"There's somethin' goin' on near Sandpoint."
The words of your patron echo in your memory. The old man was leaning forward in his chair, fixing each of you in turn with his rigid gaze.
"Small village, up on the Varisian coast. Real frontier place. Seen a lot o' traffic lately - new families movin' up from the cities, lookin' ter make a new life fer thesselves. Heard reports o' homesteaders an' woodsmen's families disappearin'. That's life on the frontier, yer may think. But there's a pattern - only young couples, when the woman's had her first child. About four months later, when yer might be expectin' her ter be able ter get pregnant again - they're gone. All o' them. No trace."
He paused a moment, before continuing.
"Mebbe they're after the infants. Mebbe it's the women. Mebbe it's somethin' else. But I know a pattern when I sees it. Get yerselves up there, an' find out what's happenin'. An' stop it."
He swallowed hard, looking for the words.
"One last piece o' advice. Go in quiet - don't throw yer weight around. Most cult'll have an agent in the nearest town, lookin' out fer trouble. Tell everyone yer've come ter hunt goblins or somethin' - plenty o' them on the frontier. Good luck. The 'Dawn Glow' sails at the dawn tide - captain's a pal o' mine - owes me a favour. Will take yer all the way ter Sandpoint."
That was two weeks ago, and the intervening time has been mostly tedium as you have shared the cramped passenger quarters of the small trading ship with your fellow hunters, getting to know them and their quirks.
Damien sits on the floor fiddling with a lock, his tail whipping around passing him various locks as he slowly works on it. Without looking at the other hunters he comments, "Soooo, how do you all wish to approach our hunt for them?"
The tiefling stands a little shorter then 6 feet, he is clad in blacks and grays. They clash with his red skin, as the group has seen from time to time. Damien seems to hide his facial features, while his tail moves about like a third hand to him. Damien is quiet and has talked only a few times this voyage but always has been polite when he does.
Hern rests on a chair, leaning back against the far wall of the cabin, the front legs lifting slightly into the air. He has blond hair that looks to have once been severely close-cropped but has now grown out some. His blue eyes are scrunched and his brows furrowed in a near-perpetual state of frown.
A massive dog, which would match the height of any present if it were to stand on its hind legs, lays in front of him, head lowered onto its paws. It would look threatening if it wasn't currently taking a nap, light snores and snuffling occasionally being emitted from its nose.
At Damien's question, Hern's eyes look up from the spot they were previously occupied with (somewhere around his knees), and his frown deepens into actual displeasure. "Shouldn't we have discussed this earlier? Perhaps if the old one had provided us with more details as to what we were hunting, strategic discussions could have occurred."
He exhales sharply through his nose. "I suppose it can't be helped. I would think our first step should be to ask around town, as vague a proposition as that is. We can do it under the guide of goblin-hunters, as the old man recommended. I doubt the villagers will have any suspicions about these people's disappearance, but we can at least find out where they lived. I imagine we'll have to run on what information we find at their homes."
"Been my experience, when an old man tells you to go in quiet, you go in quiet. Much as it pains me to not walk in, kick in doors and root the evil out." Graven looks up from where he's been checking the straightness of his arrows.
Graven is 6'1" and almost 200 lbs, he is a big man. He slides his last arrow into its quiver and looks up at the Tiefling.
Graven grins at Damien to show that his harsh response wasn't meant as a rebuke. His grey eyes twinkle with amusement at the Tiefling's lockpicking exercises.
Glancing over at Hern, he nods at his words.
The scarred looking and quiet half Orc chimes in at this point. He is wearing a huge cloak that pokes out at odd angles. "Our best bet is to find the pattern repeating itself and stop it before they strike again. If children are being taken and hurt, then someone or something will have to pay. You don't know the horrors that can befall them."
He sighs, then looks around the cabin to ensure that the group are the only ones present. "Since we will be working together, I should tell you that I am... Not precisely normal. If you see anything strange, just keep a level head and remember that I am on your side, because of, not despite, my condition."
Sitting quietly in a corner, Jessie sticks mainly to herself although she listens intently to the conversation. Finding nothing to add to the ongoing conversation that hasn't already been said, she continues to keep to herself. Her thoughts turning not to how they'll go about finding the cause of these disappearances, but rather, why they might be taking place.
He sends us all the way out here but he doesn't even have proof that demons are responsible... Although... If we assume that demons are responsible... a few motives come to mind.
The whole family goes missing, mother, father and child. Mother is capable of bearing children. Demons rape mother mother, she bears children, demons have Tiefling children that they can raise to do their bidding on the material plane. Current children are raised in a similar manner and they have humans who can do their bidding. Fathers... Well... only reason to take the fathers is for the sake of being thorough. No point in leaving somebody behind. Besides, demons enjoy torture. They have someone to torture, not just physically, but emotionally as well if he is forced to witness the rape...
Jessie lets out a sigh, curling her legs up and resting her chin on her knees.
Damien sets down his lock for a moment and looks up to the half-orc, as he does so his tail pulls his off his head exposing his wild dark hair and his curved horns. "You seem pretty normal to me."
He then looks to Graven, "I wish it could be that simple, but my experience you need to find their roots so they can't grow back. I fear the children are going to be used much like......they tried with me. I pray their light keeps them safe until we can find them......I pray." His expression saddens a little bit and he goes back to his lock.
"We will find the root and kill it, this much I swear!"
Graven nods in agreement to Damien.
He turns his head to Gordrun, "I'll stand beside you, normal or not. Of course one might define normal to me. I've only known the church and the right against evil, most of my life.
Graven sighs.
"Well, perhaps in this company I can explain a little more. " He stands up and shrugs off his cloak, revealing a misformed arm extending from the left side of his torso.
"This and my silver complexion are "gifts" I received at the hands of an evil monster, bent on "Distilling the essence of your taint" he told me. I was a young warrior in a small group of families and was taken captive 15 years back. After a year I managed to escape and destroy the lab I was held in, but I still have nightmares that he will capture me again."
He shivers for a moment. The old man hid me from a mob that was going to kill me. Said I wasn't evil on the inside no matter how I looked, and offered me a chance to harm those like the one who did this to me.
As Gordrun speaks, Jessie's eyes move to him, watching as he removes his cloak. Her breath catches slightly in her throat as the arm comes into view. Standing slowly as he continues to speak, she approaches to study the arm more closely. When he finishes speaking, she has a new respect for the half-orc. She's had such an easy life by comparison and can't possibly imagine what Gordrun must have gone through.
Quietly, she asks, May I? as she motions at the arm.
Seeing the sad expressions of his companions faces and hearing the sighs all around, Hern smiles somewhat, the corners of his mouth curling slightly up. He shakes his head and then speaks.
"Let's not become too gloomy over what might be happening to those taken. We know not what has become of them, nor the circumstances of their disappearance. Let's not give up hope. We won't get far if we run afoul of our own worries."
When Gordrun reveals his arm, Hern's eyebrows raise slightly and the lines on his face fade slightly as his skin tightens. He had suspected there was something strange about the half-orc; who wouldn't? But a third arm and a horror story of a past was not quite what he had expected.
He decides not to comment on the contents of the story itself; sympathy would not return the man's young adulthood to him. Hern nods at Gordrun and then says in an even voice, "I appreciate your willingness to share this with us. It must be difficult. And of course we'll stand together - we've all signed on for this mission. To stand against evil - well, I won't blather on about why it's a worthy goal. But to accept this, well, it shows a great strength of character."
Gordrun nods. "of course. It makes shirts more difficult, but otherwise is normally functional and basically normal. At least as much as it can."
Graven tentatively asks, "So it functions as an arm?
Hatim watches Damien play with the locks, and smiles with a knowing admiration. He says to Damien, "Pretty good. You would have liked the Valkus Isle speed lock competitions. Although mostly Tieflings won, there was this jittery gnome named Zigget who could beat Tieflings, even when they used their tails. It was amazing to watch, hands almost too fast to see. Poor thing got bored with life at Valkus and started blanching.
Hatim listens to the others, intent on finding those who he feels will stand strong when the Great Magnet pulls against them. After hearing Gordrun's tale, Hatim makes a gesture of respect by taping his forehead, bowing, and presenting his hand out in openness. He pauses, looks at Hern and says, "I believe Hern has the right of it. We should ask around about Goblin hunting and see what we find out."
Jessie allows her hands to lightly probe along the third arm. Although inferior in every way to his primary arms, this third arm was still functional. By some, it certainly could be considered a gift. She could think of so many uses for a third limb. However, under the circumstances he received it, calling it a gift might not be such a good idea.
You said he referred to your arm and skin as as gifts. What do you think of them?
No, these are not gifts. They are curses. I feel the limb like my others, but I always wondered if there is more he would have done to me, or things he might have done that I do not know about. That is not to say it is not useful. It allows me to wield a shield as well as use my hands normally.
He pauses at this point. "But as the others have said. I agree, by all reports goblins plague standpoint, so we should inquire about them to find out about bad occurrences."
Choosing not to press since Gordrun obviously did not feel comfortable about his oddities. Personally, Jessie thought that Gordrun's skin was quite beautiful. The silver color was definitely unique amongst his species. Even if he did not like it, he should be proud of it because it is a symbol of who he is and what he has managed to overcome. The same could be said for his arm. All it did was make him unique.
Jessie returns to her seat and once again takes up a fetal position, losing herself in thought.
As the room descends once more into silence, Hern coughs and looks down at his legs again. After a few minutes of this, the silence gets to him and he speaks.
"Well, at least we have a plan now. I'm glad. Although I might recommend that if anyone has any other secrets that could immediately affect our partnership, they should speak up."
Duncan, his hound, stretches and yawns. Hern pauses to reach down and scratch him behind the ears.
"Others may enjoy the benefits of secrets, but we do not have that luxury. I suppose I should start, though I have nothing that even compares to Gordrun's. I used to be a member of a group called the Blackjackets. They're vicious, merciless people, devoid of sympathy. I have not seen even one of them in many years. But I doubt they would greet me warmly, as I deserted. Be wary in their presence, and do not believe a word they speak."
Hern lapses back into silence, content to let others speak or not, as they wished. He hopes that the group has at least formed some form of cohesion and willingness to speak their part, at least.
The tiefling looks at the wizard and responds, "Interesting, I never took part in any of those. Though I have done a few ones dealing with traps, those get intense and are a lot more daring."
As the half-orc reveals his third arm Damien looks at it in a interested look and flexes his tail a few times, "I find my extra limb quite useful and gives us an advantage over the normal ones. Though I feel for your pain, I was born into a cult myself. They didn't experiment on me but they tortured and beat me for being a child over a devil. Though sad, we take these dark moments and use them to fuel our hunts to stop others from suffering like us." He looks to the Houndmaster, "I believe my last comment answers your question."
The sun is an hour above the horizon when the ship's narrowboat pulls up to the recently constructed docks at Sandpoint, and the setting could hardly be less evocative of the darkness and horror that the group's patron suspects lies hidden near the town.
The village is bustling with industrious looking inhabitants: fishermen are unloading the night's catch, while dock workers look to carry ashore the cargo being shuttled in boats from the Dawn Glow. A large church to Desna dominates the skyline, it's freshly painted room glistening from the earlier passing rain. The streets of the village, which leads upwards from the small cliffs and islands that constitute the harbour, are clean and spacious. It seems to be market day, from the number of produce-laden carts being wheeled about, and the number of hawkers with laden packs beginning to set out their wares on a blanket at any convenient corner.
There seem to be only two large buildings other than the church - a workshop or similar to the right, with belching chimneys and the sounds of industry echoing from inside, and a ruined, crumbling edifice, obviously ancient, further up the coast. The is probably the fabled 'lighthouse', a local landmark. There are rumours that someone recently disturbed ancient fell magics in the chambers beneath it.
"Well now, that doesn't look so ominous at all! We should find a local gathering place and listen for other rumors. There is supposedly some dark magic under the town, but other than that, I know of nothing that could be what we seek."
Even though it is morning and a warm clear day Gordrun has ensconced himself in his cloak again, with only his silver nose and hands occasionally peaking out. He thanks the captain and heads down the gangplate.
Hern looks up in surprise when the ship is hailed from port, having been unaware of their proximity to Sandpoint. He steps out from the cabin into the sunlight, stretching. Duncan bounds out onto the deck and rears onto his hind paws, looking out over the town and sniffing the air. Hern scratches him on the ears as he passes the dog when heading down the gangplank after Gordrun, looking back and commanding Duncan to heel when he reaches the ground.
"Indeed it doesn't. I agree, we should find a place that the local rumormongers are likely to frequent. Perhaps we could seek out the local authorities as well."
Graven feels the boat begin to slow into port and begins repacking his equipment. removing the tabard detailed with the sigil of Pharasma, he folds it up neatly and stows it in his backpack. Settling both of his greatswords into plac and slipping his longbow into place, Graven stretches as he follows the others out on to the deck.
Nodding at both Gordrun and Hern, he watches as the longboat is lowered. Climbing over, he turns to assist any who might need help with gear or the trip down the side into the boat.
As everyone arrives and the longboat casts off, Graven listens to both Gordrun and Hern speak.
I believe I'll visit one of the taverns, unless you think I'd be better off visiting the local officials? Perhaps those that minister in the church might have some information? I could go there too.
As the group approaches the shore, takes the time to properly don her equipment. It's far easier to wear the armor than it is to haul it around on her back.
I believe it might be best if we split to cover more ground in our investigations. We can set a rendezvous point and meet back up there at sunset. Ideally a tavern. She takes a moment to think. It would probably be best to ask the authorities and the local townspeople. I'm interested in visiting the church anyways so perhaps I can speak to the local pastor. Graven, you are welcome to join me if you wish but I think that going our own ways will be more efficient. Hern, perhaps you can check with the garrison and try to find the sheriff. Damien, you might be able to check in at a tavern and fish around for local rumors. Hatim, perhaps the local magic shop or maybe a bookstore would be a good place to look. And Gordrun, there's bound to be a chemist around here somewhere. Nobody has to listen to me. I'm just stating possibilities. Come sunset I'll search the inns until I find you.
With that, Jessie sets off north, using the towering architecture of the church to navigate.
Hern watches her go, his face noncommittal. He looks at the others with a questioning expression.
"She has the right idea, I suppose. Perhaps not all of us need to go our separate ways, though we certainly would cover a lot of ground. I'll head to where the sheriff is stationed, and any of you are welcome to come along."
Hatim listens to Jessie, smiles, and watches her go, shrugs, and leaves the ship towards the docks, looking for a magic or book shop. He says, "I like this woman."
He notices the lighthouse and thinks back to his history books on Sandpoint. Was there anything about the lighthouse or the area surrounding it that would have made it famous, especially for magic?
He would ponder this more while he perused the local area. He waves to Gordun and Damien as he goes.
Gordrun nods at Jessie's suggestions and watches as the others split off. Find you later at a tavern he says, then starts wandering through town, looking for anything strange and seeking a local merchant of alchemical substances.
Damien puts up his Hood to cover up his horns and red scarred face, "I will do as requested, tavern is a better scene for me." As he finishes he digs out 2 gold coins and hands the to Jessie, "Give this to the church on the behalf of the light inside me."
Graven watches everyone split up and decides to see what the sheriff has to say so he follows Hern.
The Cathedral
-------------
Sandpoint Cathedral - dedicated to to Desna, but with small shrines to half a dozen other gods scattered around its large, dim, cool interior - is obviously fairly recently built. Much foliage has been planted around its outside, presumably to encourage the multitude of multi-coloured butterflies that dance through the air around the building, and even inside it. Morning service is over, and the building lightly attended. A young woman wearing a colourfully-embroidered cassock is busy dusting and sweeping. She looks up startled as Jessie enters. Wiping her hands, she explains that Father Abstalar is busy visiting the sick at the moment, but perhaps she can help?
The Sherrif's Office
--------------------
The office is not difficult to find, the Garrison being one of the few stone-built buildings in the village. An empty stocks stands in the street before it, but the gate through the high wall stands open and a single town guard loiters casually before it. He is happy to lead Hern and Graven to the Sherrif, although he insists that his dog is tied up to a post just inside the gate.
Sherrif Belor Hemlock is, unusually, of obvious Shoanti heritage. These semi-nomadic peoples are often mistrusted by the settlers along the coast as thieves and troublemakers, so for one to rise to the position of sherrif means that he must command the trust of the locals. He appraises Hern with a steady eye, before offering his hand.
"Good of you to come to see me, gentlemen. Most mercenary bands don't bother checking in with me - the first I know about them is when I'm cracking skulls in a bar brawl in the Hagfish. If you're here to hunt goblins, I'll take all the help I can get. The little bastards have been getting ever more bold. We've caught them poking around Junk Beach again. We still offer a bounty per head, so fill your boots. If you want to head into the interior, I could try to find you a guide I suppose. Or there should be a caravan heading north in a few days, that you could maybe form up with part of the way."
Bottled Solutions
-----------------
Following the scent of sulphur, Gordrun wanders into the center of the village, evenually stumbling across a small, ramshakle wooden shop with a faded sign outside displaying a potion bottle. Pushing his way into the poorly lit interior, his nose is assaulted with a wide variety of pungent aromas, mostly floral, but with an alchemical undertone.
Busy mixing what appears to be a colourful dye at the back of the shop is a slight, stooped half-elven man wearing a stained smock. Innumerable bottles, flasks, vials, retorts and bunches of dried herbs hang from the ceiling.
The man glances up at his visitor, double-takes at Gordrun's appearance, and then delicately sets down his bottles. Wiping his hands on his smock (which may have actually made them more dirty) he enquires in whispery voice "Ah, now then good, er, er, sir. How can I help, er, er, you today? Erm. Oh! I have some ivory polish that may just be the thing for, er, er..." he gestures with a stained finger at Gordrun's tusks.
Downtown
--------
Drawn like a moth to a flame, Damien wanders into the less reputable part of town. The buildings down by the docks are slightly more ramshackle, their timbers sagging and rotting. There is a wide selection of taverns, from the disreputable-looking Cracktooth's to the positively unwelcoming Hagfish. Even at this hour of the morning all have patrons. Outside the garishly painted Pixie's Kitten, sleepy-eyed girls and one slight Garundi boy desperately in need of a shave apply each other's make-up, hoping for custom one the tavern patrons have had enough ale. Lunch, or what passes for it, is being prepared at the Fatman's Feedbag, with the scent of frying onions and overboiled cabbage leeching into the street. A pair of town guards keep all this under their view as they loiter at a corner, watchful but obviously not yet expecting trouble.
The Feathered Serpent
---------------------
After making gentle enquiries of the locals, and discovering that they have a most...interesting accent, Hatim is eventually directed to the Feathered Serpent, a small shop in the south of town. The interior resembles a storeroom more than a shop, with shelves crammed with hundreds of boxes and packages. The bored looking middle aged man behind the counter, a human with long greasy, grey-streaked hair, undergoes a transformation once Hatim enter, leaping to his feet and beginning an obviously rehearsed speel:
Aha! A traveller from antique lands! Marvellous! Welcome to the Feathered Serpent, emporium unparalleled. Many marvels are to be found here, and many more are at my beck and call, only a few weeks delivery away! Pepper? Fine silks? Exotic tortoise shells? Genuine dragon scales? Coral from the very depths of the ocean, harvested by merfolk daring the sharks? Gems from the deepest earth? The breath of a dryad? All these and more! Speak, traveller, and name your item, and I shall do my best to supply it!
Hern leaves Duncan behind, but with a regretful look back. The huge dog gives a most unintimidating whine as he watches his master enter the building without him.
Hern accepts Hemlock's proffered hand and gives it a firm shake. "Of course, sheriff. We'd be remiss to not request a meeting with you before settling ourselves in your town. And thank you for the offer - while we'd be quite happy to help you remove part of your own goblin problem, our eyes lie further out. We hear the frontier, further out from Sandpoint, is a haven for the blighters, and we hope to change that. A guide would be excellent, though we would also be willing to wait for the caravan." He takes a quick look at Graven as he says this, raising his eyebrow, an invitation to interrupt if he disagrees. "If no such guide is available, perhaps we could even help you with the immediate goblin problem while waiting for the caravan."
"I believe Hern is correct, our purpose here is to bring law to the lawless, so to speak. I don't think we are ready to dismiss any opportunities to help out, whether that be goblin or otherwise. Really, we are here to help. I suspect you have your hands full with people behaving poorly, I assure you, none of our group...should be found acting out. Though, we are a bit..." Graven looks at Hern, "eclectic in our membership.
Hatim looks about the shop to see if there is anything unusual.
You must be the owner. My name is Hatim. I am a collector and dealer in items from Nex. Also, I've heard that goblins, those nasty knee-biters, have been accosting people in this area. I usually pay for my collections by capturing bounties on the nasties. Sometime, I've found income in overcoming the odd bugaboo or hobgoblin. So, to make a long story longer, do you have items of interest from the far away land of Nex, and do you know of means to acquire extra income by smashing the nasty, green ignoramus.
Hatim pauses, as if he forgot something. Oh, I almost forgot! I couldn't help noticing that beautiful lighthouse on my way from the docks. Thassilonian, am I right? Amazing! From what I hear, there were great magics at that time. Do you know where I can find out more about it?
Damien walks the street trying not to draw attention to himself, with his hood up he peers into each of the bars as he passes seeing what kind of patrons they hold. He avoids eye contact with the two guards, and studies each of the taverns looking for the one with more adventurers or local scum.
Gordrun pauses at the stuttering "Yes, well. While Tusk polish is useful for some, I'm interested in something a little more Goblin related. Anything to help deal with the little buggers? I've heard there is trouble around town and I want to be prepared in case." Gordrun asks.
That evening in a tavern...
The Rusty Dragon is not the most upmarket inn in town, nor is it the cheapest, but it does have a reputation for exotic food and fine drink, both of which are often enjoyed by mercenaries and adventurers who have experienced some of the variety the world has to offer.
The common room, which is three quarters full, and just on the jovial side of rowdy, is overseen by Miss Ameiko, a Tian woman with a grace and bearing that suggests origins slightly more upmarket than a tavern-mistress. Her easy laugh and salty language that would cause blushes in the roughest dock of the Shackles, cuts through the hubbub as she directs her serving staff.
One side of the room is dominated by a large chalkboard, where anyone can post offers of or requests for employment, commissions or private undertakings. Currently there are a few requests for caravan guards, a guide to accompany a homesteader family into the hinterlands, and a ship currently reprovisioning in the harbour needs deck-hands.
The group has managed to get a large table to themselves in a corner, slightly away from the rowdy main room, and are currently catching up with their day's findings.
Damien listens in on what his comrades has to say he will excuse himself afterwards to stalk around the bar listening in on conversations pertaining along the lines of the supposed cult activities or something close to it.
When Hern and Graven reconvene with the group, Hern takes turns with the inquisitor to relate everything the sheriff had told them. "So it seems we have multiple choices. We could request a guide from the sheriff, or look into finding a caravan to take us on." He then takes a look over at the chalkboard, and raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Hm. That's mightily convenient. We could take one of those caravan jobs, or perhaps join that guide as bodyguards for the family. Thoughts?"
Gordrun shifts in his seat, trying to get comfortable and keep his arm from poking into his cloak. He listens as the others recount their findings and mutters something about stupid shop owners before adding "I like the sound of bodyguarding. Watching over some folks sounds better than spending more time at sea. Blech."
Graven nods at Gordrun and Hern.
"Works for me, I am not expecting the first lead to fall in our lap."
Damien tells his friends what he found out,(All know the info above.).
"That sounds like the ideal job to take, the family could be the potential prey for the goblin tribes we are seeking." He responds looking around to see if any of the patrons are taking an interest in them.
"Seems decided, then. We'll seek out this family." Hern calls over a server and orders a round for everyone. While he has them at the group's table, he asks whether they know anyone in town who would make a capable guide.
No-one seems to be taking an undue interest in the group - mercenary parties passing through Sandpoint are not anything very unusual. A party of local women in their mid-twenties, who seems to have come to admire the various warrior types present, cast the occasional interested glance towards Hern and Graven, but are mostly pre-occupied with the trio of Magnamarian mercenaries who are currently plying them with drink.
The tradition with the chalkboard seems to be that Ameiko acts a go between - collecting and passing on messages. A brief word reveals that the homesteader advertising for an escort is currently sitting in one of the nooks of the bar, slowly nursing an ale.
The busy serving girl looks startled at the request for a guide. "Umm, there was that dwarf, Harsk, but he hasn't been around for a while. Sartara may be in later. She does that sort of work. I'll send her your way if I see her."
"It seems our family in need is situated, at least partially, over there. Shall we go and greet him? We can ask him his preferences for a guide and whether or not he would appreciate some stout guards. I'm sure he will, as we won't be charging - though he might be suspicious."
He slips the serving girl a gold for her information, "Thank you Miss more will come if you can bring us more info."
He looks to Hern, "Seems like a good Idea Sir Goff, I say one of you two do the talking for now. I don't bring the best out of people."
"Hern you seem to have a way with people, perhaps you should be the voice of the party, so to speak. I have my moments but usually it's got to do with getting the truth out of someone, these folks probably need...a...lighter touch, don't you think?"
The homesteader seated in the alcove is surprised to receive sudden attention. A polite, quietly spoken young man, he readily introduces himself as Utor. He has bought himself out of an apprenticeship as a cooper in Magnamar in order to try to make a life for himself, his wife Chella and their infant daughter on the frontier.
The latter two are currently with all his other worldly possessions in a covered wagon on the outskirts of town. "Need to give Chella some space, see? It were a hard birth, and she's weak still with the nursing, so I leave them both to sleep, and try to keep myself busy here."
He gestures to his flat beer. "Reckon they'd chuck me out if I drank any slower. Been waiting a few days to see if any other homesteaders want to form a caravan, support each other going up country, but seems like we're the only ones at the moment. Was thinking of heading out tomorrow. Got my axe. Any goblin that comes within reach of Chella or the baby will soon find out I know how to swing it."
Gordrun nods at the sentiment. "Family is important, I wish mine had cared about me as much." before falling silent and letting the others do the talking.
Hern gives Gordrun a slightly pitying look before turning back to Utor. "And no money to rent a room? If you're going to stay on here tonight, I'd be happy to lend you some coin. A young one like that shouldn't have to stay out in a wagon." Here Hern smiles kindly. "But about your journey... well, we'd like to accompany you.
Here Hern gestures to himself and his companions. He opens his mouth to resume his offer, but breaks off chuckling. "My apologies. I know we can't inspire the strongest of confidences. But I assure you, we're quite capable. We saw your request on the board, and we thought we might be a welcome addition to your journey. There also seems to be a fair number of guides in this town - the sheriff has offered to find us a guide, and the barmaid mentioned a "Sartara" that she would send our way."
"If you would have us, well... your axe would need not be the only weapon standing between the goblins and your family."