"Yes, thank you."
Penelope stands a little behind and to the side of Denge, obviously deferring to him for discussions.
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The professor prays to the Lady of Graves that he isn't cold and unwelcoming, that his social graces are the exact opposite of distance, death, and the afterlife, but rather full of good cheer, casual banter, and friendliness.
"So my good fellows, what word? As Mr. Fevor says, thank you for your services. Have you seen any goblins along the way? I am terribly interested in dissecting one to discover its anatomical secrets. I'm a professor of the Arts Anatomae, you see. And while we lunch, I should mention I'm the caravan chirurgeon, trained at the University, and would be happy to offer any services I can? You're all healthy and unharmed?"
The caller, a Chelaxian male, nods, and the the soldiers make space along the side of the towpath for Denge, Penelope, and Professor Bellerophon to join them. All of the soliders are talkative.
One, a Taldan male says, "Goblins, no. They wouldn't dare attack a Phalanx squad!" Three other soldiers shout in unison, "Oooh, oooh, ooh," in response. "We didn't have any trouble on this patrol."
Another soldier, a dwarven woman, takes the Professor up on his offer. "My heel's worn out, and I haven't been able to get it repaired. I've got a terrible blister." She permits the Professor to minister to her if he wants.
A third soldier, a half-elven male, stands by Penelope and offers her a drink from his flask. "I'm Deram. Are you travelling to Belhaim, ma'am?"
The dwarf looks quite relieved to have someone treat her foot. "Thank you for your help," she says to Professor Bellerophon, "I haven't seen you with Sergeant Toughtoe before. Stories are that he was quite a badass when he was in the Phalanx. He'll do right by you."
The dwarf smiles at Professor Taldus and responds, "Well, the sarge tells us that he was with the Border Phalanx, that's our crack unit in the Border Wood that responds to incursions from Qadira. Sarge says he earned a Medal of Merit for killing Qadiran spies and was inducted into the Imperial Order of the Iron Crown. I guess he's mustered out now. He must've had an injury or something."
Penelope uncertain of herself, takes the flask from the soldier. "Belhaim? No, I am not sure where that is located. I am traveling with the caravan to Wispil, with my protector Denge. Uh, Denge."
Penelope looks at Denge meaningfully and then at the solider and then to the flask.
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Denge looks over to Penelope, recognizing stress in her voice. Realizing she has put herself in an awkward situation, he stands and turns to the half elf solider.
Receiving the flask from Penelope, Denge takes a small, polite pull from the flask and hands it back to the soldier.
"Thank you, that was both delicious and refreshing."
"Yes, we are all headed to Wispil, to the Gnome town. Has your patrol been on that road? Or heard of any news of that area? I have heard it can be a bit wild from the river to Wispil."
Still looking at the soldier, Penelope unconsciously repositions herself to place Denge between her and the Soldier.
"Why, Belhaim is right up the path, where this canal meets the Verduran fork. There's no where to go from here but there! If you're going to Wispil, you'll surely pass through it."
The soldier beams, "I'm lucky. I'm from Belhaim. I get to see my friends and family every couple of weeks! The others are from all over and don't get to do that."
"When you're there, you'll stay at The Wise Piper. My ma runs it. Tell her you met me, Iacobus and ask for lamb. It won't be on the menu, but there's a lot this year, and ma will get some. She makes the best lamb chops!"
He looks at Penelope, "On your way back from Wispil, maybe we'll be in Belhaim. If we are, ma'am, I sure would like to take you dancing at the Shrine of the Seven Roses. I hope to see you again!"
The soldier then responds to Denge's question, "Well, we don't patrol the Wispil Road, the druids of the Wildwood Lodge do that. But yes, in Belhaim we sure know about those woods, and in the Phalanx, we hear stuff."
"There's always been wolves in the woods, but lately there's a pack lead by a beast of a wolf that has a taste for livestock. Ol' Prake Abrassus saw it run off with a ewe in its mouth like a dog carries a bone. He put a bounty out on it. If I weren't in the Phalanx, I'd hunt for it myself!"
"There's also been talk recently of huge, hairy men who howl like wolves and stand nearly ten feet tall in the forest and on the edges of the Dragonfen."
"Them druids have their work cut out for them."
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Nex! Geb! Come! he summons the dogs to the shade of the back wagon. Rafaelis climbs up onto the wagon where his pack is stowed and pulls out and peruses his book of letters. Ah.. nothing in here pertaining to soldiers.. oh well. He checks if his note is still there. If it is he will pull it out and stick it in his pocket. He removes two bowls and some dog food. He climbs down and feeds his dogs, afterwards saying to them Who are my good dogs?!? You are! Oh yes you are! Who wants their tummies rubbed? He pets his dogs, tells them to stay, and then joins with the others.
Sounding even more like a mortician
Greetings brave soldiers! I could not help but overhear that due to your good work that the road to Belhaim is safe. Any places of note in Belhaim for a traveller to see? Taldor is a land brimming with places of note.
he cocks his head to listen a bit then speaks
Druids eh? They tend to be a rather private. Are there any means by which we may consult with them on road conditions from Belhaim to Wispil?
Rafaelis climbs up onto the wagon where his pack is stowed and pulls out and peruses his book of letters. Ah.. nothing in here pertaining to soldiers.. oh well. He checks if his note is still there. If it is he will pull it out and stick it in his pocket. He removes two bowls and some dog food. He climbs down and feeds his dogs, afterwards saying to them[/i]
The letter is indeed still there.
The soldiers gladly talk to Rafaelis about what's worth seeing and what isn't in Belhaim.
A Taldan male with a backcountry accent describes the town with enthusiams. "Belhaim is a big town!" he says. The other chuckle at this assessment. "Well, where I come from it is!" he protests.
He remains enthusiastic. "There's a, what's the word? A big open area with benches and shows."
"The ampitheater." Says one of the chucklers.
"Right, the ampitheater. And There's a temple to Sheyln where there are dances. There's a temple to Abadar, too, but I haven't been in there. Oh, there's a pretty good tavern, Grayhands. They serve this real good cheese made by Dendo Bendetto! There's all sorts of businesses, too. Not just a smith, either. There's an honest-to-goodness tailor and a cobbler. There's woman who makes clothes and a hatmaker, and a scribe who writes letters home for me. Mostly it's farms. They have cows and sheep and crops. Oh, and there's actually a guy who gets paid to cut hair. Can you believe it? I don't waste my pay on fancy stuff like that, though."
"Be careful who you talk to in Belhaim. They're really particular about their religion. There's three groups. The ones who worship Sheyln are really nice. They are all about tradition. Talia at the Wise Piper is one of them. So is that gnome, Bassy."
"A bunch of the others are all about 'commerce,' always goin' on about their big plans for the town. They worship Abadar. Gorgeous Bellett, the deputy, is one of them. So's Tymek, who runs the general store. And Miss Admes, the schoolmistress. Oh, and Grayhands, what owns the tavern."
"There's also a bunch who honors the Old Faith. They grumble about the other two a lot. Them's mostly the farmers and fishers."
"There's a big old swamp near town, called the Dragonfen. One of the orchard workers told me before we left town that his cousin's kid saw a dragon there carrying off a boar! I ain't never seen a dragon. Have you?"
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No indeed my good man I have not! Dragons are creatures best seen from a distance. Still it would be magnificent to see one some day. Seen other things of course. Hmmm... a gillman, a minotaur, kobolds, ticks the size of my dogs over there, he points with his chin over to where his dogs are resting in the shade oh and the restless dead. Rafaeils starts off rather energetic with his list but when he gets to the undead he seems more blasé like he is running out of interesting items to list.
Perhaps we can chat with some farmers or fisher folk in regard to contacting druids of the Old Faith?
The Taldan soldier that had so much to say about Belhaim takes Rafelis up on his offer to scribe a letter.
"Dear Mother & Dad," he starts.
"A nice man on the road to Maheto offered to write. I'm still on the Maheto canal patrol, but I put in for a transfer to Stavian's Hold so I can visit and help with the farm sometimes. You can still write to me in Maheto for now."
He gets quiet for a moment, then adds "Please tell sis' that the money is for her. I'm glad she decided to raise Komana. I'll help with her when I visit and when I save up enough to buy out my conscription."
"Love, your boy, Harold." He blushes a little as he says the last part, and a couple of the other soldiers razz him about it, mocking him, "I luv you, mama!" says one. "I miss you papa!" says another. "I'll buy out my conscription just after it starts to rain gold!" says a third. They all roll about on the ground laughing.
The caller stands up. "Break's over!" he shouts. The soldiers scramble to pack up their gear and get back into formation. The Taldan hayseed takes the letter, tipping his hat. "Thank you, sir," he says to Rafaelis. The soldiers soon march off, their officer abruptly breaking off his conversation with Tark and jogging after them to catch up.
Bray comes out of Tark's wagon with a cold lunch - bread, cold leftover stew, and ale, and serves it out to everyone.
After the Phalanx leaves, Mr. Gribb emerges from Tark's wagon. He stretches and rubs his eyes, goes to the side of the road to relieve himself, and then joins the group, eagerly eating his lunch.
In contrast to this morning, his eyes are bright and he is energetic. He talks to Bray about the news of the road the party and the drivers got from the the soldiers.
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using the message spell, excluding the halflings. Perhaps he got another dose of pesh? Did anyone notice if he got into the compartment where those crates are stored? There may be more than one way to access the storage areas. It is advisable to let the halflings know. We don't have to explain exactly how we know, in deference to the privacy of Miss Waystrider and Mr Fevor. We can say we determined this by "occult means," which is truth. I suspect that Mr Toughtoe informed the Phalanx officer that we are probably being followed. Mayhaps they even planned a trap; this information would no doubt be of import. What say you?
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Denge Concentrates on Gribbs behavior...
via message excluding the halflings"I admit his actions seem strange, but I just can't seem to put my finger on it..."
However Gribb has not done anything reckless or callous to endanger the expedition, this is after all his livelihood as well as ours."
"However, Pesh is illegal, so I will not stop you from reporting him. However be mindful, if Gribb is arrested and taken into custody, we will be left without an expedition, or worse yet in the role of caravan master."
Denge physically walks over to Penelope to speak with her, despite the fact they can message each other.
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via the message spell, excluding the halflings So be it.
via the message spell including the halflings Misters Toughtoe and Burrowfoot, it seems our employer is greatly recovered from his nocturnal escapades. What make you of this? Did he use again today? He is good at hiding his intentions. Perhaps if we pooled our observations?
Rafaelis will estimate the street value of the pesh in the wine crates by taking 'ten' 10+8 =18
he will also estimate the value of the crates if they were all actually filled with elven wine by taking '10' = 18
On a related note, did he bring along any cargo or large items of which you were not able to personnally inspect? Please indulge us as we have a point to make and it would be advisable to get to it prior to the soldiers of the Phalanx getting too far away. You see what I was hinting at last night at the Inn was that you should inspect your cargo. Following him was a good idea. It lead to your revelation of his use of Pesh. People with gambling, drug, or financial problems sometimes turn to desperate measures, such as smuggling. They may even go so far as to try to cheat their buisness partners. Leading to hasty exits in the wee hours of the morning.
Tark responds via the message spell, chuckling quietly, "Yes, he's smuggling and probably using."
"We told the authorities in Maheto and again just now. Don't worry about it. Just keep your eyes on him."
Regarding the value of the Pesh, Rafaelis did not actually see it, so it is difficult to determine. The average street price for one use of pesh is approximately 20 gp. Given the description of the crates and blocks from Penelope, each of the ten blocks could contain as many as 100 uses of pesh. There could be 20,000gp worth of pesh in the crate.
The wine is easier to estimate. Given the vintage and origin, each bottle is worth roughly 20 to 25 gp. There are 10 bottles of wine in a case. Therefore, each of the other two crates is worth roughly 200 to 250gp.
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via the message spell As you wish, if the 'authorities' wish to chase this down for leads let them. Criminals are notoriously unforgiving with being cheated or worse caught! They have reputations to protect neither are they choosey as to whose throats they slit in the night. Best for us to get far away from Maheto, center of the web.
he pauses
I will not be so presumptuous as to speak for my fellow guards, but when you have need, Tark Toughtoe, you may call upon my services. Part of the price will be greater candor, for now keep your secrets. We all have them.
I will not be so presumptuous as to speak for my fellow guards, but when you have need, Tark Toughtoe, you may call upon my services. Part of the price will be greater candor, for now keep your secrets. We all have them.
Tark nods.
On the Towpath from Maheto to Belhaim, Taldor - Sunday, 29 Pharast, 4715 A.R.
After the soldiers leave and everyone in the caravan has their lunch, Tark and Bray get their wagons moving again.
In contrast to the morning, Mr. Gribb is up and about. And he is everywhere. He climbs on top of Tark's wagon and natters at Tark and Nex for a few minutes.
Then he's down on the road speaking to Denge and Penelope. A few minutes later, he dashes back to Bray's wagon, climbs on, and natters at Bray and Professor Bellerophon and Geb.
Then he's walking beside the caravan, speaking to Rafaelis.
Mr. Gribb's face is aglow. He is energetic, even a bit frantic. He runs circles around the caravan. He picks early spring wildflowers by the side of the towpath. He climbs on the mule following Tark's wagon and pretends he's riding a galloping courser across Taldor on some grand adventure.
Bray leans over to Rafaelis, looking at Mr. Gribb all the while. "It has to be the pesh, right?" he whispers.
On the Towpath from Maheto to Belhaim, Taldor - Toilsday, 31 Pharast, 4715 A.R.
The days on the towpath pass slowly. The wagons average about 15 miles per day. Near the end of the third day, the wagons reach a small inn at the edge of the Verduran Forest, where the canal and towpath enter the forest.
The three days since you left Maheto passed uneventfully. You did not meet anyone else on the towpath. Mr. Gribb was alternately lethargic and fatigued and extremely energetic. Bray was talkative, Tark remained taciturn.
The inn is a low-slung, one-story building surrounded by a wooden palisade. A wooden sign with an elaborate bow and arrow burned into it hangs over the door.
Inside the palisade is a yard with a well and stables and room to fit a dozen wagons. Two young Taldan men, boys really, help Bray and Tark unhitch and water the mules. The wagons are tucked neatly together in the yard.
Despite stopping and the noise in the yard, Mr. Gribb has not emerged from Tark's wagon. When Tark checks on him, he emerges from the wagon with a pained expression on his face, "Mr. Gribb had too much. He's not dead, though. See what you can do," he says to Denge, Rafaelis, and Professor Bellerophon collectively.
Bray looks anxious, "If there's anything we can do to help. Please let us know!" He stands fretfully by the wagon, wringing his hat. Tark shrugs his shoulders and heads into the inn. "Maybe Father Dumpkin can help. Should I get him?"
Denge knows that Mr. Gribb is unconscious and that his unconsciousness is caused by Dexterity damage. He also knows that Mr. Gibb is suffering from severe Wisdom damage.
Denge also knows that Mr. Gribb is moderately addicted to pesh, and the addiction is imparing his overall health. Curing the addiction will require Mr. Gribb to stop taking pesh and will require treatment, either in the form of a remove disease spell or going through withdrawal over time.
Once the addiction is cured, either magically or normally, Mr. Gibb will start regaining Dexterity and Wisdom and will regain consciousness in about a day. Alternately, a spell like lesser restoration will restore Mr. Gribb to consciousness immediately. However, given the extent of his Dexterity and Wisdom damage, he will likely slip back into unconsciousness within a day, two at the most.
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...
Professor Bellerophon, extremely concerned when he hears that Gribb is unconscious, attends to him immediately.
"He's clearly addicted top pesh," pronounces the Professor. "This is completely and utterly unacceptable! We are on the road, likely to be attacked by goblins at anytime. Or even bandits! We need Gribb sane, conscious, and able to function as caravan master."
Bellerophon's attitude is grim and determined. Over the past few days, his companions have noted a quiet mood, punctuated by worried questions about goblins and bandits, arrows and spears, and the likelihood of death by slicing, puncturing or roasting over goblin firepits. His attention has, it appears, turned to self-preservation.
By the Lady, I'm deep in the woods, far from aid, carrying a crossbow I barely know how to use, with little muscle accompanying me, and my caravan leader is oblivious to the world through utter incompetence and asshattery!
"By Pharasma, Gribb is an ass! A bit of krrf now and again is all well and good, but this is not the time or place for it!"
He slaps the unconscious Gribb once or twice. It is unclear if he thinks this will wake him or not.
"OK, here is what we will do. Mr. Toughtoe, do you have some rope? Please bind his hands to the interior of the wagon, so he cannot leave OR GET ANY PESH!"
"Mr. Fevor, if you would be so kind as to retrieve the pesh we discovered earlier. I'd like to examine it for usage. If there is none, then he has a stash elsewhere. We must find that. Regardless, we will be destroying that pesh as part of his course of treatment."
"Mr. Rafaelis, if you would bring my kit to me, ah yes, thank you. Now, some missive oil, mixed with tarry powder, and hogwart. Perfect for this asinine little man." He swabs the man's mouth with his mixture, then mixes the remainder into a canteen.
"This is his water from now on. Let us not confuse it with our own."
"Mr. Toughtoe, once this moron recovers his senses and his ability to move, we will shift him to an exterior, more visible location, restraining him there appropriately where we can observe his futile attempts to remain addicted."
Professor Bellerophon puts his kit back together, tightens it, and stows it nearby.
"He will require some watching. The breaking of his addiction will take some time, I fear."
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Perhaps a better location for his recovery is a stay at this inn. Tied to a bed of course. At least until he is a bit stronger. By the sign, it looks to be this Inn has a dedicated follower of 'Old Deadeye.' As such they are goodly folk and would be of help to us.
Rafaelis stares down at Mr Gribbs, while Prof Bellerophon tends to the man, not without compassion. Contemplating the profound matter of Life and Death.
It would be expedient to just pay the 150 gold for a Cure, if a caster puissant enough is to be had, but I fear without going through the agony he may not cherish recovery and backslide. No, Mr. Gribbs has come to a 'face the gods moment.' He must fight to live free or die pesh's slave. We may now put aside the charade of not knowing about his addiction and confront the issue. Good thing we have a fine chiurgeon to attend to him.
Rafaelis smiles a crooked smile at Professor Bellerophon
Indeed Professor, he might have several stashes! We'll have to seach everything. Let's leave the wagons to Misters Toughtoe and Burrowfoot. They deserve their privacy. Worry not on the long hours by the sick bed, I have a remedy.
He looks from Professor Bellerophon to Mr Fevor.
Do either of you have a Detect Magic memorised? We'll have to inspect his belongings for hidden storage similar to what that dwarf had back in Maheto.
I will also keep an eye out for a Pathfinder Pouch or such like that are sheilded from detection. All Seeing One knows what else we might find. Indeed I'd want a better look at that crate as well. Perhaps the seals are forgeries. I'll enlist assistance.
Oh to sleep again! To be enshrouded in the realm of dream. It goes ill to be long without dreaming.
I will also keep an eye out for a Pathfinder Pouch or such like that are sheilded from detection. All Seeing One knows what else we might find. Indeed I'd want a better look at that crate as well. Perhaps the seals are forgeries. I'll enlist assistance.
...
A search of Mr. Gribb's person turns up another two days' worth of pesh.
Bray and Tark search the wagons and return with Tark carrying one of the crates of Kyonin wine. "We didn't find any pesh, but this crate of wine doesn't weigh like any of the others," Bray says.
The seals on the crate are intact and appear to be authentic.
Neither Rafaelis nor the halflings find any extra-dimensional spaces. No one has cast detect magic yet.
An older human man carrying a candle emerges from the inn. "By the Stag Lord, are you coming in or not?" he asks. He is dressed in simple woolen clothes and wears a simple leather cord with a wooden symbol of a bow and arrow, much like the one on the sign above the inn, around his neck.
"Welcome, I'm Father Dumpkin. What's going on out here? The venison is getting cold!"
Bray answers, "The innkeeper. He's a priest of Erastil."
"By the Parables, he looks dreadful!"
Father Dumpkin comes closer and examines the unconscious form.
"Egads, it's Mr. Gribb! Why you're a week early! ....Hmm...seems he's been poisoned or diseased. Do you know which?"
Father Dumpkin clutches his holy symbol and murmurs a prayer to Erastil. A green, earthy glow spreads from his hand across Mr. Gribb's chest. "That should fortify him for a moment. Quick, what was it, poison or disease? I see no wounds. Was it something he ingested?"