Grundy mops his brow, and fills his mug with a gesture and mumbled word. After taking a few gulps of conjured water, he responds to Norton."Bokkens not a bad man. Think he went off by himself to get away from his crazy family... some relation to my late wife in fact. Can't say for sure if he'll help ya, but I think it'd be worth a looksee. Have faith in yourself, boy. Believe in what you are doing here. Your words will move hearts when your conviction is true." He throws back the rest of his water, and mops his brow again.

"Can't be more than 10.. 12 miles east of here... east southeast I'd guess. He's from one of the old families 'round here who used to live out in the Narlmarches. There was some ridiculous drama around him and his brother Breeg... Bokken took off and found himself a nice little spot in the woods and built a shack. Lives off the land, and dabbles in alchemy... minor magics. "

Papa Grundy finally shows himself while Green and Rogar speak... he looks a little green. Kesten approaches him to return the blade Errol used. Grundy waves it off "Don't want the damned thing. Meant to sell it, but keep it for the Mivoni. That'd really make its previous owner's blood boil! Ha!" He winces from his own exclamation, and holds the side of his head.
With his other hand he waves to the group, and turns to Rogar "Bokken is only fella I know that lives in Sal'dor's turf. He might help you out if you don't scare him... he's a bit timid."

You make your way east out of the woods. Grundy speaks up.
"If you folks don't mind, I'll head straight for Oleg's. I thank you for getting my boy outta this racket. Here's a little something to make setting up camp a little easier for ya in the future." He fishes through his satchel and pulls out a few tiny objects, and hands a bead to Ta'de-win. "Don't know who wants to hold onto it. It's one of the little trinkets I used to whip up... a campfire bead. Just throw it on the ground and speak the command word "firegimmefire" and you have an instant campfire."

Papa Grundy now friendly. Social quest reward!

"Good luck to you all. See you when you return to the trading post."

Grundy agrees hesitantly "Eh... I suppose. Gimme 10 minutes to load up and lock up. Won't be able to brew there to well without a decent still, but I'll head there with my portable contraption. I suppose that'll do."

"Bah! He wouldn't dare have me killed. He lives on my booze and smoke, and no one else can make it. I think Bokken is the only one anywhere near here that could, but it would take him months to work out the recipe... and he is way the heck over in Sal'dor's territory.
Unless you can get good info from the folk you're fixin on ambushing, sounds to me like you need to scout out the fort.... One thing I know is, at least when Dovan was runnin things, they only kept two guards on the catwalk - and both pretty much just facing the path. Topper didn't know why, but they were told to not concern themselves too much with anything but watchin the road. Also, when they did leave the fort to patrol or whatnot, they were to never walk the perimeter any closer than 400 feet - always used the path." He shrugs and thinks for a few moments.

"I do have the passphrase. Heck, I'll go. At least a few of em'll know me just by my face. Bring me a wagon, I'll get at least a half order ready, throw a blue cloak on one of ya ... In out done."

Grundy nods forcefully to emphatically punctuate Norton's words "nobody is going to relocate", and seems to hear only half of Green's words... Once he feels that it is clear to everyone it is fully his decision to stay or go, he calms down. (another awkward silence where all you can hear is Green's horse snoring outside) He turns back to Norton for his question, and rambles through something similar to an answer.
"There's this fellow by the name of Topper Red. He's the one I could get to jaw about pretty much anything or anyone. This was when Dovan from Nisroch was second in command. Dovan is notoriously vicious, but I don't think he ran too tight of a ship. New guy... outsider named Akiros took over, and I stopped gettin visits from the ..uh ..forces in residence."
"Loyalty? I don't think you could call any of em loyal... They fall in line with admiration and fear ... either or both. Auchs the Oaf would probably be closest to loyal, but he's most loyal to Dovan."
"Rojeunet... is an odd one. Can't figure her out." He stares into his mug for a few moments, then looks up. "...from the different things I hear. All I can tell you is she left the Magpies when they joined up with the Stag Lord."

Grundy responds flatly to Rogar ... his eyes are a little bleary to determine the level of aggression he is broadcasting..."I'm not going anywhere, and I'm not waving yer flag."

He acts a bit put off by Furiel's flattery, but doesn't seem to reluctant to speak. "Meh... not today I'm not. Can't seem to manage it. At the fort there might some of little talent, I suppose. I've heard there is an old man at the fort that can heal with a touch as I could, but those who've talked have said hes not one they'd care to have touch em. Apart from that, no real arcaner that I know of. Mind you, its been a while since I've heard from anyone on the actual inside." He takes a swig... his eyes lazily pan across the group, and land on Rogar for a prolonged awkward silence..

He finally speaks to Rogar pointing at him as his tone raises. "And let me tell you something. I'm sick to death of you folk tellin me to move. It's like someone beatin the hornet's nest in my attic, and tellin me its my fault when I get stung!"

Grundy responds to Norton and Green ... "Only maybe a dozen stay in the fort most times... maybe a few more. Most of his men are scattered around the area. They keep camps around the perimeter. He'll most likely send one of those groups ... three to five men, if I hadta guess." He shrugs, not completely certain.

A foul expression passes over Grundy's face when Rogar laughs, but softens as he continues. "His sword arm may be fair, but he relies on Rojeunet's arm for putting down the foolish gloryhounds, from what I hear. She's his insider in Restov. Ex-Magpie herself. I remember ... " He starts to zone out ... staring off in the distance, but catches himself. "Sal'dor may have more potential, but he won't be an easy target. The Stag Lord is a fish in a barrel. Nasty barrel, nastier fish... but ... " he seems to lose his train of thought, and starts staring off in the distance again.

Grundy leans on the bar and nods "Ah Salvador Graenkin. Well, not one for gossip, but I was told he was a house guard for the Garess family. A bit of a cad, but was extremely popular with his fellow guards. Some minor noble took umbrage to his disrespectful behavior and challenged him to a duel. Salvador disarmed him in seconds and gave him a scar in the shape of a frown on his belly. Salvador was thrown out. Two weeks later this minor noble gets caught up in some tawdry scandal and disowned."
He slides into a barstool starting to become more animated as he speaks.

"Bout a year ago, Brevoy made one of their attempts to cull and capture the bandits, huge spectacle. Ridiculous growing convoy of cells on wheels including our man Salvador.
Night before they are to return, Salvador - or Sal'dor as he'd started referring to himself - rallies the rabble. He was somehow able to free himself or convince someone to let him out. He then freed the lot, took over the soldiers tired from fighting and marching, took their weapons... armor... horses... and put them in the cages."

Grundy leans in and hushes his voice.

"From what I've heard bout his goings on recently, I think he is nearly done playin second fiddle to his boss. And with how folk around here have been treated by the Stag Lord, they'll be ready for a charmer in armor." He then gives a pleased nod in a eerily similar mannerism to Budgie's 'am i good or what?' look.

"Well most folk who wanna keep from getting a beak in the eye come up the road..." He gestures to the southwest. Kressle clarifies; telling you they will most likely come along the path next to the Thorn River, and take the bend near her old camp.

Grundy, who had been struggling getting the bench through the door with a growing scowl suddenly drops his end of the bench and looks up. "Budgie you say?! Budgie lives? And Arliss?" Kressle nods, and the old man drops onto the bench. A second later he scowls again. "Well why didn't you say so?! Foolish girl!" He turns to Green and Rogar "These lands would do far better without him... no question about that." His eyes suddenly go wide as he realizes what he had forgotten. "But you can't stay here tonight! ... a note just came today from His fort. He is sending men here in the morning! I didn't know what to do when you turned up. They made me think you had come here with my son's blood on your hands. "

I'll take perception checks next post, and if you are doing anything special while Papa G and Furiel are occupied

Furiel is able to slip between the old man and the door frame as he turns to close the door. You see Kressle cringe with an awkward grimace.

"Oh pay no attention to old fool like me, lad. Didn't mean no offense. Make yourselves at home. I'll be right back. I think I have a bench sturdy enough for the big fellow to sit on." He heads through the door to the right of the bar, and shuts it behind him.

"Yes. Many of the people that lived around here were 'fey-touched'. Treated like dirt all through the River Kingdoms... sins of their father's mother's violators... bah. Group came about. Called themselves the Magpies. All Fey-touched, angry, and willing to do anything to increase their power, and those who spoke ill or worse of the fey-touched would be found gutted in their bed. Now, they work for His Travesty. There are some tolerable, but still untrustworthy fey in the old woods to the west. But the gremlins ... the mites! Oh the blasted mites. No better than roaches with faces that erode your humanity with each blueberry head you pop!" He leans on the bar and catches his breath, reaches for the jug tips it back... empty.. mutters a few words pointing at it.. "Bah!" slams it down.

Papa Grundy hands Norton his water, and looks at him intently, then starts looking around at the others. "Yes. Yes I suppose so." He uncorks a bottle and pours a few fingers of green liquor for Green, and smiles with a hint of devilishness.
He fills Rogar's mug and replies "Yes yes very nice of you to say. Good luck with that."
Grundy walks around the group offering drinks while finally (kind of) responding to Norton.

"Good sir. You have the look of a noble. Don't see many of you out in the Narlmarches. Your kind don't seem to fare too well out here. And every time the Swordlords and the rest of Brevoy are sent packing, things just get more catawampus. Unchecked predators, whole sections of woods turning foul... It has been like this for decades.
"The cowardly Fey... who never lose any but the footsoldiers spread like fire. So less than a year ago, this mercenary captain from the south comes along, vows to rout the Fey... unite the people. Well, all we had out here was bandits and victims, and they all ate it up. Once he was in power, he showed his true nature. Stark-raving mad bloodthirsty self-serving monster. The whole area has fled, is dead, or in his service."

Rogar- just the ale, not the Green Hammer, right?

"Water? Sure ... we can do water. Here lad, run and fill this for us." he hands a large pitcher to Furiel "Out the door and to the right... pump the handle..."

He turns as Green speaks, and holds his hat to look up at him. The skin around his eyes look like it has endured decades of alcohol-induced popped blood vessels and sleepless nights. Papa Grundy has a sizable frame himself, and although a bit doddering, he does not look too terribly weak. "Coming right up. 'Bout all I make now is the "Green Hammer" herbal liquor for that madman, but yer welcome to try it. Apart from that I've got a more ... entry level 3 tuber white lightning, basic ale, and stout. "

You head inside. It smells of alcohol and stale smoke - luckily just short of reeking. There are two small round tables inside, a bar with stools, and behind the bar is a large cushioned chair covered in fur which Papa Grundy is pushing aside to get to a tray of mugs.

"Don't you worry ... I may not see too well, but Bitters never lets me miss a spot when I clean the mugs." He speaks a little loud, and either ignores or doesn't hear Furiel. "You can pull those tables together if you all care to sit together. How are you dear?" Kressle opens her mouth to answer when he cuts her off. "How about a drink. A little drink. Who wants a drink?"

"Going up against the horned princess, eh? Sounds foolish, but what do I know." He turns around and starts to walk back into the house.
"Come on in. You can lash yer horses over there." He gestures toward a suitable hitching fence, and continues inside - leaving the door open.

You move across the little vale. As you move down the hill, you start to see the structures nestled in the trees more clearly. A white-bearded rather normal looking old man peers out of the front door of the nearby shack. He takes a step out, and the bird addressed as Bitters by Kressle flies toward him and lands on the top of his walking stick.

The old man leans his head toward the crow as if listening to it. He nods, and walks carefully down the front steps."Kressle? Who ya friends?"

The shack he now stands in front of is about 40' by 60'. It looks like there are two floors, but the bottom floor is half underground.
The building past the shack looks like a 50'x 50' log cabin with narrow gaps in between the logs. The top of the exterior walls are covered with spikes, and several dozen tiny black birds are sitting all over it.