Sabacen moved along Festival Street, ducking into the familiar alleyways and back routes. He slogged onward, trying to watch for trouble, especially seeing the crowd gathered around the brewery. I’ll catch a pint later, he gruffed to himself, trudging through the crowded street. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do if I find trouble; it might not be the best idea to trying knocking some sense into these people, but it would be nice to have some back-up.

Sabacen reached the edge of town, noting the two guards posted at the southern gate. As he followed the thoroughfare to Market Square, an unmistakable looming figure appeared to his left.

“Drux, find anything?”

“I saw one of those guys from before; cam this way.”

“Right. Let’s go.” Finally someone who gets to the point around here. With his size, we might be able to corner and intimidate some information from these guys, maybe even take them in. Drux led Sabacen back towards the Dragon Races, explaining along the way. They continue East, as Drux had done before, catching a glance of Zevran aiming at the Dunking Booth and hearing a cheer ring out from Market Square. Circling through each back street, they find no sign of the man in black. As they move along the Riverside, Sabacen hears a young women talking nervously, seemingly pushing off some unwelcome advances.

He leads Drux around the corner, spotting Ryshinn at her booth for Vernah’s Clothing and a finely dressed man, Mr. Foxglove who had been at the Rusty Dragon.

“So, check out this hat, Drux. You can drink right out of this horn!”

“Look at this hat; we need to get this. Miss, how much is this hat?”

Ryshinn, visibly relieved, focuses on Drux and Sabacen, leading them into her shop to finish the sale. She gladly show them around, as Sabacen and Drux pick out a jester’s hat, sets of lilac candles, a feather duster, and a white shawl, all expertly gift wrapped in pink and purple paper with pink bows.

They begin to ask her about Foxglove, but she side-steps as gracefully as possible. The tips of her half-elven ears start turning pink as she says, “Last I heard, he was married, but he wasn’t wearing a ring. He certainly wasn’t acting married...”

Zevran and Snubs moved West towards the lower end of town, Tansy moved East towards Main Street, and Sabacen headed North along the riverside. I guess that leaves me with the harbor, Drux decided, as he began moving South from Market Square. The only people near there were congregated under a bright banner: “Dragon Races.”

Drux looked over the group, seeing four or five people dressed all in black, just like the men he and Sabacen had encountered before. Well, now I have something to do. He tried to be nonchalant (because he certainly could not hide) as he approached the “dragons” in their cages. He reached towards them, allowing a little of his nature energy to coalesce before casting Speak with Animals on the lizards. Immediately his mind was filled with various emotions: sleepy, scared, tired, hungry. One was very confused about being painted a different color, while another was scared to death of a bird that chased him earlier. Most of them were very tired and full and sleepy, but a few were hungry. As the race-master approached, it was one of these, a grey one, that Drux chose for his race.

As Drux approached the race track, carefully cradling his dragon, he saw a familiar face; the smaller man from earlier who had argued with him. The man began moving away, eventually slipping down an alley and away. At least we have a starting point. Drux continued with his race, lined up against three men in black, all with lizards who were hungry or scared. Drux spoke quietly to his charge, trying to clam him down a bit before the race began. It seemed to work well, because Drux’s dragon won, albeit only barely. 

Sabacen rises early, per usual, to focus on his connection with Gorum, eat breakfast, and join Aesrick for the day’s work. Today, he and Aesrick pull a loaded cart through the empty streets of town as the sun rises over the Hinterlands. Aesrick is always good-natured and jovial, but is giddy today as they begin to unload the cart at Junker’s Edge; he has built a small, wooden catapult for his Old Light game at today’s Festival. “I may be able to sell this to a collector and wealthy enthusiast, and it’s been quite fun to build.” He smiles lovingly at it while Sabacen helps to unload a few crates; Aesrick begins to set up the tables and stacked blocks resembling the Old Light. One of the crates is opened, reveling miniature wooden catapults -- “Perfect toys for the winners, eh?”

Soon, the sun gleams off the harbor, and Sabacen sees Zevran and Drux leave Brodert’s home. He excuses himself and walks with them to Cathedral Square for the welcoming speeches, meeting Tansy and Snubs at the back of the Square. Mayor Deverin stands at the center of the stage, short auburn hair styled neatly, commanding the attention of the crowd. Behind her, three men sit along the stage: Sheriff Hemlock’s keen eyes scan the crowd, while Cyrdak Drokkus chats with Father Zantus. A fourth chair sits empty, presumably the Mayor’s seat.

She raises her hands, causing the crowd to fall silent. She welcomes the crowd to the city and the Swallowtail Festival, making a joke before handing the stage over to Sheriff Hemlock. She claps politely as he moves forward, clearing his throat to speak. He asks the crowd for a moment of silence to remember the fire that claimed the previous chapel, before advising the crowd to observe caution. He gives a half-smile, urging the crowd to still enjoy themselves, and introduces the third speaker, Cyrdak Drokkus.

Cyrdak gives a wink to the crowd as he begins his speech, joking about the cost of the new Cathedral in a borderline-sacrilegious way. Sabacen had not met him before, and was not a fan of performers in general, but found himself slightly disgusted at his commentary. Good men and women have worked day and night to build this; the clerics have been healing and serving without a home or temple for five years. Without thought, his hands begin clenching at his sides.

After Cyrdak introduces Father Zantus, the crowd erupts in applause and cheers; he is obviously stunned at the response, calming the slight rage in Sabacen’s heart. He takes a moment to clear his throat, raising his hands to quiet the group down. He smiles, eventually speaking, thanking the crowd and declaring the Swallowtail Festival underway, twisting a large blue stone which rumbles with thunder.

Zevran slips the potions into his robes, following the group again toward the entry hall of the Cathedral, catching just the end of Sabacen’s statement: “..I am not going back there. They are too happy and…weird.”

“Can we send Snubs there?” Zevran laughs to himself, “You could just stay there…forever.”

Sabacen turns to the group, “Well, someone else needs to go talk to Balenar; I’ll meet you outside.” With that he moves towards the entrance, Drux following behind him, saying, “I don’t know Balenar, so I don’t need to go either, I guess.”

“Well, I guess we go down this way,” as Zevran heads down the final hallway to the West, noting the strange glasswork along the ceiling of the hall – dozens of shapes in orange, pink, and purple. As they approach the final two double doors, the glasswork begin turning to more blues and purples and even whites before one doorway (very light wooden doors, almost as if made of driftwood), while oranges, yellows, and pinks lead to a birch doorway with iron hinges.

“Sabacen said this is the right one,” Tansy states as she enters the birch doorway. Zevran and Snubs follow her into the church. Pink glass chandeliers hang along the ceiling, orange floating lights rest along the walls, and plush burgundy carpet covers the floor. Towards the back of the room, white curtains cordon off the area. A tall, blonde elf steps out from the curtained area, gliding towards the group (as only elves can do), greeting the group with a small bow. If anything could put Zevran off of church entirely, this might be it.

“I am Father Yagan; how may I assist you?” His voice is cultured, soft, and neutral. Zevran, never passing a chance to stir things up, addresses him, “We’re hear to see Bal the bard? Singing, dancing guy?”

“Yes, he had another friend visit earlier. He must be very popular.” Neither warmth nor frustration colored his response, and his face remained as etched stone as he extended his arm towards the curtained area. “He is through here.”

Snubs moves first, pulling back the curtain. Before them sits Balenar in a small bed, eating and looking the picture of health. “Oh, hey guys! This is the BEST place! I love it here! They woke me up all night and just kept feeding me. That elf guy kept bring me, like, leaves and berries, but my mom came, and she got me this awesome sandwich.”

Zevran continued to talk to Balenar, assuring him that Cyrdak was contacted and that they got tickets for the show. He continued talking, just enough to try to make him feel comfortable, before asking him about the troglodyte sacrifice.

From what Balenar could remember, it was clear that the troglodytes were afraid of entering the Temple of Nethys; Balenar was to be sacrificed to the troglodyte god, of which there is not a Varisian equivalent. His sacrifice would bring forth their god, who would fill them with power and strength to defeat the goblins who ran them out of their home.

As soon as Zevran could extricate himself graciously, he walks as quickly as possible towards the entry and out into the open air. Hopefully he won’t need to go back in there anytime soon.

After a quick trip to Savah’s Armory (to trade, sell, and buy weapons), they group made their way to the Cathedral. Tansy’s upbringing placed her in the large Church of Erastil on many occasions, like Planter’s Week, Archer’s Day, and the Harvest Feast, but they did not prepare her for entering the massive domed structure.

The vaulted, stained-glass ceiling hung at least two hundred feet overhead, while the darkwood paneling and lush tapestries gave the room a touch of warmth. Cut flagstone lay beneath their feet, causing her boots to clack and echo in the nearly vacant foyer. A young cleric stood at attention behind a circular desk; Sabacen spoke with her quietly before leading them down the Eastern, sunlit hallway.

The hallway was wide, but not very long, and quickly they arrived in front of two sets of double doors, standing sixty feet tall and half as wide. Tansy recognized the carved symbol of Desna, a Swallowtail Butterfly in flight, but followed Sabacen to a small alcove barred with an old, cracked wooden door -- clearly not part of this new construction.

Father Zantus greeted them, deducing correctly that they came to speak with him about the fallen tower once more, leading them to a meeting area within the Temple of Desna. Zevran began to unfurl the cloak containing the jade statue as the group gathered around Father Zantus, taking seats where they could.

“Erastil! This is an ancient depiction, though not surprising considering how old the tower is thought to be. This...this could be worth quite a lot of money; though, I am sure the church would be very grateful for this relic. Are you familiar with Mother Sheeda Kazi at the Church of Erastil? She just came down from Turtleback Ferry a few weeks ago to run the Church of Erastil here in Sandpoint.” Father Zantus spoke quickly and decisively, seemingly more practical than many other clerics Tansy had known. He gave directions to the group quickly, sending them on their way with a word of blessing.

Following Sabacen again through the Eastern wing, they re-enter the foyer before turning down the central Southern hallway, finding more wood and carvings along the hall, stained-glass pictures of animals in the forest and the city of Sandpoint, and a stone inscription to the four noble houses of Sandpoint, thanking them for their founding and support. Another set of wooden doors lay before them, mirroring the doors of the Eastern wing, but light wood with iron workings. Sabacen slides the door open, allowing the group to enter before him.

The familiarity hits Tansy, giving her a sense of peace. Simple design, framed, clear glass windows overlooking the town, though a stronger presence of nature here as trees grow into the room, branches and leaves blanketing the ceiling above. Near the plain altar, a half-even woman turns to face them, smiling and gracefully moving towards them. “Hello, I am Mother Kazi; how can I help you?”

“Father Zantus sent us to speak with you...is there somewhere more private we can speak?” Sabacen spoke quietly and almost gently; for the first time his profession as a cleric became apparent in Tansy’s mind.

“Yes, I have a study we can speak in. Is this of a serious nature?” Though her voice sounded full of concern and worry, Mother Kazi’s face remained passive as she looked over the group. Sabacen seemed to explain well enough to her, that she led them through the Temple into her study -- large, carpeted, leather chairs, hide/fur blankets and coverings, warm and welcoming.

For what seemed like the hundredth time today, Sabacen explained their journey to the tower and a synopsis of what they had found. Tansy found herself starting to zone out a bit, fully taking in her surroundings, when Sabacen’s gruff voice broke through, “...statue of Erastil that we found there.” He motioned to Zevran, who then pulled the statue from the cloak once more.

Mother Kazi looks over the statue carefully, pointing out details here and there, finally connecting the dots between the current symbol (a drawn bow) and this jade piece of three faces. She finally looks up at the group, “And you say you found this nearby? I’ve never seen a depiction in jade. We normally worship through more natural means...”

Zevran steps up to explain the tower’s age and how they found it tucked in a corner, and how they had it appraised, being priced at 500 gold. At this point, Tansy speaks up, “You may want to be careful with it. The town and the church have had some problems in the past. We don’t want this to cause any other problems for you.”

“Perhaps...perhaps I will tuck this away until after the Festival.” Mother Kazi reaches behind her desk, pulling on an empty drawer and depositing the statue carefully inside. “Thank you for recovering this.”

Sabacen walked next to Drux, nearly in a light jog in order to keep up with Drux’s long strides. Fortunately, it was only a few feet to the Garrison Entrance. Tansy stepped forward, and the gates immediately began to part for her entrance, then slowly closing behind her again. Snubs had seemingly slipped through next to her, unnoticed yet, but the rest remained outside. Sabacen took a few steps forward, ready to explain his way through the doors, but Tansy turned to the guards, saying, “It’s okay; they’re with me.”

The men continued to follow Tansy through the halls, and eventually to a guarded door: the Sheriff’s Office. As they entered, Sheriff Hemlock nodded, shifted some papers aside, and gave the group his attention.

“The goblin tribes are working together; they have the same leather armor insignia marking them. The seem to have already pushed out the troglodytes; we found some living in the tower.” Sabacen watched Hemlock’s face as Tansy spoke, noticing the stern twist of his brow, fingers clenching just slightly.

“Troglodytes, that far inland? I’ll have to sen word to Magnimar; we can only handle one tribe at a time,” he responded, reaching for some fresh paper.

Drux spoke up from behind Sabacen, “That must have been why I had to fight so many of them on my way here; young troglodytes, goblins, hobgoblins, even a bugbear.”

With this new information, Hemlock stands to address them: “We can’t have problems like this right now, not with so many people traveling for the Festival. Tansy, I hate to impose on you – and I don’t really know the rest of you, but if you’re with Tansy, that’s good enough for me – but we could use some help keeping things running for the Festival. The troops are going to be thinned already. I mean, please do enjoy the Festival, but just having some people keeping an eye on things would help.”

Sabacen steps forward at this point, grasping the opportunity: “He, sir. And if you need any scouting done outside of town after the Festival, I would be happy to help.”

“Thank you. I will be able to ask for some aid, but it won’t arrive until after the Festival. Magnimar should be able to help, perhaps even Fort Rannick as well. Was there anything else you saw or learned about? Anything else you needed? I don’t mean to rush you out, but there is quite a lot to get ready for tomorrow.”

“Don’t encourage people to go check out the tower; there is still some danger there,” Sabacen states. “Yeah, we need to get some druids or clerics out there,” Zevran adds in.

“I will make a note to speak to Father Zantus before sending anyone out there. I may need to grow our militia, put some word out there to find able-bodied townsfolk to train just in case the worst happens.” He sits down, looking up into their faces with unexpected openness, “It’s been a quiet five years, but no one in this town looks at me without thinking about how I got here.”

Sabacen trudges down River Street, taking the back path to his small home; the street is empty this early (though the Mill is running), but quiet walks like these help him focus in the mornings, help him prepare to hear from Gorum and understand his guidance. He spies Aesrick across the way working on a large contraption; “Tomorrow morning, then you can see it,” he waves to Sabacen before moving back to his project.

Sabs cuts across to the back entrance to his home, as not to wake his housemates, Well, it’s not really MY home, but the closest I have to one. He quietly moves to his bedroom, dropping off his traveling gear on his small, sunken bed. Slipping out the way he came, he walks along Crab Street, cutting across the bustle of Festival Street, before following High Street up the hill and to the Town Square.

After nearly two years of working on the Cathedral, it is always an inviting sight. Perhaps this has become my home, as well. He moves towards the main entrance in the North, noting that the stone obelisk has been covered with a large piece of linen. Ah, yes. The Chopper victim memorial. Must be some kind of unveiling later. He walks across the entrance chamber, ignoring the stained glass dome, wall tapestries, and other fineries as he marches on towards the doors to the Temple of Desna.

To the left, in a small stone alcove, lies a well-worn wooden door: the only piece of this new extravagant building that once belonged to the small, clapboard church that stood here five years ago. Sabacen knocks lightly; after a minute the door opens, a haggard-looking Father Zantus across the threshold.

“Sabacen, how good to see you. I was hoping you would make it to the Memorial last night; you know, see how much the town appreciates the hard work the Carpenter’s Guild has put into this place. I have some time now to chat; I was just preparing for the day.” He leads Sabacen into his study, a few candles burning on his desk, but sunlight streaming through the east-facing window. “You ran an errand for Brodert, correct? How did that go?”

Sabacen settles in a nearby chair as he speaks, “It went well. We found something that may be of interest to YOU though. There was an old temple of Nethys there, and these services and symbols were found there. I thought you may find some use for them.” Sabacen hands over the silver pieces and two holy symbols.

“We can definitely put these to use, and I have connections in Magnimar that may be able to use these holy symbols. Thank you. However, a Temple of Nethys is very rare; Nethys normally does not have temples built since his domain is magic. Do you think I should send some clerics there to study this temple?”

Sabacen agrees, and he marks a map for Father Zantus showing where the Tower is located. “There are a few things to be aware of before sending people in...” Sabacen explains the crumbling infrastructure, the flaming guardians, and the giant frog that is probably still there. “Thank you for your time, Father. I have a few other things to attend to this morning.”

As dinner was cleared, Bethana dropped off a tray of fruit and some warm cider. Talk turned to plans for the next day; Tansy listened in as the others discussed when to see Brodert and what other things they needed to do. She excused herself and moved towards the famous Notice Board to see what else may be happening in the area. Between ads for Festival Booths, help wanted notices, and the giant flyer for the new play at the theater, she found a small card written in fancy script: Missing Person Balenar Forsend, Reward.

Snubs had already started back towards their rooms; Zevran ad Sabacen gave Tansy the option of either room (or even her own, if needed), but she chose to stay in Sabacen’s room. She was used the the barracks in the Garrison, and Sabacen reminded her of her adoptive family, the Black Arrow rangers of Fort Rannick. After a day of battle and a much-needed night of laughs, the group slept soundly.

When Tansy woke, Sabacen was already out of the room, his gear and backpack gone; the only proof of his presence was a scratched out note on the nightstand: Brodert’s 10 AM. She gathered her possessions and met Zevran and Snubs at a table for breakfast, learning that Sabacen had made plans to run a few early morning errands before meeting them at Brodert’s, but that they could still see Daviren without him.

Warm oatmeal with cinnamon and chopped apples, a platter of pastries, and some fresh fruit was dropped off at their table; Bethana offered coffee, tea, and warm cider to drink. After a semi-leisurely breakfast, they made their way next door to weave a yarn for Daviren. And get some gold for those ears, she couldn’t help but recall.

As they turn the corner, she sees Daviren painting large flames on cut-outs of wooden houses, laughing to himself.

“Good morning, Daviren. What are you up to?”

“Oh, this is my game for the festival! Who didn’t grow up dreaming about tossing goblins into a fiery house to burn to death?” Though passionate, he had a smirk on his lips as he spoke; he sits on a nearby log, hands clasped on his knees, before asking, “So, have you come to tell your yarn?”

Zevran speaks first: “On the way to the tower, we saw hoards of goblins! At least 6 or 10 marching and dancing around a leader or chieftain in the center, who was guarding plunder from the area.” A small laugh escaped Tansy as Zevran continued, playing up the sneaky rogue and crafty ranger surprising the goblins, Sabacen charging in to slay them, and Zev himself blasting a group who fell unconscious. She watched Daviren’s face as he eagerly took in every word, asking questions about the horrors as Zevran continued his tale; she couldn’t help but snicker at the how this grown man believed his every word.

“So, does that mean you have souvenirs for me?” His eyes gleamed at the prospect. Tansy starts digging through her pack to bring out the ears as Zevran explains that most of the bodies were too mangled to recover any more. 

Daviren heads into his workshop, motioning for the rest to follow. She sees him perched atop a small wooden ladder, tacking the ears in a board overhead. He hops down, walks to a small desk, and pulls out 10 gold for Tansy. “I know I said 3 gold per pair, but how about 10 for the ears and the story?” She pockets the gold and watches as he flips an extra coin to Zevran with a wink.

Zevran begins, “You know, they had a massive albino cave crocodile with them! We killed it, too; we even have some of its teeth, pulled from its bloody maw.” Zevran glances at Tansy, waving his hand for her to produce some of the teeth.