Sunday, Rova 22, 4707; Sandpoint; Half past the noon hour
The morning came grey and cold as I awoke chilled in my small cell. I threw back my bedroll and looked about my home of the past several months as if with new eyes. The walls, beams and cot were all cut from soft wood felled not more than five years ago, and the entire place smells strongly of saw dust, pine resin, and roofing pitch.
The age old stone walls of my old cell in Magnimar provided a feeling of security. The oaken timbers and furnishings burnished smooth over time by contact with the hands and feet of the countless others who had come before me. Our quarters smelled not unpleasantly of stone dust, wood polish and sweat, made all the more pungent by the heat of mid summer days.
In the winter we were allowed small fires for warmth on the coldest of days, lit in small iron braziers that lined the hall outside our cells. While the heat was modest, just the soft glow of embers was enough to warm our souls and spirits and we counted ourselves fortunate to follow Sarenrae, goddess of light and fire.
Here at the Sandpoint Cathedral there will be no fires in the winter or any other time. Only the great Cathedral itself is of stone, and the surrounding support buildings are all of wood. I have a disturbing image that these wooden buildings are like kindling that burns quick and easy so that the mighty log, the Cathedral, might burn too.
Over five years ago this very horror took place, and that event had brought me here to help Sandpoint begin anew. But instead dark memories have been dragged forth to loom over Sandpoint like a shadow from the past.
Kyras was out this morning with Bart the Beagle Breeder trying to track down the place from whence the goblins entered the town yesterday. It is hoped that by finding the source, we might find who within the city used the goblin attack as a distraction so that father Tobyn’s grave might be plundered.
I spent much of the morning helping Father Zantus prepare for today’s dedication of the Cathedral. Unlike the big public affair of yesterday, this will be quite a small ceremony with just the clergy, the mayor and sheriff present.
I took advantage of my time with Father Zantus to question him about Father Tobyn and the horrific events of that dark day some five years past. I was surprised at some of what he revealed.
Father Tobyn had a daughter, Nualia, who was a foundling whom he took in and cared for as his own child.
Nualia was uncommonly beautiful; so much so that some in the village thought she must have been touched by the gods. She was treated with a disturbing mixture of reverence, fear, awe and envy from the locals of Sandpoint.
She was constantly touched, rubbed, poked, prodded, had her hair pulled out and clothing torn off in patches by those who thought she was in some way divine herself, and so sought to gain blessings by association with her.
Likewise she was constantly touched, rubbed, poked, prodded, had her hair pulled out and clothing torn off in patches by those who thought her beauty must have been gained from some evil deed or pact (or from the just plain envious), and so sought to punish her.
For Nualia, life in Sandpoint was unpleasant at the best of times, and sheer torture at the worst.
Father Tobyn had greatly hoped to bring Nualia into the church by having her join the sisterhood at Windsong Abby. Nualia was not as enthusiastic over his plans for her future as he, and the two frequently argued. And so the relationship that should have been a safe haven for Nualia became yet another trial to endure.
It was little wonder then that she should take up with a Varisian stranger who arrived in town sometime around Nualia’s 18th birthday. The two of them spent a great deal of time together, much to Father Tobyn’s chagrin, and some of the locals were certain that their relationship was of a romantic nature.
Father Zantus then spoke in a much lower voice about the rumors spread among the midwives some time later.
Apparently Nualia had been confined to her quarters from some months and not seen by any of the towns folk for quite a while. A midwife was called over to the Cathedral, an unusual event in and of itself, and she tended to Nualia as she gave birth to a still-born child. The midwife was charged with quietly slipping out with the tiny corpse and over to the bone yard, where the poor little thing was buried.
Only the poor little thing was reported to be a hideous monster, such that the midwife used the term “daemon child” whenever she talked about that evening.
A very short while later the entire Cathedral burned to the ground. The fire had started in the sleeping quarters, where both Father Tobyn and Nualia were asleep in their own cells.
Father Tobyn’s remains were recovered and buried with his few modest possessions. Father Zantus paused here and asked, partially to himself, “and so why would the goblins dig up and take his entire coffin?”
Nualia’s remains were never found, and she was presumed to be completely consumed by the fire.
I had listened to Father Zantus with a feeling of growing dread and horror, and I felt chilled as he completed his tale.
How could the fire only partially burn Father Tobyn (he most likely perished from the smoke) and yet completely burn Nualia’s body to ashes?
A daemon child still-born just days before?
This was all related in more ways than Father Zantus, or indeed most of the locals were willing to admit.
And why would someone want to take Father Tobyn’s entire coffin with so little of material value buried within?
I had a sinking feeling that it was Father Tobyn himself that was goal of this theft, and feared the worst.
The silence following Father Zantus’ tale was broken as Nolin and Trask entered and urged Father Zantus to move the dedication ceremony an hour earlier. Nolin reasoned that if it was the dedication of the Cathedral that was the target of yesterday’s goblin attack, then we could expect another disturbance today.
Father Zantus countered that this would be a small private affair and only the city officials and clergy knew of it. I quickly pointed out that it was certain at least one city official was involved in the goblin raid, and Father Zantus reluctantly agreed to the schedule change, providing Mayor Deverin and Sheriff Hemlock agreed as well.
Avia, our trusty paladin, quickly escorted Deverin and Hemlock back to the Cathedral, where Father Zantus completed the consecration ceremony with most of us “Hunters” standing guard.
To keep up the appearances of holding the dedication at noon, I conducted the Blessing of the Mid Day Sun to honor Sarenrae.
Again, there was no interruption; thus confirming my belief that the goblin attack was simply a distraction provided so Father Tobyn’s coffin could be stolen.
Afterward the the mayor and sheriff approached us and asked if we would meet them in the Town Hall at 3:00, where they wished to discuss the goblin attack. Apparently our work both in fighting the petite pugnacious pests and our subsequent investigation of the raid had gone neither unnoticed nor unappreciated by the city officials.
It is now nearing the hour past noon when we Hunters are to meet at the White Deer and discuss strategy for unraveling this mystery.
Sunday, Rova 22, 4707; Lost Coast Road west of Sandpoint; Night
The White Deer was also destroyed in the fire of the “late unpleasantness”, and had been rebuilt into a lofty three story establishment of stone and wood. At the entrance on either side was the statue of a deer, carved from white wood. Within was a a spacious great room, but our company elected to meet in a private room towards the back of the inn.
There we learned from Kyras that the dogs could not pinpoint the location from where the goblins entered the city. It was as if they just appeared in the central business district, and from there fanned out.
We decided that our next step was to track the goblins that fled from the city’s north gate, with coffin in tow.
Picking up the trail was easy, partly because there were over a dozen of the little buggers skittering up the road, and partly because their attempts to cover their tracks were so utterly incompetent. After a short distance the foot prints of little goblin feet veered off the road and into the wood to the south. Tracking became more difficult as the light prints of our quarry left little mark in the deep mulch of the forest floor.
Eventually Kyras lost the trail and we retraced our steps back to Sandpoint for our meeting with the mayor and sheriff.
We were shown into a meeting room of the Town Hall where Mayor Deverin and Sheriff Hemlock were waiting for us, along with a slender elven woman. Hemlock introduced her as Shalelu, an experienced tracker who worked in a unofficial capacity for the Sandpoint Guard, and who was an authority on the local goblin tribes.
Until now I had considered goblins to be like roaches: an unorganized infestation that if left unchecked could have serious consequences for public health.
Imagine my amazement when Shalelu described how the local goblin population was divided into five semi-organized autonomous tribes! While occasionally a single tribe might stage a small raid on a small city the size of Sandpoint, more often than not they limited their depredations to isolated farm holds. Their more serious skirmishes were restricted to attacks on rival goblin tribes.
Shalelu emphasized how the tribes loathed one another and simply did not get along. She then paused and said, “All five tribes participated in yesterday’s raid on Sandpoint.” She told of other goblin attacks within the past 24 hours as well, including a local farm that had been burned to the ground just this morning.
Something new was in the area and organizing the goblin tribes into a single cohesive (for goblins) unit. Someone or something that instilled fear and awe into the “weeds that bite”, as Shalelu called goblins, was controlling them.
The sheriff chimed in and said that because of the change in goblin behavior and the threat it posed to Sandpoint, he was leaving for Magnimar that day to hire additional guards. He noted how the locals had come to know and respect us for or help in the battle, and the mayor asked that we keep a high profile presence in Sandpoint while the sheriff was gone to keep watch and help maintain calm.
We agreed to help, and then shared what little information we had gleaned from the Sandpoint attack. Shalelu agreed to help track the north-west bound group. And so just a few hours after having left the goblin trail we were back in pursuit, with Shalelu in the lead and Kyras lending assistance.
The trail continued through the woodlands, making for the highlands known as Ravenroost, and the Tickwood forest beyond. As we neared the feet of the highlands Shalelu paused and said that the trail split there. One track led south to plateau called the Devil’s Platter, where one goblin tribe lived, and the other track led north back toward the road.
We opted to follow the northern track, reasoning that the group heading south was returning to its tribe, while those that went north carried the coffin to its destination.
A short while later Shalelu paused again and said she saw human sized boot prints accompanying the goblins. We continued on for an hour or so more before Shalelu lost the trail in the dim light. We were near enough to the road that we pushed forward and set up a small camp by the road side, waiting to see what the morning light might reveal.
Kyras, Avia, Sabin, Rigel, myself and Shalelu all remained in camp while the rest of our party returned to Sandpoint to uphold our agreement with the mayor.
The twilight has come and gone, and the stars are out, playing hide and seek among the thin strands of cloud that sweeps overhead. The fire has died down to orange red embers which give little light, but ample warmth and comfort. There is just enough light to write by, and soon we will fall into the nightly routine of rest and watch.
Moonday, Rova 23, 4707; Lost Coast Road west of Sandpoint; Morning
The morning fire crackles hot and bright as we cook our late breakfast. We were up with the first crack of light, and Shalelu found the goblin tracks (plus boot prints) heading out from the woods and up onto the road. There they stopped abruptly. No doubt a wagon or carriage of some sort was waiting and picked them up. Whether they traveled east back to Sandpoint or west we could not tell: too many tracks led to and from the city for the The Swallow Tail Festival of two days past.
We will wait for our companions and accompany them back to Sandpoint, where we will continue our investigation as best we can.
Shalelu will leave us ere we depart, as she has her own business to attend to away south.
Moonday, Rova 23, 4707; The Rusty Dragon, Sandpoint; Late afternoon
On our way back into Sandpoint we checked out a couple of landmarks just in case they were being used as a hangout for the goblins or the goblin ringleaders.
First stop was The Old Light, a ruinous tumble of stone blocks perched upon a bluff overlooking the sea. Other than the wind rustling among the ranks weeds pushing up between cracked masonry, there was nothing there.
The next stop was Chopper’s Island, a promontory thrusting out from the ruins of The Old Light, and accessible on foot in all but the highest of tides.
As we stumbled about the island two of our native Sandpointians (Sandpointites? Sandpontonians? Sandpointers?), Nolin and Sedjewick, wove a tale from the local lore of the infamous Chopper.
During the late unpleasantness local wood carver Jervis Stoot went insane and killed 25 people, hauling their bodies back to his home on the “island”. There he gouged out their eyes and cut out their tongues to lay on an altar shaped as a monstrous, bird like creature. Chopper himself was found dead at the base of the altar, with his eyes and tongue missing.
From the description of the altar the creature sounded like a daemon to me, and I wonder if Chopper was really a crazed killer or an unfortunate victim.
The towns folk had burned everything to the ground and destroyed what hadn’t burned, and so there was little to find here.
Still, there is no way that Chopper’s murderous rampage could be unrelated to the fire that burned down the northwest half of Sandpoint, the death of Father Tobyn, and the disappearance of Nualia. Just how this all ties together is beyond me.
We drifted back into town, checking in the the guard, and then heading down to the Rusty Dragon for a drink and a chance to talk together about all we had found thus far, and to mull over the even longer list of unanswered questions we had uncovered.
We never ordered the drinks, for soon after entering the tavern an elderly halfling woman, who introduced herself as Bethana, came over to Kyras and begged for a moment of his time. She escorted us into a private room where she turned to Kyras and sobbed, “Mistress Amiko is missing!”
Amiko is the owner of the Rusty Dragon, and apparently the daughter of Lonjiku Kaijitsu, the owner of the Sandpoint Glassworks. There is a lot of odd family history that Bethana shared that included her disgraced brother, Tsuto; her mother, Atsuii, who died in a mysterious accident (some say murdered at the hands of Lonjiku); and the fact that for all but Tsuto Amiko had turned her back on the family.
Bethana became concerned when Amiko failed to return to the Rusty Dragon the previous evening, and so became alarmed this morning that she entered Amiko’s room and found a note written in the odd and intricate script from the far east. Fortunately Bethana could read the script and translated the note for us.
It was from Tsuto, Amiko’s brother, and he implicated his father in the latest goblin raid on Sandpoint and begged that she meet him at the family glassworks that evening.
We received permission from Bethana to search Amiko’s room, where it appeared she had left as if to run an errand from which she would shortly returned. The fact that she left alone and so quickly made it likely that the letter was from her brother, and she went trusting its authenticity.
We are heading over to the Glassworks to search for Amiko or any sign of her where abouts, and to see if there is indeed a connection between the goblins and Lonjiku Kaijitsu.
Moonday, Rova 23, 4707; Glass Street, Sandpoint; Early evening
It is dusk and the sky is quickly deepening from turquoise to cobalt. I take a few moments now to record what we have found in case I do not survive the night.
We arrived on Glass Street to find the Glassworks closed. Aptly named is Glass Street, because the factory dumps all of its broken glass onto the street before it, where it is ground to a round pebbly rubble by the passing of heavy iron shod wagon wheels and the tramping of countless workers heavy boots.
None the less, there are many sharp shards embedded in the road, and no children run bare foot up and down the road, nor do dogs or farm animals stray this way.
Rigel quickly scaled the side of the stone building and peered down into the shop below, where she saw from the ruddy glow of the forges more than a dozen goblins capering about on some mad mission of chaos.
Kyras slipped away to notify the town guard, and we have forced open a window that looks into the dark office of the glassworks.
Rigel is about to climb in and open the door so we may all enter and confront the goblin menace.
