Rise of the Runelords - Atessia

[Mirior]

The Fiefdom of Magnimar

Built around ruins left by a long-forgotten civilization, Magnimar is the largest port on Atessia’s southeastern coast. Ever since throwing off the rule of the city-state of Korvosa to the north, Magnimar has enjoyed economic and cultural prosperity on a scale that some say rivals the Elven Republic at its best (specifically, the citizens of Magnimar. No one who’s actually seen elven cities says this.)

Magnimar is an independent city-state ruled by a three-man council, with the Lord Mayor at the top; the city receives taxes and provides military protection to a good number of villages along the southern coast, and claims land all the way to the Teyn Mountains in the east. On paper, Korvosa hotly contests this claim; the two fiefdoms haven’t been at open war since Magnimar’s successful insurrection, but tensions certainly simmer. In practice, most of the villages in the foothills manage themselves, paying tribute to neither distant city.

Merchant fleets, fishing vessels, naval juggernauts – Magnimar’s deep harbor teems with ships and commerce, the source of the city’s wealth. Wizards and scholars from across Atessia use Magnimar as a base for exploratory expeditions; the southeastern coastline and the foothills of the Teyn Mountains conceal a plethora of ruined stone buildings, ancient statues, and mysterious catacombs, relics from an age long past.

The region is not entirely peaceful. Goblin tribes are scattered throughout the region, escapees hiding from the hobgoblin and giant dominions in the Teyn. Tensions with Korvosa have stayed under control so far, but resentment still runs high on both sides. On very rare occasions orc raiders send ships down the coast, from gods-know-where; rumor plants a transplanted orc tribe in the Derratrak desert on the far side of the Teyn, although the gods know rumor doesn’t know what she’s talking about. But Magnimar’s high walls keep the city safe from any threats, and its standing army does an admirable job of maintaining safe villages and clear roads. As almost anyone living there would tell you, Magnimar is a beacon of civilization in the Fiefdoms.

Sandpoint

Forty years ago, four wealthy families from Magnimar pooled their resources to found a settlement. After scouting the coastline for optimal locations, they agreed on a small cove fifty miles to the east, and after persuading a group of farmers and merchants to move out to the location, the town of Sandpoint was born. Today, over a thousand people call Sandpoint or the immediately surrounding regions home.

Sandpoint has prospered ever since its founding. Easy access to the ocean has encouraged fishing, while the cove shelters the town from the worst of the southern storms. As a bonus, Sandpoint’s position makes it the last safe port for any mercantile ships looking to swing around the Derratrak desert and the southeastern corner of Atessia. Rich farmland and forests to the north have led to strong farming, hunting, tanning, and lumber industries. The original founders have easily made back their investment, and Sandpoint is poised to continue its growth, maybe becoming a full-fledged city given enough time.

The four founders, or their descendants, still live and hold power in Sandpoint. Kendra Deverin (the youngest, but only surviving member of the Deverin family) serves as town mayor; the Valdemars manage Sandpoint’s harbor; the Scarnettis run a lumberyard and a brewery (despite constant rumors of connection to organized crime back in Magnimar); Lonjiku Kaijitsu, an elven exile, operates a glassworks outside of town.

Like many of the villages in the area, Sandpoint is only a stone’s throw away from the past, which here takes the form of the Old Light – a tower (well, half of a tower, the top broke off at some point) at the mouth of the cove, presumably a lighthouse. The oddity is the first thing most ships see as they approach the village, and has become something of a symbol for the town in the eyes of merchants. For the most part, Sandpoint’s residents don’t pay the tower much mind.

The Late Unpleasantness

Sandpoint’s growth hasn’t been all sunshine and butterflies; in fact, the town is still recovering from dark days. Five years ago, a madman began stalking Sandpoint’s streets at nights, murdering and mutilating seemingly at random. Over the course of a month, Chopper (as the killer was christened) claimed twenty-five lives, including as his final victim Sandpoint’s sheriff. After the sheriff’s death, one of the deputies managed to track Chopper to his lair, revealing the killer to be none other than Jervis Stoot, a widely loved woodcutter and artist who turned out to have a shrine to the Rough Beast, Rovagug, in his basement.

Jervis killed himself before he could be arrested, and the killings stopped, but the town’s troubles continued. Two weeks later, a horrific fire started in the Sandpoint Chapel, quickly spreading to nearby buildings. By the time the fire could be stopped, the Chapel, the White Deer Inn, and four houses had burned to the ground, and many other buildings took heavy damage. Ezekien Tobyn, Sandpoint’s spiritual leader, died in the blaze, along with his heaven-touched daughter Nualia.

Sandpoint has repaired most of the damage, but psychological scars remain from what has come to be called the Late Unpleasantness (the townsfolk don’t talk about it often, but when they do you can hear the capital letters). Belor Hemlock, the deputy who put an end to Chopper’s killings, has taken over as Sandpoint’s sheriff, serving admirably for the past five years. A new priest, Father Abstalar Zantus, relocated to Sandpoint from Magnimar, holding outdoor services while a new chapel was constructed. The Late Unpleasantness has passed out of general conversation, but it will still be a long time before it passes out of immediate memory.


The Swallowtail Festival

But that’s the past. Today is a day of rejoicing! It is the autumnal equinox, a holy day to the goddess Desna (who presides over dreams, luck, travelers, and the stars). Holy days aside, today is a special day; the new Sandpoint Chapel has just been finished, the last of the buildings destroyed in the Late Unpleasantness to be rebuilt, and today it is being consecrated. Of course there’s a festival, the whole town’s on hold, everyone’s coming in to celebrate, to talk and laugh and worship and remember how wonderful life can be.

Our story begins at this Swallowtail Festival (the swallowtail butterfly is a symbol of Desna, hence the name); each of you, for whatever reason, is attending the celebrations. It’s an all-day affair – the town square in front of the chapel has been busy with preparations all morning, and festivities proper begin shortly before noon, continuing well past sunset. Come, join the festivities!

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This thread is where out-of-combat roleplaying will take place; combat will take place on either Roll20 or MapTools, I'll pick one and provide links before the first combat. Before we get started, everyone should post a link to their character sheet and your character's background information (including why they're in Sandpoint). Ask away if you have any questions about the setting, let me know if you have ideas for bringing backstory elements into the campaign (I'll try to do that regardless), talk to me about anything.

I'd also like to get an idea of when people are available to gather for combat; if necessary we can run combat asynchronously but it'll go a lot smoother/quicker if we can all meet at the same time. Let me know your schedule, and what time zone you're in.

You can get in touch with me here, on the Pox forums, or over Skype; my username is rz.howell, full name is Robert Z. Howell, be sure to put your Pox name in the chat request so I know who you are.

[calisk]

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k fixed up, didn't think it sent a confirmation mail.

as for times I can play if it's just for a combat I'm pretty much okay most days of the week. 6-12 atlantic time.

I have other pathfinder games on saturday and wednesday though so those are the days I won't be able to.

[Molosse]

A common practise among the Grishund is to send the young adults of their species out into the wider world, to learn of other cultures first hand and take from them lessons that will eventually benefit the Grishund as a whole.
Emgann Dukark is like many of these wandering scholars and warriors; he left the Cadre at a young age to venture out into the wider-world, an Infiltrator and disciple of the Ar Feiz or “The Faith” in common, an old movement within the Grishund that concentrates on pursuing knowledge for the sake of control, just as their progenitor once did.
Finding no support in the greater elven lands and being cast out of the furthest fiefdoms due to his heritage, he decided to search closer to home and, upon hearing about both the independence and development of a northern fiefdom, Magnimar, decided to venture northwards from his homeland, hoping that the fiefdom’s libraries would be unsullied by the same level of bias and corruption found within the Elven lands. Eventually he stopped at the bustling town of Sandpoint to rest and take on supplies just as the Autumn Equinox passed by.

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http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=459431

Emgann will speak and think in Grey, thoughts will be in italics whilst speech will be presented normally

Btw, to get things in a spoiler box just highlight what you want to set as a spoiler and click the little bubble with spoil in on the top right, we may want to put OoC stuff in here, or we can create a separate thread, your call Mirior.

[calisk]

Slithir was Raised in the slums of the human city Highhelm, he was looked after by the head of a small branch of the black fangs, an underground crime syndicate spread out over most of the land.

He was raised from a young age to dance to earn his keep and to fight other children to toughen him up for his adult life as a potential assassin for the larger branches.

His dancing was intended to be his in into the aristocracy of the cities, and he was going to be a perfect assassin, the exotic nature of his race would be an even bigger draw to the bored nobles of the city.

Fortunately just before his 11th birthday the local guards did a raid on the black fang hideout he was a member of and due to his age was spared an execution, he was reluctantly put into the protection of the temple of toraq, over the years he managed to over come some of his past, learning the enjoyment of dance for more then just a way to survive, he also learned combat from the paladins and monks of toraq, althouh his frame was to fragile to handle the heavy weapons and armor that was typical of his trainer Silverbeard, he managed to develop his own style of fighting.

He fell in love with the tales of adventuring, and would devour any new tales he could hear from the paladins when they'd return from a cleansing or mission.

It wasn't long before he demanded to go out on a mission with the paladins, and was assigned to accompany commander Silverbeard and his squad of paladin on a mission to cleanse a Rovagug cult north of the five kings mountains, his job was to simply watch and tell the tale of what happened after the adventure was complete.

The mission went well up till they faced the leader of the cult, he sprung a magical trap, causing the spirit of rovagug to posses commander Silverbeard, in the confusion to come Silverbeard killed 4 of his men, leaving only slithir and Silverbeard's second in command, bloodied and about to die the young lieutenant gave slithir his "ring of Toraq" which was broken in the battle as a sign of their defeat and ordered him to return to Highhelm and tell them of their defeat and the info they had learned when investigating the cult.

Leaving commander Silverbeard and the lieutenant behind he ran as quickly as he could fighting his way out of the cult underground temple, and manged to return to deliver the news to the temple. They dispatched 4 other squads of paladins to cleanse the cult and retrieve the bodies but they never found the body of Silverbeard or his lieutenant, though the rest of the squad was still where they fell, the leader had escaped.

Slithir began to focus on his ability to fight regretting not being able to help silverbeard, he intends to find out what happened to him and the lieutenant that gave his life to save him.

Unable to progress any further within the confines of the city he decided it was time to venture out, and headed towards the only lead he had, a town called sandpoint, the name kept coming up when he asked about the cult, and it was time he checked it out for himself.

[Tarth]

So..sorry its super long.

Tarth Gramalian was born a slave. His parents were members of a gypsie band traveling through the western fiefdoms on their annual trek where they sell, perform and steal to get them through the coming year. In this family, blood was second only to loyalty to the clan.

They had done this for generations, moving into an area, running scams, tricking the towns folk into parting with their gold and rolling out before they were missed. Only as time went on, people started to notice them. Mummers of what they are made it harder and harder to get by.

The Thad of their clan chose to strike out east in search of new land and marks in which to take what was needed. Their wagon trains cutting through the prairie like a knife through a coin purse. Always greedy for more.

half way through their travel as they were setting out into a golden valley the Thad's wagons burst into flames. Gnolls were screaming down the hills sending arrows and spears into the wagons from both sides. More were jumping from under the tall grass throwing nets and cutting down any fool trying to fight back. His father and mother were no fools. They and what was left of their clan were taken north to be sold in the slave markets of some unremembered fiefdom.

His first memories are of his childhood growing up not knowing that there was something other then servitude. He lived every moment of his life with the chains cutting into his wrists, with the lash of the whips cuttings his back, and the words of his "betters" crushing his spirit. He was blessed though, his father and mother were kept together as bed slaves for their masters.

When he was 9 his merchant master was leading a caravan down some road he didn't know, for some profit he would never see. He was forced to carry the wine skins and make sure the mistress and her friends were never with out drink or knew boredom.

Fate seemed to smile on him that day. When the war broke out between the fiefs as it always did no one thought much about it. They were safe, miles away from the conflict and had seals of protection from both sides. Yet the fighting spilled into the northern lands, fires and death were common sight on the road. A group of outriders came upon the merchants caravan and requested their toll. In the conflict that followed Tarth was able to make a run for it as his mistress was gutted in front of him.

He ran for hours through the harsh prairie, over streams, through hills, nearly falling over himself with hurry. As he passed out at he base of a pine tree, half hidden in the branches and needles he prayed that his parents, safe back in the walled city of Torenth, The slavers bloody jewel, would be ok and find him some day. If he lived long enough to see it he would be blessed.

A village woodcarver found him 3 days later trying to steal bread from his stove. Tarth was sure he would of gotten away with it if he didnt have the chains around his hands still. Upon being found Tarth tried to fight the woodcarver who broke out in laughter as the boy hardly able to lift his hands was screaming taunts and insults at him.

Over the next few days he learned he had crossed into Kite Oran a small fiefdom to the east which had stayed out of the slave war. That the man, named Gunther had a wife and a daughter who was a few years younger then Tarth. Gunther let Tarth stay with them taking pity on the boy letting him earn his keep by hunting, fishing, and taking care of the small pack of hounds they kept out in the yard.

Over the next few years Tarth and Gunthers daughter, Lyra became best friends, the first friend Tarth ever had. After about 6 years, Gunther died of a pox out break. Lyra and her mother tried to keep the cabin from going under but the strain of feeding 3 with out Gunther to help work was too much. Debt and taxes kept stacking up till they couldnt see hope anymore. Tarth kept food on the table but wasnt able to help pay the bills. Tarth sold all that he owned making a few gold, a fortune to him.

He wrote a note, begging them for forgiveness and thanking them for all they had done. He left all the gold on the table, hoping it would help. He took some cloths, tools, food, stole a lantern from the wood shop and crept away in the middle of the night. Unable to say good bye he hoped they would understand.

One of the pups he was training followed him out into the yard, trying to keep up with him only to fall further behind. A quick whimper was all he could do. Tarth unable to abandon the pup took it with him, thanking the heavens for the reminder of his home. He has wondered for many years with Ajax by his side. Staying in one place only long enough to make some gold selling his skins and meat or to act as a guide. He tried to work as a scout for some kingdoms war a few times but they were all the same. Just greedy or opportunistic fools, so one blurred into the other. He never stayed on in one spot for very long. Not sure why but he felt pulled forever onward as if searching for something.

He found himself just drifting into sandpoint one day. He had never been this way before and came just because he could. Seems they are having some festival, who knows what he can find here.

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http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetvie...sheetid=460721
I can play whenever too
Going to use brown for my speach

[Mirior]

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Molosse, Tarth, everything looks good. Calisk - mostly looks good, but there's a conflict between your background and the setting info Comissar typed out (it's on page 1 of the Pox thread, if you haven't seen it). The dwarves haven't been seen on the surface of Atessia for several centuries, long enough that their very existence has passed into the hazy realms of myth and folklore. Would Highhelm work just as well as a gnomish city or one of the fiefdoms? If not, let me know and we'll figure something out.

[calisk]

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Molosse, Tarth, everything looks good. Calisk - mostly looks good, but there's a conflict between your background and the setting info Comissar typed out (it's on page 1 of the Pox thread, if you haven't seen it). The dwarves haven't been seen on the surface of Atessia for several centuries, long enough that their very existence has passed into the hazy realms of myth and folklore. Would Highhelm work just as well as a gnomish city or one of the fiefdoms? If not, let me know and we'll figure something out.

hmmmm....well torag is normally a dwarven god, and in the pathfidner setting highhelm is the location of their head temple. he is worshipped by multiple races though so in this setting if dwarves are lost I could see it being taken over by humans to worship the old god and we could just say high helm is a human city, which would be better fittin for a tengu which live in human cities more often. I could switch the trait, and re-write his back story though, if that's better for the setting.

[Tarth]

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hmmmm....well torag is normally a dwarven god, and in the pathfidner setting highhelm is the location of their head temple. he is worshipped by multiple races though so in this setting if dwarves are lost I could see it being taken over by humans to worship the old god and we could just say high helm is a human city, which would be better fittin for a tengu which live in human cities more often. I could switch the trait, and re-write his back story though, if that's better for the setting.

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Why not just assume dwrfs are there still but rarely seen? isolationists if you will. Comissars story could support that since their are a lot of stories about what happened. Might be simpler to not have them exist/be in the world but could be interesting if hes frm some hidden conclave or a lone/last outpost of the dwarves.

[Mirior]

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hmmmm....well torag is normally a dwarven god, and in the pathfidner setting highhelm is the location of their head temple. he is worshipped by multiple races though so in this setting if dwarves are lost I could see it being taken over by humans to worship the old god and we could just say high helm is a human city, which would be better fittin for a tengu which live in human cities more often. I could switch the trait, and re-write his back story though, if that's better for the setting.

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Switching Highhelm and the worshippers of Torag to human sounds like a good solution; I don't see a need to switch traits or rewrite the backstory beyond that.

[Comissar]

Telra wandered through the streets of Sandpoint, enjoying the music and exhibition of the festival that was all around. The timing of his arrival had been good, there was a certain quaint charm to the celebrations. It had been some time since he'd last stopped to relax, his lifestyle meant that he was on the move a lot.

This might even be a nice place to settle...

He naturally caused a stir as he walked around. His clothing was unusually flamboyant, his attire suggesting that he may be a nobleman. Pointed boots gave way to linen trousers. At his belt hung a sheathed sword with an unusually ornate crossguard, which he rested one hand on the hilt of as he walked. A doublet was visible underneath a chestguard made of studded leather. Finally, the outfit was completed by a broad rimmed hat.

A beach house, maybe a part time shipping business?

He'd certainly come a long way from his homeland. This far from the Republic, people had even mistaken him for an Elf sometimes. It was unusual, to say the least. He wasn't entirely sure how comfortable he was with the comparison.

Telra smiled slightly, the idea of settling down amusing him. He knew full well that staying in one place for too long just wasn't something he would do.

I'll stay for the festival though, it certainly sounds like fun.

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Telra Thandhel's sheet is there. Telra will speak and think in Orange, thoughts will be in italics whilst speech will be presented "Like this"

[Oneiros]

The ratling was born with an inquisitive mind, which is no great shock so far as Ratfolk go. What produced the shock was that he refused to barter with the races on the surface, preferring instead to stay forever in the tunnels of his people, fumigating them heavily with his alchemical research.

It got to be too much for them. He just wasn't right. Managing to convince themselves that they were doing him a favor by turning him out, by making him face the real world, making him grow into a better rat, they effectively locked the door and barred the gate.

Alone now, Tavi (our Ratling's name, taken from a hero of rodents everywhere) had no idea what to do. He drifted, city to city, using what he could remember of the lessons in trade the folk gave him to get by (not that he ever listened, he had to dredge the words from out of the chemical smog of his mind).

Eventually, fed up with his barter-based life, he stole the makings of an alchemy lab. With that he began working as a makeshift apothecary, but still having to flee cities every so often. He did, after all, never receive proper training. For all that Tavi did right, he made countless errors before he got there, and he learned swiftly that few appreciate going to an apothecary for anything other than a surefire remedy.

His city-to-city roaming brought him back, eventually, to Magnimar. He couldn't remember when he'd ever been, but given the reaction his landlord had at the sight of him he assumed he must have done.

Maybe this is a place to stay. For a while, at least.



And with that, and with some time allotted between there and now, we come to the present.



Tavi was stumped and homeless. Stumped because he was sure he had it right that time, and homeless because a pinch of the wrong stuff in the wrong place is enough to, quite literally, blow the roof off. The walls went with. Whoever built this house had a very easy time of it, apparently. As construction jobs went, Tavi would give it a 4, maybe a 5 with better nails or less flammable wood.

The neighbors were beginning to grumble anyhow. About the smell, about the medical bills, about the windows blasting out every so often. About him being, not to put too fine a point on it, a larger kind of the vermin they killed almost daily in their little slum in Magnimar.

It was time to go. He had heard someone talking the other day of a glassblower over in some podunk town. A nearby glassblower is something any alchemist needs, but especially any alchemist with such a propensity for blowing up or having smashed his glassware.

What was that heap? Shaletip? Eh, I'll find out soon enough

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All the other kids were putting their backstories in this thread so I figured I would too. Here's my sheet, feel free to have a look over it and point out any inconsistencies etc
http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetvie...sheetid=461295

I'm going to go ahead and take whatever color it is I decided upon for my speech and thought. Doing the spoiler first. Probably a shade of green, though.

Also, I've prepared one extract of Cure-Light Wounds, my Plague Vial, and 8 catalyst vials for the day, if you please.

[Mirior]

The sun pierces your eyes from a cloudless sky, the autumn air is delightfully crisp, and the open square in the center of town is already crowded as you arrive, townsfolk and farmers milling in the middle, merchant stalls selling clothes, crafts, and baked goods to the left of the new chapel, a row of tables to the right of the chapel where the local taverns are still laying out what looks to be a delicious lunch. There's a wooden podium in front of the chapel, a brown-haired woman is standing behind it delivering an opening speech; two more speakers are waiting their turn on a row of four chairs behind the podium, a tanned man with a sword by his belt sitting in the middle and an older man in priestly robes on the end.

Two small children run past you, laughing. They're heading towards the games set up along the back of the square - tug-of-war, sack races, a balancing beam. Most everyone else is paying attention to the speaker, the mayor of this town, as she welcomes everyone to the Swallowtail Festival, to the joyous day.

[Tarth]

Standing off to the side of a booth selling "flowers and spice", I lean against the cool shadowed wall of the church, escaping the harsh sun thanks to height of the new bell tower. My golden brown hide shirt and darker fur covered pants stand out against the wool and cloth dyed outfits of my hosts. Thankfully my dusty tan cloak hides my pack and gear and no one seems to care about outsiders today, in fact I seem almost welcomed by the people passing by.

My eyes quickly moving from person to person, face to face, taking all the smiles and laughter in. "Does the soul good to be around such happiness, tis been too long"
I say to myself as I reach my left hand down groping at the thin air next to me. "Wonder what hes up to?" Smiling that I forgot, as I lay my hands against the rough stone and push off the wall.

Before I can take more then a few steps a group of kids rush by nearly falling over themselves in their hurry. I just stepped back in time to avoid them trampling over me to take part in a "tug o war".

I pass the time watching these people hurry about, buying and selling, loving and laughing, even a tavern girl tried to ask me to dance. I take a seat at a table and order some water, the walk to town was a long one. Time flows by with me making small talk with the tavern girl, listening to soft music and just getting lost in thought. " Todays a good day. Lass a round on me"

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Do I need to make not of when/where/if I have weapons/gear with me or is it just assumed?

[calisk]

after arriving in town I take a look around to see the opening ceremony taking place.

I take my place among the crowd and begin to listen to what the mayor and the others have to say

[Molosse]

Dukark levered himself out of the poorly constructed bed, marveling as he did that any night could have been as uncomfortable the one he'd just have to put up with.

Shaking his head he swung his legs onto the teak floor before grabbing his boots and pulling them on, wondering if the Inn sold a decent breakfast and if so whether his pittance of coins left after renting the room for the night would allow him to enjoy it.

Sighing deeply he pushes himself up from the bed and begins to pull on his varied accouterments, first his rough shirt, his well-maintained Studded Leather armour over that and finally his belt with his families sword attached securely to his side.

Walking through the door he paused to exchange a few pleasantries with the Inn-keeper, the high-backed neck of his armour serving to subtly mask his less than human features, before making his way purposefully towards the inns entrance. Opening the door Dukark was exposed to a plethora of light and sound, the sun was truly shining and the marketplace was abustle with stalls and a dominating central plaza whereupon a podium was placed for would be orators to try their hand at wowing the crowd. Deciding he had time for a morning walk to warm up his stiff muscles Dukark set off for the plaza wondering what the day could hold.

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I'm walking from the Rusty Dragon mate.

[Mirior]

The mayor's speech goes quickly. She's an exuberant speaker, eagerly welcoming visitors to Sandpoint (her eyes dancing from Tarth to Slithir to Dukark, among others), cracking good-hearted jokes about people whose names you don't recognize but that send chuckles through the crowd, and soon stepping back to cede the podium to the next speaker.

Sheriff Hemlock, the tanned man with the sword at his side, stands and moves to the podium next. After the mayor's sparkling grin, Hemlock's dour face looks carved in stone. He calls for a moment of silence, in memory of those whose live were lost five years ago.

Sitting at the tables, Tarth has an excellent view of the food preparations. Sandpoint has three taverns, and each seems to be trying to feed the whole town. An elven women walks over with a glass of water for Tarth and a glass of mead for the lass, whose name is Bethana. "Don't keep him too long," the elf says to Bethana with a smile.

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Molosse - which inn is Dukark staying at? There's the White Deer, the fanciest (and priciest) in town; the Hagfish, down by the waterfront and a hangout for local sailors and fisher; and the Rusty Dragon, closest to the edge of town and the most frequented by travelers.

Tarth - I'm assuming you're all armed/prepared for combat unless there's a reason not to be, I'll ask explicitly if such a reason comes up. For now, noone's going to look askance at travelers being armed, the roads are fairly safe but not completely.

[calisk]

I say a silent prayer for the fallen and pay my respects, I remain silent for the time and make a mental note of the sheriff, I'll need to talk to him later.

[Molosse]

Dukark bows his head slightly in response to the silence, taking the opportunity to scan the crowd as he did, drifting his eyes forwards and backwards across the the crowded plaza.

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Would I need to make a perception check here mate? Feel free to contact over Skype, i'll just update this spoiler.

[Mirior]

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I'll roll passive Perception checks myself, unless anyone objects. If you're specifically looking for something, roll an active check, but general awareness of surroundings will be checked backstage to avoid spoiling when there's something to notice.

[Tarth]

Lowering my head with a slight smile I return to talking with Bethana. She seems very interested in my stories from my wandering. We laugh and joke with each other, only taking a break to join the silence for the lost.

I whisper so she has to lean in close So, do you have any good stories from this place? hoping for some information about the locals or the area.

[Mirior]

Sheriff Hemlock raises his head, continues his speech. He asks everyone to stay safe, especially around the bonfire tonight - it's fun, he knows it's fun, but burns are not fun. He closes by commenting that the man scheduled to speak after him, Lonjiku Kaijitsu, has taken a sudden illness and won't be speaking, which means the podium is passing straight to Father Zantus.

The man in the priestly robes rises, moves to the podium; his speech is in many ways a repeat of the mayor's speech, welcoming everyone, musing on how wonderful it is that the damage of the past has been repaired, that Sandpoint can come together and celebrate in peace. He'll be officially consecrating the new chapel - he's seen the inside, it's marvelous - an hour after noon, after everyone's had a chance to fill their stomachs on the wonderful food provided. On that note, he steps aside, and the festival proper begins!

Bethana, leaning in quite close, is stuffed to the bursting with juicy tidbits of gossip. One of the lumber mills north of town caught fire last month, the third mill to burn in the last year. The Vinder sisters have been vexing their father (Ven Vinder, he runs the general store) something fierce with all them men they keep sneaking off to see. This wizard from Magnimar's set up home in the Old Light (pointing to the half of a tower you can see at the far end of Sandpoint Cove). "Small town stuff, nothing like the stories you tell. Where's Kite Oran?"

[calisk]

after the opening ceremony I decide to get a drink at one of the local taverns, it's been a long trip from five mountains and rations have grown quite tiresome. A good drink would go down quite well.

As I enter the tavern I happen to over hear the bar maid talking about her gossip, I sit down where I can hear her talking and order a strong drink.

the bartender brings me some mead and says it's on the house curtousy of the man talking to the waitress.

I decide to take a seat at his table and thank him for mead.

[Comissar]

Telra applauds politely and keeps quiet out of respect when appropriate during the Mayors speech. In truth, it hadn't felt all that impressive. Lengthy political speeches weren't what he'd travelled to the place for, instead he was looking for the excitement the celebrations had promised. Realising that there wasn't going to be anything happening for a little while, he headed towards the local Tavern to pass the time.

Once inside, he found himself an empty table and, leaving his coat on a chair, went up to the bar. Pulling his coin purse out, he asked the barman "How much for some wine?"

Spoiler

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Are we really meeting in the local Tavern?

[Tarth]

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Well someone took so long we had to do something!

[Oneiros]

Having packed his few belongings onto his somewhat flatulent packrat Arugula some time ago, and off for Shaletip even more recently, Tavi arrived rather dusty, lost and pawsore in Sandpoint in time for some great communal event that involved a bunch of people that tended to take time in getting used to not eradicating the folk.

He was not enthused, as this seemed an unnecessary diversion in his journey to Shaletip, where he dreamed of glassblowers growing from bushes (though he did understand the concept of, well, conception, Tavi was rather shaky on the finer details of such things as they happened within other species), and various alchemical reagents for tea.

In any case, he hung around the outskirts of the crowd for long enough to realize that nothing being said was to the useful effect of "And what about our fine neighboring town of Shaletip, located for your convenience just x direction of here?", and resolved to find someone that might know where his promised land was.

Casting around for a likely target, he notices a ragged looking human sitting at a table. Surely someone that worn would know the area?

Working his way through and around the crowd with a no-longer flatulent Arugula in tow, Tavi approached the man.

Hello, sir. Please, do you know of a town in the area by the name of Shaletip? It shouldn't be too far now

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Yes, the guy in question is Tarth in case my description wasn't, you know, descriptive (and Tarth, if you don't like being called ragged or worn, put it down to me being a rat).

[Molosse]

Dukark nodded slightly as the Sheriff finished his speech and the villagers around him began to chatter and gossip among themselves. Sometimes it's nice to be reminded of home he thought, though no doubt the banality of the conversations would be lacking among his race, their position in the world has left himself and his race with a rather more dark approach to humour and companionship. Still it's always good to digest how the different fiefdoms converse and interact, the people of Magnimar had a much more lilting approach to the language that reminded him happily of his own family.

The sun beating down upon him was becoming stifling and thus he decided a drink would be in order, glancing around before locating the nearest tavern he moved towards the entrance, pausing as he saw the common area full to bursting point. Luckily however there was a chair going free at a table currently occupied by a sole tall human. Seeing no other free tables Dukark began to make his way over.

My apologies, but would you mind if I sat here? Damn hard to find anywhere else in the building.

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What do I notice about Comi's char?

[Mirior]

You aren't the only ones gravitating towards the tables; the siren call of food draws many a soul. The elven woman, who seems to be directing things around the tables near you, calls Bethana away to help keep food moving, trays of smoked salmon, lobster chowder, and roast boar replaced as the hungry crowd empties them. All of the food is delicious (brought to you by the Rusty Dragon, stay for the night!)

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The tavern buildings are closed for the afternoon, since everyone's outside; I'm assuming Dukark and Telra are sitting down at the outside tables near where Tarth/Slithir/Tavi are. I'll let Comi answer the question about what Dukark notices.

Also, we should schedule a time to all get on Maptools and play in real time. I'm available at any point today, I know that's short notice for people, I'll also be available anytime after 4pm EST tomorrow. I'm on Skype, let me know when you'll be able to stay on for a 3-5 hour chunk over that time.

[Comissar]

Glancing up, Telra gestures to the empty chair at the table.

"By all means, I imagine it'll get fairly crowded in here before too long."

Picking at the food in front of him, Telra racks his brains trying to think of a conversation topic.

"You don't look like a local, what's brought you here?"

[Molosse]

Grinning gratefully Dukark lowers himself onto the free chair, but not before motioning to a nearby maid to bring over a hunk of boar and a mug of schnaps.

"You have my thanks"

Dukark pauses briefly to roll his shoulders and shift his weapon out of the way of the scurrying townsfolk.

"As to why I am here? A stop on the road, I'm heading towards Magnimar to examine a few old maps for my rulers, the State-Library is meant to have vast works from across the continent."

By this time the maid had returned with his plate of roasted boar and a large draught of northern peach scnaps, thanking her briefly and taking a contemplative taste he continued.

And yourself friend? Your clothes seem somewhat less restrained than the other townsfolk.

[Comissar]

Telra glanced down at his clothing. His coat was still hung on the back of the chair, leaving him in his armour and doublet.

"It is the fashion in the land I am from, amongst some of us anyway."

He pauses to eat before continuing, "As to why I am here, I've been travelling for a little while now. My aim is to craft my own future through my own deeds."

Telra gives the man opposite him a short smile and then returns to his food.