Third Sunday of the month of Rova, 10 a.m.
In the bucolic town of Sandpoint along the western Varisian coast, folk have been up for hours busily preparing for the first day of autumn and the annual Swallowtail Festival. Along with the town's annual festivities intended to honor the region's bountiful harvests gifted by Erastil, today marks a date long looked to by the Sandpoint locals. The New Sandpoint Cathedral, five years in the making, will be consecrated at sunset by the hand of Sandpoint's own Father Abstalar Zantus. Necessitated some five years distant by an unfortunate and grisly series of events which the locals discretely refer to as the "late unpleasantness," the new cathedral is a marvel of superior craftsmanship, its solid construction the hallmark of Sandpoint's well-regarded if somewhat infamous Mercantile League.
The square abutting the cathedral is a beehive of activity. Several merchants have set up tents to vend food, clothes, local crafts, souvenirs, and drink. Others folk have arrived early, hoping to gain positions near the podiums in front of the church and the tables set up beyond. Wooden buffets laden with all manner of delectable foodstuffs both savory and sweet flank a stodgy podium at the bottom of the cathdral's stone steps. The picnic set, members of the church's congregation are joined by Sandpoint's craftsmen, artisans, shopkeepers, general citizenry, and ne'er-do-wells alike in the square. With the Swallowtail Festival set to begin promptly as scheduled, the turnout for the festival's opening speeches looks to be respectable. The throng crowding the square before the church thickens as the last of the servers loading the buffet bustles to and fro and several merchants loudly hawk goods up and down Church Street.
Walding Spaulder, Sandpoint's unofficial town crier, pushes his way to the forefront of the throng. "Make way, make way! Make way for the Honorable Mayor Deverin!" The last of the servers hustle away from the buffet tables as the crowd parts to the right to admit an attractive human woman in her late 20s, her dark hair cropped short in a pragmatic yet becoming style. "Thank you, Walding. Good morning, everyone." Wincing at her boisterous introduction, Mayor Deverin nevertheless nods her thanks at the crier, who unctuously smiles at the compliment ere fading back into the crowd.
The mayor fixes the crowd with a friendly attitude. Her excitement obvious, Mayer Deverin draws a breath and expands her voice so that all gathered may hear. "I see everyone's arrived. Even Larz Rovanky has left off tanning hides to be here. I'm sure his workers are glad it's not their hides getting tanned, at least not today." The Mayor's jest does not go unnoticed; when the chuckles die down and Larz stops glowering, Mayor Deverin continues. "It's wonderful to see so many of you here to join us on this proud day. I'd like to extend my welcome to the many new faces I see in the crowd. As Mayor, I invite you on behalf of our citizenry and the Sandpoint Mercantile League to be welcome within our walls. I hope you shall find the food to your liking, the hosts gracious, and your beds inviting! Sandpoint has much to offer, and 'tis our hope that guests be extended the salt and bread of friendship. Spend some time in Sandpoint and you'll grow to love it like we do. And even if you don't stay long, spend your money while you’re here!" At the mayor's words, several of the merchants vigorously applaud and the crowd itself laughs. Letting the throng settle before continuing further, Mayor Deverin says, "And to all of the old faces I see, thank you for your many long hours of planning and preparation, that this year's Swallowtail Festival might meet with success. It is a joy to see you attend our event, and you have my personal gratitude for your gracious help in keeping Sandpoint strong. Thank you especially for all the time, sweat equity, and love you've put into building this fine cathedral that so proudly stand behind me on this fine day. After the late unpleasantness, Sandpoint wasn't complete without her church. We've always had heart. The true heart of Sandpoint is you, her people. But now we have an expression of that heart, and we built it ourselves!"
The crowd roars its appreciation of the Mayor's opening remarks, making any further comments rendered by Her Honorship inaudible for a long minute. At the last, Mayor Deverin shouts over the applause and cheers, "Thank you, thank you all. And without further ado, let me introduce the next speaker, our own sheriff, Belor Hemlock!" Stepping to the left, the Mayor yields the podium to a dark-skinned bulky man, clearly of Shoanti descent, who wears mail and sports a sharply-honed longsword strapped to his back, largely as symbol of office. Still, the blade gleams with intent in the strong autumn morning and the dour-voiced Sheriff nods to the Mayor and strides to the podium.
With eyes that sweep the throng, searching for and marking the location of potential troublemakers, Sheriff Hemlock grips the wooden podium and makes brief remarks to the crowd. "Thank you Mayor. Even in the heat of celebration, let us not forget the sad events that brought us to this day. And also let us not forget the souls that were lost five years ago at the hands of Chopper. I would like you to all join me in a moment of silence to remember the lives that were lost in the fire that claimed our previous chapel." The crowd silences itself and joins the Sheriff in a mass lowering of heads. The proud and joyful remarks of the Mayor are forgotten and even after Sheriff Hemlock raises his head to continue, the silence proves nearly defeaning. Beginning awkwardly, the Sheriff frowns but continues in his grim voice. "In remembering, let us also not allow these events to repeat themselves. I am of the understanding that a bonfire is planned for tonight. I urge you all to observe caution during this event." At a glance and a nudge from Mayor Deverin, the Sheriff clears his throat and smiles, clearly making an uncomfortable attempt at levity. "Enjoy yourselves. Let me introduce the next speaker; give your attention to Cyrdak Drokkus, proprieter of the local theater."
Nodding to the crowd, Sheriff Hemlock walks back to his seat at a nearby table, passing the next speaker, a slim human man already on his way up to the center stage. The theater proprietor proves quite a contrast to the Sheriff. Brightly dressed, sporting a well-groomed and neatly clipped goatee and effeminate mannerisms, Cyrdak Drokkus is effusive in his praise for the day. "Well, thank you Sheriff for that uplifting oratory! I know this town has been through some hard times, but look at what we've accomplished," Cyrdak motions to the cathedral. "And I'm telling you, they spared no expense on this place. Father Zantus's chamber pot? Solid gold! I kid you not, our generous nobles put a pretty copper into the construction of the sanctuary. I've heard it spoken 'round town that all of the Gods got together and scrounged up four gold pieces to help get this thing built! But don't take it from me, the goodly Father over there is the one with the direct line, he's the one you want to hear from! But before I let him get things going, I'd like to take this opportunity to extend my personal invitation to each and every one of you to attend the Varisian premier of Sandpoint Theater's "The Harpy's Curse," starring the world-famous Magnimarian diva Allishanda as Avisera the Harpy Queen! Say it with me, folks--fab-u-lous! And now join me in a bit of applause for his holiness himself, Father Zantus!"
The crowd cheers as Cyrdak motions Zantus to the podium. The priest, while young, looks firmly confident of his position within both town and church, if somewhat noticeably abashed at the reception set up for him. Wearing the traditional ceremonial robes of a priest of Desna and a shiny silver holy symbol about his neck, Father Zantus smiles genially and calms the crowd by raising two open palms to the heavens. "Ahem, thank you. Thank you, Cyrdak. And thank all of you for coming to join us on this most holy day. Today is a day of new beginnings, so without boring you with a long speech, I declare the Swallowtail Festival officially underway!" As the crowd cheers its approval, Father Zantus nods and gestures for all who are gathered to enjoy the buffet picnic spread before them.
Themselves seated at tables or standing at their leisure, Gron, Penn, Pythas, Rainier, and Ravi are present in the church square for the morning's opening ceremonies. A pair of fishwives grouse to one another as they mill past the left flank of the series of buffet tables. "...an' can ye believe it, Trudie? Where she found the coin, I do no hazard a guess, but it's ter be free vittles agin this yahr. I'm a tha thinking that me and my Frances might do well ter take up at the Rusty Dragon and juss fer once git us a taste o' ole Ameiko's savories..."
