ROTR Session 4
General Summary
Trails in the Tickwood
The loud squealing of the swine echoes through the forest, serving as a beacon. Hooves thunder over the leaf-strewn ground as Aldern pursues the animal. He takes a brief moment to look over his shoulder but realizes that Lucienzo, who was following on foot, is no longer visible. The nobleman silently curses himself, wondering if he hadn’t fully thought through this hunting trip. However, his negativity fades when he sees three of his newfound heroes newfound heroes galloping ahead. Vannrik, versed in the natural world, remarks that their target is a sow. The boar skillfully darts through Tickwood. The hunting party missed their initial opportunity to engage it earlier . Now, the hunt is on.The boar races into a clearing but without the underlying support of rootnetworks, the soil turns into a soggy mud. Before long a curly tail disappears into the treeline at the other side but the squealing does not relent.
The boar’s sharp instincts urged it to move deeper into the woods, where the dense foliage could provide cover. She pushed forward, weaving between towering trunks and slippery roots, each step taking her further from danger. Where the ground solidifies another obstacle presents itself, the underbrush is not easily traversed on horseback.
Shadow, Rabie's horse, snorts and recoils nervously at the loud sound of splintering wood. The Varisian has some difficulty rearing the steed as it protects itself from flying branches and debris.
Vannrik, atop Willow, quickly moves to the speartip of their formation. Their path has widened and now is the time to make haste. He spurs Willow and his companion to speed through the trail of debris.
The boar hunt
The hunting party has closed in on the sow, and the beast's instinct to flee begins to fade. On a trail through the forest, she digs in her hooves and shakes her head violently, spreading foam and spittle. Aldern grabs a spear, watching as the boar snaps threateningly in the air. He prepares to throw it when the beast gets closer.Rabie guides Shadow forward, getting close enough to cast a magical spell to daze the creature. The sow lets out a low grunt and shakes her head even more aggressively as if caught in a relentless motion.
Jinx hops off Daisy and nimbly lands on his gnomish feet. He approaches the boar with an outstretched hand. Misery, his Cindersnake familiar, slithers out of the gnome's sleeve. The creature’s hissing, combined with Jinx’s threatening tone, causes the beast to cower.
Through the water and snow particles hovering in the air surrounding him, Vannrik watches the fight further up the path. He decides that the boar must be dealt with quickly. Above him, the snow and water form a shape not unlike a crossbow. An icy projectile flies through the air and impales the squealing pig in her shoulder. Before the creature can turn to see where the frozen bolt came from it is hurled away by a sudden blast of snow and icy shrapnel.
Aldern sees that his new friends need saving and the nobleman throws his spear with surprising accuracy. As the boar turns away from Rabie and Shadow, the weapon plunges into the creature's bristly back and embeds itself into a layer of pork fat.
Shadow skitters from the assailant and Rabie dismounts swiftly, leaving the horse trotting to safety. The witch steps closer to the snowy circle on the forest floor and stares intently at the boar running around the circle, gaining speed for its next attack. "On your knees, beast!" he commands, his voice laced with an unearthly authority.
A freshly pulled key-harrow card dictates that the Jinx follows in Rabie's footsteps. "On your knees, beast!" he repeats, casting a similar spell.
But the enchantments fail to halt the creature’s relentless momentum. Instead, frothy spittle, now streaked with fresh clots of blood, sprays from its maw, scattering across the snow in gruesome bursts.
The gnome's face betrays his disappointment and he quickly pulls another card from the deck, a stars card. A slight manipulation of fate shines fortune on Vannrik.
The aura of wintery waters is as an extension of the kineticist's body. Vannrik tenses the muscles in his arms, and with this simple act, the string of the watery crossbow above him draws back to its full limit. He unleashes the next frozen projectile with incredible force, and the impact of the bolt sends the charging boar flying backward. Vannrik then attempts to steer his mount in closer but the horse audibly objects to engage in the fight.
The two bolts of ice and the physical spear still embedded in the boar diminish the boar's stride. Unfortunately, not enough. By now the boar has completed her frenzied lap around the 20-foot ring of slush and trampled snow. Rabie is in her trajectory, he hadn't anticipated the sheer amount of punishment the creature could endure. He had not stepped away in time. With a violent thrust of her muscular hind legs, she propels forward. Her curved tusks punch deep into his belly. A choked gasp escapes Rabie's lips, his body lifted clean off the ground as she barrels ahead. For several agonizing steps, he remains impaled. Then, with a vicious toss of her head, the boar flings him aside. Rabie crashes into the earth in a motionless heap, bleeding heavily. The boar charges onward to rear up for her next strike, relentless and seemingly unstoppable.
Aldern shrieks at the sight of Rabie's fall. He tries to urge his steed closer to help, the horse senses his fear, however, and refuses to budge.
Jinx hurriedly turns to his harrow cards, seeking guidance in their cryptic wisdom. His three-eyed gaze flickers to his fallen companion, Rabie, and he envisions the void’s tendrils coiling tighter, dragging him deeper into death’s grasp.
“We have to twist his fate,” he murmurs, voice tense with urgency. With a deft motion, the gnome reaches into the unseen, seizing those metaphysical tendrils and weaving them through his own spellcraft. Reality distorts. A sickly aura ripples outward, latching onto the boar. Her muscles shrivel, deflating like a punctured bladder, while patches of rot bloom across her snout, peeling away flesh in rapid decay.
The beast stumbles, her powerful stride faltering. She lurches forward a few steps more before crashing onto its side in the slushy, bloodstained snow.
One second passes. Then another.
Then, with a violent shudder, the boar spasms back to life. Her hooves dig into the slush, her breath wheezing through rotting nostrils. She rises, stubborn and unrelenting, driven not by instinct—but by sheer, unyielding ferocity.
Jinx’s eyes widen in horror as he shouts a warning to his companions. “It’s still alive!”
Vannrik’s instincts scream at him to rejoin the fray, to ensure that Rabie lives. But Willow rears violently beneath him, she refuses to go any closer to the carnage. With a swift, practiced motion, the kineticist dismounts, landing lightly on his feet before breaking into a sprint.
He pushes himself harder, desperate to reach Jinx and Rabie in time. But three strides away from them, the sinking realization hits—he isn’t fast enough.
The boar barrels forward, its bulk surging toward Jinx. Lowering her head, she sweeps her bloodied tusks dangerously close to the ground, intent on goring the gnome just as it had Rabie.
But Jinx is ready. Unlike Rabie, he anticipates the charge and leaps aside. Yet even in his quick escape, he is not unscathed. The beast’s curved tusk catches his ankles mid-air, tearing through flesh. Jinx hits the ground hard, blood flowing freely from his ankles into his boots.
Still, he has fared far better than his fallen friend.
As Jinx gets up he knows that is only a matter of time before the boar finishes another lap around the grimy snow. He continues warping the void in order to lay down the beast. The squealing of the sow comes out in hoarse, airy, breaths as it trots onward. “Kill it!” Jinx shouts to Aldern and Vannrik.
Vannrik, seeing the witch bleed out, has a different priority. With a commanding gesture, the snow and water surrounding the Jadwiga swirl together, coalescing into a thick, ocean-scented balm. It cascades over Rabie in heavy, glistening drops, seeping into his wounds. Slowly, his torn flesh begins to knit itself back together.
At the sight of his success, Vannrik doesn’t hesitate.
Within the blink of an eye, the water clinging to Rabie’s face, chest, and legs—except for what still spills from his gaping wound—freezes solid, forming long, razor-sharp needles of ice. With a sharp flick of his arm, Vannrik sends the frozen darts hurtling toward the charging boar. They strike true, burying deep into its eye and legs.
The beast stumbles. It crashes snout-first into the churned mixture of blood, dirt, and slush, its massive form motionless.
The group holds its breath.
Seconds pass.
Then more.
Finally, it seems—the beast has truly succumbed.
Leaves of brugmansia
Rabie felt as though he were gliding through the void, carried by invisible wings. Weightless, unbound, he drifted through the inky blackness, a vast and formless expanse. There was freedom here—pure, untethered.Then, he rose. A slow ascent through a thick, wet shroud of ink-like darkness. He breached the surface, emerging into the waking world, where pain awaited. Blinking, he wipes the cold, salty water off his face.
By the time Rabie regains consciousness, he sees that his savior his savior is attending to the other wounded. Jinx’s wound is far less severe and is easily patched up. Shadow, however, is a different matter—the horse has cornered itself in the tangles of the Tickwood and now trots nervously. It takes patience and experience with the Jadwiga’s healing abilities to soothe the animal.
Aldern is observing their kill and cannot hide the pleased grimace that was etched into his face. With some effort he pulls his spear out of the boar. "Well, that was a mighty fine hunt." Only after his moment of triumph does it occur to the noble to check on the wounded. "Master Rabie, are you allright? I feared that we lost you for a second there." He stumbles with his words.
Rabie is rubbing the darkness out of his eyes. "I think I need stop in front all the time."
Hearing the Varisian's voice is enough confirmation for the noble who lets out a hearty laugh and gives Rabie a smacking pat on the shoulder. "You are a wise strategist, master Rabie!" Aldern sighs. "It is as I said earlier, it is a shame that lady Pious Magdalena Messia is not here. I'm sure she would have protected you. For now, I'm filled with joy to see that you are still with us." His gaze slowly scans the treelines. "I wonder if my friend Lucienzo can still find us, and help us with lifting this boar up the back of the horse. "
"I can help." Vannrik and Jinx answer in unison.
"That would be most helpful." The nobleman explains. "I have made an arrangement with Ameiko, our lovely hostess, that if we were successful we would be eating the best spiced boar in Golarion tonight."
by Diana
When Vannrik applies the mixture to Rabie’s wound, it stings sharply, sending a shudder through him. Unfortunately, the flora in this part of Varisia is far different from the hardy plants that survive beneath Irrisen’s snow. Mistaking an immature Brugmansia for Irrisen’s Dwarf Everlast flower, Vannrik unknowingly introduces a toxin into Rabie’s system. Within moments, a purplish-red rash spreads outward, and a ring of pustules forms around the wound, the poisoned flesh inflamed and angry.
Rabie, unwilling to alienate one of the few allies he has, forces a strained smile and thanks Vannrik through gritted teeth. Nearby, Aldern watches the exchange and takes it as his cue to check that the boar is still securely fastened to his horse.
Vannrik panics but has no choice but to wait the agonizing ten minutes before he can apply the ocean’s balm again.
Eventually, Vannrik succeeds in tending to Rabie’s wounds, and even Aldern’s face regains some color after the gruesome ordeal. By the time Rabie is steady enough to take his first steps, Lucienzo has arrived. Feeling bad for the man who had to trek through the forest alone, Jinx offers to share his mount. "I wish I had room, old chap, but I’ve got a passenger as well," Aldern says, gesturing to his horse as the group prepares to return to Sandpoint.
As we see you
As they trot through the forest, Aldern positions himself next to Rabie, seizing the opportunity to continue their conversation now that the witch is in better condition."You were out for a long time. Are you all right now?" he asks.
Rabie nods slowly. "I’m all right," he sighs. "It’s happened before."
That piques the nobleman’s curiosity. "What was it like? People say you see a light at the end of a tunnel. Did you come close to Pharasma’s judgment, do you think?"
Rabie shakes his head. "I didn’t see any light. Only darkness."
A visible shudder runs through Aldern. "You need to be more careful, Master Rabie," he says, his voice carrying a faint tremor.
"Trust me, I will. I’ll stay in the back from now on."
Aldern chuckles, regaining his composure. "Let it be known that your perseverance knows no bounds—nor does the helpful nature of your good friends. Whom I also hope to call friends one day."
Rabie offers a small smile. "I’m glad I met them."
Jinx sees the perfect opening to teach the nobleman a lesson in responsibility. "You really should take better care of Lucienzo. Don’t make him walk everywhere."
Aldern’s face reddens with embarrassment. "Ah, yes. I got so caught up in anticipating the hunt that I didn’t even consider that. My apologies, Lucienzo." The servant, as quiet as ever, merely nods in acknowledgment.
As they near Sandpoint, they pass a familiar sight—a quirky sign and a mirror, both hanging from a bent nail on the gatehouse. The sign reads: “Welcome to Sandpoint! Please stop to see yourself as we see you!” Aldern chuckles. "I always loved that thing."
Questions in broken stitching: III
Upon arrival in Sandpoint, Lucienzo and Aldern ensure that the boar is delivered to the Rusty Dragon Inn. Meanwhile, the Sandpoint sentinels decide to make a stop across the street at the Sandpoint Boutique, hoping to uncover answers about the dark velvet robe they found and its possible connection to the Goblin menace.
Jinx produces the dark velvet robe from his backpack and lays it on the counter. "Do you know anything about this? Maybe recognize it?"
Hayliss studies the fabric for a moment, running her fingers over the material before shaking her head. "Isn't this something used in necromancy?" she asks.
Jinx nods. "Yes. We believe it was used in the theft of Father Tobyn’s corpse during the raid."
Hayliss’s eyes widen in shock. "I did not hear this," she murmurs, her expression clouding with thought.
Jinx hesitates, suddenly unsure if he should have shared that detail. Hayliss leans forward, resting her elbows on the counter, her gaze locked onto the gnome. "Did you see the crypt? Were you there?"
Jinx flashes a questioning look at Vannrik, who nods. Taking it as permission, the Gnome launches into the full story—the Sheriff ’s request, their battle with the skeletons, their theories as they navigated the boneyard, the questioning of the guards, everything. Hayliss listens intently, her focus unwavering despite the strain in her posture. When Jinx finally finishes, she exhales sharply.
"Disturbing…" she mutters. "What do you think is going on?"
"We’re trying to figure that out," Vannrik answers. "That’s why we’re asking about the robe. If it was purchased here—if it originated in Sandpoint—it might lead us closer to whoever’s responsible."
Hayliss straightens, her back cracking audibly. She presses her lips together in thought. "If you’ve already checked the Feathered Serpent, then I’m afraid it didn’t come from here. Magnimar is the nearest big city. It’s possible the robe was bought there—but with hundreds of shops, tracking down the original buyer would be… difficult." She glances around the group. "Do you have any other leads?"
An uncomfortable silence settles over them until Rabie finally mutters, "I don’t think so."
Jinx, however, remains optimistic. "BUT we do have new friends from Magnimar. They might be able to help. And one of them is a noble—that should make things easier."
Hayliss folds her arms, sensing how desperate the group is for direction. After a moment, her gaze sharpens. "Jinx," she says firmly. "I need you to be honest with me. Are we still in danger?"
The gnome has only one way to answer. He reaches for his harrow deck, drawing the top card. He places it on the counter—The Lost. A card of emptiness and forgotten identities. "It appears that Sandpoint is still lost," he says solemnly. "So I’d say; Yes. We are."
Hayliss exhales, rubbing her temples. As a Varisian, she knows better than to dismiss the power of the Harrow. "I will take this as a warning. May Abadar be with us."
"And may Imot protect us," Jinx replies.
Hayliss lets out a weary breath before offering, "Is there anything else I can help you with? I may be a better trader than an informant."
The group browses the shop but finds little of interest—except for a small gemstone of unknown origin that Vannrik purchases for a bargain.
Unbeknownst to his companions, Jinx makes a few additional purchases of his own.
Trouble at the Rusty Dragon
The first drizzle has begun to fall over Sandpoint as the group crosses Market Street toward the Rusty Dragon Inn. This early in the evening, finding a table to relax at is easy. Through the open kitchen door, they catch a glimpse of Ameiko already at work, expertly preparing choice cuts of boar for tonight’s meal.As Bethana arrives to take their drink orders, she casually mentions that Mister Foxglove has rented the bathing room. Jinx, despite the brief distraction of Bethana’s presence, keeps an eye out for Pious. However, he soon learns that she has yet to return to the inn.
With no immediate concerns, the group settles in, letting the hours pass in comfortable conversation—relaxing, sharing theories about the goblin threat, and indulging in small talk. Around them, patrons come and go, the warm glow of the Rusty Dragon offering a welcome contrast to the damp, grey evening outside.
A conversation at a nearby table halts mid-sentence, drawing the attention of the Sentinels. Curious, they follow the patrons' gaze toward the tavern door, where an elderly man of Tian descent has just stepped inside.
"Watashi no musume wa ittai doko ni iru no ka?" The words, despite not being aimed at anyone in particular, are spoken in a firm, almost accusatory growl.
Jinx and Rabie, immediately recognize the man: Lonjiku Kaijitsu, Ameiko’s father and the head of the esteemed Kaijitsu Family, one of Sandpoint’s four noble houses .
A man of great wealth and influence, Lonjiku carried on his father’s legacy as a glassmaker, his family having traveled across the Crown of the World from Minkai generations ago. Though the Kaijitsus originally settled in Magnimar, they eventually became one of Sandpoint’s founding families. Yet for all his success in business, Lonjiku was never suited to fatherhood.
His wife, Atsuii Kaijitsu, died mere months before Chopper’s killing spree, but those who truly knew Lonjiku would say his greatest flaw wasn’t grief—it was his notorious temper. His short fuse made him a difficult man to deal with, and his strained relationship with Ameiko was common knowledge. It was rare—almost unheard of—to see him step foot inside the Rusty Dragon, given his estrangement from his daughter.
Yet here he was.
He moves through the common room with sharp, deliberate steps, his keen eyes sweeping over the tavern, searching. For something. Or someone.
The lively hum of conversation in the Rusty Dragon fades into an uneasy silence. Patrons lower their mugs, glancing warily between each other, instinctively withdrawing from the brewing storm in their midst.
The moment Lonjiku Kaijitsu locks eyes on the Sentinels, he strides toward their table with rigid purpose, each step betraying a simmering rage just beneath his composed exterior. He straightens his back as he halts before them, drawing himself to his full height, as if determined to look down upon Sandpoint’s so-called "saviors" from every available inch.
"You vagrants and vagabonds should be ashamed of yourselves," he begins, his voice sharp and loud enough to command the attention of the entire inn. Conversations die entirely as he continues his tirade. "You have no idea how recklessly you’ve endangered this town with your ill-advised antics. You should have left the defense of Sandpoint to the guards —the trained professionals. Who knows what you’ve inspired those green-skinned pests to do next?"
His lips curl in disgust, his gaze burning with accusation.
Vannrik meets his glare with unflinching calm. "Would you have preferred we let the goblins kill the villagers?" His voice is steady, the question a valid one—but it falls on ears clogged with stubbornness.
"You should have left that to the town guard!" Lonjiku snaps. "They are the trained professionals You made an unnecessary spectacle of yourselves—like fools!"
Vannrik exhales sharply, shaking his head at the absurdity of the accusation. "Those same guards thanked us."
Rabie chimes in, backing his friend. "Even Belor told us we did a good job. The guards liked what we did."
Unaccustomed to being contradicted, Lonjiku’s nostrils flare. Veins bulge at his temple as his jaw clenches so tightly that the skin reddens with strain. "All theatrics and farce," he spits. "You have no idea what kind of retribution this could bring upon us!"
Jinx calmly holds up his divining harrow deck, the corner of his lips twitching in amusement. "We -do- know what the retribution will be."
Lonjiku lets out a short, sharp laugh—brittle and laced with derision. "Ha! That’s just what we need—more stupid superstitions. A filthy band of vagrants, bringing more trouble upon this town."
His voice, sharp and venomous, practically shakes the tavern walls. If not for the storm outside, one might suspect even the horses in the stables could hear his outrage. All eyes in the Rusty Dragon remain locked on the spectacle—every patron, every staff member frozen in place—until the tension reaches its boiling point.
With a thunderous slam, the kitchen door bursts open, rattling the shelves behind the bar so violently that a few wine bottles teeter on the edge, threatening to fall.
Ameiko Kaijitsu stands in the doorway, framed by the glow of the kitchen fire, gripping a wooden ladle like a weapon. Her dark eyes, usually warm with mischief, are as cold as a winter’s gale as they lock onto her father.
Without breaking stride, she plants a hand on the bar and vaults over it with feline grace, landing smoothly on the tavern floor. Every step toward her father is measured, deliberate—as if she intends to cut this embarrassing spectacle off at the root before it can further disgrace their family name.
Lonjiku exhales sharply through his nose. "There she is..." he mutters under his breath, though too softly for anyone to hear.
He turns to meet her, his expression unreadable, but his posture rigid with years of buried resentment. The tension between them snaps like a drawn bowstring, and within seconds, father and daughter erupt into a furious argument, a battle waged in a language that none of the onlookers are equipped to understand.
Amidst what must be words of hate and resentment Ameiko stamps her foot, jabbing a finger toward the door, while Lonjiku throws a violent gesture back at her, demanding her compliance. Jinx narrows his eyes—he grasps the situation instantly. This isn’t just a public chastisement. Lonjiku came here to take his daughter away.
The altercation takes a sickening turn.
With a sudden, savage motion, Lonjiku grabs Ameiko by the hair. A collective gasp ripples through the tavern as he yanks her forward, dragging her toward the exit with merciless intent.
Chairs scrape. Boots scuff against the wooden floor.
The Sentinels rise in defense, but Rabie is the fastest.
His chair skids loudly across the floor as he kicks it aside, standing so quickly that the air around him seems to hum with tension. His voice booms, thick with an authority that might not entirely be his: "That’s enough!"
With an outstretched hand, he channels unseen energy, his will lashing out like a whip. The spell strikes Lonjiku’s mind with an invisible force, scrambling his thoughts in an instant.
The elder Kaijitsu staggers, his grip on Ameiko loosening as pain lances through his skull. He clutches his head, confusion and anguish twisting his features.
Ameiko doesn’t hesitate.
With one swift, decisive motion, she swings her ladle, bringing it down hard on the back of her father’s hand.
CRACK.
The strike sends bits of soup and pork flying in a messy arc across the common room floor. The sound of impact is met with a chorus of sharp gasps, and for a fleeting moment, the entire tavern hangs in stunned silence.
Lonjiku stumbles back, struggling to regain composure. He stands there, breathing hard, his back to the room, his hands trembling at his sides.
He sees the glisten of red on his fingers. A smear of either soup… or blood. Slowly, he turns, his face shadowed by simmering rage. He raises one shaking finger—still stained—and points it directly at Ameiko.
His voice is low, venomous, carrying a weight that cuts deeper than any blade.
"You are as dead to me as your whore of a mother."
The words hang in the air, thick and suffocating.
Then, without another glance, Lonjiku Kaijitsu turns on his heel and storms out of the Rusty Dragon, his heavy footsteps fading into the sound of pouring rain outside.
From where the sentinels stand, they see Ameiko standing with her back to them, her shoulders rising and falling with slow, measured breaths. Her knuckles remain white around the wooden ladle as if letting go too soon might unravel the fragile calm she’s forcing upon herself.
A long, deliberate exhale expels the lingering tension, and at last, she dares to inspect her makeshift weapon. Her fingers brush over the sticky remnants of soup and—she frowns—a tuft of grey hair. With a slight grimace, she plucks it free and flicks it to the floor.
"Bethana," she calls over her shoulder, her voice regaining its usual sharpness. "I’ll need a clean ladle, please. Jackass stew wasn’t on the menu."
The remark shatters the heavy silence, and in its place erupts laughter and cheers. The Rusty Dragon roars back to life, as though the warmth had been merely waiting for its cue to return.
Bethana hurries over, her small frame moving with a familiar swiftness. She takes the sullied ladle from Ameiko’s grasp, the two exchanging a quiet, knowing look. As she turns to leave, her hand lingers for a moment on Ameiko’s forearm, a simple gesture of support before she disappears into the kitchen.
Only then does Ameiko turn to face the rest of the inn.
Her expression is a storm of emotions—defiance, exhaustion, and something more vulnerable lurking just beneath. There’s a slight sheen at the corners of her eyes, but she blinks it away as she strides toward Rabie and the others.
"Thank you," she says, her voice softer now. "My father is a stubborn old curmudgeon, but… that was different. Thank you for standing up for me." She offers a faint smile. "Consider your free rooms extended by a week. It’s the least I can do. And… I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to deal with that."
Then she lifts her chin, projecting her voice to the rest of the inn.
"None of you should have had to witness that. My apologies."
The murmur of reassurances from the patrons is drowned out as Vannrik steps forward, his brow furrowed with concern. "Yes, but more importantly, are you okay?" he asks.
Ameiko pauses, then nods. "Yes. He wanted me to move back to Magnimar with him. Said it was for my safety." Her lips press into a thin line. "But my home is here. Especially now, after everything that’s happened—Sandpoint needs the Rusty Dragon more than ever."
She exhales, shaking her head. "He’s always been an ass. But this… this is different. I think it’s the first time he’s ever done something like this in public. I doubt I’ll be setting foot in my childhood home again anytime soon."
Jinx, ever the first to offer comfort, leans forward. "That’s understandable, Ameiko. Do you want to take a seat with us?"
Ameiko considers it for a beat, then huffs a small laugh. "Actually, I want to stab a boar about fifty times." A ghost of her usual smirk flickers across her face. "There’s still work to do in the kitchen. But… thank you. All of you."
Rabie, still wrestling with the weight of what he’d done to an old man—even one so cruel—forces an uneasy smile. "You’re welcome." He can't help but wonder, if he felt compelled to help or if he felt compelled to topple those above him in status.
The family tree is naught but fractures
The group continues their conversation as they await dinner. Rabie leans a little bit closer over the table to his friends. He takes in the sound of the pouring rain from outside and the multitude of conversations around them, confident that they won't be overheard. "I heard a crazy rumor about him. If you are interested." Jinx and Vannrik nod and lean in to hear the witch's whispers."One time when I was coming back from Junker's Edge, that's the place where we dump all the junk at the edge of town," he explains to Vannrik. "I saw Ameiko talking to Ilsoari Gandethus, who runs the Turandarok Academy. The wizard wanted to know what became of Ameikeo's half-brother - Tsuto." He pauses, allowing his audience a moment to take in the implications. "From glimpses of the conversation. From glimpses of the conversation it became apparent that Tsuto was born from an affair, Lonjiku Kaijitsu's wife had with an elven traveler. The boy was raised outside of the Kaijitsu household and put in the care of the local teaching wizard." Jinx, like most Sandpoint locals, is easily enthralled by rumors and gossip. "Really?" the old gnome found answers to questions that he didn't realize he had. From his usual vantage point in front of the Hagfish had seen Ameiko visit the Turandarok Academy often, even long after her formal education was over. Rabie continues "As far as I know, Ameiko said that she did not know and that she did not wish to know. Since I never heard more about it, I think it is a story that the Kaijitsu Family prefers to keep hidden." Jinx tries to connect the dots "Didn't his wife die, right before the Late Unpleasantness?" Rabie can confirm this. "Isn't that a bit weird? There was an affair, they had a half-elven child, and then she died. Should we ask Ameiko about this, maybe?"
Rabie shakes his head. "I think she just broke things off completely with her family, so asking her questions about this.. Not today."
"Do you know if Lonjiku is some kind of spellcaster?" Vannrik asks, familiarising himself with the town. "I don't believe so." the Varisian answers. "I admit that I am grasping at straws here, but I find it so strange that he got angry at us for saving the town that it makes me think that he did not want the town to be saved. Why else would he get mad? Maybe he has some connection with the goblin attack. But it's all wild speculation at this point."
The three Sentinels sit in silence, their gazes fixed on the empty chair where Pious had sat just yesterday. The absence is palpable, a stark reminder that pieces of the puzzle are still missing.
It’s Jinx who finally breaks the quiet.
"We might want to look into that half-brother—if we have the time," he muses, tapping a finger against the table. "He seems like an interesting factor… if he actually exists."
Questions in broken stitching: IV
Before the thought can linger too long, Aldern Foxglove makes his entrance. Though he might lack prowess in battle, he possesses an impeccable sense of timing. In pristine condition, not a hair out of place, he arrives at their table just as dinner is served.Large bowls of steaming Botan Nabe—a rich Minkaian hotpot filled with tender boar meat, root vegetables, and imported tofu—are placed before them. The fragrant broth mingles with the crisp scent of herbs and simmering spices, filling the Rusty Dragon Inn with warmth.
Aldern takes the first sip, savoring the meal before offering a gracious smile.
"Once again, friends, I must thank you for such a fine catch. This has truly been a pleasure," he says, setting down his spoon. "Meeting you all has been an unexpected delight."
His expression turns wistful as he continues, "Unfortunately, my carriage back to Magnimar has been arranged for tomorrow’s early morn. But should you ever find yourselves near the city—or should you manage a day away from your adventures—you will be welcomed with open arms. And then, it shall be my turn to give you a tour of civilization."
The group nods in agreement, fully occupied with their well-earned meals. Between bites and slurps, Aldern’s eyes drift around the inn, subtly scanning the room in search of a certain young Sarenite.
As the rest of the Rusty Dragon’s patrons eagerly dig into their long-awaited meal, Jinx seizes the moment. He leans in slightly, keeping his movements discreet, and pulls a familiar fold of dark velvet from his trusty bag. Carefully, he shifts his chair closer to Aldern and lowers his voice. "Can you check this robe out for me? Do you know if these types of robes are found in Magnimar?"
Aldern furrows his brow as he inspects the fabric, his fingers running over the material with a merchant’s curiosity. His puzzled expression lingers before he finally responds.
"It’s possible," he says slowly. "Though hard to verify. Magnimar’s markets are vast, and they cater to all sorts."
Then, almost instinctively, he leans in to match Jinx’s hushed tone. Despite his noble upbringing, there’s an unmistakable glimmer of excitement in his eyes—the thrill of being involved in an investigation.
"Does this have anything to do with the goblin attack?" he asks.
Jinx knows the type of man Aldern is—easily flattered, eager to be useful. "Well, you are a noble and merchant of Magnimar. If anyone can find out if it came from your city it would be you." He lets the compliment linger before adding, "And yes, this might have something to do with the attacks. But please—keep this to yourself."
Aldern keeps his gaze locked on Jinx, though the wheels in his mind are already turning, grasping for ways to assist. Finally, he straightens.
"Yes, I’ll see what I can find. I assume I can take it with me?"
Jinx quickly shakes his head. "Unfortunately not—it’s official evidence from the Sheriff’s department." The gnome exaggerates the claim just enough to make it sound serious, hoping the nobleman won’t push the matter.
Aldern tilts his head and then grins. "That makes sense. But fortunately, I have an ingenious idea!"
With a flourish, he raises a hand and beckons Bethana over with a courtly wave.
"Bethana, dear, would you please summon Lucienzo from his room? Oh! And have him bring his quill and paper."
The Halfling nods and disappears into the hallway. Meanwhile, Aldern leans back, positively beaming. "I’ve had Lucienzo take art lessons, you see. Always dreamed of being a patron to an artist."
Moments later, Lucienzo arrives, silent as ever, clutching a quill, a roll of parchment, and a vial of ink. Upon his master’s instruction, he begins sketching. His hand moves with precision, carefully replicating every fold , seam, and stitchwork of the robe.
Jinx perks up in his seat, craning his neck for a glimpse. "Is it accurate?"
Lucienzo smirks, clearly pleased with his work, and turns the parchment toward the table. The result is impressive—an expertly crosshatched, highly detailed rendition of the robe, not yet finished but already lifelike.
The gnome blinks in surprise, then grins. "You know, in the future, would you make a portrait of us—The Sandpoint sentinels? I’d really appreciate it."
To everyone's surprise, this request brings a faint blush to Aldern’s cheeks before the nobleman chuckles.
"Actually," Aldern admits with a laugh, "I already instructed him to do so yesterday. The moment we set foot in Magnimar, he will pick up his brush. You steal the ideas from my head, Mister Jinx."
Jinx smirks. "That’s what people say—great minds think like Jinx."
Laughter ripples through the table.
After the earlier tension from Lonjiku’s intrusion, it had taken some time for the Rusty Dragon to return to its usual warmth. But, as the night wore on, it did just that.
Report Date
01 Feb 2025
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