Soanso's Fireside Chat: Rise of the Runelords (AE)

Greetings Stranger, from a Stranger! Never do we know more than the cards can tell, and such is life, is it not? I hope this is not my first tale to tell by the fire. Be it known to all that this journey is but one yarn in the tapestry of Life, and the fellows whose tales I tell are but threads of one yarn; as I digress we shall learn how strong the One makes the Whole.

Forgive me my impertinence, as I am still younger than my Family when I tell the tall tales of Varisia! I am Sivoulette, one of the last of the Farateldi in my homeland. I have traveled far from the Plateau, and learned much in my time. You know there are giants and worse in the hinterlands, yes? I lost much to them, and find myself here in Sandpoint for many reasons; none I’d choose given a blind test, though.


Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’ve been through and over Sandpoint these past few weeks, and it’s a charming place. The new Cathedral is amazing. But so is Junker’s Point. The people are friendly enough without intruding- seems like passers-by are a bit of the norm in Sandpoint. I’ve noticed several myself, part of my nature I guess.


Mum was right to come here so many summers ago. Though now I know exactly why she did, I’m not as bitter; it’s but another thread in this yarn. Shaiira came back here, too, in a fashion of my own. To find Mum. She’s passed on, and the Tale of Two Strangers is not one I’ll tell now. Be it said that Mum is strong in her daughters, and they love her for that.


Mum’s gone, and tomorrow awaits.

Swallowtail Festival Part 1

[Hope I'm doing this correctly; if not please help!]

The journey is long; we shall shorten the road.

These past few weeks have seen the town of Sandpoint slowly fill to capacity. The Swallowtail Festival is close, as is the dedication of the new cathedral. Shaiira and I are camped at the edge of town, conserving our meager funds by batting eyelashes and laughing bubbly laughs at the local taverns for food and drink; I’ve earned some meager coin with stories of the Giants of Storval, a fictitious tale of a brave girl who tracks down the brutes that destroyed her village. Shaiira and I have spent most of our free time wandering Sandpoint and taking in its subtle grace. We like to sit and watch the crowds, rub elbows with the travelers and the sellswords, and trade yarns with our fellow travelers. We’ve met several sympathetic sorts who’ve given us a meal or an ale along the way; may Desna keep them.

Shaiira first pointed out the dwarf. We had been treated to a few rounds in the late afternoon after a wonderful caterwaul with the midday drunks at Cracktooth’s, and merrily made our way through the streets back to camp when she noticed him leaving the Sage. We giggled as the well-armed and armored man stormed out of her quarters and loudly questioned the Sage’s competence. He headed back to the Rusty Dragon as fast as his dwarven legs could propel him. Shaiira took a slight fancy to the situation, and tailed him enough to reveal his name was Mundin, and was in town by way of Magnimar. Bellhops are such easy marks.

While Shaiira followed the dwarf, I decided to check out the new cathedral. Though it’s consecration wasn’t for a few days, the apse was open for public viewing a few hours each evening. I also needed to ground myself; playing happy-go-lucky with my heavy heart was taxing. We came across some information that has erased my confidence concerning Mum’s life in Sandpoint. But that is another yarn.

The apse was a splendid affair, giving a small shrine to the many gods therein. A light crowd strolled through as casual observers, but I was caught up when a bald Vudrani man entered the apse, obviously awestruck by the gravitas of its holiness. He carried a staff, and I could just make out some armor under his robes. It was his calm aura that drew my eyes to him, much as one is drawn to a painting or sculpture; a sense of calm followed him as he walked. He stopped at each altar and bent as if in prayer to each god represented.

He was… interesting. Grandy Vin held the Vudrani in high regard. He was calm and stoic, as I would expect a man of faith to be, but he wore no trapping of any local clergy. I followed him long enough to “accidentally” lose an earring near the Dedication to Erastil. He handed me my bauble, and simply said, “May the winds bring you peace.” If I had to guess, he was Gozrehn. They tend to be calm storms, weird dichotomies of peace and destruction. But they tend to be outliers and not fond of civilized affairs like this cathedral. Although, there are also devout souls who find favor without a patron; but such clerics are rare…

Shaiira and I have spent some time in various shops and halls poring over old maps and documents; seems to be a mutual interest. We are looking for Mum. We received some disheartening information and our research is part of the corroboration. I’ve embroidered a few new glyphs on Shaiira’s scarf, and added a runic sister to my own.

There is one particularly dusty and unkempt place in Sandpoint that few know of- lucky for me, I hit the right note at Cracktooth’s and a whiskey-riddled old timer passed it on to me. We weren’t there for an hour when the doorbell chimed and a very tall, scarred and tattooed man entered. He was dressed in silks of bright gold and deep orange; I recognized several Varisian symbols tattooed on his forearm, notably a butterfly stylized with lightning bolts in its wings. His dark hair had hints of auburn.

“Sorcerer,” whispered Shaiira, following my gaze.
“How so?” I whispered back.
“Scars, dagger sheath is brand-new, no armor, silks, VIP treatment in a hole-in-the-wall library. Duh.” She sidled a smirk my way. Sha is funny like that.

He is either a Varisian or is close to one. He was tall and thin, and covered by burns and tattoos. He moved with a natural grace, though, as if he were the type unfettered by pain, or obstacle. He was also very friendly with the librarians, and they ushered him to the lower levels after a brief conversation. He did not emerge from the bowels of the library for some time; as our search for Mum’s path again stalled, we decided to tent out a few more nights. I’d work the crowds at the upcoming festival to scrape a few coins together and Shaiira would do her best to work a few favors at the Feedbag for vittles. I hope to soon be resting properly at Cracktooth’s. They seemed to fancy having ladies at the bar to entertain patrons with stories and to join in at cards, dice, and darts. Sha’s already made a few marks; Mum would be proud.

I feel as though I'm already here.

My name is Caramour, although I admit most of the people I have crossed paths with in the past call me C. I learned at a young age that priests and those who hold strong faith can keep a community together, and even make it stronger. As such this is my mission. I am not the least bit ashamed to say that I revere many gods equally. How can you not seeing the similarities and differences in the power held by their holy men and women?
The new temple in Sandpoint is everything I expected and more. There are many weary people about, and yet I feel comfortable and at home in these strange streets. I beg of Desna to enlighten me to the wonders and sights I have yet to see, and speed my feet to wherever it may be that I am destined to do the most good. I look to Abadar, to show me the wonders that a civilized culture can become. I see great things in the combined will of common interests....whether they be faith, protection, magic, music, or even the little hiccups that occur among the dark alleys.
As long as we respect one and other, and work to better life as a whole we prevail.

-Caramour is a long way from Max...I only hope that I can bring an air of personality to a character I hope will have a lot of depth....

Swallowtail Festival Part 2

I decided to temper the news regarding Mum with a proper celebration. I could not bring myself to tell Sha exactly what my late-night rendezvous gleaned; instead I treated us to a few Bloody Kobolds at Cracktooth’s. We raised a toast to new roads; it was as fitting a good-bye as I could give a sister I barely knew. My plan was to leave Sandpoint, and Shaiira, following Mum’s trail. Before I could leave, though, I needed to take in the Swallowtail Festival. My prayers to Desna were for light feet and a clear heart for the days ahead.

The festivities were set off by a round of obligatory speeches given by the Mayor, the Sherriff, and others. Watching the Swallowtails released was like having my own soul lifted upon light towards the stars- I knew then that I had a journey ahead of me, and that Desna would guide my steps.

After the butterflies were released and the new temple consecrated, there were games of chance and skill, as well as culinary offerings from local establishments. The Tian family that runs the Rusty Dragon put out a salmon dish that won my heart. Sha and I took a few quaffs of a stout dwarven spirit she’d liberated during the opening ceremony, and we happily caroused with the locals, taking defeats in many events. I noticed a few familiar faces among the participants; I was surprised when the Vudrani paused long enough during the spin-a-bout race to graciously allow us to try and catch him. We did not.

While we spent a few coppers to play the silly -and likely rigged- games of the day, I also noted that both the hot-headed dwarf that Shaiira had tailed and the tall, awkward sorcerer we’d seen at the sideways library were mingling with the Festival’s patrons. Both the Vudrani and the dwarf tried their hand at the test-of-strength. Sad to say they lost that one; but Sha and I got close enough to cheer them on- after all, levity was the course of the day…

Shrill screams and plumes of smoke shattered that moment, though, as horrible bands of chanting goblins suddenly descended on the town. As the festival crowds whipped into panic-fueled hysteria, a few of us kept wits enough to battle the little bastards. The nasty little creatures took blade to man, woman, horse, and dog. If cats weren’t smarter, I’ve no doubt they’d been part of the macabre, disorganized orgy of violence these goblins brought to Sandpoint.

I found myself slashing at a few with the dwarf and Shaiira, and the Vudrani soon waded into battle, using magic to heal a dog struck down by the hateful green goblins. He healed a few in the crowd as well.

“Stranger, do you have a name?” I yelled as I used magic to make myself fleet of foot.

“Caramour!” He yelled back as he kept a goblin at bay with his quarterstaff.

A goblin launched himself from a rooftop, deadly blade in hand- and landed in a crumpled heap. A few more smashed into the crowd wielding all sorts of bizarre and unfit weapons- wicked knives, bombs, flints and steel, unlit torches- trying to set everything and anything on fire.

The tall and tattooed sorcerer waved his hand and several goblins fell into magical slumber; as they dozed another squad arrived on scene; I noticed them descending upon a wagon, trying to set it ablaze. One seemed particularly adept at “singing”; I drew my blade for it. I tapped my reservoir to give my allies strength in battle- I belted out “Cut Them to Ribbons,” a folksong of the lumberjacks deep in the woods near Celwynvian, an inspiring lyric to steel them against capricious fey therein. Had I a fiddle, lute and drum, I’d be making coin. But squashing goblins would need to be a fair enough trade here.

The dwarf ended the goblin’s first assault, as did Sha, and again the tall arcanist put our foes under his restful thumb. I made sure to skewer the one that had the bardic touch with my rapier. The rest were subdued in time by my sudden allies. Shaiira proved competent with a blade- I didn’t doubt her, but a girl’s stories are just that; and she is proficient, to say the least.

Next followed an influx of injured and fleeing people. It seems that goblins have indeed struck several parts of the town in a coordinated attack, but our small square is safe. The Vudrani, Caramour, began to help the injured as I searched the goblins for coin and a clue as to their identity. I’d seen them at work at Junker’s Point and have seen a few markings that might be tribal or clannish. After that, I walked up to the tall arcanist and stuck out my hand.

“Sivoulette Farateldi, last of many. Your time is convenient.”

“Vohoi. Pleased that it was time to be here.” His response tells me he is Varisian, or close enough.

“It was, Vohoi, it was. Here is my sister, Shaiira.”

I noticed the dwarf, standing off a ways, awkwardly proud but alone.

“You there, Dwarf! You bring your clan honor!” (I was told by Grandy Vin that this is the proper way to greet a strange dwarf.)

Slightly puzzled, the dwarf lowered his axe and approached.

“Name’s Mundin. How many more critters are buggin’ about, d’ya think?”

Typical dwarf, all business. (Though I’ve never met but three dwarves; they were always about the moment at hand.)

“Sivoulette Farateldi, last of many- call me Siv. This is my sister, Shaiira, and the tall man there is Vohoi. Seems he’s an arcanist. Myself-“

The dwarf spit and said, “Yep, you’re a yarnspinner. Good, let’s keep close. Who’s the Good Shepherd over yon?”

I smiled, watching as Desna laid a new road. “He’s a Vudrani. Caramour, though I may be pronouncing it wrong-“

“He goes by C in the temple,” Sha interjected.

I smiled. Good, we’ve got quorum. “So, C I guess.”

The dwarf hefted his axe once more. “Get the healer, I hear more goblins.”

And so the characters are-

Mundin dwarf fighter 1
Caramour human (Vudrani) cleric (other) 1
Vohoi human sorcerer (stormborn) 1
Shaiira half elf rogue 1
Sivoulette human (Varisian) bard 1

Mundin's Journal - Sandpoint day 10 - swallowail festival

Been 10 days since arriving in Sandpoint, and I'm no closer to me goal, to avenging the death o' me clan. The local sage proved madder than a tree hugging dwarf, kept talking about ancient ruins built by giants, nothing bout where they might be now. Torag damn all giants, if I had me way, I'd see me axes buried deep in every one of 'em. Me patience with the sage would have run out if it weren't for Amieko's Rusty Dragon Tavern. Fine Dwarven stout and spiced salmon reminds me o home, enough to make up for that whelp trying to pass for a bard, someone needs to teach him a few good ballads. Tomorrow is some kind o festival to Desna, too many people for me liking, but free food and drink aught to make it worth me time. Torag willing, someone at the festival will know of these giants. Perhaps once I've found their leader and introduced him to me axes, I can return to Janderhoff and rally me allies to rebuild the Halls of Ironhand, but not before me clan has been avenged and its honor restored.

I say “Session One” but it was really half a session as we spent the first half wrapping up Soanso’s Serpent Skull Campaign.

We had a little time left over so we swapped seats and went right into the intro for Rise of the Runelords (Anniversary Edition). He had told us ahead of time that we might finish early, so everyone had their characters and I was prepped and ready to go.

We got through the speeches, some mini games and the first set of goblin encounters. The action is underway and we will be picking up where we left off tomorrow!
Short session, so only two pictures, the crowd gathered for the speeches and then the first set of goblins arrive on the scene!

Consider me hooked!

I've only been in town a few days. I cannot help but feel as though my path has led me to this town. A great temple built to revere many faiths. A town beset by goblins, and an irrationally well matched group coming together at the perfect time of need. I shall not resist the hands of fate, and whatever path the gods see fit shall be what I walk. Still I cannot help but feel as though there is a lot more going on in this town than what I am seeing. Old fires and deaths, new buildings, ghastly goblins brazenly committing murders. The acts I saw perpetrated by goblins today tells me all I need to know about them. They are evil vile creatures, I ask any god that will listen to guide my staff in protecting good humanity from them...
Something here does not sit right. I will maintain vigilance and let history unravel before me...darkness must show it's hand at some point, and then we who wish to preserve life shall be there to rise.
-Caramour....lamenting by candlelight, wondering what game the shopkeeper is playing, and intrigued so far.

Session 2 part 1

Before Mum went away, she told me stories. Everything, really. Family tales of honor and adventure, fey tales to lull me to sleep- or keep me awake with wonder; nightmare tales of giants, orcs, and ogres. She had stories of elves, dwarves, and halflings. Ancient tales of the Shoanti, their lore, history, and traditions. She told me tales of the forgotten places of Varisia, the ancient empires of the Pharaohs far away in Osirion, and of the magnificent city of Absalom. She told me stories of true love, of captivity, tales of honor, grace and beauty, of evil and wicked ways, of loss and sadness. Her voice was magic to me, and lingers with me still.

I admit that combat is not my card-in-sleeve, but my new-found comrades are ready and able for it. PopPop always said, “If your wits be sharp, then a blade twixt you and danger.” I think he meant being strong is smart, and being smart is strong, too- at least in the case of us Farateldis. I prefer a punctuated comment over a punching fist. Shaiira, though, is as quick at Shells and Find-a-Jack as Grandy Vin was, and is true with her wicked scarf. Her time with the Sczarni is evident, and I’ve made a promise to myself to remind her that she’s Farateldi, not Sczarni. I need all the support I can get.

I digress; the firelight leads me like a moth, fluttering to the point without touching it. I have a tale to tell.

Having dispatched the goblins in the square, we quickly made our way to the new cathedral to find Sherriff Belor, and report our situation. The square seemed calm, but the goblin attack was obviously a shock for the town. Sandpoint is an idyllic place, and has crept like a kitten into my lap as the embers of the fire smolder; I want to keep her innocent and free from danger to see her again tomorrow.

We were greeted by the town’s elite and hailed for our efforts- Belor gave us a courteous nod- his eyes tell me there is much on his mind.
Ameiko Kaijitsu, owner of the Rusty Dragon Inn, graciously offered our lot room and board as a reward for our efforts against the incursion. I’ve heard she was an adventurer and is quite the singer.
Father Zantus of Desna’s Grace told us that the townsfolk have incurred minimal damage, and that he is available if we need any clerical assistance in the future.

Mayor Kendra Deverin commended our actions and assured us the community appreciates our efforts, and also asked us to remain vigilant.
“You are the Heroes of Sandpoint! I ask you to tarry from your journeys, please- be what they may, and stay a few days to bolster the morale of Belor’s men and the town in general; it would mean the world to us if you stayed a few days to reassure Sandpoint’s citizens of their safety and well-being.” We looked around the room, and then at each other. I shrugged and smiled, hoping a courteous “Why not?” might be implied. C bowed low, Vohoi smiled and agreed that Sandpoint could use some vigor. Shaiira and Mundin were in accord. We will stay in Sandpoint a while.

Leaving the Cathedral, all is not well- again we race to the sounds of goblin marauding.
A well-appointed man and his fancy canine were besieged by goblins, including one riding a goblin-dog. Across the street, one goblin set another on fire; I shook my head and my new-found mates rushed into combat. A goblin slayed the man’s dog. Caramour and Mundin dropped goblins like flies, yelling out numbers- I think they’ve got a side-game going. I sang of glorious deeds to assist my comrades, and the poorly armed goblins were quickly subdued. Shaiira and I focused on the rider, after Vohoi put him to sleep with magic.

I approached the victim for assessment. I hoped his dog could be saved; C’s attention to a dog struck down by goblins in the last fight really resonated with me.

As I approached, I noted the pedigree of his fallen companion, a well-bred hunting dog. It was dead.

“Are you wounded, citizen?” I asked as I approached. It seemed the buggers had him in their crosshairs; but, as we have witnessed, goblins are sprack at best when left to their own designs.

One does not walk the line if one cannot read the eyes of the other. One look at the handsome and well-dressed man told me what I needed.
“Is your hound okay?” I shouted over the gurgling death throes of the goblins in the background.

“Hound? Oh, yes, dead as a doornail, I’m afraid,” he said. His eyes forced themselves into mine. “I can buy another. Thank you and your company for saving me! I am Aldern Foxglove, and what pleasure do I owe you?”

A Chelish greeting. I loathe their type- two-faced and always binding their words to subtle questions hoping to catch you in a spot. Grandy Vin warned me of these types. Likely a Magnimari or Korvosan noble-type, guessing from his dress. Play the Game, Mum said. So I did. His eyes took me like a wolf does a hare in the scree. I steeled myself, though not for my safety, but for what such a man might provide us. Odd to say “Us” again, after so many months alone, and to have something behind that simple word.

“I am Sivoulette,” I said. “Yon is my sister, Shaiira. Also Vohoi, Mundin, and Caramour. I am glad to see you standing, do you need healing?”