The gnome had been in the midst of extending her tongue to taste the beginning of the end of the Oath Wars, when Vorvashali Voon spoke of the vargouille.  She stepped back from the glass box within which floated the Pen of Kalim Onaku and turned a grin on the owner of the Feathered Serpent.  It was a grin that showed only in her eyes, but only because her mouth was covered by the palm of her hand.  With her other finger she pointed at the man as though to say, I see what you did there.

Instead of saying that, however, she barked a short laugh and flung her arms around the leg of the flamboyant Varisian.  When she broke from her hug, the gnome looked up and said, "I like you, Vorvashali Voon.  You're a very interesting human," which, though not a well and widely known fact, is a great compliment from a gnome.

After that minor outburst, she wandered quietly with Voon past the authoritative scepter until he answered her question regarding garbage service, and then asked one of his own.

"Not me," Pisca replied regarding the question of garbage collection.  "My friend Lunk.  He works for that half-orc Gorvi.  Gorvi is so mean to him.  And Lunk does most of the work already anyway.  I'm going to talk to Mayor Deverin tomorrow about chasing Gorvi off and giving the business to Lunk.  But I wanted to hear how other people felt about it first.  Lunk is hard working.  And he's a hero.  But ... "

"Say, that's a nice bag," Pisca said, momentarily distracted.  She tipped her head to one side as she examined the stylized figure of a girl cat embossed into the leather of one of the straps.  The craftsman had gone so far as to give the kitty a red ribbon just below her right ear.

"But ... " the gnome then said, continuing where she'd left off by reiterating her expression of doubt, " ... Lunk might not do too well on the business side of the business, if you understand my meaning."

---

---

“Thank you my dear.”  Vorvashali Voon was not a man easily flustered, but it seemed clear that receiving hugs from a gnome was not something he often experienced.  After a moment, he patted his pint-sized embracer on the head.  “You are very interesting as well,” he reassured her.  He looked at the door.  “In fact, the whole group of you is interesting.  There is something . . . .”  His voice trailed off.

The odd-looking pair walked together through the store: the tall, thin man with the unusual headgear and the petite, curiously-intense gnome.  “Lunk,” the shopkeeper repeated noncommittally when Pisca broached the name.  “Hmmmmm.”  While the gnome explained her idea, Voon examined a display item that looked for all the world like a smooth rock one might pick up from the shores of the Turandarok.

“Gorvi is not, how can I say this, an agreeable person.”  Vorvashali’s finger approached the stone he was examining, but did not touch it.  “He is a drunk and a bully and I do not think he has ingratiated himself with the townsfolk.”  He turned to look at Pisca.  “That, and he’s a half-orc.”  He tapped a long, tapered forefinger to his temple.  “An unscrupulous opponent could use that fact to sway Sandpoint’s more . . . regimented thinkers.”  He paused.  “I may be wrong, but I think your scruples might allow you to do such a thing.”

He returned his attention to the nondescript rock.  “But Gorvi did not become Sandpoint’s junkman by winning a popularity contest.”  Voon seemed to be trying to stare at something contained inside the stone.  “He won the job, and retains it, because—despite his drunkenness and general unpleasantness—he does it well, and nobody else really wants to do it.”

Apparently despairing of finding whatever hid inside the rock, Vorvashali turned to face Pisca.  “Sadly, the same people who would depose Gorvi for his lineage would refuse to elevate Lunk because of his simple-mindedness.”  He placed his hands behind his back, seeming to take the subject very seriously.  “And would they be wrong?  Does Lunk have the capacity to lead a crew of junkers?  Would he even want to?”

“Yes, that is a nice bag, isn’t it?”  The Feathered Serpent’s proprietor agreed, without missing a beat.  “I procured it at no small expense for a valued customer.”

“But these questions have already occurred to you, have they not?  And I think you already know the answer to those questions.  But it seems to me that your goal isn’t necessarily Lunk’s elevation.  You simply want someone more kind-hearted in charge of the junkers.”  He shrugged.  “And should you find someone like that who wants the job, replacing Gorvi should not prove much of a challenge for someone with your drive and talents.”  He gave a small shrug.  “But where shall you find such a person?  That is your real problem.  Don’t you agree?”

---

---

"Yeah.  You're right," admitted the gnome with weighty regret.  Her nod then spoke both her assent and her capitulation before her mouth got around to the words.  "All of those questions have occurred to me already.  But ... "  With a frown and pursed lip she lifted her gaze to the Varisian's face in and appeal for ... understanding?  For a solution that might appear from out of Desna's Great Fortune and magically resolve this problem for her?  It was probably the latter.  "But ... I was hoping that the questions weren't ... well, I was hoping that they weren't real questions."  Pisca heaved a heavy sigh.  "But, now that I know that the questions have occurred to you as well ...  Then, I suppose, I'll have to admit to myself that they are actually real, and that I'll have to do something about them."

"Oh badgers," the gnome said in a cross voice.  "Why can't things ever be the way you imagine that they should be?"

"And, I don't suppose that I want to replace Gorvi so much as ... "  The gnome picked up an interesting pair of crystal lenses and fit them to her face.  " ... as much as I just want him to stop being mean to my friend Lunk.  I suppose that I could threaten Gorvi.  Maybe even cut him up a bit.  But, I think it would be ever so nice for Lunk if he could do this for himself.  Don't you think?"

Pisca looked up at the human again, this time with a smile.  "You should have seen his face after he saved the orphans during the goblin attack.  He was so happy.  He was so surprised.  Not me.  He's my giant."

"Oh well.  I'll keep an eye out for someone who might be a good replacement for Gorvi.  And ... I think I'll also encourage Lunk to stand up for himself.  That might be the better way to go there."

The gnome put the interesting lenses back and picked up a nearby pair of translucent cloth tubes.  "What do these things do, Vorvee?" she asked.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
OoC: Pisca is looking at Sleeves of Many Garments. http://www.d20pfsrd.com/magic-items/wondrous-items/wondrous-items/r-z/sleeves-of-many-garments

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This message was last edited by the player at 00:31, Fri 12 June 2015.

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“Life is like that,” Voon agreed with a slight bob of his head, “but how boring would it be if everything was exactly as we imagined it?  What would be the use for courage?  For struggle?  For generosity or selflessness or effort?  For making ourselves and the world about us better?”  He frittered the air with his fingers.  “Would you want to live in a world like that?  One we just floated through like leaves on the Turandarok, with no reason to do anything but enjoy the ride?”  He shook his head.  “I doubt you would be happy for more than a few days.”  He grinned.  “I certainly wouldn’t.”

“Doing something about the questions that bother us is a noble thing, Pisca Neep Freemish.”  The gnome’s companion reminded her.  “And the work we put into addressing those questions makes us better people and brings us closer to the gods.”  He nodded.  “When was the last time you met a truly good person who hadn’t encountered hardship?  Oh, they exist, but they’re rare.”  He tapped his chest.  “It is fighting through life’s difficulties that gives us empathy, discipline, and, dare I say it,” he raised one thin eyebrow, “maturity.”

“And I think you are right, Lunk’s actions at the orphanage did surprise him.  But it’s often when things are at their worst that we surprise ourselves with how much better our best can be.”

“Ah, yes!”  Vorvashali Voon picked up the tubes with a new flush of enthusiasm, holding them aloft as if they were some sort of trophy.  “I’m afraid these don’t have a terribly practical use other than to save you from purchasing and cleaning fine clothes.  For behold,” he thrust them toward Pisca, “whatever outfit you desire is contained within!  Here, I will demonstrate.”

The outlandishly-dressed man began to struggle into the sleeves.  “The.”  He grunted. “Only drawback.”  He gritted his teeth and pulled his left arm through the first sleeve.  “These have.”  More grunting as he strained to fit his right arm into the second tube.  “Are that they always seem to be too small.”  His fingers appeared on the opposite side of the tube.  “No matter what size you are.”  Voon’s hand finally burst through the other side of the sleeve, and he turned to her with an expression of triumph.  “Victory!”

“So, yes, right, the demonstration.  All you have to do is visualize the outfit you wish to be wearing, say the command word, and presto, you will be wearing it!  For example, let’s say you wanted to wear a something drab that nearly screams aloud your desire for conformity.”  He mumbled a word and was instantly clad in clothing suspiciously similar to the temple vestments Father Zantus wore during his sermons.  “Or perhaps you are dining with a noble?”  Another mumble and he was suddenly dressed in what looked like a carbon copy of Lord Aldern Foxglove’s dinner attire.  “Or perhaps you just wish to follow in the footsteps of a fashionable gnome?”  The olive-skinned man grinned merrily as his clothing shifted to a carbon copy of Pisca’s outfit.  “The possibilities are endless!”

---

---

There were several times in which the gnome opened her mouth as though to object, or to complain, or to rebut.  Each time, however, she stopped, eyes full of thought.  Then she closed her mouth again, only nodding instead.

Whether the wisdom of Vorvashali Voon had any lasting impact upon the gnome, however, was not something that was readily apparent, as Pisca, the Easily Distracted Gnome, was soon caught up in the demonstration of the Magic Sleeves.  Pisca's face rolls through a range of emotions as Voon's clothing change as though ... by magic.  Wonder.  Amusement.  Delight.

"I want that!" exclaimed the gnome.  And then, with a grin, "I like endless possibilities."

"And you make a stirring Shoanti scout, Vorvee," Pisca said with great gnomish approval, indicating his duplication of her own leathers.  "You have a wonderful shop here, Vorvee.  Thank you so very much for having me.  And now, if you don't mind, I'd like to buy some things.  Hopefully, they will prove to be ... discerning."

---

---

Vorvashali Voon sketched a smiling bow to his gnomish visitor.  “I’m sure your discernment will be just as apparent in your purchases as it is with everything else you put your mind to.”

The commercial portion of Pisca’s visit to the Feathered Serpent went smoothly.  Voon sold his exotic items at fair prices; soon his leathers-clad customer was leaving the shop, burdened with new purchases but experiencing the concomitant lightness of purse.

The gnome quickly stopped by her room at the Rusty Dragon to deposit her new possessions, giving Ameiko a friendly wave as she did so.  Then she was off to find the remainder of her friends.  She figured she might find Kellan at the General Store, so she headed that direction.

It was a bright, clear Sandpoint afternoon.  A fresh breeze blew lightly off the ocean, carrying with it the distinctive odor of brine and salt and somehow also the scent of hope and opportunity.  Passersby seemed to walk with an additional spring in their step, but whether it was because they had just been spared a gruesome Death By Goblin Invasion or because they too sniffed the promise of the wind was a mystery that Pisca might never have the opportunity to solve.

As she walked, she passed a couple of Sczarni who were clearly on the make; apparently Sandpoint’s more-upright citizens were not the only ones who sensed opportunity.  Her knowing look as they passed resulted in their discomfited ones, but she did not stay around long enough to determine who their mark might be.  She was a Gnome With a Purpose.

Pisca crossed Southmarket Square without incident; the edifice of Ven Vinder’s General Store rose in the distance.  As she approached, she spotted Kellan chatting with Katrine Vinder on the verandah, and then—in a fortuitous happenstance—Cato striding down Main Street toward her . . . .

---

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This message was last edited by the GM at 21:21, Mon 15 June 2015.

Cato walked along the water with Pisca, holding his tongue until they were isolated from other stray denizens of Sandpoint who were enjoying a stroll down Water Street.  Finally, Cato spoke.

In a quiet voice, he said: "Pisca, I've been living a lie, deceiving everyone I know in Sandpoint.  And now I'm worried, not just for myself, but for the consequences of anyone who's helped me.  Brodert, all of you..."

Cato shook his head.  "But that's not going to help you.  What I'm worried about is that I'm trying to stay hidden here.  But to get here, I fled my family.  Even worse from that, I fled the Hellknights."  Cato looked to Pisca.  "Do you the Korvosan Hellknights, the Order of the Nail?  I joined to prove my family wrong, that all my academics could help."

Cato gave a  dry chuckle.  "Ironic that in running to escape that, I found myself here where I think I have done exactly what I set out to do in the first place."

The wizard shook his head again.  "But that's beyond the point.  I'm worried now that my past is catching up to me.  Ven mentioned that a Korvosan was asking after me, back when Deverin had us all onstage.  And that might mean the Hellknights have found me.  They don't take kindly to people deserting..."  Cato trailed off.  "Or it might be my family, but I'm sure that'd have the same result.  They couldn't shelter me without offending the Hellknights, which would have severe consequences, even for Korvosan nobility.  Especially for Korvosan nobility."

Cato looked to Pisca again.  "Sorry for rambling.  I haven't talked about any of this in...well, ever.  It's hard to stop when I start.  But, the reason I wanted to talk with you and Kellan is to see if anyone else is asking after me, or if anyone knew who that man was.  I figured Kellan could handle the official side of things: the guard and so on, and you might be able to handle the...less savory parts of town."

Cato finally stopped, waiting for Pisca's reaction.

Finally Cato stopped, and Pisca reached up to gently pat her friend's arm.  She drew him down to her and put her small delicate pink fingers against his brow.

"You don't feel hot, Cato," said the gnome.  "You're not feverish.  And you seem in sound mind.  Despite all that."  The gnome pulled her friend to a place equally free of stray denizens, but where the two might sit more comfortably, each to their individual heights.

"Did you know that I was in Korvosa for a while?  I applied to the Academae.  And when they failed to accept me there, I studied at Theumanexus College where my great great great great great uncle Geezlebottle teaches.  That didn't last long.  But I invented some very clever exploding cabbages."

"At any rate, I've seen Hellknights.  Hellknights are very distinctive.  And they've always struck me as very much lacking in subtlety.  I would think that any of the gate guards would very much remember having seen one."

"Back when Deverin had us all onstage, you say?  I would think that all of the gates would have been manned at that time.  What with the goblin troubles and all."

"What exactly did Ven Vinder say?  Think carefully.  Not having seen this man ourselves makes this more difficult than usual.  We know this is a man and not a woman.  Ven Vinder said so, right?  Did he say anything else that might help us identify the man?  How did Ven Vinder know this man was a Korvosan?  The cut of his clothing?  Or maybe he was wearing one of those little pins.  The ones that say, 'Korvosan and Proud," with the little stylized figure of the Crimson Throne in the center.  Those were very limited edition."

"Think back.  Tell me exactly word for word what it was that he said."

Cato breathed a sigh of relief as Pisca was...well, Pisca.  Of the four of them, he supposed Pisca would be the most likely to take everything in stride.

Cato thought back.  "Yes, it definitely was a man.  I didn't see him, of course.  Ven knew he was Korvosan by his accent.  Ven said the stranger was asking lots of questions about the group of us."

Cato laughed at Pisca's Hellknight theory.  "No, I'm sure it wasn't a Hellknight in their plate.  You're right, that's very distinctive.  But not all Hellknights wear that armor.  The wizards in the Order don't."  Cato shook his head sadly. "I should know, because that's what I was.  A Signifier in the Order of the Nail."  Cato practically spit the last words.

Cato's anger subsided somewhat.  "Thanks for helping me think back on this.  It could be nothing, but I just worry..."

Cato looked up.  "Well, I know word of what's happened here is going to get.  Four nobodies invade Thistletop and save Sandpoint?  I mean, we know it wasn't just us.  It was the Mayor, Shalelu, Alergast, Nisk, Brodert, practically the whole town.  I bet even Lunk played a part!  But Brodert especially is chomping at the bit to spread word of what's happened here far and wide.  And I can't take that away from him.  He deserves the recognition he's due.  But my name's going to be attached to that, and I'm afraid it's going to stir up the wrong sort of attention when it all happens.  And that's the last thing that Sandpoint needs."

"Wait."  The gnome gave the human a searching look.  "Just hold on there.  Listen to what you said, Cato.  You just said that Ven knew he was Korvosan by his accent.  You said that Ven said the stranger was asking lots of questions about the group of us."

"The group of us!"  The gnome stood and threw her hands up into the air.  The excited hands then drifted down to Pisca's hips where they remained as she paced about while she talked through the remainder of her reasoning.

"Think about it.  If you were a Signifier on the trail of an escaped mage, you would ask about the escaped mage, right?  Instead, this man with the Korvosan accent was asking about all five of us.  Not just you."

"There's a good chance that this man was not from the Order of the Nail, but, rather, some other Korvosan searching not for you, but for us."  Pisca then climbed up into Cato's lap as she sketched out the beginnings of ... a plan.

"Asking at the guard is still not a bad idea.  He'd likely have had to come through one of the gates.  Not necessarily, but likely.  A Korvosan would be pretty conspicuous.  Or, maybe that was the point.  Maybe he only faked a Korvosan accent in order to throw us off the trail.  Desna's holy coincidences!  He might even have been that masked man we killed at Thistletop.  Wouldn't that be something?"

"And I know someone here in Sandpoint who knows everything that goes on.  I'll go talk to him.  Though he'll probably want something in return."  The gnome frowned.  "That's just the way he is."

"The important questions, though, are why are they interest in us?  That's why I asked about Mister Mask.  And just where is this man now?  We'll see if we can find that out."

"And you're still not completely off the hook even if this man is not from the Order.  There's still the fame, you know.  Good thing you didn't use your real name, right?"

Pisca twisted her neck so that she could look up at the human in whose lap she sat.  "Cato Crispin is a fake name, right?  You wouldn't go on the run and use your real name.  Would you?"
This message was last edited by the player at 13:06, Sat 20 June 2015.

Cato started to argue Pisca's conclusions, but then stopped, and cocked his head at the gnome.  "Huh.  Searching for all of us.  Thanks, Pisca.  I hadn't actually stopped to consider that before.  For the past few days, I've been worrying myself sick about this.  That I'd help defend Sandpoint, only to be found by the Hellknights and dragged back to Korvosa for...whatever it is they do to deserters.  Which I'm sure can't be pleasant."

Cato sighed in relief, and then laughed.  "I can't believe I'm feeling the tiniest bit better about this, but maybe it's better?  Well, worse if someone is looking for all of us?  That means...that means that Nualia has allies who were helping her along.  That someone else might be mighty upset that we put a stop to her.  That someone might be trying to free that barghest trapped down in Thistletop."

Cato shook his head.  "Still, I feel better knowing that it might be all of us, and I won't have to face that alone."

The wizard listened as Pisca started to sketch out her plan, and nodded.  "Thanks, Pisca.  I wasn't sure where to start looking into it, but that's exactly the kind of connections I thought you would have.  If I can help in any way to repay whatever debt you're going to incur by asking about this, let me know."

Cato laughed.  "No, Cato's not my real name.  Though I've certainly been using it for long enough.  The thing is..."  Cato looked down, feeling as though he were answering to his father again for wrongdoings as a little child.  "The thing, when I got here, I hadn't really thought about what I was going to say.  I had given fake names staying at inns in Magnimar and along the way, and the Hellknights had found me at one of them.  So I knew I couldn't use those.  And I just said Cato Crispin when Ameiko asked my name.  If you've spent some time in Korvosa, you might have seem some cheap pulp books that try to grab some of the interest generated by the Pathfinder's chap books?  Well, there was one about a heroic itinerant wizard named Cato Crisp I used to read when I was younger.  Was quite obsessed with him, actually.  Everyone knew.  My family, my friends.  I even used to get teased about when I studying to become a wizard proper.  So, it's not impossible that someone might link that name to me.  Luckily, I don't think anyone at the Hellknights knows that name, though it's possible my family would have told them."

Cato was quiet for a second more.  "It's Petronicus Voralius, by the way.  My family was always fond of those grand Chelaxian styled names."

"Sssssshhhhhhhhh."  Pisca squirmed around in Cato's lap until she could place a finger against his lips.  "Shush.  Probably best if we don't know your real name yet, Cato," she said.  "That way we can't give it away by chance or accident.  Right?" said the gnome.  "Not just to your passing Hellnight Spy, mind you, but to the rest of the people in Sandpoint too.  Wouldn't that be confusing for them if we were to call you something completely different by mistake?"

"Besides, the name doesn't matter.  What matters is that you're our friend.  Whether it's Cato Crispin or Peter Vicious, it's you that matters.  Not the name."

"Even if it was you they were after, it would still be about all of us, you know."  The gnome threw her arms around her friend's neck and delivered a hug before squirming her way off his lap and throwing her arms up in a presentational manner.  "That's right.  We wouldn't let them take you away without a fight now, you know.  We wouldn't.  We couldn't.  You're our friend."

"Now, the thing about this man I know," Pisca said, turning very serious even as she turned and began pacing in thought.  "And I'm thinking out loud here.  The thing about Jubrayl is that he not only knows everything that happens in Sandpoint, but he also deals in the information.  He's very good at taking advantage of the things that he knows to gain wealth or power or more information.  That means that anything that we ask about may also tell him things about us that we may not want him to know.  So ... I suppose the thing to do would be to ask him just the question as is, without throwing anything in there about you.  Right?  There was a man with a Korvosan accent asking about the Sandpoint Saviors at around the time of the big town meeting."

Pisca nodded with some tentative satisfaction.  "And, maybe, throw in some stuff that he may or may not already know.  Some things about Thistletop and Father Gabriel and barghests.  That sounds like a good plan.  What do you think ... " Pisca said, and sliding a sly look up at the mage added, " ... Cato?"

Cato blushed again.  He seemed to find himself doing that a lot.  "Sorry.  I'm just so relieved to be able to tell this to someone, anyone.  And relieved at your reaction.  Once I started talking, I just wanted to keep talking.  But you're right.  Perhaps some secrets are better left unsaid.  The less people who know them, the better.  I hope that Kellan and Liseth will still trust me after they find out about this."

Cato stroked his chin.  "So if telling Jubrayl more than we strictly need to about this just a way of fulfilling part of his payment?  Making him feel better about revealing information because we've revealed more than we need to?  In any case, some of the things we've found out about Thistletop are bound to become public knowledge.  The town guard needs to keep an eye on...suspicious people.  I suppose I wouldn't even know what to look for in terms of 'deranged cultists bent on freeing a millennia barghest trapped inside a goblin stronghold', but suspicious would be a good first start.  So the guard in Sandpoint will know we're still worried about something.  And Jubrayl will know a little about what that is.  If Brodert and I actually publish some findings about what we've found in those Catacombs below Sandpoint, a whole lot of people will learn more about what's below this town.  Runelords, the quasit, those wells and the demon dogs...that might draw all sorts of strange people to town who are intent on exploring.  Jubrayl can probably make some good business on those rumors."

The wizard took a deep breath, smiling at Pisca.  "But yes, we should start simply.  Ask if Jubrayl knows anything about a man with a Korvosan accent asking after us."  He stopped again.  "How...deeply involved in the underground, exactly, do you think Jubrayl is?  I mean, he's got a bad reputation, but he wouldn't be in league with a person like that mysterious stranger, would he?  Jubrayl is concerned about small-time stuff in Sandpoint, right?  We're not going to be alerting a hypothetical organization that we know it exists by talking to him, are we?"

Pisca thought about the question first before replying.  This was unusual.  But not unusual enough to warrant any major announcements.  "I would think that any hypothetical organization asking around Sandpoint about us would have to go under the assumption that we knew that they were asking around Sandpoint about us.  I don't know how they couldn't assume that we know.  Did you notice that they aren't trying particularly hard to hid their enquiries?  They sent a stranger with a very distinct foreign accent to do the asking in a fairly small town, didn't they?"

"So, I wouldn't worry about them finding out that we're asking after them.  Might be all for the better.  Might make them come out and ask us to our faces about us."

The gnome then sighed.  "You're right about Jubrayl, though.  Probably best not to get involved in him if you don't have to.  I've already made that mistake once with Liseth.  "You know what he said to me once?  He said," and here the gnome's voice took on deeper, huskier tones along with a Varisian lilt.  "'Friendships are tested by circumstances.  Sometimes . . . the circumstances prevail.'  That's what he said.  It was a valuable lesson.  And I think he gave it to me for free.”

"Sure I trust Jubrayl.  He's helped me, Cato.  He really has.  But, he's not like you or Stomper or Lysa.  He's Jubrayl.  And, you know ... well ... 'circumstances.'"  The corners of Pisca's mouth twitched upward in a short, sad sort of smile.

"So, anyway, I'll go talk to Jubrayl later.  But, in the meantime, do you want to see whether we can find Orik Riddleport?  I think he's up at the temple.  See what he knows about ... you know ... "  Before speaking again, the gnome cast about to see whether any of the nearby walls might had ears.  "The Golden Seven."

Cato nods, glad for Pisca's wisdom.  "Talking with Orik sounds good.  If it's all the same to you, I'd rather avoid Jubrayl for as long as I can, though he might end up being our only source for information.  But for now, seeing if Orik knows anything sounds like a more reasonable first step."

---

---

Cato and Pisca continued their conversation as they walked towards the chapel in search of the prodigal Orik Vancaskerkin.  The pair received smiles and waves from many of the townspeople they passed—their roles in the town’s survival of the recent goblin threat was already well-known.  Soon enough they were passing through the large double doors of the Sandpoint Cathedral, intent on finding a Nualia’s erstwhile bodyguard.

A beautiful, dark-haired woman of medium height walked toward them as they entered.  She was clad in a demure white acolyte’s robe; a medallion made of an indeterminate metal hung from her neck as her sole adornment.  It was embossed with the symbol of Erastil.  Her brunette tresses were intricately bound with a golden cord.

“Cato!”  She cried excitedly.  “And Pisca!”  She continued as she walked up to them, eyes shining.  “How are you doing?  What brings you to the cathedral?”  She stopped herself.  “Oh!  I’m Elsbet Banilo—I’m Erastil’s acolyte here.  And  I’ve heard so much about what you’ve done for Sandpoint!  Is it true you accompanied Kellan and Kerr and,” she sniffed, “Liseth to Thistletop and fought Nualia in her lair while she was defended by four demon-soldiers?”  Elsbet was almost bouncing with excitement.  “You have to tell me all about it!”

---

---

"Thank you, Elsbet  So nice to meet you at last."  The beaming gnome opened her arms to the Acolyte of Erastil and wrapped her thigh in a hug.  "Lysa's told us so much about you," Pisca lied without skipping a beat.  "Maybe you'd like to tell your side of things sometime," she added.  "We can trade adventures.  We can tell you all about the demons we fought and you can tell us about ...  Well, I wouldn't want to spoil the telling for you."  And the gnome punctuated her baffling innuendos with a perky wink.

"But, unfortunately, I and my very handsome and eligable friend *Cato Crispin* here, have come on business.  We heard that Orik once of Riddleport is here at the cathedral, and we need to speak to him on a fairly urgent matter."

"You wouldn't happen to know where he is, would you Elsbet?"

Cato's face ran through a variety of expressions as first Elsbet then Pisca talked. Confusion, anger, amusement and finally embarrassment flashed across his face as Pisca introduced him as handsome. In truth, Cato hadn't given much thought to forming relationships in Sandpoint. Certainly he had with Brodert, but it would have been impossible to work with a man so in sync with Cato's own interests, who took such care in the education of his young pupil and not develop an attachment. And there was Ameiko. The owner of the a Rusty Dragon had hosted Cato at her inn many a night, and while the wizard had initially gone just to keep tabs on newcomers in town, he had a genuine respect for the woman.  And finally, his bond with Kellan, Kerr, Liseth and Pisca. Cato thought he'd never be able to fully trust anyone, ever, with his hidden past. But Piscs had proved he could, and the mage thought that Kellan, and probably Liseth and Kerr would eventually understand. But in the present, Cato could only sputter as his face grew redder, suddenly an attractive woman in front of him. If only, if only Pisca hadn't reminded Cato so very much of his mother trying to introduce him to a 'good match' at a debutante ball in Korvosa. The thought of his past, even an embarrassing memory like that, threatened for a moment to throw Cato into depression, but ultimately embarrassment won over.

"Pisca!  That's....that's enough. We have things to do, no time for a social call."  He tilted his head towards Elsbet. "Sorry...." Cato started, unsure of even what to say next. It had been a long time since Cato had even thought of companionship like, so focused was he on not wanting to tie himself down should be have to flee. But now there was no fleeing Sandpoint, and the wizard found himself thinking about all the women in town. Maybe he would have to ask Alergast or Amelie...  Cato shook his head, bringing his thoughts back to the present. "Sorry, another time. As Pisca said, we're looking for Orik. Uh, important business. We'd be grateful if you could help."
This message was last edited by the player at 02:58, Sat 27 June 2015.

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“Oh.”  Elsbet looked slightly surprised, then enthusiastically returned Pisca’s hug.  “Oh!”  She said in response to Pisca’s assurance that Liseth had told them about her.  She dipped her head, blushing.  “Um, what did she say?  Not bad things, I hope.”  The young woman grimaced.  “We had kind of a falling out before you all went,” she motioned in the general direction of Thistletop, “out there.”

“Oh!”  Elsbest said again as Pisca informed her of Cato’s relationship status.  She gave Cato a very frank appraisal, smiling as she did so.  “Is that true, scholar Crispin?”  She leaned over to Pisca, whispering sotto voce, “he is quite handsome.”

“But no time for a social call, you say?”  Erastil’s acolyte gave Cato a moue of disappointment.  “On another occasion, then,” she agreed, then gave him a smile.  “I’ll hold you to that!”

“So, you’re looking for Orik, are you?”  Her tone of voice indicated that she would very much like to know why two of the famous Sandpoint Saviors were looking to speak with the almost-equally-famous Orik Vancaskerkin.  “Very mysterious, isn’t he?”  She offered, as if wishing to start a conversation about that mysteriousness, and thereby find out what Pisca and Cato might know about the man.  “It was so strange!  He showed up right before the attack, turned himself into the Sandpoint Guard, then ended up helping us out!

“It seems like he and Father Zantus know each other.”  She left this observation hanging there, to better to let her conversational partners fill in exactly how that knowledge might have come to pass.  “He has a room in the acolyte quarters.  The men’s, of course,” she said, blushing again for no immediately-apparent reason, “it’s over there.”  She pointed to a door across the courtyard.  “Third room on the right.  If he’s not there, you might try the kitchen.  Merrith’s taken a liking to him.”

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This message was last edited by the player at 15:13, Sat 27 June 2015.

"Riddleport is here in Sandpoint ... "  In the manner of imparting very special secrets -and without acknowledging the other slew of questions that she'd scattered in her wake- the gnome beckoned in a low whispery voice to the acolyte of Erastil. "... because we suggested it to him."  And then suddenly, she broke away.  "It was Lysa mostly," Pisca added.  "He was just about to kill me again, and she talked him out of it.  Convinced him to break his contract with Nualia and support Sandpoint.  She even has him considering the thought of acting as the trade ambassador between Sandpoint and the goblins of Thistletop."  Pisca nodded along as she expounded upon her version of Liseth's accomplishments as though assessing each as it came up and finding it good.

"She's quite a talented speaker.  She'll go far, Lysa will.  She just ... "  And here the gnome looked up into the face of the Erastilian acolyte as though sharing something that they both knew to be true.  "She just lacks confidence.  Don't you think?  In times of dire need she can work miracles.  But in everyday life, she just does not think enough of herself to ... well, to speak out for herself."

"And, well, a gnome can only do so much, you know?  What she needs is a good human friend to support her.  Someone older and more experienced than her.  But not too old.  Humans age so quickly, don't you know?  You wouldn't think that would matter.  But I'm finding that it changes things in very significant ways."

"Anyway, men's acolyte quarters are ... that way?"  And Pisca gave Cato a significant look which, paired with an indication of her head, might have meant anything from 'lets say goodbye to the priestess now' to 'kiss her, you fool.'
This message was last edited by the player at 08:00, Mon 29 June 2015.

Cato nodded thanks to Elsbet and practically dragged Pisca away from the woman before anything else was said.  He strolled quickly across the courtyard, towards the indicated door, and then found the third door.  The young wizard raised his hand, pausing for a second, then knocked on the door.  "Uh, Orik?  It's Pisca and Cato.  We had a few questions if you had a moment to talk."

"Door's open!" Came the call from inside the room. Cato released the latch and pushed on the door. The acolyte's rooms weren't posh by any stretch of the imagination but they were comfortable. The was a small bed with a trunk at the foot. A side table, a stool and a lamp completed the furnishing. Orik currently sat on the bed with his armor on his lap. He had a brush, some rags and a vial of oil. He grinned as Cato and Pisca entered.

"Wondered when you'd be paying me a visit. Excuse me if I don't get up, I'm kind of in the middle of something here." Orik began scrubbing his armor vigorously. "Besides, I'm a mercenary not a diplomat. Nobody expects a mercenary to have good manners anyway. Have a seat, if you want." He waved absently at the stool.

Orik inspected the area he had just finished cleaning with a critical eye. "Where's the little priestess and the young armsman? They okay?"

"A gnome and a human enter a room with one stool," Pisca nattered to no one in particular.  "Have a *seat* says the stool to the pair," she then added in the manner of speaking most commonly associated with the punch lines of jokes.  Then, instead of taking the stool, she hopped up on the bed and perched on the edge next to Orik Riddleport.

"I think they may be having sex," she then answered with little change from the casual voice with which she had just told her obscure joke.  "Lysa went on a picnic with Kerr Mollin.  They went to the beach, I think.  And we just saw Kellan at the General Store.  Probably there to see Shayliss Vinder.  That means they're having sex, right?"  The gnome's legs swung and kicked as she turned her head up to the self-proclaimed mercenary for a confirmation on her assessment of human social behavior.

"Right?  Well, maybe that or eating.  Something basic and sensory, you'd think."

"I'm glad you made it here, Orik.  It's not just anyone who doesn't kill you when you meet in a labyrinth of evil.  And though we truly are glad to see you, I'm betting that your guess is that we didn't come seek you out in your room to just say hullo.  And you'd be right.  We need to find out about the man in the One-Eyed Mask.  Anything you can tell us about him.  When did he first show up to the best of your recollection?  What was his arrangement with Nualia?  How did he usually arrive?  Where was he from?  Anything you can remember about him, no matter how trivial it may be."

"Oh.  And he's dead, by the way," the gnome then added and her face turned grim and quiet at the memory.  "We'd captured him alive, but he had poison hidden inside a hollow tooth.  Took his own life.  He was all foamy and frothy, and not a very healthy color at all."

As Pisca continued in her discussion of the possible extra-curricular activities of her friends, Cato suddenly wondered what the gnome said about him when he wasn't present.  Cato hadn't shown any overt interest in the ladies of Sandpoint.  Was that the reason for Pisca's sudden interest in trying to push him into the arms of any willing woman they encountered?  Did the gnome think that all humans needed to be paired up like that.  For that matter, what of the gnome herself?  Then again, from the way she talked about sex, she didn't consider it to be romantic.  Just another necessary bodily functions that the silly humans had to worry about.  Cato shook his head and focused his attention on Orik, eager to here what the mercenary had to say.

"It seems like, since the attack on the Sandpoint Festival, we'e been merely reacting to everything happening around us.  Knowing our opponents may finally let us stay a step ahead and be able to act on our own.  And whomever that man was reporting to doesn't know his fate."  Cato shrugged.  "Probably, at least.  They might have used daily magical communication, and know that something has gone wrong if he hasn't reported.  But they probably don't know what, yet."

Orik laughed at Pisca's comments. "If that means sex, I'm going to have to spend more time at the General Store." He put his mail shirt aside, apparently satisfied with the state of its care.

"I think you're mistaking me for someone important." Orik grinned. "I'm a mercenary. While I might be a good mercenary, I'm still a mercenary and no one tell folks like me anything important.  You only tell the important stuff to people who're dedicated to the cause. The only cause I was dedicated to really was the state of my purse."

Orik pulled out a dagger and a whetstone and began sharpening the blade. "I don't know much about the man in the mask, really. He and Nualia met a few months back. I was there at the first couple of meetings, until Nualia was convinced he didn't pose a direct threat." He raised his hand to cut off their questions. "By 'there' I mean I was close enough to call should things go sideways. Neither of them let me hang around for any actual negotiations. All I know is that this guy was a flunky for some one else higher up the food chain. He was important enough to speak for whoever his master was but not so important that he couldn't be replaced if things went badly...  which they did. Sorry I'm not more of a help."