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Brodert Quink wore a delighted smile as he watched children chase the butterflies dispersing through the crowd.  He hadn’t really wanted to come to the Festival, or to stand on his old knees through the interminable speechifying, but Cato, his recently-hired assistant, had proved very persuasive.  The young man had argued that, as the town sage, he needed to be part of the community if its members were to trust him enough to seek his knowledge.  The generally-crochety old scholar found it hard to dispute this undeniable truth.  Sometimes you found wisdom in the most-unexpected places.

Not that a man who had studied for 20 years with the Dwarven engineers at Janderhoff and spent three entire decades at the Founder’s Archive in Magnimar, eventually rising to Chief Cataloger, should need to establish his bona fides to anyone!  But he had found that such was the way of the world, much to his dismay.

Now, in spite of himself, he was enjoying the festivities.  He favored his assistant, who was really quite well-read on the subject of ancient Thassilon, with a paternal look.  How many men these days even knew how to speak Thassilonian?

Brodert adjusted his spectacles in order to better see his young friend, who was himself smiling at the butterfly-induced madness.  This is actually FUN, Brodert thought to himself.  It had been a long time since Brodert Quink had had FUN.  He felt grateful to Cato for persuading him to participate.

“So, Cato,” the old man stroked his white beard with a grandfatherly smile, “in what sort of frivolity are we to engage next?”

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This message was last edited by the player at 00:57, Fri 06 Sept 2013.

In reply to Brodert Quink (msg # 1):

Cato tried hard to suppress a huge grin, managing a normal-looking smile instead.  Brodert had settled into the role of a crotchety old scholar so well that the sage forgot that he was more than that.  Forgot that he could enjoy sunshine, children chasing butterflies, and a festival.

"I'm sure what you're aching to do is to show up Veznutt and Ilsoari.  But that sounds a little too much like work for this fine day.  How about we do something completely different?  Let's sample some food and then try a Harrow reading."

Cato himself tried to look happy as he and Brodert went off to enjoy the festival.  But it was hard in a crowd like this.  There were more people in Sandpoint than he had ever seen in the tiny town, and that worried him.  Cato prayed to Desna that he would remain anonymous in the crowd, and tried to enjoy the day.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:49, Sat 31 Aug 2013.

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Brodert Quink looked bemusedly at his young assistant.  “A Harrow reading?  You want to have yourself a Harrowing?”  He coughed.  “My goodness, Cato, I didn’t take you for the superstitious type!”  The old sage placed a hand on the wizard’s shoulder.  “Lad, you know that’s just Madame Mvashti’s way of separating you from your hard-earned coin, don’t you?”  He sighed.  “Still, I was young once.  If that’s your fancy, then that’s what we’ll do.”

The two walked towards the nearby area where the town’s various eateries were preparing a group lunch, but were shooed away with assurances that it would be ready in the early afternoon and that they should come back then.  Stymied in their search for sustenance, the scholars strolled down High Street, debating the design of the wealthier houses and arguing which small details of architecture might have improved their overall effect.

Taking a right on Festival Street, they walked down towards the southern town square, passing the Sandpoint Theater on their right.  Cydrak Drokkus and some of his performers were already entertaining a group of enthralled families with a fantastical puppet story involving the famous ranger Shalelu Andosana and her mortal enemy, the evil bugbear Bruthazmus.  The children in attendance let loose a shriek just as the two strolled past . . . apparently Shalelu had just missed being caught in one of the fiendish traps for which Bruthazmus was legendary.

The two men entered the southern square as the sounds of puppet combat faded behind them.  They spied Madame Mvashti’s elaborate tent and a line of petitioners awaiting their fortunes, the most striking occupants of which were the diminutive gnome woman sitting atop the shoulders of Gorvi’s gargantuan junkman.  Brodert could not remember the man’s name.  Lurk, perhaps?

“Here we are, lad.”  Brodert gestured to the line.  “Ready to have your pocket picked?”

OOC:  Cato, if you want a Harrow Reading please end your next post by RPing the beginning of your meeting with Madame Mvashti and giving your answer to the same question she asked Pisca.

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This message was last edited by the player at 06:18, Fri 30 Aug 2013.

In reply to Brodert Quink (msg # 3):

Cato tried to ignore his grumbling stomach as Brodert and he walked towards the Harrow reader. "I'm surprised, Brodert. You should try to approach this Harrowing like a sage. You're not here to see the future, you're here as a natural philosopher, studying the social customs of a group of people with whom you would otherwise have little reason to interact. Or, just suspending your belief in what you can see and reason through for a day and take a flight of fancy."

Knowing the stodgy scholar, Cato doubted any argument would actually change Brodert's mind. But, given enough to ponder, the old sage might do that instead of complain about whatever frivolous activity Cato was enjoying.  And he'd enjoy pondering too, which meant both of them were happy.  Cato sighed. After they ate, he was sure the old sage would "accidentally" lead them past Veznutt and Ilsoari's, and insist on stopping by.

They were almost at the front of Madame Mvashti's tent. Cato was surprised at how quickly the gnome riding Lunk had left the tent, but everything seemed to be in order as he entered the fortune teller's tent.

“Welcome,” Madame Mvashti held out her hand to Cato, nodding subtly to a coin jar on the table.  “What is it you seek from your Harrowing?”

Cato dropped a coin into the jar. How can I phrase what I really want to know to avoid suspicion, Cato briefly wondered to himself.  The last thing he wanted is someone in Sandpoint to know he was on the run from the Hellknights in Korvosa. Something vague would work...

"Will I see my old associates again?"
This message was last edited by the player at 00:55, Sat 31 Aug 2013.

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Madame Mvashti looked up as the sage Brodert Quink and his young assistant entered her tent.  One eyebrow rose fractionally; Quink had never requested a reading in all his many years in Sandpoint.  This Harrowing, then, must be for the younger man.  Her intuition was rewarded as he stepped forward, placed a coin in her jar, and asked his question.

“Your . . . old associates, is it?”  The ancient woman gave Cato a sly, knowing smile.  “It is well that you are so circumspect.  But there is no hiding from the cards, yes?”  As she spoke, the old seer’s fingers ruffled and shaped the deck with a speed Cato had trouble following.  Her eyes went out of focus as she whispered eldritch words, no doubt ones intended to determine his fate.

As she finished her incomprehensible murmuring, Madame Mvashti’s eyes snapped back to intense clarity.  She quickly dealt nine of the cards into a three-by-three block, setting the others momentarily aside.

“You understand the Harrowing, yes?”  The woman glanced at Cato as she waved her hand over the arranged cards.  “You will see three cards today.  One for your past,” she indicated the first column of cards, “one for your present,” she pointed to the middle column, “and one for your future.”  Her hand caressed the table near the final column.  “These cards are for you, and you alone.  You must listen closely for your path,” she regarded Cato with utmost seriousness, “even amidst portents of woe.”

She smiled.  “Shall we begin?  Let us see what arises from your past.”  She closed her eyes, turning over a card from the middle row of the first column.


Madame Mvashti’s eyes narrowed as she opened her eyes and saw the card.

“The Avalanche,” she said calmly, “is an unthinking, unreasoning thing that overwhelms all in its way.  It is a bad card, yes?  These ‘associates’ of yours are not friends.  They cannot be reasoned with or turned aside.”  She frowned.  “They will never stop hunting you.  But the card is in a neutral position,” she tapped the table, “meaning that their evil is not as close as it could be.” The seer glanced up to determine Cato’s reaction to this news.  Satisfied, she pressed on.

“Now we shall see what your present holds.”  Again, she closed her eyes, this time turning over a card from the middle row of the second column.


The old woman’s shoulders relaxed slightly, giving Cato a sense of how much tension they held during a reading.  “The Dance,” she smiled.  “This is a good card, yes?  It represents an intricate structure, requiring the cooperation of all to avoid collapse.  The cards wish you to stay in perfect step, knowing your place in the greater good.”

“You will soon find friends and allies in whom you can trust, and you must create with them a choreography that will resist the evil which hunts you.”  She tapped the first card as her voice took on a note of warning.  “But this card is also in the neutral position.  These friends will not force themselves together.  It will be up to you to bring them into concert with each other and help them see the larger pattern.  Both you and they ignore this pattern at your peril.”

She closed her eyes a final time, reaching her hand toward the last column.  As she did so, she paused almost imperceptibly, as if she did not wish her hand to move further.  Her face tightened slightly as, eyes still closed, she turned over the card on the bottom row.


Madame Mvashti’s face paled as she opened her eyes to see Cato’s doom.

“The Demon’s Lantern,” she whispered, almost inaudibly.  “It is an impossible, inescapable skein of traps and tricks.  It is an evil card, yes?  A very evil card.”  The seer’s hands shook; she folded them together on the table as she read the cards in front of her.  “You are running and hiding from those who hunt you, yes?  It will not matter.  They will find you.”  She pointed to the card’s position.  “It is an evil card, aligned with evil.  You have no hope of escape.”

She looked sadly at Cato.  “I am sorry to give you this news, yes?  But as with most seekers, you are not without a path.”  She tapped the middle card.  “Your friends will be your salvation.  Together, you can create a bulwark to resist the evil that hunts you.  It is likely these friends will also face evil they will need your help to vanquish.”  She nodded.

“This is not a guarantee of success.”  She tapped the final card.  “But finding these friends, and creating a dance together, is the only hope you have.”

Madame Mvashti sighed, slumping back in her chair as she observed the scholars.  “Your reading is done."  She waved a dismissive hand at the pair.  "You may go.”  But as the two stood and turned to leave, she had one parting instruction.

“Cato?”  The seer’s voice trembled.  “Find them soon.”

OOC:  Cato, please end your next post with you and Brodert up near the cathedral for lunch, if you don’t mind.  Thanks!

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This message was last edited by the player at 09:23, Sat 31 Aug 2013.

Cato settled down to enjoy the Harrow reading. Although he knew it was completely irrational, he wanted to get some small platitude from Madame Mvashti that might settle his mind and let him forget his past for an hour or two and enjoy the celebration. From everything he had read, most Harrow readers weren't channeling any divination magic at all, so he wasn't sure why he thought Mvashti's reading would affect him at all, but he was sure a Harrrow reader at the festival would be handing out pleasant, harmless fortunes to fit the mood.

He felt a twinge of uncertainty as she turned over the first card. It was impossible that the seer actually knew anything about the Hellknights. It just had to be a lucky guess, maybe based on the very way he had asked his question.  But at least she said his pursuers weren't close.

The second card was more along the lines of what Cato expected from the Harrow reading. He'd have to work to find and keep close friends?  That wasn't any kind of profound insight, was it?  He had befriended Brodert by working for the sage. What was the line he had read in the dusty tome about the examination of social ties?  Proximity and propinquity led to interpersonal attachment?  Even if most people didn't think about in those terms, it was a commonly understood truism.

As the Harrow reading completed and Mvashti revealed the last card, Cato paled. He didn't even hear the Harrow reader and his entire universe collapsed around the dire predictions foretold by The Demon's Lantern. He didn't even remember leaving the tent, but he remembered her last words.

Cato wandered through Sandpoint with Brodert, listlessly responding to the sage as he expounded on the numerous cold reading tricks used by false fortune tellers across the Inner Sea. All he could think about was those cards, especially the last one. "They will find you."  That line stuck in his head.  He shook his head, trying to end his pessimistic introspection.  He solemnly nodded as Brodert concluded his treatise on the fallibility of fortune tellers. When the old sage got rolling, he was more or less oblivious to everything else around him. For once, Cato was glad for this particular foible. If Brodert realized how much the reading had affected him, Cato would never hear the end of it.

Looking up, he saw Brodert had brought them back to the cathedral in time for lunch.  Maybe a spot of food would improve Cato's mood.

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In the early mid-afternoon, the cathedral bell began ringing; lunch was served!  The Festival patrons who were not already hungrily waiting by the cordoned-off area near the cathedral where various chefs and cooks were preparing the repast began streaming that direction from the assorted activities in which they were engaged.

Lunch was provided free of charge at the expense of Sandpoint’s dining establishments.  Each brought its best dishes, or in some cases completely new creations.  After all, the Festival Lunch was as much a marketing push for new patrons by Sandpoint’s inns, eateries, and pubs as it was a way to feed a hungry Festival crowd.

It soon became apparent that the darling of the lunch was (again) Ameiko Kaijitsu, the proprietor of the Rusty Dragon, whose remarkable curry-spiced salmon and early winterdrop mead slightly but definitively overshadowed the other offerings, such as the Hagfish’s lobster chowder and the White Deer’s peppercorn venison.  Not to say that these other offerings were not top-notch, but Ameiko was well-known as a culinary wizard; the creativity and skill behind her Swallowtail Festival dishes was legendary among those interested in such things as far away as Magnimar.

As Cato moved to his chosen table, received his meal, and retired to one of the crowded, makeshift picnic tables quickly set up to service hundreds of people all eating simultaneously, he were impressed by how such a small town had organized to serve such a relatively-large number of people.  As he attempted to eat without spilling all over himself, he heard snippets from the conversations occurring around him . . .

“. . . about the latest lumber mill fire?  The one in Soggy River . . . ?”

“. . . STORVAL boy won?!?  What about Barett . . .”

“. . . say Shalelu has a new apprentice; maybe she can keep this one alive . . .”

“. . . salmon is great . . . too bad her father is a killer . . .”

“ . . . ridiculous hat . . . “

“. . . say Chopper’s ghost set the church fire . . .”

“. . . as Desna is my witness, guy left the tent white as a sheet . . .”

“. . . think PODRICK is in with the Sczarni?!?!?  Don’t be silly . . .”

“. . .a GNOME was riding him . . .”

“. . . wouldn’t travel out that way, the Foxglove Estate is haunted by the spirits of . . .”

“. . . makes three mills so far . . .”

“. . .bugbear killed the last two, didn’t he . . .“

“. . . WHO won the herb challenge?  What happened to Willow Sanderson? She . . .”

“. . . and then Alergast TACKLED him, guess the guy can’t stand losing . . .”

 “. . . can’t believe Giants would . . .”

“. . . hear about Katrine?  Apparently she’s shacking up with some guy from the mill.  Ven’s in a state . . .”

“. . . they were best friends, it’s sad . . .”

“. . . Scarnettis have the only mill left . . . “

“. .  ‘clear out the glassworks tonight,’ he said.  Where am I gonna sleep . . .”

“. . . don’t think Lonjiku is a KILLER . . . just an asshole . . .”

“. . . Mvashti’s given out some disturbing readings this year, guy probably got one . . .”

“. . . put it past Titus to burn the competition . . .”

“. . . with that acolyte boy, they’re a cute couple . . .”

“. . . want to be that guy, Ven’ll beat him to a pulp . . .”

“. . .you would be too if you got cuckolded by an ELF . . .”

“. . . produce a guy like Aldern?  Man’s a charmer . . .”

“. . . always thought Barett was a stand-up guy . . .”

“. . . Hayliss says she has evidence . . .”

Given its size and rural location, it probably shouldn’t have surprised Cato that local events and personages are frequent topics of discussions here in Sandpoint.  Eventually the meal service wound down and the Festival patrons head back out into the town to participate in one or two last events before this evening’s consecration ceremony . . .

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This message was last edited by the GM at 05:55, Mon 02 Sept 2013.

As Cato and Brodert sat down to lunch, the young wizard finally shook the last thoughts of the eerie reading from his head.  That might have had less to do with the ill events fortold by Madame Mvashti than the excellent food, but Cato was glad to accept it in any case.  Cato found himself eating far too much as he and Brodert argued the merits of each dish, trying to describe the historical and cultural trends that had produced each medley of flavors.  Ameiko's curry-spiced salmon, of course, required the most explanation, as it required a world with regular trade between a tiny fishing community with abundant salmon and distant Vudrani, from whence curry first came.  Cato was sure he detected some Tian Xi spices, perhaps a hint of fermented fish sauce and ginger, but Brodert claimed the spices were more local in origin, though likely derived from garum, a similar-tasting seasoning that had been popular in long-dead Thassilon.

Cato decided he had an excellent way to resolve the argument, and one that was sure to please the elder sage after being dragged to the Harrow reading.  He and Brodert slowly walked away from the Cathedral, and down Main Street, enjoying the sight of the entire town in full celebration and good spirits, eager to enjoy the afternoon before the celebrations ended in the evening.

"How about this, Brodert?  We need an impartial way to see who might know their history and spices better.  Since we both want to stump the experts, let's head down to see Veznutt and Ilsoari.  Whichever one of us does better must know their history better, and therefor must be right about the Ameiko's seasoning."

Cato gave an exaggerated wink and offered his hand to Brodert.  Brodert looked as though he was going to object to the numerous, gaping holes in Cato's logic, but reconsidered and shook the young wizard's hand.  "It's a deal, Cato.  Let's see what these experts actually know!"

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Brodert Quink grinned with anticipation as he walked with young Cato down Main Street towards the front steps of Sandpoint’s orphanage/school, where Veznutt Parooh and Ilsoari Gandethus were holding their “Stump the Experts!” contest.  Neither of the men were true scholars, in Brodert’s estimation; Ilsoari was just a jumped-up adventurer and Veznutt was nothing but a glorified gnomish cartographer.  Although the sage had to give Parooh some credit; the gnome’s maps were actually quite good.

While Brodert had previously engaged in quite a few stimulating conversations with the pair, both together and separately, there was still a sense of quiet rivalry between them.  Brodert had exposed shameful gaps in each man's knowledge more than once, although he felt he had been very nice about it.  The sage had to admit that he looked forward to showing off his hard-won knowledge in front of his new assistant.

There were only a couple of people standing around as the two scholars approached Parooh and Gandethus, who were seated in comfortable-looking chairs on the school’s porch.  Their faces lit up as they recognized Brodert; he felt it was very likely that they had set up their “competition” solely to bait him into attending.  Not a lot of regular people wanted their historical ignorance exposed for all to see, after all.

“Well, look who it is, Ilsoari!”  Said Veznutt, who was by far the more-gregarious of the pair.  “It’s Quink!  Sandpoint’s very own sagacious scholar!  We are honored by your presence here at our humble Festival game, Sage Quink.”  The gnome bowed, emphasizing the word “honored” in such an exaggerated fashion that it seemed sarcastic.  “And look!  Ilsoari, he has brought his assistant!  Oh, Quink.”  The gnome looked at the sage with a dramatically-disappointed air.  “How the mighty have fallen!  That such a learned man feels the need for an ASSISTANT to play our little game.”  Veznutt looked up, a mischevious gleam in his eyes.  “Although I must admit that today, it might have been a wise idea.”

“Gather ‘round, everyone!”  The gnome addressed passersby in a voice far louder than his small stature would lead one to expect.  “It is the ultimate ‘Stump the Experts!’ challenge!  No less an august personage than Sage Quink is here to test his skills!”

Brodert took a deep breath and tried to still his growing annoyance.  In the sage’s opinion, the gnome was really going far beyond the bounds of politeness and even decency!  He glanced at his young assistant, who was sporting a studiously-neutral expression in response to Veznutt’s less-than-veiled digs.  Brodert resolved to take a lesson from the young man and tamped down his anger.

“Are you going to stand on the steps yelling all day, or were you actually planning to conduct a contest?”  Brodert asked in the driest voice he could manage.  “If you’d prefer to engage in cheap hucksterism, we can easily move down the road to a more intellectually-challenging venue.  Perhaps Cyrdrak’s puppet show?”

Quink gave a small smile as the gnome snapped his mouth shut and gave him an outraged glare.  “I do not believe either of you have met my new assistant.  Cato Crispin, these two august personages are Veznutt Parooh and Ilsoari Gandethus.  Veznutt is the short one.”  In truth, Ilsoari was not himself possessed of a great stature, but it wasn’t hard for a human to be taller than a gnome.  “Gentlemen, I give you Cato Crispin, a widely-read scholar of deep learning, and, may I say,” the twinkle had returned to Brodert’s eye, “impeccable taste.”

“In any event, we are here to determine who between us is the better student of history.  So ask your questions, gentlemen!”  Brodert wasn’t sure he liked the small, almost-cruel smile that quickly appeared then vanished from the face of Veznutt Parooh, but he quickly forgot about it when schoolmaster Ilsoari Gandethus asked the first question.

“We’ll begin with an easy question:  What event began the ‘Age of Destiny?’”

“The founding of Ancient Osirion.”  Brodert and Cato both answered immediately, their responses so similar that it was difficult to tell one’s voice from another.  They shared a grin as they prepared for the next question.

“Correct.”  Gandethus nodded approvingly.

“My turn!”  Veznutt stepped forward.  “What was the purpose of ‘The Old Light,’ the Thassilonian ruin located right here in Sandpoint?”

“A war machine!” Cato quickly supplied, based on his studies with Brodert.

Brodert ground his teeth.  He knew that the traditional answer was ‘a lighthouse,” but the sage believed that the ancient structure had actually been a war machine, capable of flinging fiery death for up to a mile or more.  Veznutt knew this, and also knew that his belief was outside the mainstream thought of Thassilonian scholarship.  So it was to be like this, was it?  Well, Brodert had principles.

“A war machine.”  The sage answered.

“You are both wrong!”  The gnome looked up in what Brodert knew was feigned shock.  “The answer is ‘a lighthouse.’  And I thought that was an EASY one.”  He shook his head sadly.  “My, my, Quink, aren’t you supposed to be a Thassilonian expert?”

Gandethus sighed and gave his gnomish friend a reproving look before asking the next question.  “What organization is based in the Menador Mountains’ Citadel Enferac?”

“The Hellknights,” responded Brodeur.

“The Order of the Gate,” corrected Cato.

The schoolmaster raised a surprised eyebrow.  “Well done, Cato.  Yes, the Hellknights’ Order of the Gate is based in Citadel Enferac.  The Hellknights are made up of various orders, but do not have an organizational headquarters, as far as I can tell.”

Veznutt stepped up again.  “When was the height of the Thassilonian Empire?”

“10,000 years ago,” Brodert responded immediately.

“I’m sorry, Brodert, that is incorrect, Cato, do you know the answer?”  Brodert’s bushy brows came together in outrage, but he let Cato answer.  This was yet another area in which his own scholarship diverged from the mainstream, and Parooh knew it.

Cato felt uncomfortable.  “Most scholars believe that the height of the empire occurred seven-to-eight thousand years ago.”

“Why, that is correct, young Cato!”  Veznutt gave him a broad smile.  “Are you sure you should be the assistant to old Quink here?”  The onlookers, and quite a few had gathered by this point in the questioning, laughed appreciatively.  Cato could almost see the steam coming out of his employer’s ears.  He could tell that the old sage was desperately attempting to hold onto what remained of his dignity.

“I am done here, Cato.  Let’s move on.”

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This message was lightly edited by the player at 20:03, Wed 04 Sept 2013.

Cato reached out to the retreating scholar and held his arm.  Brodert face flashed an expression of anger, and Cato quickly started speaking.

"I'm sure it's very easy to come up with expert questions to which you already know the answers.  But this game is, after all, stump the experts, which you claim to be.  I myself, have doubts.  Would you mind if I tested the veracity of your claims?"

Brodert's expression softened as Veznutt and Ilsoari exchanged uneasy glances.

Cato continued on, staring down each of the men in turn.  "No response even to that simple question?"  He flashed a quick grin at Brodert.  "I guess I have stumped the experts after all!"

"Wait just a minute" sputtered Veznutt.  "Ask your question, and we'll prove we're the experts."

Cato smiled, and tapped his index finger against his lips, pretending to be deeply concentrating for a few seconds.  "Should I start with the first thing I learned from Brodert?  Who founded Thassilon?"

The gnome and human quickly exchanged worried glances.  Finally, Ilsoari broke the silence in the air.  "A lost empire of civilized giants."

Without reacting, Cato quickly fired off the next question.  "Brodert and I had an engaging discussion about the ages of history last week.  Who vanquished the Satrap of Osirion during the Age of Enthronement?"

There was a longer moment of silence as the two "experts" searched for the answer.  Veznutt cautiously ventured, "Paladins of Iomedae?"

Brodert couldn't hide the smile starting to form on his face.  Again, Cato quickly moved to the next question.  "Maybe you can help us with a question we were discussing over tea last week.?  What Tian Xia Emperor united 10 of the 16 Kingdoms of Shu?"

Veznutt and Ilsoari exchanged the longest moment of silence yet.  Finally, Veznutt slowly shook his head and Ilsoari responded, "I...I don't know.  The Tian Xia is not our area of specialty."

Cato gave an exaggerated smile.  "Well, that's at least one factually correct statement.  Unfortunately, that makes you zero for three.  Thassilon was founded by exiles from Azlant, wizards who were known as Runelords.  It's interesting that you claim Paladins of Iomedae vanquished the Satrap of Osirion in 2253 when Iomedae didn't ascend until 3832.  It was the cult of the Dawnflower that actually vanquished the Satrap during the Age of Enthronement.  Finally, Imperial Lung Wa, the third great Emperor of the Tian-Shu united 10 of the Kingdoms of the Shu."

Cato quickly turned from Ilsoari and Veznutt before his grin was revealed to the crowd.  He and the sage started to walk back towards the cathedral for the consecration ceremony.

"I hope I wasn't too cruel to those, exposing their ignorance in front of the crowd.  I just can't stand it when someone doesn't give a great sage the deference to which he's due."  Cato gave a small bow to Brodert.  "After all, they didn't hone their skills in Janderhoff or spend decades in Magnimar.  I'm not surprised they don't have quite the same depth and breadth of knowledge as a proper sage."
This message was last edited by the player at 02:07, Thu 05 Sept 2013.

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Brodert Quink watched in growing amazement and satisfaction as young Cato, in a fantastic display of rhetorical jujitsu, expertly turned the tables on Ilsoari and Veznutt, allowing Brodert to escape with his dignity intact from what he had come to realize was undoubtedly a well-planned trap.  Indeed, the helpless consternation written across Veznutt’s face was almost worth the embarrassment the old sage had suffered just minutes ago.  He chuckled softly just thinking of it.

“Don’t beat yourself up, lad.  I think you were JUST cruel enough,” Brodert said with a grin as they walked back up Main Street, away from the orphanage.  “And you have my thanks.  My tongue has never been as sharp as my mind.  Although I am loathe to admit it, I don’t think I could have done what you just did, even in my younger years.”

This brought another thought to the scholar’s mind.  “In fact, your spellbinding performance has made me think.  While I enjoy your company, greatly appreciate your scholarly assistance, and I would hate to lose you, I would also hate for you to lose an opportunity to take full advantage of your skills.  I have to ask whether Sandpoint is really where you want to be, or even should be.  With your youth, speaking skills, and deep scholarship, you could easily find an important academic position in Magnimar.  Such work would be far more prestigious than assisting an old scholar with what are, let’s face it,” the sage gave Cato a wry grin, “certain non-traditional theories about ancient Thassilon.”

“I would be happy to write you a letter of introduction; I still have connections in the city.”  He patted Cato’s arm in a grandfatherly manner.  “No, no, don’t give me your answer now.  I want you to think about it tonight; we can discuss it further in the morning.”

The sage nodded.  “Now, I want you to go attend the consecration ceremony.  Afterwards, I want you to go out and enjoy yourself with other young people.  Although I have had a great deal of fun this day, I think you have spent quite enough of it in the company of this old sage.”  Brodert smiled at the young wizard.  “My knees aren’t what they once were; I’m not sure standing through another ceremony is in their best interest.  I think this is my cue to head home and let you enjoy the evening unencumbered.”  The sage held out his hand.  “Scholar Cato, it has been a true pleasure.”

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Cato tried to act as happy as Brodert expected him to act.  His emotions and thoughts immediately turned far darker, however.  Cato suspected he'd never be able to stay in Sandpoint forever, but going back to Magnimar was surely out of the question.  It would be entirely too easy for the Hellknights to pick up his trail again if he ventured there.

Cato shook Brodert's hand.  "The pleasure has been mine, Sage Quink.  I promise to enjoy the celebrations tonight and leave thoughts of the future to tomorrow.  Enjoy your evening!"

Cato kept the grin on his face as he parted ways with the old sage and walked up Main Street toward the new cathedral.  Could he confide in Brodert and stay in Sandpoint?  Cato wasn't sure if there was anywhere else he could flee in Varisia, and he had ironically just offended the keeper of the best maps in town, so finding someplace else to settle without raising suspicions was probably out of the question.

Cato turned onto Tower street, oblivious to the stream of people heading to the cathedral.  Although he was out of sight of the sage, he still kept a false smile on his face.  The last thing he wanted to do now was to stand out in the crowd, and let someone notice him.

Cato made the final turn of Tower Street north toward the cathedral, and made his was to the edge of the crowd.  He tried to push the thoughts of the future out of his mind and concentrate on enjoying the celebration.  Cato felt an authentic smile start to form on his face.  It looked like he would be keeping his word about that to Brodert after all.

FADE TO BLACK - (Continued in Thread #2: Encounter at Sandpoint)