Corsario |
2 people marked this as a favorite. |
Perched at the edge of civilized lands, the small town of Falcon’s Hollow has always had to rely on itself to solve its problems. Meanwhile, the uncaring lumber barons squeeze the common folk for every last copper, deaf to their pleas. Now the hacking coughs of the sick are heard throughout town. The plague has come to Falcon’s Hollow and the town’s leaders can’t be bothered to stop it.
Several dozen people in Falcon’s Hollow have contracted a fungal disease called blackscour taint. While the malady is not exceptionally deadly, poor conditions and a general lack of supplies mean that many of the sick—especially the elderly and young—face mortal consequences. Slowly deteriorating, most of the afflicted can hang on for several more days, but already the weakest have succumbed, with their number growing daily.
Falcon’s Hollow has few clerics, and only Lady Cirthana shows any interest in stopping the illness and she lacks the ability to cure diseases.
Since few townsfolk trust her, most lay their medical concerns at the feet of the local herbalist, a tough woman named Laurel, whose income stems as much from her sale of snake oils and aphrodisiacs as from questionable cure-alls and bitter teas. As quick to suggest expensive remedies as she is to remind angry buyers that she is not, in fact, a physician, Laurel does her best to help those who come to her in need, but she is not having much success.
In treating the blackscour taint, as in most cases, Laurel has turned to her grandmother’s tome of recipes, cures, and spells for aid. Although the book contains no actual magic, it holds the rooted wisdom of generations of Laurel’s family, including the teachings of the Witch of Darkmoon Vale, Ulizmila, from whom Laurel’s grandmother learned in exchange for her sight. There’s one last treatment from the cultic appendices of the tome—scribed in a hand that is not Laurel’s grandmother’s—that the herbalist has yet to try, as she lacks three of the most important ingredients and would rather do what she can for the sick with what she knows than chase a fanciful salvation.
Knowing you from some time, both of the women call you to meet them at Laurel's shop.
Creeping ivy and full window boxes cover the façade of the rugged-looking, two-story shop bearing the faded sign “Roots and Remedies.” A line of twenty-some somber townsfolk—some with pale, wheezing children, others seeming to be precipitously near tears—stretches from the open door.
Ford Benett |
Ford was not native to Falcon's Hollow, but having passed by a few times in his time in Andoran (as well as the number of ladies he'd flirted with in town), he opted to settle down slightly and stay in the Hollow (as much as he could, at least, considering how often he moved about), calling the local tavern and inn his new home for a bit. He never took to lumberjacking for the Consortium, but he did put his talents for hunting and trapping to use, trying to make life a bit easier for the folks of Falcon's Hollow.
As if things couldn't get even worse, a plague has settled on the town and it seems the town's leaders would not lift an accursed finger to help fix this. This was unacceptable. For Ford, anyways. He would take matters into his own hands and find a cure. He opted to visit Lady Cirthana first, knowing her to be of a kind heart (and good looks), but she seemed convinced that a cure could be found with his business acquaintance, Laurel, the local herbalist. Given the number of strange things Laurel had requested from his various hunting trips, he would wager she had some kind of solution.
Arriving at Laurel's shop, Ford looked over the line of folks lined up outside. Evidently, everyone else was hoping the same thing he did. Passing along the line, Ford headed to the front door and tried to knock before heading inside.
{Hooray! Super excited to get started!}
Corsario |
Glad you are! Let's put this baby on the road!
The looks!
As Ford passes the people in line, he perceives the looks of anger and bother in the eyes of the sick people, and their familiars or companions, as they see him "pass" them on the line.
As he reaches for the door, the second person in the line, an old woman, screeches at him.
"What are you doing? Get in line! We have been here for hours!"
A couple of screams join her from the line.
Ford Benett |
Ford was about to open the door, disregarding the looks he was getting from those he passed by, but right before he could get inside, an elderly woman screeched at him from her spot, demanding he get to the back. The other shouts from the line joined her, making him frown and shake his head. Lombardi faltered on his shoulder, hearing the screeches and starting to match them with his own wails until Ford calmed him down.
He raised a hand to call for some peace. "People, people! Please! I'm not skipping the line! I'm trying to speak with Miss Laurel and Miss Cirthana!" His eyes caught sight of a little child with a pale face... poor thing must be feeling awful. They all must be. "Look, I won't be more than a moment. I'm here to try and help. Laurel's got a lot of remedies, and only so many herbs. If she needs more, I'll be going to get them. But the longer I wait, the worse everyone gets. If I get back fast enough, I might have something in tow that will fix all this! But I have to speak with Laurel before I know what I'm looking for. It won't be long, you have my word."
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (16) + 1 = 17
Ford Benett |
Ford sighed and rolled his eyes at the shouts. They really were not going to be reasonable about this... fine. He'd have to resort to more elusive measures. Holding up a hand to indicate he wanted no trouble, Ford headed in the other direction and around to the back of the shop. If he recalled correctly, Roots and Remedies had a back door to the shop. Then again, most shops did for delivery and stocking purposes.
If he could find it, perhaps he could pick the lock and get inside that way. He was sure Laurel wouldn't mind him coming in through her back door... he smirked at that notion, pulling out his tools as he rounded towards the back.
I think there is a back door (I did this module a couple times in the past, but I don't recall ever needing to use it... if this is indeed the module I'm thinking of). But if there is and it's locked, I'll take a 10 on a Disable Device check to get it open. A 17 ought to do the trick... right?
Corsario |
The path to the back door is closed, probably because of the people trying to do the same thing Ford is trying.
Maybe if he climbs that wall over there. Ans do it in a silent way would be a better idea, so not to attract unwanted attention.
Climb DC 15 (can take 10, or even 20), the higher the Stealth the better, DC 10 at least (can't take 10 or 20).
Ford Benett |
Ford paused, looking up at the wall. Smart, Laurel... very clever. Unfortunately, Ford was a determined man. Holstering his tools, Ford checked around to make sure nobody could see him, before taking a jump at the wall and clambering up as quickly and quietly as he could manage.
I'll go with the 10 for Climb, should just barely make it, but for the stealth... well, here goes nothing.
Stealth: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (13) + 6 = 19
Corsario |
Ford gets to the other side, with none the wiser. He enters the back door to a kitchen filled with heat and strange aromas, boiling pots in the fire and strange herbs and meats hanging from the ceiling.
A curtain separates the kitchen from the rest of the house.
Ford Benett |
Ford entered into the back of the curious kitchen Laurel had set up, his face scrunching as the variety of scents assailed his nose. Odds were, if Laurel was in here, she's be through that curtain and into the front of the ship.
Peeking through, Ford peered past the curtain to check the status of the shop, making sure he wasn't interrupting someone's visit before speaking. "Laurel? It's me. Ford Benett? I apologize for coming in through your back door so unannounced and unceremoniously... and without any flowers or a nice dinner beforehand~. But this is serious. Have you got a minute?"
Corsario |
The smell of burnt earth and spicy incense chokes the air of the cramped, mud-tracked shop. Bunches of dried herbs hang from the ceiling, along with dangling pots, presses, alchemical apparatuses, and glassware of more arcane purposes. Pouches of rare plants, jars of colored glass, and all manner of dried, preserved, and jellied animal parts fill high shelves and tables doing double duty as displays and workspaces.
Laurel, the middle-age rail-thin spinster with severe-looking spectacles and hair pulled back tightly she is, blushes at Ford's entrance.
She is in front of 3 people, with an overpacked rack of herbs, a table covered in stray powders and measuring equipment, and a pot loudly bubbling over with thick gray froth in the middle of them. A family perhaps, with a small child, 4 or 5 years old, showing signs of the disease ravaging the town.
"Ford! How in the heavens did you got there? Give me a minute, I will be with you shortly."
Ford, the other side of the curtain, overhears the advice she gives the parents, keep the fever down, give water, rub ointment, pray the gods for deliverance.
When she is over, she invites him in.
"I am sorry I can't attend you as I would like. The blackscour is out of control, and I am not sure I can do anything to help. Did you see the line of people in front of the shop?"
Her eyes looks tired. Her shoulders down.
Ford Benett |
Ford smirked as Laurel seemed a little caught off guard by his arrival, leaning back into the curtain... but not before getting a good look at the child sick with the plague. Listening to her advice, Ford grimaced before coming back in after her invitation. That didn't sound like good news...
"I certainly saw the line. Nearly wraps around the building. S'why I snuck in the back. You didn't expect me to wait for a lady's company, did you~? Not to worry, though. I'm not sick. I'm here to help, if I can. Lady Cirthana seems about in the same position, so she directed me here." Ford shrugged his shoulders a bit as Lombardi flapped his way over to a nearby rack, taking a perch on the top as he twisted his head around to study the shop. "So... judging from that advice you gave the family, you haven't got a solution either? Damn... is there any cure for all of this? We've got a name for it, surely someone has a remedy somewhere!"
Ford folded his arms as he paced around, looking up at his pet falcon before turning back. "What needs to be done? Do I need to ride for Almas? Come back with help? Because I'll do it. By Cailean's tankard, I'll get there in half the time, and come back even quicker."
Corsario |
Laurel sits heavily, tired and defeated.
“There is no cure. Not around here anyway. I’ll get these folks what I can and we’ll see what good it does.”
She hits a charm, pushing it out of the table.
“My grandmother’s book has a brew in it that says its good for this kind of thing. A weird concoction that sounds more like hoojoo than real medicine. But Cirthana and I are desperate. That is why we looked you.”
She goes to a bookshelf, and takes an old notebook. She sits again and looks for a page.
“To make it I need some rare roots and concentrations, most of which I have here, but there’s three I don’t. Elderwood moss, which I’ve never heard of, but granny says the stuff only grows on the oldest tree in a forest. A specially pickled root called rat’s tail, again, sounds like hoojoo to me. And seven ironbloom mushrooms, stunty little things that only grow in dark places thick with metal, a favorite among dwarves, or so I hear.”
Ford Benett |
Ford stood, stubbornly refusing to accept defeat on the matter. But at last, Laurel suggested a potential solution! A cure. "A brew from your grandma's book? Well... it's worth a shot, right?" he asked, following over and leaning behind her to look at the book himself. It was strange... but what other choice did they have?
He couldn't help, but smirk as she talked about the whole thing being "hoojoo". "Heh... I've heard of stranger things. So, elderwood moss, rat's tail, and ironbloom mushrooms? Doesn't sound so bad... any idea where to find these things?" That moss grows on the oldest tree in the forest, huh? Well, thankfully, they happened to have one right next door to the town! With any luck, the other two ingredients would be found there as well!
Corsario |
The calligraphy and language of the notebook seem very elegant for this town. It almost reminds him of the books, and teachers, of his childhood. Who wrote that, here, in such a distant town from the big Taldan metropolis?
Laurel looks at Ford in the eye.
“Well, for the elderwood mold, there’s gotta be an oldest tree in the vale. Damned if I know where it is, though."
She points towards north, looking in that direction, like imagining the mountains that border the valley.
“The rat’s tail and mushrooms are even longer shots. Way north, toward the mountains, people say there used to live a bunch of dwarves. They’re not there anymore, but I’d bet their forges are. If you can find ironbloom anywhere around here, that’d be your best bet."
Finally takes a jar, with an strange concoction, and keeps talking.
“As for the rat’s tail, who knows? Well. Actually. Ulizmila, the witch that lives deep in the woods might. She’s a crafty, mean thing that knows all sorts of strangeness. She might even have one. I don’t know what she might want for it, but I doubt it’d come cheap. My grandmother traded her sight to the old crone for a few pages of what she knew, and that was years and years back, and I don’t know a soul who got any nicer as they got older.”
Does Ford knows? Let's see:
Ulizmila’s Hut Geography DC 16 or Local DC 20
Eldest Tree Geography DC 20 or Nature DC 24
Dwarven Geography DC 16 or Monastery Local DC 20
Or maybe he can ask Milon Rhoddam at the Consortium Lumber Camp, the most experienced woodsman in the Consortium.
Ford Benett |
Ford blinked as he took note of the writing... how strangely sophisticated. He thought he recognized that writing from one of his mentors... or so he thought. Truth be told, he had his mentor's daughter on his mind more than the lesson. But he couldn't help wondering if perhaps Laurel's grandmother was a bit wiser and more than she had let on.
But he listened intently, trying to recall if he heard anything about those locations. Truth be told, he didn't venture incredibly deep into the Vale, but he had listened to a few hunters spin stories...
I doubt it. Ford's not the brightest bulb. Odds are we'll be making a visit to Milon.
Kn. Geography: 1d20 ⇒ 11
Kn. Local: 1d20 ⇒ 16
Kn. Nature: 1d20 ⇒ 14
"...bah. I can't recall anything... but I know where to find out! I'll pay the lumber yards a visit. Ol' Milon might know where those are. Fellow knows the woods like it's his backyard." He paused a moment. "Actually, to be fair, they kinda are." He whistled as he called Lombardi back to his shoulder, the bird chirping and swooping to his side on command. "Leave it to me. Just do what you can to keep folks from hacking up their lungs, and get that mixture ready. I'll be back as quickly as possible. Count on it."
As he turned to seek out Rhoddam, he hid his slight grimace from Laurel. He almost had himself fooled with that speech. Truth was that he wasn't feeling as confident as he sounded. '...no. Don't think like that. These people need someone to turn to... you have a responsibility to be that pillar.'
Corsario |
Laurel thank you, and gives Ford a kiss in the cheek, some food (2 days rations), a good luck charm (she ask you to return it to her when you get back) and 2 flasks of some brew (she says is good for the stomach, if he need to eat unhealthy food - +1 to fortitude saves against nausea and sickness for 4 hours).
The Lumber camp is some 6 hours away from town. Something Ford wants to do before marching on? Does he leaves right away (maybe he can make it before nightfall) or the next day early?
Ford Benett |
Ford smiled and slipped the good luck charm around his neck, pocketing the food and medicine in his pack. Hopefully, he wouldn't need them, but better safe than sorry.
Not wanting to waste any time, Ford headed for the lumber camp with a hustle in his step. If he was lucky, he could get there before they started to disperse home. Hopefully, he could catch Milon before he left, get some idea of what he was looking for, and get started on the trek through the Vale.
Corsario |
GM Roll: 1d10 ⇒ 3
The road to the camp is clear and easy to follow. Ford does a good pace, and some 3 hours in he sees some men ahead of him on the road. Less than half an hour later he has catch up with them.
Shemp, Moe and Larry.
Yes, they are somewhat drunk.
Yes, they are bickering.
"Ford! How are you? Want to come hunt some dunlied with us?"
"Damn it Shemp! Are you going to invite the whole town to come with us?"
"Leave it alone Moe! Ford is a better hunter than any of us!"
"Shut up Larry!"
Dunlied (Brush Colt): A particularly stout breed of small-antlered deer, often trained by foresters as mounts (same stats as light horse).
Ford Benett |
As a big three stooges fan, I let out a hardy laugh at those names!
Ford blinked at the hunters ahead of him... before smiling and shaking his head. The Three "Stooges" of Falcon's Hollow. They looked a little inebriated... as usual.
"Sorry, boys! Much as I'd love to, I have to get to the lumber yard and find Ol' Milon! Laurel has a lead on a cure for the blackscour taint, but she's missing some ingredients. So I'm going out to get them, and I need Milon to mark my map. You have fun though!"
Corsario |
I am glad you liked they showing up.
"Need help?"
"He doesn't need your help!"
"Shut up!"
"Make me!"
"Hey, who brought the drinks?"
The trio stay behind, still bickering, while Ford continues forward.
He finds the camp preparing itself for the night, campfires with pots emanating healthy odors of camp food.
Ford only needs a minute to find Milon Rhoddam, carving a wood piece, obviously in a foul mood.
Ford Benett |
Ford waited until he was a fair distance out of earshot before laughing at the trio fighting. Gods knew he needed a good laugh right now. And much as he would like the help, he shouldn't endanger anyone else. This was something he needed to do on his own...
Arriving at the lumber camp, Ford inhaled a good whiff of the pots cooking the dinner for the evening. Smelled tasty! He had to hand it to the cooks of Falcon's Hollow, they knew how to make something mouth watering out of simple ingredients. He caught sight of Milon sitting on a stump nearby, cutting up a piece of timber. He looked... grumpy. Hopefully not enough to make him unwilling to help. "Master Rhoddam? Ford Benett. I think we've met a couple times... sorry, not important right now. I need your help, and bad."
Ford folded his arms over his chest, shifting his weight to one side. "Listen, I take it you know about the blackscour taint going around the Hollow, yeah? Well, Ms. Laurel's been busting her back trying to fight it... not much luck, but that's about to change!" He reached into his backpack and pulled out a rough hand made map he'd been marking of the area. It didn't map the whole Vale, but it was a rough guess based on places he'd been during his hunts. "She's got one more recipe she thinks will fix this, but she's lacking some key ingredients. Which is where I - and by extension, you - come in. She needs 3 things: elderwood moss, said to grow on the oldest tree in the forest, ironbloom mushrooms, which might be located in a dwarven ruin close to the mountain, and something called rat's tail, which she suspects the witch Ulizmila might have. Now, I've been out in the woods, but never that far. But you've been around long enough to know a thing or two. Any chance you could point me in the right direction?"
Corsario |
Milon seems to ignore Ford until the moment he mentions the blackscour.
"My nephew..."
But he is interrupted at that time.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?"
Jarlben Trookshavits, the no nonsense foreman of the camp walks fast towards them.
"What do you want?"
Diplomacy checks (or something similar) might be in order...
Ford Benett |
I just remembered that one of Ford's traits gives him a +1 to both Diplomacy and Intimidate. Forgot to add that earlier... not that I think it matters.
Ford was about to get a bit of cooperation out of Milon, who sounded like he had family that had taken ill with the blackscour. That should make him a bit more cooperative...
...that is, until foreman Trookshavits interrupted them. Curse him... he was so close. It's okay. He could salvage this. Putting on his most winning smile, Ford turned as Lombardi took flight to a nearby branch, watching the new arrival carefully. "Ah, Master Trookshavits! Pleasure to meet you. I'm Ford Benett. Haven't had the pleasure yet, I don't believe, but I've heard a great deal about you. Heard you scared off a full grown orge with a well timed scowl, I've heard!" And some serious body odor might've helped with that. "I'm just getting Mr. Rhoddam's help here. I take it you've heard of the plague running amok in town? Well, I'm happy to say we've got a solid chance at a cure! And with your permission, I'd like to get Mr. Rhoddam's expertise. Won't take more than a minute, I assure you."
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (7) + 2 = 9
Corsario |
Camp foreman Jarlben Trookshavits don't seem impressed.
"Not in our time! He is on labor hours! You can talk to him in 3 days, back in town, when his shift ends! Come with me, right now!"
He signals the way to his cabin, while speaking in a low voice.
"What are we, a hospital?"
Milon Rhoddam seems like he wants to say something, but shuts up at his foreman angry eyes.
Ford Benett |
Ford's smile lingered, but his eyes no longer had that pleasant look about them. He looked between Milon and the camp foreman for a moment, before sighing and nodding. "Mr. Rhoddam, if you'd wait here a moment, I'll be right back."
Following after foreman Trookshavits, Ford whistled for Lombardi to follow him, the bird swooping after its owner as he follow him to the cabin. Once inside, he sighed and shook his head. "Alright, Mr. Trookshavits. What do you need of me? And if we could make this quick - time is running out for a few of the good folks of the Hollow, so the faster, the better."
Corsario |
The foreman let a crooked smile show.
"To the point. I like that. I need for you to pay for my employees time and knowledge, first. A gold piece should be enough for an hour. And whatever cure you find in the forest, we in the camp should have part of it. Sounds fair, right?"
He lean back on his chair, hands on his belt, a weasel look in his eyes.
Ford Benett |
"Just one? I'm genuinely shocked by your restraint, Mr. Trookshavits." Ford replied, pulling out a coin and about to hand it over. But the comment about the cure makes him stop, pulling his hand back and eyeing the camp foreman. He knew that look. That was the look of so many of his associates and fellow elite back home.
A look of arrogance.
"I presume you mean that anyone who's sick will get a share of the cure. And in that regard, yes, you have my word. Coming from me, that actually means something." Ford gripped the coin tightly as he spoke. He knew what the "superiors" of Falcon's Hollow wanted. Control. If they got their hands on the cure, gods know they could squeeze even more money out of the poor folk. "I'm not stupid. I know full well how the Consortium likes to play games. I will not be a part of them. I've put that sort of garbage behind me. Whatever I find in the forest, I will make sure it is put to use for the people of the Hollow first and foremost. Then we can discuss what to do with it afterwards."
He loosed up, holding out the coin in his hand. "Now THAT sounds fair. We done here?"
Corsario |
"We are done."
He reaches for the coin, and pockets it.
"Now leave, as I am busy."
Ford Benett |
"Of course. You have yourself a fine evening, Mr. Trookshavits." Ford turned and headed back out of the cabin to Milon once again. Straightening his armor, Ford smirked as he spoke.
"My apologies. Now where were we? Ah, right!" He pulled out his incomplete map of the vale. "If you would be so kind, Mr. Rhoddam, I need to know where to find the oldest tree,the dwarven ruins, and Ulizmila's residence. Then we can get those ingredients for the cure... and I will personally see that your nephew gets his share. You have my word... and that actually means something around here."
Corsario |
Milon Rhoddam looks at Ford with a Steely gaze.
"A cure? I didn't know you were a master of the healing arts. But it is ok, if I can help, and help my nephew."
He marks 3 places in the map.
"The ruins are easy. Be careful, Kobolds have been showing up lately, and dwarven ruins is one of their favorite lairs. About the witches hut, is over here. I think you should be more afraid of her than of any kobold. She has dark moods sometimes. And about the tree, well, I fathom the oldest tress in the forest are about here, but about which of them is the oldest, your guess is as good as mine."
The closest place is the trees, with two possible routes.
It is about nightfall...
Ford Benett |
1 person marked this as a favorite. |
"Ah, I'm a man of many secrets, Mr. Rhoddam. But I can't share them all. What's the fun in that?" Ford leaned over as he looked at the map while Milon explained. "Don't you worry about Ulizmila. I have a way with women~ As for the tree... well, I would wager it's the tallest. Thanks, Milon. I'll be back as soon as possible."
Bidding the lumberjack farewell, Ford summoned Lombardi with him as he started off to find this tree. From the looks of his map, a river lay ahead of his path. A detour around would take hours... time he didn't have to waste. He'd have to find a way to forge through the water somehow... how deep could it be? But it was getting dark... Ford took a moment to light up a torch before making further progress, drawing his sword in the other hand.
Best to be prepared, just in case.
Ain't nobody got time for detours! We forge that river!
Corsario |
Just before Ford is ready to sleep, Camp foreman Jarlben Trookshavits appears.
"Oh my! We have a person camping on company land without the proper permits! What could we do?"
He extends his hand, asking for coins, his dirty smile reflecting the moonlight.
Ford Benett |
Ford lay out on his bedroll, nodding his head off and just about to doze off... when his sleep was interrupted by the camp foreman once more. Demanding a payment to be sleeping near their site, Ford fumed as he stood up, eyes slightly bleary as he straightened up to the overseer. "Company land? Company land!?" he raised his voice, making sure others could hear him as he readied to dress the foreman down.
"Listen here, Jarlben! You and your men are here at the graciousness of the forest you cut down! If it was so inclined, it could rip you all to shreds in a matter of seconds! The fact that it has not, especially knowing what likes to hide in its trees, should be a point of gratitude, not proof of ownership!" Lombardi screeched as his owner grew steadily angrier at the greedy man. "Now... I have had it to my eyeballs with your s#!t, so unless you let me get some rest and regain my patience, I will shove my foot so far up your arse, you won't be able to sit for a week! SO I highly advise you let me get some sleep! Do I make myself unequivocally clear!?"
Ford knew this would be making him a target for the Consortium, but he didn't care. It was high time someone stood up to these bullies and taught them some proper leadership!
Intimidate: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (14) + 2 = 16
Corsario |
The foreman takes a step back.
"Hey, calm down! Jeez! Do whatever you want, but don't expect more help from me!"
He turns and get away quickly. Several heads hide inside tents and cabins on the camp, having seen and hear the scene.
The night passes uneventfully from there on.
In the morning Ford is offered a place by the fire and some hot breakfast by the smiling lumberjacks. Jarlben stays away.
Ford Benett |
Ford got a fair deal of rest now that he was free from the foreman's nagging, and come morning, felt very rested. Packing up and preparing to set out, Ford was surprised to see the lumberjacks in a better mood and evening offering some breakfast! Not one to turn down a hot meal, Ford took a brief seat and grabbed some quick breakfast, thanking them for the meal before heading off into the forest at a brisk pace, hoping to make up a little bit of time. He'd head for the river and figure out a way to forge when he got there...
Corsario |
Ford makes a good time, approaching the river well before noon.
Ford Benett |
Ford's Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (8) + 6 = 14
Lombardi's Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (13) + 6 = 19
Ford was glad to see the river, knowing that he was on track. However, his assessment of the river took up a bit of his attention, not noticing the noises from the near the river.
Luckily, however, his ever vigilant falcon seemed to pick up on the cries of the caught animal, spreading it's wings and taking to the air to investigate, winging it's way over to the fox, but not landing. Ford looked up as Lombardi took off, quirking a brow and drawing his bow. What did his bird notice that he didn't...?
Corsario |
Sorry for the delay...
Ford Perception Check: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (20) + 6 = 26
Lombardi Perception Check: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (18) + 6 = 24
Wow!
As soon as Ford steps into the grassy shore where the wounded fox is, he realizes there is an iron trap holding it down. A hunter's trap. And the fox is the bait, and Ford is the prey.
There!
Movement in the edge of the trees, some 60' away. A humanoid form... A Hobgoblin!
Lombardi seems to feel his master reaction, and starts circling over the humanoid place.
Roll initiative!
Initiative Enemy: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (15) + 2 = 17
Ford Benett |
Holy smokes! Here's hoping all these rolls are that good!
Initiative: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (9) + 3 = 12
Ford squinted at the trap. If the fox was caught here... where was the trap maker? His eyes snapped up just in time to see a tree branch move. A hobgoblin!
Ford whistled for Lombardi to return to his side as his drew an arrow, nocking it into place and taking aim. Odds were, though, if the hobgoblin set this up, he already had his weapon at the ready...
Corsario |
Ford hears, but don't manage to see, the arrow flying towards him.
Longbow Attack: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (16) + 3 = 19
Damage: 1d8 ⇒ 6
He feels the pain in his leg, knowing he has been hit.
Ford's turn
Ford Benett |
Ford yelped in pain at the injury to his leg. He suspected as much... but it still hurt. He'd pull it in a moment. Right now, he needed to scare this bugger off. Taking aim, Ford retaliated with two arrows of his own, letting them fly towards the hobgoblin.
Rapid Shot 1: 1d20 + 4 - 2 ⇒ (15) + 4 - 2 = 171d8 ⇒ 3
Rapid Shot 2: 1d20 + 4 - 2 ⇒ (7) + 4 - 2 = 91d8 ⇒ 8
Corsario |
The hobgoblin seems surprised he was seen so soon, and more surprised he is actualy hit by an arrow.
He turns and flees.
Want to give chase?
Ford Benett |
Ford shouted curses as the hobgoblin fled, but with the arrow in his leg, he suspected it wiser to attend to his injuries first.
Wincing and kneeling down, Ford carefully pulled up the arrow head out of his leg... he was lucky it wasn't deeper then it already was. Pulling a piece of cloth from his bag, Ford tried to staunch the flow of blood and mend his wound.
I'll let him go for now. Probably should've bought a health potion for this.
Heal: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (6) + 6 = 12
Corsario |
And a healer's kit...
Don't forget to track damage in the "information bar".
Lombardi flying, let Ford know the hobgoblin goes away and don't stop or return.
His leg feels sore, but the arrow didn't make permanent damage.
Want to check on the fox? Ignore it and go for the river? Back to Logger's camp?
Ford Benett |
Yeah, probably should've thought all that through a bit better... gah...
Ford huffed as the hobgoblin escaped, but he was glad to see it run. At least now he could focus on crossing the river... but first!
Moving over to the trap, Ford knelt down and attempted to calm the fox caught in its jaws, stroking it gently and humming as he examined the trap, before trying to pry the jaws loose and let the fox go. He'd have a better look at the injury once he had the animal free...
Disable Device (Trapfinding): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (3) + 8 = 11
Handle Animal: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (16) + 5 = 21