"Have you heard any news from elsewhere in the Vale while we were at the old ruins?"
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Starsong Hill
Killiar Arrowswift smiles at Ambrose's question. "Your horse is safe, and in good hands. Maludin, who is taking care of your companions, hasn't fared so well. It would seem he had underestimated how hard horses can kick." In response to Helaku's question, the elven leader rejoins, "The news we've been picking up is garbled. There seems to be a checkpoint, guarded by hobgoblins and ogres, west of Lake Rhest. They seem intent on disrupting trade and stopping movement in and out of Elsir Vale. Beyond that, well - nothing has been heard from the west of the Vale for several days now. One town in particular, Drellin's Ferry I think it was."
It is a great relief when the owls alight at the elven encampment of Starsong Hill. Killiar and Speaker Sellyria Starsinger ensure you are well fed, while the clan's priest, Illian Snowmantle, organises a group of healers to tend to your wounds. It won't be long before you are all feeling better. In the evening, the elves hold a feast in celebration of your accomplishments. The lizardfolk seem momentarily cowed, the Red Hand forces left in the area are in disarray, and you've managed to drive off a dragon! Killiar Arrowswift announces that your bravery has inspired the Tiri Kitor to look beyond the Blackfens, and take more interest in the outside world. A band of elven hunters have even volunteered to aid in the defence of the Vale. Killiar offers to fly with them to Brindol.
Later in the evening, after the festivities have ended, Sellyria helps to identify some of the treasure you brought back. "Let's see. Hmm, several of these items would be ignored by our own hunters, but would suit a knight such as yourself, Ambrose, or Shaylar you as well. The armor, and the mace, and this pennant, attach it to a lance or spear. Three times a day it should grant you great bravery and morale in battle."
"This horn over here, made form a mountain goat, is a horn of fog. Sound the horn, and it shall create a cloud of obscuring mist that will conceal the musician. Very useful. And this headband, this has been enchanted to grant increased Wisdom to the wearer, in much the same way that the one on Leonar's brow must do. I would be interested in a magic item such as this. Perhaps you would consider a trade? In exchange, I can offer you an arcane wand, that you can use to cast scorching rays at your opponents."
When she opens the small iron coffer and beholds the delicate adamantine chain threaded with lion's claws and teeth, Sellyria gasps and takes a step back. "An abomination! How could this come here, to our encampment! Do you know what this is? An instrument of evil, an abomination. This my friends, is a lich's phylactery."
You also find a means to open the locked ironbound chest found in Wyrmlord Saarvith's quarters. Inside are six leather sacks, each containing 100 silver pieces and 20 gold pieces. Wedged between some of these sacks is a delicate-looking wooden and silver box. Inside the box is a folded letter that smells of strange perfume, although it's obvious from the indentation in the velvet lining that something the size of a child's fist once rested in the box as well. The box itself is finely wrought, and likely would be worth something to a collector.
Saarvith -
Take great care with the enclosed phylactery. I need not explain to you what the Ghostlord would do if he knew where I had sent his little bauble for safekeeping. Hide it somewhere safe - perhaps it could be trusted to your dragon friend's keeping? Keep it hidden until Brindol is taken. Should it fall into the hands of someone who could return it to its owner, the consequences for our effort could be dire indeed.
- Ulwai
Finally, Killiar offers to bring you to where your horses and wolf have been waiting, so that you can check that they have been well cared for.
"A lich's phylactery. But whose? And why is was it there?"
"Helaku is right. What lich might have left their phylactery unguarded? Can it sense we have it? If so, we might have an unwanted visitor soon enough."
"If this Red Hand has set up checkpoints, we should see that they are removed. Supplies and allies will be needed in this war, and closed roads do us no good."
When it is mentioned that a band of elves will fly to Brindol, Ambrose is most pleased. "I serve Lord Jarmaath as a Lion of Brindol, a position not unlike that of your hunters here. On behalf of my lord and city, I give you my thanks, and I will not forget your aid."
"Indeed, Leonar...though the letter mentions how it is imperative that the letter not be returned to its owner. Ghostlord...hm. Look, the bottom of Koth's map shows that name, south of Drellin's Ferry. That's the Thornwaste. I think we may need more information before any action."
Taking the letter, I pour over the writing before reading it out aloud to my friends. "I reckon this Ghostlord is either the lich in question or knows of him. But it seems more likely that he has somehow procured the phylactery and is using it to extort the lich with it into helping the Horde. Which seems to follow from the warning as well."
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You reckon there is a legend local to Elsir Vale about a Ghostlord, but you can't recall the details. And you don't dredge up any more details about liches or their phylacteries.
Sellyria is delighted to make the trade of magic items, handing you the wand in exchange for the periapt of wisdom. You soon see it gracing her bow, emphasising her air of dignity and ancient wisdom. "Can we persuade you to stay for a while? We can easily find accommodation for you, but I sense you do not intend to stay overlong. Where do you plan to go from here?"
Know. Geography
Know. Nature
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You recall campfire tales of the Ghostlord of the Vale. These tales speak of a once-proud druid who dwelt in the verdant plains south of Rhest and led several tribes of nomads. These nomads were said to have built a massive lion of stone in honor of this great druid, who taught them the ways of the lion and how to live at peace with these proud creatures. Yet when dark times fell on Rhest, their shadow also fell upon the lions' plains.
It began when nobles visiting from Rhest arrived in the region. the nomads befriended the nobles but were betrayed by them when the visitors hunted down and killed a lion monarch for his pelt and claws. the nomads reacted with violence, slaying the visiting nobles to a man. Rhest answered in kind, and its army marched against the southern plains. The disorganised nomads stood little chance against Rhest's military might, and the tribes were slaughtered despite the fact that the lions rose to defend them. The warriors of Rhest confronted and slew the druid between the paws of his own massive stone shrine.
But the night after the warriors returned to their city, doom came to Rhest. Ghost lions prowled the streets, stalking and killing anyone they came across. When the dawn came, the entirety of Rhest's cavalry, including families, servants, and squires, lay dead. Rhest never recovered from this night of terror, which marked the beginning of the decline of that once-proud nation. In the years since, the once-verdant hills to the south have grown horrid and tangled. The Thornwaste is all that remains.
Read the results above for Knowledge local. The story is accurate in its general outline, but it gets several important facts wrong. Urikel Zarl, the great druid of the story, was in fact the leader of a cruel lion cult based in the southern regions of the kingdom. His people were not the noble nomads legend recalls, but feral cannibals who believed that in death their bodies would transform into lions and thereafter live forever. Urikel Zarl was their undying lord and master, who had long before turned his back on the natural world for the tainted promises of eternal undeath. When the Rhestian lords sought to challenge his power and subjugate the region, their cavalry and the cultists destroyed each other; in the years to come, both Rhest and the Thornwaste fell to ruins as a result.
You recall once seeing a map that placed the Ghostlord's lair somewhere near the eastern end of the Thornwaste. Tellingly, most regional maps show nothing in this depopulated area.
This is a very unusual phylactery for a lich, and is probably the work of a druid.
Thank your for all of your hospitality, madame. As for our next destination...well, if there are more blockades on the roads, we should look into dismantling them. Otherwise, other than joining the defense at Brindol, our only lead is this phylactery and note. Would you happen to have any historians in your camp? Trellara is a bard, might she know any stories of this Ghostlord?"
"A good suggestion Ambrose. I can tell you all some tales I heard of this Ghostlord before I came to the Vale." Helaku shares what he knows and suggests that perhaps the answer lies in the Thornwaste.
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Helaku shares with you his recollections of tales he has heard of the Ghostlord of the Thornwaste. Afterwards, Sellyria steeples her fingers and leans back in her seat by the fire. "The years have wrought many changes in your tale, sorcerer. Your story paints the druid and his tribe as noble savages, trodden upon by the brutal knights of Rhest. As I remember, the nomads were in actual fact feral cannibals who thought that by dying in bloodthirsty combat they would be recreated as undying lions. Urikel Zarl had already embraced eternal undeath long before. The nomads were his fanatical cultists. When the lords of Rhest sought to challenge his power, the two armies destroyed each other." She creeps closer to look at the phylactery, not daring to touch it. "This, must belong to Urikel Zarl. The Ghostlord. It should be destroyed at once. Yet, your goblin's letter implies they fear the item being returned to its master. Why? Why steal it in the first place?"
"I would have thought they would steal it to try to coerce him into their service. The only other reason I can think of would be to learn from it and create a lich of their own. But it would seem there would be other ways to do that. How about the rest of you? Any ideas?"
"So they stole its phylactery to force it to serve them? If that's true, an angry lich could really become a bother for the bad guys here. Of course, maybe the lich is worse than the army. I'm not sure which way I'd lean."
Ambrose rubs his chin, thinking on these developments.
"An army of goblins, Brindol can handle. Strong walls, a trained city guard. Even a few giants thrown at the gates, Brindol would survive. This Red Hand, though...we have seen beyond goblins, beyond giants. They have dragons. High walls, strong gates, pikemen will mean less in a defense against such creatures. That is bad enough. The thought of undead forces joining the rest of what we've seen...I will do whatever it takes to curb the assault. I say we take to the Thornwaste and end this lich's allegiance with the Red Hand. I'd prefer to sever those ties by the sword, but even I can see the wisdom in handing over this monster's trinket in exchange for a withdrawal."
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Sellyria stares deeply into the fire. "These are grave tidings. A lich is not a creature to be trifled with. Even should you find the Ghostlord coerced into helping the Red Hand, there is no guarantee he would make a trustworthy ally. But, the risk is leaving him to ally with our enemies. It could be that you will need to confront him, either to prevent him giving aid to the goblins, or once this confict has been resolved, gods willing. But to do nothing may tip the tide in the wyrmlords' favour. I fear that if you go, not all of you will return."
"You're probably right Sellyria, but that seems to be our fate. I don't think we can take the chance that he decides to aid the Red Hand."
"Ugh undead monstrosities. The idea makes me sick. But, the whole army of awfulness might be even worse. I suppose we have to at least investigate this."
Ambrose looks intently at Sellyria for a moment. "Is that a prophecy, my lady, or a guess?" He raises his hand up reflexively after asking. "On second thought, do not answer that." He turns to his companions. "Our path lies before us. It is a long road to the Thornwaste. I fear we have little time for leisure. For every breath the Red Hand is one step more in their march across the Vale."
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At his comments, Sellyria gives Ambrose a long, not unkindly but pitying look. "If you are determined to go then please, let us aid you. Whatever you feel you may need for your journey, if it is in our power to grant we shall do so. Rest now, tomorrow we will return you to your companions and speed your departure.
------
The following day after breaking fast you are flown back to the hillock where Maludin was tending Fang, Smoke, and your other horses. Killiar gives one final farewell. [b] "I will ready a party of our people for battle. Fare well. You have made me reconsider humans, you may have merit after all. We will meet again."
Helaku smiles at the sight of Cayenne and walks up to rub his horse's nose. "Time to go on the road again friend. You look like you've been treated well." Helaku turns back to Killiar when he speaks. "Thank you Killiar. Thanks to all of your people. We truly appreciate your help and look forward to meeting you and your people again. I hope the day will come soon when we will all meet in peaceful times instead of under the storm clouds of war."
Being reunited with Smoke does much to strengthen Ambrose's resolve. He embraces the horse as one might a close relative, stroking her neck and mane. It has been too long, my friend. The road beckons, and I would not want to strike out at another foe without you with me."
The reunion with Fang is a joyful one, with the wolf running circles around my legs, jumping into the air and up against me, nearly knocking me off of my feet. Laughing I hug my animal friend and rub his nuzzle.
Once things settle down a little, I look at Ambrose: "Can you give me a ride? With Dapples killed I am lacking a horse and I doubt our friends here can spare one of their owls, even if I knew how to fly one. Unless they do have a horse they're willing to part with."
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Having gathered horses and wolf, you head off on the road south. The horses seem in fine spirits after their sojourn with the elves, and Fang gamely bounds ahead of the party. You rejoin the Rhest trail and eventually come across the road blockade that you defeated. It doesn't look as if the garrison has been reinforced since you first passed this way, and crows and vultures and worse have been at the bodies of ogres and hobgoblins. Riding a bit farther, you find a safe place to camp for the night.
The following day you reach the town of Witchcross, at the ford of the Witchstream. There are still a few hardy villagers here, but the majority of folk have followed the advice of their leaders - a circle of druids known as the Keepers of Eth - and fled into the hills. They appear more eager to take their chances in the wilds than flee to Brindol.
Moving on, the next day you come to a crossroads and turn off the road to Brindol to take the road south-west towards Talar. When you arrive in the small town, you find the local folk in the midst of evacuating the town. The local ruler, the high spirited Lady Celiira Nesten, is being aided by a trio of Lions of Brindol. Their leader is clad in gleaming silver armor, with a wide banner with the rampant lion of Brindol quartered with a black-bladed sword. He has close-cropped hair and a trimmed beard. Also herding the townspeople is a man with long dark hair gathered in a braid, his face and arms covered in countless scars, and a wiry young Halfling. Nearby, a group of elders led by a young woman in scaled armor seem to be remonstrating with the cavaliers.
You know these three Lions, by reputation if not personally. The leader is Gareth Blackblade. Known for his loyalty to Brindol, his leadership, and courage. Equally known for his patrician views, arrogance, and wealth. His companion with the long braid is Ulgdar Mentreth, a warrior who was raised up to the rank of Lion of Brindol after a successful career as a frontline fighter. The other is Skander Ashworthy, one of the few non-humans to become a Lion of Brindol in recent times.
On seeing your approach, a look of disbelief comes over the leader's face. He stops giving orders and addresses you. "By the gods! Is that you, Harrowfield? You have been a long time away from Brindol. Who is this rabble with you? Nevermind. We're falling back to the city, and I'm putting this town to the torch. We must deny the enemy any opportunity to reprovision. It's the only way to slow their advance on Brindol. Make yourself useful, man. That street over there has been emptied. Take your cohorts and put the torch to those houses."
At this remark, the group of town elders shout in outrage, while the young woman stalks up to the Lion who spoke and shoves a finger in his face. "Listen! Brindol doesn't tell us what to do. We might have to evacuate, but these are people's homes and shops you're burning to the ground. We have to hope we can return here once the danger's past. And we don't need to take orders from the likes of you!" One hand strays near the sword at her side, and the leader of the Lions looks ready to clap her in chains.
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Leonar spends most of the trip in eagle form, so that the group could travel even faster. There was much to be done and time was of the essence. He waited for Ambrose to offer an opinion on the goingson in the town before jumping into a scrum.
"Hail, Gareth, I did not expect to see you out here." Once Ambrose learns of what they are doing, he gets a bit rigid. "Far from...rabble. This is the sorcerer Helaku, and Leonar, a shaman of the wild plain, and Shaylar the ranger. They have done much for the Vale in these past weeks. We've been fighting this goblin horde and their allies, slowing them where we can. I sent word to Lord Jarmath from Drellin's Ferry with a full report."
When Gareth's command comes out, and when the woman responds, Ambrose steps forward to intervene, holding a hand out towards the woman before she makes a move. "Hold, my lady; we've enough enemies all around before making them of ourselves. Blackblade, your plan isn't without tactical merit, granted, but is it really necessary to raze the town, these homes? We've seen this army; fought it. Its giants, its mages, its dragons, its beasts. Their goal is to erase our mark on this land - and you don't need to take my word for it." Ambrose turns and asks his companions for Koth's map and unfurls it before Gareth. "We took this off of a goblin general, they call them Wyrmlords. Shaylar translated the goblin scrawl on this - their goals are not conquest by how this map reads, but annihilation. Several references to burning down our homes themselves. I don't see sound reason in giving them a hand in it."
He shakes his head, handing the map off. As Ambrose speaks, he does his best to keep calm, but he perhaps a bit too obviously nervous taking this stand. "War demands difficult decisions, but our choices separate us from this horde. We're Lions of Brindol, and my oath sworn to my lord and my city demands that I protect these lands, these towns, and these people. I cannot save their lives today to ruin their livelihood tomorrow. Unless Lord Jarmath's own order is to put this place to the flame, I'll have no part in it. If it is his order, I cannot say even then would I. I say let us get these people out of here and not make any moves that might haunt us at a critical hour when we need to make a unified stand."
"I've got to agree with Ambrose here sir. We don't mean any disrespect, but its likely that if the horde comes here they'll burn it anyway. Take what they might use to Brindol and leave the empty town behind. With any luck they'll pass it by and these people will one day be able to move back."
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The lead Lion, who Ambrose named Gareth, snatches Wyrmlord Koth's map out of Ambrose's hands. A note of derision crosses his face; it's clear he can't read the Goblin notes. His eyes widen though as Ambrose and Helaku describe what you have seen so far and the intelligence that you have gathered. "Great Pelor, Harrowfield, you have been busy! This horde, is not far off. Even now, it closes on Terrelton. Drellin's Ferry has been overrun. Very well, I'll concede that you and the Lady Nesten here have a point. All the more reason we should get these folk to Brindol. Your friends look like capable fellows, this sorcerous one especially - what was his name? Helaku? You can aid us by helping those poor people huddled over there into wagons so that we can get them away. Most of them are refugees." He waves an arm towards the edge of town, where beside a small shrine dedicated to Pelor a couple weary looking clerics are tending to a small group of sick and injured folk.
Having set you to work, Blackblade immediately stalks away, engrossed in another task. The other two Lions follow, though the Halfling gives a comradely wave. The human woman they were first speaking to turns towards you. She is young, somewhere in her mid-twenties, with bright blonde hair in a business-like ponytail. She makes a stark contrast amongst the staid town elders around her. "Thank you. I didn't think he was going to listen to reason. You may call me Celira. Celira Nesten. Were you by chance at Drellin's Ferry? We've had people moving east for days, and some mentioned a band of adventurers who had helped protect their town from raiders, and bought time for them to abandon their town."
"It was nothing, my lady. The Vale is my home, too. I don't want to see it burned; not by goblins and especially not by our own hands. We were at Drellin's Ferry for a few days, yes. I'm glad we were able to get the citizens there to evacuate. This horde is horrible and strong. We must get your people here eastward before the goblin menace sweeps through here. Anything I can do to help, I will. For now, I'll take Gareth up on his...suggestion and assist these refugees." Ambrose gives Ciera a short bow and moves over to the wagons to assist in whatever way he can in getting the refugees on their way.
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Moving closer to the refugees, they do seem to be a sorry bunch. As with any conflict, it is unarmed civilians who suffer the most. Uprooted from their homes, livelihoods lost, and susceptible to sickness as much as they are vulnerable to the enemy. You note one woman, a strikingly beautiful human with red-flame hair. Her left arm is in a sling, nestled against her generous bosom, and she watches your approach while sitting in one of the wagons. Her look is one of fear at seeing armed warriors, mixed with hope, perhaps that you are just the heroes to stop this injustice.
"Greetings. We've stopped them from burning the town, but we still need to get you all moving on to Brindol. We've seen the horde with our own eyes and you don't want to get caught outside the walls. We're working to try to stop it and hope you'll be able to move back once we succeed."
Leonar returns to human form and nods at Helaku's plea. "He's right. There are hundreds of monsters in the horde. No of us can stand alone against them right now. Once the situation calms down, I am sure you can return to your homes."
Aid Another Diplomacy
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The crowd seem to be put more at ease by Helaku and Leonar's words. The woman by contrast grows even more interested. She leans closer to Helaku, her top rather revealing. "You have seen the horde yourself? Did you fight them? You have the look of adventurers. A man of magic, a wizard perhaps...no, a sorcerer! I too have been blessed with sorcerous talent. I would give you a demonstration, but I'm a bit tied up at the moment." She gestures weakly at her arm-sling. "It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Miha. Will you be escorting us to safety?" Her gaze seems totally transfixed by Helaku, pretty much ignoring Leonar and the rest of you.
Heluku chuckles, "Tied up. Yes, I see. We have seen the horde and fought some of their troops. Tell me more of your skills. Are you sure you need to be escorted to safety. Maybe you should be the escort."
Ambrose moves about the civilians, doing anything laborious he can to help the people and expedite the process. He lifts supplies or even injured people into wagons, checks on horses to make sure they are secured properly and fit for travel, and does what little he can to put anyone in need at ease, offering up rations or swigs from his waterskin.
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Miha laughs with Helaku appreciatively. "I do need protection! Just the other night some guard tried to make a pass at me and broke my arm. He must have been the town drunk. I defended myself, but this arm hampered me somewhat. So yes, I do need protection! Why, were you going somewhere?" she smiles demurely.
Ambrose meanwhile puts his back into helping the other civilians, a great help to people in need. Aleste lends a hand as well, and the majority of the civilians soon get on their way.
Leonar wasn't interested in trying to convince the people to move on. He'd tried, hopefully they would listen. Seeing Helaku occupied, and Ambrose doing a bit of everything, Leonar could think of nothing better to do, other than take to the air in eagle form and do some scouting.
Perception
"I'm afraid so. We're just going to make sure everyone here gets moving to safety and then we need to continue on." He looks up to see that Ambrose and Aleste have most of the civilians on their way. "Lady. Much as I would enjoy banter with you under other circumstances, it looks like it is time for us to part ways. My companions have everyone moving to Brindol and for your safety, you should join them. I will ask around about this drunk and find out if he is likely to continue to be a problem." Helaku will leave the woman to ask around about this town guard and whether this is a frequent problem with him.
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Miha looks momentarily taken aback, but then smiles at Helaku. "Thank you for being so dashing! I hope, that our paths will cross again." She moves off with one of the last wagons of wounded.
Asking around about the woman Miha, the townsfolk confirm that Miha is a traveling sorcerer who has been seen in local parts the last few months. One of the town guards does seem to missing; he is a notorious drunk, so probably has been sleeping off a bender somewhere. If it causes him to get left behind, no one really seems bothered as he was a bit of a rat.
Scouting around by air, you can see the train of carts and wagons and people heading east, towards Brindol. A road runs south, heading towards the hamlet of Dauth but also likely your most direct root towards the Thornwaste. The route looks clear, with a scattering of farmsteads across the countryside.
More of the same lies to the west, though in the distance the land curls up into a spine of hills. Nimon Gap and Terrelton lie that way, and both would appear to be burning, would be your guess. The hills are probably twenty miles away, but your height and eagle eyes give you an edge. To the north lies the Elsir River and the edge of the Witchwood. To the east, more farmland as far as Brindol, perhaps another 25, 30 miles away. Apart from the smoke in the west, no sense of trouble, for the moment.
Gareth Blackblade still seems intent on keeping you around to help, but the importance of your mission to treat with the Ghostlord tugs at you. The arrogant cavalier won't take the time to listen to reason, so you have to wait until Blackblade and his allies are disrracted before slipping away, riding on south.
The coast remains clear for the rest of the day. You are wary, watching out both for Red Hand patrols and for Blackblade to come riding over the horizon to order you back to Brindol. Nearing the end of your day's travel, you hear harsh shouts and crude laughter ahead through the trees. In a small clearing around a ruined farmhouse, a gang of hobgoblins and an ogre torment two men who have been tied up to trees. The victims hang listlessly from their bonds, their faces and bodies covered in blood. Engrossed in their sport, no one seems to have noticed your arrival.
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Aleste
Ambrose
Helaku
Leonar
Shaylar
"Much as we need to keep moving we can't allow this to continue. I can probably catch the ogre in a pit. Want me to do that and the rest of you can focus on the hobgoblins?"
"Sounds like a plan. I'm not going to just let these monsters make a sport out of killing innocents. Let's stop this now!"
Initiative
Ambrose furrows his brow at the scene ahead, gathering up his lance. "Despicable...let's make them pay."
Init:
Seeing the scene in front of us, my blood starts to boil and without thinking about it, my hands move quickly and precisely, presenting my bow and several arrows and taking aim at one of the hobgoblins.
"Agreed Helaku"
With the group in agreement, Helaku tries to quickly catch the ogre in a pit.
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The Farmhouse
With hardly the need to discuss, you move forward as one to fight the hobgoblins and rescue the prone farmers, Ambrose with lance levelled and Shaylar drawing a bead with his bow. The hobgoblins and the big, brutish ogre don't even turn around until you have ridden quite close to the farm. They turn around slowly, expressions of shock on their faces at your arrival. One of the hobgoblins continues to kick one of the farmers viciously, until receiving an elbow jab from one of the other warriors. Rather methodically, they raise their weapons and taunt with threats.
Initiative
17 - Leonar
16 - Shaylar
13 - Ambrose
13 - Farmhouse goons
10 - Helaku
8 - Aleste
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Aleste init
Farmhouse goons init
Ambrose percept
Smoke percept
Helaku percept
Leonar percept
Shaylar percept
Fang percept
Aleste percept
Leonar casts what has become his favorite spell as of late, and a mass of fire appears in his hand, ready to be thrown as of the next round.
