BURNT OFFERINGS
It was the first day of Autumn, and a time for celebration. The traditional time for the Swallowtail Festival, but this year the annual rite commemorating the anniversary of the goddess Desna’s fall to earth and subsequent rejuvenation at the hands of a child, held special meaning for the town of Sandpoint. Five years earlier, a time referred to as “the late unpleasantness” by the locals, tragedy had struck Sandpoint, not once, but twice. First had been a series of grisly murders, attributed to a boogeyman known as the Chopper. Ultimately, however, Chopper had been revealed to be one of Sandpoint’s own, a woodcarver named Jervis Stoot, whose bird sculptures had been widely sought after prior to the killings. Stoot had taken his own life in the end, but not before killing twenty-five of Sandpoint’s citizens, including the sheriff. Now his house on “Chopper’s Isle” was abandoned and avoided, especially in light of the grisly altar to a bird-like demon that was found in his basement, and all of the buildings which had once born his beautiful carvings now sported ragged scars where their owners had taken hatchets to the images that were a constant reminder of the wolf in their midst.
Yet, for all the horror and sadness caused by Chopper, a second tragedy soon befell the people of Sandpoint, one that eclipsed even that horrible business. One month to the day after Stoot was found dead, a terrible fire erupted at the town chapel and spread quickly from there. As the town rallied to save the church, the flames grew, consuming the stables, an inn and three homes. The church burned to the ground, and left the town’s beloved priest, Ezakien Tobyn, dead. That was five years past. During that time the faithful had attended services in smaller wooden structures, and while their new pastor, Abstalar Zantus, was helpful, kind and wise, church just wasn’t the same. But Autumn had come, and the new cathedral was finally complete. All that remained was for the Swallowtail Festival to renew the site’s blessings from the gods, and it would be as if the fire had never occurred…
__________________________________________________
Wesh Baltar was definitely enjoying the day. The turnout for the festival was more than the town could have hoped for. The square in front of the church was crowded with locals and travelers alike, and several merchant tents featuring food, clothes, local crafts and souvenirs were there to greet them all.
The four keynote speakers had each delivered short but well-received welcomes. Mayor Deverin’s friendly attitude and excitement had proven contagious as she welcomed visitors to town and joked about how even Larz Rovanky, the local tanner and notorious workaholic, had managed to tear himself away from his shop to attend, much to everyone’s but Larz’s amusement. Sheriff Hemlock had brought the crowd down a bit with his dour mood, his reminders to be safe around the evening’s bonfire, and his request for a moment of silence to remember those who had lost their lives in the fire five years ago. Fortunately, Cyrdak Drokkus was more than up to the challenge of bringing the crowd’s mood back up with his rousing anecdotes as he delivered a not-completely-irreverent recap of the long process the town had gone through to finance and construct the new cathedral. He threw in a bit of self-promotion at the end, as was his wont, inviting everyone to stop by the Sandpoint Theater the following evening to check out his new production of ‘The Harpy’s Curse,’ revealing that the lead role of Avisera the harpy queen would be played by none other than the famous Magnimarian diva Allishandra! Finally, Father Zantus had stepped up to give a short speech thanking everyone for coming before declaring the Swallowtail Festival underway.
At noon, Father Zantus and his acolytes, along with a visiting young priest from Windsong Abbey, had wheeled a large covered wagon into the square, and after recounting the short parable of how Desna first fell to earth and was nursed back to health by a blind child who she transformed into an immortal butterfly as a reward, they had pulled aside the wagon’s cover, releasing the thousand children of Desna…a furious storm of one-thousand swallowtail butterflies that swarmed into the air in a spiraling riot of color to a great cheer from the crowd. Throughout the rest of the day, children futilely chased butterflies, never quite quick enough to catch them.
Wesh’s favorite part of the day, however, had been lunch. First, and best, it had been provided free, at the expense of Sandpoint’s taverns. Each brought its best dishes, the event being a marketing push as much to win new customers as it was to feed a hungry crowd. It soon became readily apparent, however, that the darling of the lunch was once again Ameiko Kaijitsu, whose remarkable curry-spiced salmon and early winterdrop mead easily overshadowed the other offerings, such as the Hagfish’s lobster chowder or the White Deer’s peppercorn venison. In fact, by sunset Wesh was tucking into his third helping of the dish as Father Zantus took the central platform again, and used a thunderstone to attract everyone’s attention.
A sharp retort, like the crack of distant thunder, sliced through the excited crowd as the sun’s setting rays painted the western sky. A stray dog that had crawled under a nearby wagon to sleep started awake, and the buzz of two dozen conversations quickly hushed as all heads turned towards the podium where the beaming priest stood. He cleared his throat, took a breath to speak…and suddenly a woman’s scream sliced through the air. A few moment’s later, another scream rose, then another. Beyond them, a sudden surge of strange new voices rose…high-pitched, tittering shrieks that sounded not quite human. The crowd parted and something low to the ground raced by, giggling with disturbing glee as the stray cur gave a pained yelp and then collapsed with a gurgle, its throat cut from ear to ear. As blood pooled around its head, the raucous sound of a strange song began, chanted from shrill, scratchy voices.
Goblins chew and goblins bite.
Goblins cut and goblins fight.
Stab the dog and cut the horse,
Goblins eat and take by force!
Goblins race and goblins jump.
Goblins slash and goblins bump.
Burn the skin and mash the head,
Goblins here and you be dead!
Chase the baby, catch the pup.
Bonk the head to shut it up.
Bones be cracked, flesh be stewed,
We be goblins, you be food!
Wesh was looking around frantically for the source of the singing, when suddenly a small form leaped atop the table where he sat. It was a goblin alright. The large, pointed ears, beady eyes and tooth-filled mouth were quite distinctive. It was dressed in cast-off leathers, and it wielded a length of junk metal tied to a handle with holes punched in the blade.
“Ha ha!!” it shrieked, raising its vicious weapon over Wesh’s head, but then its eyes fell upon the plate of salmon at its feet.
“Yum!” it growled, as it licked its lips, and reached down to snatch up the salmon just as its blade fell, missing Wesh by mere inches. Hastily, he jumped to his feet, knocking over his chair as he did so, and tried to put some distance between himself and the goblin. With only a moment’s though, he called the words to his favorite spell to his lips, and a second later, a glowing missile of crimson force sprang from his hand and struck the goblin unerringly, knocking the salmon from its grip. Shrieking again, the little beast leaped for Wesh, but its feet got tangled in the crockery on the table, and it ended up landing face first in the dirt. Wesh backed up a few more paces, then took a moment to catch his breath and try and assess the situation around him.
Directly across the square, a second goblin charged towards a pair of caravan guards, one hulking and heavily muscled, the other wiry and holding a bow in his hands. The goblin almost made it to them, but stopped abruptly to begin stuffing its pockets with rolls from a bread vendor’s cart. Meanwhile, near the central podium, yet a third goblin terrorized the folk there before fixings its evil gaze upon the visiting priest…Luther-something was his name? Incredibly, it looked to Wesh as if the young cleric was trying to reason with goblin, holding his hands up to show he was unarmed. His entreaty was answered by a vicious slash from the goblin’s blade, neatly severing the Achilles tendon of Luther’s left foot. Wesh’s eyes grew wide as he saw, that despite the injury, the priest began somersaulting away from the goblin, headed towards the relative safety-in-numbers of the caravan guards, since they were the only two armed individuals in the square at that moment.
Wesh continued to stare in amazement as the archer drew a bead on the bread-stealing goblin, and then put an arrow directly into its eye, dropping it where it stood. By this time, however, the third goblin had crossed the square in pursuit of its fleeing prey. Seeing a new target, it lowered its head and rammed hard into the archer’s midsection, knocking the man back several yards. Laughing gleefully, its face suddenly went slack as a shadow fell over it. Looking up, the last thing it saw was the hulking swordsman bearing down on it, a sword twice as big as it was lifted over his head.
It was at that moment that the goblin at Wesh’s feet regained its own footing. It howled a moment later, however, as a green-fletched arrow sprouted out of its leg. Wesh took the opportunity to draw the sword he carried with him at all times, which most people assumed was simply an affectation. In point of fact, the blade was a powerful focus for his magic. The goblin recovered a split-second faster than the wizard, and its cobbled-together weapon slashed deeply into Wesh’s leg. In response, Wesh brought his own blade down in a vicious chop, removing the goblin’s head cleanly from its shoulders.
By the time the skirmish was over, total chaos had erupted in the square. Goblins were everywhere, shrieking, leaping, racing and cackling, taking great joy in the panic and fear they spread. Some waved torches and lit tents on fire, while others chased children and pets with ill intent. All the while, their wretched song continued to echo through the streets, further spurring the vermin into murderous frenzy. They tore through merchant stalls, menaced the bystanders with their blades, hurled rocks through windows, and overall made terrors of themselves. Wesh made his way quickly across the square to where the two guards and the priest still stood with their backs to each other. At that moment, they seemed the only island of safety in the sea of anarchy.
“Wesh Baltar,” the wizard huffed as he joined the trio. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, and I thank you for you well-timed shot.” He bowed to the archer.
“Guess that means you owe me a drink,” the young man smirked. “I’m Dex. This here’s my partner, Skud.”
The half-orc merely grunted, not taking his eyes off of the goblins.
“I’m Luther,” the priest said, eyes wide, the whites standing out. “What do you think they want?” he asked no one in particular. “Surely there must be some way to negotiate with them and bring this violence to an end!”
Wesh looked at the man as if he’d just grown a third eye.
“Negotiate?” he laughed. “With goblins? What rock did you climb out from under? Goblins are one step up from sewer rats, and twice as nasty! They’d soon cut your throat as look at you, and…”
Before he could finish, a sudden bloom of fire drew all of their attentions. Just south of the festival grounds, a cart full of fuel for the evening’s bonfire had been parked. A group of goblins surrounded it, dancing madly as it went up in flames.
“Look,” Wesh said to the other three, “we can debate this in committee later. Right now, if we don’t do something, the entire town’s going to be torched! Are you with me?”
Dex and Skud nodded, and Luther followed suit after a moment’s hesitation.
“Good,” Wesh said. “Let’s go!”
Four goblin warriors cavorted around the conflagration, while a fifth, a female at that, stood to one side, bellowing out her war chant at the top of her lungs. When she saw the quartet of longshanks approaching, she screamed at her kin, drawing their attention towards the new threat. Her warning came too late. Roaring like a wild beast, Skud raised his sword and charged head-long at the female goblin. As all three-hundred pounds of him crashed into her, the sound of cracking bones could be heard even over the general mayhem. When the dust cleared, only the half-orc was still standing.
The four goblin warriors shrieked in rage as their warchanter was mowed down, and they rushed to surround Skud. One of them thrust a torch at the big warrior, setting the sleeve of his jerkin ablaze. The half-orc shouted incoherently, waving his burning arm around like a mad man.
“We’ve got to get him clear!” Wesh hissed at Dex.
“I’m on it,” the archer said calmly as he drew his bowstring taught, the kiss ring just touching his lips. In rapid succession, he let fly two arrows, and incredibly, each took a goblin dead in the throat, dropping them in an instant. Wesh was suitably impressed, but not to be outdone, he pushed the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows.
“Watch this!” he grinned as he barked out several guttural words. A small sphere of liquid appeared in his hand, and he drew his arm back and hurled it with all his strength. To Dexter’s stunned surprise, however, no sooner had the wizard released his projectile than he vanished, only to reappear a moment later right next to Skud. At that same moment, the acid ball struck one of the goblins in the face and rapidly ate through flesh and sinew to the bone below. Screaming, the goblin fell twitching to the ground.
For his part, Wesh was just as surprised at his transposition as Dex was, and possibly even as much as the goblin that he had reappeared in front of. The creature shrieked, dropping its torch in shock. Silently, Wesh cursed himself, wishing not for the first time that he’d paid a bit more attention to Madame Mvashti’s lessons. Perhaps then his magic wouldn’t be so unpredictable. Meanwhile, Skud took advantage of the last goblin’s disorientation, and quickly dispatched it. He then dropped to the ground, and began rolling in the dirt, smothering his still smoldering shirt.
‘Not bad,’ Wesh thought to himself as he surveyed the scene. He and his new-found friends had managed to fight off over half a dozen goblins and were still relatively unscathed. Here and there, the sounds of battle, clanging swords, calls of support by the town guard, and shrieking and singing goblins echoed through the streets, but at the festival itself, most of the citizens had fled. One or two goblins still scavenged about for food, but many more lay dead, along with a few unfortunate citizens. The fight seemed to have momentarily moved away. Suddenly, however, a scream sounded from the north side of the chapel, accompanied by a frantic barking.
“Can’t rest yet, boys,” Wesh said, shaking his head. Then his eyes fell upon Luther, who was going from goblin to goblin feeling for signs of life.
“Damn it, man!” the wizard hissed. “If you’re looking for someone to save, why don’t you start with your own kind?”
Luther looked up, startled by the older man’s tone.
“S…sorry,” he said softly. “There’s just been so much death already.”
“Yeah, and there’s bound to be more if we keep standing here,” Wesh snapped as he set off at a brisk trot back towards the church.
When they reached the White Deer inn, the foursome came to an abrupt stop, not believing what they were seeing. A well-dressed man cowered behind a rain barrel, shouting loudly for help, while a large dog stood in front of him, growling and bristling at the group of goblins closing in. What drew their attention most, however, was another goblin behind the others, mounted on what looked to be a mangy canine with the flat nose, beady eyes and protruding teeth of a rat grown grotesquely large. Tiny, clawed forelimbs and a long, hairless pink tail added to its verminous appearance, and the smell of sun-baked sewage practically steamed off its patchy fur. As the four would-be heroes looked on in horror, the mounted goblin, wielding a wickedly curved pole-arm of some sort, killed the dog with one chop. As the poor beast crashed to the ground, the other goblins threw up a cheer and advanced on the frightened nobleman once more.
So engrossed were the goblins with their prey, that they failed to notice Wesh and his companions. Dexter didn’t waste the opportunity. Once more, he brought his deadly skill with his bow to bear, first shooting the goblin dog in the spine, sending it sprawling, yelping to the ground, and then, as its rider struggled to his feet from where he’d been thrown, the archer planted a second arrow in his thigh. The commando howled in pain, but his cry was cut short as Skud cut him down with a sweeping slash from his greatsword a moment later.
The four remaining goblin warriors gibbered and snarled as they scattered, closing in on the longshanks from all sides. One darted towards Luther, slashing low at the priest’s already wounded leg. A second ran at Skud, but as it swung its rusty blade, the half-orc’s own came round to parry, breaking the goblin’s weapon off at the haft. For a moment, the little beast just stared stupidly at the useless piece of wood in its hand, and in the next, it stared at the gigantic sword dropping towards its skull.
The last three goblins fell just as quickly to Dexter’s arrows and another crimson arcane bolt from Wesh. As they did, the beleaguered nobleman crept from his hiding place. As he approached, Luther recognized the heraldry embroidered on his tunic as belonging to a minor house in Magnimar, House Foxglove.
“I…I can’t believe what I just saw!” the man exclaimed. “Such skill! Such bravery! I owe you my life!” He seized one of Skud’s hands in both of his, and the half-orc’s mouth dropped open a bit, his eyes blinking in confusion. Besides Dexter, no other human had ever deigned to touch him. The nobleman glanced around nervously, as if expecting more goblins to climb out of the woodwork.
“Look,” he said, “it doesn’t seem quite safe to stay around here. My name is Aldern Foxglove. I’ll be in town a few more days. I’m staying at the Rusty Dragon. When you get a chance, I’d love to talk with you all again and perhaps reward you properly. Thank you again!”
With that, he darted quickly down the street.
________________________________________________
It wasn’t long after that the battle was decided. The surviving goblins fled north out of town in droves, in some cases preferring to leap to their certain deaths off cliffs rather than be captured. The guardsmen finished the mopping up process while all other able-bodied citizens helped put out fires or tend to the wounded. Wesh and his three companions tarried a bit longer, still somewhat numbed by their ordeal.
“Well,” the wizard said at length. “I guess this is goodbye then. I can’t say it’s been a pleasure, but I want to thank you lot for everything. We made quite a team.”
Dexter nodded. “That we did, and it looks like we might get a bit of coin for our troubles. What say we meet up in a day or so and have a drink together at the Rusty Dragon? Celebrate our reward and all that?”
Luther looked dubious. “I shall meet with you,” he said at length, “but I have no interest in financial gain. I would, however, like to have a word with Lord Foxglove about a possible charitable contribution in lieu of reward.”
“Speak for yourself, father!” Dexter laughed, clapping the priest on the shoulder. “Come on, Skud. Time to get back to the caravan and see how much damage was done.”
The pair headed down the street, Dexter still shaking his head and laughing under his breath, “Charitable contribution!”
Wesh just sighed and smiled. He never would understand holy men, not even if he lived to be a hundred. He shook Luther’s hand and promised to meet again in a few days, then he headed back to his shop to assess his own damages, little knowing that he had just stumbled upon three individuals who would change his life forever.
