teamwork by the townsfolk keeps the surrounding buildings from catching fire, but the damage is great to the Pixie’s Kitten. At one point, a large section of the first and second floor collapses in a shower of sparks and timber, causing a large section of the third floor to fall as well. Eventually, after another 10 minutes, the fire is out but the Pixie’s Kitten is all but lost. It is guesses that most of the patrons made it out of the building, though not everyone. One of the Shoanti bodyguards is missing and one of the other “employees” and her client did not make it out. Daellin also notes that his spider silk cord was burnt and then lost in the fire.
Dismayed at the needless loss of life and even for the loss of the Pixie’s Kitten itself, Daellin sighs deeply. The exertion and smoke inhalation has left him exhausted. He finds a now empty water barrel abandoned against an adjacent building and sits down. Staring at the still smoldering ruins he wonders how this could have happened. He would like to think that it was just an unfortunate accident but has already seen too much of how the world works to rule out foul play.
While relaxing Daellin suddenly sits up with a glint of curiosity in his eye. He thrusts a hand into his belt pouch a pulls out his Whispering Coin. He twirls it round watching the sunlight reflect off of its bright surface. “Let’s see what you know my new friend” he says to himself. He tosses the coin up into the air and asks his question out loud. “Was this fire at the Pixies Kitten arson?”
The coin lands with a soft thud in his hand but otherwise remains silent. Daellin looks momentarily perplexed at not getting an answer. With a good hearted chuckle at his own expense he realizes his error. “You don’t speak Elvish do you?”
The coin doesn’t respond. Still smiling he continues the one sided conversation. “What else did they say about you? Ahh yes, you only speak Thassalonian. How rude of me to inquire in Elvish. “
With a few quick gestures Daellin casts a spell. He feels the magic settle across his body and realizes he now can speak fluent Thassalonian. Wryly he realizes he might just be the only person in town capable of saying that.
As Daellin sits and catches his breath, the rest of the town is busy starting cleanup and helping with the wounded. Daellin sees Sheriff Hemlock speaking quietly to Kaye Tesarani, the owner of the Pixie’s Kitten. He then turns and marches down and across the street toward the group of people outside the Fatman’s Feedbag. He marches straight toward one of the men, a Varisian, in the center of the group. Two others quickly leap in his way, but the Sheriff stiff arms them and before they every realize what happened, they are on the ground. “You’ve gone too far this time, Jubrayl!” he nearly screams! The Varisian smiles and laughs in the Sheriff’s face, his hands on his hips.
With great interest Daellin observes the Sheriffs actions. He knows that this is likely none of his business and that the Sheriff very well may not appreciate his help. From experience he understands that things could get ugly very quickly. His curiously and sense of duty quickly obliterates any reservations however and the elf walks over to take a position to the right and slightly behind the Sheriff. He hopes Hemlock will take this as a show of solidarity and not take offense.
“You are out of your mind, Hemlock! What reason could I have for wanting to burn down the most popular spot in town? You sure it wasn’t some spark caused by you and the Madame there?” Jubrayl, a tall and good looking Varisian man, smiles as he says this, and the men around him all laugh. Several of them give Daellin hard stares as he approaches and they shift and take up positions around Daellin and the Sheriff, not completely encircling them, but close to it.
“You know you have been threatening Miss Tesarani and her business for some time,” the Sheriff spits out. Daellin can see he is clearly upset and emotional at this point. “You and your cronies, your Sczarni thugs, have been harassing her, her girls and her clients,” This comment brings an audible gasp from the surrounding people, as more than just Jubrayl’s friends have now gathered to watch.
“You have a lot of nerve, Viskalai, calling me that, you dressed up barbarian rock fucker. Or was it wild boars? I forget.” Jubrayl sneers at him and Daellin sees the Sheriff tense up and raise his hand as if he is about to punch the smiling Varisian.
“Perhaps I can be of some assistance Sheriff.” With a gentle hand on Hemocks shoulder, Daellin tries to diplomatically deescalate the situation. “As you have correctly reminded me before, we all bow to the rule of law. The scales of justice are blind for a reason. They apply their laws to each and every free being. These very same laws are the ones you were elected to protect. Let’s not do anything rash at the moment shall we?” With a look of empathy in his eyes Daellin locks his gaze with Belor for a brief moment.
“But that does not mean that justice shall not be served this day. Nay I think we may still have a very good chance to resolve this situation satisfactorily.” Daellin brandishes the whispering coin in a finely manicured hand still blackened from the charred timbers of the Pixie. “What I have here is a little magic token that likes to answer questions. So let’s ask it one shall we?” Daellin tosses the coin into the air and continues on in Thassalonian, “Is Jubrayl responsible for the fire at the Pixie’s Kitten?” Daellin watches expectantly as the coin hits the ground in front of him.
A loud murmur comes from those gathered around as Daellin proposes to use his magical token to determine fault. The coin dandes on the ground for a moment, then stops, showing the side with the broken column. He hears the word “NO” whispered quietly in his ear in Thassalonian.
“What manner of sorcery is this, Elf? And who are you to come in here casting judgement on our people. Your magic is not welcome as law in this town,” a voice comes from behind him. Daellin turns to see an older man, clearly Chelaxian, and dressed in what he would assume is an older, more traditional Chelish style of dress. He believes this man to be one of the town leaders, Titus Scarnetti. “Belor, what is the meaning of this? Have you come to accuse this scoundrel Jubrayl of causing the fire?” This comment brings grumblings from some of Jubrayl’s men, but Jubrayl himself merely scoffs at the statement.
“I, um, well, no, Titus. I was merely coming to question these citizens about the incident and more importantly ask them why they did not join in and help put the blaze out,” Sheriff Belor mutters.
Jubrayl throws his hands out and explains, “With that fire there, in that old, dilapidated three story building, it threatened all the buildings in the area. My friends and I were doing our part to keep these structures on this side of the street doused and safe from the flame. It seemed that the situation was being handled as best it could. We did nothing wrong, only our civic duty to protect the town, right?” He turns to the crows gathered on this side of the street. A small cheer goes up and many folk lean in to slap Jubrayl and his men on the back.
A disheveled portly man comes shuffling out of the Fatman’s Feedbag and clears his throat loudly. “Yes Mr. Vhiski and his associates here are good friends and neighbors. They were inside the Feedbag having a drink when the call went up, they all leapt to action. I for one am glad they prevented the fire from spreading to this side of the street. There it looks as if very little damage has touched other buildings at all. I believe we owe them thanks,” he cheers Jubrayl again and others follow his lead.
Daellin inwardly groans to himself at the politics of the short lived races. He again realizes why he has always felt drawn to the peace and solitude of the forest. The backstabbing and infighting are better left to others. He will take an honest fight any day over the day to day drama of town life.
Daellin picks the Whispering coin up off of the ground and tucks it back into his belt pouch. It’s purpose fulfilled yet not quite the answer he was expecting. He shrugs and realizes he was as guilty as Belor and ready to find anyone to blame for the fire. Especially a rogue as clearly in need of some jail time as this Jubrayl seems to be. Daellin is also wise enough to realize that the coin’s magic is very limited and it did not provide an alibi for any of the other players involved.
Titus Scarnetti continues speaking, “It is a blessing by Abadar that, that, that place, was burned to the ground. It was a blight upon our community, a scourge upon our lives. I am truly sorry for the loss of life, but had those lost souls chosen different professions or paths to walk, they would have never been in harm’s way here today!”
“Yea, what he said!” Jubrayl chimes in, snickering to his friends.
Titus sneers down at Jubrayl, despite the fact that the Varisian is half a head taller than the older gentleman. “You’ll not use my words for your gain, Varisian. Know your place. Enough of this. That building is an eyesore and danger to the community. It needs to be cleaned up and torn down immediately. Maybe we could build a nice restaurant or warehouse for more trade goods. I am hoping to get the Glassworks back up and running soon, we could use a facility nearer the docks. Hmm,” he turns to leave, as if by saying this business is over, it is over. In fact, many of the gathered townsfolk follow his lead and head back to the street in front of the Pixie’s Kitten or back to where ever it was they came from. Sheriff Hemlock and Jubrayl Vhiski, though, remain in the street, staring at each other.
Daellin pulls the still agitated sheriff close. He whispers into Belor’s ear, “The coin indicates that Jubrayl was not directly involved. Even if it did we would need evidence to pursue this further. By pushing this conflict any more you will hinder any serious investigation. I will promise when you do uncover who set the building ablaze I will be right there beside you to help bring them to justice.”
Louder in a more conversational tone he continues, “Come Belor, we have much work to do. Let us leave these men to continue their fire vigil. I’m sure they can handle it from here.” He gently leads the sheriff across the street and away from the Feedbag.
The Sheriff grunts and shakes Daellin’s hands off of him then takes a deep breath and says, “Thank you, friend. You are right." He smiles at Daellin and gets to helping deal with the burnt and wet mess that was the Pixie’s Kitten.
Daellin spends a good portion of the day helping Belor sort out what’s left of Kaye’s brothel. While working he stays alert for clues concerning the fire. He remains hopeful that this can be resolved if they can only get a clue to get them started.
After what feels like an eternity Daellin takes his leave of the good sheriff. His back is sore and his clothes soiled but Daellin feels good about the work he’s done for those in need. He promises to return in the morning to get an update on the investigation.
Once out of sight from Belor, he pulls out his enchanted brush. With a few words of magic his clothes are clean and he smells as fresh as a field of wildflowers. Satisfied that he is now presentable Daellin heads out for a visit with Master Gandethus at the Academy. He almost forgot to stop in and take care of the scholarship. Given how busy the last couple of days have been, it’s no wonder it hasn’t been taken care of yet.
Finishing Up Business
Daellin speaks to his old friend at the Academy and sets up a trust fund of his own money to guarantee a spot for the child at the school. At least Zursat’s offspring would be well educated, and if he or she happened to show some magical aptitude, Master Gandethus would see to that as well. After hearing that Daellin is traveling to Kaer Maga soon, Master Gandethus asks Daellin to look out for some books he believes can be located there. He suggests checking out the library at the Therassic Spire and agrees to pay him handsomely if he can return the books to him in Sandpoint.
After that, Daellin makes arrangements to stay in town for a few more days, hoping to help the Sheriff out in getting to the bottom of the fire and other troubles in Sandpoint. The Sheriff accepts Daellin’s help and the two of them are able to get the Pixie’s Kitten fire cleaned up. Unfortunately the are never able to fully discern how the fire started and spread so quickly, most likely the evidence was likewise consumed by the fire. They help Miss Tesarani relocate her business to an empty boarding house on the north side of town temporarily while they find another suitable permanent location for her.
Daellin finds that the politics of a town as small as Sandpoint can be brutal as the different sides of the issue present themselves as to why or why not Sandpoint should even have a brothel. It is dizzying and experience and reminds Daellin why he chose the life of a wandering adventurer. Leads and work on finding the culprit who set the fire is sadly unfinished business when Daellin has to leave town several days later, though the Sheriff continues to want to pin it on Jubrayl Vhiski and his Sczarni thugs, there is just no evidence. Basing it off of circumstantial evidence points just as much at Titus Scarnetti, a citizen in good standing and shining example of a pillar of the community. And any number of other folk could have been involved. Then again, it could have just been an accident that got out of control. Daellin believes that they may never know.
Daellin contemplates on his time spent in Sandpoint. As with so many of his adventures he seems to leave two doors open for every one he manages to close. He doesn’t begrudge his week in the town however. He feels as if in some small way he is paying back the Sandpoint community for all that it has done for him. He drifts off in a mental daze for awhile while he contemplates the whirlwind of events this week.
Zursat’s child has a fighting chance now. If the youth is anything like his parents, Daellin is willing to take the bet on the child doing just fine. He makes a mental note to return and check in on the youth and Shayliss as he has time.
He managed to stop some street thugs from accosting any innocent townsfolk ... even if he did have to use himself as bait. He did intend to draw the louts out of their dark alleys on purpose, right? Why else would he be walking so finely dressed up and down the dark streets in the middle of the night. There were quite a few of them too, at least a dozen if you count the ones holding back in the alleys. You could even say he single handedly brought a whole gang to justice.
He had a memorable evening with miss Ameiko. Daellin blushes at the thought of one of the first truly relaxing nights he’s had in ... well ... years. He will definitely have to stop in and share some more of that Celwynvian White Rose wine with her in the fine hostel again very soon indeed.
He sold the spellbooks to Brodert for a very agreeable price. The company should be very happy with their shares of the extra coin. As a bonus he had a great time visiting with the sage and Bakrakhan both.
Belor seems to have a good handle on the needs of the town. Fortunately Daellin was there in just the nick of time to prevent anything getting out of control. Hopefully at some point they can get to the bottom of the whole mess with the fire at the Pixie’s Kitten. He truly hopes he can be there to see justice served. For now though he will have to settle for helping the cleanup and relocation efforts. Who knows maybe he’s made a friend or two in the industry. They do have a way of turning up some of the most interesting information.
All things considered Daellin realizes it has indeed been a very good week. He’s ready to get back to the simple life of raiding dangerous catacombs, exploring uncharted wildernesses and thwarting evil forces bent on world domination ... or at least regional conquest.
Finally, after many days spent in Sandpoint, the Elf says his farewells to friends and acquaintances and, using his Farstrider magic, he leaps and bounds his way back to Magnimar.
Session Notes
We really took off with this one. Ben and I went back and forth many nights for hours with this story over the course of 2 months. When it was time to start the next session, we decided to continue it even though the actual campaign action was moving on. Started off as a "what's next?" and ended up sort of a flashback sequence. Cool anyway. It's a long read, hope you enjoy it!Characters Present:
Daellin Silvanthalas, Elven Farstrider Ranger - played by Ben L
and +Jason GURPS as the DM
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