A hero's welcome is not forthcoming. You reach Sandpoint just as night is closing. You are, to a man, cold, hungry, and tired.
The town, when you arrive back, is quiet. Several people are returning late from their work to their homes. Candle-light flickers from most windows. The smell of smoke drifts from the many chimneys. At the gate the guards are new, fresh from Hemlock's trip to Magnimar. They nod, perhaps recognizing you from descriptions given to them, but they are not men you have served alongside.
“Well met” they offer. “Back already?”
You find it hard to build up the enthusiasm to respond. Lloyd asks one to fetch Hemlock and Mayor Deverin from their evening meal, and then wanders with the rest to the Mayor's office.
They have to wait some time before anyone turns up. First to arrive is Sheriff Hemlock. He looks insanely tired, with bags under his eyes, and stress lines creasing his forehead. When he sees you all, and he actually stops to make eye contact with each of you in turn, as if convincing himself that you ALL survived, he actually lets out a laugh of pure delight and surges forward, the Shoanti in him surging out for a moment as he embraces you each in turn. “My boys, my boys, my girl” he stammers. “Oh tell me it went well, tell me we finally have some fair news for this cursed town!”
The door swings open as he breaks away from you. Mayor Deverin, looking composed, but equally tired, hesitates.
“Well? Please let the tidings be fair?”
The story you reveal to them takes almost as long in the telling as it took in the doing. Half way through food and drink that you never noticed Deverin ordering arrives. You feast on cold meats and bread, red wine, and perfect autumnal apples. The cider this year will be good!
You each take turns, adding to the story, remembering some painful addition, revealing the journals, the heads, the necklace with ears, the fate of the old priest, now an offering to Thazidun. But you keep some things private, as if in silent agreement. You are not sure how to breach the suggestions that Nualia made about her adoptive father, or the child she claims was sired alive.
When you talk of the deal you made with the goblin druid, Hemlock growls and offers up some Shoanti insult to the goblins that would make your mothers blush. A reproving glare from Deverin makes him cough nervously and apologise. The big man is clearly not delighted.
“Nualia… I think we will ask the church to consecrate and bury her head and claw. It would do the people no good to see the head of one they remember as a child of heaven, a plane touched charm in their midst. They recall her that way, and we do not need them to think that their angel was cursed to become a demon. Our days are dark enough as they are. And I ask you to not mention her, or what happened to her father. We have covered things up here. We have covered up the theft from the graveyard… you have closed this issue for us. Lets let the people sleep easy at nights. FOR ONCE!”
Deverin finishes her request, and looks at you all for confirmation. When she sees that no disagreement is coming she continues.
“You will be heroes here. We will make a Charter of the Wolves of Sandpoint, and you will be its members. We have little money to speak of here, but I do still have some political power, and I will work hard to have Magnimar reward you!”
At last, the meal is over, and talk is done. You get to leave your macabre cargo behind and leave for a night of drinking and sleep. The horse is stabled by the guards, and the ale will flow.
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