#ongoing tasks

Tansy couldn’t help but be impressed by the old man. He wove through their narrative, grasping every loose end, every possible detail, every thought that may have slipped their minds. As Sabacen shared the Temple of Nethys and his talk with Father Zantus, she could see the gears in his mind spinning through possible implications, dismissing the unlikely as quickly as they came.

“Troglodytes sacrificing to Nethys? Were they successfully using the Temple? Is it possible they locked it up so none would enter? Troglodytes typically serve their own gods, not our Varisian ones…” His piercing gaze turned to her, “Well, of course, you would know better, my dear.”

Before she could answer, Zevran stepped in, “We rescued a prisoner, Balenar Forsend, a bard from the theater. He was to be sacrificed.”

“He may have answers; Nethys doesn’t take sacrifices. This is very strange.” Brodert turned a picked up the medallion, studying the crude carving on its surface before speaking to them.

“The appearance of the Sihedron Rune is of great importance. It is sometimes referred to as “the star.” It is believed that in the past a large stone star held the power of the Sihedron Rune, but it was much too powerful to exist. The stone star was cracked into seven pieces to keep its great power out of the hands of the runelords. I hesitate in telling you this simply because it is unverified and unfounded; the myth is based on a large stone that was found, considered to be one of the pieces of this shattered star. However, we do not know if this symbol will bode well or ill for us. It’s reappearance…I’d hate to think of what other things could be awakening, as well.”

For the first time, Snubs speaks up, “We have a mysterious power underground and a mysterious symbol; could one be fueling the other?”

Brodert’s reaction was half laugh and half gasp, as he swung around his desk, fingers scrolling over the titles of the books behind it. He frees the book from the shelf in a cloud of dust, flipping first to the index, then to a yellowed page. “Runewells. The runelords had runewells – some lesser, some major – that they kept underground as sources of power. However, none of the runelords used the Sihedron Rune. There were seven of them, each dominating a different style of magic; today those are known as the seven schools of magic – evocation, necromancy, divination, and so on – and each had a different rune or symbol associated with them. The region was split between them, though most of Varisia fell under the subject of one.

“As you know, I’ve been studying the Old Light, which I believe to have been a defense mechanism on the border between two runelords. It is possible that runewells would lie among this border as well, though it would be rare to have such a great source of power so near to an enemy…If a runewell was brought back to power, the amount of destruction it could cause could be catastrophic. One of these, even a lesser one, could collapse the tower, but if left alone to its own devices, it could rip a hole through the hinterlands, stretching miles…perhaps even to Sandpoint.

“Anyways, let’s stick to what we know for sure: troglodytes normally keep to their own; they should have never left the marsh, They must have been run out by the goblins. Troglodytes are much more organized and clever; only organized goblins in a great number could have overtaken them. The troglodytes have been a natural deterrent to the goblins, keeping the roads south of Sandpoint safer; the first step for goblins to secure the marsh would be to overtake the troglodytes. There are too many variables to know what they may do now. The Sheriff should be warned, farmers made aware, perhaps signs posted along the road…”

Tansy could appreciate his interest in this ancient culture, especially with his overwhelming belief of danger. Normally, this would give her pause: she had heard dozens of myths and fairy tales to know exaggeration when she heard it; however, the man in front of her seemed too practical to be given over to tales, too learned to belief unfounded myths, and too sharp to fall for half-truths. Despite what may be happening in the hinterlands, he was correct: the immediate course of action had to be the safety of the town, especially with many travelers coming in for the Festival.

When she broke free of her thoughts, Brodert was walking towards her, leather pouch clinking in his hands. “Thank you for going with them; keep them safe…out of anything they can’t handle, yes?” He winked as he slipped two platinum pieces into her pouch, his body blocking any wandering eyes. He turned to the desk, flipping through a few books; as Tansy looked at her companions, Sabacen nodded, and began walking towards the door. Snubs followed him, so Tansy did, too, checking behind her for Zevran, who sauntered through the corridor behind her.

Zevran slips his key into the lock, letting the group into the home he shares with Brodert, making sure they kick the dust and grime off their shoes before entering. He walks proudly to the study, head full of success and conquest. Gared was cleaning up Brodert’s desk (as he does every morning), but a few quiet words sent him to fetch the master of the house.

Zevran sat in a nearby armchair, though his new-found friends remained standing. It did not take long for Brodert to enter, the worry fading from his eyes as he took in the sight of them, whole and well.

“I’m so happy to see you all well and in one piece.” He looked across each of them, eyes resting on his apprentice, “So, what did you find?”

Zev perked up, ready to tell their tale once more. “You have NO idea what was going on in that place!”

“Well, obviously; that’s why I sent you, dear. Are you feeling okay?” Brodert looked at him, half-amused with his joke with an edge of concern. Zevran heard Sabacen’s quiet guffaw and snickering from Tansy and Snubs. Feeling the heat creep up the back of his neck, he jumped directly into the most cryptic part of the story.

“We ran into some goblins on the way there; they had the Sihedron Rune pressed into their armor. We found a medallion in the tower with the same rune.” He saw the old man’s eyes glimmer with interest, restoring Zevran’s pride; he pulled the medallion from his pack, gingerly placing it in Brodert’s hands.

“The Sihedron Rune is a great mystery; no one knows it’s use. This is quite a discovery, indeed.” Brodert continued to ask questions about the journey and the Tower; while Zevran primarily spoke, the others chimed in on occasion.

Upon finding out that two different tribes of goblins were working together, Brodert asked if they had spoken to Sheriff Hemlock. Tansy replied, “That’s where we’re going next.” Brodert was an excellent listener: excited by the details, and his sharp mind never missed a step.

They handed over their findings; first, the crimson banner. “Ah, this is from an archaic hunting lodge, The Band of the Phoenix. They existed 100-600 years ago, which is quite strange considering the tower is several thousand years old and was, apparently, undisturbed. A second way in, perhaps? Underground tunnels?”

They discussed this for a bit, Brodert deciding to contact friends in Magnimar for a possible excavation, after the clerics from Father Zantus cleared the building and deemed it safe to continue.

The first item that gave him pause was the jade statuette: “This is a rare relic of Erastil, an ancient depiction. This should go to the Cathedral, though, they should know this is easily worth 500 gold. Protection may be necessary; I would hate to have trouble come to the Cathedral after all that has happened. Though, there is a large Church of Erastil near Turtleback Ferry; perhaps they would be better suited to guard it.”

Sabacen exited the study, then found his way back to the main hall. A few clerics swept and dusted the new fixtures; he stopped to ask one where Balenar Forsend was being treated. Sabacen followed patiently as the cleric led him to a small desk, then motioned for him to follow towards the west wing of the Cathedral -- The Temple to Shelyn.

The cleric, a young elven female, stopped before the door to the temple, bowing her head: “He is being treated here. Father Boli will be of service to you. May optimism lead you.” She moved like flowing water back toward the entrance hall, leaving Sabacen before large, oak doors. He slid one door open, drifted into the hall in silence, and carefully allowed the door to close behind him.

-------

Tansy, Zevran, and Snubs made their way through the morning bustle of Festival Street, skirting past the crowds at Grocer’s Hall to enter the Sandpoint Theater. The lobby was empty, leaving the brass doors to the theater house unguarded. Tansy moved first, Snubs and Zevran following behind. They walked down the center aisle, listening to a man on stage shout directions seemingly into the rafters above.

“It is simply not captivating enough! I don’t know if it’s the lights, perhaps this painting...When the curtain opens, the crowd should gasp at the beauty!” The man continued for several minutes before the group interrupted him with news of Balenar: safe, sound, and in care of the Cathedral. “So he’s not dead. All in one piece, yes? Delightful. I would hate to have to lug the set pieces around myself. How demeaning!”

-------

Yagan Boli, head of the Temple of Shelyn, introduced himself quietly to Sabacen, leading him to a cordoned corner where Balenar rested, gliding along in a way only elves can. Sabacen could scarcely concentrate through the niceties with Father Boli for the overwhelming and unnerving sense of clam and peace in the Temple. The open expanse was bathed in an orange glow, the tinkling of pinkish glass devices above him the only sound. The temple itself seemed to pull the emotion from his form, tugging against his holy passion as if to snuff it out completely.

He kept his head enough to learn about Balenar’s care, noting that he should be released tomorrow morning. Balenar’s passion for words and performing became a safe haven for Sabacen, as he learned of the boy’s entrance in the Performer’s Contest for the Festival. 

“I hope to see you perform tomorrow; come and find us to grab a drink, alright?” The sentiment surprised Sabacen even as he said the words.

“Yes, wonderful. Oh, and someone should really tell Cyrdak about me. I would hate to lose my part...”

Sabacen agreed, then left the temple quickly. He moved through the entrance hall to a quiet corner in the northeast of the Cathedral; a converted storage closet given for his use. He knelt and prayed, relishing the return of strength to his bones and passion to his heart.

-------

Zevran and Tansy reminded Cyrdak of the promised reward, and with a pout, he sped off the stage towards the back area. The group hears a hhrmp from the front row, noticing for the first time a large, dwarven man sitting and watching this exchange.

“Volioker Briskalberd, town locksmith and friend of the theater. Please, don’t mind me.”

Cyrdak returned with a huff, “Here you are! Two tickets for each of you to next Starday’s performance on The Harpy’s Curse! Starday is an excellent day to come, the best night I had openings available for you.” He turned away from them, complaining about his scenery once more.

Snubs has never been one for church or the gods, but he has sen enough to respect the clergy and their beliefs; after all, it can’t hurt, right? So, when the rest of this group trudged up Festival Street towards the newly constructed Cathedral, he found himself strangely intrigued by the spectacle of interring a man’s bones five years after his death.

The theater stood silent as they passed; the road towards Cracktooth’s Tavern was empty at this typically busy hour. The reason was obvious: the number of people and lanterns visible near the Cathedral proved that most of this small town were still invested -- with their funds and their hearts. His group, led by Tansy, cut up High Street to the Town Square, (at which point Sabacen walked Balenar to the Cathedral, leaving him with a cleric at the door) moving carefully around the southern edge of the Cathedral to the Cemetery on the east, catching the end of Father Zantus’ speech.

“This Cathedral is a beacon of hope for this town; it would not EXIST without this town. Even though tonight we are saddened by the event’s that took the life of this great man, that took the life of his daughter, we can now take time to celebrate what we have done together as a community.”

There are several dozen in the crowd; Snubs watches their faces as the cleric speaks, seeing tears slide down a few while others stand in tense silence. He feels the magic before he sees it, the peaceful feeling that has fallen over the cemetery as a blanket, offering warmth and protection. He glances back towards the mausoleum where Father Zantus stands, now noting the four clerics of Erastil on the outskirts of the crowd, hands raised and wreathed in warm light.

“...peace, community, and working together. Thank you.”

People start moving towards the mausoleum, picking up paper lanterns on their way forward to Father Zantus. He offers most a kind word or handshake before lighting each lantern. As the lights begin to fill the northern sky, Snubs falls between Zevran and Tansy in line. Sabacen had rejoined them at the end of the speech, but remained apart from the line, waiting solemnly at the edge of the cemetery.

“...part of our community.” Father Zantus reaches forward to clasp a hand of Zevran’s shoulder and lights his lantern. 

He smiles down at Snubs, “Hello, I don’t think I’ve met you before, but thank you for coming and joining our community.”

“Sure, no problem.” Snubs watches the Father closely as his lantern is lit; Father Zantus reaches a hand towards him, placing it gently on his head. The blossom of healing ripples down his form, clearing his mind and erasing any remaining physical corruption.

As the Father turns away to greet Tansy, Snubs looses the lantern, watching it swirl off behind the others. He turns and walks back towards Zevran and Sabacen as Tansy’s lantern is lit and loosed. As she joins them, they travel south once again. Snubs can feel his mind working against itself: adventure versus peace, hard-won treasure versus easily-taken trinkets, unity and community versus inevitable loss. These tall idiots versus fighting alone. He shakes the thoughts loose, reminding himself that free food, a free bed, and more treasure await him in the morning, let alone the need to warn more responsible parties about all they had seen and heard.

Clanging and yells rang out in the tower; the door slammed as one of the guards ran in to speak with the “jailer” Tulok. Luckily for Balenar, he remembered most of his Draconic from school. (He had always been good with words...plus Nualia had been in that class.) He shook her face from his mind and tried to concentrate on what was happening, if this was the end.

Two days ago (maybe three; it was hard to keep track) he had been walking towards the Hamsley farm to provide an escort back to town. All the great stories were about adventure, and he didn’t want to miss out on the possibility of one. He had “borrowed” his father’s armor and wayfinder, then stopped at the theater to borrow a few props (a shiny rapier, a solid shield). He spent too much gold at the General Store on whatever basics he might need as an adventurer -- a climbing kit? why not! -- and pocketed a few scrolls from various shops around town. (After all, if they weren’t needed, it was just as easy to put them back...)

The overwhelming stench nearby had him covering most of his face as he walked; that was probably why he never noticed as they surrounded him, knocking him prone and then unconscious. When he woke, he was in a small room (perhaps a large closet?), chained to the wall. All of his gear and equipment was taken from him; luckily, they had the decency to give him a bucket as his migraine and the overwhelming stench drove him to sickness. He assumed they heard his clanking and moving, because soon after the door swung open, revealing a large, muscular troglodyte and a smaller troglodyte holding a wooden staff.

The smaller one spoke to him (in Common, that was strange): “If you behave, we have no reason to make your stay difficult. Your blood is needed to appease our god and grant us aid against our foes. Do as you are told, and your last days can be comfortable; fight, and you will be harmed. Do you understand me?”

Now, he sat in the dark with no fight left in him (for what could he do in chains?) just waiting to hear news of what was happening; at least their stench no longer affected him. The guard spoke to Tulok in a loud whisper, “Intruders. They knocked out Rentir with some kind of colored blast; Drek went upstairs to warn the Master. What should we do?”