The stone giant walks away to begin its supposed hermitude, the partry turns its attention back to Sandpoint. Overall, the town suffered surprisingly little damage, but fires destroyed several wooden structures. The northern annex of the Cathedral is a pile of ash, along with the Sandpoint Theater.
Sheriff Hemlock requests assistance in returning the town to a semblance of order, and Fobias, Barnaby, and Trace hop on bucket brigades and debris-clearing details. Meanwhile, Fyn and Krask make their way over to the Old Light, hoping to uncover some answers on the stones sought by Mokmurian’s army.
A Significant Breakthrough
At the Old Light, Brodert Quink is incredibly jumpy. Still, he welcomes the pair into ‘his’ domain, glad to hear that the raid has ended. Although the giants didn’t get close enough to the structure, Fyn and Krask know that the elderly researcher is lucky to be alive.
Quink doesn’t know anything particularly special about specific stones in the building, other than the Thassilonian runes that decorate its walls. Krask isn’t able to determine anything out-of-place, at least not from a structural standpoint.
Editor’s Note: I just realized that Standpoint is one letter away from Sandpoint. There’s a comedy nugget in there somewhere, and I’m bound and determined to find it.
It appears as though Fyn’s training in the ways of ancient Thassilon are about to pay dividends, however. In his investigation of the runes and Quink’s notes, Fyn translates several references to weaponized fire and a single instance of the word ‘grave’. This excites Quink immensely, since he has FINALLY found someone who corroborates his theories that the Old Light was a fire-breathing war machine!
The ‘grave’ reference is still puzzling, but there’s also indication that the Old Light was just one of many such war machines along the Lost Coast. There isn’t clarification as far as how many towers existed in total, or their locations, but it’s an interesting development.
After filling the remainder of the day assisting the town, the party settles in at the Rusty Dragon.
Fobias’ Dream
As Fobias sleeps, he slips back into a dreamstate. Once again, he races through the trees, barely hearing his paws striking the buoyant ground as his lithe body weaves between the ancient trunks.
Ba dum ba dum ba dum
Eventually the soggy undergrowth gives way to uneven cobblestones, and Fobias quickens his pace. The buildings and alleyways are still and calm as the streak of bright fur flashes down the rough-hewn roads. Pungent notes of burnt ash and sickly death float on the winds, juxtaposed with the faint scent of salty seawater. He winds between the decaying buildings, feeling an internal compass driving him further west, beyond the forest and beyond the city, called to fulfill a primal urge born of natural necessity.
Ba dum ba dum ba dum
And now there’s sand underfoot, the unmistakable briny aroma of the ocean caressing the soft fragments of moonlight reflecting in the water. North the compass compels, towards a tall stone structure stretching upwards, gently scraping the bottom of the burgeoning moon.
And Fobias knows.
“That is where it is.”
Ba dum. Ba dum…..ba…..dum
Richard’s Transformation
He slows to a trot and moves clockwise around the tower in concentrated survey. A floral scent arises in the breeze, dancing across the weathered stones and hanging for a moment on the edge of Fobias’ wet nose. As it begins to fade, a massive wave rises up, smothering the horizon in its dark azure expanse. Time slows as the wall of water pauses, as if contemplating its purpose before crashing down to the shore, covering Fobias in its frigid embrace.
Phwoooooosh.
Fobias jolts back into consciousness. The dreams are getting more vivid. He lies awake now, trying to piece together what he just witnessed. Nearby, the curtains sway lazily in the breeze coming in through the huge, double-wide window.
A silent shadow suddenly passes through the window and there’s an audible creak as Richard enters the room, flooding it with the intense smell of seawater. He pads quietly towards his master, leaving wet pawprints the size of dinner plates. Fobias sits up, mouth agape, stunned for a moment in silent realization as the wolf’s bulky body blocks out the natural light from outside.
The world is still. Richard’s warm breath pulses with heated rhythm.
Fobias stands, finally staring level into his companion’s red eyes. He reaches out behind the bulging sinews of Richard’s neck and gives a friendly scratch.
“I think your days of guarding are behind you.”
Scarnetti in my Spaghetti
In the morning, the party plots out their potential next moves. Investigating the other towers seems futile, particularly since they don’t even know where to begin. Of the two routes to Jorgenfist, the western one seems safer and quicker, especially with Fyn’s newfound ability to teleport.
In the end, however, the party decides to investigate the Scarnetti Manor to ensure the giants didn’t have secondary motives during their raid. Most of the manor is intact, although there are definite signs of fire and damage to the northern tower. Bits of human remains are scattered around an overturned wagon, its spilled contents partially damaged.
Barnaby immediately hits it off with Titus Scarnetti, using his well-respected family name as an icebreaker. The party cleans up some of the mess, and Titus assigns Barnaby to a general ledger to compare the damages on the cart. But something’s off.
The quantities and items don’t match up with what’s on the wagon. Titus explains that the giants came in and started hauling valuables out, but the wagon was partially prepared for mercantile activities in the region. Fobias investigates the tracks which corroborate his story, but Krask notices that some of the boxes’ contents don’t match up with their labels.
A Desk of Secrets
Titus is particularly obsessed with finding a family desk of exceptional make. Barnaby distracts Titus long enough for Fyn to find a hidden compartment in the desk, detailing the Scarnetti’s criminal dealings with notorious crimelord, Jubrayl Vhiski. According to the letters, the Scarnettis hired Vhiski’s crew to burn down several mills in the surrounding area, which helped make their own mill significantly more profitable.
Vhiski, however, is now blackmailing the Scarnetti’s and threatening to turn them into the authorities if they don’t offer regular payments. Jubrayl is smart; his men did the work so he is in the clear. A regular ol’ kingpin.
Hurrying away, the party decides to turn in the Scarnetti family for their actions. Sheriff Hemlock is floored at the accusations, and tells the party that if the allegations are true then they can expect a windfall to come their way.
Does the party stand a chance against Mokmurian’s giant army at Jorgenfist? Are there really other war machines from ancient Thassilon along the coast? Is Trace REALLY Lawful Good?