Cato listened to Pisca's rumination, grateful to have something to distract his mind from ramifications of his hair loss.  "Yes, it's probably safe to say that Tsuto's told Nualia all about.  Or maybe not.  It's not unheard of for despotic, evil leaders to punish the bearers of bad news.  But Tsuto probably wouldn't be able to hide the fact that he was in a fight.  Not with his acid-scarred face anyway."  Cato managed a brief smile, suddenly feeling ashamed that he could find horrifically scarring another person a bright thought.  "But this just might convince Nualia that Sandpoint's starting to organize, and she needs to strike before the town is totally prepared.  Maybe going to Thistletop is just what we need."  Cato paused, quickly running a hand through his hair again.  "After we see Father Zantus of course.  I don't think I'll be much help soon if we don't..."  Cato trailed off, unable to complete the thought.

---

---

Kerr couldn’t help but grin at Quint and Santo’s antics in what he was starting to think of as “the guard room.”  After hours spent tense, stressed, and more often than not in battle with creatures of dark origin and darker purpose, it was nice to be reminded of what they were fighting for.  The opportunity for regular people to joke around.   For Sandpoint’s guardsmen to do nothing more dangerous than deal with petty toughs down at Fatman’s or inebriated farmer’s boys out on the homesteads.  For people to lead their lives without having the threat of invasion or attack hanging over their heads.

The young acolyte nodded to himself and hugged Liseth closer.  It was easy to lose track of their larger purpose and fall into a one-foot-in-front-of-the-other sort of tunnel vision.  It was nice to be reminded of the big picture.

Kerr found that walking back up the steps of the Glassworks was a little tougher than he’d anticipated.  His legs were sore.  Shoot, his whole BODY was sore.  It certainly wasn’t used to dragging forty pounds of metal around for any length of time at all, much less for hours at a stretch, and certainly not while doing strenuous activities like fighting for his life.  Kerr adjusted the breastplate uncomfortably and tried to stretch out his fatigued muscles as best he could; he couldn’t wait to get back to the cathedral and get out of this cursedly-heavy armor.

He suppressed a groan as they ran into Sergeant Tiller on their way out of the building.  Kerr didn’t want to be impolite, and he tried to think the best of people, but in his opinion the Sergeant was a little too terrifyingly strict.  The man certainly seemed to enjoy his ability to cause fear in those around him.  Although, Kerr had to admit, he always seemed to be fair about things.  And now that he’d had more up-close interactions with the man, Kerr was starting to think it was possible that he had a sense of humor.

A very, very dry sense of humor.

But given the situation, Kerr was glad to leave the Sergeant to Kellan and accompany the rest of the group out the door into the mid-afternoon sunlight, heading down Rat Alley to Main Street, moving towards the cathedral.  They needed to get Cato to Father Zantus as soon as possible.

“Well,” he offered, after listening to the others talk about the effect of their expedition, “I mean, we’ve cut off one avenue of attack for them, right?  Didn’t Tsuto’s journal indicate that they were planning to attack from below as well as from above?  Now if they want to attack Sandpoint they’re going to have to come over the bridges, and that,” he gestured to a platoon of levied guardsman running double-file down the street in some semblance of time under the watchful eye and strict cadence of Sergeant Rowen Fletcher, “is going to be harder every day they delay.  So if they have scouts watching the town, like Dav said . . .,” Kerr paused, not liking where his thought was going, “. . . then maybe they will accelerate their attack plans.”  He looked unhappily from Pisca to Cato.  “I hope not, though.”

---

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This message was last edited by the player at 18:49, Tue 27 May 2014.

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The remaining four members of the group arrived at the Cathedral in a somber mood, pondering what might be in store for Sandpoint and, in the shorter term, what might be in store for Cato.  They opened the ornate double doors that opened out onto Northchurch Square and entered the building.

The cathedral was buzzing with activity, and Father Zantus wasn’t hard to find; he was standing right in the middle of the whirlwind, giving orders to acolytes and riding herd on the chaos swirling around him.  From what the group could hear as they approached him, it sounded like the town’s chief prelate was deep in the middle of preparations for that evening’s funeral ceremony honoring those the town had lost to the recent attacks.

That didn’t stop the older man from giving them a worried look as he took in their bedraggled, war-torn appearance.  Giving a final murmured instruction to Daena Broadleaf, he moved towards them, brows drawn together.

“I am glad to see you’ve returned!”  He looked around, noting the group’s absent member.  “Is Kellan okay?  It looks like you’ve seen some fighting.  Quite of bit of it, actually.”  He gestured to some cushioned benches in what looked like an indoor prayer garden.  “Here, please sit down and rest; you deserve it.  Now,” he said, visage still dark with concern, “I would have been called if you had already been to see the mayor.  Something must have brought you here first.  What is it?”

---

---

"You know, I keep coming back to the question of how Neutrala happened to find Quasit Girl."  Trotting along with the three remaining humans, Pisca responded to the speculations posed by Kerr Mollin.  "Even if she's been working with the goblins and even if the goblins knew of the Tunnel of the Freaks, how does an Ex-Daughter of a Desnan priest find a Several Thousand Year Old Demon Girl?  It sounds like such an improbable combination.  But, then you go back to the root of all those wacky West Cranian infernal romantic comedies and the answer is there.  Lamashtu.  It's the god who brings them together.  So, what this gnome says is that if you want to know what the gobbies will do next, you ask yourself this question:  What would Lamashtu do?"

Inside the Cathedral, the gnome turns this way and that watching this human or that human hurry off on missions various and sundry.  Everything was certainly busier than before.  The hummies do take their goblin invasions quite seriously.  It was also a good thing that there were not a lot of them running around declaiming in high excited voices and stabbing each other for bread and spare toiletries.  That sort of panicking and turning on each other was never good.

"Stomper's fine, Father Zantus," the gnome replied.  "He just remained behind to fill in Sergeant Tiller on what we found ... in ... in that place that we went into."  Pisca gave an uneasy look at the many possibly panicky, toiletry-hoarding humans within earshot.  The gnome reached up and tugged at the priests robe, drawing him down to normal eye-level while gesturing her other three friends to huddle in close.

"We think Cato might be turning into a Bat-Winged Head," the gnome whispered in a highly covert voice.  "He was kissed by a skull from the fiendish outer planes, and we think it might be turning him into one of them.  We brought one back in case you needed to see it.  Or, maybe, needed the tongue for a spell.  Or maybe just want it for a reason all your own.  Kerr Mollin has one of them in his pack."  Squatted down amidst the canopy of humans, the gnome gestures for Lysa's boyfriend to bring out the afore mentioned fiendish, Bat-winged skull.

"Don't open your bag all the way," warned the gnome.  "I don't think we want anyone else to see what was living just beneath their feet all this time.  No need for Pee Aye En Eye See.  Right?"
This message was last edited by the player at 01:54, Wed 28 May 2014.

"We can't go to Thistletop..."  Liseth partook of the conversation while they all walked to the Cathedral.  "Sheriff Hemlock needs us all to stay in Sandpoint to help people feel safe.  What if the goblins saw us leave and attacked while we weren't here to protect Sandpoint?"  The disheveled girl frowned, "Maybe we'll get lucky and they will call off their attack plans completely once they learn what we did.  Or if they do attack sooner than they thought, maybe they won't be as prepared either."

"But that would explain how Nualia knew about the quasit demon.  If they both worship Lamashtu...and Lamashtu wants to hurt Sandpoint...then she might have told them about each other."  She thought about what Sarenrae had said, how the evil gods would send their minions against her; Liseth.  That they want to destroy her and her friends.  Lamashtu wasn't making goblins attack Sandpoint just because she was here...right?

Liseth suddenly felt very vulnerable.

The acolyte visibly slumped, the last of her adrenaline fading to leave her with nothing but exhaustion, when the Cathedral came into view.  Another day's terrors were finally, hopefully at an end.  Just getting to the top of the Cathedral's steps, even with Kerr's help, was difficult to manage, "Thank you Sarenrae..." she whispered once the doors were opened.  Everything would be fine again as soon as Father Zantus helped Cato.

She had never seen the Cathedral so active before, it looked like every single acolyte was hard at work.  The small blonde felt a little bit self-conscious; she didn't know if any of the others knew why she and Kerr had been gone all day.  Preparations would be simpler if they were at the Cathedral helping, after all.  But now that they were showing up, and the way that they all looked, it wasn't difficult to imagine a lot of talking going on.  Especially with the way that Daena looked at her and Kerr before going off to attend what Father Zantus had told her.

Daena was Sarenrae's acolyte in the Cathedral; other than Kerr she was the one that Liseth had spent the most time with.  But even then she didn't really know what the other girl thought of her.  It had been awkward during her first few days at the Cathedral; Liseth imagined that Daena might have suspected she was trying to replace her as Sarenrae's acolyte, though things got better when Liseth revealed that she wasn't consecrated to Sarenrae's service.  And why.

It probably didn't help that Liseth had very little practice interacting with other girls close to her own age.  As evidenced by the way she had so inexpertly talked with Katrine the other day.

With a weary nod, Liseth very gladly sat on a bench when Father Zantus greeted them and let Pisca report what needed to be said.  Looking down at her arm, she saw that her shield was still strapped there; that didn't need to be there anymore.  The girl removed the little round shield from her thin arm, pausing a moment to run a finger along the scratch in the wood.  From the devil monster that tried to claw her; a physical reminder of the danger everyone had been in today.  She wanted to tell Father Zantus everything about what had happened since they went underground this morning, especially the Lamashtu Temple they discovered.  But Cato's predicament came first.

"It's awful, Father Zantus."  Liseth added once Pisca had finished, after the gnome gestured for Kerr to show what was in the bag and in the same quiet tones, "Cato's hair has started to fall out even...I don't know how to heal what the monster did to him."  She sounded frustrated and felt useless; healing was what she was best at.  It always had been.  Watching somebody, her friend even, suffer and not being able to do anything about it weighed heavily on the diminutive healer.

"You can help him though, right?"
This message was last edited by the player at 03:44, Wed 28 May 2014.

Cato followed the group to the Cathedral, thinking through the conversation.  "Well, we can coordinate with Sheriff Hemlock, at any rate.  It looks like the militia and the guardsman are getting a good bit of training in."  Cato gestured at the town.  "And people are preparing.  The goblins certainly aren't going to find an undefended town this time.  And they won't have the advantage of surprise now that we've sealed up the tunnels.  They'll have a much harder time trying to force the gates.  There's other ways into town, I know, but now everyone is watching which counts for a lot."

Cato fell quiet as Pisca talked through her theories about Nualia and the Quasit, and found himself nodding along.  "That certainly makes sense.  How often do the gods actually intervene and talk with mortals, though?  Liseth, have ever had that kind of contact?"

Finally, they arrived at the Cathedral, and Cato felt a mixture of relief of helplessness.  He wasn't used to having to rely on others for help, and throwing himself at the mercy of Father Zantus felt strange to him.  He was used to using his wits and his magic to solve problems, and it was more than a little difficult to admit that he couldn't solve his own problems.

Cato looked at the comfortable cushions and carefully brushed the worst of the mess of his clothing before taking a seat, struggling to avoid closing his eyes and relief continued to wash over him.

After Pisca and Liseth explained his predicament, Cato just smiled, hopeful that this nightmare was at an end, waiting to hear what Father Zantus would say.

---

---

Father Zantus’ shocked face looked at Pisca’s eye-to-eye.  “Well, I’m glad to hear that Kellan is uninjured,” he said, voice dropping into a murmur as he watched Cato with concern.  “Here, my boy,” he said, holding his hand out to Kerr, “let me see your pack.”  Kerr dutifully handed the bag over to the priest, who surreptitiously glanced inside.  Upon seeing the head, the prelate's face fell and he sighed heavily.

“It is as I feared.  This is very disturbing.  VERY disturbing.  We are dealing with what is called a vargouille,” he pronounced the word as if it created an awful taste in his mouth, “and its ‘kiss’ can be deadly, if left untreated.”  He gave Liseth a serious glance.  “The hair falling out is only the first step of the process.  Soon, if nothing is done, his head would begin changing to look more like this,” he shook the bag lightly, “then he would get sicker and sicker until finally, at the end,” the chief priest frowned, still keeping his voice low, “he would become one of them.  A nasty business all around.”

“Bright light, such as sunlight, stops this transformation but does not reverse or end it.  That requires divine intervention.  Which, fortunately for Cato,” he gave the scholar a sympathetic smile, “I am equipped to bestow.  But,” he looked around, “this is probably not the best place to do it.  And the infirmary,” he older man mused, “is full of those injured in the goblin attacks.”  He snapped his fingers.  “Let’s go to the chapel.”

Kerr helped Cato up from his seat on the cushions and let the wizard lean on him as the group made its way across the common area to the chapel.  Father Zantus opened the intricately-carved wooden doors and led them into the chapel’s dark, cool, quiet interior, lit only by the consecrated candles burning along the sides of the room and up at the altar.

“Place him here, if you would.”  Father Zantus pointed to what looked like a large, cushioned prayer mat.  After Kerr helped Cato lie down on the mat, he stepped back.  Father Zantus knelt next to the scholar, raised his head to the ceiling, closed his eyes, and began to pray.

“Desna, please hear your servant.  This man has been afflicted with a disease brought on by his fight with the minions of Lamashtu, your sworn enemy.  And he has more to do.  Please grant him the mercy and grace of your healing, and prepare him to bring your light and justice to the ones who have fallen under the sway of the Queen of Monsters.”  The older man placed a hand on Cato’s forehead.  “Starsong, please heal your child.”

A moment passed in complete quiet.  No one moved.  Father Zantus remained kneeling next to Cato, silent and beseeching.  Even breathing seemed almost sacrilegious.  Then, as an almost-inaudible hum started up, Father Zantus’ hands began to glow.  The glow spread through his hands to Cato’s body, enveloping it in an unearthly blue light.  Ephemeral butterflies seemed to flit around the scholar’s form, landing here and there before taking flight again.

Eventually, the blue light faded.  The entire process seemed almost eternal, but must have taken mere seconds.  Father Zantus looked down at Cato and smiled, then looked up at the group.  “Desna has answered our prayers,” he said simply, as the smile became a broad, relieved grin.  “Cato is healed.”

---

---

Cato gratefully leaned against Father Zantus's arm as the priest led him to the chapel.  Laying on the map, Cato closed his eyes, feeling strangely calm as Abstalar began his prayer.  Cato held his breath in anticipation, and felt a calming influence fill his body, and expel the foul, noxious presence he had felt deep inside him since the horrible kiss he had experienced deep in the dungeon.  Finally, the wizard let out a long breath.  He waited a second, exhaling loudly, and breathed in another breath, relishing the feeling of having his body free of contagion again.

Cato quickly regained his feet and embraced the High Priest.  "Thank you, Father.  Sandpoint is truly blessed to have a disciple such as yourself to help guide it in these troubled times.  I've prayed to Desna in the past when I needed help, and though I'm not sure if she ever heard my prayers, I think I actually felt something of her this time, helping to heal me."  Cato patted the man's back, then released the hug, and turned to his companions.  "And thank you all, as well."

Cato smiled.  "I suppose with my selfish needs taken care of, we should probably report to the mayor.  Or maybe rescue Kellan from Tiller?  Is there anything we can do to help you here, Father?"

Liseth was very solemn when Father Zantus described exactly what was happening to Cato.  It didn't sound real; he was being transformed into one of those things?  She knew that was what Cato and Kerr said was likely to happen, but now Father Zantus had confirmed it.

Stowing her small shield into her knapsack when Father Zantus recommended they take Cato into the chapel, Liseth forced herself up from the cushioned bench to walk slowly at the rear of the serious procession.  Her hands were kept clasped at her waist and she concentrated on walking straight to keep her weary limping from spoiling the solemnity.

The acolyte silently said her own prayers to Desna after Kerr helped Cato lay down and Father Zantus began to beseech the goddess for her intervention.  She didn't know that it would help; in fact, Liseth was almost certain that even if she was strong enough to have helped in the first place, she was too exhausted for it to matter.  But that wouldn't keep her from trying.

Then it was done...Liseth watched the blue light that Father Zantus channeled into Cato; complete with Desna's butterflies.  And the prelate announced him to be healed.  "I knew you could do it, Father Zantus," she said, releasing her held breath.  "I was worried that it wouldn't be so easy, or quick though.  Desna must be looking out for you after all Cato."

"You're feeling better then?"  Liseth watched Cato embrace Father Zantus, "All of the...infection is gone?"

"Wait, before we go to see Mayor Deverin,"  Liseth turned back to Father Zantus, "There was something else that we needed to show you Father Zantus."  The small blonde gestured to Kerr, bearer of bodies, "Yesterday when we asked him for his help, Mr Voon told us that..."  She looked around the chapel to make sure that none of the other acolytes were near enough to hear what she was saying.  It might not yet be a good time to let everyone know about the demon.  "Mr Voon said that the demon was supposed to vanish after we defeated it...but if it didn't we needed to bring the body back with us so you and he could...dispose of it properly."

"Well..."  Liseth frowned, "the quasit demon didn't vanish like he said it would.  Mr Voon implied that it probably wasn't a good thing."

The Cathedral was the perfect place.  Beautiful and holy.  With a highly sanctified feeling about it.  No rings of spiky poles with skulls mounted atop them.  Not one.  Rather the exact opposite of the place from which they had just come.

Pisca pulled her own mat as Cato lay down upon his.  Kneeling down at Cato's side on the Not-As-Soft-As-A-Gnome-Might-Like mat, Pisca took the young human wizard's hand in both of hers as Father Zantus began his divinely magic healing.

"So long as we have hands to clasp ... " crooned the gnome in a high clear voice.

"Fahoo fores dahoo dores ... "

Pisca sang at Cato's side as the butterflies of Desna danced about them.

Kellan was not quite running, but was certainly "moving with purpose" as Sheriff Hemlock might say. He was conscious that he still had the rather ornate pole arm strapped to his pack, and that Tillers suggestion to get changed had been entirely warranted. Even if it had just been the morning, they had seen so much action that Kellan was spattered in all manner of drying fluids, clumped spider webs and swaths of dust.

He hoped and prayed silently thay Cato would be alright. It would be nothing less than tragedy if they would be forced to endure the slow, fatal transformation of such a brilliant young man, and an increasingly close friend at that. So by the time Kellan reached the Cathedral doors he threw them open with a touch more force than he had intended, looking around pointedly for his scholarly companion.

"Stomper!"  The gnome rose from Cato's side as the wizard himself stood, once more his old self, no longer a fledgling Bat-winged Head.  "Oh, and don't worry, Cato," Pisca took the human's arm and pulled herself up on her tip-toes to whisper something that wasn't exactly so low and whispery as to be unheard, "the hair will grow back.  Hair is very reliable that way."  Then an image of the guard sergeant of Sandpoint flashed through the gnome's mind.  Torv Tiller, his pate shiny and quite innocent of hair.  "Well, mostly," Pisca added.  "Mostly reliable."

And, speaking of which, "Stomper!" the gnome exclaimed again.  She approached the young guardsman in greeting, then stopped just before him.  With a question on her face, she leaned to the left, looking around the legs and hips of Kellan Storval as though expecting something to be just behind him.  Not finding that expected something, she leaned to her right, as though this expected thing might somehow have managed to hide from her on this opposite side of Kellan.

"You seem to have lost your Rudder, Kellan," quipped the gnome.  "Or should I say, your Tiller."

Pisca snorked at her own joke.  It was a delicate gnome-like snork into her hand.  Then, "Oh, and by the by Father Zantus?"  The gnome's demeanor transformed, becoming serious even as she turned to the prelate of the local temple.  "You wouldn't happen to know anything about Vorvashali Voon, would you?"  Pisca picked through the many things she's learned since arriving here in Sandpoint, sifting for bits that might relate to the owner of the Feathered Serpent.  "Before we leave a dangerous body with someone, it would probably be best if we knew a little about him.  Don't you think?"

Knowledge Local check, please.  For information on Vorvashali Voon.

Archaeologist's Luck: 0/7
Used:  Antitoxin, Arrows -6
Spells: L1-2/3

---

---

Father Zantus returned Cato’s embrace without any discomfort; it seemed as if spontaneous hugs were a hazard common to the healer’s art.  But the priest waved off the newly-restored wizard's thanks.  “Don’t thank me, my boy.”  He looked over at Liseth.  “Or praise me overmuch.  Thank Desna.”  He glanced skyward.  “Praise her.  It was her power that healed you, young Cato.  I was merely its vessel.  If she did not desire you to be healed?  Well, there’s very little I could have done about it.”

The prelate smiled at the scholar’s inchoate feelings of connection to the goddess.  “She has touched you, lad.  And her touch changes a person.”  He patted Cato on the shoulder as the wizard released him.  “Trust me, I know.  If you continue to pray, and seek her will, and develop that connection?  Well,” he winked, “I think you’ll find it very rewarding.”

The prelate turned his smile upon Liseth.  “Yes, all of the infection is gone.  Desna has blessed Cato with her grace.  Even demonic diseases are no match for it.”

The priest’s eyes narrowed slightly upon hearing the news that the quasit demon’s body had not disappeared upon its death.  “Is that so?”  He said, his brows knitting together.  “Kerr, if you wouldn’t mind . . . .?”  He held his hand out to the dark-haired acolyte, who promptly delivered the quasit-containing bag to his superior.  Father Zantus opened it, looked inside, then closed it again, a grimace on his face.

“For the second time in the space of a few moments I am greatly disturbed.  This really should not be.  This creature was a released familiar, was it not?  There was nothing tethering it to this plane; its defeat should have banished its body back to whatever hellish place spawned it.”  He paused, thinking.  “Unless . . .”  His eyes widened in conjunction with a sudden intake of breath.  He looked around apologetically.  “I am sorry to leave you so suddenly, but I need to take this to see Voon.  Immediately.”

“Hello, Kellan.”  The priest nodded a greeting to the young guardsman as he entered the cathedral.  He turned back to the rest of the group.  “Hopefully I will not be long.  I should be back in time to confer with the Mayor and Lieutenant Barett.”  And with that, he opened the door, gave a surprised “Sir Jasper,” a muttered “yes, yes, I’ll be there,” and was gone.

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This message was last edited by the player at 19:29, Thu 29 May 2014.

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The cathedral doors opened to reveal a somewhat-surprised Sir Jasper Korvaski, the retired paladin of Abadar who managed the day-to-day operations of the Sandpoint Mercantile League.  The handsome administrator looked over his shoulder at the departing chief prelate, then broke into a smile as he saw the small group gathered in the cathedral’s courtyard.  “Ah, there you are!”  He exclaimed.  “I’ve been looking for you!”

Everyone in the group, even Liseth, knew what a popular figure Sir Jasper was in Sandpoint. His nigh-incorruptible character made him an indispensable mediator of disputes, both among the founding families themselves and between those families and the less-privileged of Sandpoint’s citizens.  His widely-recognized lack of deference to the founding families’ influence when adjudicating such disputes endeared him to Sandpoint’s merchant class, just as his continual advocacy for justice and the rule of law ensured his popularity with the working class.  “Why don’t we take this to Sir Jasper?” is a common question posed by those who feel they are in the right of a contentious issue.

Somewhat ironically, at least in the founding families’ view, these qualities have also made Sir Jasper one of their most-effective emissaries when pursuing League business, something he was apparently doing right now.

“Mayor Deverin has heard of your return, and she is anxious to speak with you about what you found during your . . . expedition,” Sir Jasper began.  It was clear he knew everything there was to know about what the group had been up to.  “Unfortunately, at the moment she is tied up in a League meeting, so she sent me to let you know that she would like to meet with you, Father Zantus, and Lieutenant Barett in her offices at the fifth bell.  That gives you about an hour.”  He paused, taking in the group’s appearance.  “And it looks like you might be able to put that hour to good use.”  He looked down at a small parchment he was carrying, then back up.  “Any questions?”

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This message was last edited by the player at 22:03, Thu 29 May 2014.

The gnome seemed somewhat taken aback.  Had Father Zantus just eschew her question?  Had he done so accidentally?  He did seem somewhat flustered and upset-ish in a hurried, harried sort of way.  Or, had he done so deliberately?  Had he chosen not to answer her question by answering her question instead?  Hadn't he said that he was off to show Voon?  And would he rush off rather immediate-ish, mentioning the very person in Pisca's question if he didn't trust him?

"Very clever," the gnome nodded to herself.  "Very clever," she repeated, because it was extra clever of her to have picked up on the old human's meaning.

"Oh, you might want to take the vargouille with you as well, Father Zantus," Pisca added, catching the Prelate before he could make himself entirely gone.  "Two outer-worldly horrors for the price of one."

"Unless ... of course ... "  Pisca turned a curious and questioning eye to the representative of the Mercantile League.  "No," she shook her head.  "Never mind."  What would the Mercantile League want with a used Bat-winged Head anyway?

"Well, I'm for a bath," Pisca announced.  "I'll be down to the Rusty Dragon.  Anything you want me to tell Ameiko?"

"Hmmm, I wonder if they have any cold chicken and asparagus," the gnome mused as she wandered out the door.  "Maybe with a small pot of sweet mustard."

Knowledge Local check, please.  For information on Vorvashali Voon.

Archaeologist's Luck: 0/7
Used:  Antitoxin, Arrows -6
Spells: L1-2/3

Kellan touched Father Zantus's shoulder in passing then walked over and gave Cato very manly sort of hug, complete with a few strikes on the back for good measure.

"Do you feel better? You look better...by Erastil you had me worried" he let out a laugh and shook his head in relief "Well never let it be said that you cant hold your own. Between pressing on after what happened and wading in there with that stick of yours you've sure bucked the wizarding stereotype."

The guardsman was relieved, and it showed in his smile and posture. Putting his off hand on one hip he nodded approvingly to his friends as he looked them over. "I'm still kinda having trouble believing we actually did that...I advised Tiller that we should keep the guards there for now, until we talk to the mayor and all that. I..."

He trailed off as the doors opened and Sir Jasper came through. Almost everybody liked Sir Jasper, he was a Paladin after all, but Kellan could not help but smile whenever he saw him. Alergast and himself had once had a discussion about Paladins and other holy order types over a few beers, and what the older guardsman had said had stuck with him.

"Thing about Paladins" he had said, swirling his ale "Is they have to try and be everything. The can be diplomats, or judges, or administrators, or healers and experts on all sorts of terrible things like black magic and the unclean and the hosts of the hells and all that. And generally...they can do that stuff, but that doesant mean they can do all of it well." He had looked more serious then as he quoted one of his military tomes

"I dont fear the man who knows a thousand ways to kill me, I fear the man who knows one way and practices it to perfection"

It had changed the way that Kellan had seen the monotony of his daily drills

"Sir Jasper, it's good to see you, how have you been?" Kellan began, listening to the mayors summons "Well...guess I better get to then...The Rusty Dragon? He looked at Pisca "That does sound good, I should probably clean up before I go see Shayliss at any rate" He smiled wider as he realized that it looked like he would be able to follow through on dinner plans, following the gnome out.

Liseth knew there was more to channeling the gods' power than Father Zantus was taking credit for.  It must have taken a lot of devotion and hard work for him to become a vessel that Desna could use to perform her miracles; something that she was becoming increasingly familiar with since arriving in Sandpoint.  As taxing as it was on her, both physically and spiritually, to exhaust her divine energy as often as she had in the last week, it returned the next day a little bit stronger than before.

But Father Zantus was also right in saying that he would be powerless if Desna did not agree with what he was asking for her to do in his prayers.  Liseth was sure, though, that Desna would never prevent Father Zantus from healing somebody.  The same as she was confident that, regardless of anything else, Sarenrae and the other gods of good must approve of what she was doing.  Otherwise, they could certainly prevent her from being able to use her divine abilities at all.

"Oh..."  The concern in Father Zantus about the Quasit's body was very evident.  Especially in the way that he immediately felt that it needed to be taken to Mr Voon so that the two of them could deal with whatever problem had him so distressed.  "Okay Father Zantus.  We'll see you at the meeting with the mayor."

"Hello Sir Jasper,"  Liseth was a bit surprised to find that Father Zantus' departure coincided with Kellan's, and Sir Jasper's, arrivals.  Liseth had never met a Paladin of Abadar before, and this was the first real time she had ever interacted with him.  She had been a little surprised at first to discover that he was in charge of administering the Sandpoint Mercantile League; but the acolyte decided that even Paladins had to retire at one point or another.  And being an administrator went right along with service to Abadar anyway.

"Thank you for coming all the way here to bring us word from the mayor."  The girl was relieved that they had an hour before rushing off to report to Mayor Deverin.  It was an hour she desperately needed; cleaning up was something that multiple people had commented on, even though Sir Jasper put it much more diplomatically than others.  "Is Mayor Deverin talking to the League about the goblins?"

"I think that I'll stay here in the Cathedral until the meeting," she said to the others.  Liseth looked down at her dirty quilted dress, "I have to change out of this heavy dress and take a bath."  She frowned as the thought of cleaning led into another thought, "This dress is going to be a nightmare to clean and dry..."  That might be something that required specialized care.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:57, Thu 29 May 2014.

Cato blushed in response to Father Zantus.  "I can't believe that the goddess cares about me, but maybe it's time I start.  Certainly, what's happened these past few days has been beyond anything I've ever seen before.  I suppose it makes sense for Desna to intervene if Lamashtu is as well."  Cato smiled at the priest again.  "Well, even if Desna healed me, you still crafted an elegant prayer, and for that I'm thankful."

Cato watched as Zantus left, still not fully believing how good he felt now that the disturbing presence was eliminated from his body.

The wizard looked up as the paladin entered the room.  "Thanks for the message, Sir Jasper.  I could use some time getting clean before we talk with the mayor."  Cato looked over to Liseth.  "Ordinarily, I could help you with your clothing, Liseth."  He chuckled.  "Unfortunately, I seem to have prepared spells of a more offensive than utilitarian variety today.  If it could wait until tomorrow, I could try to clean it."

Cato returned Kellan's hug with gusto.  "Well, just don't let word of it get back to the other mages.  They dock our work card for things like that.  Have to keep up appearances, you know.  Can't let everyone believe that mages can stand toe-to-toe in combat, lest they expect it of us.  It's so much easier if everyone thinks we fall apart at the slightest exertion."  Cato laughed again.  He couldn't believe how much better he felt.  "Any more people offer to carry the heavy things that way!"

Waving goodbye to Liseth, Cato followed Kellan and Pisca out.

The air was a gnomish sort of air, and the light of the sun was a sunlight that seemed very much the thing for gnomes.  All in all, this day seemed quite favorable for gnomes.  Oddly enough, much different than the day had been before the five of them - she and her human friends (plus boyfriend) - had sought out the Ruins of Ancient Thassilonian Evil.  It was funny how days could change like that.  Just like that.  Blink, blink, change and it's a different day.  It was times like this in which one could truly believe that the world was a vast and wonderful place.  Full of surprise.  Full of mysteries to explore.  It was times like this when one could very much believe that the world was built just for gnomes.

Pisca Neep Freemish sauntered out into the square before Sandpoint's new cathedral drawn along by a future brightly blessed with gnomishness.  Awaiting, at the south end of town, was a bath and the possibility of cold chicken.  Possibly asparagus.  Maybe even strawberries, if a gnome was to be lucky enough.  However, it was the very blessed gnomishness that so lifted the spirits of Pisca Neep Freemish at this time, that poked and tugged and drew her in yet a direction different than the comforts of the Rusty Dragon.

Why would he rush off like that?

Because he trusts Vorvashali Voon.  And because he was carrying a dangerous and highly volatile demon body.

But why?  Isn't Father Zantus relatively new in Sandpoint?  Where would he and Vorvashali Voon have met for Father Zantus to trust him as much, as completely, as he did just now?

I don't know.  Maybe they've been pen friends for years.  Maybe they know each other's sisters.  There could be any number of reasons.  Perfectly reasonable reasons.  Any number.

Aren't you ... curious?

"Stop that!  You stop that right now!"  Wide-eyed, as though surprised at her own outburst, the gnome looked around to see whether anyone else might have heard and found that both Stomper and Cato had followed her out of the cathedral.

"Heh.  Not you.  I didn't mean you," Pisca said by way of something of an apology.  "But, now that you're here, is any of you interested in a little side trip?  I'm ... curious," said the gnome, turning from the two humans and looking off in the general direction in which she knew the Feathered Serpent to be.  "Vorvashali Voon is a person of extreme mystery and curiousness, and I'm quite interested in meeting him.  I think I'm going to wander over to his shop on the way to the Rusty Dragon and make sure that Father Zantus made it there alright with the body of Quasit Girl.  You're perfectly welcome to accompany me if you'd like," said the gnome, and strode off in the direction of the Feathered Serpent.  Over her shoulder she added, "I'm especially interested in finding out how he and Father Zantus know each other."

Archaeologist's Luck: 0/7
Used:  Antitoxin, Arrows -6
Spells: L1-2/3

---

---

Either because he had no concern for it or because he just hadn’t heard her, Father Zantus was gone before Pisca could hand him the vargouille.  The gnome was left standing there, nonplussed, holding a bag full of tentacled skull.

“It’s good to see you too, Kellan.”  Sir Jasper, blessedly ignorant of the bag’s contents, grinned back at the young guardsman.  “Me?  I can’t complain.  You know how it is; there’s always something.”  He looked over at the blonde-haired acolyte.  “Greetings, Liseth!  I don’t think we’ve ever been properly introduced.”  The man sketched a bow as he took her hand, placing a light kiss upon it.  “I am Sir Jasper Korvaski.  If there’s anything you need during your visit to Sandpoint, just let me know.”  He offered, before giving Kerr a lopsided grin.  “Including keeping this guy in line.  He’s a noted scoundrel, if you hadn’t heard.  Noted!”

Kerr rolled his eyes and grinned in response.

“It was my pleasure,” he said in response to Liseth and Cato’s thanks for bringing them news of their upcoming mayoral meeting.  “About the goblins?  Well, in a manner of speaking, I suppose.”  He shrugged, an unreadable look on his face.  “The League is concerned about what effect the goblin attacks will have on Sandpoint’s commerce, and how Sandpoint might best be able to minimize that effect.”  He grinned, then lowered his voice, as if sharing a secret.  “My vote was to defeat the goblins.”

He paused at Kellan’s mention of visiting Shayliss.  “How’s your dad doing?  I haven’t seen him in town for a while.  And there was a time, I’m given to understand,” the paladin’s eyes glinted merrily, “when fathers would lock up their daughters if they heard Kenneth Storval was visiting.”  He looked innocently down at his parchment, then back up at Kellan.  “I wonder if Ven is worried how far the apple has fallen from the tree?”  He clapped Kellan on the shoulder.  “She’s a beautiful woman, no question, but you’re a braver man than I, Guardsman Storval.”

“You three are headed to the Rusty Dragon?”  Sir Jasper said, looking at Cato, Kellan, and Pisca.  “I’m headed that way, if you don’t mind my company for a while.”  He held the door of the cathedral.  “Shall we?”

The group left the cathedral and headed through Northchurch Square towards High Street, taking a right at Festival Street and heading down to where the militia was drilling at Southmarket Square.  It was getting towards the end of the day; when they arrived at the square it was clear the levied men were tired but still determined to do as much as they could before the imminent goblin attack.  Sir Jasper bid the other three farewell and went off to find Alergast Barett, whose booming voice could be heard issuing from somewhere on the other side of the square.

The remaining three walked down Market Street towards The Rusty Dragon when Pisca mentioned that she wanted to visit The Feathered Serpent . . . .

---

---

Kellan was fading fast, despite his robust constitution and solid work ethic the adrenaline had ebbed and he was left with an increasingly sore body and the desire to take a nap.

He walked with Sir Jasper out into the street and stifled a yawn, tasting the salt from his sweat and the dust from the tunnels on his lips.

"My dad?" Kellan began, the dirt mostly hiding the blush that came from discussing his fathers reputation before he settled down "He's doin alright. Shayliss and I rode out there for supper the other night and he seemed in good spirits..scared them to death what happened with the goblins, especially my mom, and when she found out I was in the thick of it...thought she was gonna keel over" he smirked.

"I do worry about them though, out there in the country." He sighed "Just rough times all over I guess..."

Kellan looked next to Pisca and shook his head "I'll pass...but let me know what you find? I think I'll walk over and see if Alergast needs anything before I go scrub myself down"

And with that the young guardsman followed Sir Jasper over, looking forward to showing off the ornate pole arm still lashed to his pack

Cato walked out into the town, able to relish the fresh air and salty tang on the air without worry. Or at least without immediate worry to himself. The larger threat facing the town was still looming, but more like a deep rumble of a storm over the horizon, rather than a rapidly approaching squall.
"I don't mind checking out Voon's shop, Pisca."

The gnome struggled along behind the two humans.  The Bat-Winged Head in the bag that she pulled along in the street behind her slowed her down even more than her usual Slower-Than-The-Biggun's pace.  "I think I read somewhere that the head is the heaviest part of a body," she said, switching hands, and pulling from her left side to take some of the ache off of her right.  "I imagine that would be even more true if all of your body was the head.  Don't you think?"

No ... I don't suppose you do.

Pisca waved as Stomper and the knight from the Mercantile League continued off in the direction of the Rusty Dragon.  That was unfortunate.  Humans were really quite good at carrying things.  They had a real talent as far as that went.  Pisca favored the dusty and now quite bedraggled bag with a gnomish frown of disapproval.  It was a real shame there wasn't a human around to ...

Eyes slid up to the face of the young wizard.

But, no.  Cato had already been so put upon by the very creature that sat heavy in this very bag.  Or, maybe it was the other one.  No, it didn't matter which one it was.  It was one of them, and he would wonder whether this was the one or not, and it would weight as heavy on his mind as it was now weighing on Pisca's arms and hands.  And now he was just recovered.  With the once-upon-a-time-unblemished sense of his self now defiled by the angry red scar tissue of the vargouille's vicious rape.  She couldn't do that to him.  She couldn't make him face that again.  The tongue.  Eeew.

So, instead, the gnome gave the wizard a big gnomish grin to let him know that she thought no less of him for being the poor and fragile recovering victim of a Batwinged-Head, (this, despite the fact that it would have been highly unlikely that he knew that she felt that way about him at all.) and she continued on her way down the street dragging the increasingly burdensome bag behind her.

"We're here!" announced the gnome as she entered the Feathered Serpent followed by the ever-so-uncooperative bag.  "It's Pisca Neep Freemish and Cato Crispin."

"Father Zantus?  Father Zantus?  You forgot something when you rushed off.  You forgot your head."

---

---

Pisca and Cato ended up following after Kellan and Sir Jasper for a little while before heading east down Market Street, past the training archers, to Rum Street.  Two gimlet-eyed guardsmen stood watch at the bridge next to a large brass bell that both Cato and Pisca were sure had not been there previously.  One of the guardsmen gave them a curt nod before returning his attention to the road and forest on the other side, keeping close watch for any incipient goblin assault.

Cato and Pisca took a right on Rum Street and arrived at The Feathered Serpent in short order.  The building was as mysterious as ever, with the carved feathered dragon, rocking slightly in the sea breeze, presiding over a windowless facade and the eldritch symbols carved therein.  Symbols that might have been (and most certainly were, if certain rumor were to be believed) far more than merely decorative.  The head-dragging gnome, undaunted, grasped the shop’s ornate doorknob, turned, and pushed.  But the door, with its softly glowing golden runes (was it the afternoon sunlight?  Or did they glow from within?) refused to budge.

Pisca stopped to listen.  Neither she or Cato could hear any sounds emanating from within.  Was Father Zantus even inside?  Had he met Voon and immediately traveled somewhere else?  Or were the two men closeted inside the shop, even now inspecting the curiously-unbanished corpse of the quasit demon?  The quiet, omnious front of the shop gave the pair absolutely no clue.

---

---

The frown of gnomish disapproval makes its appearance once more.  Arms akimbo, Pisca wills the door open as though through the force of rights Jus Gnomicum.  Dropping the slack opening of the bag to flop to the ground (as cloth, being cloth, is wont to do) she waves her hands in a fair facsimile of magic passes.

"Bitta tolo vinctotis."

"Eenie meanie chili beanie."

"Bosoms!"

Disapproval gave way to vexation as nothing seemed to work.

"Well, Cato," Pisca said, her arms once again returning akimbo, "I think this is actually some real magic.  I wish I could have one of these," she added, poking a pink gnomish finger at the recalcitrant doorknob, running the tip of said finger over the ornate workings.  "This is most certainly an extremely interesting doorknob.  Don't you think, Cato?" the gnome said as she examined the doorknob and its surroundings with great care.

"Oh well.  This sort of determination usually means that the owner is quite serious about keeping people out, you know.  Vorvashali Voon might be in there right at this very moment with Father Zantus harvesting the important bits from the body of Quasit Girl.  Or they might be in the midst of a dangerous ritual to cleanse the body of radiant Evil.  Or, he might not be home at all, and simply frowns on having things go missing while he's out.  I suspect that under all of that outrageously fashionable dress is a very serious individual.  Don't ask me why.  Call it gnomish intuition."

"Maybe we should come back another time.  But I hate to have to drag this potentially dangerous Bat-winged Head around with us."

"Mister Voon!"  With her hands cupped about her mouth to magically direct the sound, Pisca shouted as loudly as she could, which, for someone of her stature, was considerable.  "Vorvashali Voo ... "

"Oop.  What if they're in the middle of something important?"

Finally, the gnome sighed.  Resigned, Pisca stooped to pick up the mouth of the bag once again.  "Lets go.  Maybe Ameiko has someplace safe that we can keep this until later."


Disable Device Taking 20 to simply assess the nature of the lock on the door.  I don't know that Pisca is necessarily going to do anything with the information right now.  But, she's curious.  As usual.  Heck, I'm curious.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:19, Wed 04 June 2014.