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Your reasons for being in Falcon's Hollow are varied. Perhaps you have come because someone you trust or serve has directed you here. Perhaps you have come because you believe there may be some coin to glean from serving the unfortunate. Or perhaps you've heard the call of service to help the town rid itself of a recent malady.
In any case, you find yourselves on the path to Falcon's Hollow. Situated just a few miles south of the Darkmoon Vale in Andoran, the town hosts some 1,400 residents. Largely consisting as a community of tradesmen serving the local lumber consortium, you'll find little entertainment and few luxuries. If you aren't already aware before you travel here, word reaches you very quickly of the "affliction". Often describe as a curse, those who have contacted this strange malady are beset by a serious, persistent hacking cough. Likely due to the sparse nature of the town's resources, the mortality rate is reputed to be quite high.
As you enter town and inquire about the affliction, you will hear several things often repeated. The first is that no one is doing much about the affliction except for one woman, the town's herbalist named Laurel. The second thing is that the source of the affliction was likely a fungus growing in a local well -- the later having been recently shut down by the local constable. The third is that there are many people still severely afflicted and several are dying each day.
You find yourselves coincidentally standing near the town center around mid-morning. Each is aware that the other has been making some inquiry and is now aware of the local plight.
A tall, solidly built man with thinning brown hair and brown eyes looks intently around the town square. He has come equipped for trouble, carrying a longsword, mace, and shield and wearing armor. He has come asking questions, and he has heard of others in the area asking the same questions. Questions about the disease afflicting so many of the townsfolk.
I thought things were bad in Nirmathas, but in a way, it's far worse here. At least there you could point to the war as the source of trouble. Here it's so much less certain. I know Iomedae sent me to protect these people, but I'm definitely going to need help.
Good cleric, word has fallen onto my ears that you have come to the town's aid as I have. Tobian Myroth approaches the well-armed human with a trace of a faint smile on his face. Tobian Myroth, the pleasure of meeting you in person is mine. I thought it might be wise to pull our resources in this matter so that we might find a quick solution, would you agree?
By looking at the elf before you, he dresses as a merchant or traveller might, but he just doesn't seem quite rugged enough to actually be a merchant of the roads. He carries with him a longsword but dons no armor. He does not have the look of one of the arcane arts but that is not a convincing argument to make either. He looks a little too old, even for an elf, to be a man on his first adventure.
Have you met any of the others that have been called here for aid? You are the first I've been able to speak to myself. Perhaps they have learned something useful. We should seek them out.
Dr. Iverness grimaced and plucked a few stalks of hay out of his hair. He had spent the night in a barn, the only accommodations his increasingly meager funds could manage at this juncture. The night had not been kind to him, as the various draft beasts that shared the building with him made for poor company. It was only marginally better than spending a night on the road but any night out of the elements was an improvement as far as he was concerned.
Now rested, relatively speaking, he could begin his own investigation of the ailment which plagued the town of Falcon's Hollow. Few of the afflicted were willing to allow him to examine them despite his assertions that he was, in fact, a fully trained medical professional. A more cynical man might have chalked such a reaction up to local superstition and paranoia. Regardless, he was soon pointed in the direction of Laurel, a woman who likely filled the role of healer in this town to some extent.
So, the young doctor made his way to Laurel's shop, hoping to find some means of gaining her trust or working out a temporary partnership. Afterwards he might lend his expertise to scouring the well of fungus, all for a reasonable price.
"Tobian, it is a pleasure to meet you as well. Oswin Durnhelm is my name, and you have been well informed. I am here in the name of The Inheritor to lend whatever aid I can. I have learned but a little to this point, and you are the first I've met among those of us called here. I would be glad of some additional resources, as I fear this problem is beyond my abilities. I have heard that the local herbalist, Laurel I believe, has been making some efforts to stem the malady. Shall we seek her out, or perhaps wait a short while longer for any others with whom we might make an alliance?"
Ah yes, the herbalist. No, let us go visit this Laurel while we can. Perhaps others will have already made there way to her as we speak. Lead the way, good man.
Belrick watches with a wary eye as the two strangers pass within his earshot. Laurel? They seek Laurel, the one whom I owe a life debt? His hand unconsciously strays to his side wincing at the memory. They claim they seek to help... but to what end? Do I really need to get involved?
He considers letting them pass on by. The least I could do is show them to her abode.
Hail strangers! Did I hear you mention Laurel? She is the one who helped bring me back from Pharasma's embrace. A gentle soul that one. I can show you to her domicile should you wish.
Why yes, you know her do you? Are you from this place? Were you infected? Tell us what you know on the way, won't you? The elf holds out his hand in greeting. Tobian Myroth, of no where in particular. This here is my new friend, Oswin Durnhelm. And you are?
Belrick Argillos. He grasps the outstretched hand after a slight pause in perfunctory greeting. And no, I'm not infected. I live... out there. Belrick makes a sweeping gesture in the general direction outside the motley collection of homes. I know about as much as the rest of you - people getting sick, some say the well-water is poisoned. I wouldn't be here but I had a... mishap. And Laurel was kind enough to administer aid.
There! Her house is the second on the right.
"Well met Belrick. I'm glad to hear Laurel was able to get you back on your feet. It sounds as though she is the right person to talk to."
Oswin notices Dr. Iverness approaching the house.
"It appears that we may not be the only interested parties in this matter."
"Good day to you, sir." Oswin says in the direction of the doctor, as he gives him a slight wave of greeting.
"Good day," Dr. Iverness said offhandedly to what he assumed was a polite local and continued on toward the herbalist's place of business. Of course, the day was definitely not 'good' by any stretch of the imagination. People were dying.
He had an awkward moment when he realized his path coincided with that of the man who greeted him. Dr. Iverness also realized that the man and his companions were rather well-armed. A welcoming party from the suspicious locals perhaps? He had seen worse but there was likely a perfectly good reason for such obvious armaments. He rolled his right hand slightly, testing the resistance of the concealed wrist sheath therein.
"I take it you gentlemen have business with Ms. Laurel as well?"
Indeed we have. We have come to assist with the situation that plagues this place. I assume your business is like ours?
"Indeed," Dr. Iverness said, leaving it at that. He was not much of a conversationalist.
Tobian will follow the others into the building that Laurel resides.
Creeping ivy and full window boxes cover the façade of the rugged-looking, two-story shop bearing the faded sign “Roots and Remedies.” A line of twenty-some somber townsfolk—some with pale, wheezing children, others seeming to be precipitously near tears—stretches from the open door.
Oh my, it seems that our friend may be quite busy at the moment. Hopefully we can still have a word with her. Perhaps the cleric should take the lead here as you may seem to be less threatening in a situation like this.
Belrick barges past the townsfolk,almost a bit too gruff at times, ignoring any protests. Once inside, he proceeds directly to Laurel who is in the midst of administering to another patient.
The ailment you had mentioned Laurel. These men... Belrick points a hand over his shoulder at Tobian and Oswin. They were in town discussing the sickness and mentioned they were looking for you. Perhaps you could fill them in.
Tobian glances at the others and raises his eyebrow. At least we know who to ask if we need to get something done. The elf will quietly walk up to where the shop owner is and introduce himself and his companions. Umm, errrr.... yes, our friend here is right. We have come to help in whatever way we can. We were hoping that you might have some insight as to what exactly that would be?
Oswin is a bit startled by Belrick's aggressiveness, but understands that his own manner is sometimes too deliberate.
"Quite true, ma'am. Please pardon our rash companion here, but we truly do seek to aid the populace. I pledge to defend the people of this town in the name of Iomedae."
Owsin then waits patiently with the others for a response.
Dr. Iverness steps through the crowd, just behind the others and waits for them to finish with Laurel. While he waits, he casts a causal eye over the contents and inhabitants of Laurel's shop and impromptu clinic.
The smell of burnt earth and spicy incense chokes the air of the cramped, mud-tracked shop. Bunches of dried herbs hang from the ceiling, along with dangling pots, presses, alchemical apparatuses, and glassware of more arcane purposes. Pouches of rare plants, jars of colored glass, and all manner of dried, preserved, and jellied animal parts fill high shelves and tables doing double duty as displays and workspaces. In the shop’s
rear, a rail-thin woman with severe-looking spectacles and hair pulled back tightly busies herself between an overpacked rack of herbs, a table covered in stray powders and measuring equipment, and a pot loudly bubbling over with thick gray froth. Over the din of her work and without looking up, the woman impatiently shouts, “And what’s your problem?”
"Well, can't you see them folks you brushed by so rudely have the blackscour taint?! It's generally only fatal to the very old or very young, although as you can see, there's plenty of that sort here clamoring for my help."
"I can see by your appearance that you ain't got the 'taint, and while I don't mind others worshiping whomever they please, Iomodae holds no special favor in this house. Why don't you make yourselves useful and go out and tend to those folk? Can't you see I have enough on my hands without having to waste time on obviously able bodied individuals like your lot?"
"Indeed, we can see that you are extremely busy. If we are to lend aid, how can we be most effective? Are healing magics of any use, or perhaps certain herbs or poultices?"
"And what is the source of this foul plague? Perhaps we can lend support in preventing the taint from spreading further."
"I will need supplies if I am to properly address pulmonary distress of this nature. Gloves as well," Dr. Iverness said, calmly searching for any appropriate examination gear. He found himself wishing once again that his own tools had not been stolen outside of Korvosa. They had been a gift and were quite expensive.
Well, yes of course, the cleric has good questions but if you are too busy we can find answers elsewhere. Perhaps the local constable can tell us more about the well.
"Well, if you want to help, you can stir that pot there," she says as she glances at Belrick and points toward a pot containing a roiling mass of stinking green leaves.
When asked about the taint, she responds with, "The source of the taint is the Blackscour fungus. It causes a sickness, almost like any other, but you get the mold growing in you. It starts eating away in your chest and belly and is damned determined to stay. Your body near turns itself insideout trying to hack the stuff up, but all that does is cuts your guts up… bad.”
At Jameson's mention of supplies, she responds with a blank look, "[b]pulmonary distress?" and gives a shrug. She turns back to working at a table behind her.
"Go ahead and talk to the constable if you like. Won't do you no good. He probably doesn't know a fungus from a mushroom.", she says with a small, crooked smile.
Jameson pinched the bridge of his nose as he suppressed a snarky remark. He had to remember where he was and the fact that this woman was likely not taught the same terminology he was.
"Lung problems. Of course, from your description, it seems the fungus is not limited to the patient's lungs. Without invasive surgery, which I doubt either of us have the capacity to perform, we'd likely need large quantities of an anti-fungal agent..." he paused and looked at the waiting crowd.
"I take it you don't have anything like that in the quantities needed." Without waiting for a response, he set his backpack aside and began examining those he could. With limited supplies, the best he could do is try to accurately identify those who did actually have the taint. He would only send those who he was certain did not possess the ailment home. In times of outbreak, a certain level of hypochondria was to be expected in the non-infected population.
Belrick moves over to the pot containing the leaves and grimaces as he peers in. Using a ladle he starts stirring it vigorously keeping his face averted from the stench as much as possible. You try and help this woman and this is how she shows her appreciation. If it weren't for the fact that she helped me when I needed it I would be long gone... but she's trying my patience...
"Blackscour fungus, eh? Is is common in the area? Do you have any idea where the source of it is?"
Oswin pauses to offer a quiet prayer on behalf of all the afflicted townsfolk.
"Also, if we seek out the fungus, how do we prevent it from infecting us as well?"
Hmmm, alright. Perhaps I could lend a hand to you, Belrick?
Using Mage Hand I will take over stirring the pot so that we are free to tend to other tasks.
I will continue to try and make conversation with the woman when I can, trying to find out any more details as to what her opinion is on the plague, how to stop it, where it came from, etc.
Laurel responds to Jameson with, "Anti fungal agent? Um, no. Besides, once they got the sickness, nothing seems to knock it back at all. I've tried quite a few things, I'm just trying to give these good folk what I can and see what good it will do."
Turning to Owsin, she says, "The fungus ain't too common here, no. It surprised us when it showed up, and in the local town well, no less."
As Laurel watches Belrick peer into the pot, she says out loud, "Say, you seem like a capable lot. My grandmother left me a book of remedies, and I think there might be something in there that can help. It's a bit more hoojoo than medicine, and hard to make. I have most of the ingredients here, but there's three I don't. Elderwood moss, which I've never heard of, but granny said the stuff only grows on the oldest tree in the forest. A specially pickled root called rat's tail, again, sounds like hoojoo to me. And seven ironbloom mushrooms, stunty little things that only grow in dark places thick with metal, a favorite among dwarves, or so I hear."
Ma'am, not to sound foolish, but we are new in these parts and are not familiar with those ingredients can you describe them to us, or perhaps even sketch them? Maybe we can borrow the book while we attempt to locate them?
Laurel smiles broadly at Oswin after his charming attempt to bargain for further information. "No problem. Ain't too familiar with 'em myself, as I said. As for the elderwood mold, there's gotta be an oldest tree in the vale. Damned if I know where it is, though."
"The rat's tail and mushrooms are even longer shots. Way north, toward the mountains, people say there used to live a bunch of dwarves. They're not there anymore, but I'd be their forges are. If you can find ironbloom anywhere around here, that'd be your best bet."
"As for the rat's tail, who knows? Well. Actually. Ulizmila, the witch that lives deep in the woods might. She's a crafty, mean thing that knows all sorts of strangeness. She might even have one. I don't know what she might want for it, but I doubt it'd come cheap. My grandmother traded her sight to the old crone for a few pages of what she knew, and that was years and years back, and I don't know a soul who got any nicer as they got older."
"If it matters, I'm fixing to make a good deal off this remedy if it works. I can share 45 gold with each of you if we're successful in creating this brew and it helps all these folks. Time's precious, though. Many dying every day, which is bad for business, of course. Can't help 'em if they're dead."
"I'm sure I know next to nothing about witches or dwarves but the eldest tree... should be relatively deep within the forest."
Belrick knits his brows in a frown as he listens to Laurel. Witches and potions and hoojoo. And here I thought she seemed like a capable healer. Sounds like nothing but old wives' tales. I don't think I've ever seen or heard of this witch and I've lived out there - Belrick sweeps his arm and faces the doctor. It's a forest... they're ALL old trees.
Maybe the elf could go talk to the trees and ask them nicely which one's the oldest. A small smirk plays at the corners of his mouth as he looks at Tobian but a sense of decency keeps Belrick from voicing his sarcastic thought out loud.
Seeing the blank looks on your faces, Laurel adds, "Maybe you can go ask Milon Rhoddam. He's an experienced woodsman and probably knows these woods better than most. You can find him at the Consortium Lumber Camp off to the east."
"Well, I seem to remember this lumber camp being a fair distance off. Should we make any preparations before heading out? I may need to return to my lodgings to gather all my equipment, but after that I can be ready to go. There isn't much for sale here anyway."
Seems to be the best course of action. Let us take our leave and let the woman help these people.
Belrick turns and heads to the door. I'd rather be out there than in this village anyway. The other three genuinely seem to want to help Laurel. Perhaps there would be strength in numbers... I didn't fare so well out there the last time. At the door, he pauses and looks to the group. I'll wait for you folks at the outskirts of the village. With any luck, we can get to this camp fairly quick. He inclines his head at Laurel Thank you again for the aid, Laurel. I hope I can repay you in some small measure and heads out the door.
"I take it there are unpleasant things out there?" Dr. Iverness ask Laurel in a mostly rhetorical manner, mildly exasperated by everyone's hurry to rush off into the unknown.
"Any chance I could borrow a spare healer's kit? Mine was stolen from me and someone needs to keep these fools alive."
Fools do not permit their tools of the trade to be lost to thieves, friend. And perhaps you could purchase one, I'm not sure the lady would want her kit to be pinched as well. With a smirk on his face, Tobian then quickly follows the others out the door.
"I may have to educate him later on the exact uses of said tools at a later date," Dr. Iverness said, scowling after Tobian.
Belrick takes a deep breath as he leaves the village behind him. The air itself is invigorating! Here's to hoping my next venture into civilization doesn't happen for a long time.
He leans back against a tree debating how much time to give the others to either show up or abandon them to their own devices and head back to the forest.
Laurel responds to Jameson with, "Healer's kit? Not sure I know what that is. Here, here is a small bag of common herbs which may aide in your healing efforts should you run into trouble."
Please give me an idea on your party's marching order and general action(s).