Continuing from the previous corrupted thread.
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"Ah, please allow me to assist you with these... um... whatever they are. I'm afraid that the study of plants never interested me, although I happily concede their value." Zordlon knelt down as he talked, careful not to crush the various flowers and leaves at his feet, and began gathering the scattered material.
"Ah, I am curious, do you always ride through town in such a reckless fashion? Has no one complained? I've not been in town long, I admit, but the people here don't seem to be the sort to tolerate much tomfoolery."
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Alcalde heads into Roots and Remedies, curious to observe a little more.
On his last visit, brief as it was, the people he encountered were uniformly work-weary, and human. These two were clearly neither. The townsfolk seemed to pay them no mind, and yet...
Alcalde could not be sure he glimpsed a bulging pouch at the gnome's belt - it was hard to discern anything with certainty from the blur of fur and feathers that passed him by. But he picked up his pace to follow her and hoped he was right.
The idea that such a strange character was party to the LC "company store" struck him as absurd. Could R&R's owner then be one of the few shopkeepers not wholly under Kreed's thumb? A brief detour was definitely in order.
Appleleaf grows all over within the forests of Darkmoon Vale and southern Isger.
near the geothermal vents. Outside of Katapesh, Darkmoon Vale is the largest supplier of pesh to nations of Avistan.
Laurel's expression freezes for a moment before catching herself, "I don't think I'll ever get used to that. The appleleaf will be especially helpful. A worker down in the cutyard started coughing up blood after acquiring a hacking cough. It should cut the taste of this remedy from the tome."
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Nibb looks at Zordlon and laughs. "These townies have so many other concerns, they won't remember their brush with us today. A bunch of boring folk, except Laurel, of course. I've had better conversations with the dirt at my doorstep. A little excitement might do them some good. Besides, Skori needed to stretch his legs." Nibb looks over to Skorl. "Didn't you, boy?"
Skorl drops his jaw and his tongue hangs out with an excited pant.
Nibb pulls the refilled sack from the floor and hands it over to Laurel with greater caution, not releasing the bag until Laurel has a good handle on it. In a quick motion, Nibb pulls the small pouch from her belt and sticks it into Laurels hand with a wink.
Nibb looks to the masked man stepping through the entrance behind Zordlon. "It looks like business is picking up for you, Laurel."
Nibb continues her quick chatter, randomly glancing to each member of the room as if speaking to anyone willing to listen. "Either that or these two were carried in by Skori's wind. I'm certain he's twice a quick and nimble than he was a dozen moons ago. You be sure to let me know if more get that cough. I can be sure to bring more appleleaf on my next visit. Of course, that may be delayed with the ruffians making trouble out there. Skori and I have seen an increase in raids on the roads near the woods and I'm fed up with it. It's only a matter of time before they come snooping around my hut and trampling through my garden. I came here to see if there's something I can help do about it."
Nibb stops and scratches her head for moment then looks to Laurel. "Though, I supooose I should let you take care of your other customers first. They don't look to be from around here. They still have look to have some life in them. Since Skori hasn't gnawed off their legs yet, I'm sure they are not with the bandits."
Nibb looks to the two men, raises an eyebrow, and exposes a wild grin. "Or are you?"
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"Ah, bandits? How distressing. No no, I know nothing of bandits. I'm only here to explore Ironwolf Keep. I had hoped to enlist some local aid in that endeavor."
Zordlon eyeed the unkempt gnome speculatively. He knew that gnomes were flighty and unpredictable, sometimes even dangerous, but this particular individual clearly possessed knowledge of the surrounding area, and her lupine companion, at least, might be useful if these purported bandits made an appearance.
Nodding slightly to himself, Zorldlon continued, "Ah, so, perhaps we could come to some sort of mutually beneficial arrangement?"
"That would make sense. The keep is said to have been abandoned for years. It wouldn't surprise me if a group moved in. Although that could just as easily be some wild animal, goblins, werewolves, or worse," Laurel says with a cringe.
In search of bandits and treasure, the trio leaves Falcon Hollow for The Woods in search of The Shadowed Keep. Following the Northeast Road through the Dale, the scenery changes from rolling hills to thick brush and densely populated trees. Nibb nimbly leads the party through the ancient forest before finally coming upon The Keep.
The keep stands upon a wooded bluff overlooking a steep‐sided
valley. A small, simple fortification, it lacks the majesty of other fortresses as much of the upper floor lies incomplete. Although the keep is a ramshackle ruin, much of its structure remains relatively intact.
The party stands 50' away on the road leading to the gatehouse.
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Alcalde strides briskly past Nibb and Skorl as the keep comes into view. A mischievous grin touches the corners of his eyes as he glances behind him, "Ha, a motley army we make.. but I shall be honored to march as its vanguard!"
Alcalde turns back to regard the ruin. "Poor housekeeping. And little more hospitality; we've come all this way and there's no one to greet us. Shall we let ourselves in, or take a quick peek 'round the grounds first?"
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"Ah, yes, I've heard that discretion is the better part of valor. Surely time spent surveilling this shambles and its surroundings would not be wasted." Stepping forward, Zordlon wiggled his fingers in an intricate pattern and muttered some minor words of power, then stared intently at the gatehouse.
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Nibb sighs. "I suppose after all the time we took to get here, it won't hurt to spend a little more time to look around." Nibb sits on Skorl and lets him sniff around the area without getting too far off from her other companions.
"Keep your wits about you, though. You never know if that welcome party is already here and simply waiting for the right moment to greet us." Nibb pulls a javelin previously tethered to Skorl's saddle with two others and a shortspear. Her mace hangs from her side.
The gatehouse (and gate?) are within the spell's 60' range.
For those that make the perception roll:
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"Ah, it seems that we are not as alone here as it originally appeared. The squatters, whoever they may be, have not utilized any magical defenses that I can perceive. That does not mean that they have not fielded any, of course." Zordlon stroked his magnificent goatee as peered past the gatehouse towards the keep. Esthetically pleasing facial hair was a rare feature among elves, and he was rightfully proud of well-manicured beard.
The keep’s muddy courtyard once held several wooden buildings including what appears to have been a stable and smithy. To the right stands the lone watchtower and to the left, the donjon. Tracks criss‐cross the courtyard; mainly they lead between the donjon, the watchtower and the main gate.
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Skorl's ears perk upwards and he jams his head into a tall section of weeds, clawing at the ground.
Nibb cocks her head. "What did you fin--". He question is cut short as Skorl rolls to the ground, sending Nibb off his back. Skorl snorts playfully to something behind the grassy veil and rolls from side to side.
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Surprised, Nibb looks up from her prone position. "Grrr." Glancing back at the ground, she see human footprints just under her chin as Zordlon speaks of his findings. "Tracks. I see them too. Skorl, um, Skorl led me right too them. Didn't you Skori?"
Standing up and dusting off some of the dirt from herself, Nibb kicks Skorl's hindquarters lightly and speaks quietly. "Skorl! This is not the time for playing. Get back up."
Nibb tugs at Skorl's saddle as he rights himself and allows Nibb to remount. "Silly wolf", Nibb whispers. Nibb looks around to see if any have noticed Skorl's untimely behavior.
"Gooood Skori. You found those bad men's tracks, didn't you?", Nibb speaks up to be heard by her companions. She nudges Skorl with her knees to have him follow the others into the keep's courtyard.
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Zordlon crept carefully into the courtyard with the others, and looked suspiciously from one potential hiding place to another. He had already revised his previous estimate on the utility of "good Scori", and knew he'd need to rely on his superior elven senses. "Ah, I would suggest that we first determine who or what currently occupies the watch tower."
Although of solid construction, the tower’s outer walls have begun to deteriorate. Mortar between the great stone blocks has begun to flake away. Charred and moss-covered wood lies in heaps in the corner.
A well fitting iron‐bound door provides access to the tower. In places the door’s sturdy wood is pitted and splintered and the bottom portion bares scorch marks. It is otherwise in good condition and appears firmly shut.
A murmured conversation comes from behind the door.
As Zordlon looks to his peers, an odd breeze picks up and blows from behind Nibb and Skorl, whipping hair and leather bound trinkets wildly in front of her like tendrils from a jelly fish. Eventually a few stones and bones woven on leather straps break loose and whip forward against the door, echoing throughout the courtyard with a rapid thud-thud-thud. Just as soon as the strikes resonate, the wind dies down and dissipates as quickly as it stirred.
"What was that? Who goes there?" asks a dry voice from behind the door.
Booming more loudly and growing more annoyed, "Damn goblins! I'm going to skewer y'ez for waking me!" The door swings open to reveal a dishevelled human with a distinctly unsavory look about him, clad in dirty studded leather armour. The sharpened arrow tip of his crossbow breaks the plane of the doorway as his gaze measures the party. "Goblins or not, ye sure have the manners of some. This 'll teach yah."
Zordlon and Alcalde, you're up...
Zordlon launches his club Daredevil style at the bandit and cracks him in the face. He pauses to wipe the blood from his cracked lip.
The bandit recoils his hands back from the sharp sting of the whip, dropping his crossbow. Recovering from the pain, he picks it up before moving into the room behind a table and yelling upward, "A lit'l help you louts! We have intruders!".