The Wilewood. Vast and mysterious, it is the largest forest in the River Kingdoms and makes up most of Sevenarches. Occupied by all manners of birds and beasts, it is also a strong place of forest magic, recalling those bygone ages when the trees themselves were masters. Few outsiders have penetrated its secrets and lived to tell the tale. The strongest guard upon these woods however, are not the wild centaurs or powerful treants but the strange and aloof Oakstewards. The guardians and rulers of Sevenarches, the council of druids keeps the wilds in check, as well as keeping outsider in line. Unchallenged and unchecked, they rule the land with total authority.
The Wilewood is one of their main charges however, for it holds yet another secret. Deep in its overgrown heart lies a large clearing. In the middle of this unnatural gap in the trees stand the Arches. Seven of them stand there, ancient sentinels of a bygone age. Long disused, the area still hums with powerful magic, both past and present. Massive and old, they cast deep shadows onto the grass of the clearing, shadows few have walked under.
Not many now remember what they are for, but the Oakstewards have passed down lore and knowledge from the old time. The Arches were in fact elf gates, passages leading to other planes and other dimensions. Powerful artifacts in their own right, the presence of seven in such close proximity speaks to a truly mythic display of power and might. Once they were thoroughfares for the most powerful elf mages and travelers in all of Golarion, entries for exploration, trade and travel.
Those days are long gone. The Arches still stand yes, but moss grows on them, and vines choke the intricate carvings and reliefs. The old roads are long gone, and only the Oakstewards remember the pride and power of the Arches. The Arches sit quiet and dim, with only a very rare flash of magic across the mighty spans. The loss of the Cruxes, the magical keystones for each Arch, have rendered them impotent and mistuned, no longer acting as gate or any type. They have little use now, and no traveler seeks them out.
Indeed, by sad fate the elves themselves are banned from Sevenarches. It is their oldest law, handed down from countless generations. The mistune of the Arches have created a strange magical field around them which sickens and kills an elf which enter the circle. Contagious and hardy, the illness can even spread from elf to elf outside the region of the Arches. For this reason the Oakstweards have taken up the protection of the Arches and keep out all travelers.
For many long years it has been as such, but a change has occurred. Rumors have reached the patient Oakstewards that one of the long-lost Cruxes have been found. Combined with the two that remain, they could be used to find the others, and with luck and skill perhaps all seven Cruxes could be returned. And with all the Cruxes returned perhaps the strange blight would be removed and the elves could once again return and walk between the stars and dimensions themselves.
You have been summoned. For the first time in living memory the Oakstewards have called for adventurers to enter the Wilewood. Rarely do any outsiders enter the wood, let alone are invited. Rumors of strange news has reached many ears, and the more canny eyes of the River Kingdoms have turned to Sevenarches.
The invitation has reached a fresh-faced new adventurer, Eukaeros Shadowstep . From the deep and dark wood, messages have reached him, through old contacts from his family. The message said little except that the Oakstewards had need of his specialized services. It instructed the arcanist to appear at the edge of the Wilewood at midnight. Undeterred by the reputation of the strange druids, Eukaeros has decided to arrive at the time and place specified.
The Wilewood is thick and overgrown. Thick oaks, birch and ash vie for light, even on the edge of the forest. The bright moonlight lays twisting shadows on the leaf covered ground. You can hear the slight groan of twisting wood, but there is no breeze in the still night air. The scent of old wood and old earth reaches your nostrils.
An old man appears on the edge of the wood, leaning on a living wooden staff. Covered with leaves and bark, it writhes lightly under his hand. His face is lined and wrinkled but not unkindly, with shining green eyes. Wrapped in shadow, even Eukaeros has a hard time seeing him clearly. He waves gravely, and turns to walk slowly into the woods.
With no other choice Eukaeros follows the old man into the grasping, ancient wood. He soon discovers that they are following an old stone path, carved out of dark brown rock. Worn and smooth, it is edged with thick tree trunks, and covered with the eerie moon shadows filtering down from above. The road winds and bends, but it works every inwards, deeper into the strangely forbidding forest. The old druid however, is not daunted and leads arcanist silently on.. The only sounds are Eukaeros's, the sighs of your breath, the clinking of your metal, the light rapping of the druid's staff the hard stone path.
After hiking for hours through the silent woods, the road ends in a deeply shaded opening in the forest. It is perfectly circular, and ringed with the most massive trees Eukaeros, a confirmed city boy, has seen yet. The bark is thick and ridged, dark leaves rustle above and massive branches loom out like arms, stretching outward. In the opening itself stand seven massive stone arches, half-covered with moss and vines. Eukaeros recognizes Elven words carved into the dark stone, flowing patterns unweathered by time and rain.
Around the Arches stand druids. There are dozens of them, men, women in all stages of life. They are all human however, no halflings or even half-elves stand among them. They all have weathered faces with sunbeaten brows, and all are stern. Standing still and silent, one could almost mistake them for stones themselves in the midnight gloom. The old man leaves Eukaeros and takes his place among them, quickly taking on the harsh look of the others. He is one of the few with living wood staves.
Standing apart from the main mass, are four others. Unlike them, they are seated on stone chairs, ancient and moss grown, throne-like. These four all have the living staffs, but these seem even more active and alive then the guide's had been. They ripple and curve in the gloom, providing the only movement in the still glade.
Eukaeros stands in silence, wondering who will speak first. The wait is a long one, the silence beating down on him in waves. He can hear his own heart beat, the breath in his lungs. For all his fears, he feels very..alive, vibrant.
Finally, one of the seated druids speaks. She appears to be a middle aged woman, with wiry white hair and a slightly bent back. Her face, while kindly looking, is cold and bleak. The voice however is clear and soft, like a warm summer breeze.
“Hello, Master Shadowstep. I know you have come far, and I thank you. I am Melvria, the Voice of the Wind. It is my job to speak to outsiders and provide the face for Sevenarches. I formally welcome you to Sevenarches.” There is a pause, but you can feel that you are not meant to speak, not yet.
Melvria continues, “It is not our way to bring strangers here, so I know you must be curious. Forgive us, we are a strange folk with secretive charges, not like other realms. We often come across as forbidding and alien to strangers. Perhaps we are.
In any case, do not be afraid. We need your services. Your reputation has even reached us here in the Wilewood, and those our your parents before you. You are capable of getting...difficult items. We need this service, adventurer. For other rumors have reached us as well....rumors of the Crux of Stone.” She paused, and then looks quizzically at the young half-elf. Obviously the name means nothing to you.
“Look at those Arches” She says, waving a gnarled old hand, “Those are the ancient elf gates. They require....keys to open. The Crux of Stone is one of those keys. We cannot retrieve it ourselves, for many reasons.” A murmur runs through the crowd. A few even shift in their stances, to talk to another. Melvria ignores them and continues.
“In any case, we wish you to acquire this item for us. We can pay you in gold, if you wish. But we have little. We could pay you in land, but you don't seem as a farmer. Instead, I propose to pay you in the one thing we can offer that no one in all Golarion can. Use of the elf gates, once we re-tuned them with the Cruxes.” This time the murmur is louder, nearly forming audible words.
Melrvia gives them a hard stare but the talk continues. In the end, she ignores them again and turns back to Eurkaeros, “What do you say, Master Shadowstep? Will you accept our offer? I promise, the way may be dark and dangerous, but the reward will be great. Your parents would surely be proud of such a bold undertaking.”
While a city boy born and raised Eukaeros was not strange to the wilds. Still, to come to these with their reputation set the half-elf on edge a bit and the quiet...well he only liked it when he could explain it or control it. Living a life in the spectrum of what people didn't notice, the rogue preferred noise to mask his movements and hide his presence.
As he is guided and then educated as to his purpose for coming Eukaeros he can only nod and try to retain. The words carried details for a job, standard stuff but there was something...more...an ancient legacy with import. His father had told him stories of course. The gates...elves...another world. It was altogether different to contemplate being a part of something quite so....grand.
As Melvria moves to finish, Eukaeros clears his throat. Of course they would hit him with the old "mom and dad would be proud" line. The half-elf smirks to himself but nods to the druid, I would be honored to serve in this way though did you say that one of these keys has already been found?
The druid raises a hand, "I only say rumors have reached us, out of the north. Rumors serious enough to call out to you, at least. Archaeologists in the Loric Fells have found several interesting artifacts, with hopes of more. They are in Daggermark right now, going over their findings, in the utmost secrecy."
She grows stern, "The Cruxes must not fall into the wrong hands. You must recover them for their rightful purpose. You must use any means at your disposal. Am I clear?" The mass of druids watch Eukaeros carefully, in utter silence. "We have made arrangements for transportation for you. You must leave this very night."
Eukaeros cannot help but offer a low whistle at the intensity of the situation, "Meeting now eh? I suppose I should be on my way. Any details that you might know? A job with information tends to go smoother...how many, where they are...hells, whats a bloody crux look like?"
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There is a derisive snort from one of the other seated druids, a lean, hard looked man. His staff darts back and forth, supple in his hands. A large, jagged nose doesn't help his appearance.
Melriva ignores him though and says, 'My apologizes, Master Shadowstep. We are so steeped in the lore of the Cruxes we often forget that to the uninitiated, they are nothing more then mere legend, if that."
She pauses, as if debating how much to say, glances at the seven towering arches, and goes on, "We quest for 5 Cruxes. They each have a powerful magical link to the place, or plane, they connected to in ancient times. But they all share the same general physical characteristics. They each are only the side of a man's fist, although each are of slightly different shape and composition. Exact details are unknown, for they have been lost of milleina."
"Assuming you find them, you would be the first to hold an elven Crux for countless generations. We greatly envy you, Master Shadowstep." She says, a hint of longing in her voice.
Offering a sidelong glance at the one who snorted Eukaeros offers a side smile at Melriva as the druid gives him the scant details, Allright then I will work with that...hopefully if I succeed in this then the you'll get your chance to hold a Crux of our own.
Sensing that any further detail is doubtful to come the rogue looks around, So. You said you would transport me? I think its time to go...
Melrvia looks relived when Eukaeros stops asking questions.
'Yes. Denerval will lead you out, just as he led you in." She pauses, looking back at the druid who snorted then goes on, "It is of course assumed, you will keep this arrangement silent as you travel to Daggermark. No hint of our purpose must leak out. The Oakstewards have our enemies." With that she waves him on, adding, You have our prayers, young friend. May the trees themselves watch over you."
With that the aged druid who had led the half-elf into the forest, broke apart from the mass of druids, beckoning to a different stone path. Eukaeros thinks he spots a hint of a smile under his bushy brows, now that he is free of the stony faced crowd.
Eukaeros follows the druid but can't help himself when he sees the smile, Something amusing about all that?
The druid winks at Eukaeros but remains silent until they are out from the watchful eyes of the druids. Once they are back in the forest, on another winding stone path, Denerval speaks.
'Oh, a few things, young man. The main one was how worked up Akatar was." he looks then explains, He was the one who snorted at you. He is the Sharp of the Bark, charged with defending Severarches. he isn't exactly keen on outsiders. It was nice to see the smug twig swallow some humble pie."
The druid walks farther then adds, 'It is also funny because they sent me here with you as a punishment. No one wanted to spend anymore time with an 'adventurer' then strictly necessary, but I'd much prefer to walk the woods, even with an outsider, then spend time with that bunch/" he jerks a thumb, 'A pretty priggish lot, I'm sure you could tell/"
'Lastly, I am laughing that you get to spend a rainy evening with Bracken, on his boat. You are in for a delight." he says the last and points to the sky. A few minutes pass but then Eukaeros hears the slight pitter-patter of rain on the leaves.
Eukaeros sighs as the rain begins to fall, pulling his cloak up over his head. Yeah well, hopefully this adventurer can get the job done. This Akatar fellow want to the take care of the situation himself?
The old druid gives the rogue a sidelong look. 'You really are a babe in the woods, eh?" he cackles at his own joke, but in a good natured way. He doesn't seem to mind the water that is starting to drip down from the over hanging branches.
"Akatar doesn't really want the Cruxes found at all. Imagine, we'd have hordes of outsiders tramping in and out, and who knows what might happen to the Oakstewards? No, things are best left as they are....a very druid answer, I admit." he says, swinging along the path, clearly enjoying a simple walk in the rainy woods.
Isn't change the way of things? Cycles of rebirth and death? Would it not be a very natural thing for the gates to be reborn? For the Oakstewards to change in response?
The druid looks with surprise at the adventurer. 'A rouge with a sense of philosophy? Unexpected. But maybe you are on to something...but I am old for a new purpose. I enjoy just tending what we have, new gardens can be tricky." he says.
Then, suddenly the path slips out from the dark trees, to the edge of the forest. The edge is abrupt, with no of the brush or shrubs one would expect. Just one moment thick dark trees, the next a swath of grass running down to the Dagger River.
On the river rides a good sized boat, with faded peeling paint. Eukaeros can’t spot anyone on it, but he can see the glow of a small fire on the deck.
Denerval points to it with his living staff. “You’ll find Bracken on the boat, my young philosopher. He is a ..bit of a handful, but you can take his measure him, I’m sure.” Then he sobers, “I wish you luck, young friend. It is a dangerous world out there, even for one as brave and clever as you. I prefer the woods…unchanged, unaltered.” With that he fades back into the undergrowth, not even bothering to use the broad path.
Eukaeros smiles at the "philosopher" comment, his hands idly moving to his satchel with the spellbook contained therein. Perhaps more than you might expect.
Instructed to the boat the rogue considers what "a handful" might be but decides that he should start on the right foot by approaching the boat and pausing before stepping onto it, Permission to..ah...come aboard?
As Eukaeros approaches the boat he can hear a grumbling voice complaining. It is hard to make out but he hears several curses, Oakstewards and a few choice words aimed at 'damned adventurers'.
When the rouge speaks up, he sees a shadowy figure move away from the small coal fire on deck. It is an old halfling, bent with some sort of back injury. His wrinkled, weathered face is tanned from a life aboard ship. The leathery old clothes mark him as a waterman, that vital bit of River Kingdom commerce.
It is there rough, independent boaters that make the economy tick. They transfer all the varied cargos all over the River Kingdoms, for big shipping firms down to small villages. Often independent owners, many of them lived aboard ship, spending years on the rivers. They were some fo the most accomplished freshwater sailors int he world, being able to navigate any river, in any weather. They were the lifeblood of the River Kingdoms, and often knew it. In many cities, the watermen were a strong political and social force.
The halfling's face twisted into a sneer, 'About time you showed up, making me sit in this damnable rain. I guess you didn't care about the help, huh?" he snorts, a few drops of rain flying off his nose.
"Come on, come on. Let's get going. The lords and masters of the wood said he are in some type of blasted hurry. Gods know I have nothing better to do then ferry around a half-grown temple robber around the kingdoms..."He grumbles off into mutters.
Eukaeors offers his hands up in defense, Hey no use grousing at me, I'm help like you. Half grown or not. The half-elf offers a smirk, I just got word I was to go where we are going so its not like I was sitting around rubbing my hands together working to make your night linger. Blame the druids on that score. You tell me where you want my ass, I'll sit and keep my mouth shut if that's your presence.
The rogue offers this all with an easy air attempting to channel a sort of amicable indifference despite the sudden butterflies in his stomach at the job and the various questions racing through his mind...
"Preference/" the halfling barks bitter laugh, 'As if my preference matters. Trust me, I'd rather be in a tavern on a night like tonight, instead of ferrying around damn do-gooders."
He grumbles so more and says, 'If you can actually stay silent, good. We'll find out how well you can row. You look a bit on the thin side, but you'll have to do. Gods know I'm not rowing this thing upstream. Two things for you to ponder, while I go untie us. Where do you want to go and secondly, the druids left a package for you under the seat there." he points to a shadowy spot on the boat.
He turns to untie the boat from the tree it is attached to, keeping it from being swept downstream. He curses trees, ropes and boats while he does it.
Eukaeros considers the question of detination with some chagrin, Not quite sure myself...
Hoping that the package might offer some details, the rogue reaches down to investigate..
There is a small chest there, wrapped in waterproof leather. It is unlocked, just tightly latched shut. Opening it, Eukaeros finds a small treasure trove of equipment.
1. A small bag of 1,000 gold pieces
2. A thieves toolkit
3. A wand of Cure Moderate Wounds with 20 charges
4. A small book titled “Dangers of the River: An account by Fenard Bentry of monsters and beasts of the River Kingdoms.”
5. A small bottle of Quickfreeze oil
6. A small wooden box tightly latched with no obvious way to open it.
Also inside in a short note. It reads thusly..
Mr. Shadowstep,
I apologize for our all too brief 'interview' at the Arches. Unfortunately, I am under great pressure from the druids to keep your level of information to a minimum. We guard our secrets all to carefully, sometimes.
This note is simply to tell you that there are other forces, other factions that are also after the Cruxes. Some of them are merely mis-informed and desperate but others are formidable and very well may use any means to stop you. Be careful, my young friend.
I do not give this warning lightly. Gods be with you, Eukaeros Shadowstep.
Melvria
Eukaeros catalogs the items but keeps them in the chest but will truck the chest in his magical bag. Thinking he had little rubber to consider the contents in the boat, the right moves to help there surly halfling get the boat on the move.
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Brackent urns back, undoing the rope. Instantly he barks to Eukaeros to grab an oar and start to paddle. The oar is heavy and rough, but it does it's job well enough.
For his part the halfling uses a pole to nimbly push them away from shore, into the main stream of the river. He looks back at Eukaeros and cackles, 'This grand adventure not what you imagined? Sitting in a small boat, in the rain? It'll get worse before it gets better. It always is when dealing with Oakstewards." He spits over the side bitterly.
'So, my young vaunted adventurer, where are we headed? I am far too lowly and servile to know our course."
Eukaeros flat out struggles with the oars. Trying to laugh with the challenge the half-elf offers, Ask me to tie a knot, I'm your man. Not so good on the oars though...
As for the where...Daggermark is our destination.
The halfling glowers at Eukaeros's clumsy attempts with the oar. Then he sighs, bitterly (perhaps the only sigh he knows), rolls his eyes towards the raining sky and mutters, "Thamir why do you test me so?"
Grumbling he says, directly to the half-elf, 'You'll get more practice. It is days upstream to Daggermark. You'll be rowing the whole way, doubly so with this rain swelling the river." he squints and sniffs the night air. "It'll let up in a few hours. Let's get going." Witht hat they start upstream.
The next two days are long and tiring. Not only the oars, which continue to befuddle and confound the rogue. It is Bracken's endless griping that grows old. he complains about the weather, the river, other boats, other watermen and everything else. Some of his favorite targets are 'jumped up adventurers'. In the course of these ramblings, Eukaeros gathers that the Oakstewards hold some sort of favor (or blackmail) over the old halfling's head in order to get this trip out of him.
He also realizes the halfling is a master with the boat. He seems to know every ripple, every sandbank, every deep pool by heart. No matter the wind, rain or fog, he guides them to the right channel of the treacherous river. Despite the dozens of reed covered island, they never run around (although the rouge sees a few small wrecks of those that had). Even Eukaeros's inept handling of the oars doesn't change that.
At night, the half-elf can see fairy lights drifting in the wood nearbye, blue and yellow. Bracken warns him that strange folk dwell in the Wilewood and that fey are not to be trusted, doubly so at night.
On the third day, Bracken guides them to a smaller channel, close to the river's edge. Suddenly, they are confronted with a pile of broken branches and logs. Bracken curses, and stops the boat.
He pauses a moment and then says, "Well, get out there and clear that pile! Do I look like I'm going to do it? You'll earn your way, damn you." But the insult lacks any bite.
Eukaeros spends a minute to produce the unseen servant. Once manifested the half-elf wades into the water to work on the blockage...
The dam is firmly wedged but with Bracken 'helpfully' shouting instructions and an unseen servant to help get the nastier logs, it comes along. It looks to be oddly...constructed though?
As they clear away the last of the muck, Eukaeros hears voices coming from the woods nearbye. They are hard to make out but seem to be in distress.
Eukaeros notes the "construction" of the dam and then swears silently to himself as he hears the voices. The half-elf mumbles to himself, This is the part Eukaeros, where they assault you and murder you and leave you to die...
Motioning to the halfling the rogue indicates he is going to check out the noise...
Eukaeros, knowing it is a trap, follows the better parts of his nature and goes into the woods. The forest here is slightly lighter then the ancient groves around the Arches, but not much. The trees are huge, blocking out the sunlight. There is little undergrowth, mostly moss and massive fallen trees. Everything is wet and slick from the rains.
The voice drift forward, getting louder and more intense.
Suddenly, in the middle of a small clearing, the distant voices abruptly stop. Then he hears a small voice whisper, 'That is him. Now!". The small clearing has a few bushes and bracken growing at the edges.
Out of this brush a small, woody figure leaps out! It is a tiny, vaguely humanoid creature that seems to be made completely of bundles of sticks wound with thorny vines. Cackling madly it rushes right at Eukaeros, splintery fingers extended.
Eukaeros finds himself stumbling backwards in surprise as the small twig being rushes him. On instinct the arcanist flicks a hand forward and a small lightning bolt flies at the creature...
What is going on here?
Eukaeros never studied fey very much, and the attacking figure doesn't leave much time for reflection. He does recognize it as a twigjack though, a small fey that can leap through brambles with unnatural magic.
Eukaeros retreats backward, just at the edge of the clearing. The tiwgjack vanishes then reappears to his left, jumping out of the brush. It's jagged fingers claw at the rouge.
As this happens, Eukaeros sees a blurry shape (small) rush across the clearing, between the undergrowth. It hides behind a fallen log.
Then there is a blinding light in front of his eyes.
Eukaeors stumbles around after being prodded and attempted to be blinded Seven hells you little demon what are you doing?!?
The figure is hidden behind the log.
Eukaeros can tell there was some type of magical blurring when it crossed the clearing, not just speed. The spell itself was Dazzle but of fairly low level. It is a common enough effect from fey but not twigjacks.
Processing all of this information Euakeors takes a step back pulling his sword, Look I don't want to fight! I am happy to talk!
Holding the weapon at the ready the half-elf hopes his pleas meet reasonable ears but he stands ready to defend himself.
The twigjack just cackles madly and attacks, claws extended. Eukaeros's blow lands squarely on it, cracking the wooden shape of the creature. It looks a bit jarred but not too damaged.
From the log though, a voice comes up, 'You got something for us? We are getting pretty good stuff to kill you, got something better? Huh, something better?" the voice is high-pitched and rapid, almost too fast for Eukaeros to pick out clearly.
No spell rockets out from behind the log though, so that is a good sign.
Eukaeros stands devensively.
Uh..er...what do you like?
"Shiny things, round things, things to kill." the voice is chilling despite the high tone. 'Have any of that?" The greed is evident.
Eukaeros continues to defend himself as best he can, Yeah yeah I got shink AND round things. But you gotta call of this angry...twig...thing...
The voice add, "No lying, or we'll rip you up good." Then it turns harsh and says something in a language Eukaeros doesn't speak. The twigjack gnashes his teeth and groans but it falls back, hunched on a nearby jagged stump. It flexes its long, pointed fingers as if imaging grabbing the rouge's neck.
'So, put the shiny stuff on the log there. See if it is any good. Worth it." the voice sounds greedy but flighty, as if getting bored already.
Eukaeoros works to find a few of each type of coin in his possession that is shiny as well as anything else he might be able to cull from his spell pouch (stones or anything of that ilk).
I will be travelling this way more than once. I have business with the druids. I can bring you more things in time if you will let me and my halfling friend pass on our way.
"Shiny, shiny. Leave them. Bring more if you come by again." A small fey figure, wearing a bright rep cap and an evil grin darts from behind the log and swipes the money. It moves so quick it is a blur as it melds into the trees.
The twigjack vanishes into the brambles after an evil sneer at Eukaeros.
Eukaeors lingers a moment blinking to himself as the strange woodland fey disappear into the wilderness. Shaking his head the rogue truns back and head to the water and the boat, anxious to see if the Unseen Servant managed to finish the job of clearing the water way.
Eukaeros arrives at the bank to find the obstruction has been cleaned out, and the water flowing smoothly. Bracken gives him a long stare from the boat. "I told you not to venture into the woods. there are fey about or I am not waterman. How do I know you aren't an illusions or some other trick?" he squints at the half-elf and holds his punting pole defensively.
Eukaeros scrunches up his face at the halfling and shrugs, I could throw a bolt of lightning at you but how about I row the boat? Illusions can't row boats you know... The half-elf appraoches the boat with confidence and moves to take up the oars again unless the dour little fellow tries to swat at him.
The halfling looks eager to smacxk the rouge but he holds back and spits in the water. Without even asking what happened they start poling up the river again.
Two uneventful days pass (although Bracken is as insufferable as ever, mostly griping about the heat and biting insects). He does tell a few highly racist half-elf jokes.
The current soon joins together and the other channels and islands drop away, leaving the Dagger River flowing strong. Boats fill the channel, ranging from small independent ships like themselves to massive lumber barges headed for Taldor's shipyards.
One fine morning, Bracken turns to Eukaeros and says, 'Daggermark by lunch. Have you been there before?" He grins evilly, "It is a city of knives and assassins. They'll cut your throat for just asking directions, and sell your organs ont he black market. Very rough and tough place, Daggermark. You'll be easy pickings, you will be."
Eukaeros offers a shrug to the halfling, Well then you won't have to worry about ferrying me around anymore.
Oh I know it well enough. Mom and Dad seemed to think growing up around here would be a boon...
The half-elf checks over his gear and thinks about where a good place would be to hole up for a night, to look everything he has over and figure out next steps.
It has been a long time since Eukaeros has been tot he city, doubly so for a city as fluid as Daggermark. Much may have changed by the time the rouge steps foot back there.
They round a bend and the city reveals itself, a low, brown blur on the bank. Wharves and docks stick out into the water, some made of fine stone others of half-rotting wood. The familiar skyline makes Eukaeros feel at home.
Then he sees the smoke, rising. The Blue Tower, a well known wizard-made building for scholars and academics is burning. Sitting right by the water, plumes of gray smoke are wafting up from it and even from here the rouge can see damage to the imposing building. The Blue Tower was a strong, well-built building with numerous magical wards and guarded by potent magical users. Who could have done this?
As their boat enters the stream another boat is rowed out to greet them. It is full of uniformed men, wearing the dark green of the Daggermark army. They row quickly, easily closing the distance while Bracken is still many yards from the city. They push directly against them, holding the boat fast to theirs.
A young, pale man easily jumps boats and says, "All boats are to be inspected before entering the city. Do you assent?" His tone is cold and imperious.
Bracken looks as Eukaeros and shrugs slightly.