GreyhawkDM-Letters from Hommlet's page

Melardo looks uncomfortably on the spot and shifts in his seat, waving a hand and shaking his head.

"Look, they are the crown jewels...you know, of the kingdom! You know them as well as I do!" he suddenly looks ill "Certainly it would explain some of the recent events in our kingdom..."

The big cleric gives the half-elf an heavy-lidded appraising gaze.

"Evil artifact is it then? Perhaps Terjon is free to examine it for you. He is a veteran of the Battle of Emmery Meadows, one of those who took down the Temple of Elemental Evil some years ago. Sure enough he can help you. Wait right here..."

The adventurers are lead to a particularly imposing and uncomfortable hardwood bench as the heavily armored Cuthbertite heads away down a hallway and up the stairs. Minutes pass in the cool, candle-lit chamber. Soon the cleric returns and the party is lead up a wide stone stairway lined with alcoves featuring the carved busts of stern old figures, men and women sculpted in cold grey stone.

At the top of the stair is a labyrinth of identical round reading rooms and stone hallways lined with candlestands dribbled with years of accumulated yellow wax. A tall, stern man with sallow cheeks and tuffs of gray hair meets the party and indicates a room off to one side with a hand and follows them inside. Old cracked leatherbound tomes line the walls and in the center of the round room is a carved wooden tabletop on a carved pedestal.

Gravely he instructs the artifact be placed within the wards on the table and scrutinizes it cautiously like a coiled viper. Loudly he calls out a variety of blessings and condemnations against evil. He makes his way to various chests around the room, opening them and removing reliquaries of the faith and passing them over the table in droning recitals. When the wards seem to satisfy him--a process that seems to take forever--he begins his long examination of the crystal, combing through to various tomes and removing important looking lenses in elegant metal frames and pouring over every fascet of the dark blue gem. Finally he steps back and drops heavily into a ornate hardwood chair, a look of profound thought and concern on his deeply etched features.

"This object is indeed troubling..." he says finally in a thin dry voice. "It radiates magic, foul demonic magic. Mind effecting compulsions and powerful conjuration effects. Yet for all its malignity, the object is merely a single piece of a larger set." he runs a hand through his curly hair, removing the monocle from his eye and letting it drop loosely on the velvet ribbon around his neck and lets out a concerned sigh.

"Without the remaining pieces it will be quite impossible to determine the intent of these magics. I must demand you leave this item here under our protection, you understand. In addition I would ask how you came upon this accursed thing--for I believe we must act quickly to entomb them before they can do whatever evil they were created to do..."

The walk from the tavern to the temple is a long and dusty one. The wife of the inkeeper packs up the meat pies in little ceramic pots with a wink and a nod to bring back the dirties anytime. Some of her excess of chatter has been dimmed by recent events, bringing her nearly within the human norm. Nearly. Melardo comes along too, though after the retort from his friend, his face has screwed down into a bitter, nervous pout. His eyes shift around, darting to every shaded patch and alley as he sullenly trails along with the adventurers.

Jinnerth shows them down the road out into some patches of farmfield and orchard, and across a quaint handcarved wooden bridge that arcs over the small river that cuts through town. Beyond is a handsome stone and mortar building that looks more like a large cottage than an important temple, but for a single defensive turret in the rear of the building, round with a shingled conical roof like a grainery. A split log fence surrounds a small courtyard in front just large enough for what looks like a small rock lined well. The doors are recessed back of a ten foot passage with arrow slits on either side, but a nice cobblestone path underfoot and a cheery garden of wildflowers and vegetables to each side. Inside, the floors are polished hardwood, the different colored woods cut into a mosaic forming a pattern of large starbursts across the floor. large stone columns hold up the roof and bookcases and scrollstands line the walls. There are benches, but they are thick hardwood--handsome but hardly enticing. To the far left is a massive marble statue, a grandiose figure in armor with one hand out and the other resting on the handle of an enormous mace.

For long moments it seems that no one is there, and it looks as though Melardo is about to work up the nerve to say something, when heavy boots begin to tromp up unseen stairs. A big curtain parts and a well fed middle-aged man in plate mail appears at the opposite end of the foyer. He self-consciously dabs at the corner of his mouth with a gauntleted mit and brightens.

"Welcome to the house of St. Cuthbert of the Cudgel! Feel free to look about and examine our library and teachings. Likewise feel free to demonstrate your gratitude and humility by leaving a small donation in the poorbox yonder." he says, gesturing widely to the same antechamber with the massive statue.

People seem genuinely frightened by the divine manifestation and Arnulf's attempt to persuade them to return to their previous activities are well meaning but utterly ineffective. Clearly the appearance of an angry celestial strikes very few of them as a blessing. The innkeeper and his wife very carefully come forth with prayers on their lips, obviously pale and shaking as they begin to right the tables. Others are picking themselves off the floor. The halfling has disappeared from view entirely, likely hiding. The big barbarian went over onto his backside and his beloved axe into the fireplace. The burned man is struggling to his feet only with the help of the innkeeper's wife, issuing a stream of curses to his rotten luck. The Cuthburtite cleric is down on his knees with his hands clasped out before him, books splayed everywhere, praying loudly in a hoarse unpleasant voice.

Melardo's fear is still obvious, but the disappearance of the celestial has stoked his nerve. He still crouches like a coiled spring, looking ready to bold, but readjusts his hat trying to look more poised and relaxed. "I say...what was that all about." he dusts himself off, warily watching the paladin while pretending not to hear his words--which it stands to reason he would not likely understand anyhow. "I tell you, Amergin, this is what happens when you associate with zealots--all their strange religious mysteries start leaking out into the world, bothering us normal folk." He flashes a wink at Victor.

The shining celestial turns her face toward Arnulf, the flash of righteous anger melting to serene kindness as the blinding blaze of noonday light begins to fade.

"You are more right than you know, Arnulf. These jewels are part of an evil thought cast from these lands, a foul creature that prepared its return to this realm, offering the desires of weak-willed mortals as a means to escape its prison. Be vigilant, for you are called to a great duty that may prevent much wickedness and save many lives."

And like that, she is gone and the room returns to its dim fire-lit quiet. The patrons climb to their feet, eyes wide with bewilderment. Melardo tucks his legs up under himself, a sour look on his face--his eyes still flasing with fear. He looks between the jewel on the floor and the elven paladin guarding it as though calculating his odds.

The feeling of evil that Victor sensed grows more focused as he concentrates on it--two weaker auras and another, much stronger, though it is impossible to determine which auras belong to which people without further concentration.

Terrified, Melardo lets the item in his trembling hands fall to the floor, casting it away like it was plucked hot from a campfire. It tinkles off the ground and slides to a stop spinning slowly. It is a huge saphire, deep blue, larger and more perfect than any used in jewelery.

"...I...I was going to wish for protection. I was afraid that man was from our kingdom...that he was looking for the jewels. I swear...I don't know anything else! I don't know what she's talking about! What does she mean, Infidel?" in desperation and fear he's begun to drool down the front of his shirt.

He's still laying on the ground writhing in fear, the rest of the tavernfolk scattered about the floor like tindertwigs, the furnishings scattered away from the area where the celestial has manifested as though there had been an explosion.

"Well, that was a bit strange and has our hosts on edge; what do you think: apparition, illusion or some spell? did anyone notice any details such as religions symbols or guild markings? Such actions dont seem friendly and a bit showy to just avoid paying the lodging bill, what say you my companions?

There's no sign of the stranger. As the paladin opens himself to detect evil, he feels a rush of wariness crawl up his spine. There is evil, but without further meditation he cannot know of it's intensity or precise location--merely that evil is amongst them. Of the patrons, only the halfling was sitting at the tables, with a clear line to the staircase where the mysterious figure decended, but her back was toward the event, and like the rest of the folk in the tavern, reacts not to something they personally say--but to the reactions of the party. The big barbarian comes away from his spot at the fire, reaching behind him and hefting up a huge two headed ace. Others stand and everyone makes their way into the middle of the common room, weapons drawn and whispering for more information. Even to innkeeper's wife Glora is there with a frying pan, peering intently into the shadows. None of them have any ready answers to the questions, most of them knowing far less about what's happened than the party.

Jinnerth sets his helmet back on his head "Sorry. I barely saw him. Had a cloth over his face, I saw that, and he was dressed in black."

Melardo stands warily, a bead of sweat rolling down his chin. He reaches into his clothes and pulls forth something in his hand and holds it up. It begins to glow a faint blue. "I'll handle this...watch." He squeezes closed his hand and the glow increases, shining through his fingers in the dim orange light. The fire suddenly gutters and flares. "I...wish...."

Suddenly there is an explosion of white light that blows over the table and scatters the adventurers and tavern patrons to the floor, helpless. Inside the tavern, light shines brighter than daylight. Standing over Melardo is a winged woman--hand outstretched a glowing mace held upright poised to strike in her off hand, clothed in shining garments of white gold that flow as though underwater.

"Stop! Infidel and opposer! You know not the ancient evil you are poised to unleash!"

For Brother Arnulf, the revelation has a personal meaning--for the first time he now sees clearly that spirit which had guided him to this place in whispers and visions, now standing plainly before him.

Pies are brought, one for everyone. Each is in their own little iron kettle baked over with a flakey crust and full of bubbling thick meat, carrot and potato, along with big pewter flagons of foamy amber beer. The fire cracks and sputters and it feels like the end of a long day, rather than the beginnings of one. Melardo laughs lightly and takes a pull on his beer.

"Oh I'm all for an adventure. Don't get me wrong. If there's a big chest of gold in it for me I'll go to the far ends of Oerth. It's just slaying the beast for the sake of virtue alone I pass on. Now if the beastie has a giant pearl stashed about somewhere, or maybe a nice valuable statue...now that's an adventure."

From the far end of the tavern a figure shadows its way down the stairs, pale face covered with a silk scarf, dressed all in tight black clothes. He waits at the banister a moment, peering into the common room and...disappears completely, vanishes into thin air. None of the others in the tavern seem to notice the brief apparition, but Melardo nearly spills his beer down his shirt and Jinnerth jumps up with a start and feels around for his spear.

He realizes that he is questioning the will of Pelor, and after a silent prayer of penitance, whispers, "He will show me what it is when He deems the time right. Until then..." he raises his voice enough to address his companions, "...a beer and a meatpie sound good to me." He looks around for an empty table with enough room for the company.

The feeling that comes is not a chastening, but rather a warmth and comfort like rays of sunlight through the gloom warming his back showing no sign of threat or irritation, just reassurance. Just out of sight he can almost palpably feel the presence of that spirit which has guided him to this place, lingering there and watching with approval.

Snapping back to the mortal world it's easy to find a table. They aren't overlarge but for the few travellers and friends they are able to pull together a few extra chairs and sit together if rubbing shoulders somewhat.

"Do you know anymore details about what in the hills gave yon person such wounds or know if he is willing to come tell us about it; perhaps for a beer and meat pie, perhaps yon warrior by the fire has a thirst to see the world and new cultures; I too would probably be quiet and stand alone were I far from home, in a place where people speak and act differently and social rules are different; I have heard the men of the North have a particular honor."

The old proprietor meets eyes with Victor and returns the nod with a warm satisfied nod and smile of his own. He's a monsterously huge man with a thick shock red beard streaked through at the sides with touches of gray in striking contrast to the top of his head, which is completely bald save the last few whisps of curly hair. He wipes his hands off on his apron. "Osler Gundigoot." he says, tapping his chest. He takes the order with lots of good natured nodding. "Beer's a good choice. And meat pies too...good." He turns to depart when his wife comes trundling up, she looks up at him scoldingly and then smiles large to the adventurers.

"Welcome travellers, to the Inn of the Welcome Wench" she says with a curtsy. "I'm sure you'll like the beer, sirs. It's the best in the whole region. Brewed right here in the Gerstenbrenner brewery. Our meat pies are famous too. Please sit and enjoy yourselves. Is this your first time to our fair village?" Ostler, wincing a bit as he is supplanted, wanders off to get the orders filled. She lingers a while longer than she's welcome, making smalltalk about the town before eventually the beer and then the meat pies arrive and she buzzes off to go resume her earlier conversation with her husband.

Melardo waits patiently for her to leave. "I'm sure we could get the story out of that poor man. It may take a bit of careful steering of the conversation and some beer to unstop the cork of his mouth, but I think we could get the story from him with some little effort. Why? You looking to hunt yourself a monster? There's monsters aplenty out here if that suits you. Me, I'll have none of it. Why get yourself killed fighting some nasty thing that belongs there in the first place I say..."

"Well I'll come with you." says Jinnerth with a scowl up at Melardo "I'm not afraid!"

The inn is large and cozy, if a bit rustic, with four chimneys poking up through the thickly thatched roof and a large square porch nestled into an angle of the building with steps leading up the other two sides. A hewn wooden fence borders the building and a sign hangs at the front, wooden with the image of a whistful looking maiden gazing down and to the left as though troubled and sad. It's very well done, and looks as though it has been burned into the wood rather than carved.

Inside the common room is large, with a round cobblestone hearth like a bread oven and two huge barrels of ale beside it. The room is wide and shallow, and somewhat poorly lit--what light there is coming almost entirely from the hearth and some weak lanterns posted along the half doxen or so beams holding up the roof. There are only three modest sized tables, and even these look like an afterthought. To the far left is a counter where the proprietor and his wife are engaged in a one sided "discussion" that he looks anxious to escape. There are patrons here and there, mostly sticking to the shady corners of the room.

Melardo makes some introductions, giving a nudge and whispering to his new friends with each recognized face.

"That man there is Greynam Sturmar, a visiting cleric of St. Cuthbert of the Cudgel." he nods toward a stern and austere man with grey hair and beard, craggy face and large barrelchested frame swathed in grey robes. "No fun at all...here to check on the affairs of the temple and take his cut no doubt."

"This poor soul is Norek, don't know his last name if he has one, but he got himself near killed by something out in the hills. Was dragged in by some folk passing through. Clerics put him together so that he'll live--but he probably wishes they hadn't." The man is scarred badly and looks a little melted. No hair or beard grows on the right side of his face and his arm is in a sling. He has bandages swathing the parts of his body that aren't hideously marred.

"The little one there is Kresha Thrushfollow. She's trouble in a way that only a halfling girl can be. Nice. Friendly. But mark my words she makes me look like an upstanding citizen." he says with a friendly wink at Arnulf.

"The huge one looming like a gargoyle over by the fire is...well I don't rightly know. He doesn't say hardly a word and I've been afraid to push my luck. From his dress though he's clearly one of the barbarian types from up north. I hear there's wars going on up that way all the time--some dark and blighted land they war against night and day. Sounds like the kind of place I'd stay clear of..."

"The Sad Last Days of Meratiss?" Melardo says over the sound of flipping cards. "You know, old friend, you never did tell me why that particular song was written in my honor." He sets the deck down and gives the sheep rancher a toothsome grin "This one looks like he could use a song written for him though."

The shepherd's eyes snap up wide and his nostrils flare, but Melardo tips his hat with a puckish look that suggests no harm meant, and gets up to join his friend, sweeping up a small handful of winnings, mostly coppers and silvers. He gives Amergin a nudge and walks off a few steps away from the others and clasps his hand and shoulder in a warm brotherly hug. When he releases Amergin's hand, there's a new weight in it--and looking down he finds himself holding a deep blue sapphire the size of a climber's piton.

Melardo gives him an appologetic half smile and a wink. He says to his old friend in a low voice "Yes. The crown jewels. I just couldn't leave home in good conscience without them you know. Not in the hands of its current king. They just called out to me..."

Jinnerth gives Arnulf a friendly nod of thanks. He looks over at Victor, hearing his comment and laughs a light laugh. "Oh that's Brother Smyth! There's sure a lot of blacksmiths in town nowadays, but he's been here the longest. Started smithing, really, because no one else did and it needed doing. He's actually not a blacksmith by trade at all. He's preparing to take over as leader of the Old Faith when old Jaroo...well you know. Jaroo's health has been kind of in and out lately. Anyway Brother Smyth is next in line. About half of Hommlet is Old Faith, mostly the older folks, so people have really started to talk. You know how folks are."

Jinnerth gets tugged along by the tide of the adventurers. He takes it in good spirits. "You can see my house, right up there..." he says, pointing off down the road at what looks like a particularly tiny and somewhat depressing cottage with a wooden placard with a needle and spool of thread carved upon it. The buildings are nicely spaced apart, allowing the warm sun, which is just beginning to creep through the cracks in the buildings, to warm the town. "Rufus and Burne are a pair of retired adventurers who came to town many years ago...really turned this place around. Haven't really been attacked or even scared by anything in, wow, years now. Burne was the one who started our little guard. He and Rufus killed a dragon out in the wilderness if you believe the tales. A green one I think--though I can't really tell dragons apart I'm afraid."

As the adventurers make their way down the road they pass an out of doors blacksmith, banging away at some orange piece of metal smoking on his anvil. The man, all bushy black hair, takes off a mitt and gives them all a hearty wave. Then sitting there amongst the locals, Amergin sees a sight that nearly bowls him over. Sitting at a table outside playing a game of cards with some farmers is Melardo, one of the kids from home--a streetwise ne'erdowell who used to encourage him to endless mischief in his off-hours from studying under the high bard. They had gotten in all sorts of trouble. Now here he was, swindling the sheep farmer out of his coin like he belonged here...

"a life of guarding others is a blessed path, be at ease in your task worthy guard as stewardship fosters a true reward; let us then comrades, attend the words of this guardian, and taste of the wonders of this inn and its hospitality as recommended."

The small guard nods in response to the polite comment on his behalf. Looking around it doesn't seem any of the defenses have ever been used, the stones as smooth and clean as the day they were quarried aside from some small amount of lime stain from the frequent rains. The laxidazical building of the city wall also is a testiment to the town's tranquility. The road as well looks brand new, but seems to have recieved the lion's share of interest and revenue. The majority of the guard look to be kids of age from around town, pressed into service to learn how to make themselves useful in a crisis. None of them look to have seen anything more taxing than a rough day of sparring. The guards wear no religious paraphinalea, just a leather jerkin over their peasant clothes, bracers, shin guards and round caps, with a dark tabard with a sylized badger in profile.

Victor's mind rushes with the recent memories of his own training at the citadel in Highfolk, his mentor Ciasind of the Knights of Luna and his request to have the new half elven paladin travel to the Kron Hills.

"Our Queen, Yolande, forbids us from taking action in the lands beyond the elven domain--though many are grieved by this command," the wise elf had confessed following Victor's acceptance into Corellon's holy order. "We know there is urgent need for action and bravery among the common races, and so sometimes we must work through others--those whose fielty would not be put in jeopardy, to take upon them charges where we cannot."

It was only a week ago...strange because it feels like years since he left.

"Tell me, has there been any trouble here lately?"

Jinnerth kicks his foot absently, looking down, obviously embarrassed. He gives his answer in a small unsure voice that's hard to hear. "No. No trouble sir...really. It's just I've never been a big man sir. Some think I shouldn't be allowed to serve on the militia. Don't take me serious. I try hard, but some still laugh." He tries to act casual about it, but his face goes a little red and his thick black eyebrows furrow together.

"A few years back some adventurers--like yourselves, fixed it for me. I really appreciate it. I try to work hard to show my appreciation. If you need anything--anything at all--look no further."

"If you're all looking to rest, you want Ostler and Glora Gundigoot. They run the local tavern, just head right up this road here but before you get to the river." He points off with a stubby finger. "Their butter crip goose is good, but their crusty meat pies are famous. All sorts of adventuring types hang around there so be sure to be careful."

Mist still clung low to the ground as the three adventurers wound their way down the new cobbled roads, up and down long hills. The sun still lingering lazily on the horizon as if unwilling to get up. The town of Hommlet spreads out, a welcome sight for footsore travellers, cozy and rustic with its spread of farmland and thatched roof buildings. Two massive stone structures stand like bookends at either side--on the left a wide domed church, and on the right a low castle fort. The foundations for a city wall stretch perhaps 100 yards from against the castle wall across to the first few buildings, nothing more than a shallow ditch and some wooden supports.

The three adventurers had met upon the road, having shared little beyond names, friendly intentions, and the warmth of a shared campfire. Nonetheless travel in the Kron Hills fosters comraderie: having to hunker down in the high brush to avoid circling hungry griffons, one member sitting and watching the ruins of an old gnomish keep as the others pass through as quickly and quietly as possible. Despite the rigors of travel, the three have been able to learn a few clues about each other. Two are half-elves. Victor Valens-Bentleaf wears the thick scale of a paladin, but has the easy manner of a merchant's son from Highfolk. He seems anxoius about the journey, fresh and green from a regimen of training, and devoted to deity in long and fervent prayers to his patron Corellon Larethian. The other half-elf is a bard named Amergin, bright and charming but with a shade of some hidden pain that drives his flight from home. The last is a studious-looking, wiry human cleric of Pelor named Arnulf. In his eyes there's the spark of true devotion, and from around his head shines a corona of light. Where the others seem casual in their travels, "Brother" Arnulf is focused and travels with urgency, feeling that he's been called there to combat some great evil.

As they come to the edge of town, they see a number of guards milling about with polearms over their shoulders. One handsome dark haired man, nearly half the size of the others but still clearly a human, snaps from rigid attention, rights his helmet and rushes down to the road with a bit of a waddle to his step to meet the travellers.

"Greetings travellers! My name is Jinnerth of Burne's Badgers. Welcome to the village of Hommlet. Can I know your business sirs?" he holds his smaller polearm out in front of him, a polished smile on his face.

Further down the road a few of the other guards in similar Badger tabards laugh and murmer to each other about "...good ole' Jinnerth."