Sheriff Hemlock noticeably freezes when you mention “unpleasantness”, you pick up a trace of a shudder that he quickly recovers from.
“I see. I’ll certainly keep you in mind. There are bounty boards posted in the Rusty Dragon Inn for you folk. I hope you’re not one of those idiot adventurers come to the lost coast looking for the Sandpoint Devil. If you’re looking to get yourself killed, you could speak to Shalelu and follow her around. Shes always trying to get one up on the Goblins in the region…”
The acolyte seems nervous at your words. He doesnt seem comfortable with the conversation you’re starting. “Well master, I may not be able to give you the information as accurately as you may desire. Might I suggest you speak with Brodert Quink, our local historian.”
With that, he notices the other gnome heading this way, turns on his heel and walks off towards the stand.
Ameiko doesnt proffer her hand. “Well, I am Amieko Kaijitsu. I own the Rrusty Dragon Inn, the best inn and restaurant in Sandpoint. Come to town for the festival, or to worship?”
The mention of the Sandpoint Devil makes the dwarf’s brow furrow. His meaty hand instinctively checks to see if his hammer still dwells in the rightful place on his hip as he stands straight.
“Only one more thing, your honor. Could you kindly point me in the direction of Shalelu? I’m afraid that certain death is about the only thing that properly gets me blood runnin’.”
With a wink and a nod, Moritus adjusts his belt and awaits the Sheriff’s response while scanning the streets for the Rusty Dragon. After all, he still hadn’t arranged for a bed or a stable for the night and it would certainly be slim pickings with the festival in full swing.
“Your honor? Keep your fancy words. Shalelu wont be back from patrol for another couple weeks, I imagine. Anyway, I need to get back to checking on my men. Looks like Handar is getting sloppy with his mead…”
The Rusty Dragon inn is on Market Street. In downtown. You’re in uptown.
Bastargre looks bemused. “Well then… I guess that’s that. I wonder if I hit a nerve there… certainly worth checking out. Would you like to come with?” He gestures invitingly to the other gnome. @Matt
Bastargre pauses and tries to read the other gnome’s intentions and body language. “What brings you to Sandpoint, by the way? I’m Bastargre.” Though his tone is friendly, he does not offer his hand to shake.
Trav slowly lowers his hand, grimacing to himself.
"A pleasure to meet you, Amieko, and thanks again for your excellent hospitality. I suppose I came for the festival though a stranger here. The story of Desna and the child really resonated.
“Might you know of some way I could be of service while here in town as the child was to Desna?”
As the Sheriff disappears into the crowd, Moritus fails to see anything but the massive stone building looming large over the festival. Grumbling under his breath at the absence of Shalelu, his only promising lead thus far.
As he checks the sun on the horizon and gauges his time. He notices the procession of preists and acolytes carrying a small assortment of relics towards the gleaming Cathedral. Perhaps he’d best inquire about Father Tobyn"s final resting place. Under his breath he mutters, “the only one who hears more problems than the Sheriff is a priest…let’s see what they have to say.”
He hikes up his breeches and resolutely heads in the direction of the procession.
“I’m Gnamien. My father did some craftwork for the original Sandpoint Cathedral, which burned down - that was a difficult day! - and I’ve kept in touch with Sandpoint and the local area over the years. I’m here today for the festival. What about you?”
Amieko rolls her eyes. "I can tell you dont follow Desna. Look, I used to be an adventurer as well. Got some fame in the east, and amassed enough wealth to buy and renovate The Rusty Dragon. But, now I’m just trying to live a normal life. Our town has had enough troubles in the last few years. We dont need adventurers coming through and stirring up things.
If you want my advice, go help Father Zantus. Hes got enough on his plate right now, he can use all the help he can get."
@Eke Amieko blows a strand of hair our of her face, “unlikely. The cathedral is low on funds, since we spend so much to build it. What they need are donations. Oh, looks like Father Zantus is preparing for a speech.”
@Mtrav0040 You make your way to where the priests are gathered. At the same time you notice a few other out of place people near the podium, a set of gnomes chatting, and a half-orc trying to pull him cowl tighter. Father Zantus stands up at the podium speaking with his acolytes. It appears that the day has worn on, because the sun is already lowering on the horizon.
Trav turns his head to look, then back to Amieko. Taking a breath, he slowly pulls out a copper and slides it across. “It isn’t much, but thank you for the meal and the chat. Perhaps I will return.”
Nodding, he stands and goes to the door of the Rusty Dragon (is that where he is?) to listen for the speech.
A sharp retort, like the crack of distant thunder, slices through the excited crowd as the sun’s setting rays paint the western sky. A stray dog that has crawled under a nearby wagon to sleep starts awake, and the buzz of two dozen conversations quickly hushes as all heads turn toward the central podium, where a beaming Father Zantus has taken the stage. He clears his throat, takes a breath to speak, and suddenly a woman’s scream slices through the air. A few moments later, another scream rises, then another. Beyond them, a sudden surge of strange new voices rises—high-pitched, tittering shrieks that sound not quite human. The crowd parts and something low to the ground races by, giggling with disturbing glee as the stray dog gives a pained yelp and then collapses with a gurgle, its throat cut open from ear to ear. As blood pools around its head, the raucous sound of a strange song begins, chanted from shrill, scratchy voices.