Magnimar, Early Spring, 4710

© 2007 Paizo Publishing

Kali considered the oil paintings. In all, there were seven songbirds, the holy symbol of Shelyn, of different varieties all done in a mixture of styles and settings. The little artists’ shop was small but more cozy than cramped, and behind her Qatana was casually browsing through a series of more traditional paintings, almost absentmindedly. She had picked up a landscape depicting the Lost Coast Road and the sea beyond but gave it little scrutiny before hanging it back in its place.

“I didn’t know you were a follower of Shelyn. I never even thought of you as being religious.”

Kali was still deciding between two of the paintings that she liked the best; she didn’t respond immediately so Qatana continued.

“Shelyn is a strange choice for a Vudrani.”

Said the way one might remark upon the weather: “It’s hot in the sun” or “The wind is picking up”.

Qatana was like that. Kali found it oddly comforting. Yes, she could be blunt and occasionally rude, but she was honest and said what was on her mind, and she never did so with malicious intent. You always knew where you stood with Qatana. For years, she, Ana and Ameiko had been the only friends that Kali confided in.

“I’m only half Vudrani.”

“Still.”

Qatana knew how Kali viewed herself, and was not going to let her avoid the implied question with this response.

“The texts of Irori are as much an elaborate series of fitness manuals as they are spiritual guides. I tried when I was young. I really did. I even read Unbinding the Fetters when I was thirteen and attempted to follow everything in it: the diet, the meditations, the exercises…all of it. I couldn’t do it.”

She followed it strictly for many years—she still did, more or less, save for the exercise—and it had had a profound effect on her health and her mental discipline, but almost none at all on her physical strength.

In the Church of Irori, it was not enough to try. You had to progress.

“Self-perfection of both mind and body,” Qatana remarked, quoting its best-known tenet. She was idly inspecting another painting that she had no interest in.

“Yes.”

“You haven’t the strength.”

“No.”

Qatana had picked up a pendant from a small display rack, the first item to genuinely intrigue her. The pewter disc was strung onto a simple leather necklace, and carved into it was a scene of a leafless tree in front of a barren landscape. It reminded Kali of the dead of winter.

“Why Shelyn?”

“Why Pharasma?”

Qatana gave her a blank stare.

She is not going to let this drop.

The truth is, Shelyn appealed to her. A lot. The goddess of art, beauty, love and music embodied almost everything Kali cherished about her Vudrani heritage. Music and art were integral parts of the culture. The ornate architecture and ever-present music in Jalmeray, the aureate textiles and fabrics, the fine and intricate details in carvings, paintings and sculptures. Even her clothing was a celebration of art: sarees in rich reds and golds edged with sophisticated patterns in contrasting tones. Kali had gone so far as to line them with pockets, and she wore her sarees in place of the more traditional wizard robes favored by others (the morning after altering her first, she awoke to a brilliant Scarlet Tanager singing at her windowsill).

Photo by Jeanne Kosciw. Used with permission.

Followers of Shelyn were even encouraged to produce artwork and music of their own, to the best of their ability. The emphasis was on self-expression, not on a constant need to improve. This, too, resonated with her deeply.

“The art. The music. And, unlike Irori, with Shelyn it’s the journey that matters.”

Qatana considered this for a moment and then nodded, apparently satisfied.

“Why Pharasma?”

Qatana was silent for some time, fingering the pendant, turning it over and over in her hands.

“She brings us into the world and then sees us out. She does so dispassionately and with little thought or concern for what happens to us between. There is no pretense, no good or bad, and no judgment. It is a brutal and ugly existence, and I found her disinterest appealing.”

She stopped, and Kali thought she had finished and was about to comment when Qatana continued.

“It is sometimes hard to find meaning in such world, and yet here we are. I thought that a life in service to Pharasma would lend meaning and purpose, but as much as I respect her, she leaves little room for hope.”

Her words sank in.

“You’re considering leaving her Church.”

“I am.”

This was significant. It was almost expected for someone like Kali, still young and merely a follower, to have some uncertainty in their life before settling on a deity, but Qatana was pursuing the clergy. It was not unheard of, but it was rare and it would have consequences.

Kali was holding a painting of a stylized Cardinal with a flourishing tail, perched on a stone wall covered in ivy. She recalled that Tanager in her window and the choice seemed obvious now. This was the one.

Kali spoke again.

“Pharasma leaves little room for hope. Irori leaves little for contentment. We have something in common.”

“So it would seem.”

“I hope you find what you are looking for.”

§

Contributing authors: Leonard

Spring, 4709

Kali had finished packing up her room and was helping her mother with what was left in the study. The wagon that would move these final items to their new home in Magnimar would arrive before noon the next morning, and due to some delays in the deed transfer on the warehouse and office space there Akmal was unable to return to Sandpoint to help them finish. Denea was loath to hire help for crating up what was essentially a collection of sensitive and personal family items—Next time we move, we’re packing these first, she thought—so it was up to her and Kali to finish.

When giants and a dragon attacked Sandpoint the previous year several blocks of the city were damaged or destroyed, and while the family home escaped unscathed the warehouse for Nassim Goods had not. The fire that engulfed the theatre sent hot embers into the air and raining down across the waterfront, and one of those embers landed on the roof of the warehouse and set it ablaze. Fortunately, the roof structure collapsed before the fire could completely engulf the building, and the business suffered only a partial rather than total loss.

Akmal and Denea had less luck with the insurance adjuster, who argued that their policy did not cover “damage in times of war”. Reports from agents of Magnimar, who had been tasked by the Lord Mayor with investigating unrest in eastern and northern Varisia, had turned up evidence of organized giant activity under the command of an upstart leader named Mokmurian. “And that, you see, qualifies as war,” he said, emphasizing the final word by stabbing his finger on the desk where the copy of the policy lay. Denea did not have to look down to know that his finger had landed squarely on the word “war” on the parchment. The man had probably had this exact same conversation a dozen times in the past week. That he was still alive given how emotions were running in town said a great deal about Hemlock and Deverin’s commitment to law, order and security. It was not often that either Akmal or Denea admitted defeat, and even rarer for both of them to do so at the same time, but they knew a losing bureaucratic battle when they saw one. They ate the loss, and Akmal made the decision to move the business to Magnimar as soon as he was able.

The financial impact on the family was significant, far more than either of them was comfortable admitting. Coupled with the move expenses, 4708 and 4709 were very lean years and Kali had to wait until the latter to begin her schooling, but they were alive and on steady footing. A great number of families in Sandpoint were not able to say the same, including even the infamous Scarnettis. (Recognizing how fortunate they were, Akmal and Denea donated generously to the town’s emergency fund over the next year. “I never asked your father, and he never asked me. We just did it. It was the right thing to do,” she recalled while talking to Kali about it a few months later.)

Kali was clearing some papers out of the main desk in the study when she saw one that caught her eye.

“Mom…what is this?”

She was holding a letter addressed to Denea Borellan, from the Aneka University in Korvosa dated in early 4687, offering her a tenured teaching position and describing what that would entail. It went into some detail about salary, a stipend for living expenses, and even support for research and publication. Denea came around the desk to where Kali was sitting while she read. When she finished, Denea spoke in a light voice as she reminisced, half-smiling.

“That was the year your father asked me to marry him. He proposed just a month after they sent me this.”

Kali knew precious little about her parents from before they had met. She had the stories they told her, and what both sets of her grandparents had told her, to draw upon but they seemed to exist in a different place and time. She remembered that her mother had taught for a year—Or was it two?—before she and her father married, but she didn’t remember hearing anything about this. A tenured position? She knew that was significant. And mom would have only been, what, twenty-two? Twenty-three?

“You…you gave this up?”

It was the wrong thing to say and she immediately regretted it. The expression on her mom’s face turned hard in an instant. “That is what your grandparents think, yes,” she said sharply.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Kali.”

Kali stopped and considered her mom. She’d known for years that she had a strained relationship with her own parents. Very strained. It became more obvious as Kali grew older, and that relationship was almost certainly worsening with each passing year. It was part of the reason they did not visit Korvosa very often anymore. If it weren’t for their granddaughter Denea may not have even seen her parents at all since leaving. She’d overheard bits of the arguments they’d held behind closed doors on more than one occasion and some of the things that were said were awful. She had always wondered what had caused their falling out.

I guess now I know, she thought.

Denea’s face softened, as did her voice.

“Even before I met your father, I was happy. I was researching and teaching Thassilonian history, and a little of world history after the fall of Thassilon. I was a socialite in a Varisian city-state. I knew what I wanted from my life. What I wanted was that.

“Then I met your father and I fell in love. And because of your father, I am happier than I ever was or thought I would be, I am discovering the world for myself instead of learning it from books behind a desk, I am a contributor to many of those same books that I used to read, I find and touch relics from history instead of seeing them in museums and sometimes I even put them there myself, my world is much larger than one city of modest influence and an inflated sense of its own significance, and most important of all? I have you.

“Now. Tell me, Kali. What have I given up?”

§

Rova 21, 4707

The first scream came just as Father Zantus started to speak. Kali, Ameiko and most of the crowd around them turned to see where it had come from when the second scream pierced the air. Ameiko focused on something in the distance, said “Goblin!” and then took off at a full run, darting and weaving through the crowd as a wave of panic rippled across the square from the southwest. Kali called out after her, but Ameiko neither turned nor slowed. Then, a chorus of shouts, yells and howls erupted from everywhere and true panic set in, several people running in any direction that took them away from the festival grounds. Kali lost sight of Ameiko in the chaos.

As the crowd scattered, Kali watched a small, dark shape slip behind a wagon parked next to Savah’s Armory. A small animal of some sort lay in front of it in the street, motionless in an expanding pool of blood. Strange, high-pitched voices—nonhuman voices—joined the cacaphony.

“Dad…?”

“We need to leave. We need to leave now!”

Akmal and Denea started to run but stopped mid-stride just as abruptly and Kali collided with her father, almost knocking them both down. Briefly irritated, she quickly saw what was wrong: a group of six goblins had appeared in the square, one jumping up on to the tables and scrounging for food while the others shrieked at disoriented stragglers.

“Go around, not through!” she heard her mother call out.

Denea grabbed Akmal’s arm and steadied him, then looked directly at Kali. Their eyes met, and Kali nodded. Let’s go! she thought.

As they dashed along the southern edge of the square, dodging scattering townspeople all the way, Kali caught sight of several heavily armed individuals confronting the goblins who were now advancing on the thinning crowd. She thought she saw Sedjwick and Kyras among them, but she did not recognize any of the others (and you could hardly forget, say, a half-orc carrying the largest battle axe she had ever seen). When they reached the southwest corner of the square, Akmal (now in the lead) almost ran straight along the narrow alley between buildings to Shell Street, but at the last second he saw something he didn’t like and yelled out “Right! Right!” and rounded the corner. Denea and Kali followed close behind. The battle in the square sounded fierce and brutal.

Now headed towards Church Street, the Kesk’s jewelry shop straight ahead, Kali glanced over and saw two goblins fall, slain by a pair of sword fighters. A large man and an equally large woman had nearly cut them in half. A priest was tending to a teenage boy who lay dying on the ground behind them.

Where is the town guard? she thought to herself.

Akmal called out “Stop!” just before they hit Church Street. The three of them came to a halt, hearts pounding and breathing heavily.

“What is it?” Denea asked him. Kali recognized the stressed tone in her voice.

“Something large, just past the Cathedral. I do not know what it is, but I see two animal eyes reflecting in the dark.”

Kali saw a glint of steel and noticed that her mother was wielding her dagger, and remembered seeing her draw it while they were running. I didn’t even know she was carrying that. Where does she hide it? She’d only seen her mom produce it like this a dozen or so times and it always gave her chills.

“Are you armed?” Denea asked her husband.

“No,” he replied.

“Idiot.”

“It was a festival.”

A huge ball of fire rose into the air on the far corner of the square. All three turned in unison and saw a wagon engulfed in flames.

“The fuel oil,” Akmal observed.

“More are coming. Can we make it to the house?”

Kali watched as several more goblins descended on the square. The group of would-be defenders—she counted seven of them now—met them head on. There was still no sign of the town guard. A furious skirmish erupted.

“That thing is still there. It is watching us.” Akmal replied.

“We’re probably safer near them.”

The fight in front of the Cathedral was over almost as fast as it had started. In less than half a minute the square was littered with the bodies of slain goblins. One of their wounded—Kali couldn’t see who—was sitting on the steps. Father Zantus had arrived and was reviving the critically injured teenager. The group held an agitated discussion that Kali could not hear, but she was pretty sure what they had decided: to the south, plumes of smoke were rising from the city center and there were sounds of distant fighting. They started moving that way when yet another scream rang out, this time from the northeast, near the city’s north gate. It was followed by the furious barking of a large dog.

“That thing is moving. It is headed towards the White Deer…” Akmal said. Unspoken—he didn’t have to say it because they were all thinking it—was, Next to our house.

The impromptu militia stopped, turned, and bolted up Church Street, running towards the source of the commotion.

“Go!” Akmal shouted.

Kali saw it happen and cried out “Wait!” but it was too late: a goblin sprinted out from behind a water barrel along Junkers Way heading in the same direction as the others, just as Akmal and Denea stepped into the street from alongside the building. Neither saw the other and the goblin collided with Akmal’s legs at a full run, sweeping them out from underneath him. Akmal went down hard onto his side, landing inches from the goblin that had been flattened onto its back, the wind knocked out of it.

Denea reacted first, bringing her dagger down with a sickening thud into the prone goblin’s chest. It shuddered and was still.

Kali watched this all unfold. Something in the back of her head told her she should have been frightened, but she wasn’t. It also occurred to her that, all around her, people had been panicking but she hadn’t done that either.

“Are you OK? Are you hurt?” Denea asked her husband.

“I may have broken a rib when I fell.”

He got up slowly. Denea handed him the large knife that the goblin had been carrying and he took it without question or comment. Up the street, the dog had stopped barking and they could hear another skirmish. From the sound of it, this one was much more fierce than the others.

“Through to Cliff Street?” Akmal asked.

Denea nodded and they moved, crossing the road more carefully this time, then slipping between the jeweler and the neighboring house. When they emerged on the other side they saw one of the town guard laying face down in the street on their left, almost certainly dead. His sword was not drawn and his hand had been clutching his crossbow when he fell. It looked like he had been stabbed from behind while readying his shot.

They went over to him and Akmal bent down to confirm what they already knew.

He added, “It is Garridan.”

Kali was staring at the crossbow on the ground. She looked up at her dad, to the sounds of the fight up the street near their home, and then at the glow from the fires burning in the city to the south.

And then she picked it up.

“Kali.”

She turned to face her father. He was holding something out in his hand.

“The quiver.”

§