he year is 21,602 by the Draconic Count, the 9th year of the rein of King Zaintzen Besterik ez da Zaporea, third of his line. Skirmishes are beginning along the Chavalujian border, MacPhail of the Thousand Axes raids the coastline, and hushed rumors speak of the return of Marhynyndimrhai-El, Lord of Skulls.
But dragons, kings, wars, barbarians, and demigods are nowhere to be found in the small town of Besterik, a sleepy village of hunters and woodsmen nestled in the Groveswood. As the next town is nearly a full days ride, your group has decided to call an early halt to travelling and spend the night at the Long Cat Inn, a lovely century-old structure in large clearing a 20-minute walk from the town proper.
You've deposited your excess belongings in your rented rooms, secured your horses in the stable () and returned to the common room. The time is perhaps 3:30 in the afternoon.
Please describe your characters and what they are doing.
Ser Harris is seated at the bar, regaling the locals with stories of adventure - some of them you were there for, and others you may now be hearing for the first time. He is quick to laugh and smile for these folks, but you know that he would have preferred to continue on rather than to stop for the night. He is just now retelling the story of the time he retook Raven's Roost from a bunch of Hobgoblins, ten years ago and long before you ever met him.
"...and there we were, lit up by that idiot's spell in full view of the Hobgoblin archers! If it weren't for Oleg and that enormous shield of his we all would have been killed. Why he ever carried around that colossal buckler we never learned, but I assure you we were grateful for it!"
Quinn smiles and enjoys an ale as Ser Harris recounts the story of Raven's Roost. Though Ser Harris' tale isn't new to Quinn, the locals' reactions and interjections always tell stories of their own. He's a rather quiet, average-looking fellow with cropped, dirty-blonde hair. At first he tried to keep to himself while adventuring, but cramped quarters and enough time have opened him up to his comrades. Now they know that when Quinn does speak, it is generally a well-timed laconic quip unless he must impress a stranger with eloquence.
Quinn likes to operate in the background, where the enemy - or the mark - is less likely to notice his magical machinations; even when operating on a worrisome device, Quinn will use elongated thieves' tools to provide a hefty degree of separation. While his allies' more "brute force" methods sometimes get in the way of subtlety, most of the time they provide the needed cover for Quinn to come out unscathed from conflict, so he's yet to complain. Every once in a while Quinn excuses himself to speak with a "friend" who happens to be in town; despite opening up, he politely refuses to talk about his other friends.
As Ser Harris tells his story to a group of locals, Duglan Sanders sits to the side, with a half-full tankard in his left hand and a dagger in his right. The locals seem intrigued with Harris's story and the overall mood in the Long Cat Inn is relaxed and cheerful. Duglan, on the other hand grimaces at the crowd. He looks out of place, wearing a full suit of armor (except for a removed helm) and carrying a personal arsenal of weaponry with him. "Der he is, tellin tha same ol' story gettin' every fool ta laugh. I thinks he made tha whole damn thing up fer attention," he thinks to himself as he takes the knife and slowly carves a divot into the wooden counter.
And then he looks at Quinn, smiling and enjoying his drink. "Prissy lil' noble boy. Doesn't know how ta pick up a real weapon an fight. Tha Way better pay me good fer this, lookin after these sissies."
For some time, Duglan broods these kind of thoughts to himself in the corner, trying to avoid the pleasantries of conversation. This is not surprising to you - Duglan doesn't say much, which is a good thing, because when he is passionate about something, he is more likely to open up a wound in your chest than open up to you in conversation. However, on the job, he has proven himself to be good muscle for the various missions you have undertaken and it's generally accepted that if you don't cross his path, he won't cross yours.
You know that Velinari was brought into the troupe as an alchemical and poison expert. While not being off much use in remedying such ailments, he seems to know his stuff in regards to these concocting strange mixtures. A foreigner, Velinari seems to have picked up much of his skill abroad, but when question about his country of origin, he always seems to reply "Ah, yes. That was then and this is the now. To this we must look forward, yes." While generally affable, he does not invite people to become close with him. Also, while quick to smile, you always get the feeling that Velinari may have ulterior motives not entirely rooted in good intentions.
When you do see Velinari in combat (as he has a tendency to slip away into the shadows in the midst of the confusion) it often times descending from the shadows, to slit the throat of a foe from behind before quickly dissolving into the shadows once more.
As Velinari sit in the common room he nods eagerly at Harris' comments, "Yes, this Oleg must have been very large Man, yes? Good, yes, to have a shield so large."
When Gromtheb returns to the common room, the towering half-orc growls at a group of 4 men stiting at a table in the corner and they look up. Grom grunts at them: "I believe you would like to move. NOW."[/b] The men hustle from the places around the table, one of them knocking over his drink in his hurry. Grom looks disappointed that he didn't start a bar fight, sits down and orders a drink. He glares over his ale at the other patrons of the establishment and sizing them up. You recognize this routine, as he has done the same thing since you met him during a mission a few years back. At the time, the party was fighting the same nest of giant spiders that Gromtheb was harassing, so you made a pact of convenience. As he sits glowering at the room, you notice that he is continually casting detect alignment and magic spells at the rest of the establishment. He tends not to share the knowledge gained from these minor casting sessions.
Also, make a spellcraft check.
s the night wears on, the regular patrons begin to thin out, leaving just your party, the innkeep and his daughter, and a few truly inveterate drunks, who will likely spend the night on the pile of straw in the corner.
The innkeep is a big man, by the name of Gordel Aida, though in his maturity much of this bigness has migrated to his midsection. He knows all the regulars, and is quick with a smile from behind his walrusy mustache. His daughter Alaba, is a comely girl of perhaps 14, yet still manages to be waitress, cook, and general housekeeper, and is much loved by all. The two of them carefully regulate the atmosphere, which is all-in-all a quite pleasant one.
Gordel has spent the evening hanging onto Ser Harris' every word. It doesn't take a sense motive check to see the longing in his eyes, though one might reveal that he's conflicted, and that in such moments he often glances towards his daughter, as if to remind himself of something.
As the painted cat behind the bar meows 11pm (it's enchanted to meow the hours and half-hours), and as the last of the conscious regulars leaves, and his daughter wakes the last of the unconscious ones to steer him towards the straw, he sidles over to the table Ser Harris has migrated to (and any of the rest of you who would choose to sit together). He settles himself into an unoccupied seat with a sigh.
It's good t' have adventurers here. Get some bad rep'tations as trouble-makers some places, but I know diff'rent. Trouble-fixers, off'n-as-not, way I see it. More off'n, really... He pauses, reminiscing. Speakin' o' which, I don' suppose you fellas'd be innerst'd in taking care'a a problem while yer here, eh? I'da done it misself some years back, he gesticulates at the scizore and heavy pick on the mantelpiece, but, well... he pats his overlarge belly and gives a deep, knowing chuckle. And I got m' daughter t' look over, and m' inn. Those days are behind me now.
He pauses to gauge your reactions.
"That's the thing! Oleg was a dwarf! He just carried around this monstrosity of a shield wherever he went. 'Course, that's also what got him killed, but that's a story for another time," Ser Harris pauses briefly, before finishing his tale.
After the patrons leave and Gordel comes over, Harris asks "What sort of problem is it? I can't promise anything until we know more about it."
Harris is idly curious at this point, but will not commit to anything until he has more information.
Velinari smiles up at the large innkeeper from beside Harriss but deigns to say nothing.
Gromtheb throws back the remainder of his drink and goes to stand in front of the fire as the innkeeper and Halford discuss the offer of work.
When Gromtheb enters and makes a scene, a slight smile creeps up on Duglan's face. He's happy to be working again with someone like Gromtheb - a fellow Gorum worshipper, someone who's not afraid to put his life on the line. Maybe a barfight would be just what he needs... but unfortunately one doesn't appear to be starting.
When the inkeeper starts talking, Duglan has made a good 5 or 6 divots in the counter with his knife, but nobody has approached him about it yet. At the moment the innkeeper mentions problems, Duglan thinks (and expresses supreme disinterest with his facial expression) "Look what yer done Harris. Jabber this hogwash to tha tavern drunks an now we hafta help fatty here."
Well, y'know e'ry town's got its own local monsters: giant 'lbino wolf, woods-witch, 'casionally a dragon. Ours here's Ol' Forejaws, big ol' bug critter gots 'is cave up the river a ways. Normally 'e keeps t' hisself, y'know, takes a cow 'r a sheep here 'n there, sometimes a trader's carthorse, but not too bad and not too off'n. Hell, he was almost the town's mascot... But a' late e's been a bit a' a problem, gotten more aggressive 'n all. Started takin' not just the horse but smashin' up the cart too; ate a whole coop a' chickens 'bout a week back and then two days ago... He pauses, blinking back sudden tears. Instinctively you dread the next words.
Two days ago he took Arkum Hotza. Young farmer, just got hisself a wife, preganant with their first 'un. Gordel is choking up now. 'E was a good boy too, always there t' help those as needed, durin' harvest, or raisin' a barn. An' then Forejaws just took him right out of 'is field.
He takes a moment to compose himself.
Sorry 'bout that... So couple a' us notablity here in town decided it's time we do something. From the stories you tell, don't seem like Forejaws'd be to much 'a a problem fer ya. We've got some coin donated by everyone around, jus' shy a' three hundred golders, and we'd all be mighty grateful. Free room n' board here fer the rest of yer lives, too, as long as I 'r my daughter run this place.
Like I said, time was I'da done it mesself, but my fightin' days is over. Talk it over, al'right? I know it ain't much, but we can't spare much more. Y'can give me yer answer in the morning.
He rises suddenly, and stomps back to the kitchen. Alaba, sweetling, give our guests a little privacy, will you? I'm going t' get some sleep.
As the fat old ex adventurer retells the story of Ol' Forejaws, Quinn's gaze remains stony and detached. He appears to be calculating something in his head. Before the large man leaves the room, Quinn speaks up. "Could you, or anyone you know, describe Ol' Forejaws in detail? Ser Harris here has probably killed one before, going by his stories."
"Yes, unfortunate this is indeedz. But a man, yes, might take advantage of a local legend, and blame a creature, yes, when another might be to blame. What is making us know that this creature is the one that took the boy? This is what Velinari wish to know, yes."
Gordel looks a bit peeved that you interrupted his dramatic exit. Six legs, buggy armor. Little bigger'n a horse. Oh, an' e's got two two heads, hence the name. Four Jaws, get it? He holds his index fingers to his face and wiggles them, imitating the mandibles of an insect. An 'is saliva burns like acid.
An' as fer what else killed 'im, I don't know anything else leaves a tunnel like 'e does. Y' can go inspect it yourselves come morning, though I wounldn't want t' crawl through it all the way back to 'is lair. That'd be, what, a good three miles?
Upon hearing the description, Ser Harris reflects on 20-odd years of adventures in an attempt to pin down the nature of this creature.
Duglan scratches his head, "Naw, hold up. I'm with Velinari. Whaddya mean he just... started taking people? Sounds awful fishy ta me. Maybe sommun's controllin it. You see any weird actin strangers here lately?"
I don't know of anyone who'd want to hurt Arkum. But if you folks want to investigate, that's fine. I'm pretty sure you'll find it was Forejaws, though.
"I suppose it could be a two-headed Ankheg. Apart from the number of heads, Forejaws sounds like one: six-legged insectoid, burrows, spits acid, little bigger than a horse. Curious."
Velinari stands up, and begins pacing back and forth, stroking his chin and gesticulating with his hand.
"Ah, it is as you say, Yes. But then this begs another question, it does yes. As to what reason do we have to pursue this creature Velinari wonders. Sure, this creature is your problem yes. But for us, we a are passing through as you see. Yes, this says to Velinari that it is not our problem, yes, unless it were worth being our problem. This is how it is a being if you know."
Quinn smiles. Ever the negotiators, these fellows were. "Well, three hundred gold isn't exactly pocket change. If it's just a two headed Ankheg, or whatever you called it, I'm sure we can dispatch of it without losing too much time." He pauses, looking up at the ex-adventurer's weapons... I wonder what those are worth? Nah, too personal.
Duglan grimaces at the direction that the negotiations are going. Three hundred gold is by no means pocket change, but he's not going to get his hands on all of it. And why is this the Company's problem?
He blurts out in front of the others, "I dun have a good feelin 'bout this. Don't we have orders or summat right now? Ya know, sumthin more important ta do?"
It's true, I can't make y' do this. I'll let y' discuss amongst yerselves, jus' let me know in the morning. I won' take it personal if you don' have the time or the inclination. We'll find another way.
** spoiler omitted **
** spoiler omitted **
It's true, I can't make y' do this. I'll let y' discuss amongst yerselves, jus' let me know in the morning. I won' take it personal if you don' have the time or the inclination. We'll find another way.
Gromtheb sighs. All the negotiating, fussing, arguing. He hadn't had a good fight in days, and hadn't had a truly satisfying fight in weeks, what with all this travelling, wandering around, delivering boring packages from place to place...
Let's do this. I haven't had a chance to kill something in too long. Good night, I'll see you in the morning.
Gromtheb, having expressed his opinion, goes upstairs to his room.
"I'll help, even if the youngsters aren't up to the challenge. Good night."
Harris retires for the evening, glad to be rid of the tiresome company.
Duglan watches the party thin out as they go to bed. He slowly gets up and says "I s'pose that I could choose ta help tamarrah...".
He leans in with an incredibly slimy grin and says softly to Gordel:
"But, ya know, ya could up yer offer a bit. Or maybe that fine lass could up yer offer?
He's referring to Alaba which should be clear if she's still in the room.
Diplomacy:
Perception:
"In truth, this offer of 300 gold is a little shallow for men of our caliber, but, yes, we will see in the morning what it brings."
as Velinari shuffles from the room , he leans over and whispers to Duglan, "Yes, but for you we will see what the night brings, NO? Maybe a this lass of which you speak"
Velinari, then proceeds to leave the common room, apparently headed for his bedroom.
Quinn gets up, ready to retire. He sees Dulgan whisper something to the innkeep, and Velinari whisper something else, and assumes it's some sort of low-brow joke that Velinari didn't get. Oh well. Off to sleep.
He storms from the room, and this time nothing short of violence can stop him.
Duglan lets out a bellowing laugh. "Thanks fer the hopsitality , fatteh!"
He wipes the spit off of his shoes, still chuckling to himself. As he retires to his bedchambers he mutters to himself, "Ta hell with this town. I hope Forejaws eats every last one of ya."
This probably won't matter this particular evening, but Duglan sleeps with his armor on and his fauchard in his grasp. With the restful crystal augment in his armor he can do this without fatigue.
Does anyone else do anything before sleeping or during the night?
Quinn balances a loose bag of change on top of the doorknob in case it moves during the night, and seals any windows if necessary. He does not want to be disturbed, but if that happens, he'd like to know about it.
Harris will set up his bedroll on the floor of his room, and seals any windows. Additionally, he ties a cowbell to the doorknob. He keeps his longsword drawn by his side, and his bow and arrows propped against the bed.
Uncomfortable sleeping indoors, Harris sleeps on the bedroll and in his armor (light armor - no penalties). Upon being woken by any disturbance, he will grab his sword and leap to his feat, ready for action.
Gromtheb sleeps soundly in his bed, armor hanging on the wall, pack by a closet, sword by his side, and large piece of furniture in front of the door (chair under the doorknob, chest of drawers, nightstand, something heavy).
Regardless, the night passes peacefully. When you return downstairs in the morning, Gordel grudgingly serves you a breakfast of eggs, fresh cheese, and fried bread. Gone is the friendliness of the night before, and Alaba is nowhere to be seen.
Well? You gonna do it or ain'tcha?
Duglan sits at the table across from Gordel, with a grin on his face that you would think is uncharacteristic to his usual demeanor. He starts to scarf down on the eggs and says with a mouthful of food, "Naw, what's the rush Gordeh? Why dont ye join us fer breffix an we'll have a chat?"
Utterly perplexed by Gordel's displeasure and Duglan's uncharacteristically cheerful demeanor, Ser Harris asks "Did I miss something last night? What happened?"
In the morning, Gromtheb puts on his armor, pack, bow, and sword sheath. He then carefully carves his initials into the wall of the room behind where the furniture he moved last night normally sits. He then moves the furniture and goes downstairs for breakfast.
At breakfast, Gromtheb seems restless. He eats quickly and a lot.
"I'm game. Whatever these ruffians have to say, I'm ichin' for a fight. Where should we go to find this thing? And where is the late Arkum Hotza's farm?" Gromtheb fiddles with his silverware a bit, and then says "Do you figure the bug's blood is nice dark green or more of a lighter yellowy-green? You'd be surprised the difference it makes."
Velinari comes down the stairs quitely, and hear's Harris' comment.
"If so Velinari knows not about it. As to this bug, if it's blood is yellow, there might be a concoction i could find from it. This does actually make me slightly more interested if this is indeed the case."
Gordel glares at Duglan with barely-disguised hate. Actually, not disguised at all. I've already eaten. I c'n answer any questions y' have, if yer still planin' to do this. If not, break yer fast and kindly move on.
To Gromtheb's questions, he responds: Hotza's farm is on the north side a' town, but if you're wantin' t' find Four-Jaws, y'r better off goin' t' his lair, which is easy enough t' find. Just head up th' nearer bank a' the river until y' reach a clearing, and y'll find 'is cave.
Also, to pre-emtively answer a few questions, the Hotza farm is not the only farm in that clearing. It is one of five. There are also two farms in the clearing south of town. However, most of the townsfolk make their living from the forest, and a few from fishing the river.
Your party was travelling West to East along the road.
Despite my use of a solid gray swatch for town, there are perhaps 20-30 structures at most, 95% of which are just houses. There's one general store, another tavern (which doubles as the town hall), and a smithy. It's not much of a town.
Duglan continues to smile, "I been thinkin 'bout this deal. The money ain't much, at least to what we be used ta. But... you says free room n' board fer life?"
He pauses, to show his empty plate to Gordel. "Ya know, ye make a great breffix. Why dont ye call for Alaba to come in an' make me some seconds? Might raise our spirits 'round here."
Quinn looks over at Dulgan, now frowning a bit. In a whisper, he sends a message to the large grinning man,
He sighs. I bet he doesn't like jokes about Alaba. Another potential contact down the drain. Such is the cost of adventuring.
Duglan responds to the whisper.
"Ha. Somethin like that. I'm messin with this old coot now... We dun need tha job. Cmon, the pay is nuttin."
Quinn smiles weakly at the innkeeper. "Don't worry about Dulgan; his jokes mean to displease. I think we'll look around Forejaws' lair, so long as we keep whatever we find there without much fuss." Quinn looks back to Dulgan. "Remember back in Oakthir when we fought the ogres, and we found that magic trinket among their trash? Sure, we got paid more up front, but who says we can't strike platinum again?"
Gromtheb glares at Duglan. "If you loose us this good fightin' job, so help me Gorum you won't have anything with which to lay a wench! I'm sure your daughter is lovely," he adds as an afterthought to Gordel. Gromtheb begins to pace.
"Please excuse my companions. We adventurers aren't all driven by base impulses. We will investigate and hunt down this Forejaws creature." Ser Harris finishes breakfast before saying "Now then, I will be outside, preparing for the trek. I suggest you youngsters join me before you ruin your reputation further."
With that, Harris leaves the inn and saddles his horse in preparation for the group's foray into the wilderness, secretly relieved to be away from the tiresome innkeeper and his fellow adventurers' juvenile antics.