paizo.com - Online Campaigns - The War of the Lance (2024)

"If you ask me," the old man says as Tika fills Hederick's mug, "I think it might be easier if you go to a temple of the old gods. They're probably still out there, you know."

"Blashfemy;' replies the intoxicated Hederick. "The gods turned their backs on the world when they punished the world with the Cataclysm."

"Well, we already talked about the Cataclysm, and we know we can't agree on why that happened . But if you ask me, the mortals turned their back on the gods, blaming
them for the Cataclysm where they should have blamed themselves. And now, maybe both gods and mortals are sulking in their respective corners, each waiting for the other to-"

"This discushion is getting foolish, old man. Letsh ashk the girl-letsh see what the salt of earth has to say." He turns to Tika. "What do you think, girl? Do you think the old godsh are waiting out there for shomeone to give them a hug and a kish and say all is forgiven, or do you think the Seeker are the onesh who will move the world
forward on its journey to shpiritual enlightenment and perfection?"

Sitting at a nearby table, Reuben laughs mirthlessly and says,

"Seekers in search of enlightenment? Forgive me, but they'd have better luck deciphering the scribbles of a drunken hobgoblin than understanding what the gods and goddesses intended when they left."

Suddenly sober, he taps his mug on the table for emphasis,

"But I'll tell you, Solinari's silver light never leads astray—it's the true beacon amidst the fog of so-called divine guidance. Lunitari and Nuitari, they're the sort of relatives you tolerate once a year-best kept at arm's length."

He pauses for a moment, a half-grimace on his face, almost as if he is waiting for divine retribution. When none comes, his face breaks back into a smile, and he loudly proclaims,

"And the rest? If they're expecting apologies, they'll find them at the bottom of my ale mug—right after every ogre I've zapped with a fireball. Now, that's a pantheon worth toasting to!"

He wavily gestures for a moment, and sips at his mug, frowning slightly,

"And look, I've been so distracted by this religious philosophy that my drink's gone warm. No matter, what's being a wizard for, if not for the rewards?"

He chuckles and whispers,

"Arkanis minitulae, prestidigitae!"

A puff of chill air radiates in the warm atmosphere of the inn for a moment, and Reuben grins and drains the dregs of his mug. He then addresses Hederick and the old man, with every air of seriousness and solemnity.

"My friends, you may squabble over the seekers and the gods, but there is one truth that is unmistakable. This truth was imparted to me by the elders of the conclaves, and is one of the foundations of life in Ansalon!"

He leans forward conspiratorially, and says in a mock whisper that can be heard tables away,

"This truth, is that Otik's potatoes are a godsend, and all wizards adore them equally! The white-robes are enamored with their divine taste, the red-robes see them as the great equalizer, for all demand their spiced bliss, and the black-robes,"

Upon saying "black-robes," Reuben spits upon the floor and scowls,

"The black-robes praise them, for even the dead are willing to wake for just a taste!"

Reuben roars out another laugh, and calls for a refill on his drink.

The half-elf, dressed in the robes of a Seeker priestess quietly makes her way to the Inn of the Last Home. She knows that the Theocrat is probably here and hopes that there will be a large enough crowd that she can blend in. Hederick was not too happy that a woman, and a half elf and Solamnic had been allowed to enter into training to be a Seeker priestess. His wrath was up to the constellations when Elistan had sent her to Solace to check up on the affairs of the Church in that town.

When asked why her, Elistan had simply replied Your skills of diplomacy Marial Uth Kaldar are known among the people of Haven, and you were partially raised in Solace. The people will trust you, they know you.

She thought of this as she found a place in the corner and heard the Theocrat arguing with the old man.

She cleared her voice, she was nervous, but her training as the granddaughter of a Knight of the Rose and the teachings of the Oath and the Measure meant that the Theocrat was out of line. Though she was not a knight, she was still related to a ranking one.

Master Hederick, perhaps you are not in a state to have any type of theological discussions at this time of the evening. There are some who were raised on the stories of the gods of good. You dishonor your position by arguing with Grandfather. [b]

Hearing the wizard invoke the Black Robes she quickly turns around and suggests that he not do that too loudly or too frequently. [b] We are not in lands that welcome wizards of robes of any color, not just the White and especially not the Black

She asks Tika for a glass of water and then turns to the old man Tell me Grandfather, where are the gods of old? Both sides of my family, the Solamnic and the elven hold the gods of light, especially Draco Paladin, also known as E'li among the highest of all. Where are they as so much evil is apparent in the world? There is a sincerity and a longing for the truth in her question.

Augier is in the kitchen peeling more potatoes for the pile of Otik's special potato dishes. There is always demand for them so Augier is very busy peeling and cutting when he isn't cooking the stew or taking out the trash.

Hopiing off his stool, he goes and stirs the big pot of stew. Lots of big chunks of meat and veggie, along with bread. Augier wasn't very good at bread though and it turned out burnt.

Heading into the main bar, Augier started collecting dirty cups and plates to wash. He heard all the tall ones going on about gods but for Augier, food and the kitchen were his concerns.

At a table near Mariel, a thickly built hill of a man quietly signals for Tika to refill his ale mug, nodding gratefully at the barmaid as she pours in a generous helping of Otik's second-finest drink. "Thank 'ee, lass." Taking a long sip from his mug, the man gets to his feet - his rough clothes mark him as one of the Estwilde mountain barbarians, from far to the north, and his boots are stained with the soil of a dozen lands. His cloak is worn but sturdily made, and with its wearer standing at almost six and a half feet, its hood nearly brushes the ceiling.

From behind an impressive beard that takes up the majority of his face, two blue eyes gaze out at the world with mirth and no small degree of intellect, and he clears his throat before speaking in a rumbling bass, his words almost incomprehensible through a thick Estwilde accent. "Now, I'm no scholar-folk like ye Seekers, but if ye drop summat on th' road, do ye look ahead or behind ta pick it up? Seekin's all well an' good, but ye got yer heads screwed on back ta front, lookin' the wrong way. Ye say 'salt o' th' earth' like it's summat bad, but when Ishtar fell, it was th' snooty city-folk up there in their towers who fell all the way down, and th' common folk who watched. Most folk don't care about yer 'grand future' - they want ta know when to harvest, when th' frost will come. For th' big questions, they look behind, not ahead. I been up an' down the continent, looking backwards 'stead a forwards, and this 'un's got the right of it." He nods appreciatively towards Reuben, raising his eyebrows and tapping his temple knowingly. "'S good. Skully in th' head."

The towering man turns his gaze to Mariel, crossing his arms and scowling. "And ye should know better, ye should! Yer ol' Granddad was one of the good sort 'o Solamnics, me Da used ta say. Had faith in th' gods. Ne'er scarpered down the narrow path when th' storm clouds came. Ne'er would 'a looked ahead 'stead 'a behind."

As the talk turns to wizards of any robe, however, the burly man traces a warding sigil in the air, muttering to himself. "Wizards! Some are decent enough, but the rest are trouble, the lot of 'em - black-robes more'n most! Always want ta see what's under every stone, never stop ta think it might be a snake." He glances up at Reuben, suspicious. "'Ey, Skully! Ye scholar-be - yer one 'a them troublemakin' sort?"

Reuben turns his sharp eyes to Orlin san Trayne and responds with a flourish of his hand, in a quieter voice,

"Trouble? My friend, I am but a humble servant of the arcane, seeking to mend the fabric of our reality torn by those vile black-robes. Trust, like the rarest of elixirs, must be concocted with care—and I intend to brew it with my actions."

He leans back, the light catching the silver threads of his robe,

"You see, my life's quest is not for power or arcane secrets, but to rid the world of the scourge that is the black-robed wizards. Their very existence is an affront to all that is good and just in this world."

A serious shadow passes over Reuben's face,

"They are the night to my day, the shadow to my light. And as long as they draw breath, I cannot rest. For every one of them that falls, the world takes a step back from the brink of darkness."

His expression softens, and a smile plays on his lips,

"But fear not, for I am also a man of joy and laughter—keen to share a jest as I am to share a spell. And while my sarcasm may bite, my loyalty to those I call friends is unwavering."

He grins sadly,

"I know trust is hard to win, especially among weary travelers such as yourselves. But I will do my utmost to show my righteous intentions, and give aid to any innocent and peaceful people that I can."

Reuben raises his mug, now frosted with a fresh chill, and continues in his soft and mellowed tones,

"So, let us toast to new friendships and to the trust that will grow with each passing adventure. And remember, while the black-robes may bring fear, it is the white-robes who bring hope—and a decently chilled ale!"

JediJon wrote:

Kadmos stands in front of the door. He can hear voices, laughter, and can smell the potatoes he has been searching for. Stepping in to the Inn, having to stoop his head. He surveys the room, disheartened that he doesn't see any other minotaurs, he asks in a semi-loud voice, "Is this Inn the purview of Otik, Master Chef of potatoes. I have travelled far and wide to find these mystical potatoes I have heard about." Kadmos stands about 7' 2" and is heavily muscled. He is dressed in a simple leather kilt and a harness. His only visible weapon is a well seasoned spear.

I forgot to mention that his hair is dark brown on the outer edges of his body, ending up in a long tan patch running from neck to navel. He does have a few scars, that look like are from edged weapons, which he has rubbed red dye, or something red into.

JediJon wrote:

Kadmos stands in front of the door. He can hear voices, laughter, and can smell the potatoes he has been searching for. Stepping in to the Inn, having to stoop his head. He surveys the room, disheartened that he doesn't see any other minotaurs, he asks in a semi-loud voice, "Is this Inn the purview of Otik, Master Chef of potatoes. I have travelled far and wide to find these mystical potatoes I have heard about." Kadmos stands about 7' 2" and is heavily muscled. He is dressed in a simple leather kilt and a harness. His only visible weapon is a well seasoned spear.

A young woman barmaid quips: "Why, yes it is! Would you like some stewed potatoes?"

At Reuben's words, Orlin stares at the mage for a moment, his eyes narrowing... before breaking out into a booming laugh, clapping the wizard on the back with teeth-rattling intensity. "Had ye there for a minute, yeah? Yer an all right sort, Skully!"

As the two newcomers enter the inn, he waves them over, grinning. "Welcome, friends, ta th' Inn 'a th' Last Home!" He gives the two barbarians an appraising look. "What brings ye to these parts? Any news from th' Northlands?" He raises his eyebrows. "From Estwilde, any chance? Speak 'ee Lor-Tai?"