"You're welcome to travel with us, you're also welcome not to if you'd prefer your privacy. We're heading back to Haven's Cross."
Rurik pulls a helmet off the wagon (Picture), unrolls a large blanket, places the helmet upon it and begins removing his armor. Whispering to himself, he lays each piece out very precisely, hangs his gambeson on the wagon and starts rubbing and cleaning each piece in a highly ritualized manner with an oiled cloth. He finishes quickly, then pulls a metal comb out of his pocket and begins combing out his beard and hair before rebraiding his beard tightly.
Rurik ladles a deep tankard with stew. He then offers it to Florr.
Florr unharnesses Storm Surge as they make camp. She combs Storm Surge's mane and tail, then curries and wipes his legs, body, and flanks with a soft cloth. She attaches a feed bucket, tethers him to the cart on a long lead line, then walks over next to Rurik and the fragrant stew.
As Rurik hands her the tankard of stew, Florr smiles at Rurik broadly. "Why, thank you so much!" She takes it from him and inhales the dusky, mushroomy aroma. She pulls out a chunk of fish jerky and tosses it into the tankard. "I grew up eating this at sea with my father. I made this batch myself!" She looks at Rurik out of the corner of her eye. "And I'm not a child, I am 19. I am from Cordon's Village, which is on the East Coast. My family runs the Hemera Fishing Company, and I've been a sailor and helped with riggings, nets, fishing, and cooking ever since I can remember!"
She takes a hearty gulp of stew. "Oh, delicious! I always enjoy a warm meal. Grombar, what kind of.. bread is that?"
Florr returns to her tankard and nibbles on a bit of softened fish jerky. "A year ago, a fleet of fishing boats I was with encountered a terrible storm. All the boats nearly capsized, and my friends and family were in danger. I called out to the god Valkur and asked for his help to save the fleet. After the storm calmed, I pledged my life to travel the land and spread tales of Valkur's mercy and might to those on land."
She looks again at Rurik. "I don't see you carrying any sort of holy symbol, but your rituals, spells, and armor make me think you could be blessed with holy power. And your helmet - it reminds me of a tale I've heard about a god with... bronze eyes, or something like that? Tell me more about yourself." She gulps again, spilling a bit over her chin as a chunk of duck hits her mouth. She coughs a little, embarrassed. "Ha, excuse me. That'll help us decide if we want to join you on the way home." She glances at the cart, not saying anything about what they are carrying.
Florr unharnesses Storm Surge as they make camp. She combs Storm Surge's...le, embarrassed. "Ha, excuse me. That'll help us decide if we want to join you on the way home." She glances at the cart, not saying anything about what they are carrying.
"I am a Barakor of Gorm Gulthyn. The ever vigilant one. Lord of the bronze mask. Some people call him fire eyes. He was the protector of all dwarves until he died, sacrificing himself over and over until none was left. He lost himself completely fighting against the deities of our twisted, evil cousins, the Deurgar." He stops in silent reverence.
"Although he still answers my prayers. He's waiting for the right time to come back. That's what my faith tells me."
"Valkur? I was close. He's an Exarch of Tempus, I was close! Gorm is also an Exarch. Exarchs are mortals that were given divine powers by greater divine powers for exemplifying their virtues. It's thought that Valkur stoop up to the furious Umberlee as a humble sailor and Tempus admired his bravery and tenacity so much that he gave part of his divine essence to Valkur. And now the cycle continues with you. Valkur has given you some of his divine essence. It'll grow if you let it."
We're Wanderers. That's what most Dwarves call it. I like to call it...patrol duty."
He crouches and pokes the fire, restacking the logs and raking the coals to make it last longer.
"Dwarves who have chosen to leave their halls for long periods of time. To explore, seek items and perhaps never returning. Sacrificing so that the Dwarves in their halls don't have to lead the lives they do."
He looks up to Thravum.
Aengus seems to be winding down. He's removed his breastplate and scratches his belly with both hands letting out a groan.
He wanders over to fill his tankard and dumps it on the ground. He fills it and dumps it again.
"One mug for where we came from. Another for those that already went back."
The other dwarves all bow their heads quickly.
"So, where was your job for the Guild? First job?"
Rurik pulls a helmet off the wagon (Picture),
Olias decides to play this safe. He feels the dwarves are trustworthy, but he doesn't want to reveal too much.
"We had a job to investigate the vineyard just north of here, as they had stopped making deliveries to Haven's Cross, and report back to the guild. Unfortunately, when we arrived, we had found that everyone was dead by some mysterious cause. We're not exactly sure what to make of it, yet. Perhaps Wyrmshadow will know more."
Olias finishes his story and turns away, hoping to discourage any follow-up questions.
Olias decides to play this safe. He feels the dwarves are trustworthy, but he doesn't want to reveal too much.
"We had a job to investigate the vineyard just north of here, as they had stopped making deliveries to Haven's Cross, and report back to the guild. Unfortunately, when we arrived, we had found that everyone was dead by some mysterious cause. We're not exactly sure what to make of it, yet. Perhaps Wyrmshadow will know more."
Olias finishes his story and turns away, hoping to discourage any follow-up questions.
"Did you ever figure out what killed them? "
"Did you ever figure out what killed them?"
"Best case scenario is someone got involved with a power which they did not understand. Worst case scenario is that they understood it fully. A colleague of mine has suggested we consult with Bill Wiseman at Haven's Cross. You've all been with the guild longer than us. Have you ever met him? How would you define his character?"
Dwarven rune magic is the greatest form of enchantment.
Trying his best not to look perturbed at such a broad statement Oleksandr tries to reply diplomatically while avoiding a semantic argument
"Yes I'd agree, in terms of armaments, I've never seen an equal to those created by the dwarves."
Rurik's shield and Aengus' hammer are also ancestral.
"Did you ever figure out what killed them?""Best case scenario is someone got involved with a power which they did not understand. Worst case scenario is that they understood it fully. A colleague of mine has suggested we consult with Bill Wiseman at Haven's Cross. You've all been with the guild longer than us. Have you ever met him? How would you define his character?"
"Hrmph. Necromancers, demon worshipers...those that mettle with powers they haven't earned often can't handle wielding it carefully."
Bill keeps to himself quite often. I have heard Old Bills last name isn't really Wiseman though, it started as a joke that kinda stuck. We've only done a few missions with the guild, we've been here around 8 months. But we've only seen Bill when we've debriefed from missions. Usually we have a sit down with Bill for a bit, tell him what we know, he makes some notes, arranges for the clerk to pay us and we move on.
He lives in a massive library filled with all manner of odd trinkets. Seems happy to stay up there all day. He takes a stroll after breakfast and lunch each day with Lord Haven, sometimes he has a meal with Guldal.
Seems nice enough I guess. Calm. Thoughtful."
[dice=arcana]1d20+7
It takes some time, but eventually you're able to read a number of magical runes. There are three in particular that translate roughly for "swiftness/throwing", another that reads "Giantfolk Destroyer" and "Finding/magnetic"
It seems that these tomahawk hammers (about the size of large hatchets) are enchanted to excert a strong forward or backward spinning force that helps these hammers stabilize in flight and once they make an impact, they return to a point of origin that's hard to understand, you wonder if there's some sort of deeper process going on with that magic.
Rurik's shield and Aengus' hammer are also ancestral.[dice=arcana shield]1d20+7
[dice=arcana hammer]1d20+7
The shield has a number of runes, but few of them seem to be magical. Most of they say varying platitudes about walls, determination, selflessness, sacrifice etc. Two runes glow magically. "Warden" and "Barricade". The first run have a passive effect, making the blocking of ranged attacks far more effective, especially against targets next to the bearer. It has a second, more powerful ability, that's activated by the reading of the second rune, creates some sort of barrier but you're unable to figure anything else about that function.
There's a quote on the inside, between the straps, is a phrase in Dwarven: "My fortress is the Dwarven race by which I am surrounded."
Rurik's shield and Aengus' hammer are also ancestral.[dice=arcana shield]1d20+7
[dice=arcana hammer]1d20+7
The Hammer is made from a scrimshawed giant's molar, iron bands and inlaid ram's horn wrapped around a mahogany handle.It shares the "Giantfolk Destroyer" rune, and has another for "Topple". It's keyed to become much more lethal against humanoids considered giant but has the capability of knocking most creatures off their feet.
Florr takes in all of this conversation, unusually quiet. She feels willing to share more details of their adventure, but she sees her companions being cautious. She devours her soup as she listens, making a note to ask about the types of mushrooms they added.
As Olias and Oleksandr describe their adventure, she subconsciously glances at the large chest in the wagon. She then chimes in. "Well I guess we will be chatting with 'Old Bill' pretty soon! We will have some pretty great tales to report to him. We experienced real evil there. Real evil. Though we are going to fix it up and restore the reputation of the Manor. It could even become another outpost for the Guild!"
She motions to the Deepflagon dwarves. "Friends, if this stew is any indication of what our future travels may be like, I say let's join forces!" She takes another slurp from the tankard, then grins from ear to ear. "If you give me a chance, I can make up a tasty fish stew for us. And if you help me gather mushrooms like this, I promise it won't taste much like fish!"
During this time, Olias has been reading the tome he acquired from the manor. Upon hearing Florr and Oleksander speaking more about the mission, Olias mumbles inaudibly to himself: "Sonofa... ess we're shar... damn manor with every..." He looks up and forces a smile. "Well, then. When shall we be on our way?"
"Well, then. When shall we be on our way?"
"The sooner the better. I want to get paid and sleep in a warm bed. I'm interested in this library Bill maintains as well. I hope to convince him to let me study there."
Upon failing a passive DC 12 con save:
At first you start feeling like you drank too much ale. You feel everything feel a little funny. Noises are a bit muffled and slow, and light seems to hurt your eyes a bit. You're not totally sure why, but until your next rest you get disadvantage on initiative or dex saves.
Oleksandr stands up and presses one hand to his belly and one to his head.
"Ughhh, was it the ale...the mushrooms...I think I need to ride in the cart for a bit..."
<Bahhhh, bahhhh>
You hear another goat noise in the distance.
Oleksandr chuckles to himself
"Goats, ha! That was never going to work. He he."
Florr starts to feel a little queasy, but then lets out a large burp. "Ah!"
She looks at Olek. "I think it's time for us to get going. Maybe Olek should lay down in the wagon for a while."
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Oleksandr sits upright supported by two corners of the wagon. He seems a little 'off' but he also seems quite lucid considering the amount of time he recites from his books out loud (to himself, indoor voice) without a slur or stutter.
Occasionally he puts the book down and stares straight up as if trying to solve a math problem in his head. He mumbles to himself.
"...Arcanic traditions...all the planes...chromatic orb...the elements...all connected..."
He opens his hand as if to launch a fire bolt but catches it in his hand and dismisses it. He does it again but this time instead of a ball of fire you see a ball of ice. Once again and what appears to be a glowing meteorite appears. One more time and you see a plume of purple smoke.
His head drops back down and he begins scribbling furiously on a blank piece of parchment.
"...variation in the incantation...find the element...find the energy..."
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We're Wanderers. That's what most Dwarves call it. I like to call it...patrol duty."
"Wanderers, that's not what they usually call us back at the 'Hold. Rather be called a Wanderer. I'm going back some day. Start my own House. Have a shield made with one of those critters on it that's half o' one thing, half another thing, and half a third thing."
"Make some of those bastards look me in the eye when they see I have folk with my critter on their shield. Maybe one of the halves will be that that thing that ate my leg and tried to drag me off. Dead bastard now. Heh."
"Good stew."
Grombar gets a bit somber and uncharacteristically well spoken.
"A few hundred years ago, one of our brothers was temped by dark powers. He turned to arcanics and eventually to necromantic magics. He was banished from Doriast and we thought that was the end of it."
"It wasn't. He returned 20 years to the day after his banishment with an army of dinosaurs and Giants. Many had perished and been...brought back..under his powers. Others had their minds taken from them. There were thousands and they were trying to dig our hall out from the mountain to leave us exposed. This is why Doriast is a tower. Only our most bottom levels are still underground."
"We used everything we had to repel the assault. Cannons, Griffon Riders, Phalanxes and phalanxes of brave soldiers. Our ancestor, Grombar the first, was able to get to the Betrayer and strike him down (he looks to his axes). The betrayer seemed to repent, to ask forgiveness. He said he would turn his army away but in the moment of hesitation Grombar was killed by the betrayer. A brave griffon rider saw what happened and she rushed in to finally destroy the betrayer and carry Grombar the first back into the hall. I'm honored to carry his name, and his axes. All Deepflagons..er..MOST Deepflagons carry ancestral weapons that were used during the betrayers wars. Their powers becoming slowly realized as our ancestors decide we're worthy."
"Ever since that day, our clans have rotated wandering duty. The Deepflagons have volunteered to have one son from each family on duty at all times to lessen the sacrifice other clans have to make. Living outside your hall isn't considered to be a great life. Our wanderers are tasked with destroying any giant or their kin and evil magicians. Our hope is that this will prevent evil like this from ever rising to a strength that could ever stand against us. Many of the descendants of the betrayers army still roam around the Holgirr Mountains aimlessly."
The rest of your trip is relatively uneventful. Between Grit's hunting and Florr's fishing, you eat well and don't need to use any rations. The nights are cold, but there's no frost yet. One night, during watch, a family of raccoons tries to make off with your leftovers.
As you make your way into the limits of Haven's Cross, harvest season is concluding. Farmers are working hard to finish up clearing their fields and preparing for winter and the Harvest Festival. As you cross into the city gates, the Deepflagons nod in farewell. Constance at the stables looks at the dogmole pulling the Deepflagon's cart and shakes her head. Some merchants are starting to arrive early, renting rooms and staking out open spaces for their stalls.
The Deepflagons say their goodbyes and start unpacking their wagon in the yard.
Making your way through the inner gate and into the guild yard Samuel greets you "Glad to see you made it back in one piece, you've been gone awhile. What's up with the folks at the Vineyards? Are they alright?"
Seeing the looks on your faces he shakes his head.
"You can go on up to Bill's. He'll want to hear all about it. He's on the fourth floor. Door on the right. Knock loudly. Be honest."
"What's up with the folks at the Vineyards? Are they alright?"
Thravum sticks his tongue out and screws his face up into a grim looking rictus before silently shrugging.
Before entering the yard Oleksandr walks a circle around the cart, muttering softly (yet casually) to himself.
What's up with the folks at the Vineyards? Are they alright?"
Thravum sticks his tongue out and screws his face up into a grim looking rictus before silently shrugging.
After a quick side-eyed glance at Thravum Oleksandr speaks,
"Most likely a heretic. As far as we could tell no one survived. I, uh, hate to be curt, but there have been some circumstances which require us to speak with Bill immediately. Though, I would like to speak with you later about how young Mallark Buckman has been coming along with his magic."
"Well-armed folks yuh seem. Been huntin'? Some big game, I ventuh ta guess."
Rukkh eyes the characters' blood-stained clothes.
"Well-armed folks yuh seem. Been huntin'? Some big game, I ventuh ta guess."
"Biggest n meanest fish I ever saw"
Thravum keeps walking.
Olias is following Olek to meet Bill. He's curious to hear what he has to say.
Florr is nervous about leaving the cart but is eager to talk to Bill. She follows.
"Watch yuh cart for yuh folks? Fer three copper bits I defend it ta my heart's blood."
After knocking you hear the raspy voice of a older male call out. "I'll be right there." Theirs the sound of footsteps down a long hallway. You hear the sound of deadbolts sliding and some muttering and then a humming noise. The door swings open and you see a relatively sprightly human male in his late 50s. He glaces you up and down quickly.
"Hm, I don't recognize you. Must be new initiates. I suppose. Were you the folks that investigated what was going on at the Rubrum Grima? I'm Bill. Folks around here call me Bill Wiseman. I'm the resident crusty old mage of Haven's cross."
The room is a long hallway lined from ceiling to floor with bookshelves. At the end of the hall is a larger square room with a higher ceiling also covered ceiling to floor with books. There's a pedestal in the center with a book, surrounded by tables covered in papers, scrolls and open books. A good portion of which are magical. Some of the shelves have empty spaces filled with various knicknacks, orbs and other trinkets. High above you in front of a few of the topmost shelves hangs a painting. You see a young man in robes, a short dwarf bedecked in armor and priestly vestments bearing a sigil of two overlapping rings) and a noble looking handsome male with a sword on his shoulder. They're all smiling and leaning on each other.
He motions to a small living room area surrounded by comfy looking chairs and a small squat table. On it is a large magical candle, a long pipe, a jar of herbs, a bottle of wine and some cups.
"Help yourself to a drink. I'd also recommend a bath in your near futures."
He leans over the table, packs his pipe, lights the candle with a flick of his fingers and has a seat and opens a book that was tucked into his robe along with a quill.
"Tell me, what did you find? Tell me everything."
"Watch yuh cart for yuh folks? Fer three copper bits I defend it ta my heart's blood."
"Deal. We will know if anyone tries to rummage through our belongings inside. In fact, everyone on the street will know immediately. Keep people away and stay out of it yourself and you'll get paid when we return."
"Deal.
"On my honor as uh free man."
Florr feels the effect swirl around her.
She points up to the painting. "Hey is that you? Who are the others?" She pours herself a half glass of wine then plops on a squishy chair, spilling some of the drink on the carpet. "Whoops," she mutters, hoping Bill didn't see.
"We saw so many things up at the manor. So many evil things."
Florr feels the effect swirl around her.
[dice=Charisma check] 1d20
She points up to the painting. "Hey is that you? Who are the others?" She pours herself a half glass of wine then plops on a squishy chair, spilling some of the drink on the carpet. "Whoops," she mutters, hoping Bill didn't see.
"We saw so many things up at the manor. So many evil things."
He makes a slightly exasperated noise and a wry smile.
"Yes. That's me, Lord Haven and Gilda in our younger years."
He pauses and closes the book for emphasis.
"I need to know what happened at the Rubrum Grima. It's important. Please be thorough. Don't leave out details. Together, we should be able to figure this out."
Florr feels the effect swirl around her.
[dice=Charisma check] 1d20
She points up to the painting. "Hey is that you? Who are the others?" She pours herself a half glass of wine then plops on a squishy chair, spilling some of the drink on the carpet. "Whoops," she mutters, hoping Bill didn't see.
"We saw so many things up at the manor. So many evil things."
He makes a slightly exasperated noise and a wry smile.
"Yes. That's me, Lord Haven and Gilda in our younger years."
He pauses and closes the book for emphasis.
"I need to know what happened at the Rubrum Grima. It's important. Please be thorough. Don't leave out details. Together, we should be able to figure this out."
Guldar*
Oleksandr follows Florr's lead with the wine but pours himself a much more generous glass. He takes a long sip and sets the glass back down. Its level matches Florr's now. He leans forward, closer to Bill, and stares at him calmly but sternly.
"We have it with us."
He pauses, gathering his thoughts.
"I imagine you may already have an idea of what "it" is. You may even be concerned that it is in our possession. I certainly am. Someone opened a portal to another realm. A black ocean poured into that house along with a complete cast of grotesque sea life. We managed to get it closed temporarily and put it in a bag of holding."
His calm fades slightly.
"Do you know who opened this portal? How did you know Karl Vaidur? Who is responsible for his death?"
Oleksandr follows Florr's lead with the wine but pours himself a much more generous glass. He takes a long sip and sets the glass back down. Its level matches Florr's now. He leans forward, closer to Bill, and stares at him calmly but sternly.
"We have it with us."
He pauses, gathering his thoughts.
"I imagine you may already have an idea of what "it" is. You may even be concerned that it is in our possession. I certainly am. Someone opened a portal to another realm. A black ocean poured into that house along with a complete cast of grotesque sea life. We managed to get it closed temporarily and put it in a bag of holding."
His calm fades slightly.
"Do you know who opened this portal? How did you know Karl Vaidur? Who is responsible for his death?"
His eyes widen in panic and he raises his voice.
"Tell me quickly. Where is the bag now?"
Without breaking eye contact with Bill:
"Thravum, give it to him."
A clean, polished cherrywood staff appears in his hand. It has a large cut Amethyst in it's top.
His bestaffed hand stabs towards the bag.
He shouts: "
)