ROTR Session 10

A lesson in humility

They rode hard, pushing their mounts to the limit. It took a day and a half for Pious and Sheriff Belor Hemlock to reach Magnimar, the City of Monuments. The sheriff, ever the vigilant protector, felt uneasy being so far from Sandpoint. His town was in peril, and though he had left capable hands in charge, the distance gnawed at him. They had to hold out until he returned with reinforcements. They had to.
Pious led him through the sprawling streets to their destination—Defiant’s Garden, the grand estate of Lord-Mayor Haldmeer Grobaras. Gaining an audience with the self-indulgent politician, however, proved more difficult than navigating the city's labyrinthine alleys. His assistant, Valanni Krinst, met them at the gates with an apologetic smile and a well-rehearsed excuse.
"The Lord-Mayor's schedule is rather... occupied, I’m afraid," Valanni said smoothly, his tone betraying not a hint of regret. "A private box at the Serpent Run this afternoon, a theater performance tonight, and of course, a gala. The rest of the week is similarly engaged."
Sheriff Hemlock clenched his fists, his patience thinning. They didn’t have time for this. But the Lord-Mayor’s doors would not open for a desperate plea, no matter how urgent.

  Pious swallowed her frustration. There was another way—one she had been dreading since the journey began.
"There’s someone else who can help," she murmured.
The sheriff turned to her, brow furrowed, but she was already leading the way.
The weight in Pious’ chest grew heavier with each step. She had spent years preparing for the judgment of Sarenrae—but her father’s judgment was another matter entirely. Matteus Adelus Messia had learned of her disappearance weeks ago. The head of The Messia Family, rigid and unyielding, had made his disapproval clear. She had been destined for the convent, to be the obedient daughter of the faith. There was no room for rebellion in his household.
Yet, when she and Hemlock stood before him, Matteus did not hesitate. He agreed to provide the sheriff with the reinforcements Sandpoint so desperately needed.

The price?

Pious would return to the convent. Immediately.
She barely had to think. Sandpoint needed soldiers. Her friends needed aid. This was the sacrifice she could make for them.
Through her ordeals she had grown enough to admit that, perhaps, she also needed a lesson in humility.
Matteus leaned forward, steepling his fingers as he laid out his plan to Sheriff Hemlock. The Messia patriarch had forged strong ties within Magnimar’s political web, his most valuable ally being Justice Ironbriar, an influential elven judge and key figure in the city’s Justice Court. Through Ironbriar, Matteus could bypass bureaucracy and arrange for reinforcements directly at Arvensoar, the towering fortress where Magnimar housed its military forces.
"Return to my estate tomorrow at dusk," Matteus instructed, his tone leaving no room for debate.
Sheriff Hemlock inclined his head in gratitude, but as he stepped out into the night, his worries did not ease. His mind remained in Sandpoint, with its vulnerable streets, its desperate people… and his kitten.

  Hemlock was not a man given to drink, but that night, loneliness and weariness led him through the dimly lit streets of the Dockway, where he found himself inside The Old Fang—a cheap, smoky inn filled with the scent of stale ale and salt. He took a seat, ordered rum, and let the burn dull his thoughts.
He wasn’t looking for company, but company found him.
A figure slid into the seat opposite him—a Tiefling with ashen skin, sharp features, and eyes that gleamed like embers in the firelight. A curious sword rested at his hip, its presence almost palpable.
Hemlock studied him through the haze of his drink, and for once, his instincts as a guard captain dulled. Here, he was not a protector of Sandpoint, not an outcast Shoanti trying to fit into a foreign world. Tonight, he was just a man, and Cletus, this strange, horned figure, was someone willing to listen.
The details of their conversation blurred into the amber depths of his rum, lost to the night. But the outcome was clear.
The next evening, as Sheriff Hemlock approached the Messia estate at dusk, his head pounding from the previous night’s indulgence, he found Cletus standing beside him, looking entirely at ease.
And when the morning sun rose over Magnimar’s harbor, Cletus was still there—standing at his side on the deck of a galley bound for Sandpoint. Along with thirty of Magnimar’s city guards, ready for battle.
And the sword at Cletus’ hip?
It was pleased with the chance to do good.

It was just a bad dream

"Rabie, are you okay?" Jinx called, looking down from the pulpit deep beneath Sandpoint. His voice was softer than before, edged with concern. "I saw something... strange in that vision. Or whatever it was."
Shalelu had barely taken her eyes off the witch since regaining her breath. She stepped forward, her gaze sharp. Too sharp. "Yes," she said, her voice tense. "What was that?"

Rabie stared at his feet.

"It was just a bad dream." he lied to himself softly.
Shalelu wasn’t so easily silenced. Her black gaze pierced the witch. “What dream?” she insisted. “Do you know what happened there? Why would that thing show you killing a woman?”
Rabie stuttered, frantically searching for answers. “I had a nightmare once that I killed someone.” He raised a finger toward the pool. “I think it knew somehow.”
Shalelu’s gaze flickered to Jinx, then to Vannrik, searching for their take on the situation—something to convince her she wasn’t fighting beside a murderer.
Vannrik tried to stay level-headed. “Just a nightmare...” he said pensively. “Just to be clear. You haven’t actually done that, right?”
Rabie couldn’t tear his gaze away from his sandals. “No,” he mumbled. Then, more firmly, “No.”
Shalelu watched Jinx, but the Gnome seemed more preoccupied with his defiled harrow cards. It took a moment before he finally looked up at Rabie. “Well, I don’t care if you killed somebody or not. You’re a good person to me. Whatever happened, happened. You’re still good to me.” His tone was dismissive, his own problems taking priority. “I have to do something about these cards,” Jinx muttered to himself.
Shalelu absorbed the information with a distant stare. Then, breaking the silence, she spoke. “Well, we did what we came here to do. Let’s head back to the surface. I don’t wish to remain underground any longer.” She looked to the sentinels. “Do we have everything?”
At Vannrik’s request, they searched the underground lair one last time, ensuring nothing had been overlooked and no hidden dangers remained to threaten Sandpoint.
As the Sentinels returned to the surface, Vannrik handed Shalelu the shortbow they had taken from Tsuto—just in case. She accepted it with a curt nod. “Thank you,” she said formally. Then, after a brief pause, she added, “I need to go for a walk. I’ll be checking the North Gate, maybe the nearby woods. I won’t be back until later—I just need some air.”
None of the Sentinels were in a position to argue.
Rabie barely noticed as the others went their separate ways, his gaze fixed on Shalelu’s retreating form. Before disappearing into the distance, the Elf paused, glancing over her shoulder at him.
Startled, Rabie quickly turned and ran to catch up with his friends.
Then, with little announcement, the preoccupied Gnome left as well, leaving Vannrik and Rabie to their own devices.  

Mother

(The following text teaches us more about our favorite Gnome and was provided by Jinx's player)
Jinx stood motionless before the wooden monument he had built beside his modest hut, its weathered surface polished with care and love. Each detail carved into the wood whispered tales of Mother’s wisdom, her guidance, and the unwavering presence she once offered. Though her physical form had long since departed, her spirit lingered, woven into the very essence of this small sanctuary.
“Mother,” he whispered, his voice carrying the weight of heartbreak. “Something horrific happened today.”
He paused, letting the memories of the day resurface, their jagged edges cutting into his thoughts. “We ventured below Sandpoint, into the underground tunnels beneath the glassworks. Down there, we encountered abominations—Demons unlike anything I’ve faced before. Among them was a vargouille.”
The word left his lips like a curse, the sound itself a shiver of dread. “Have you ever come across one, Mother? These scavengers from the swamps of Abaddon… daemons in their purest, most malevolent form. This one wasn’t even larger than me, yet before I knew it, I was paralyzed. My body betrayed me—frozen, immobile. All I could do was watch as Vannrik, Rabie, and Shalelu fought valiantly against the creature. It hovered above me, taunting me with its very presence.”
Jinx closed his eyes, reliving the terror. His mind had been a whirlwind of activity, but his body had remained a prisoner to the vargouille’s sinister magic. He shuddered. “I think it was Vannrik who dealt the killing blow, though I can’t be entirely sure. The thing exploded upon death, showering me and my Harrow cards with its foul, poisonous saliva and blood. Those cards, Mother—your gift to me, my cherished companion in so many battles—are now ruined.”
He held his trembling hands before him as if the tainted cards were still there. “Forgive me, Mother. When I was paralyzed, the cards fell from my grasp. They were tainted, their magic extinguished as if an anti-magic shroud had enveloped them. No amount of ginger tea in the world could cleanse the blood of that abomination.”
Despair clawed at his voice as he continued. “I feel cursed. Did I misuse the power Imot bestowed upon me? Have I strayed too far from the balance you taught me to uphold? I’ve only ever used the cards for the greater good—for fighting goblins, Undead… never for selfish gain. But now, it feels like I’m being punished.”
Doubt settled over him like a suffocating fog. “Joining the Sentinels, Mother—was it the right path? They call us The Sandpoint sentinels now. I thought I was following fate, but...”
He trailed off, needing air, needing solace. After emerging from the tunnels, he had parted ways with Rabie, Vannrik, and Shalelu, telling them, “I’ll catch up later.” Mounting Daisy—a horse he’d earned through an act of valor—he roamed the streets of Sandpoint, seeking clarity.
His path led him to bump into Venn Vinder. The shopkeeper greeted him warmly and spoke of the new set of Harrow cards that had recently arrived. “I owe you for helping with my daughter,” Venn had said, promising Jinx a fine deck. Yet as Jinx pulled out his ruined cards, sorrow overcame him. “These were my mother’s,” he said softly. “I can’t discard them, not after all they’ve been through. But they’ve lost their power, and I need to restore them. Can you help?”
Venn’s expression softened. “Madame Mvashti,” he said simply.
The mention of her name sent a ripple through Jinx’s soul. “Mother, you spoke of her so often, with such reverence,” he thought. “Why didn’t I think of her myself?”
He accompanied Venn to the shop, where a new deck awaited him. As Venn disappeared into a back room to retrieve it, Jinx felt a surge of magical power emanating from within. When Venn returned and placed the neatly packed deck before him, Jinx’s fingers tingled as he opened it. The magic within the cards was palpable, almost alive. Compelled, he shuffled the deck and drew a single card: the Stars, the Midwife. The scent of ginger filled the air, and a newfound strength coursed through him. His mind felt sharper, his will unyielding.
“These cards are powerful,” he realized, though he knew their origins were a mystery worth unraveling. Still, they were a temporary solace. His mother’s cards, the ones stained by abomination, needed to be restored. Madame Mvashti held the key.
Wrapping the new deck carefully, he thanked Venn. “And Ben,” he added, “might not be as bad as you think. Befriend him before it’s too late.”
With that, he rode homeward.
“I will restore your cards. With Imot as my witness, I’ll find a way—or die trying. I gathered some ginger. I will be back soon with the will of Imot.”
He rose, determination etched into every fiber of his being. “I’ll rejoin the Sentinels and seek out Madame Mvashti soon. There’s still a Goblin problem to solve, but I haven’t forgotten you, Mother, or the balance you taught me to keep.”
Mounting Daisy again, Jinx rode toward the Rusty Dragon, hope flickering faintly within him. Fate, it seemed, was still on his side.

Sails of blue and silver

Rabie and Vannrik were left together, reeling from today's events—Tsuto's letter, the glassworks, defeating Tsuto, saving Ameiko, and exploring the Thassilonian ruins that lay deep beneath their feet. Rabie looked at his companion. "Back to the Rusty Dragon?"
It was an easy decision, although Vannrik couldn't help but think ahead. "Yes, but I would also like to speak to the people of the Cathedral about that statue. I think we should do that as a party. I’d like Jinx to be there as well. But we did earn a break."
The witch and the kineticist wandered through Sandpoint's streets. It wasn’t particularly busy in the late afternoon, with only a few people out and about. As they glanced down the south-leading Main Street and later Festival Street, they caught a view of the Sandpoint harbor, where a large sailing ship with blue and silver sails was coasting into port.
It seemed odd—this was not the normal time of day for ships to dock. The sight caught Rabie’s attention, and he slowly made his way toward the port. Upon closer inspection, he recognized a figure among the shapes on the ship’s deck: Sheriff Belor Hemlock.
Next to him stood another figure—an oddly horned humanoid. It was too far away to make out exactly. As far as the witch was concerned, it could have been a large Quasit.
Rabie nudged his companion in the side. "I'm going to wait for Hemlock," he said.
Vannrik stood beside him. "I don't feel like sitting in the inn by myself."
The Rusty Dragon would have to wait.

Belor stood at the ship’s railing, his gaze fixed on the familiar sight of Sandpoint. The town’s rugged charm, nestled between the cliffs and sea, had never felt so distant yet so close. He had spent days away, but as always, returning carried a weight he could never quite shake.
With effort, he tore his eyes away from the shore and regarded his traveling companion. "This is it."
Cletus stroked his beard, his sharp eyes surveying the town with an air of easy confidence. A smirk played on his lips. "It's a fine town you got here, Sheriff."
The remark brought a fleeting, tired smile to Belor’s face. "Thank you. I aim to keep it that way."
Cletus tilted his head, his gaze drifting across the coastline. "It's not as big as Westcrown or Egorian, but it has its charms."
Belor raised an eyebrow at that. "You're not in Cheliax anymore. There's also less devils here, luckily."
A low chuckle rumbled from the tiefling’s throat. "Ah, the joys of the frontier."
The Shoanti sheriff allowed himself the briefest smirk before the weight of duty settled back over his expression. Levity had its place, but not for long. He straightened, his tone firm once more.
"There are some people that I would like you to meet."

took hours for the dock lines to be secured and the massive vessel to be maneuvered into place. The sun dipped below the horizon as dusk settled over Sandpoint, casting long shadows across the harbor. At last, Belor Hemlock and Cletus stepped onto solid ground.
Cletus scanned the docks, where a small crowd of townsfolk had gathered. Among them stood the Sentinels, the group the Sheriff had spoken so highly of. His eyes narrowed slightly as he took them in. "Those people waiting at the docks—are those your right hands?"
Belor nodded. "Exactly. They look a bit haggard. Let's move quickly."
The Sheriff and the tiefling were the first to disembark, but behind them, nearly thirty men and women in blue and silver guard uniforms followed. Vannrik's keen eyes swept over the arriving figures, searching for a familiar face. His heart sank when he realized Pious was not among them.
With a few quick orders, Belor dispatched a member of the town watch to assist the Magnimarian guards in settling into the garrison. Only then did he turn his full attention to the Sentinels. As was his custom, he wasted no time on pleasantries.
"Friends, tell me—how fares Sandpoint?"
Rabie was the first to answer. "We found something below Sandpoint," the Varisian said, his voice heavy with unease. "Something evil."
Belor’s expression darkened. "There was something hiding under Sandpoint this whole time?"
Rabie nodded. "Apparently."
The Sheriff glanced at the others, seeking more answers as the witch remained tight-lipped.
Jinx spoke next. "This was something different than just goblins, sir."
Vannrik elaborated, his voice firm. "There was also a tunnel. The goblins used it to enter the glassworks. They killed everyone inside."
Belor let out a weary sigh, rubbing his forehead as he processed the grim news. His voice dropped, lost in thought. "For now, they’re dealt with?"
"Yes," Vannrik confirmed. "Though I suggest we seal the tunnels."
"I agree," Belor muttered. "I'll see to it. But I need more details. We should talk somewhere private. The Rusty Dragon will do. Is Shalelu in town?"
Rabie hesitated before answering. "She left."
Before the Sheriff could press further, Jinx spoke up, his tone unusually serious. "Sir? Where is Pious?"
Belor exhaled deeply, biting his lip, bracing for their reaction. "Pious helped me gain an audience with the mayor. But unfortunately, we couldn’t reach him. She suggested we ask her father for help. He agreed—but only on one condition." He paused, then continued, his voice tinged with regret. "He demanded Pious return immediately to the convent where she came from. She’s once again a sister of the cloth. Even if we remember her as a hero… that was the last time I saw her."
Rabie couldn’t hide the flicker of disappointment that crossed his face.
"Did she give you a card to return?" Jinx asked, recalling the last gift he had given the champion of Sarenrae.
Belor shook his head. "There was no time. The moment her father told her to leave, she simply bowed her head and followed him."
A heavy silence hung between them, disappointment weighing the air.
"She did us a great favor," Belor said at last. "Without her, the people you see stepping off that ship wouldn’t be here. Also..." He hesitated, then turned to Cletus, who had remained uncharacteristically quiet throughout the exchange. "I almost forgot the introductions. As always."
Belor took a step aside, gesturing toward the tiefling. "This is Cletus. I met him in Magnimar. He’s willing to help. He has experience as an adventurer—he’s dealt with goblins before, though from farther away." He glanced at Cletus with a small nod and a heavy pat on the shoulder. "But it’s not my place to tell your story." "Well met!" Cletus finally erupted.
Rabie nodded. "Welcome to Sandpoint."
Without missing a beat, the tiefling continued, "As the good Sheriff just said, my name is Cletus. When I met him in the tavern and he told me he was in urgent need of people willing to slay some goblins in his lovely hometown of Sandpoint, I just couldn't say no." He accented his words with a flourishing gesture toward the town.
"But I heard that you are the ones who did all the work, am I right?"
Vannrik eyed the newcomer with curiosity. "Well, not all the work. There’s still a lot more to be done."
The Jadwiga’s words did little to dampen Cletus' spirits. "Well, I can't claim to fill the hole your friend's absence leaves behind, but I'll come in handy—you'll see! And if you don’t mind, I’ll stick with you to get the ropes on how things work here in Sandpoint. I don’t intend to stay with the garrison…" His voice trailed off into a chuckle, as if hoping he hadn't said anything to offend the Sheriff.
Hemlock’s expression remained unreadable, betraying no sign of insult.
"I'm sure we'll find our opportunity to test our skills against whatever is attacking this town soon enough."
The Sheriff gave a grim nod. "Yes. I want to know everything that happened while I was away. Let’s find a private booth in the tavern."
The Sentinels could see the frustration in his eyes—the timing of the day’s events was far from ideal.
"Did Shalelu say when she would return?" he asked.
Vannrik shook his head. "She didn’t specify. She just needed a walk."
Jinx nodded in agreement.
The Sheriff let out a beleaguered sigh. "I see."

Cletus

As the group made their way from the docks toward the Rusty Dragon, they drew curious glances from passersby. But the sight of the Sheriff's return brought an undeniable sense of relief to the townsfolk.
Jinx strode alongside the tiefling. "Mister...? Wait, what's your name again?" the Gnome asked.
"Cletus!" the newcomer answered enthusiastically. "And I must say, it's really a delight that people don't just avert their eyes when they see a devilspawn. Or, in my case, a demonspawn."
Jinx looked up at Cletus, his hood slipping back slightly, revealing the third eye on his forehead. The sight made the tiefling halt mid-step. Stroking his hairy chin, Jinx circled him, scrutinizing him from the tips of his horns down to his boots.
"Wait, is that a real third eye?" Cletus asked, watching as the Gnome retrieved a deck of cards.
"Yes, it is," Jinx answered, shuffling his Harrow deck. "This eye can stare into the future… somewhat," he added vaguely.
"Pick a card!" The Gnome extended his newly shuffled deck toward him.
Cletus did as instructed and drew a card, holding it up to examine the eerie illustration—an old hag with empty eye sockets clenching an eyeball between her teeth.
"Stars…" Jinx murmured. "The Silent Hag."
He peered into the tiefling's eyes, nodding thoughtfully. "Hmm… I thought you reminded me of someone. You remind me of Mother."
Jinx nodded again, as if agreeing with himself. "You can come with us."
The Sentinels and the Sheriff exchanged puzzled glances, but no one was more bewildered than Cletus. "I remind you of your mother?" he asked, utterly baffled.
"The card says Silent Hag, and my mom was a hag who silently disappeared. So yes, you remind me of my mother, according to the cards. And I believe what the cards say."
Cletus quickly glanced at the others to confirm he'd heard correctly. "A hag? That would explain the… third eye, I guess? And the snake?"
The Gnome grinned, raising his hand as a small, sinuous creature peeked out of his sleeve. "Ah yes, this is Misery."
Vannrik drew Cletus’ attention to the rest of the Sentinels and Ghurab, the raven circling above them. "As you might have noticed, we’re quite desensitized to weird stuff. Your appearance doesn’t bother me at all."
Cletus was visibly piecing together everything the Sheriff had told him. "So let me get this straight—Jinx is a sorcerer who draws magic from his Harrow deck?"
Jinx was quick to shake his head, waggling a finger. "Did you just call me a sorcerer? I’m a Harrow reader."
"But you do cast spells, don’t you?" the tiefling pressed.
Jinx nodded at something he believed was obvious. "Yes, I use my cards to cast spells."
Cletus then turned to the Varisian. "And you, Rabie? You’re Varisian."
The witch nodded.
"And your specialty is also spellcasting?"
Rabie did his best to remain pleasant through the questioning. "I do my best, yes."
To Rabie’s relief, Cletus shifted his attention to the kineticist. "And you’re Jadwigan, eh? Then you also come from the Saga Lands, right? Irrisen?"
"Yes. I escaped from there," Vannrik answered, his tone oddly neutral.
"Escaped?" Cletus arched an eyebrow.
Vannrik hesitated, then gave a brief explanation. "Yes. I helped someone who opposed the local regime. They burned my house down. That was their way of telling me I was no longer welcome."
A broad grin spread across the tiefling’s face. "A rebellious spirit! I like this one."
Vannrik shook his head with a quiet chuckle. "Not really rebellious. I helped anyone who came by. One particular patient had wounds caused by ice magic—a staple of the regime there. The day after I healed her, they sent their message."
"So, is ice your specialty as well?" Cletus asked.
"I draw power from the Plane of Water," the kineticist clarified. "That also includes ice."
Cletus nodded to himself, satisfied. "Alright, now I get a good idea of who I'm working with."

   

Andromade

By the time the group reached the Rusty Dragon, the scent of sizzling meat and spiced ale filled the air, a familiar comfort after the long journey. Belor stepped forward to greet Ameiko behind the counter, who stood determined despite her lingering bruises and scraped clothing. Since the group expected additional company later on they opted to have their discussion in the inn's sizable kitchen.
As he swung open the door to the kitchen, Jinx eyed Cletus expectantly. "What about you? You've been asking a lot of questions. What is your specialty, my friend?"
"Oh," the tiefling said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "My specialty is talking." He let out a loud, self-assured laugh. "If you ever need someone to be a diplomat to a Goblin, look no further!"
"You actually speak Goblin, then?" Vannrik asked, reminded that he still hadn’t finished his lessons with the local stablemaster.
Cletus gave a confident shrug. "No, but I'm sure I'll find a way."
Jinx frowned. "So, you have no particular skill except talking? Because, I mean, I can talk."
The tiefling hesitated, momentarily knocked off balance. "I didn’t necessarily say that," he countered, sputtering to recover. "When it comes to fighting goblins, when push comes to shove, it's actually not me who does the heavy lifting—but my friend here."
With a flourish, he wove his arms in an intricate pattern, calling upon his stolen connection to the heavens. A sudden pulse of energy rippled through the room as something materialized—a blade with slowly moving, feathered wings forming its handguard. It hovered a few feet above the ground, the tip scraping lightly against the wooden floorboards.
To everyone's surprise, a voice resonated from the weapon. "Ah, finally! We made it to Sandpoint!"

Jinx shot Cletus a sharp look. "That thing talks too?"
The tiefling grinned. "She talks. Everyone, meet Andromeda. Andromeda, meet everyone!"
The sword shifted, its movements almost animated, as its voice carried an ethereal warmth. "Ah, I'm so delighted to finally meet people who have pledged themselves to the cause of pure good! Unlike Cletus, who expects some kind of reward for doing so. Iomedae bless all of you!"
The Sentinels exchanged glances. It was Jinx who voiced the thought they were all clearly having. "Did you… capture Pious in that sword?"
Belor, returning just in time to hear the question, chuckled as he shut the door behind him. "It sounds similar," he remarked.
Andromeda seemed pleased by the comparison. "From what I’ve heard, Pious was a righteous champion. And so am I—or so I aspire to be."
Rabie still wasn’t sure what to make of it. "Welcome to Sandpoint as well," he offered carefully.
"Why, thank you!" came the exaggerated, almost theatrical response.
Vannrik folded his arms. "Is that some sort of intelligent magic item?" he asked Cletus.
Before the tiefling could answer, the sword scoffed. "I am not a magic item," Andromeda declared. "You merely perceive me as a sword through your mortal eyes. But I am angelic by nature."
Vannrik blinked. "Okay… that’s a new one." He glanced at the others. "But I guess not the weirdest thing I've ever seen."
"Weird!?" Andromeda huffed indignantly.
"Uh—unusual would be the better term," Vannrik corrected, slightly defensive.
"I do admit it’s rare to see the likes of me walk upon this mortal plane." A pause, then a sigh. "Circumstances have tied me and Cletus together." There was a faint trace of sarcasm in her voice, hinting at a deeper story. "Anyway, we have arrived in Sandpoint, and there is work to be done. We must secure these good people, uphold the worship of all the gods that are good, and stand against the forces of Lamashtu and foul goblins. So while Cletus may do the talking, rest assured—I will stand on the front lines for you."
Rabie perked up. "All the gods that are good… like Sarenrae?" he asked, a note of hope in his voice.
"Iomedae first and foremost, of course," Andromeda replied proudly. "But yes, Sarenrae is among the blessed. I welcome all who follow the Dawnflower."
Belor crossed his arms and spoke up. "There are six gods generally worshipped at the local cathedral. Iomedae isn’t one of them… yet."
The presence of Andromeda sparked a thought in Vannrik. "While you're here, maybe you can help us with something. We came across a statue beneath the town—an evil one. It produces cursed water, beyond unholy. Do you have any idea how we could get rid of it without making things worse?"
"I'm not a cleric, nor is Cletus," Andromeda admitted. "But I’d say consecration is your best bet. Any proper cleric should be able to cleanse the site. Once you're certain the corruption is purged, destroy the statue itself."
Vannrik nodded. "I'm sure the local clerics would be more than willing to help us dismantle an evil altar beneath the town."
Cletus, having endured enough of Andromeda stealing the spotlight, waved a hand dismissively. "Thank you, Andromeda. That’s all we need from you."
The sword sputtered in protest. "Don’t you dare dismiss me! You—" But with a flick of the tiefling’s wrist, the celestial weapon vanished.
Cletus grinned. "So, folks, there you have it. That was Andromeda."

Catching Up to Speed

With Andromeda gone, Belor finally lost the battle against his patience. "I need to know everything. What happened after I left? What are we dealing with?"
Rabie took the lead, filling in both the Sheriff and Cletus on recent events. He explained Tsuto’s letter—the invitation meant to lure Ameiko to the glassworks—and the unsettling realization that Tsuto, once thought gone, had returned to Sandpoint.
Belor listened grimly as Rabie detailed their break-in at the glassworks, though the Sheriff quickly assured them they wouldn’t face any trouble for it. He learned how the workers had been slaughtered by goblins, Lonjiku Kaijitsu's gruesome fate sealed in molten glass, and how the massacre had likely happened just the night before.
His relief was visible when Rabie mentioned that some local guards were now handling the situation.
The witch then described how they had confronted Tsuto in the cellar—how diplomacy had failed, and how they had been left with no choice but to kill him.
Belor frowned, struggling to piece everything together. Then Rabie pulled a leather-bound journal from his pack. "We found this," he said, handing it to the Sheriff.
"He admitted in here that the goblins were under his command," Vannrik added. "I suspect he was the one who broke into the cemetery with them."
As Belor thumbed through the journal, his eyes suddenly widened, his expression shifting to one of disbelief. "Wait… why does this woman in the drawing look like Nualia?"
"Because she probably is," Jinx answered simply.
A heavy silence fell over the table.
Nualia had been presumed dead for five years, lost in the tragic fire that had consumed the old cathedral. Now, looking at the drawing, Belor’s face darkened with a mix of shock, disbelief, and something more—regret. He turned his gaze to Jinx, his voice quieter than before. "I owe you an apology, Jinx. You suspected this from the start."
The Gnome offered a small, knowing smile. "No apology needed, sir. The cards knew."
Belor let out a breath, rubbing his temples before shifting his focus to Cletus, who was still looking thoroughly confused. Realizing the tiefling was completely lost, the Sheriff took a moment to explain—the fire that had destroyed the old cathedral, the death of Father Tobyn, and the presumed fate of Nualia, the aasimar girl who had been thought to have perished that night.

The head of the snake

The kitchen door opened with a creak, letting in the crisp scent of The Sandpoint Hinterlands. Shalelu stepped inside, carrying the wilderness with her like a second skin.
"Belor," she said with a nod. "I saw the ship."
The Sheriff turned toward Cletus. "Cletus, this is Shalelu—a local ranger who has been helping us keep track of these goblins. Rabie told me that the goblins are hiding out in Thistletop."
The Elf gave Cletus a curt nod before smoothly retrieving a map from a pouch at her belt. With a practiced motion, she unfolded it, ensuring he had a clear view. If she had any thoughts about his tiefling heritage, she gave no sign—today had already been full of surprises.
She pointed to various locations, her tone precise and unwavering. "North of the Nettlewood, there’s an island," she explained. "Sixty feet from the coast and rising sixty feet from the gulf. It’s a fortress. The best-defended Goblin camp that is out there. The problem is, if all the tribes have been depleted, then there are hundreds of goblins between here and there. From what we have learned from the journal, Nualia and Tsuto were working with a Goblin called Ripnugget. He is the lord of Thistletop. It would be my guess that Nualia is at Thistletop as well."
A heavy silence fell over the room as the weight of the situation settled on everyone.
"Those hundreds of goblins from the tribes don’t fit within the Thistletop fortress itself. There must be camps scattered throughout the woods. Nettlewood is an uncomfortable place, it’s overgrown with foliage, nettles, thistles. Parts of the forest seem impenetrable, unless you know the routes," she continued.
Vannrik frowned, considering the implications. "How long could they remain there? It would be hard to keep them fed for a prolonged amount of time."
Shalelu barely hesitated. "Goblins are voracious, they eat a lot. They can’t hole up there for long."
Vannrik pressed his lips together, realization dawning. "So they will march quickly. If they haven’t already."
Cletus inhaled sharply, fully grasping the scope of what he had walked into. "You believe they will be coming for Sandpoint soon?"
Shalelu gave a firm nod. "According to the journal they were planning a second raid. Last time, you," she gestured to Jinx, Rabie, and Vannrik, "dealt with three dozen goblins, I believe. But these are hundreds."
Rabie, searching for hope, offered, "We got reinforcements."
Belor acknowledged that with a nod. "We do. If the goblins are scattered in loose camps, that would be a good sign."
Cletus hesitated, then exhaled as if trying to choose his words carefully.
Belor caught the hesitation immediately. "What do you want to say, Cletus?"
The tiefling let out a breath, forcing a grin. "Eh, nothing. Just… a few hundred goblins are just a little bit more than what I’m used to. But I’m sure we’ll manage." His voice betrayed his own attempt at confidence.
Belor tried for reassurance, his tone steady. "None of us has to do this alone."
Cletus, still trying to gauge the situation, asked carefully, "Do you have any idea when they will be leaving Nettlewood?"
"Depends on when the food runs out, their raid is planned, how long their organizers can maintain control. It could be very soon," the Sheriff answered.
The tiefling plucked at his horns. "So days? Weeks?" His tone had a hint of desperation, as if hoping for better news.
Everyone looked to Shalelu, the one who truly understood Goblin movements.
"Days if we are lucky. Hours. They could be on their way right now," the Elf said.
A heavy pause filled the room.
Cletus broke it first. "Would that give us an opportunity to strike at their own fortress, Thistletop?"
Shalelu’s gaze sharpened. "Yes," she said with determination. "And even if they are not on the march, right now, I know a route to Thistletop. If we can get the guards from Sandpoint and Magnimar combined to at least keep the goblins in the woods busy. Or if the possibility exists, exterminate them, that would give some people the chance to sneak into Thistletop itself." She gave a hopeful look to the Sentinels.
"The goblins are ill-organized. If their leadership falls, that might already solve the problem."
Cletus gave a slow nod. "Cut off the head of the snake."
Shalelu repeated the phrase, her voice steady. "Cut off the head of the snake."
Silence followed. No one objected.
The Sheriff exhaled, then nodded grimly. He tapped his fist against the wooden kitchen table as if sealing the plan into place. "This is how we are going to do it. We will follow Shalelu’s plan. We divide our forces into smaller groups, yet big enough to hopefully not be overwhelmed by individual camps. We will make sure that the path that Shalelu knows, which will get you to Thistletop quickly, is secured by our men." He paused, then met their eyes one by one. "I have to hear it from you. Are you willing to go to Thistletop?"
The Sentinels answered immediately. Then, they all turned to Cletus.
The tiefling let out a chuckle, shaking his head. "I’m sure Andromeda would never forgive me if I said no."
"Then it is settled," Belor declared. "It’s getting late. We would be giving the goblins the advantage if we went by night. We have to pray through the night that they are not on their way yet, and leave at first light in the morning."

The prisoner dilemma

Before the group could fully disperse for their preparations, Vannrik cleared his throat, hesitating for a moment before speaking. "Uhm, this may seem a bit untasteful. But I feel like we need to discuss it nonetheless." His expression darkened as he continued, "What do we do with the other camps? We probably don’t want the goblins to repopulate if we win at Thistletop." A pause. "Do we just get rid of those? Do we leave them be?"
The weight of his words hung heavy in the air.
Cletus was the first to respond, his voice carrying a note of unease. "Goblins are not vermin per se. They are still intelligent creatures." He straightened, stroking his short beard. "Andromeda would say that they have the potential to become righteous. To just slaughter their wives and children as if they were insects..." He trailed off, the thought alone unsettling him. "I mean, Sandpoint has been fine for years with the Goblin tribes in these lands, right?"
"I believe they occasionally raided caravans and the like," Vannrik noted. "They basically behaved like unintelligent bandits."
Cletus shrugged. "So do humans from time to time."
"Yes, but with humans, you clear out the bandit camps as well. You don’t leave them be," Vannrik countered.
"But you don’t slaughter their women and children," Cletus quickly interjected, the thought was preposterous to him.
"I don’t necessarily mean slaughter," Vannrik admitted. "But we do need to do something with them. We don’t want to have this exact same issue twenty years from now. One day we will lose the fight if we have to keep fighting." He sighed, rubbing his temples. "We could try to integrate them somehow. Educate them? But we can’t leave them as is."
Cletus folded his arms, considering the thought. "Maybe we install a new leader?"
Rabie nodded. "That seems like a good idea."
Shalelu, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke. "What mostly happened for all these years is that the goblins kept themselves busy. There are many intertribal rivalries. The chance that they organize again on their own is slim." She exhaled, crossing her arms. "But you can’t factor in outside help. Which is what is happening right now. And like Vannrik says, even if they are not preparing for colossal raids, they still perform smaller raids on merchant caravans and the like. They are not harmless, but also not disastrous normally."
Vannrik nodded, absorbing her words. "We could relocate them, we could try diplomacy. And I suppose if you could rear the goblins a bit while they’re young, teach them what is good and what is evil..." He glanced around at the others. "I’m just saying that it’s something we need to think about. If we do nothing, it’s a recipe for disaster."
A slight chuckle escaped Cletus’ lips. "At the courts of Cheliax, it would be as simple as installing a few spies among your enemies to know where they will strike next. If you can instruct some of these goblins to spy for you, then you will know where their next attack will take place."
Shalelu tilted her head, considering the idea. "Then you can stop them without too much trouble," she mused before looking at Vannrik. "It is good to think about. But right now, we’re figuring out what to do after our cleansing of Thistletop—potentially fighting an army of goblins." Her gaze swept across the group. "Our time might be better spent discussing what we do in the few hours before we go there. What are we doing now? Is there anything that we need to do to prepare?"
The unspoken agreement settled between them. Whatever the long-term solution would be, it would have to wait.

And so, The Sandpoint sentinels—including Cletus—turned their attention to the battle ahead, preparing for the coming storm.