"Your father's associate, that is," says Atsu. "Hedrig. He says that he was a friend of your father's, and that we might invoke their old camaraderie as he felt it was a waste for a group of adventuring travelers like ourselves to be cooling our heels in the city while waiting for the paperwork to allow our passage on to our eventual goal."
"In all honesty," Atsu continues, "It seems that we sparked some reminiscence for Hedrig, and he was inclined to ask that you show some favor to us out of memory for your father Drilg and their times together."
"Oh yes," replies Ivar, "You are with the ship which docked a few hours ago. Hmm, Uncle Hedrig is indeed a kindly old chap, it would indded be characterisitc of him to want to help someone out." He thinks for a moment. "Come with me," he says finally, "There's something I'd like to show you."
Ivar leads the group out of the office and into a nearby warehouse. A few dwarven stevedores are about but also nearby is a golem, about the size of an ogre and patiently stacking large crates. Something seems to be wrong with its inner workings as its every movement seems to create a loud clanking groan. It drowns out all the nearby noise. Ivar walks up to it and then asks the adventurers to come closer so they can hear him over the noise.
"I can help you - I can get the paperwork cleared and you can be on your way tonight. However, I'll need something from you in return. I need someone to transport some cargo out of the city. On the sly, no questions asked."
The next few days pass quietly. The undead dinosaur mount thuds forwards steadily and, flanked by the skeletons of the predator dinosaurs running in escort, the riders remain unmolested. The native wildlife steer clear and this allows the adventurers to relax and enjoy the view in all its monotonously flat glory.
Eventually the land to the north-east begins to rise. The map provided by Torlaes indicates that this escapment leads to a wide plateau and - eventually and many days riding away - the southern reaches of Karrnath. Following the base of the rise to the south-west, on the other hand, should lead to the shores of Lake Cyre and Gatherhold.
One splendid morning the group crest a low rise and there before them, perhaps ten miles away, they see the glittering inland sea for the first time. However, the light mood is muted somewhat by a cold wind blowing across the plain from the south. Although not visible from here, the cold grey mists of the Mournland are not far away and even here they make their presence felt. This region was heavily contested during the Last War due to its strategic position close to Cyre, Karrnath, Breland and Thrane. The death of Cyre was the most spectacular act of violence in this corner of Khorvaire, but hardly the only one. They ride past overgrown earthworks before reaching the now-largely abandoned road that once led from south-eastern Cyre through Gatherhold and on to Vulvar in Karrnath. Alongside runs the weed-choked line of conductor stones of the disused lightning rail.
However, Gatherhold is now less than a days travel and the road makes travel easy. This close to what passes for a capital for the halfling clans, they begin to see evidence of the inhabitants. A small group of yurts cluster on a hillside and a few riders on fastieths can be seen herding some herbivorous dinosaurs in the distance. A couple of mounted halflings approach on the road but as they spot the skeletal force approaching they scatter in alarm.
After a couple of hours they can see Gatherhold, crouched by the shore and built amidst rocky outcrops. Colourful awnings stretch between the cliffs and penants of all colours flap in the wind. A few pterosaurs soar above, the tiny figures of riders discernible on their backs. The road heads straight towards it.
"Right, so what's the gig then? I know you said no questions asked, but I have questions, and I'll still take the job. I just wanna know what I'm stepping in."
Ivar looks uncomfortable. "I'd rather not reveal the details of the cargo."
As they approach the outskirts of Gatherhold a posse of halfling riders approaches from within town. As they spot the adventurers and their undead entourage they halt, blocking the road but otherwise not making any overtly hostile moves.
Rehil throws a leg over the trike's spine and jumps to the ground. He leaves his pack, but brings his sword, bow and quiver with him. He looks up at Tal with a mirthless grin. "I want to see Wultram talk his way past them. Coming?"
Then he follows Wultram, his bow hanging loosely in his left hand.
"That golem, what's wrong with it?" asks Cole. Even if it's non-sentient, he feels a sort of connection with the constructed creature. "And what should we do if we meet border controllers again? I assume they wouldn't take kindly to smuggling, unless I misread the situation and you only need a courier."
Ivar blinks at the change of subject and shrugs, "I don't know - perhaps it needs a new part. I can deal with customs, you won't have to worry about them."
Tal slides down off the trike and starts walking with Rehil. "Let us hope we can still talk even though we showed up with a hoard of undead."
"I'd be more worried about the trail of dead halflings behind us. Maybe joining up with Vorlaes wasn't the smartest idea."
"I've heard that one before. I need to know what I am getting into. I'm not one to judge morally or anything, I just want to know in case I have to fudge a little something here or there. Honestly, it sounds like you are having an issue and we are your out, you just have to meet me halfway."
Atsu frowns and says, "It seems strange to me that the way you would honor your father's memory is to engage in smuggling contraband. Unless this is some kind of assistance for a revolutionary group fighting oppression, medicine that is trying to avoid being seized by a corrupt government, or otherwise such a cargo..."
Ivar's back stiffens visibly at Atsu comment. "This isn't about my father," he snaps. He then rounds angrily on Nalverren. "Alright, you want to see what this is about? Follow me." He stamps off into the depths of the warehouse.
The cavern proves to be surprisingly large, and it is a few minutes of walking through a maze of stacked boxes and sacks before they reach their destination. It is quiet here, shadows pool amid the dusty stacks and the everbright lanterns are few and far between. A nervous-looking dwarf stands next to a large wooden packing crate, about five feet on each side, marked 'mushroom waste'. He jumps as the group come around the corner.
"Ivar, who are these people?"
"They are going to ship the cargo for us."
"Great! But I thought..."
"They need to see what's in the crate," says Ivar determinedly, picking up a crowbar.
"What? But that's not what we agreed!" The other dwarf, who seems to be quite young, breaks into hushed but urgent Dwarvish. Ivar waves his hand.
"Look, they can take the cargo out of here. If we don't move soon, we'll be discovered and sent to the mines - if we are lucky - and all of this will have been for nothing. Hedrig has checked them out so I think we can trust them. But they want to see what's in the crate. If we want them to take a risk for us, then it's only fair they know what they are carrying."
"I don't know..."
"I do." Ivar takes the crowbar and levers open the side of the crate. It bends back like a door, bent nails acting as hinges, to reveal its contents.
An orc looms in the gap, head slightly bent to fit inside. He is dressed in a grubby loincloth, showing off his impressively muscular physique and ritual scarring the covers most of his skin. Three more orcs squat on the cramped space of the crate bottom.
The orc squints suspiciously at the group, then says to Ivar in a deep voice, "What is this, dwarf? And who are they?"
Cole's first instinct is to grab the people trafficker by the throat, but he somehow manages to contain himself, instead addressing Ivar coldly. "I guess this ties somehow with the Clan Moots' squabbles over orc clanship? What is your angle?"
"This is Chief Naguurg, leader of the Bagorg tribe of the Jhorash'Tal," says Ivar. As the dwarf stutters over the harsh Orcish consonants Naguurg's lips curl in amusement. Ivar continues, "There are those among us who consider the orcs to be an ancient people who have lived in these mountains for as long as the dwarves have."
"Longer," growls Naguurg.
"So we want to reach a truce with the orcs," says Ivar, "Perhaps even admit them as one of the clans of the Mror Holds to cement their recognition as one of the peoples of this land. Unfortunately, the leadership of Clan Mroranon see it differently. The Jhorash'Tal lands are rich with ores and gems. They want the Jhorash'Tal out of the way, and are waging a war to drive them out or kill them.
"Many of the Jhorash'Tal reject any sort of compromise with the clans and see all dwarves as their enemies. But Chief Naguurg sees the need for peace. If the Iron Council can be persuaded, it may be possible to broker a peace and rein in Clan Mroranon. But that requires talks between dwarf and orc. Chief Naguurg and his party were brought here for secret negotiations with some of the elders of the clan. Unfortunately, the talks were discovered and the Chief was seized.
"We, well, rescued him," says Ivar. "If all the orcs can see is betrayal when they deal with dwarves, it will be next to impossible to ever reach a compromise. The orcs need to see that not all dwarves believe like the elders of Clan Mroranon."
"You talk too much, dwarf," says Naguurg, "But you have the essential truth. I came to talk peace, and was greeted with betrayal. But these men rescued me from the mines were many of my race labour until the die. I owe them a debt. Their clan leaders, I owe them an axe between their treacherous eyes."
"Without the Chief, there are no negotiations," adds Ivar, "We have to get him out."
One of the halflings trots forward to meet Wultram, Tal and Rehil. Mounted on a clawfoot, his hunting mask hangs at the side of his saddle. As they reach a comfortable distance to talk he stops and calls out.
"Well met. I am Sinte, of Clan Arasnaye. It is my pleasure to guard the roads into Gatherhold this season. Please, whom do I address?"
The Plains
Surprised at such courtesy, Rehil nods to the halfling. He fills where Wultram left off, "I am Rehil, and this is Tal. It's nice to be greeted with words instead of arrows."
He slings his bow over one shoulder.
Atsu watches the explanation unfold with his arms crossed. He looks to the orcs, then back to the dwarf.
Finally, he says, "I will trust you."
"I believe in the right of self-determination for thinking peoples, and their opportunity to relieve themselves from oppression and tyranny. We will help you."
"Well, I'm persuaded. I'll talk to the powers that be and get this crate taken where you want it. I'll need a solid map of where you want the drop off, and the ship cleared for immediate take-off as well. I guess I will meet you back at your office in an hour or so?"
"I am General Tal'Va'Nocht, Priest of Dol Arrah, General of Dol Arrah's First Tender's Regiment, Bodyguard to Ancient Orzaxes, er... retired of course." Tal gives a short bow with his arms crossed in salute. "As my companion said, it is nice to see one of your race greet strangers without using arrows. We've had a rough go of things on the plains and have had to resort to less than pleasant means of protection and transport. Thank you for your restraint upon seeing our escorts. Please do not fear them for they are quite under control and if that were to change, I will personally destroy them."
The halfling nods at the introductions. "You are well-met. Why have you come to Gatherhold?"
Ivar shakes his head. "The fewer the meetings, the better. I will arrange for the crate to be loaded on to your ship and for the paperwork to be made ready. With luck, they haven't noticed that the Chief has gone missing yet. You need to drop him and his people outside Mroranon territory, on the far side of the valley at Lake Tashgat. You should have that on your charts, it's a well-known navigation marker."
"Sounds good. I'll grab the others and head to the ship, or do you have a more expedient means of contacting them from here?"
Cole follows the lead of Atsu and Nalverren, satisfied with the turn of event. From fearing that Ivar intended to make them scapegoats for some smuggling ring, he had instead found some respect for the dwarf: whatever one may think about the Mroranon controversy, freeing a chieftain was a bold, ardite move.
Ashshar
'...there is always a fight to be found where conflict is had.'
Ashshar's expression showed a flicker of interest at the mention of the chieftain, and they were certainly pleased at hearing agreement. The rumbling hiss of interest preceded their words.
"We will fight to leave, or when we land."
Rehil remains motionless, but for breathing and the flicking of his eyes over Sinte and the halflings. After a few moments he casually turns his head to scan the area. Then he returns his attention to the halflings.
Vaard nods his head in agreement, happy that this is not something sinister and is instead a cause he can easily rally behind.
"Alright. We need to move fast. Be ready to cast off in an hour."
As the other dwarf reseals the crate with the orcs inside, Ivar adds, "Best if we are not seen together. I'll head back to my office. Hopefully we won't need to meet again." With that, he heads off into the warehouse back to his office.
One on the halflings says something to Sinte in their language, and he casts an eye over Tal. But he turns to Wultram.
"Yes. You are a Karrn, yes? You are welcome in Gatherhold, as are all people who come in peace. But your undead - they are not."
"What transport do you seek? Do you mean the lightning rail?"
Tal takes a step back as Wultram explains their needs. Concerned at what was whispered about him, he studies Sinte for a shift in attitude.
"Shall we head to the ship? I see little reason to dilly-dally in this city."
Rehil nods his head. "Yes, the lightning rail to Karrnath, and from there an airship to Regalport."
Sinte shrugs. "I don't care about Karrnath or Regalport. You want to take the lightning rail? The station is just north of Gatherhold. We do not consider it part of our lands. You can loop around the city and leave your creatures there."
"Should we see Hedrig once more before we leave this place? Or perhaps escape this place is the more accurate description, then head to the ship".
"I have no objection."
"Escape quickly. Gather others and keep eyes peeled."
"House Lyrandar? No. House Ghallanda run the town for all the tribes to visit, and for others if they chose to. There are many inns. House Jorasco also have a house of healing here, and House Sivis has a message station. House Orien are at the lightning rail."
The group make their way back to the inn. However, Hedrig is no longer there. As the move about they notice the city watch - dwarven guards dressed in light mail and tabards with the rune of Clan Mroranon and carring axes and shields - moving about in small groups. These do not seem to be standard patrols but instead they seem to be stopping and interrogating passing locals.