[Game Thread] Chapter 1: Burnt Offerings

[Tanuki]

The glowing amber sun hangs at full mast in the apex of the sky, obstructed only by the occasional faint burst of cotton-candy clouds. But the autumnal morning weather is anything but discomforting; what would normally be chilly zephyrs are warmed, and what would normally be blistering sun is tempered. A curious seagull angles in from the brilliant blue-green of the Varisian coast, veering around smoking chimneys and catching a thermal to soar over a town bustling to the brim with activity. The streets of Sandpoint are alive with people, the Swallowtail Festival a beacon towards a brighter future--and not to mention the best excuse to chuck a party that the townsfolk have ever had.

The seagull finds a perch upon the slate stone roof of a massive cathedral, looking down curiously upon the lively and crowded square below it. Merchant tents featuring food, clothes, local crafts and souvenirs have been raised to meet the swathes of people coming from Sandpoint and beyond. Children scamper to and fro with candied apples and brightly-coloured kites, while adults meander from tent to tent, table to table, awash in the souvenirs that the outside world brings in the event of a festival. A couple of gambling games--cards, dice, cup games, and others of much more esoteric design--attract a fair deal of attention, both from overconfident thrill-seekers and the Sandpoint watchmen that have to break up the occasional argument. A local half-elf has struck up a cheerful tune on her fiddle, accompanied by some passing Varisian performers and attracting more than a few couples dancing merrily in front of them.

Hawking pottery to alcohol to art to weaponry and everything in between, spilling out from the town square and down the connecting streets are countless merchants and entrepreneurs. Here the local jeweller Maver Kesk proudly shows off a new stock of glimmering necklaces to adoring housewives and their less enthusiastic husbands. There a pair of Varisians is displaying homespun scarves in fantastic colours, extremely popular much to the envy of the local clothes-maker. Over there the bakery twins Arika and Aneka run a brisk business selling fresh loaves, sugary treats, and some kind of promotion involving Turtlecakes delivered in from far-off Turtleback Ferry. Even a few Shoanti are present, primarily trading in traditional artworks and intricately-designed weaponry.

But shopping is not the only thing on the agenda for the Swallowtail Festival. An animated half-elf fiddler's merry tune mingles with the sound of the crowds, attracting dancing couples and clapping onlookers in a circle towards the south-east. Close by a crowd clamours around the lunching area, stomachs rumbling at the mix of exquisite (and free) meals on offer. Word on the street is that the local taverns are vying for supremacy in cuisine, but Ameiko Kaijitsu's remarkable curry-spiced salmon and early winterdrop mead are easily overshadowing the Hagfish's lobster chowder and the White Deer's peppercorn venison. Gaven Deverin and his workers make a fine penny from the merrymakers, special mead and ales from the Two Knight Brewery made especially for this event miraculously finding its way between every second pair of hands at the tables.

Earlier the festival was opened with speeches of the leaders of four of the town's more prominent personalities, together with a more than respectable turnout of onlookers. Mayor Kendra Deverin's friendly attitude and excitement seemed almost contagious as she welcomed visitors to town, her infectious grin and light-hearted joking a clear testament to her popularity in town. Sheriff Belor Hemlock's words were more than a touch grim, the dark-skinned man requesting a moment of silence for those who perished in the fire five years ago and reminding the crowds of safety. Fortunately the larger-than-life theatre owner Cyrdak Drokkus warmed the mood with his rousing anecdotes, delivering a recap of the challenge of funding and constructing the cathedral that can only be described as bordering upon irreverent. He also cheekily throws in some self-promotion, enticing the crowds with the news that his production of The Harpy's Curse the following night would be lead by the famous Magnimarian diva Allishanda in the harpy queen Avisera's role. Finally, Father Zantus, the head priest, stepped up to thank everyone for coming before declaring the Swallowtail Festival underway.

Erected before the cathedral's mighty wooden doors is a tall wooden stage, and beside that stands a covered wagon guarded largely by a group of acolytes. Currently there seems to be some kind of preparation occurring beside the main stage, the acolytes caught in fervent discourse around their covered wagon. The crowd of the morning speeches has returned in full force, the townsfolk apparently excited for what is to come.

[MadSatyr]

Marcel lingers a bit longer at the bakery booth, throwing an apple into the air and catching it. Ostensibly, he is checking to make sure all the goods had arrived safely, but also sneaking in a bit of flirting with the twins. Such things were not his habit, but you have to pass the time on a long journey, somehow. Besides, Arika and Aneka were many times his senior, but it never hurts to keep up good relationships with clients.

Leaving them to the festival-goers lining up for the Turtlecakes, he takes a bite of his apple and scans the festivities. The large amount of people in such a small area makes him somewhat uncomfortable, but there is no reason to be joyless on such a day, and he wanders from booth to booth, blending in with the crowds and checking over shoulders to look at the various wares brought from various centers of the region.

For a few merchants, he leaves his name.

They will need to return to where they came from, after all. Perhaps they could use the help.

He climbs up on a nearby table to sit and finish his apple, bobbing his head in time to the rhythm of the fiddler.

[AdvanceStrat]

The festival was certainly at a high point right now. If it was any other festival, Pais would be selling some of his own alchemical goods along with all the other merchants around. But he had other things he'd rather think about today besides his shop, and there will always be more customers considering how many people value magical talents here.

So here he is, a basket with him in case he decided to buy something, taking a look at the people and stands that filled the streets today. A few dancers about, a man flirting with the twin bakers, families having a plesant lunch, all sorts of folks out and about.

"Well I guess those speeches did run a little long, I could grab myself a bite I guess." He says as he walks on over towards the twins to get himself one or two of the cute looking turtlecakes.

[dreamflower]

Inside the large tent where her family ate and slept by night as they traveled from town to town, Amariya hums merrily to herself as she ponders the three dresses laid out on the floor. Outside, the distant music and noise of the Swallowtail Festival beckons her, and she can hardly sit still for excitement at joining in the festivities. Her fingers unconsciously tap out the rhythm of the fiddle's melody as she tries to decide which dress sets her off to greatest advantage. Finally, she picks the long, sleeveless dress of dark blue, with a full, flounced skirt slit up to the thigh on both sides to reveal a vivid lining of crimson, emerald, saffron, violet and cerulean. Slipping it over her head, she does a few twirls and watches with satisfaction as the skirt swirls around her in a riot of color. The glass beads woven in her hair tinkle softly as though in counterpoint.

Smiling with pleasure, she darts out of the tent and heads toward the town square. There, her two cousins have already set up business selling their hand-woven scarves, figured with elaborate scenes in brilliant hues. Laughter and hugs are exchanged as Amariya comes to join them. "Need any help getting those off your hands?" she inquires.

"Oh? Aren't we the helpful one today?" one of her cousins teases. She picks up a couple of bright scarves and hands them to Amariya. "Here, take these two to start with. Let's see how good a talker you are."

Amariya's lips curve into a mischievous grin. "Talk? There must be better ways to sell scarves than that!"

Holding a scarf in each hand, she drifts slightly away from her cousins' stand and closes her eyes, listening to the sprightly melody on the fiddle. As she loses herself in the rhythm, Amariya tosses her head and lifts her arms high, letting the scarves flutter in the air. The music isn't one of the skirling, boisterous traditional songs she knew best, but the pace was lively enough and her feet flicker in a subtle, intricate pattern. She lets the music guide her movements, her body swaying and spinning in an impromptu dance that's uniquely and wholly Varisian. Even without opening her eyes, she knows people nearby are turning to watch her, and she glows with enjoyment at the attention. Her skirt flaring with kaleidoscopic color, the scarves rippling and swirling with her every movement, Amariya dances at Swallowtail Festival with abandon and delight.

[Chrystrom]

Just outside the Two Knight Brewery tent is an oddity that catches many of the festival goers’ eyes. A tall Shoanti man with the typical bald head covered in tribal tattoos and a long ginger goatee sits there on a bench with a mug of the brewery’s mead in one hand. While the man is a brooding, thick bodied presence there on the bench in the midst of the frivolity of the fair, this isn’t what catches their eyes. Instead the lighthearted celebrants stop and stare at the large beast lying in the sun next to the man. With its auburn coat shining in the sunlight and its huge head resting on wickedly clawed paws, the young Kodar bear is an object of shocked curiosity. Nervous laughs and comments of, “Damn Shoanti druids and their pets,” float on the air as the towns folk give the bear and its master a wide berth and get back to their celebration.

Sartov, the Shoanti druid, lets out a low growl at all the staring eyes and then looks down at his furry companion. “Sko, you’d think these puffed up town folk had never seen a bear before the way their eyes pop out of their heads at the sight of you. Maybe they should get out beyond the streets and walls of this here settlement and see the world.”

The druids amber eyes scan across the scene of celebration before him and his mood only seems to sour more.

Blindly into the night they go it seems. The damn shadow is lingering here and I seem to be the only one to sense it.

Sartov’s eyes come to rest on the hulking edifice of the cathedral as it looms over the festival. His attention then drifts down to the wooden stage and wagon sitting before the massive structure.

I’m not sure why but the shadow almost seems to be heavier near the stone church…

The druid runs a calloused hand through his wind tangled goatee as he contemplates the sense of death and darkness over hanging the careless merriment of the town folk.

Kayda I swear if there’s something to be done this time I will do it.

Washing the taste of past death and failure from his mouth, Sartov tips his head back and finishes the mug of mead in one long guzzle. Grimacing in distaste the large man grabs a nearby server. “This time bring me a mug of the good stuff and not this mule piss you are calling mead; either that or Sko here gets to chew on your toes for a while.”

The russet colored bear lifts his head at the sound of his name and then lets out a huge yawn before lowering his broad head back onto his paws. The sight of the long ivory teeth seems to inspire the young man serving the brewery’s libations and he heads back to the tent with a fear inspired rush.


†

[Inimicus]

Aeloric had seen more than a few familiar faces this morning, mostly those of farmers he had worked with over the past couple years. Caught up in the spirit of festivity, several had been generous enough to offer to buy him a drink, though after the first couple Aeloric had been forced to refuse lest he be insensible before the sun hit its midday peak.

So, here Aeloric sits, watching the flow of the crowds and listening to the strains of a fiddle punctuated by vendors taking advantage of the general good cheer. He hadn't partaken in the construction of the cathedral itself, but the knowledge that he gathered some of the materials for Erastil's shrine within brings contentment to his eyes. The Swallowtail Festival is an eclectic thing indeed, with food and drink, song and dance, and people seemingly from every corner of Varisia. Aeloric's attention, however, is caught by a bird already making itself at home atop the new cathedral, and he briefly muses about whether the feathered citizens of the coast consider this whole affair a cause to celebrate.

A few seconds later, Aeloric catches sight of his own family gathered together with those of several surrounding farmsteads. A sad part of him felt that he had been losing touch with them of late, travelling as he did and rarely seeing them, so he had felt the need to find something of a gift for each of them. Lorelin in particular, youngest of the four siblings, he had always looked out for, and she had taken the absence of both her elder sister and eldest brother very hard. So, two months ago, Aeloric had begun work on a project, beginning at the Glassworks where his older sister’s husband worked, and subsequently approaching Maver Kesk and the priest about their help.

Smiling, he produces a soft folded cloth from the leather pouch at his side, and gently lifting the exposed chain, holds the contents up to examine one last time in the light. The revealed pendant twirls slightly against the breeze, a delicate wisp of metal bathed in sunlight. A single, thin piece of silver folded and curved around a polished glass core, its lines suggest an angel cradling a small opalescent stone. It has little weight to it, and wouldn’t make an impression on even the poorest of nobles, but Aeloric takes a moment to appreciate the elegant simplicity. It impressed him greatly when he first saw it complete, as it would anyone born to a farmer’s life. Aside from the aesthetic value, he had gotten it blessed in exchange for his work with the new shrine, in the hope of keeping her safe when he could not.

Aeloric carefully wraps it back up, hides it once more, and begins to slowly make his way through the crowds, excited at the prospect of surprising his loved ones.

[HenryLockwood]

Arkann walked into town late the previous day, saw what there was of Sandpoint, and found himself a quiet corner - or as much of one as could be found - to wait out the evening. The first night in town is always good for watching people, seeing where the tensions lie, understanding what might best be said. The second night he can strike up friendships, make acquaintances; and the third is for recruiting. The people must be ready.

At the festival, Arkann blends in with the crowds as best he can. He spots another Shoanti, a man about his size and shape, but with a bear keeping him company. A beast-speaker, then, and one far from home. The turtlecakes are a mystery to him; why make bread in the shape of an animal? If a man wants meat, he should eat it; if a man wants bread, he should eat that.

The crowd is interesting; there are people to observe, and Arkann sits with a bowl of the spiced fish stew warming his hands. The weather might be mild, but it is easy for it to turn harsh, and any warmth is something a tribesman appreciates.

[Tanuki]

Blonde and bubbling, the Avertin twins respond quite favourably to the attentions of a dashing outsider, pushing upon Marcel an extra jam bun with a giggle from one and a wink from the other. If not for a new customer or two, the girls would have been quite content to chatter excitedly between themselves for much longer than they did. Aneka, the more outgoing of the pair with longer hair, greets Pais with a bright smile, while Arika busies herself with emptying another crate of cakes and muffins onto the table.

"Hi there! We've got a buy one get one free deal going on today! Just a copper for whatever you like, and you get a Turtlecake on top of that, made just for the festival!" The selection is rather vast--cheese-crusted rolls, flaking croissants, jam and cream buns, tiny cakes topped with butterfly-shaped chocolates, toasted breads, and plenty more.

The church door opens and shuts almost unnoticed in the bustle, the greying Father Zantus quickly hurrying down the stone stairs to the covered wagon. He joins in the fervent conversation, quickly solving whatever argument had been occurring before heading towards the stage. The acolytes begin to untie firm rope knots holding down the sheets over the wagon, and one hurriedly climbs beneath the cover and inside.

Over at the impromptu dance floor, Amariya has well and truly stolen the show. Truly outclassed by her movements, the few dancing couples step back to form a circle around her, cheering and clapping in tune to the beat. The half-elf musician seems inspired by the Varisian dancer's movements, her tune speeding up and swirling out and around in an equally impromptu flurry of improvisation. The only one brave enough to join her is a young girl, giggling as she clumsily attempts to pirouette and mimic Amariya.

Father Zantus makes his way onto the stage, and a vast cheer goes up simultaneously from the crowd before him and the crowd surrounding Amariya. The half-elf breaks off the music with one last crescendo as the priest calls for attention and clears his throat, grinning in breathless joy at the art she had been a part of creating.

Despite the merrymaking elsewhere in the central square, the young, russet-haired server smiles nervously at the gruff Shoanti, mumbling something incomprehensible before skittering off to fetch him another drink. He returns shortly thereafter, keeping well away from the bear every step of the way. "I-I hope this is to your taste, sir..." He swallows, nervously handing over a frothing mug filled with ale before fleeing like a rabbit before a predator.

"Er, yes... greetings everyone, please give me your attention for a short while." Zantus calls out across the clamour, a request that does only a little to silence the crowds. He sighs a little, but a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. Gesturing to the acolytes, they begin to slowly wheel the wagon into the midst of the crowd, which parts to allow it passage. Zantus pauses a moment, his eyes closed, inhaling, before beginning, his voice much more powerful than before.

"AELORIC!!!!" Surprise is the least of it--the excited cry pierces through the muttering crowds as Lorelin catches sight of her elder brother, squealing in joy and rushing to him. She leaps into his arms, flushed with joy and relief alike. "I haven't seen you for so long! I've missed you so much...! Ah," the girl covers her lips with both hands, grinning. "We're interrupting..." She points up to the stage with one hand while slipping her other into Aeloric's. "C'mon, let's go stand with Mama and Papa!"

"For endless uncountable years, Desna and her most dearly beloved servants have endlessly toiled against the cruel beasts of the Demon Queen Lamashtu. It is said that in one of these harsh, gruelling battles, an avatar of Desna herself was gravely wounded. The avatar plummeted from the Heavens, crashing amidst the outskirts of a small town not unlike our own. None dared approach the wounded celestial, none but a blind orphan with a heart that shined brighter than any other. This orphan, owning little but the clothes on her back, nursed the avatar day after day, night after night, sacrificing her own health for the sake of another."

Though the lunch tables have been packed with people for many an hour now, this seems to have slowed the influx as the festival-goers stop to listen to the parable. A mead-filled mug clatters on the table beside Arkann, given by an exotic-looking woman with dark hair wound up in a rather impressive design of curls and braiding. She winks, muttering "It's on the house, courtesy of the Rusty Dragon Inn," before leaving to hand out the same favour to a few others without drinks.

"Desna took it upon herself to thank the child with a reward suitable for such a great deed. She visited the girl in person, holding her close and transforming her into an immortal night monarch butterfly, the greatest of her heralds. In this form, the child could forever fly in the day and night, seeing all the wonders of the world that she had never seen except within the purity of her own heart. We must always remember the selflessness of that girl, taking her virtues unto our own lives so that we, too, may be blessed."

Zantus bows his head, and as he does so, the acolytes pull back the wagon cover. The act releases a furious storm of a thousand swallowtail butterflies that swarm into the air in a riot of colour, trailed but moments after by a great uproarious cheer. Every eye is caught by the children of Desna scattering into the sky and across town.

One golden-winged butterfly lightly lands upon Marcel's apple for a moment before fluttering back off again. A man nearby looks to the ranger in good-hearted envy, watching as the butterfly flies off. "That's good luck, y'know? What's it again... you'll see love unfold before you, for sure."

"Aeloric, that one doesn't look too good..." Lorelin tugs on her brother's arm, pointing out a butterfly struggling on the ground near where they stand. It seems to have been injured in the great scuffling chaos, and one of its wings appears to have been torn off. The girl sniffs a little dejectedly. "Poor thing..."

[MadSatyr]

"Is that so?" Marcel replies as he smiles back at the man. "Do you suppose the butterfly might have been a visit from Desna, herself? I understand she is quite the beauty. Perhaps she wanted to give me a kiss before heading back to the heavens."

He takes a large bite of his apple and hops off the table.

"Whoomph hamph tigh fah yuff?" he asks whimsically as he swallows his bite and gestures with his apple, still grinning good-naturedly so the man does not mistake his tone.

"Wandering the lands, fighting goblins and ogres to keep them off the backs of travelers - that's no life for a lover, now, is it? I envy -you-, sir. At least you can offer a woman a roof over her head and food on her plate. If you have a woman of your own, may you love her, and may Desna never kiss you and grant you the gift of wanderlust."

Raising his apple in a toast, he takes another large bite.

[dreamflower]

As the swallowtail butterflies soar into the air, tears of wonder and awe spring to Amariya's eyes as she pauses in her dance and tilts her heads upward to follow their flight. All wandering Varisians revered and adored the goddess Desna, and no few of Her priests could be found among their caravans and wagons. Watching them, Amariya is reminded that no dance of hers could possibly equal the unconscious grace and beauty of those butterflies fluttering across the sky. She bows her head and folds her hands over her heart, murmuring a quiet prayer honoring the multicolored children of Desna in the rolling, melodious Varisian tongue, and behind her, she can hear her cousins doing the same.

Then, she unashamedly brushes away the tears with the back of her hand. No matter how many Swallowtail Festivals Amariya had attended in different towns, it never failed to move her. Remembering some of those times, she glances back at her cousins and smiles. "I think this is one of the nicest festivals we've been to so far, don't you think?" she calls.

The older girl tugs thoughtfully on her ear, then grins broadly. "Well, it's much better than that time in Riddleport, when the priest turned around and found the butterfly wagon had been stolen by some shabby sneak thief. I never felt sorrier for anyone in my life!"

All three burst into giggles at the memory. Then the younger girl chimes in, "But I like it best when we perform the ceremony ourselves, just our clan, on the road. Even if we have to use autumn leaves instead of real butterflies. I like the dancing and songs so much better then."

"Speaking of dancing, if you're not going to keep advertising for us, shouldn't you give back our scarves?" the other girl interjects tartly, eyeing Amariya.

Amariya looks down at the bright scarves she held, both of them lovely pieces of weaving. She shakes her head, laughing. "Give them back? But I like them so much! Besides, what dancer ever gives up her props? Especially after she's used them." An idea comes to mind as she inhales deeply of the various aromas of the festival, remembering that these particular cousins had a weakness for sweets. "Here, what if I keep these scarves and get you some of those special turtle-cakes instead? They're one of a kind, you know; we've never seen them anywhere else. I'll get you two...no, three turtle-cakes each! And a butterfly cake!"

"Ooh," the two girls chorus. The older one tugs her ear again and nods in agreement. "Fine. Three turtle-cakes and a butterfly cake for each of us. And they better be the biggest ones!"

"I'll see what I can find," Amariya promises with mock gravity, her lips twitching.

Leaving her cousins, the fiddler and the impromptu dance floor behind, she hurries off toward the stand selling loaves of bread and pastries. Still full of energy from dancing, she can't help doing a few skips and twirls along the way as she makes her way toward the table loaded with the adorable turtle-cakes she had glimpsed on her way to the town square before. Some of the golden butterflies seem to have converged there as well, no doubt drawn by the sweet scents, and Amariya smiles softly. Was it any wonder how much she loved attending the Swallowtail Festival every year?

[AdvanceStrat]

It wasn't long until Pais had several various goodies in his basket, mostly containing fishcakes and a kind of sugary treat he didn't quite catch the name of, that looked a butterfly shaped chocolate.

He'd just sat down by the side of the street nearby to munch on one of the butterflies, half listening to the patrons speaking to everyone in the center of town, when all of a sudden the real butterflies were let loose and flew all over the place in a mix of colors as they rushed out of the boxes they were held in.

Pais just sat back and watched, holding off on eating to watch the show. Ain't that a sight to see? Never get tired of seeing this kind of thing. Remember when you'd try to catch some of them, only to find out your net had a rip in it? Such a good time that was. Hope you can catch some of these from up there.

As they all fly off, he decides to get up and head on down a few blocks south of the festivities. Might as well visit the place she had died sooner rather then later to pay his respects, and with one of the main events going on now, it was likely to not be crowded right now.

[Inimicus]

As a rule, a wounded butterfly was the kind of thing that you generally couldn't do anything about; and if you could, you didn't bother wasting the time and effort to do so. However, Aeloric is the type to give consideration to the words that Father Zantus had spoken, and the story was still on his mind when Lorelin tugged on his arm.

"You know," Aeloric smiles down to his sister, trying to shine a bit of light on the butterfly's plight, "its not so different from what Father Zantus was just talking about. Here we have a creature fallen from the sky and unable to return, and I doubt most here would be willing to do anything about it."

Aeloric steps over and crouches down to gently pick up the tiny creature before anyone has a chance to step on it.

"This festival isn't just for food and drink or meeting new people, its also about bringing mercy where it is not expected." Aeloric suddeny feels a bit awkward, wondering if he sounds preachy, so he quickly comes around to his point. "Anyway, Father Zantus might have a free moment soon, and here we've this poor helpless swallowtail..."

He leaves that sentence open-ended, wondering what Lorelin would have to say, while he has a bit of a difficult task in keeping the frightened creature from flopping out of his hands without causing it further damage. Even if all they could do was lay it to rest at the altar of Desna, it didn't seem right to leave one of the goddess' children to be trampled on her own holy day.

[HenryLockwood]

Arkann looks in surprise at the mead, wondering what he has done to deserve it. I had heard the city people had more food than they could eat, but this? I am not even recognised as a hearth-guest! Still, he is willing to accept these strange customs, and tastes the drink. It's warming and sweet, with a frothy flavour; quite unlike the sour-bitter-strong goat's milk spirit of the Shoanti.

He smiles, watching the butterflies soar freely, seeing them scatter to the four winds. If only my words could take wing and spread themselves.

[MadSatyr]

As the crowd's reaction to the butterflies begins to die down and people begin to turn their attentions back to eating, visiting booths, and generally milling about, Marcel threads his way through the people to find the half-elven fiddler.

Half-elves are an interesting thing. Half of Cheliax wouldn't invite you over for tea if they knew you'd been cuddling up with an elf at night. I don't really see what's wrong with it, but it's weird to imagine. Why would a human look outside their own kind for that sort of intimacy?

He taps the fiddler on the shoulder.

"Hey, that was some great playing, earlier. I mean, I have friends who play the fiddle, but nothing like that. Do you happen to know the song, 'The Lion's Gone a-Sailing?' I know it's kind of silly, but the kids will like it, and maybe the rhythm will draw that dancer out, again, eh?"

[Tanuki]

The man guffaws at Marcel, fondly whacking him on the back once or twice and grinning widely. "You're so mature for a youngun'!" he chuckles. "You shouldn't envy me. Me, I got a beauty of a woman and two little kidlings. Wouldn't trade it for the world, mate. But you should have fun while you can. Worry bout the ladies once you've worn that wanderlust off a bit, eh?" He winks conspiratorially, eyes sparkling. "Though I wouldn't say to not worry about them completely... if you know what I mean... heheh."

"Alergast! What are you talking about now?!" A shrill woman's voice snaps from behind Marcel, and his companion groans.

"See? Make the most of it, boy-o." With a wave and a roll of his eyes, he parts to join his exasperated wife. She has a baby on the hip, and a young boy beside her happily chases after a passing butterfly. For a town like Sandpoint, this kind of happy family scene is a common one.


The blonde Avertin twins greet Amariya simultaneously: "Hello! How may we help you?" They both seem rather enthused by another customer; the midday lunch hour has dragged much of their clientele south towards the large tents shared by the taverns of the town. The shorter-haired of the two blinks at Amariya for a moment, then gasps, her eyes wide.

"Oh, you're the woman that was dancing before! You were amazing!"
"Ehhh? You should've told me if there was dancing going on, Arika!"
"You were too busy looking at that Varisian guy's butt anyway~"
"I bet you were looking for that guy that came from Turtleback! Slacking off when I was busy selling stuff!"
"Hey, no need to get jealous that he was totally into me, Aneka. I can't help it!"

"Excuse me?" The twins gasp and make to get back into the business of selling their bakery products, but they aren't quick enough to escape an older, plumper woman's whallop across the back of their heads. It's clear from the shared bright blue eyes and general facial features that this woman is their mother. She glowers at the girls for a moment, then looks up to smile warmly at Amariya. "Please don't mind them. What can I get you, dearie?"


The area south of the church square becomes, as Pais expected, increasingly empty. The last festival booth on High Street is a moderately popular dice game of some kind, though even it is set before the opening into Soggy Alley. Only a few other slow-strolling festival-goers are down this far: a few browsing the trinket stalls, one mother comforting her crying child, a passing cat sniffing at some discarded foodstuffs.


Lorelin is quiet at first, watching solemnly as her big brother rescues the injured butterfly. But she eventually smiles with the warmth only a child can, apparently pleased with Aeloric's answer. "I'm gonna try hard then!" the girl makes a fist, her expression serious albeit impassioned. "We're gonna take good care of this butterfly and Father Zanthus is gonna make it all good again!" She nods firmly. Lorelin then pauses, looking up into Aeloric's face with an almost stern expression. "...You're different, big brother. You're so much more... older, now. Like papa."


The fiddler smiles graciously at being complimented, curtseying. "Why thank you!" She scratches at the back of her head with the butt of her fiddle's bow. "The Lion's Gone a-Sailing? Ha! I could play that one in my sleep! Doubt something as childish as this would get that pretty girl back here, but you're right, the kids would like it. Alrighty, sir, just for you, here we go!" The bard adjusts her stance, straightening her back and placing bow to string. The tune she brings forth is whimsical and simplistic albeit catchy, the type of thing that gets caught in one's mind.

"Ah!" a young boy nearby pricks his ears and looks towards the fiddler. "Mama, I know this song! Mr. Gandethus taught us it... The Lion's gone a-sailing, a-round and a-down the sea, round the Eye and by and by to lands away from thee! With teeth and claws and fur and roars he's ready to take them all, but when he's there he'd better take care for one as sly as he! Sneaking inside and taking his pride and smiling all the way, waiting for that when he should come back upon his bed to lay! Ah... I don't know the rest..."