"Well," Lord Wallingham says. "You have all been through an ordeal. You are more than welcome to dine once again with my family. If you prefer to rest and have supper brought to your rooms, we would understand."
Caladrel bows slightly to Lord Wallingham, "Thank you for your invitation. I will write my letter first in my room, and then I will join you and your family for dinner."
Caladrel nods to the others and heads toward his room.
"Ms. Pari, I wouldn't be so confident of getting there first. There's not a preponderance of trains upon the schedule, you'll have to run to their time. Personally I prefer the freedom of the movement." Jerry gives a little wink, glad to be talking of things of a lighter ilk.
Turning to Lord Wallingham, he adds: "I'd love to dine with you and your family again. How jolly kind of you to ask."
After about 30 minutes, Caladrel returns to the dining hall with his letter in hand. He hands it to Lord Wallingham and says, "I have reported the events I have witnessed to Rhaelnnine and told him my intention to continue to investigate and pursue these creatures. Also, I have requested that he send some of my brothers and sisters to assist you in guarding the rift and caring for Gindel."
Dear Rhaelnnine,
I am sending this letter via Lord Wallingham's courier to update you on my progress thus far. Unfortunately, the news I bring is not good.
The source of the taint effecting the woods and countryside surrounding Lord Wallingham's estate has been located. Two unrecognizable beings from another world seem to have created some rift that connects our world to another far off world. Great evil must reside there because it leaked through the rift and had an horrible effect on the local fauna. Two gentle dryads were turned into hideous beasts. Despite my efforts, I was not able to save them from what they had become. Also, a great number of aberrant beasts were attracted to the evil emanating from this rift but we successfully were able to repel the beasts.
For now, we were able to close the rift to a small crack, but we do not know how to completely close it permanently. Our efforts appear to be successful, because I already see signs that the forest has begun to heal.
On a sadder note, I found Gindel, whom you may have some acquaintance, suffering from the effects of the rift. I found him in a very weakened condition close to death. We were able to bring him out of the reach of the taint to Lord Wallingham's manor. As the forest has begun to heal, so has Gindel. I hope that we were able to close the rift in time before its effect on Gindel became too much to overcome.
If I may be so bold, may I request that you send some of our order to Lord Wallingham's estate to care for Gindel and to assist in guarding the wood in the event that the rift begins to open again? As for me, I believe I must continue to pursue this task. Lord Wallingham has assembled an "interesting" party of adventurers to solve the mystery of the tainted forest. They are unsettling to say the least. They use chemicals and exploding sticks to repel creatures. I shudder at how magic is becoming almost mundane and can so easily can fall into the hands of folks ill prepared to use it properly. Given the events of the past few days, I wonder if the true taint of our natural world comes from these supernatural beings, or this new society's reckless use of manufactured magic. Between the smoke, stench, and waste byproducts left to corrupt the beautiful flora and fuana, I cannot see that they are not ruining our world on themselves. It is very troubling. But nonetheless, while misguided, my compatriots's hearts are in the right place. I hope with my continued presence and my responsible use of the land's magic powers they may come to see the folly of their ways.
I will continue to keep you informed of my progress.
You're humble servant,
Caladrel Inthesial
"Dinner does sound wonderful," Trina adds, thankful that her stomach hasn't started rumbling yet. After all the fighting and walking, a good meal and a good night's rest are looking all the more appealing.
Lord Wallingham accepts Caladrel's letter graciously and agrees to send it on its way. Supper is, once again, a formal affair. Navigating the etiquette, however, may be easier, having endured it once already. After a restful sleep, when you descend from the bedchambers, Longworth greets you and is able to share the train timetable. Trains depart at 11:15 am and 3:30 pm.
"Hrm. I'll eat in my room. I have to make a few things to refill my bomb bandolier." True to her word, Sylvia requests food in her chambers and tries to avoid eating anything too terribly toxic while she brews her concoctions.
She does emerge for breakfast and is pleased to hear the train's timetable. "I should have enough now to engage a baggage or livestock area for Chanticleer, making it possible to actually ride the train for once! Do you think we can ride with the pilot? I'd love to see how the... things... work!" The elf beams with excitement through the smudges on her face.
At the first light of dawn, Jerry approaches the manors' already bustling kitchen. In his usual kindly manner, he arranges a small picnic of sandwiches and leftover pasties for the journey as well a flask of hot soup.
Then he goes to find Caladrel, to see what the druid wishes to do. "If you take to wing for the morning, then in the afternoon then maybe you could ride with me and improve Luces momentum with your magicks?" He suggests to the presumably nervous elf. "Otherwise, I suppose we could take the train - maybe you could help me soothe Luces' presumable temper?" The noble tries to think of make-work for him, to make him so busy he doesn't think of the unnatural locomotion.
Jerry finds Caladrel returning to the manor after his morning meditation. The unnaturalness of Lord Wallingham's manicured gardens did not ease his agitation regarding the day's journey.
As Jerry approaches, he tries to belay his uneasiness and greets the nobleman. "Good morning Mr. Roberts." As Mr. Robert's makes his suggestion about travelling together, his tension begins to relax. "Travelling together is an excellent suggestion. I can change into a cheetah and run with Luce for 4 hours. We can travel much faster that way. Then casting longstrider for the second half of the journey will speed us along. If we leave soon, we should be able to arrive by dusk tomorrow. That will give our friends some time to examine their items with their professors and be able to report something. The less time I can spend in the city the better. Let the others know our plan, and I will be ready to leave in about half an hour."
Caladrel smiles at Jerry and leaves to make his preparations.
After dinner the night before, Trina wiles away the evening working on her whittling. By the time she turns in for the night, a completed carving of one of the barrel-shaped Elder Things has joined the many other mementos of her journeys in her pack.
Trina is quiet and thoughtful throughout most of breakfast, though Sylvia's eagerness is admittedly catching, which does eventually prompt her to speak up. "So which do we wish to try to schedule? I've no opposition to leaving earlier, but if so we should probably begin making final preparations to depart as soon as we're finished eating." She glances around at the absent members of the group at the table. "It appears Jeremiah and Caladrel will be making their own way as discussed yesterday, I presume? So that will just leave the three of us, then, plus cargo and Chanticleer, unless Mister Krosh also has an animal he'd like to bring along?"
"I know a few places in the city, there's a nice relaxing club with it's own gardens. Or a roof-top cafe, that's quite suitable." He adds to Caladrel before he leaves. Then Jerry packs everything up and makes sure Luce has her protective leather paws on for the journey ahead.
"I'm afraid I do not have any pets that would withstand the rigors of travel, Trina, and Bessie stays by side always. I hope this train doesn't have any regulations about firearms onboard."
"I should hope not," she replies with a nod. "I'm sure they'll just require all weapons be carried safely or peacebound, much like any city would. The last thing they'd want are a large number of unarmed people relatively helpless should bandits or worse sneak aboard, I imagine."
She nods again then turns to Sylvia. "So the three of us plus Chanticleer, then. Seems simple enough to arrange."
After Caladrel has collected his remaining items, he returns to the group. "Jerry, Luce and I need to depart as soon as possible this morning. We should arrive no later than tomorrow evening. Assuming the best, that your mechanical horse does not blow up and scorch the land shall we meet you at the university at dusk tomorrow night? Don't forget your breathing masks, surely you need something to protect your lungs from the foul smoke that is emitted from that machine? Take care."
"That seems fitting. Travel safely," Trina replies, rising to bow slightly to the departing druid. "We'll take all necessary precautions." She leaves the acceding statement deliberately vague as to what precautions are actually necessary, however. "We should likely be packing our own belongings and making preparations to depart ourselves."
As you arrive at first light, a short man in a wool suit greets you. Tufts of grey hair grace both sides of his bald head, and he squints through narrow spectacles at you. He introduces himself as Mr. Maynard, Lord Wallingham's solicitor, and presents each of you with an envelope.
The contents of the envelope are the same: A letter of credit for 4,000 gold notes. Among other locations, they are redeemable at banks in Milton, by the University, as well as in Greyston, the capital.
Caladrel makes his final preparations before departing with Jerry. He pauses as a man introducing himself as Mr Maynard hands him an envelope. When the man departs, he opens the envelope and examines the contents. "How odd." He remarks to Jerry. "I have never seen payment made in this form before. Nor have I ever visited a bank. I may require your assistance with how to use this letter. It will be useful to purchase supplies for the next part of our investigation." Caladrel stows the envelope securely in his bag.
"If you are ready let us depart." Caladrel chants in druidic, first he lays his hands on Luce. Then he chants again and lays his hands across his chest. He feels his strength grow as ant haul takes affect on his body. He tells Jerry, "This will last about 8 hours for both Luce and I. We can carry three times our normal amount."
He then chants again and his body sprouts golden fur with black spots. Within the flash of eye Caladrel transforms himself into a cheetah.
Caladrel paws at the ground and watches Jerry intently until he has mounted Luce and indicates he is ready to depart.
Luce twitches her whiskers as Caladrel talks to her, the soft chanting fills her muscles with strength and stamina and she stretches out her sleek form. The golden fur seems to glow in the sunlight, a warmth and power emanating from within. Jerry seeing that his companion is literally pawing at the ground to be underway, climbs atop her and nods to Caladrel.
Thus they hit the road, even before the others have left for the station in the town. The fast grace of the runner eats the miles as they stride and flow down the roads, the noble cannot keep the smile from his face. For this is when he feels most exhilarated - on the open roads, no responsibilities or worries - with his friend, adrenaline coursing through his veins.
Sylvia accepts the envelope from the solicitor and frowns as she reads the contents. "I understand that it's all the same, but I had hoped for something heavier and more jingly," she sighs, "Still, I've enough to ride the train and hire a spot in the baggage car for Chanticleer. It would be easier if I could change him back, though. He'd fit in a basket. If I could change him at will!" Her eyes glaze over and remain that way as she bemusedly packs her gear and boards the train with the others who are accepting of the more modern conveniences.
"Perhaps it might be something we could see to when we get to the university?" Trina suggests. "Surely their resources might be more extensive than you have on-hand right now."
Her own bags are already packed and ready from the night before; she only awaits her two companions' readiness to head to wherever the trains take passengers.
Caladrel takes off and matches Luce stride for stride as they race down the road toward the city. All of his misgivings about the encroachment of technology on his natural world slip away for a time as they travel through the luscious green of Lord Wallingham's estate. Soon they are on the road toward the university.
Caladrel's predator eyes keep a vigilant search for potential trouble.
"Sadly, the University and its environs don't seem to appreciate the, ah, afteraffects of experiments that don't always go as planned. But, you see, such is the price paid for knowledge! We must all make a few sacrifices in the name of progress, is it not so?" Sylvia nods at Trina in a friendly manner.
"That's unfortunate. I recall a gentleman who once claimed his life's creed was that he learned more from failure than success. One would presume a center of learning would embrace such a mindset."
She clears her throat then gestures to Sylvia. "Shall we be off then? I believe you know the way and where to make arrangements better than either of us."
Sylvia nods. "I quite agree, though it's more some of the side-effects than the failure itself that bothers them. This fellow..." she tugs on Chanticleer's lead rope "...being one example."
As the two companionably lead the way to town, Sylvia explains, "I don't exactly know where the station is in town, but believe I saw it on passing through. Arrangements are simplicity itself..." She chatters on authoritatively about how the tickets are purchased and how the train system works, despite having never actually used the device herself.
The train station is little more than a platform along the tracks with a small building for the ticket agent and a waiting area for those days when the weather is inhospitable. A plump man with generous muttonchops occupies the ticket window. He informs you that passage to Milton will cost a mere 5 silvers. Passage for animals can be arranged for an additional 8.
Before arriving at the station, Trina does the best she can to cover her most unusual attributes, not wanting to attract any more attention than necessary for the group. Hood raised, cloak covering her useless wings, tail beneath her dress and as much out of sight as possible, gloves and long sleeves on despite the weather.
When they reach the depot, she pays the five silver without complaint and, hopefully, without issue.
Caladrel keeps careful watch of the position of the sun, the scents in the air, local signs and the surrounding terrain to stay on the most direct path to the university. He soon veers off the road and heads overland to save time; leading Luce and Jerry along the way.
Keeping his posture correct, his head up high, learnt from his noble upbringing and the years he spent on the savannah - augmented by his bound with Luce. He can feel her every change in posture as if it's his own, thus rides her fast but safely. However he keeps the bearing of one accustomed to travelling wherever he wishes and without brooking any disruption.
After you have booked your passage, you have a short time to wait upon the platform. There are few passengers at the Markshire station. The morning is breezy and comfortable, but clouds are beginning to gather on the western horizon.
The train arrives a few minutes behind schedule, but no one seems terribly concerned about it. A noisy steam engine blows clouds of exhaust into the sky as it pulls the dozen-or-so cars into the station. The trains screeches to a gentle stop, the sound of metal against metal as the brakes grind against the heavy wheels. Most of the windows along the passenger cars have been opened to allow the late summer breeze into the compartments.
A conductor steps down from a nearby car and calls out, "All aboard," to those gathered. After a scant few travelers step off the train, the assembled passengers climb up into the cars.
The village and train tracks behind you, you continue along the post road. A sign-post points the way to many destinations, with an indication in miles of how distant the indicated settlement will be. Milton is indicated at a distance of 74 miles.
The weather is fair and breezy on this late-summer morning. Clouds are beginning to gather on the western horizon as the day stretches to mid-morning.
Sylvia arranges passage for Chanticleer in the livestock or baggage car, leaving him loaded up with her lab gear to keep him steady. She manages to get him situated with the help of the porter, but regards with some regret the reproachful eye peering at her through the car's slats. Giving the beast what she hopes is a reassuring wave, she rejoins the others as they prepare to board the carriage, hopping from foot to foot like an excited five-year-old.
"Yup, looks like," Sylvia replies to Trina's observation, aping for a moment the speech patterns of the country folk they recently encountered, "I do hope the livestock car is covered so Chanticleer doesn't get wet. That thing reeks when he's damp! Hmm. I wonder if our friends will do the same. We shall have to see at the terminus." She shuffles on board the train with the rest of the passengers, craning her neck to view the anticipated wonders, but is disappointed to see that the car is full of seats, not packed with strange gears and contraptions.
"Is this all it is? Moving seats? Where is the motivator?" she inquires, interrogating the unfortunate conductor.
"Well, if this thing moves, there must be some sort of motive force, right? I mean, when you fire an arrow, the bow provides the motive force. When you throw a rock, your arm does it. There must be some sort of motive force to make the carriages go. Normally, horses do it, but here... I'm dying to see what makes it work! I thought we might see it when we got in the carriage, but I don't. Do you?" Sylvia beams at the tiefling, happy to share her curiosity with somebody else.
The car you are in contains seats alternating with small tables, so that four can sit at one of the tables, two across from one another. Some 13 or 14 people occupy the car, but it could easily hold 3 dozen. As you converse with the ticket agent, a young woman has entered the other end of the car selling a variety of cookies from a satchel hanging from her shoulder.
With a lurch, the train begins moving. The steady *chug chug* of the locomotive starts slowly but becomes increasingly rapid as the train picks up speed.
Passing out of Markshire, the road narrows as it passes the cemetery and church-yard. Stone walls hem in the lane on either side as it winds its way into the countryside.
You continue for about an hour. The distant clouds are growing closer and promise to bring some severe weather. As the lane winds through a lightly wooded area, you round a bend and see a young woman standing at the side of the road upon one foot, as she fiddles with the shoe of the other, frustration plain on her face. The hem of her dress is soiled and her hair has come undone. Still, as you draw closer, it is apparent that she is quite beautiful, despite her disheveled state. She throws the shoe to the ground with an exasperated sigh.
Sylvia narrows her eyes right back at the uniformed railroad servant and shows her ticket for admission to the wonderful car, but only after she's gotten a good eyeful of the 'engine' thing at the front. "You're right," she whispers to Trina, "They didn't have any more imagination than to put the motivator in place of horses. No imagination. Not a whit."
Once all are seated and comfortable, she waves down the seller of cookies and buys a varied half-a-dozen to share at the table with the company, crunching her own goodies with some contentment. "So," she mumbles around a hefty bite, spewing a light spray of cookie crumbs, "Who wants to visit the University with me?" She glares around the cabin, coughing slightly. "You'd think they could sell milk, too."
Caladrel's pace slackens as he sees the troubled maiden ahead. Unable to speak in his current form, he drops back behind Jerry and Luce to allow Jerry to take the lead.
"I would be most interested in visiting, and not only for the purposes of the investigation," the tiefling replies with a broad smile. "I must say I've never visited a city as large as our destination, they tend to have their own doctors and hospitals and have little need for traveling physicians as a result. So I'm eager to make the most of the experience. It's a pity we're looking to deal with this situation as swiftly as possible, I'd love the opportunity to spend more time there."
Thus he pulls up, a bit before the the troubled maiden and dismounts placing his hand upon Luces mane in gratitude for her carrying him so far and letting her get her breathe.
"Do you need some help, madam?" He asks politely.
This is quickly marred by the onset of the storm. The sky grows grey and a driving rain begins to pelt the car. The workers and passengers begin closing the windows to keep out the driving rain. Rumbles of thunder compete with the chugging of the engine as distant bolts of lightning pierce the sky. The train slows somewhat as the weather worsens.
As the worst of the storm passes, it leaves in its wake a steady rain, somber and monotonous.
You feel a sudden lurch and hear a screech of metal upon metal as the brakes are applied suddenly. A nearby passenger who had been out of his seat has to grab onto a table to avoid falling to the floor. The train comes to a complete stop, but you see no station or platform. The ticket agent hurries by with a look of purpose - he glances at his pocketwatch in consternation as he passes.
The rainclouds continue to gather in the west, as a distant rumble of thunder rolls across the countryside.
When the stop comes, she rocks in her seat as the train screeches to a halt, clutching her satchel with one hand and grabbing the anchor-post of the table with her tail out of reflex. "Something's gone wrong?" she asks of no one in particular.
Sylvia pops up as if she were sitting on a spring. "Maybe. Let's go see!" She hustles after the man with the fascinating pocketwatch, trying to be quiet and unobtrusive.
"I've got a spare pair of boots, they probably won't fit, but there's a stout pair of socks in here somewhere." He rummages around. "Oh, I'm Jerry by the way."
He begins to move back, toward the next car.
A peal of thunder lumbers across the countryside and she looks alarmed. "Although - that is a cause for concern," she says, her eyes regarding warily the gathering stormclouds. "I should be making my way home. Perhaps a carriage will pass by, and I may be able to get there sooner."