Author's Note: I want to write more this, but the fact that it is IP owned by Paizo makes me hesitate. The storyline for the whole Kobold king campaign is great and I'm not sure I could match it. Also the town of falcon's Hollow is great for all the horrible things going on in it. Let me know what you might like to see.
The temple of Iomedae certainly wasn’t as grand as those in the larger cities. While its base was made of stone and raised a couple of steps off the ground, most of the structure was wooden. It wasn’t unattractive, though. It still had an aesthetically pleasing design. Multiple layers of trim and a uniquely sloped roof. In place of a large stained-glass window depicting the symbol of the temple’s patron deity, it featured a well-carved wooden sign. The vertical sword and sunburst emblem was painted on, and in all honesty, Kallik preferred the 3D carving to a flat stained-glass display. At least the building was well cared for.
Stepping through a propped-open door, Kallik wasn’t surprised, though he realized he should have been, to find a large section of the interior partitioned off with sheets, behind which came the coughing and suffering of very sick people. A single man sat in a pew, wrapped in a thick blanket, turning to look toward Kallik and Molly. His eyes appeared distant, his face pale, and specks of red marred his lips. Slowly, he turned his head from the entryway to the partitioned area, then weakly called, “Priestess?”
After a moment’s delay, a flap in the sectioned-off area opened, revealing a young woman wearing a white scapular emblazoned with the sword-and-sunburst sigil of Iomedae. She looked exhausted. Her hair disheveled, bags under her eyes, and flecks of red staining the otherwise pure white of her vestments. Kallik winced slightly at the thought that the people behind the curtains were literally coughing up their lungs.
The priestess’s eyes first locked onto Molly, who was practically hiding behind Kallik. The woman’s already weary expression deepened into something close to a scowl. Then her gaze shifted to Kallik, focusing on the emblem on his chest. For a moment, her eyes widened with what could only be called hope. “Ritter…?” she began.
Kallik shook his head as he stepped forward. “Only an acolyte.”
The priestess’s face fell. Hopes dashed against reality as she realized Kallik wasn’t high enough in his order to be of real help. He stepped forward and extended a hand.
“My name is Kallik, an acolyte of the Ritter Litteratti.”
The woman took his hand and offered a polite response. “Castilia, cleric of the Goddess Iomedae.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Kallik said. Castilia’s tension eased slightly, and she forced a smile. She was, in her own way, quite attractive. Brown hair, brown eyes, and tanned skin might have been as average as one could get, but the shape of her face and an underlying confidence that refused to hide behind those tired eyes lent her a certain radiance. Then her gaze drifted off to the side and down, and her expression fell once more as she focused on the person behind Kallik.
“Why would the Ritter Literati send an acolyte?” she asked. “No offense, but we could use someone who can at least cast Remove Disease. That’s the bare minimum we need right now.”
Kallik shook his head. “The Literati did not send me. I found a flyer in Berkhanstead, created by Laurel.”
Castilia’s eyebrows rose. “Laurel? You mean that cranky, gold-hounding alchemist, err, herbalist, I guess? I didn’t think she actually cared about the people here.”
“I’m uncertain Laurel is a gold-hound,” Kallik replied carefully. “She seems to be doing what she can for those who are truly ill. As far as I understand, she’s on her last desperate effort. Grasping at straws, you might say. I’ve been tasked with going into the Darkmoon Vale in search of certain ingredients for a concoction even Laurel believes might be nonsense. Again, just grasping at straws. I’ve hired Molly here as my guide.”
Once more, Castilia frowned, her eyes dipping back toward the shorter woman who knew better than to speak. “Hmm. And why have you come here?” the priestess asked.
“I was looking to hire someone more combat-focused to watch our backs,” Kallik explained. “A man named Jack suggested I come here. Said I should talk to you about your acolyte.”
“Hmm, reasonable, I suppose, if only for the slim chance this might help. One moment.” Castilia turned her gaze toward the sectioned-off area and called for a man named Tomlin. A young man in a similar monastic scapular came out carrying rags.
“This is Kallik, an acolyte of the Ritter Literati. He’s going on an expedition into the Vale, trying to find some ingredients that likely won’t, but might, help with the Blackscour Taint. If you’re willing to go, then fetch your gear,” Castilia instructed.
Tomlin glanced between Castilia and Kallik for a moment, shot a brief glare at Molly, then gave Castilia a single nod.
“Paying five silver a day,” Kallik added.
Tomlin either didn’t hear or didn’t acknowledge it. Castilia turned her attention back to Kallik. “I do appreciate that, though the possibility of gaining experience is reason enough for him to go.”
Kallik nodded. Castilia leaned to the side, arms folded, and glared at Molly for a moment. “Could you stand outside?”
Kallik wanted to protest, but he sensed Castilia wanted to speak without the other girl present. As Molly left, Castilia tilted her head, indicating she wanted Kallik to follow. He obliged, and she led him to a side room. She left the door open so she could still watch the entry, but it afforded a degree of privacy. She turned to Kallik and bluntly stated, “Don’t trust that girl.”
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“Oh?” Kallik responded aloud, raising an eyebrow.
“Unlike the natives, I don’t judge her for what she is. But Falcon’s Hollow is corrupt and harsh, and its people have molded her into the thing they fear.” Castilia sighed. “Molly’s a liar and a thief at best. At worst…well, it’s possible this Blackscour Taint came from someone bringing it in. Of course, I have no proof, but if I had to suspect anyone, it’d be her. I’m not saying she won’t be an adequate guide to the Vale. I’m just warning you not to trust her.”
Kallik silently considered her words, then nodded. He could make his own judgment, but there was nothing illogical in the priestess’s warning. For now, he would assume Molly would do the job he was paying her for. Laurel seemed to trust Molly, but he decided not to mention that.
“All right. Any other advice before I head into the Vale?” he asked.
“Mm. I’d say avoid the witch’s hut, meaning Uza’s place,” Castilia said. “Reports are wildly mixed. She’s either an evil old hermit or a wise sage who likes her privacy. In either case, she tends to extract strange and often terrible prices for what she offers.”
“That might not be avoidable,” Kallik admitted.
“Then I suggest being careful,” Castilia replied.
Tomlin emerged from a back room, pack in tow, armor on, and a bedroll over his shoulder.
“Well, I guess that’s that,” Castilia said. “May Iomedae watch over you and guide you to success on this… mission.”
Kallik found Molly sitting on the temple’s front step, head down and tail resting in her lap, the little tuft at the end twitching cat-like. “To the lumber camp, please?” he asked, causing Molly to nearly jump out of her skin. “Sorry.”
Molly cast one quick glance at Tomlin before standing, then set off toward the northern gate. Thus, their journey began.
“Just so we can get an idea of everyone’s abilities,” Kallik said, “I’m a level-one wizard…”
“Uh, what? Wizard?” Tomlin asked with some surprise. Even Molly missed a step and turned to look Kallik over. Kallik himself chuckled. He rather enjoyed people’s reactions upon discovering that the broad-shouldered, tall, and well-built individual was a member of a class that typically conjured images of the exact opposite.
“Yes,” he said. “Prepared spells for the day are: an unerring missile of magical force, a spread of flame, and the ability to alarm an area at night, mostly useful for camp. Beyond that, I know how to use this.” He lifted his spear off the ground as he spoke.
“Level one… w-w, a warrior?” Tomlin stuttered. “I focus on a shield and m-m-m, a mace,” Tomlin clarified.
There was a long pause as they continued down the road, before Molly realized Kallik was waiting for her to speak.
“Oh,” she managed, keeping her head down and fiddling with her fingers. “Adept. Level one,” she said in a small voice, volunteering no further information.
“Can you heal?” Kallik asked.
“Uh…yeah.”
“How many spells?” he pressed.
“Um…two,” Molly replied, sounding unsure and steadfastly not looking back at the two men behind her. She could practically feel Tomlin’s glare, as well as the more analytical scrutiny of Kallik’s red gaze. Instead, she kept her head down and pressed on., She was, after all, the guide, and that was her job.
Kallik watched the little tiefling girl in front of him. She was…well, cute in a mousy, disheveled sort of way. Her dark hair was a frazzled mess, made more literal by the squirrel perched atop her head and staring back at him. The girl seemed to want to vanish into herself, and her tail, with a little tuft of fur at the end, barely moved. The back of her left pant leg was torn, revealing skin nearly up to her knee. Her pack was small, but in proportion to her small stature.
Yes, she was cute, but Castilia had been right: she was likely a liar. Kallik threw a slight glare at the squirrel, which returned it with beady-eyed indignation. Kallik, being a wizard in service to the Literati, recognized a familiar when he saw one. The squirrel wasn’t just a pet. It was possible for an Adept to have a familiar, but the odds were that Molly was lying about her station. If she could actually cast healing spells, though, she’d be worth her weight in gold—liar or not. For now, he’d keep his suspicions to himself.
The Lumber Consortium’s logging camp cut a deep scar into the forest—a considerable swath of nothing but cut stumps and a thick carpet of sawdust and slash. Five buildings, built entirely of logs, stood scattered across a broad clearing in a rough, near-pentagram arrangement. Large carts and sleds trundled back and forth, hauling logs in various stages of processing, presumably toward more specialized facilities. The lumberjacks looked surly. Hardened as old sailors, but with thicker beards.
“Excuse me, do you know where I can find Millen Roddale?” Kallik asked one burly lumberjack.
The man only glared and kindly told him to “fuck off.”
Undeterred, Kallik found another person, this time pulling out a gold coin.
“Do you know where I can find Millen Roddale?”
The man stared at the coin a moment before looking into Kallik’s red eyes, issuing a derisive huff, and returning to his work. Twice more, a whole gold was rejected. Concluding that his red eyes and presumed Fire Islander heritage were causing distrust, Kallik decided to play into that notion.
He climbed atop a large stack of logs and cupped his hands around his mouth. In the best approximation of his mother’s accent, he shouted, “Attention, tree-cutter people! I am look for Millen Roddale. Bring him to me! I pay!”
That statement certainly drew attention. Molly found herself hiding behind Tomlin, who didn’t seem thrilled by the lumberjacks’ general mood. Someone at the base of the log pile clamped a tool onto one of the lower logs and twisted, causing the entire stack to roll. Kallik let out a startled yelp as what had moments ago been his firm footing suddenly vanished.
“Um…perhaps if…maybe w-w-we… Where’s the fore-m-man?” Tomlin asked. Someone pointed toward a log building, and once Tomlin was sure Kallik had broken nothing during his impromptu log-rolling test, he led him away. The three headed toward what looked like the camp’s office amid the lumberjacks’ glares.
The office of one Jarlben Trookshavits, the lumber boss, wasn’t any more welcoming. His employees out front might as well have been snarling wolves. A large bear, angry coyotes, and a couple of oversized reptilian things seemed to glare from their mounts on Jarlben’s wall, giving the place an eerie vibe. Jarlben himself presented no kinder visage.
“We need to talk to your woodsman, Millen Roddale,” Kallik began. “We’re trying—”
The thick tap of a finger on the desk and a gruff voice demanding cut him off, “Five gold.”
Kallik frowned. “We’re searching for ingredients in the forest to help with Blackscour Taint.”
Another finger-tap on the desk. “Five gold.”
Kallik glared; the man glared right back. In the end, Kallik parted with five more gold pieces, hoping this venture wouldn’t take too many days. Further delays would mean more deaths, and he wouldn’t have enough coin to pay his help. They were ordered to wait outside while a runner went to find Millen.
Millen himself actually listened to what they needed and seemed relieved that there might be a cure. His niece had the disease. He was only too happy to draw them a map of all possible locations for their ingredients. With that settled, the trio finally set off into the Darkmoon Vale: the small tiefling adept up front, the normal-sized human warrior in the rear, and the broad-shouldered wizard in the middle. Kallik had a feeling this would go either very well…or very, very badly.