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In the lands of Baron Miguel Dulce, there is a tiny copse of land where a small town lies near the Dread Swamp. It is a blight on his lands, full of degenerates, non-humans and other undesirable misfits. It is called Murk Water.
The homes are built on stilts, to protect them from flash floods that happen all too often. The wooden walls have outward facing spikes to protect them from monsters. The herbalist makes a small fortune off of salves to ward insects and other vermin. And the single temple keeps candles lit in a constant vigil to mark the ones who passed away – often from the swamp, and usually violently. The Dread Swamp itself is home to crocodiles, kobolds, frogmen, ghouls and other dangers strange and foul.
Life is hard, there. But it is life nonetheless. The swamp has a wealth of healing herbs, and valuable lumber. Peat grows black as pitch and plentiful. With some hard work, Murk Water has become a home for those who otherwise would have none. A place worth defending.
And now it needs heroes.
•
It’s been a long couple of days. A tip about bandits being holed up in an abandoned farmhouse far up the Ash Road turned out to be a bust. The information hadn’t been bad, per se, just old. You arrived just in time to find that another group had already claimed the bounty. On top of making no money, the march back was plagued by rain. And while this is nothing new for anyone who lives near the Dread Swamp. For some reason it just felt like insult to injury.
You arrive at Murk Water with tired feet, empty stomachs, and damp clothes heavy with rain.
Kadasa is a slim, athletic woman with her hair shaved into a single strip, wearing a dark vest and loose pants, with a line of antique prayer beads around her neck. She climbs the rickety ladder into her small hut, starts a fire to dry her cloths, begins a pot of thin vegetable soup, and climbs onto the roof to begin meditating.
Voice hearse from the inclement weather and a gestating cough, Shyff returns to the temple and his rooms there. A simple, hard bunk against a dusty stained glass window. But no sleep for him yet.
Setting his soggy travelling clothes to dry, and changing into his flowing fine robes he takes up vigil in the main hall of the temple. Clearing his throat, a low hum begins. Struggling through fatigue he recalls the appropriate hymn. Twelfth Day, Season of Plows. The title of the song was written in a tongue lost to the mortal races, but the long drawn out notes, the mournful chord progression marked this song as a Dirge.
A low resonance begins throughout the hall as Shyff sings, and begins the lighting of candles.
Shrike returns to the town gates with the others, but leaves them there, preferring something approaching free wilderness to civilization, even on a day like this. The silver-white form of Wraith limping along behind him, the ranger finds a good spot in an alley or under a tree or disused roof, out of the way and a little out of the rain. There he hangs his cloak up to make a dryish spot for a campfire, revealing his patched old clothing that does little to hide the sharp joints of his lean body, and hair that falls ragged about his shoulders.
Gathering some sparse wood, Shrike pulls his tinder from a pouch and strikes it alight with a flint, hoping to get a little of his own warmth and comfort on this dour day.
Thelian walks into the tavern, boots squishing and water dripping from his cloak. Damn the scoundrel who sold it. Isn't that the point of the cloak - to protect from rain?
He sits near the hearth, hands and feet stretched to the warmth of the flame.
After the hearth dried him a little, Thelian asks the owner for a plain meal and and a pint.
"I'll pay you next time." he answers a silent and obvious question. "I always do, you know me."
He eats his meal, looking at the customers with little interest.
As Kadasa begins her soup, she can hear wet, nasty coughing coming from the home down the way. She remembers the little boy Jacob had a bad cough when she left. It has clearly gotten worse.
***
Sad music flows throughout the temple as Shyff lets loose his voice. Eventually, there is a stirring and from one of the adjoining rooms, the haggard looking Ben Lagos appears. Ben is the assistant to Madam Bonita, the Priestess of the temple. He is a human with a thick black beard, peppered with streaks of white, and a bald head that he rubs often when he's nervous.
"Shyff, that you? Ah, there you are. I'm sorry to interrupt, but did you just arrive? Have you seen Madam Bonita on the Ash Road?
When you answer in the negative, he grows sad.
"I'm beginning to fear the worst. She accompanied a couple of men into the swamp to search for a specific herb a few days ago. She should have come back this morning at the latest."
***
Just as Shrike settles in a beam of light from a hooded lantern hits him. A low, voice calls out, "Shrike? That you?" Shrike knows this is Marigold, a young halfling woman, who would be absolutely stunning if not for the long, ugly knife scar that runs down her face from her eye to her jaw - a wound she never speaks of.
"By the gods, how many times I telled ye, if it's raining at least go sleep in the barn where it's dry. You're liable to catch a cold or drown as it is."
She scratches Wraith behind the ears and then stamps out the beginnings of Shrike's fire. "Go on, now. In you go. Or I swear, I'll camp out here alongside ye, and you know I'd do it, too. Don't pretend I wouldn't. There's dry blankets and a lantern with oil in the usual place."
***
When the tavern keeper, a dwarf named Bongo, drops a plate of stew in front of Thelian, he gruffly asks, "Thought you had a paying job this time? Some big bounty? How in the hells you screw that up? Oh, never mind. You can sleep by the fire. I'll add it to your tab. Again."
He then places a loaf of warm bread next to your stew, with a generous helping of butter. He claps you on the shoulder good-naturedly and walks off to his other patrons, most of whom are just nursing their beers.
Shrike looks up sharply as the voice calls out, but he relaxes as he recognizes Marigold. His mouth tugs up in a slight smirk as she gives him the usual verbal lashing, and gives a short grunt of surprise when she stamps out his fire. Fixing her with a glare, the ranger quickly finds himself unable to keep up the pretense, and he gives her a nod and a smile. "Alright. But one of these days I'll burn down your barn so you'll stop bothering me so. Don't pretend I wouldn't."
With that, Shrike regathers his things and pets Wraith before heading toward the shelter. At least I'll have the food I gathered out there, he muses, looking to his old companion. Wraith, in turn, lolls out his tongue and rubs his head up under Marigold's hand. Traitor.
Shyff's brow furrows as he lets the magic of his song ring out and sustain the note he was singing. "...She should have waited for me. Blood and Gods, Ben. Why did you let her leave? " He mutters,half cursing himself for his waste of time at the farmhouse.
"What was this herb called and what was so important about it that it couldn't wait?"
Wyla enters the tavern some time after Thelian. Stopping at the doorway, she pulls her dirty blonde hair to the side and wrings the water from it, allowing it to patter softly onto the floor beside her. Tossing her hair back over her shoulder she walks easily over to find a seat near Thelian and the fire. "Do not worry, Thelian, our next paycheck will come soon," Wyla says with a smile. "I had a feeling that job would not pan out; had I known the weather I certainly would have kept shopping." She stretches her arms out, rubbing her hands together in front of the fire before looking over to Thelian's empty cup. "How about another round on me?"
Kadasa continues her meditation for a bit, then descends and goes to Nuccia's home and knocks. "Your son is still ill, it seems? Have the healers done anything further, Nuccia?" Kadasa folds her arms and leans against the doorframe. "The body, the mind, and the soul are all one, as I have said many times before. What stregthens one strengthens tthe others. Have you given any more thought to my offer? Jacob shows promise, Nuccia."
[dice=Discern realities]2d6
"Alright. But one of these days I'll burn down your barn so you'll stop bothering me so. Don't pretend I wouldn't."
Marigold shakes her head in amusement as she continues to play with Wraith. And Shrike thinks, and not for the first time, that Marigold may have a touch of Druid in her, or perhaps even Ranger. And if life had gone another way, perhaps she would be on the fringes herself.
"Just make sure you stay warm and dry. There's a cough going--" Marigold suddenly starts to cough violently. It sounds wet, and sickly.
"Bah! That's all I need. First nightmares, now this!"
Shyff's brow furrows as he lets the magic of his song ring out and sustain the note he was singing. "...She should have waited for me. Blood and Gods, Ben. Why did you let her leave? " He mutters,half cursing himself for his waste of time at the farmhouse.
"What was this herb called and what was so important about it that it couldn't wait?"
Ben looks put out, but answers back. "When has anyone ever been able to force Madam Sylvia to do anything? Besides, it didn't sound like it would be that hard for her to find. She only needed fresh white moss. It was for Nuccia's boy, Jacob. He's been -- ill."
Wyla enters the tavern some time after Thelian. Stopping at the doorway, she pulls her dirty blonde hair to the side and wrings the water from it, allowing it to patter softly onto the floor beside her. Tossing her hair back over her shoulder she walks easily over to find a seat near Thelian and the fire. "Do not worry, Thelian, our next paycheck will come soon," Wyla says with a smile. "I had a feeling that job would not pan out; had I known the weather I certainly would have kept shopping." She stretches her arms out, rubbing her hands together in front of the fire before looking over to Thelian's empty cup. "How about another round on me?"
Bongo smiles as he sets a bowl of soup and fresh bread in front of Wyla.
"Ah, look at you paying for this layabout, again, Wyla. You're too good a soul, you are."
Kadasa continues her meditation for a bit, then descends and goes to Nuccia's home and knocks. "Your son is still ill, it seems? Have the healers done anything further, Nuccia?" Kadasa folds her arms and leans against the doorframe. "The body, the mind, and the soul are all one, as I have said many times before. What stregthens one strengthens tthe others. Have you given any more thought to my offer? Jacob shows promise, Nuccia."
A weary looking, Nuccia, opens the door to Kadasa.
"Oh, Kaddy, dear, you're back so soon. And, yes, Jacob still has his cough. Madam Sylvia was here the other day. Gave him some medicinal tea to drink. But she said she had to find something special in the swamp. I'm - I'm getting a little worried. She was supposed to be back this morning."
Shyff starts to collect his belongings, strapping on his leathers over the top of his robe, throwing his shawl over his shoulder and splashing cold water on his face.
"White moss...." Shyff struggles to recall anything about the herb, particularly where in the swamp it might grow.
I any case, he was certain the Ranger could find it, knowing the swarthy curr he'd be camped up outside the gates again.
"What type of ill? Spit it out then... are you sure he's not playing just to hear me sing that tavern song again...the one about Butcher's Daughter" It was a popular one at the local tavern so he sung it regularly, but after learning it Shyff could never look at a sausage the same way again.
Shyff faintly remembers white moss from one of his songs. Something about a princess who was cursed by a witch. He's pretty sure it involved a pickle somehow.
..."What type of ill? Spit it out then... are you sure he's not playing just to hear me sing that tavern song again...the one about Butcher's Daughter"...
"Well, I'm not sure if I should say," Ben says hesitantly. But he finally relents. "Well, I guess since it's you. Madam thinks that the little boy isn't sick at all. But that he's cursed. And she needs the fresh white moss to break it."
"A curse? What superstitious nonsense." Shyff says brushing off Ben's explanation "Very likely he's just got a taste of whatever revolting cough has been going around. I don't know how you humans cope with it all."
"But if Madam Sylvia hasn't returned then something went wrong. While I'm gone I want you to continue the chant I taught you. And for the love of all that is good, it's pronounced 'Il'canthryst dei mortyial iyr sendala' not... whatever you said."
Shyff says, a trail of dust in his wake as he leaves the temple.
He makes his way right back out to the gate where Shrike left them. He starts looking in all the normal places, shouting "SHRIKE! You old dog! Where have you buried your bone this time..."
Shrike quickly turns his gaze on Marigold as she coughs, and Wraith's ears perk up as well. The Ranger watches her closely for a few moments, then speaks, his voice soft and calm. "What exactly is this cough?"
"How about another round on me?"
"Have I ever refused a free drink?" Thelian smiles back.
Let me know which of the three questions you would like to ask.
Kadasa nods and claps her fist against the other palm. "We shall see what must be done. But remember, Nuccia. Jacob would do well under me, and his welfare would be seen to." Kadasa climbs down the stairs and heads to the temple. On the way there, she runs into Shyff hollering for the ranger. She cuts a quick bow and then tenses slightly while speaking with him. "Ekatiz'bahi Izana, it seems you've found something urgent. Have you heard of Priestess's disappearance?"
"Intor'rei Aza, Young one." Shyff waves to Kadasa "I have heard. And you? The boy's illness then?" He asks putting two and two together.
"Did it seem anything out of the ordinary?"
Shrike quickly turns his gaze on Marigold as she coughs, and Wraith's ears perk up as well. The Ranger watches her closely for a few moments, then speaks, his voice soft and calm. "What exactly is this cough?"
"Oh, it's nothing, really. Nuccia's boy and a few others have had a cough. Seems to skip most folks though. I didn't mean to imply it was an epidemic. But little Jacob was in dire need, last I heard. Might not make it."
"How about another round on me?""Have I ever refused a free drink?" Thelian smiles back.
Let me know which of the three questions you would like to ask.
Bongo smirks, pours out the drink. And walks to his other customers.
Thelian notices that one of the patrons is drinking a little too hard. And has a look on his face like he wants to start a fight. He suddenly makes eye contact with you, and glares.
Shyff, Kadasa and Shryke meetup. They share talk about the missing Madam Bonita and the odd sickness hurting some of the residents. The head over to the Bongo's Bounty to see if they can wrestle up Thelian and Wyla.
They walk inside.
Kadasa shrugs. "Not to me, Izana, but I'm not the most skilled in healing. Where are Thelian and Wyla?"
"Hmm." Shrike grunts in response to Marigold's comment, and trades a glance with his wolf. "Marigold, I'll be back for the bed, but I should check with my allies--make sure they've found a place to sleep. I'll return soon."
With that, he moves around town to find the others--first Kadasa and Shyff, and then to the Bongo's Bounty to meet Thelian and Wyla.
...
Just as the three of them walk into the Bongo's Bounty, they see Thelian exchanging glares with one of the drunks.
"What are you looking at?" asks Thelian in an annoyed voice.
The man stands up, his chair falling over in his haste.
"Looking at you, knife ears. My little girl been coughing a fit and having nightmares. And now I'm wondering if maybe you have been using some of that weird elf magic on the folk here. Everyone knows your a layabout. But I'm betting you're a murderer, too."
"Then maybe instead of drinking and accusing people, you should treat her, dull ears." Thelian looks up from his chair, still sitting. "Now go, I have people I actually like talking to."
The drunk looks as if he wants to punch Thelian, but Bongo puts a not particularly gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Go home and sleep it off. Now."
The drunk gives Bongo a dirty look but after a tense moment walks away.
"Charming as always Thelian." Shyff quips to his companion, before preempting his question
"It's Madam Sylvia this time. Lost searching for white moss."
"You've been pretty busy if you're the cause of the coughing," Shrike comments, watching the drunk make his way out. "Seems half the town has it."
"Great, an epidemic." sighs Thelian. "Just the thing we need."
"That's why Madam Sylvia went for this moss?"
Kadasa silently watches the drunk rant, then get escorted from the tavern. "We best be off. He likely has friends who share his ideas, and a drunken mob will not help sick children." She turns towards the door and heads out.
Kadasa sets out into the dark swamps looking for any sign of the missing herbalist.
• the quartermaster reduces the number of rations required by one
• the trailblazer reduces the amount of time it takes to reach your destination (the GM will say by how much)
• the scout will spot any trouble quick enough to let you get the drop on it
Shyff, regularly accustomed to this group embarkation ritual takes his normal role: doing precisely nothing.
"I'd just get in the way." He says dismissively before conducting his vocal warm-ups: complex scales of notes that range from guttural to shrill and piercing.
"That's fine. I'm used to the wilds."
"Someday you'll have to do something, Shyff." grumbles Thelian, but smiles afterwards, imagining what would come of it.