Category Archives: Jade Regent

The Jade Regent adventure path.

Character: Kali

Kali’s Journal, Sarenith 22-23, 4712

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Sarenith 22, 4712 (Brinestump Marsh, Night)

I am not sure what I have gotten myself into here. Besides the obvious, that is, which of course is a swamp. Certainly this is not how I envisioned that the day would end, even after we made the decision to come here. I don’t know why—maybe it was Qatana’s confidence—but I just assumed we would be done before nightfall. In retrospect that was pretty naive of me.

Am I in over my head? Possibly, but I feel like this is a tipping point in my life. I could spend years scribing scrolls in the guild and researching and copying dusty tomes in some library in Magnimar, basically growing old and dull. Or, I could be like mom and dad, and take a chance on something more than safe. And, honestly, how much safer would that “safe” life be? The worst thing that ever happened to me was just a stone’s throw from my friends. There are no guarantees anywhere, not in Magnimar, and certainly not in Sandpoint.

I almost didn’t even come to Sandpoint at all. When the letter from Ameiko arrived, suggesting I come back for a few days to visit, I was more than a little apprehensive. For one, our friendship had been fading even before we moved away and I had long since come to terms with it. I didn’t know what it meant that she wanted to see me. And for two, this town had been hard on me growing up. Most of that was already solidly in the past, too, but it still brings back some unpleasant memories and I wasn’t sure I wanted to see some of those faces again, even in passing.

But in the end I said yes, and here we are. I guess curiosity and a glimmer of hope won out. I am not exactly sure what I was expecting from Ameiko, but if she reached out that meant she wanted to try and reconnect in some fashion, right? Maybe she’d be less distant, and maybe time had helped her—deal with? heal from? come to terms with?—whatever it was that happened out there, and that the walls would come down a bit.

They did a little. It wasn’t the same as when we were kids, but maybe that is too much to ask of anyone. It doesn’t matter. It was good to see my friend.

After Ameiko took over that inn years ago it became the de facto gathering point for travelers, thrill-seekers, explorers and their ilk, and it’s also one of the few places where you can go in Sandpoint if you and your friends want to meet your friends’ friends, and their friends in turn. It was the latter that had me there for breakfast (though I was visiting Ameiko, I chose not to pressure both of us by also staying there) and some time in the common room. It had been years since I had seen Anavaru—that running gag about her “horse” never seems to get old—and though Qatana and I have been in touch off and on in Magnimar it seemed wrong to not get together while we were both in town.

Speaking of Qatana, I am actually growing concerned about her. Obviously, what happened in Kaer Maga all those years ago was deeply scarring and I wasn’t surprised to see it affect her as it did. No one should have to adjust to life as an orphan. When I learned she was going to Magnimar to study under clerics of Pharasma I thought she might finally be healing those old wounds, and after we moved there ourselves I was able to see her from time to time. But then she became obsessed with Groetus and the end times, and her life took a radically different and dark turn. Certainly, it has given her great strength and resolve, and at the core there is still the Qatana I know—she even started a bakery of sorts in Magnimar, which doubled as a soup kitchen—but it colors her thinking.

At times she does not seem to be connected to what’s around her. She seems uninterested in taking care of her appearance. Her actions can be random and occasionally they show a lack of understanding of basic social graces. I am almost certain she hears voices and there are moments when I think I see her talking back to them. But mostly I am concerned because I don’t know what this means. Are those voices real spirits or beings? Is this a part of her relationship with the deities of old? I suppose all things are possible. But where will it lead?

To be fair, she is more…functional than most followers of Groetus, and I use that term “followers” loosely. Groetus does not really have followers so much as he has recluses, fanatics, and lunatics (and sometimes all three at once), and they tend to be doomsayers or obsessed with the dying and the almost-dead. But there are rare exceptions, and Qatana is one of them. “The world is going to end,” she told me once. “It could be today, tomorrow, or next week.” Her life has a sort of immediacy to it. Time is not to be wasted.

It was Qatana that first spoke up when she heard about the bounty that had been placed on goblins from the Licktoad Tribe (I don’t know for sure how goblins choose their tribe names, but I think it is safe to assume that they are not ones for metaphor). Of course, we all knew about the attacks on travelers and caravans which were mostly nuisance affairs, but lately they had taken to scaring horses with, of all things, fireworks that had been stolen from somewhere. That was news to me, as was the bounty had been placed on them once before and then quickly pulled. Apparently, some kids with more courage than sense got killed trying to collect on it, and Sandpoint didn’t want more would-be bounty hunters going off to the swamps and not returning. But now it was back on again, which means the fireworks had upped the both the seriousness of the situation and the urgency along with it.

Qatana was ready to go right then and there, simply declaring “I need money,” as if that were the only explanation necessary. It’s the sort of awkward thing Qatana does.

She started asking “us” if we’d join her, and so the interview process began. And who, exactly, was “us”? The aforementioned friends of friends. A few people I’d seen around before we’d moved away, a few I’d heard of but didn’t know plus some faces that were entirely new. The interview process was mercifully short, with Qatana’s qualifying criteria being one of either “carries a large stick” or “casts spells”. (She can be refreshingly simple.)

When she asked me, I didn’t answer at first. My hesitation came from thinking about the kids that went out there before us and died for their trouble. That was a reminder that you don’t just go kill a few goblins as a means of minting coins: they may be the butt of jokes around this part of Varisia, but that does not mean they aren’t vicious and dangerous, especially in numbers. In a way, it sounded both cliche and naive to declare that we could just walk out to the swamp and “take care of it”, especially since many of us had met one another for the first time not just that morning, but that hour. But as I said earlier, I felt like I needed something big to upset my life so that I could find a new course.

Ameiko watched this all with interest and amusement (and possibly more the latter than the former), but she’s not in the habit of seeing people get hurt so she did wander over and offer some practical advice from her own experiences. That advice boiled down to: get to know everyone’s skills before you set out and put your lives in each others’ hands. Fair enough, and so we did. Note to Ameiko: the next time you give that speech, specifically add “and what languages you have in common” to the list.

We set out a couple of hours later for the Brinestump Marsh (who comes up with these names?), taking a fishing trail along the river delta to the shore. Ameiko told us of a halfling man who had set up a little home out there and established himself as the self-proclaimed “Warden of the Swamp”. If we wanted to get some information on the goblins, then perhaps that would be a good place to start.

It’s from his home, in fact, where I am writing this currently, and he has been gracious enough to offer us food and lodging for the night. But I am getting ahead of myself.

When we first arrived at the house we had been following two sets of footprints: one roughly child-sized (or halfling), and one human-sized. They led right to his home, and that is where events took a bizarre—and later, frightening—turn.

Qatana, Anavaru and Ivan approached the door (gods, Ivan is just a kid…what is he doing out here?) and, surprisingly, the Warden answered when Anavaru knocked. I couldn’t hear what was said, but I could see him and he did not look good: very ill, very tired and seemingly wounded. There was a brief exchange that ended with Ivan pushing his way forward to give some unsolicited healing. And then it got weird. Very, very weird.

Qatana…she just barged in. Literally. She just pushed her way in the door, without asking to come in, and without being invited. She walked right in his home and started poking around.

Everyone was in shock, especially the poor Warden. Except there was something about him that didn’t seem to fit. He was injured, and grateful for the healing, but he was also evasive and alarmed. Not because of Qatana or us, but because of something else. I like to think that this is what Qatana sensed and the reason why she did what she did, but I don’t know. Whatever her motivation, though, it set the right events in motion and it made me suspicious and the Warden increasingly uneasy.

So I cast a spell to search for magic, outside where I was out of earshot so as not to raise suspicion, and joined them in the Warden’s entry, under the pretense of helping to get a handle on Qatana and put the poor man at ease. What I was really trying to do was get a look around, myself, and what I saw gave me a bad feeling. There was no magic anywhere in the house except for the Warden himself. Not on him, but him specifically.

He was going on about being bitten by snakes, and having been poisoned (all of which clearly appeared to be true), and being afraid of snakes, and yet he lived in a house that was a habitat for snakes, and he kept feeder mice and birds. For snakes. And it did not add up. So we pretended to help by searching the house for more snakes while we kept the Warden under watch and stalled for time. I even asked Etayne to come in and look him over since witches know something of poisons and remedies, and thus she could put on a convincing show.

Eventually, I was able to determine that the magic around him was a faint transmutation of some sort, but I could not identify the source. So I called up to Qatana, who was searching the upstairs (“for snakes”). In Elvish, I said, “Qatana, I need you down here. I am detecting a faint transmutation aura on the halfling.”

And I was taken aback when our halfling friend replied, also in Elvish. “I am sure it was just the lingering effect of your friend’s healing spell”.

I felt a chill running through me. Any one thing on its own would be perfectly innocent, but all of this together created a picture that was just wrong. I could also feel the Warden’s unease, and it seemed we had started a dangerous game, with us knowing that something was up, and the Warden knowing that we knew, and we knowing that he knew that we knew, and so on. But neither side was ready to make the first move.

Then Etayne became severely spooked by something she saw, and she stepped out to call Olmas in. Under the guise of “you should stay down; you’ve been poisoned” and so on, he ensured that the halfling was sitting down and staying that way. This worked for a little bit but the Warden’s patience wore thin and Olmas had to get obstinate about it, and that is when our halfling host went from agitated to angry to hostile to violent. He leapt from his chair, ran upstairs with Olmas on his heels, and within seconds a lethal fight had broken out in the hallway.

We were not, in fact, talking to a halfling. We found the real Warden of the Swamp, one Walthus Proudstump, in a secret room on the second floor of his home after the fight was over. What we were facing was something called a “stalker”: a being capable of assuming the form of others, and both speaking and understanding any language. There are spells that can accomplish the latter two effects, but it would appear that these creatures do this continually. According to the real Warden, who we healed and tended to, they were created by the Old Ones. (Possibly as spies? I can think of no better purpose for shapeshifters who are instantly fluent in any language. But the Old Ones are long gone, so what is their purpose now?)

This one attacked Walthus and took his form. It’s not clear why. For the most part, Walthus says the snakes help keep them away (which means there may be more than one of them) but somehow this one was able to get to him when his guard was down—while we were playing cat and mouse with the stalker inside, Radella was searching the grounds outside and she came across signs of a struggle—and Walthus was nearly killed. He was able to get back into his house unnoticed and conceal himself in the secret room that the stalker did not know was there, ultimately saving his own life. The stalker, in the mean time, found that the snakes could tell the difference between the real Walthus and a copy, and he suffered numerous, venomous bites.

And that is how it came to be that I am spending the night in a small house in the Brinestump Marsh along the Soggy River. Walthus Proudstump, the halfling man who calls himself The Warden of the Swamp, was so grateful for our timely intervention that he served us dinner and gave us the use of his home for the night. He’s a good man. Perhaps a little eccentric, but a kind and generous man who is happy where he is and surrounded by the marshlands that he loves.

Sarenith 23, 4712 (Brinestump Marsh, Morning)

Last night was uneventful. Sparna, Radella, Anavaru and Olmas each took a two-hour shift on a watch. I had trouble sleeping, and spent the couple of hours writing. Nihali was uneasy as well, and I’d see her fidget and stretch her wings nervously. There was nothing specific bothering me so I guess I was just anxious about everything.

I don’t know Sparna well though he is a frequent visitor to Sandpoint. He has worked as a caravan guard for as long as I have known him, though whether he has done anything more than this I don’t know. Being a caravan guard is mostly about appearances and deterrence (something Ameiko taught me, and which I put to good use in Magnimar to keep the riff-raff at bay) and I suspect this outing is a welcome change for him. Perhaps a chance to actually use what he carries instead of putting on a show.

Radella is one of the new faces, a half-elf woman whose skills tend to towards tomb-robbing and thinking on your feet. Note: I am being diplomatic here. I have nothing against her, but I suspect neither mom nor dad would be likely to invite her to dinner.

I’ve always liked Anavaru and she was never unkind to me. It’s terrible what happened to her and her family. First her mom, and then her dad. Niska practically adopted them, and then Ana lost her, too.

Shalelu seems to know everyone in Varisia and Olmas is another one of her strays, this one a half-elf man. He seriously considered bringing a horse into a marshland. We actually had to talk him out of it. Where does she find these people?

Ivan, as I have said, is just a kid, too young to be properly concerned for his own safety. Another new face to me, but apparently close to Koya.

I remember seeing Etayne from time to time when I was younger. She’s a half-sister to Shalelu but I don’t know the circumstances (and it is not my business, anyway). She was not comfortable in town then, and she seems to be even less so, now. I can understand that. Witchcraft just isn’t trusted, especially in Varisia where superstitions flow like water.

This morning we are going back out to the Lost Coast Road so we can come in along a different path that leads to the goblin village. Walthus advised us against a more direct route through the marshlands. Apparently the “monster in the swamp” is real, and not someone’s imagination made legend through oral tradition. We saw a footprint yesterday—three toes in an alien arrangement—and Walthus said it belongs to it. “It has claws for hands and feet and its legs bend the wrong direction for a man,” he explained. “It’s jaws also open wrong.”

He said it was a fearsome creature that first appeared here maybe five years ago. And it sounds like something best left alone.

Character: Qatana

Qatana’s journal entry for October

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Fireday, Sarenith 22, 4712 Sunset
Brinestump Marsh

Two months in Sandpoint and I was still unsure what to do with my life. I was certain I needed to get away… far away. But there was the matter of picking a destination.

Huffy helpfully suggested, “Ask Kali — she’s been all over this part of the world.”

Of course, Kali! She came from some exotic lands far, far away, and has been to other places equally foreign. And like me she had recently returned from Magnimar, although we had only briefly chatted since.

Lately she had taken to hanging out at the Rusty Dragon, Sandpoint’s defacto hang out for travellers and other restless folk. Perhaps she too was looking for a change — when we spoke earlier she had mentioned the need to get away, but I did not think it meant anything more than a visit to the outhouse.

“You! Bath. Now.”

This is Ameiko’s usual greeting for me whenever I enter the Rusty Dragon, although for the life of me I cannot figure out why.

While I was in the bath house Ameiko had someone wash my clothes, and so some time later, reeking of soap and — lavender? — I was finally granted admittance to the common room.

Kali was there deep in conversation with a handful of common acquaintances.

“Yes, they have reinstated the bounty on goblin ears.”

“It’s the Licktoads — they got a hold of fireworks and are terrorizing travel and trade along the Lost Coast Road between here and Magnimar.”

“I heard they’ve actually killed some people.”

“Why the hell did they cancel the bounty? Goblins are like rats: if you let them breed unmolested you’ll have an infestation.”

“A few years back some teenagers went out to collect goblin ears for the bounty and their bodies were found days later. Parents complained.”

“I guess the latest acts of aggression have changed the mayor’s and sheriff’s mind and they are offering 10 gold pieces per goblin ear, and 500 for the head of the Licktoad chief.”

“Yeah, and some fools ran off a few days ago to deal with the goblins, but they never returned.”

“Unprepared.”

“Too few.”

“Inexperienced.”

And that’s when it occurred to me: travel is expensive, and my future plans called for a lot of travel. The goblin bounty would be a great way to quickly earn enough gold to get started.

Obviously I could not go alone: that would be foolish and I’d end up as dead as those unfortunates who set out a few days before.

Sitting around me in various knots of conversations were (mostly) familiar people who boasted a variety of skills that would be useful.

I interrupted Kali’s group and carefully explained my idea of forming a band to slay the marauding goblins and collect the bounties, and asked who would like to participate.

Right away I got seven people who were interested, and they began to discuss what sort of supplies and equipment we might need in the swamp. Machetes, scythes, water proof boots, water proof pants, hey how about a boat, should I bring my horse — wait, what? This organizing by committee was rapidly getting out of hand.

Fortunately Ameiko had kept an ear cocked to our disorganized attempts at planning a campaign and stepped in to offer assistance.

“Before you take off into the marsh, each of you should describe your abilities and discuss tactics you are likely to use when facing foes.”

Before the conversation fell to a discussion on who should start, and if someone should take notes, and whether we had the right type of paper or ink with which to record the events, I introduced myself.

“I’m Qatana. I wield a heavy flail and cause foes to be less competent. Oh, and I can heal… or end suffering — whichever seems more appropriate.”

I then pointed to Kali, who introduced herself and explained her mastery of arcane magics. She also had a bird who could act as a scout. When did she pick up a bird? Cardamom and cloves.

I then nodded to Olmas, whom I knew through Shalelu, albeit not well, “I go by Olmas, and wield a great ax. I prefer mounted combat.” Ah, that explained the request to bring a horse. Grass and horse sweat.

I had run across Ivan out hunting in the woods around Sandpoint years ago, but he vanished a while back. I was surprised to see him. “I’m Ivan, and I use a bow and can offer healing and guidance.” Smoke and brimstone.

Next I pointed to an unfamiliar dwarf heavily armored like a soldier. “Sparna. I use this.” He pulled out a massive pike, which instantly put him in my good graces. Oiled metal and stale beer.

“I am Anavaru and I hunt and usually fight with ranged weapons, and like Olmas I travel with a horse.” Right. A “horse.” Everyone in Sandpoint knew about her horse. Leather and camel dung.

Next was a woman I did not recognize. “I am called Radella. I wield a sword, and I am very observant and quite good with my hands. You might find me helpful in detecting traps and picking locks.” Patchouli and… snake oil?

I knew Etayne, but only casually, and I did not know what she did, or that she had a fox as a friend! “I am Etayne and I offer magic and healing. And this is my companion, Ling.” Whiskey and musk.

Ameiko seemed satisfied with our ad hoc team and pulled up a chair. Gin and sawdust.

“While it is not particularly large, the Brinestump swamp can make travel difficult. The ground is soggy, the undergrowth dense, and the trees crowd close together and block out much of the daylight.”

“There are paths fishermen use, but other creatures, including the goblins, make use of them too. In fact locals tell of a monster that dwells in the swamp and preys upon the unwary or ill prepared.”

“Some years back a recluse built a shack on the shore and he now calls himself the Warden of the Swamp. He is shorter than your friend here,” she said nodding at Sparna, “but he has managed to survive all this time in the swamp, and may give you advice on finding the goblins.”

“If you take the first fishing trail you encounter it will lead you to the beach near his place.”

Within an hour we had gathered our travel gear and met at Sandpoint’s southern bridge, from where we set out on the Lost Coast Road. The day was clear and bright, and the walk pleasant. By mid afternoon we had made our way to the fisherman’s path Ameiko had mentioned.

I led the way along the narrow path, which looked to have been recently travelled, although clearly not regularly. The vegetation became thicker, the ground more damp, and the smell of rotting plants (and other, less pleasant things) filled the air.

“It smells like Takoda’s butt,” squeaked Timber. “Shh,” I hissed, “now is not the time. Keep alert!”

We came to a rickety bridge crossing over one of the channels that make up the Soggy River delta. It had seen better days, but it looked safe enough, and so I crossed.

The others seemed more concerned, and so Kali and Ivan made use of Mending spells to make the structure more sound.

We continued on and the air became more oppressive, and the chirps, whistles, and rustlings of small animals seemed to intensify. Some distance ahead there was a soft splash, and a short while later we came upon another bridge.

We began to see tracks alongside the path: one disturbing set looked like it might have been left by a giant bird. Far off to our left a pig squealed in fear, but it was suddenly cut off.

Another bridge, and recent tracks on the path itself: those of a halfling and human heading in the same direction as us.

Soon the trees thinned out and a short time later the brush opened up, revealing a calm swampy lagoon before us. The tracks led south along the beach, and we followed.

We rounded a hummocky thicket and came upon a two storied shack — signs indicated it was inhabited, and so I called out a greeting, but there was no response.

Anavaru and I walked up to the door as the others fell in behind. Ana knocked.

“Do you think there’ll be mice here?” asked Huffy. McLovin replied earnestly, “Oh yes, I can feel their presence!” “And maybe they will share their food!” added Timber.

The door opened and a halfling stood in the entrance. He was bleeding from numerous wounds, and gaped at us with mouth ajar before saying, “Now is not a good time.” Fear and blood.

Ivan pushed his way up and used a spell to heal him.

The halfling seemed surprised, but thanked him.

That seemed to put our host at ease, and by this time my friends were frantically chanting, “Mice, mice, mice, mice!” Before Pookie broke the cadence with a prolonged squeal of, “Cheeeeeeese!”

It seemed like nothing would quiet them down, and so I stepped through the doorway, with an, “Excuse me, my friends were hoping to find comrades within,” by way of an apology.

First the hallway. Nothing there, and so the next door — ah, a dining room.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” said Badger, “Check that other door.”

The pantry, and out from the pantry slithered a snake — a viper. Silence from my friends, but the serpent behaved like no wild snake I had ever seen. It passed between my feet and into the dining room.

Curious, but not what I was looking for. Back out into the hall.

Olmas was discussing the goblins with the halfling — I guessed he was the warden Ameiko had told us about, but he seemed confused, and was making little sense. He did seem to think it a good idea that we should go after the goblins right way, but was offering no useful information about what they might have been up to or how to find them.

He denied having been out on the path earlier today, although clearly the two sets of footprints, both halfling and human, were made just hours before and led right up to the shack.

Hmm, yes, interesting, but not very helpful. Our host was standing before another door, but seemed unwilling to move aside.

“Did you know you have a snake in your pantry?” I asked.

“Snake?” said the Warden, “I hate snakes — they bit me! You need to go now and kill all of the goblins.”

Beorn said, “He’s hiding something — he needs to move.”

I pushed the Warden aside and opened the door.

“FRIENDS!” echoed eight little shouts.

Friends indeed. The room was filled with wicker cages of mice and little birds.

How unexpected, but then my guys had been telling me this from the moment we arrived.

“But he’s afraid of snakes,” I said puzzled.

Ivan glanced inside and turned to the Warden and asked, “Why do you have snake food?”

“Oh, I eat those.”

“Really?” I thought, “Then why do you have a pantry full of regular food?”

The Warden was getting positively anxious by now, and Kali had slipped in and suggested that my behavior had put him on edge. My behavior? Olmas and Ivan were the ones talking to him as he got more and more upset, not me.

The Warden was standing next to the remaining closed door where I had pushed him, when suddenly he started, looking fearfully at the door as he edged away.

Olmas reached over and opened it. The room was a vivarium with a score of vipers slithering about.

I thought the halfling was going to faint from the fright. “Snakes, kill the snakes!”

Clearly the halfling was not in his right mind, and thinking that he might be charmed and under mental control of someone else, I climbed the stairs and began to open doors. Ivan was close behind.

But we failed to find anyone else. The first room was an armory of sorts, the second an unused bedroom, and the third clearly belonged to our host.

Kali then called up in Elvish that the halfling was radiating some form of transmutation magic, and maybe I would be needed downstairs.

Oddly enough the Warden answered back (a hermit halfling that can speak Elvish?) that it was probably just the result of Ivan’s healing spell. Hmm, conjuration: not likely.

Meanwhile downstairs the Warden finally snapped and ran up the stairs to stand threateningly in front of me.

“Bite him!” snapped Star.

This did not seem like the best of advice, but perhaps if he saw me swinging my flail he might feel more inclined to talk.

No. He did not. Instead he transformed from a feeble looking halfling to a human sized creature with boney limbs, long claws, and a featureless face.

What the hell? I should have listened to Star.

He slashed at me and grabbed me with surprisingly strong arms. Fortunately Olmas and Sparna were hot on its heals, although the narrow stairwell made it difficult for them to reach the thing.

Olmas and Sparna each tried to hit it, but missed, which at least caused the thing to let me go and strike at Olmas.

Ivan let fly an arrow and shot it, and then both Olmas and Sparna struck it solidly, felling it. They drug its bleeding body downstairs, where I killed it.

warden

So if this was not the Warden, then where was he? Radella had been out scouting around the grounds and said she had seen signs of a struggle, and so we searched both in and out for the body of the halfling.

Instead we found a secret door to a bolt hole, where the Warden was hiding. He had been seriously injured, but after a little channeled energy he (along with Olmas and I) felt much better.

He explained that the creature was a “stalker,” which could assume the shape of its victim. They roamed the swamps, which is why he kept vipers, their mortal enemies, but this one caught him outside, beyond the aid of his snake friends.

He introduced himself as Walthus Proudstump, aka the Warden of the Swamp. Mouse and bird droppings.

Walthus was very grateful, and invited us to spend dinner and the night at his place. He also gave us a cloak of resistance, which was nice. It was also too small for any of us except Sparna to wear.

[100] +1 cloak of resistance (small) (Sparna)

He was also happy to provide information about the Licktoad goblins.

They lived deeper within the swamp, in a ramshackle fort they built for themselves. There were a couple of fishermen’s paths that led to their stronghold which we could take one to get to them, although it was likely to be watched.

He discouraged trying to trailblaze through the swamp and so come upon the goblins from an unexpected route. The mires, bogs and creatures — especially the Soggy River Monster — would make that route unnecessarily dangerous.

We will set out first thing in the morning.

 

Starday, Sarenith 23, 4712 Mid day
Brinestump Marsh

We ate a hasty breakfast and wished Walthus well, promising we would return at nightfall if we were in need of a nearby place to stay.

After back tracking over yesterday’s path we found the trail leading to the goblin fort. Little footprints of goblins and their dogs showed they must race up and down the path like squirrels.

The same sights, sounds as smells as the day before assaulted us, with the stench becoming especially stronger as the sun rose higher in the sky. We came across more bridges, and an unexpected fork in the way, at which we went west (right) further into the swamp.

Presently we came upon a crudely built fort: a palisades of rotting timbers driven into the muddy ground extending on either side of a foul smelling pool.

A gate had once barred entry, but had been pulled down and was lying, broken upon the ground.

We cautiously approached and looked around. Lots of little goblin prints ran out from the gateway, over the fallen gate (which appeared to have been pushed down from within). There were also human sized prints, but these were from boney feet — boney as in skeletal!

The structures within were on stilts to keep them about five feet up off the muck (and I had always thought goblins were beneath such cares), and raised covered walkways connected them.

The smell of smoke filled the air, and we could see that at least one of the goblin buildings had burned to the ground.

But a much stronger and far more wretched smell came from a large pit just inside the gate. Refuse, bones, and goblin corpses littered the bottom, and large black flies buzzed about, swarming anyone who came too near.

We carefully walked around the pit, and Sparna climbed up the short ladder to peer inside the first building. He called out, “Goblins!” and entered.

Kali looked at me with concern and asked, “Do you think this is right?”

“No, but healing might be needed,” I answered and followed Sparna.

Olmas climbed onto a walkway and entered from that direction.

There were perhaps a dozen goblins cowering in the corner. They seemed fairly pathetic and cowed at first, but when they saw us their look changed from that of prey to predator. Ah well, I needed the gold anyway.

Ivan shot an glowing arrow into the room, hitting a goblin and lighting up the space.

And so went our first fight together, with ranged folk sending in arrows and spells from a distance while the rest of us bashed goblin skulls to paste.

Goblins from another building leaned out a window and began to shoot arrows at our party outside, but they turned their attacks to this new threat, eliminating it in short order.


goblinfortA

Our goblins were killed, and we quickly followed the walkways from building to building. At some point we unintentionally separated into small groups as we opened doors, and so when Radella opened a door and yelled, “Lots of goblins!”
we had to scramble to get over to her.

Lots there were, and these put up stiff resistance, but we eventually killed them all, slaying the last one as it fled toward a pair of double doors.

The doors were barred.

We’ve taken a moment to gather together — how the hell could Kali risk exploring a full quarter of the fort on her own? I have drawn a quick sketch of the goblin fort layout based upon what we have seen thus far.

Character: Kali

From the Life of Kali Nassim: The Swallowtail Festival

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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.”

§

 

Character: Olmas

Olmas Lurecia, 32-year-old half-elf Cavalier

Olmas Lurecia studied the ground carefully. There was much to be learned from the fading signs of others, be they friend or foe. It was but one skill that he had learned from Shalelu. He paused to consider his situation and looked around carefully. The signs ended abruptly at this point, even though it was surrounded by soft dirt and leaves. Which could only mean…

He jumped to one side as he looked up to see Shalelu looking down on him with a serious look from her perch in a tree. “You do realize that in the time you stood under me, I could have planted a tree and watch it grow ten feet tall?” she asked rhetorically. Olmas grimaced a little, then smiled and responded, “You would have never survived the encounter.”

Shalelu tried to look serious, but finally broke into a small smile. “You did track me this far before I would have killed you,” she said in Elvish. “Where is your mount?”

Olmas gestured with his chin. “He’s grazing at the edge of the woods. I was afraid he’d mess up your trail if he were with me.”

Shalelu paused in a crouch, one knee on the ground, and looked up at Olmas. “Your thinking improves with every training session. Are you really so sure your way lies with the horse and lance and not with the forest and fauna?”

Olmas considered. 32 years had passed since his birth in Crying Leaf in 4680. A mere fifteen had passed since he realized how different he was from the other elves. Oh he’d known, of course, from the day he was born that his father was human, but what that really implied had not been apparent until he started becoming a man. While his friends grew long and lithe, he grew more…solid. More broad. Any human would say he was in great shape, but an impolite elf might say he needed to “change up his training”. In almost every other way he was the equal of his elven brethren, but in the one way that mattered to him, visually, he was obviously different.

Although everyone treated him outwardly like any other member of the clan, he knew that they knew that he knew he was not. So it was that at the age of 20, and against his mother’s wishes (“I’m an adult, Mother”) he’d struck out on a sojourn of self-discovery. The Elders also tried to dissuade him, but in the end it was less trouble to let him go than to hold him back.

His special sojourn almost led to his death. He was wholly unprepared for life away from the village. It was Shalelu who found him shivering and wet during a spring storm, exposed to the elements, and showed him how to find shelter where there appeared to be only dirt, and find game where there appeared to be none.

She knew of him, of course, as she was an infrequent visitor to Crying Leaf. He got the impression she was an infrequent visitor to nearly everywhere. Yet she considered him clansman, and started to teach him how to survive in the wild. “If you’re insistent on striking out on your own, the least you can do is avoid leaving a rotting corpse. It draws the wrong type of crowd.” He could never tell for sure when she was serious and when she was not. But learn he did.

Once he could at least survive a few nights, Shalelu left, although she returned frequently to add to his training. She would be gone for weeks, and then he would awaken feeling her sword at his throat. Twice he found himself strung up by snares he was sure she was responsible for. He began to sleep more lightly, and found himself looking more closely at shadows and oddly shifted branches and leaves. He listened to the animals – or lack of them, which was just as telling. He became harder to surprise. One time, Shalelu brought Qatana, a young human she was helping to adjust to the world. She was not unattractive, but she was human and every pore of her body warned you to stay away. She was clearly a story that was, by her choice, left untold.

Qatana was reticent and withdrawn when he first met her, but later that year, after several visits, she warmed to the point of only being silent and withdrawn. She listened intently to Shalelu, though, and seemed to pick up new skills quickly. She was younger than Olmas.

In between Shalelu’s visits, he met many people traveling along the road or through the forest. The one he was most impressed with was a caravan employing a cavalier with a handsome mount.

Olmas had a way with animals, as many elves do, and to the soldier’s surprise, charmed the animal easily, but he was most impressed with the way the mount and the rider worked together. He’d left Crying Leaf feeling he was alone, but here was an calling that would provide a non-judgmental partner. He listened intently to some of the soldier’s stories, which affected him far more than the soldier might ever know. It was through the soldier that he first heard of the goblin attack on Sandpoint – a place he was familiar with and which was, as far as knew, another of Shalelu’s “homes”.

After meeting the horseman, he began keeping an eye out for a suitable companion on his occasional trips into Magnimar or Sandpoint. While he wasn’t wealthy, he was certainly old enough to take up some odd jobs outside the city and earn some silver, and just this last year he’d purchased Kasimir. He was intelligent and together they’d reached the point where they could communicate with looks and light touches.

He found it odd that after he’d acquired Kasimir, Qatana’s demeanor changed. The next time she came with Shalelu, she watched intently as he worked with the horse. That evening, they were sharing dinner when she looked sideways at him, focused again on her food and said, “The horse connects with you.” This represented exactly four more words than she’d ever said to him before, and even Shalelu seemed a little surprised.

That was all she’d said that evening, but since then, she’d grown increasingly comfortable speaking to him. He learned something of her history from her and developed some understanding for how she handled herself. She was not silver-tongued—once she indelicately told him he looked ugly and smelled like dead fish—but she seemed, at least, somewhat at ease around him now. When she didn’t come, now he’d ask Shalelu why not.

“Olmas?”

He was startled back to the present. “Shalelu, I certainly understand the allure of the forest, and I know YOU feel out of place the longer you are away. But I think my destiny lies with Kasimir, and the Order of the Dragon.” Shalelu looked hard at him, and then asked a strange question. “Do you find yourself attached to these lands you’ve known all your life? Or are you a nomad, a roamer? Do you prefer familiarity, or change?”

Startled, Olmas stammered “I—I don’t know.”

“A mount needs more space than a mere backpack does,” she said. “Wouldn’t its rider, too?” Olmas stared at her, still unresponsive, before she filled the silence. “Come with me to Sandpoint, at least—I need to resupply and Kasimir would enjoy a bit of pampering, I think. I know a man who knows a man. We’ll see how serious you are about this new avocation.”

 

Character: Anavaru

Anavaru Orion, 21-year-old female human Ranger

Anavaru had lived with her parents and brothers in Sandpoint for as long as she could remember. Her family had always been hard-working, but of little means. Her mother was a devout follower of Desna and spent much of her time working in the church. Her father worked long hours at the lumber mill to provide for his family.

When her mother perished in the same fire that claimed Father Tobyn in the Late Unpleasantness, Anavaru and her family were crushed. Anavaru, just entering her teen years, did her best to care for her young brothers while her father was working. The Mvashti family, close friends of her mother, stepped in to help.

Anavaru had always had an affinity with animals and nature. As a child, she taught the family dog numerous tricks to entertain her baby brothers. With the Mvashti’s help raising her brothers, she was able to start pursuing odd jobs to boost the family income. She could often be found in the stables of the Rusty Dragon, caring for travelers’ horses.

Her father knew how much she dreamed of having a horse of her own someday, and he secretly started setting aside money, although he despaired of ever being able to afford one. Shortly before Anavaru’s 16th birthday, he heard a coworker at the mill complaining about the “ugly, stubborn sack of #@$#@” that his cousin had “temporarily” left in his care and never retrieved. He asked how much his coworker wanted for it, and was told he’d receive a small bag of gold if he could take it away that night.

The horse was truly unlike any other horse he had ever seen. However, the additional funds allowed her father to board the horse for a few days in a stable where Anavaru would not discover it by accident, as well as secure a set of light barding and a (to his surprise, by necessity, custom) saddle for it. He presented the horse to Anavaru on her birthday and she was overjoyed. She immediately began training it. As she bonded with it, she discovered that the horse was extremely intelligent, rather than stubborn.

Life went well for Anavaru and her family for a time. She managed to make a good amount of side income by selling rides on her unusual horse to travelers and small children. Her father was promoted to assistant manager at the lumber mill, and with the the Mvashti’s support and friendship, her brothers began to find their own paths in life. One decided to honor his mother’s legacy by devoting his life to the service of Desna, and the other managed to secure a scholarship at the local wizarding school in Magnimar.

Sadly, peace did not last more than a few years in Sandpoint. Anavaru and her horse escaped without harm from the attack on the Swallowtail Festival, but her father was brutally murdered at the lumber mill not long after. Devastated by the loss of her beloved father, Anavaru began to spend more time in the forests outside of Sandpoint with her horse friend. She has found the peace and solitude there to be healing, and the focus on improving her tracking and hunting skills has been a welcome distraction.

Anavaru has started to get the itch to explore further afield, but she still frequently returns to town to check on her brothers. During a recent visit, her cleric brother mentioned that Niska had requested to speak with her urgently. She went to see Niska, and the elder requested that after her passing, Anavaru watch over Koya in her travels as she had watched over her brothers’ journey to adulthood. Anavaru thought it the request rather unusual, but made an honest promise to Niska that she would do her best. Three days later, Niska passed away.

Character: Kali

From the Life of Kali Nassim: Nualia

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Spring, 4701

Kali scampered down Main Street, taking care to avoid running into a pair of guards leaving the garrison as she slipped between it and the town hall. She didn’t want to miss too much of the sunset over the water, but colliding with someone on the busy streets would guarantee that she’d not get to see anything at all. She rounded the corner with equal care, a right turn that took her to the cliffs overlooking the gulf. She could see the enormous glassworks a couple of buildings down on her left as she trotted out to the edge.

The sun was just above the horizon, still bright but turning a fiery orange as it sank slowly to the water. She sat down on a comfortable grassy spot just a few feet from the edge that had become her favorite viewpoint, so caught up in her routine that she did not realize at first that she was not alone.

She recognized Nualia, of course; Kali knew who Nualia was within days of moving to Sandpoint. Everyone knew Nualia. At barely eleven years old she’d been fortunate to see more of the world than most people would in their entire lives. She’d seen humans from nearly every continent and humanoids of all types, but Nualia with her silver hair and purple eyes stood out among all of them. Not that she hadn’t come across others with a distinct or unique appearance, but those were all cross-breeds of some sort. Nualia looked both human and otherworldly at the same time.

What did mom say she was? Aas-something?

“It’s not polite to stare.”

Kali turned her head away quickly, feeling embarrassed. She could tell her cheeks were flushing as she said, meekly, “I’m sorry.”

Nualia was laying on her side in the grass just off to her right, one hand resting on her abdomen. Quite a few people in Sandpoint came out this way to watch the sunset every now and then, but this was the first time Kali had run into her here. For some reason it made her uncomfortable.

Nualia turned to face her.

“You’re Kali.”

It wasn’t a question, but Kali answered as if it was.

“Yes, miss.”

For just a fleeting moment Nualia looked annoyed and Kali was embarrassed again.

Dummy! Just talk to her like she’s normal.

People did weird things around Nualia. Not so much the ones living in Sandpoint, but those in the farmlands out to the east. They would ask to stroke her hair, or to have a lock of it, and to touch her face or hand. Some even asked her to kiss their children. Once while she was out with her parents Kali saw someone kneel at Nualia’s feet in supplication, and beg or pray for something. She wasn’t sure what because she couldn’t hear the words, but her mom was very annoyed and remarked harshly about the farmers being superstitious. Her dad was more reserved, but she could tell he found it terribly rude and he was shaking his head as they walked away.

“Other kids pick on you.”

Also not a question. This time Kali didn’t say anything. Yes, some of them did; she was getting used to it, and was learning who to avoid and who to ignore. That didn’t mean that she wanted it pointed out to her. Uncomfortable under Nualia’s gaze, Kali looked down. Her eyes found a path of dirt on the ground.

Nualia turned away, staring out over the gulf where the sun was dipping into the water, slowly turning from orange to a deep red.

After a couple of minutes she said, matter-of-factly, “It gets worse.”

The sun set in awkward silence.

§

Character: Etayne

Etayne Andosana, 29-year-old half-elf Witch

Etayne is the product of human Emotions and Appetites uncontrolled. Her father is an unknown human who happened upon an elf woman in the woods. He forced himself upon her and brought about Etayne. This Woman was already a mother to a daughter by the name of Shelalu. Etayne’s parents were prepared to get rid of this abomination, but Shelalu was excited to have a sister. They decided that they would keep the child, but cared little for her. It was Shelalu who practically raised Etayne in her young years.

To the rest of the town, Etayne was considered a vile creature. She would be belittled and beaten by others. if it wasn’t for Shelalu, Etayne would never have survived. With all the ill treatment, Etayne felt ugly and worthless. She hated herself and life.

When Shelalu left she wanted to take Etayne with, but Etayne refused to leave, never telling her sister it was because she feared she would only be a burden. Soon after Shelalu left a storm came through that Etayne would never forget. Etayne loved storms. They were one of the few things that actually brought her joy. She loved to dance in the rain and watch the lightning with excitement and wonder. There was something beautiful in the chaos it brought. Something magical. They made her feel free. As she was playing in this particular storm a most unusual thing occurred. A  fox was also out in the rain, and not taking cover from the storm. The fox seem to beckon for her. With curiosity she followed. They arrived at an oddly shaped stone and she heard a voice. It spoke of how pleased it was to find one who loved the wild of the storm and elements as much as she did. The conversed for a while. The voice promised to provide Etayne a way to enjoy the elements more, to have the power of them in some form. It could help her to learn to deal with her “Problems”. Etayne almost refused, but then thought of her sister and being able to help her. She made a pact with this being that night not sure of what she was agreeing to.

Shelalu would come back for intervals telling Etayne tales of adventure. Several times she talked of a young girl she saved from slavery, named Qatana. She treated her like a sister and desired Etayne to come back with her to Sandpoint and meet her thinking they would be great friends. Etayne still not feeling adequate, continued to turn her down. Though Etayne felt a small level of jealousy for this “Sister”, she loved these moments spent with Shelalu, and secret desired to meet Qatana. In the times between however she spent all her time with Ling, the fox. She learned a lot about magic and loved practicing, learning to be strong enough to go with her sister. She also spent a lot of time outside the village studying the plants and minerals with Ling. People already fearing and despising her for her lineage, feared her more as she secluded herself to the forest.

The studying of the plants became very useful when a sickness fell upon the land. Etayne became quite ill. Knowing that no one in the village would care to help her, she began to experiment with what she had learned. After several failed concoctions were contrived she found a cure. She thought of the others in the village who were suffering from this illness and it pleased her. She had a remedy. Other will likely find the cure as well but she had it now. They did not deserve her cure. This “Power” she possessed. Then she thought of her sister and the kindness Shelalu showed to Etayne. She then thought of the young who were not cruel to her and decided that she could at least try to help them as that is what her sister would at least do. Though many turned it down she offered her elixir to though families. Though who accepted found an end to their suffering sooner than those who waited for a cure from reputable healers, which did come about. Since then she would have secret visitors who sot her herbal knowledge.

With these visitors Etayne grew in confidence. She finally decided she was ready to join her sister outside of Sandpoint. When she got to Sandpoint, Shelalu was happy to see her. She set up camp with Shelalu and expected to meet Qatana. It seemed, however, that Qatana had recently left for the Priest’s Call.

Etayne found it hard to go into Sandpoint at first, with so many human men there. Etayne blamed human men for her rough life and desired to make them pay. The only thing that holds her back is her desire to please her sister. This, however, does not stop her from causing a little misfortune, to them in passing. A little bad luck or putrid food and drink never killed anyone…and makes for a good laugh.

In Etayne’s visits to Sandpoint in the few years she spends there she realizes that these people are more excepting of her than her home village and understood why her sister wanted her to come so much. She enjoys going to the Inn and quietly sitting in a corner to listen of tales from travelers. As she continues to visit Sandpoint she becomes more and more excepting of these people, Though, still nervous and skeptical of Old Men.

Etayne Andosana- Half Elf Witch Age 29

Character: Qatana

Prelude: Qatana’s journal entry

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Moonday, Gozran 16, 4712 Sunrise
Seerspring Garden

Spring is my favorite time to be in Magnimar.

The cold darkness of winter with its barren trees and washed out hues has given way to the pale green of awakening plants and the riot of blooming flowers. People reflect their surroundings, and heavy dark clothing has been shed to reveal the bright colors beneath. The chill in people’s hearts has also thawed, and kindness is now the rule rather than the exception.

The sun is just peeping above the horizon, highlighting the dew laden leaves with fire, and the webs strung between twigs glow with anticipation of the day’s warmth.

This is my favorite place in all the city, sitting with my back against a mossy stone wall as I gaze east over the tranquil garden and the still sleeping metropolis.

Nearby, the spire of the Church of Pharasma juts above the tree line, clad in brown, gray and blue shingles of slate. Had fate proved different I would be there still.

The soft voices of my friends remind me that I have some place else to be this morning, and that I had best be on my way. I stand and pick up my pack, heft the flail that lay at my feet, and head to the northern gate.

The time has come to leave Magnimar, and I shall miss it.

Moonday, Gozran 16, 4712 Sunset
Lost Coast Road

We are moving slow, but I suppose that is to be expected. On horse back you can make Sandpoint in a day from Magnimar, but it is 50 miles of hard riding. Most folks take two days for the trip (or longer if on foot) to spare the horses and their lower back-sides.

Originally I thought to hire a horse and make the trek in a day, but then Takoda suggested going up as part of a group. “Find a caravan in need of a guard. The extra coin won’t hurt, and you said you were after change, and you have been alone for so long this change will do you good.”

I wasn’t so sure how much good the addition of people would be, but he had a point: I was looking for a change. What was I going to do with my life? The world was a big place, and the maps I had seen in Magnimar showed nearly limitless possibilities. Kali told childhood tales of exotic and far away places she had already visited, and I found the idea of extensive travel appealing.

But for starters I wanted to return home to Sandpoint for perhaps one final farewell.

Apparently there was a glut of guards (or people posing as such) looking for caravan duty, and it was doubtful at first if I’d even be hired. I suppose I should have cleaned up some before the interview to make an impression. But what do you want in a guard, the smell of soap and bathwater, or someone who can fend off attackers? And so what if it had been a week or so since I last washed my clothes — and Timber, there is no need to snort “or so” as if to imply it was any longer… or much longer, anyway.

Fortunately Badger reminded me to tell the caravan owner I was a cleric (I do not look much like one), and so he’d be hiring both a guard and a healer for the price of one. That did the trick, and I was signed on. Clever Badger!

I rode in one of the wagons, which was comfortable enough. I told the leader that I could ride a horse, but he took one look at my two handed flail and said, “That’s no weapon for a rider!”

Well, duh! It’s not like I planned to fight from horse back — the poor dispirited animals they brought along wouldn’t be much good in combat anyway. But I held my tongue (thanks for the reminder, Huffy), and silently climbed aboard.

Fortunately the driver was neither inquisitive nor talkative, which gave me ample opportunity to think about the future, and to rest (I have the late night watch).

Toilday, Gozran 17, 4712 Sunset
Sandpoint

Last night was mostly uneventful. Some time after midnight the horses became uneasy, and there was a loud screech in the distance. I thought I saw a winged horse silhouetted by the moon, which brought to mind the old tale about the Sandpoint Devil, but nothing more happened.

Camp was broken and we headed out at a steady walk north.

The road headed west, and climbed over the rolling hills and down into various river valleys, and then slogged back up again. Clouds rolled in at mid day and graced us with a stady downfall for half an hour, after which they broke apart and went along their way, leaving us to our own.

By afternoon we were crossing over the Foxglove River and into the lands of my youth. A battered and weathered sign on the far side of the bridge announced “The Misgivings”, with an arrow pointing off to the left. Tacked below this on tattered parchment was a warning in faded ink:

WARNING

The house has been looted, but the evil remains

– Olithar –

Shalelu had mentioned something about this place some time ago — some story her bard friend, Sedjewick, liked to tell (or sing, more likely).

As we continued northward my heart began to rise. It had been some while since I had last been to Sandpoint, and each bend in the road revealed a familiar vista that triggered memories from my youth.

And as the sun began to set we crested a hill and found the quaint harbor town of Sandpoint quite the same as I had last seen it. Or so it at first appeared, but as we approached I could see new construction mixed with the old, and the remains of charred pilings poking up from the water in the warehouse quarter.

“It’s just as I remember it,” quipped Pookie. Yes. Well, Pookie claims she stowed away on caravan in her younger days and has seen most of Varisia, but I only half believe her.

We brought the wagons through the south gate and over to the market houses, where the goods were unloaded and I collected my pay.

I’ll ask around to see if Shalelu is about, or if worse comes to worse I can ask at the Rusty Dragon… but Ameiko has put conditions on my visits to her establishment.

Character: Kali

From the Life of Kali Nassim: In Jalmeray

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jalmerayWhen her parents announced that they would travel to Niswan just a few weeks ahead of her 11th birthday, Kali could hardly contain her excitement. It had been over five years since she had last seen her grandparents or the city where her father was born, and she could recall very little of her time in Jalmarey with any clarity. Some of that was simply the nature of a young child’s memory, but in the years since then the Nassim family had also been to the foreign ports of Kalsgard, Azir and Merab, numerous smaller settlements in Cheliax, and even briefly—very briefly—to the docks of Promise in Hermea (speculating about why Mengakare wanted those items would be a family pastime for many years). After the move to Sandpoint and the settling in at her new and now permanent home, those memories of what she saw as a young girl of six in Niswan were competing with others more recent and far more vivid.

She read a great deal about her father’s homeland in preparation for the journey and the more she read the more obsessed she seemed to become. At first, Akmal was concerned that the Kingdom would not live up to her expectations, but Denea quickly pointed out how unlikely that was: Niswan was a city that was formed, and still shaped by, the elementals and genies weaving magic in service to the Vudrani rajahs. Jalmeray was the west-most Impossible Kingdom and in this case it’s name was no exaggeration: the Kingdom itself would not and could not exist if not for the outsiders that were instrumental in its creation. One evening, Kali had asked if it was true that there were palaces “where the fountains flowed with wine instead of water”. Her father replied, nodding, “I have seen it”. How was it possible to be disappointed with such a place, when the reality was so much more fantastic than any story could convey?

And Denea was proved right in the end, as she often was when it came to her daughter. The almost eleven-year-old Kali was in awe of Niswan’s wonders. She walked on streets of red stone, between ornate pagodas several tiers high, silken streamers on their roof tops flowing in the wind. And the marble was everywhere: buildings, statues, fountains…some of them a pure white that gleamed int he sunlight. Niswan was a delight for the eyes, and there were many delights for the other senses as well. Now that she was old enough to appreciate it all she found the city to be nothing short of majestic.

Young as she was, though, she was also very keen and it did not take more than a few days for her to suspect that, aside from the culture, something about Niswan was very different from the other cities she had seen. It nagged at her. There were some obvious contrasts. The streets of Niswan were not just clean, but immaculate. The city itself was busy and bustling, yet also quiet and distinguished. It even seemed to have an effect on her mother: normally outspoken and rarely hesitant to offer her opinion on matters, Denea was reserved and deferential here (some might even call her behavior “polite”, though perhaps not within earshot). Yes, those things were obvious, but there was something else. Something much more subtle.

It was a couple of days before it came to her. Every city had its social and economic divides and Kali was under no illusions as to where she and her family fell on these scales. While the developed world might consider Sandpoint to be little more than a backwater settlement, her family’s life there belied its means. Children her age, or of any age for that matter, did not as a general rule travel the world, much less with her frequency. Most people did not leave their own country except to flee for their lives or as (unwilling) property of another. She knew, even at this age, the privilege under which she lived and a large part of that understanding came, surprisingly, from her mother. Denea not only didn’t shelter Kali from the harsh realities of poverty, at times she deliberately exposed her daughter to it. “Your father’s influence,” she would tell Kali many years later. “I wanted to raise you better than I was.”

What Kali saw in Niswan was a city like any other, except…there were no impoverished. There were poor, for sure, but she had yet to see what had been a common sight in every city of any size: the desperately poor, with no money and no prospects, surviving only at the generosity of others. There were no beggars, no homeless, no squatters and no squalor. When she broached the subject with her mother that evening, just as she was going to bed, Denea kissed her forehead and said, “You are an observant and clever young lady. And it is too late to talk about this tonight.”

Her father woke her very early the next morning, before dawn. “There is something I need to show you,” he said.

Two white horses were tied at the post in front of her grandparents’ home with reigns and saddles for riding, and Akmal helped her up onto the smaller one before untying them and mounting his. Once he was satisfied that Kali was ready, he said only, “Follow me,” and trotted off.

Akmal led her through the city as day broke. Whatever questions she had he was not ready to answer, and she eventually gave up on asking them and rode behind her father in silence. After nearly three quarters of an hour they had left the city proper, traveling along a small road on a grassy hillside overlooking the water. Down below, a rough path emerged from the brush and trees just above the shore, which it followed to austere wooden docks.

Akmal stopped, dismounted, and motioned for Kali to do the same. She eyed two  baqaara, ornately decorated as she had come to expect from Niswan (and in stark contrast to the docks where they were moored), sitting in the perfectly still water. Two men—a boat captain and a dockhand, Kali presumed—were preparing one of them for launch.

“Now, we sit and wait.”

In time, four hooded, cloaked figures emerged from the trees below, following the path to the docks. They approached the readied boat, greeted its captain, shed their cloaks and stepped aboard.

Kali gasped audibly.

“What happened to them?”

“This Kingdom was born from elemental magic 4,000 years ago, shaped by the will of the Maharajah Khiben-Sald. The magic of the genies still serves the rajahs today, alongside that of powerful sorcerors. This magic is responsible for the wonders around us, including the unnatural order you have seen in Niswan where even the lowest caste is provided for. But all these things…they come at a cost.”

The four figures took their seats, two choosing oar positions along with the captain.

Akmal continued, “All of this magic from hundreds of spells flows around us like the wind, and like the wind it is harmless…except on rare occasions when it is not, and causes these afflictions. This is the toll levied on a city created by, sustained by, and bathed in powerful magic from both our world and beyond.”

Kali watched in silence as the dockhand untied the baqaara’s mooring lines.

“If you are wealthy, or well connected, or simply have a large family of even modest means, you can pay to be cured. If you have none of these things…” He paused before continuing. “A lucky few are not severely stricken and may even recover in time. Most, however, are like this. They eventually become burdens on their families. When they have nowhere left to turn, they turn to the island of Gho Vella.”

The baqaara shoved off and its captain steered it away from the shore as the oars were lowered into the water.

“These men who ferry them. They do not ask for payment. No one knows why they choose to do this; if you ask them they will not say. We call them ‘The Curse Shepherds’.”

The boat picked up speed now, the captain and oarsmen rowing unsteadily at first but eventually smoothly and in concert. It was several minutes before Kali spoke.

“Why Gho Vella? What’s there?”

“I don’t know. Very few people do; I imagine that even fewer care.”

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