OOC: You took the same ship to Hallein and therefore had the chance to talk on the trip, at least for the last two days (depending on where each of you entered the ship).

Wind is blowing cooly from the north, the leaves on the trees of the southern side of the river have turned red and golden by now, while most trees on the northern side are plain black, without any leaves, dead. The ship navigates closer to the southern side, as far as possible. Each time when either riverbed or wind force the ship closer to the north the sailors start to get nervous, whispering prayers.
But so far the journey has been uneventful.

Beca shivers and silently curses herself for not buying a cloak in Vigil. Her time down south had softened her to the realities of the weather here as she returns home to Hallein Town. The riverboat lurches as it hit a swell and she clutches the railing becoming paler. Her stomach rebels and she is once again glad she had decided to forego breakfast. She coughes lightly to cover the burp that has forced its way from her stomach.

She needs to distract herself from the boat ride, so she focuses on the distant sun, closes her eyes, and begins to murmur prayers to Sarenrae. A warmth quite unlike the physical sort fills her and her lips tug at a smile. She still feels a sense of wonder that she is worthy of channeling her goddesses miracles. The hand with Sarenrae's birthmark unconsciously rises to touch the holy symbol she wears around her neck.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:29, Wed 25 Nov 2015.

"Not used to water travel?"

The old man's voice is gently sympathetic as he approaches at an easy pace, the foot of his staff clicking softly on the wooden deck. He smiles through his beard at the much younger human. "Prospero," he introduces himself politely, as an afterthought, "and pleased to make your acquaintance, miss...?"

"Rebbecca Smithsdottir, but everyone calls me Beca," she replies and gives a smile laced with chagrin, "I have traveled over water many times and not once has it agreed with me. I don't think I'll ever get used to it."

She sighs, one hand griping the railing tightly. The gentleman looks exactly like a wizard from tales and she wonders if perhaps he is one. She thought it would be rude to outright ask but a conversation would certainly help to distract her from the rumbling in her stomach, "I'm pleased to meet you, Prospero. What takes you to Hallein Town?"
This message was last edited by the player at 02:23, Thu 26 Nov 2015.

Prospero's congenial expression crinkles his eyes as he replies: "I have a fascination with stories," he confides, with mock ruefulness. "There are some old ruins near there which I thought to explore for myself, since I find dwarvish architecture and lore to be of great interest. Learning their secrets—if they've any to share—might yield a good tale or two."

The old man fishes in one voluminous, trailing sleeve for a moment, recovering a small packet. "Gingersnap?" he offers. "Ginger does a world of good for seasickness. They're a tiny bit stale, but only enough so to make them dry, which is better for stomach upset in any case."

She looks at the herb doubtfully and says, "Thank you, but not right now. We aren't too long for the pier. The trip up The Path to Hallein is not long. I can manage. It's only four miles from Vigil but against the current it still takes over an hour to get there. The trip back to Vigil is much quicker."

She looks up the river but their destination is still several bends from being visible from the boat. "You mention dwarven ruins," she says carefully, "There is a tale there to find but I fear it is a tragedy. Hallein Town is haunted at times in the winter months by a dwarven, female apparition... Kaltia." She shudders at the memory of her childhood encounter with the fearsome creature.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:18, Thu 26 Nov 2015.

The elderly man shrugs cheerfully, helping himself to one of the cookies before tucking the packet away once more. He listens closely to Beca's warning, looking down at her over the tops of his spectacles while he chews.

Only when she has finished does Prospero reply, swallowing first and stroking his long beard to brush away any errant crumbs. "It will be a curious thing, indeed, if the two are linked. But perhaps this Kaltia can help me to discover that which I came to find. Not all ghosts are unreasonable creatures, despite what some people say." The old fellow purses his lips as he watches Beca's reaction. "Perhaps you feel differently than I about this specter, in particular, though."

Beca's eyes narrow and she replies in warning tone, "There is a reason why no one takes the trail to Hallein. Travelers and town folk have been lost to the creature for more years than anyone can remember."

Her tone lowers and she releases the rail to clasp her holy symbol. Her other hand slips to the hilt of her sword. "But for the grace of Sarenrae, I would be counted among those numbers lost," she says, her voice strained. Had she judged the man incorrectly? Could he be a necromancer? Who else spoke to the foul undead?
This message was last edited by the player at 03:14, Thu 26 Nov 2015.

"Ah! I suppose it's a good thing I decided to come by boat, for the sake of my old knees." Prospero smiles again. "I was warned about mud and potential flooding, but not about ghosts."

He gestures gently toward Beca's necklace. "You are a practicing clergywoman, then?" he asks. "Or just a lay follower?"

Beca blinks and releases the hilt of her sword. Overreact much, girl, she mentally chastises herself, Calm down.

"Sorry, I overreacted... Some friends and I were caught out late one winter evening when I was young. We were accosted by the creature. It was terrifying. I just know it wanted to kill us. The memory haunts me still," she says by way of explanation and glanced at the birth mark on her hand that mirrored the shape of the holy symbol of Sarenrae she wore on her breast, "Sarenrae's light shone miraculously forth from my hand, chasing the creature away. At least away long enough for all of us to flee back into town. As cold as Kaltia is, she could not face the warmth of Saranrae's light. I've dedicated my life to the goddess as one of her priestesses. I've been away from home for a long time."

Listening with sympathy writ clearly across his face, Prospero nods when the young lady finishes. "That must have been terrible," he says. "I'm so sorry you had to experience it. But you lived! And now you do Sarenrae's work, so some good came of it." His smile returns. "Quite a respectable goddess, as goddesses go—speaking as a Shelynite," he half-jests.

The old man leans on his staff, watching the bank slide by. "I'm a wizard, by training, though a storyteller and scholar by trade. If you're originally from Hallein, then perhaps we could pursue some answers together? If you are going to a temple assignment there, I will gladly visit to hear your tale, if it won't interrupt your work...or open old wounds."

Ha, so he is a wizard, she thought, and a worshiper of Shelyn. That put her mind at ease.

"No, perhaps Sarenrae has guided my steps toward our meeting. Part of the reason I'm returning home is to face this demon from my past, she says seriously, then her face lightens, "Aaaaaand to see my family... it's been four years after all. But what you say... I think we could seek answers together. We could meet at the Golden Tankard tomorrow if you'd like. That's the town inn. So unless you're staying with someone in town. That's where you can find a room."

"The Golden Tankard," Prospero repeats, as if committing it to memory. "Well, then you have my thanks. I fear I know little enough of Hallein, so the advice is appreciated. I'll have to find some way to repay the kindness." The wizard smiles once more; it seems to be his default expression. "Perhaps a spell to ward off the day's chill, if you won't have a gingersnap?" His eyes dance merrily.

"I would appreciate it, kind mage," replies Beca somewhat sheepishly, "I have to confess I forgot to purchase a good cloak before making the trip."

"My pleasure." The wizard takes his staff briefly in hand and waves it vaguely at the young cleric, the gem at its head pulsing with gentle light that fades almost as soon as it appears. "No need for a cloak, today. Perhaps your family will have one waiting for you," he predicts kindly.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
Casting endure elements on Becca; duration 24 hours [Private to GM: Using arcane bond, if it matters for this vignette.]

---

This message was last edited by the player at 19:24, Thu 26 Nov 2015.

Rebecca smiles as the elements no longer hold their chill and she bows her head in thanks. "Ahhhh, thank you. I think with a little more forethought, I will ask for the goddesses blessing similar to this one, she says to Prospero.

The old man chuckles. "If you have been in seminary for a while and are not widely traveled, then it's natural not to think of every little thing. It's harder to predict every need and want one might have, while traveling, than it is to prepare for them." Prospero's amused look contrives to indicate some experience with the situation.

Rebecca chuckled, "No, my stewardess in the faith had different ideas. I've spent most of my time away on pilgrimage to the Everlight Oasis in Zelshabbar. Not an insignificant journey as you might imagine, but one where the climes were much warmer than those in Lastwall. It seems that I'd forgotten just how chilly it could be this time of year."

"Well," returns the wizard, "I'm sure your loved ones will have a roaring fireplace waiting for you. And surely some hot food, as well. The occasion of your return ought to be a happy one; after all, the point of traveling abroad is so that you come back." Prospero smiles as he leans on his staff, looking across the water through his spectacles. "You haven't actually been anyplace until you've come home."

She nodded in agreement with Prospero's sentiment.

Beca sighed with relief as the boat rounded the last bend to reveal Hallein ahead. She'd never been a big fan of traveling on water but there was really no other way to get back to her home town. There was a barge docked at the modest pier half loaded with salt from the mine that gave the small town it's main source of income. It wasn't fancy or famous, but it was home. She could feel her spirits lighten. It had been four years since she'd last been home. One hand fondly brushed the holy symbol that she wore proudly around her neck. She checked her clothing and hair and adjusted her sword belt, then she caught herself and chuckled. It would still be five minutes or more before they'd docked and her parents and siblings didn't know exactly when she'd be back home.

Home. That word warmed her and just a touch... frightened her still. She'd always wanted to return home to see her family and friends but more... the memory of her brush with Kaltia still haunted her.

She recalled how cold, colder than the winter air, that seemed to creep into ones bones as the ancient dwarven ghost had glided towards her. The eerie, soundless yet all-encompassing whisper Salt and Blood... Blood and Salt... seemed to press down her and her friends. All had been frozen by the apparition. The thought of her friends becoming victims to this horrible legend, to fall prey to the icy incorporeal claws of the hag descending on them woke Beca from her paralysis. Raising her hands...

Beca shook her head looked forward to the docks. No, Kaltia, isn't going to steal the joy of my homecoming from me, she thought fiercely, I'm no longer the little girl I once was. I am a priest of Sarenrae! The goddess protected me that day and I will protect my town! Then she spotted little Sara... well, actually not so little anymore! Four years had added inches and curves to her younger sister who she spotted on the docks waving and smiling. Now fifteen, she was just starting to become a woman, the little girl that Beca had left behind fading. Still the smile and jumping and frantic waving... Well, some things never seemed to change, she thought, smiling and waving back. She'd probably been out on the docks to see if she'd be arriving every day since she'd sent her letter. She shook her head fondly at her sister. It was good to be home.

"Prospero, It's been a pleasure to meet you and I look forward to our discussion at the inn," Beca said formally but there was an undertone of excitement in the young woman's voice as the excitement of her homecoming was clearing taking hold. She turned to wave back to her sister.

A short time later, the riverboat docked and Beca quickly disembarked. She was almost immediately engulfed by the embrace of Sara almost knocking her to the ground.

"Beca! Beca! Beca!" her sister cried out, hugging her fiercely and lifting from her the ground, "You're home! I missed you sooooooooooooo much! Jena and Lily are gonna be so jealous that I saw you first!"

Beca laughed and tried to speak while apparently being squeezed to death by her sister, "Sara, it's... good... to... see... you... too... need to breathe." Her younger sister was now as tall as her (if not taller) and much broader of shoulder. She'd put on a lot of muscle and, like Beca used to, had clearly been spending time in her fathers smithy. Sara's biceps bulged as she grasped Beca tightly. She was definitely much stronger than the ten year old she'd hugged goodbye when she left. "You, young lady, have gotten big!" she laughed and wheezed. While it was clear that the two were related, Beca took after her mother in looks and frame, while Sara took more from their father with the squarer jaw, aquiline nose, and broader shoulders. They both shared their mothers blonde locks and blue eyes. Sara had cut her hair short and there was a ruddiness to her cheeks that reminded Beca of her father's smithy.

Tears of happiness and laughter subsided a bit as Sara realized she was kind of crushing her older sister. She cocked an eyebrow and seemed to realize that she was actually taller than her. "Wow. I guess I did grow," she said letting go of Beca. She put the flat of her hand on her head and went straight over to hover over Beca's head by over two inches. She stuck her tongue out, grinned, and then hugged her sister again, though not quite as tightly. "I missed you, Beca! she cried out again, snuffling.

Beca laughed again and hugged her sister back, "I missed you too. Let's go see everyone else, eh?" She released her sister and picked up her pack that had fallen to the pier when her sister had reached her.

Sara nodded and took her sister's hand to pull her down the pier and into town. Beca smiled broadly, slinging her pack to her shoulder with her other hand. Looking around, not much had changed since she left, but the town seemed so much smaller now. She'd been to Vigil, Absalom, and Oppara on her pilgrimage to the Everlight Oasis. It'd all been amazing but she'd always missed her family and the part of herself she'd left here.

Sara kept glancing at her and Beca finally stopped, dropped her sisters hand, and asked suspiciously, "What?!?"

Sara blushed and said, "You look sooooo much like mom. Sooooo grown up. And, um, still, um, not much up here?" She grabbed her own rather generous bosom in comparison.

Beca's eyes narrowed and she blushed with embarrassment, "Shut up!" She self-consciously covered her chest with one arm and waved a finger at Sara, "I'm... I'm not done growing yet!" She'd always been a bit embarrassed by her small bust and feared they'd never get any bigger. She rolled her eyes and wondered how just five minutes with her sister had somehow reduced her back to a thirteen year old girl again! She snorted and sorted out her robes, pack, and sword belt.

Sara quickly changed the subject, her eyes looking interestingly at Beca's belt, "And you've got a sword! Can you really use that thing?!? Can you show it to me later?!?"

Sara laughed to cover her previous embarrassment and said, "Yes, I can use this thing! The Dawnflower teaches her clerics many ways to protect. And, yes, I'll show it to you later. Come on..." She retook her sisters hand and pulled her towards the smithy and the attached home that she'd grown up in.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:24, Fri 27 Nov 2015.

Prospero murmurs his own goodbye in response to the youthful priestess, but it's easy to tell her attention lies mostly elsewhere. Unbothered, the wizard moves to collect his own things as she departs, settling his satchel over his shoulder without any particular hurry. The Golden Tankard isn't going anywhere, and he takes his time getting there, eager for the comfort of room and board but just as interested in the sights and sounds of the village, itself, as he passes them.

An adventure, already. Pleased with a proper start, Prospero hums cheerfully to himself as his staff clicks along the deck, the docks, and the streets of Hallein.