Follow the Flood Road (Inactive)

Game Master Transylvanian Tadpole

Shortly before the cairn’s completion, Karannah rides up on a chestnut brown warhorse without barding. She leaps down from the saddle and crosses over to Dierik, sparing not a glance for the hulking carcasses of orcs strewn about her.

“Santrian sent me up here to check on progress,” she reports, “he’s getting jittery back at the camp. I think he’s worried about spending another night beside the Ghostlight Marshes. Not surprising, considering what befell.”

“Tell him we’ll be away soon . . .” Dierik is interrupted by Pellius’ cry. He and Karannah turn to see the magus plunge Signior into the swamp. This befuddling behaviour is soon explained when the Chelaxian reappears a while later, leading the exhausted, stumbling figures of Delkaneth and Bonegrit, plus Shambles and Amiro with the comatose form of Modoru carefully balanced over his broad back.

A crowd of astonished onlookers quickly gather to greet the men, and Shambles runs happily between the members of the workforce, reacquainting himself with those who are fond of him with licks and high-pitched yips.

Dunagan is standing at the base of the cairn with Kelya as all of this happens, putting the finishing touches to an inscription marking one of the largest boulders of the foundation. Having followed the priestess’ direction, the dwarf has carved the following epithet:

Here lie the heroes of Lastwall, who gave their lives gladly for the sanctity of their hearths.

May they rest well in the embrace of whatever god they uttered prayers too, in the company of those kin that have walked this road before them.

12.05.4711 A.R.

Dunagan follows Kelya more sedately as the long-legged Varisian hustles over to see to the returning wanderers. By the time the forgemaster joins the crowd of his fellows Kelya is already bent over the insensible Modoru, who has been lowered carefully to the ground.

“No grave injuries,” she reports on having whispered a prayer of healing “He’s just pushed himself to his limits, until the point his body could no longer keep pace with his determination. Not the first knight I’ve seen acting with such nonsense,” Dierik raises his eyebrows slightly at this comment.

“Wait,” a brief laugh of disbelief escapes Kelya’s lips “What foolish pride is this? Look here, here’s why he didn’t divest himself of his armour yesterday eve. The whole suit’s twisted out of shape; probably when that giant collapsed on him. He’s encased in his full plate like a sardine in a tin, and likely too high and mighty to admit his predicament!”

Although freeing Modoru from his stuck armour could be achieved easily with a crowbar and a bit of brute strength, getting it off without damaging it is a more challenging feat, requiring a DC 15 Craft (armour) check. Taking 10 is permissible.

Karannah arches one eyebrow like a bent bow as Delkaneth offers her the ruellia flower. Unlike her strawberry blonde tresses, her eyebrows are dark, hovering over equally dark eyes of chocolate brown.

She gives a slight shake of her head in exasperation, and mutters “creep”, but takes the flower nonetheless. She seems pleased to see Delkaneth alive and well, although it’s difficult to tell what she thinks of her gift.

Meanwhile, Dierik strides over to assist Bonegrit. Shambles runs over and noses them both as Dierik claps both hands on the half-orc’s weary shoulders.

“First the Strander Stakes, then rescuing the caravan’s mascot. You’re certainly earning your pay, lad!” Dierik beckons to one of his men standing by. “Share a bit of your grog, Hiedram, I know you’ve got that flask stashed in your belt.”

Hiedram obligingly passes the bottle over, Dierik raises it to Bonegrit’s lips. “Take a swig, it’ll restore some vitality, or perhaps just knock you out cold.”

Opportunities to build some more on PC and NPC reactions on the returning 'fools/heroes', then in tomorrow’s post I’ll probably ‘fast-forward’ to events at the evening camp.

Delkaneth stares at Karannah for a moment, his sleep-deprived mind trying to make sense of the signals and messages. Hearing the noise behind him as Bonegrit drops to the ground and Dierik moves to assist, he nods to the woman with a weary smile and turns to make his way back over to his companion.

"Tas ir iemesls, kāpēc es gribētu seno mīklas. Vieglāk izdomāt." he mumbles to himself as he goes.

He stumbles over to Keyla as she examines Modoru. "Any way to see if the wisps.......left anything behind? They disappeared when they hit us..." In hushed tones he gives the cleric a brief recap of the strange encounter, emphasizing the talk of 'envoys' and 'vengeance'.

He raises his voice as much as he can to address Dierik. "Sorry if we caused trouble, sir. Seemed like the right thing to do at the time." He gives another weary smile and nod to the half-orc. Sure we'll get an earful from quite a few folks. He then looks longingly at the grog bottle. "If its no trouble.....could use some vitality myself. And I wouldn't mind being knocked out cold."

"And I wouldn't mind being knocked out cold."

"If I had known that, I could have saved you a slog through those gods-forsaken swamps." Pyotr's large frame looms out of the gathering crowd. He walks forward, one hand still clutches a rock he neglected to cast aside at the work of the cairn. Shambles makes his bounding trip through the crowd, until a tusk-filled sneer and a low growl from Pyotr sends him scurrying back to the side of Bonegrit.

By the time he stands before Delkaneth, the sneer is gone and replaced with something between the strain of annoyance and the weariness of relief. "It is well that you survived." The oversized half-orc claps a heavy, muddied hand on the exhausted man's shoulder, nearly buckling his knees in his flagging strength. "Are you well enough to walk back to the camp? I think our good ranger is all done in."

Pyotr helps Bonegrit to his feet, and with a little difficulty helps the long-limbed ranger back astride Amiro. He hands the reigns over to Hiedram. "Kindly see him back to camp."

With a grunt at the weight of his twisted armor, Pyotr hefts Modoru over his shoulder. "Master Dunagan, perhaps you'd like to help pry our stubborn sardine from his tin? But, first, let us get far away from those haunted marshes."

Seeing everyone in good spirits is a welcome sight and almost makes Pellius forgets their sad circumstances. Taking the opportunity, he nears Kelya and nods to the woman. With a weary smile in his face, the magus asks, "I'd like to hear about your travels if you care to share. Have you ever seen a sadder memorial?"

Delkaneth's weary body tenses at Pyotr's approach, preparing for the verbal lashing he knows he has not escaped just yet. He relaxes as the warrior begins speaking and nods grimly to his question. Oh goodie, more walking. Turning his head, the young man's gaze falls on the massive cairn that has risen from the ashes of the battlefield. He straightens up as much as he can.

"Puts things in perspective, doesn't it? A little more walking will be just fine."

As the group prepares to walk back to camp, Delkaneth realizes that he has unconsciously positioned himself next to Amiro. He looks up at the bone-weary Bonegrit. Yes, a little more walking together is just fine.

I’ve made a few minor tweaks to the order of events (questions asked etc.) to make the post flow better. I’ve also DMPCed Dunagan for this post.

Although still confined within his armour, Modoru’s breathing seems more regular after Kelya’s ministrations. The priestess listens carefully to Delkaneth’s concerns.

"Any way to see if the wisps.......left anything behind?

“Well, he seems more or less okay. I’ll know more once we’ve cracked him open and I can give him a closer examination. There’s also some prayers I can prepare back at the camp which might tell me more about both of you. How do you feel, Delkaneth?”

The Chelaxian then moves over to Dierik as the Trail Captain passes him the bottle of grog. It’s as potent as promised, making Delkaneth’s vision swim slightly as he downs the first gulp. But at the very least, it deadens some of the aching in his calves and the dull throb of his sodden feet.

"Sorry if we caused trouble, sir."

“It wasn’t the wisest choice, and what’s more something I advised against,” replies Dierik “But I can’t begrudge you for it. The truth is, I’m very fond of Shambles here – the whole caravan is. He’s become something of a lucky mascot, and losing him would have been seen as an ill-favoured sign by the men.”

But, first, let us get far away from those haunted marshes."

A general chorus of assent echoes Pyotr’s suggestion; it seems everyone is quite sick of their grim surroundings. With weary Amiro bearing the wearier Bonegrit, and Modoru hauled over the saddle of Karannah’s horse, the company quits the field, leaving the orcs to the carrion crows and butcher ravens, and Lastwall’s fallen at rest beneath their monumental cairn. Delkaneth walks, almost in a stupor thanks to his exhaustion and Hiedram’s grog.

Pellius walks beside Kelya, leading Signior by the rein.

Have you ever seen a sadder memorial?"

Kelya glances back at the wheeling crowd of birds, a welcome gust of a breeze carrying away the odours of rot and making play with her long tail of blonde hair.

“I’ve seen men sold like cattle in secret slave markets in Absalom, and the same such things done with open brazenness in Cheliax. You are right, it’s a sorrowful sight, but at least these men died free, fighting to protect a land they loved.”

- - - - -

Even those who have not spent a night and a day slogging through the clutching bogs of the Ghostlight Marshes are exhausted following their exertions constructing the cairn. It takes forty minutes of a slow, plodding pace to get back to the laagered caravan, where Santrian and the rest of the crew also celebrate the return of Shambles and the men who rescued him.

The caravan prepares to move out quickly, as the sun is already falling towards the sharp spikes of the Mindspin Mountains. Seeing the state of Bonegrit and Delkaneth, Santrian orders a space cleared and packed with blankets on Old Stubborness, and suggests they try and get some rest on the lurching wagon. Modoru is already ensconced, snoring quietly.

It’s near dark by the time they reach Fallenford and the caravan makes camp again. Daeltern’s spell has expired, and the crossing to Castle Firrine now lies open.

Some careful work by Dunagan (taking ten on his Craft check) succeeds in prying open the deformed clasps and twisted buckles of Modoru’s dented armour without doing undue damage to the masterwork plate mail. As the paladin is prized free, his eyelids begin to flutter and he starts to regain consciousness.

If Bonegrit and Delkaneth take up the offer of sleep they will recover from the fatigued condition, but obviously won’t be able to partake in the evening’s conversations. The others might allow them to sleep all night, although this will mean longer watches for the other three (and potential problems for Pellius if he wants to prepare new spells). Alternatively, if the two swamp-wanderers rest immediately, they can receive their requisite eight hours and then take the final watches before dawn.
@ Pellius, I’ve had a hell of a long day, and I want to give your conversation with Kelya the attention it deserves. Thus I’ve only answered half of it, so we’ll assume the rest takes place later in the evening, and we’ll RP it a bit later on.
RP choices;
- Speaking to Modoru as he regains consciousness.
- Celebrating Shambles’ return with the ‘rank and file’ of the caravan.
- Seeking some solitude to reflect on the grim labour of the day.
- Something else entirely.

The next update will probably concern Modoru further, plus Dunagan getting the opportunity to investigate his ancestor’s sword (now borne by Dierik) and Kelya relating something of her travels throughout Avistan.

Delkaneth is thankful for the offer of a comfy spot in the wagon and is sorely tempted, but the chance to tell the tales and share in the celebration of the group calls to him. He joins the others and prepares to describe the events of the swamp quite a few times before the end of the evening. In very short order, no matter how willing the mind is, the body wins. The young chelaxian drifts off to sleep sitting upright at a campfire.

Kelya glances back at the wheeling crowd of birds, a welcome gust of a breeze carrying away the odours of rot and making play with her long tail of blonde hair.

“I’ve seen men sold like cattle in secret slave markets in Absalom, and the same such things done with open brazenness in Cheliax. You are right, it’s a sorrowful sight, but at least these men died free, fighting to protect a land they loved.”

The magus answers without looking at her; his speech seems more like it's meant for himself. "You're right, of course. That's what my father ran way from years ago. Maybe not outright slavery of the body but certainly slavery of the mind, which is worse. Maybe later, when the mood is lighter, you'll share some of your travel memories."

LATER

Some careful work by Dunagan (taking ten on his Craft check) succeeds in prying open the deformed clasps and twisted buckles of Modoru’s dented armour without doing undue damage to the masterwork plate mail. As the paladin is prized free, his eyelids begin to flutter and he starts to regain consciousness.

Pellius nods when Dunagan finishes his job on the armor and paladin. He turns to Modoru and gives him some water. After the paladin drinks he asks, "Do you feel well enough to tell us what happened to you?"

Modoru’s eyes slowly focus on Pellius. He smiles at the Chelaxian. “You came back for us,” he says, misinterpreting the circumstances of his return to the camp “I thought you were of stronger mettle than your words suggested. Did the others survive?”

He yawns. “It feels good to be out of that armour. I remember the will o’ wisps attacking us, but nothing after that. To be honest, I thank Iomedae for my life.”

Kelya, who has been standing nearby, leans over the edge of Old Stubborness to inspect the freshly revived knight. She mutters a couple of prayers, the holy symbol of Desna clutched in her hand.

Kelya frowns slightly and hums to herself for a moment, before turning to Pellius (and any others who are there). “Give us a moment. Modoru, with your permission I’d like to give you a closer examination.”

After a short while, Kelya steps back from the wagon, satisfied. “You seem well enough. Just make sure you get enough rest.”

“Thank you, milady,” answers Modoru from his makeshift bed.

- - - - -

Later, Pellius and Kelya talk quietly together. “My travels have taken me all over Avistan,” she says “I know Ustalav and Varisia best, I've spent too much time in Cheliax and Isger, been as far north as the Land of the Linnorm Kings, and also east through Razmiran, Numeria, and Mendev to Brevoy.”

Pellius, perhaps the easiest thing from my perspective is for you to choose one of the listed lands Kelya’s visited above. I’ll tell a tale based on the location you’ve chosen.

Delkaneth, you can decide whether you are still awake when Modoru comes to and get involved as you wish. If Del is awake, Kelya will cast the same spells on him (otherwise she’ll do so in the morning).

As for everyone else, I think I’ll leave it there for this evening and give the other PCs the opportunity to post. My apologies to Dunagan, I didn’t get around to Dierik’s sword here, but I promise it’ll be in the next post.
RP avenues:
• Continue talking to Modoru
• Ask Kelya for a diagnosis of Modoru’s health
• Something else entirely

Finally, head on over the Discussion thread for some important (good) news.

Modoru’s eyes slowly focus on Pellius. He smiles at the Chelaxian. “You came back for us,” he says, misinterpreting the circumstances of his return to the camp “I thought you were of stronger mettle than your words suggested. Did the others survive?”

Pellius, although tempted to go along, quickly decides otherwise. "Aye, stronger and smarter mettle but I didn't come back for you. I've stayed alive this long by carefully picking my fights. But I am glad you and the other are back and safely at that."

He yawns. “It feels good to be out of that armour. I remember the will o’ wisps attacking us, but nothing after that. To be honest, I thank Iomedae for my life.”

The magus nods and places his fist to his heart, "As you should. Only through her grace will you get to fight for her glory again. I hope next time you don't risk your life for a stubborn dog." Pellius leaves the man to rest, especially now that Kelya heads over to him to tend to his care.

- - - - -

Later, Pellius and Kelya talk quietly together. “My travels have taken me all over Avistan,” she says “I know Ustalav and Varisia best, I've spent too much time in Cheliax and Isger, been as far north as the Land of the Linnorm Kings, and also east through Razmiran, Numeria, and Mendev to Brevoy.”

The magus smiles, "Well, you certainly traveled to lots of more places than I have. I'm afraid my scouting has been confined to the orc lands and I remember little of Cheliax."

Pellius shrugs his shoulder, "You probably know that Lastwall is in charge of not only keeping the orcs at bay but also keeping watch over the Whispering Tyrant. However, I personally have not been involved with the later part of our duty. Perhaps you can share a story or two about Ustalav. I would like to know some more about the land that gave birth to that evil entity."

It's well past bedtime but I couldn't resist.

I hope next time you don't risk your life for a stubborn dog.

Modoru frowns. "I did not risk my life for a dog. I risked my life for Bonegrit and Delkaneth, to honour their courage and the aid they gave me when I was trapped under the giant I slew.

Pellius wrote:

I hope next time you don't risk your life for a stubborn dog.

Modoru frowns. "I did not risk my life for a dog. I risked my life for Bonegrit and Delkaneth, to honour their courage and the aid they gave me when I was trapped under the giant I slew.

"Don't be so quick to anger. It was me and my horse that did a lot of the pulling to get you out of there and I'll gladly do it again."

The magus offers his hand to the paladin, "Come, let's put this behind us. You'll find me a good soldier to fight along with and I certainly want you on my side. There are plenty of dangers and enemies waiting for us out there, can I count on you to watch my back?"

Pyotr stands waist deep in the ford, furiously scrubbing at the mud and fouler things that soil his tunic. The black stains from the twig-man's poisonous sap prove the most resistant, and Pyotr is completely engrossed when Santrian finds him.

"Leave it alone, lad. You're doing more damage than good."

Pyotr looks up. "It'll come clean."

"Sure it will. But there won't be anything left. You'll rip it to shreds." Santrian squatted down by the shoreline. "Can't figure you, boyo. Why are you out here on your own? There's some lively tales being spun about the campfire. Who knows? They may even be true."

"I only have the one..."

"Learn to live with the spots. No one that matters will notice."

..............

Pyotr stands near the fire as Kelya finally makes her way over. Even if she hadn't shown her consternation plainly on her face, Pyotr would have suspected there was more to her diagnosis of Ser Redgrave.

"Your patient seems no worse for the wear. But, perhaps more lies underneath. Something troubles you about the good knight?"

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (4) + 6 = 10

Delkaneth, you can decide whether you are still awake when Modoru comes to and get involved as you wish. If Del is awake, Kelya will cast the same spells on him (otherwise she’ll do so in the morning).

Delkaneth fights off his weariness as he tries to sit by the fires and swap tales with the guards and other members of the caravan. He gets an extra burst of energy as Modoru wakes up, and he makes his way over to the wagon in time to see Keyla cast her spells. "Luck was with us, that's for sure. Or at least, I think so..." Still a little paranoid about the wisp attack, Del submits to her castings as well, closely watches Keyla's reactions as she casts.

He does his best to keep quiet as Pellius and the knight verbally spar, but is not that successful as he mumbles under his breath. "Good soldier indeed. Even Hellknights know not to leave a man behind"

Not waiting for a response, he gives Modoru a friendly pat on the shoulder and walks back to the fire where Bonegrit is being bombarded with questions. Delkaneth rescues his friend by jumping into the story with a bit of a flourish but the enthusiasm is short lived as the last 24 hours take their toll.

Hoping that being awake that little bit longer won't prevent Del from turning in 'early' enough to recover by morning?

Much as I'd like to share in the fireside recounting of epic adventureness, Bonegrit is far too tuckered out by the whole ordeal and will elect to take whatever sleep they'll let him get away with.

Bonegrit's limp, shuffling gait only lingers a moment by the fire—long enough to slop down the small plate of food and drink he has acquired. Though his joints, eyes, and mind beg for reprieve, he knows tomorrow's demands won't be agreeable on an empty stomach. When curiosity gets the better of the caravan, and the questions begin spilling out, he can barely manage grunts and nods for responses. What words he offers are barely intelligible, given a mouth full of food and an exhaustion that is so profound that it threatens to physically drag the half-orc to the nearest bed. Delkaneth's arrival is a welcome sight, and Bonegrit takes the opportunity to excuse himself before staggering off to bed down for the night.

"It was me and my horse that did a lot of the pulling to get you out of there and I'll gladly do it again."

“Don’t think I don’t appreciate the aid. I do. But being a citizen of Lastwall is about standing firm beside your companions, whether you agree with their choices or not. Think on this. Those in need have chosen my battles, be they the men at my side or the families living in the lands behind us. I’ve let the truth in my heart drive my sword, not the cold calculation of my head, and I’ve still survived as long as you, and a few years more atop that.”

"There are plenty of dangers and enemies waiting for us out there, can I count on you to watch my back?"

“That’s a probably a question I should be asking you. By Iomedae and Lastwall, know that I’ll hold fast beside you or any other who’s prepared to fight against our enemies.”

Modoru reaches up to take Pellius’ proffered hand.

- - - - -

Not far away, Delkaneth and Pyotr stand with Kelya.

"Something troubles you about the good knight?"

“Physically, he seems fine, although I admit I’m no physician. But Desna blessed me with a spell to detect any magic cast upon his person . . . and my divination caught something . . . an echo of great sorcery worked upon his being. But it was only the faintest vestige; I could discern no details of its nature.”

Delkaneth looks at her expectantly, and Kelya repeats her castings upon him. They lock eyes, and Kelya nods ever so slightly.

“The same. Just a hint, but the hint of something powerful.”

- - - - -

That evening, Dierik calls Dunagan over to his side.

“You did a good job with my armour, dwarf, though your working hours are somewhat unsociable. Nonetheless, it’s time for me to hold up my end of the bargain.”

Dierik reaches down and lifts his sword into the light of the fire. “The workmanship of your forefathers,” he says “The Ironcoffers have borne it for generations. The story goes that more than two centuries ago, a band of dwarves passed from Vigil, on a grand quest to reclaim Urgir from the orcs. My family sheltered them and helped outfit them for their expedition. A year and a day after the dwarves set off for the Hold of Belkzen, only one returned to the gates of Vigil, the leader of the band, said to be a prince among his people. Sorely wounded and half crazed, the Ironcoffers took him in and helped nurse him back to health. After two months in their care, he departed, never to be heard from again. The sword was his gift to us, a mark of thanks for the aid we’d offered, and a promise of wreaking some vengeance upon the orcs that slew his brothers and stole his ancestral home."

“A finer weapon I’ve never wielded, though I can’t say I completely understand this blade. Magic dwells within this sword, and although its powers occasionally manifest themselves, they seem to do so at their own volition, rather than any command from me.”

The first thing Dunagan notices as he takes the sword in his hands is its balance. Although its length and proportions seem designed for a human, it nonetheless rests perfectly in its grasp, its equilibrium refusing to be compromised by his differing reach and build.

The scabbard’s a simple, unadorned affair of recent human construction. Dunagan tosses it aside as he draws the sword. The firelight dances off the perfect angles of the long blade. It’s perfectly proportioned, lacking any embellishment aside from Amrin’s small forgerune marking the chappe just above the straight quillons. The sword is double-edged and straight, imperceptibly narrowing by a few tiny fractions to the diamond shaped point. The grip is wide, bound in black leather, and fits the hand comfortably. Like the rest of the sword, the hilt is unadorned, simply a small, square nob which serves as a stronger counterweight than its size would suggest.

Dunagan turns his attention to Amrin’s forgerune. Like his own, it’s a somewhat abstract device, though the stylised image of a hammer is rather prominent in the centre of the rune. Curiously, it seems split in two halves, with a void the width of Dunagan’s little finger separating each half. As he looks harder, he imagines he can make out devices reminiscent of the dwarven runes for loyalty, courage and sundering, but these are impressionistic and incomplete.

- - - - -

A good dozen or so people are gathered around the campfire where Pellius and Kelya sit, including Delkaneth, who is fast asleep.

Perhaps you can share a story or two about Ustalav.

As Pellius asks his questions, much of the chattering around the fire quietens as people stop to hear Kelya’s tale.

“Ustalav,” she starts “Ustalav is the land of my birth and my childhood. If anything, it’s the beginning of the my journey, and trust me, if you start your travels in Ustalav then the weather only gets better the more you walk.”

@ Dunagan; Dierik sits beside you during this examination, so feel free to ask him further questions concerning the sword.

@ Pyotr; I’m not sure ‘boyo’s in Santrian vocabulary . . . :-)

@ Pellius, you’re probably well ahead of me on Ustalav considering the campaigns you run. I hope I did okay getting the feel right back there.

I’ll wrap the evening up in the next post and move things along to the following morning.

Pellius is easily entranced by Kelya's words. Sitting on the ground and looking up to her, he hugs his knees a little tighter as the tale goes on. Although not outright afraid, the supernatural, ghosts specifically, have always had that effect on the magus.

The magus looks about as Kelya finishes her story, "Sounds about right; it's similar to the other stories the knights tell once they come back to Lastwall from an extended patrol in Ustalav. I, for one, have no wish to face ghosts but if it's my Lady's will to do so, then my sword and magic are hers to command."

As if to accentuate his last phrase, the magus brings his fist to his heart and murmurs a prayer.

I've been using 'fist to heart' as a way to 'invoke/honor/etc' Iomedae. Is that correct or is there another way? I know Pharasma is making a circle near your heart and I swear I read 'fist to heart' for Iomedae but I can't find it now. Help? Pyotr?

Not far away, Delkaneth and Pyotr stand with Kelya.

Pyotr wrote:

"Something troubles you about the good knight?"

“Physically, he seems fine, although I admit I’m no physician. But Desna blessed me with a spell to detect any magic cast upon his person . . . and my divination caught something . . . an echo of great sorcery worked upon his being. But it was only the faintest vestige; I could discern no details of its nature.”

Pyotr had seen the clerics of the Cathedral perform magics before, but he had never given any thought to studying or understanding it. Kelya's pronouncement leaves him awed and more than a little concerned.

"If the spell was so powerful as to leave such a trace, why can we not see any discernible effects? What manner of sorcery stains the aura, but does not mar the body, mind, and soul?"

Delkaneth does NOT like the sound of that, but other than increasing his internal paranoia Keyla's pronouncement does not change his actions until morning.

I’ll take Pyotr’s comments regarding spells as rhetorical; Kelya has no answer for them anyway.

Delkaneth and Bonegrit slept the night away. Did the other three adventurers take extended watch shifts to account for their absence, or simply leave gaps in their watch (Callan’s guards are always on watch nonetheless)? If extended shifts were taken, Pellius will face problems preparing the extra spells he prepared after levelling up.

Pyotr has now fully healed the wounds he sustained in battle with the twig-men.

Fireday, 13th Desnus, 4711 AR*

Having left the Ghostlight Marshes and the corpse strewn battleground behind, the mood in camp has improved significantly. The Esk River flows peacefully over Fallenford, skylarks twitter in the sky overhead, and a steady breeze moves fluffy white clouds overhead.

Modoru approaches the adventurers, his long slumber having restored as much life to his complexion as can be expected of a pale-faced Chelaxian. He is once again wearing is battered armour, but this morning his gait is a purposeful stride rather than the fatigued staggering of the previous two days.

“My friends, it’s time to say our farewells. My duty calls me back to Castle Firrine. I hear you have a spare horse you might be interested in selling. Luckily for you, the orcs never thought to look under the giant for loot, so I still have some gold on my person. You can name your price.”

The PCs have the spare horse Dierik rewarded them with after the engagement with Haisnar and his followers. Dunagan also has Sard. Here’s a chance to make a little extra coin.

Once Modoru has or hasn’t acquired a horse from the PCs, the caravan will set off towards the Freedom Town, following the line of Harchrist’s Blockade.

*Fireday the Thirteenth. Yikes!

A rare smile creeping across his face, Bonegrit extends a hand to clasp Modoru's wrist and gives a firm shake. "I'd be lyin' if I said I won't miss yer company, Ser. What you did for us... me, Delkaneth, Shambles. It speaks well to yer measure, ya get me? Don't figger it's a favor that will be soon forgotten." Bonegrit reaches into his quiver and withdraws one of the swan-fletched arrows he had discovered on the carnage washed battlefield. He runs the palm of his hand down the length of the arrow's pale, rose birch shaft and drags his thumb along one of the vibrant white plumes looming over the nock. A brief nod accompanies the half-orc holding the arrow out before Modoru, a solemn look firm on Bonegrit's face.

"Can't say who these arrows belonged to afore me; maybe you knew 'em. I don't have much to give in the way of tokens otherwise, so I'd like you to have this one. And when ya look at it, remember that it's got five brothers and sisters that'll have found themselves new homes in an orc somewhere soon enough. Now," Bonegrit says, turning to regard the rest of his companions, "I'm not sure where the rest of 'em stand on the matter, but I think we can (*)let the nag go for a few jinks, yeah?"

Doubtful that the horse is actually a nag, but Bonegrit aims to undervalue the horse audibly so Modoru won't feel as adamant (being a just, upright knight and all) about paying more for the steed than we would ask of him—assuming we ask anything.

Delkaneth also grasps Modoru's arm in a hearty handshake. "Glad you were out there with us." A grin crosses his face. "Don't take this the wrong way my friend, but let's never do that again!"

Not wanting to be upstaged by the ranger, he reaches into his belt pouch and pulls out the holy symbol of Gorum. "Found this on the battlefield. Not exactly a gift, more like a clue - maybe it can help you learn more about what was behind that coordinated attack? That kind of knowledge might help Castle Firrine in the future."

Another handshake and the young man is off to go check his gear as Modoru starts shopping for horses. Over his shoulder he calls back "And stay out from underneath anymore giants!"

@ Delkaneth; the symbol was supposed to be treasure rather than a clue. The majority of soldiers at Castle Firrine worship Gorum . . . but the faith is also popular and growing more so amongst the orcs. Revise your post if you wish!

Also, someone's going to have to make this man an offer, or he's going to have to walk home!

Pyotr struggles out of his bedroll. His back and shoulders protest the movement after the exertions of the previous day. He groans as he forces himself to his feet. "Pushed yourself a might too hard, yesterday, eh?" one of the drovers laughs. "Ya can't move mountains, lad!"

Bonegrit, Delkaneth, and Modoru all seem well recovered from their exertions. Pyotr tries to stretch the pain out, silently begrudging the trio their hale and healthy goodwill. Nevertheless, he nods amiably as Modoru speaks.

"How does this morning find you, Ser Redgrave? Sleep can be wonderfully restorative to the body and mind. But, only time and counsel can heal the soul. Less than half a day's ride from here Ironring and all the goodly soldiers of Firrine rest at peace behind embrasures strong enough to resist the elements and the denizens of the wild."

"I have means to send word to the Precentors Martial and the clerics of the Cathedral," Pyotr flexes his hand, emblazoned with the sword mark, "though I have no doubt Knight-Captain Deutruch and Battlemaster Braggs have already briefed them on the battle. I have little enough standing... But, I will encourage the Lords of Lastwall to prepare a ceremony to honor and consecrate the fallen within the cairn. Perhaps you will relay word to Knight-Commander Shallen upon your return to Castle Firrine?"

Pyotr will carefully watch Modoru's reactions, concerned about the lingering aura of magic upon him. Sense Motive: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 4 = 10

"I have no desire to gouge a man who has lost much... But, I am deeply indebted to the Cathedral and the Lords Martial, even if those balances are not carried on paper. Will you pay fair value for the horse?"

Appraise to value the horse: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (19) + 3 = 22
Book value on a light riding horse is 75gp. If it is combat trained, it is 110gp. Pyotr is not trying to haggle the price up, just to offer his estimation of the fair market value, based on his appraise check.

Nothing in Modoru’s demeanour seems unusual to Pyotr, although he does seem intrigued at the news that the half-orc has a means of communicating with his superiors in Vigil.

"Perhaps you will relay word to Knight-Commander Shallen upon your return to Castle Firrine?"

“I will indeed.”

"Will you pay fair value for the horse?"

“I’ll pay that and more. I’ve my life to thank you for, after all. Shall we say a round hundred gold pieces?”

The horse is a standard riding horse, a young gelding worth 75 gp in your average horse fair.

Happy to see the paladin go safely back to the town, the magus clasps the man's hand one more time, "Stay safe and may Iomedae guide your sword hand.

Pellius then heads back to the caravan and readies Signior for the ride ahead.

Oops, thought the holy symbol was unique in some way. I'd definitely keep it then and send the paladin off his a warm handshake.

Delkaneth is subdued after his long night's rest, attending to Harika and checking his gear in relative silence. He waves as other members of the caravan greet him but not much more than that. Waiting for the scolding is worse than anything else.

Determined to break out of his poor mood he splashes water on his face as he completes preparations for the day's ride. Finally climbing into Harika's saddle, he decides to distract himself by pulling his newly acquired book from his pack. Within a few moments of reading he is hooked; axe in one hand, book in the other, he sits in the saddle trying to recreate some of the routines he is reading about on the well-worn pages.

Modoru pours a cascade of gold pieces into his hand. Pyotr realizes after only a few seconds, that the Firrinian knight intends to grossly overpay for the gelded nag. He reaches out and stops the flow of coin from the knight's purse.

"Nothing more than the price of the nag. Not one copper more for such services would I accept. Besides," Pyotr gives a sidelong look towards Shambles as he sniffed around the edge of the wagons, "it is a service we offer all too freely, I think."

Pyotr will ask a definite price of 75gp.

"Fare well on your travels, good Ser Redgrave. Be so good as to send word if the orcs move in force again. And beware falling giants."

Modoru nods at Pyotr’s price, lays his shield on the grass and quickly piles shining gold coins in stacks of five until the amount is reached.

“There you are. Thanks again to you all. May your swords be sharp when they’re needed, and I’m sure they will be where you’re heading.”

After briefly saying farewell to Dierik and Second Master Santrian, the paladin mounts up and with a deft flick of the reins turns his new mount south. Horse and rider plunge into the Esk as Modoru guides the beast carefully over the submerged stones of Fallenford. By the time the caravan is ready to move out, they have already reached the far bank and are cantering swiftly done the road to Castle Firrine.

75 gp; that’s 15 gp per PC. Adventuring brings you great riches, don’t ya’ know.

The caravan initially sets out at a brisk pace, leaving Fallenford behind and heading briefly back towards Vigil before turning northeast. The bulk of the morning is then spent guiding the wagons carefully across country, following a trail that supposedly exists, even though there’s little evidence of it. The terrain is low, rolling moorland, with occasional hillocks and rocky outcroppings, but on the whole the ground is firm and level enough for progress to be made.

At about ten of the clock, the caravan passes through the entrenchments and palisades that mark the border, Lastwall’s final front against Belkzen. It’s a rather pitiful fortification, a ragged, porous line of dug trenches and wooden barricades taking advantage of the sorry ruins of older defences where they still stand. The point where the caravan passes is unmanned and undefended, no doubt a result of recent redeployments due to the battle to which the adventurers have borne grim witness. At the very least, Lastwall’s flag flutters half-heartedly from a wooden watchtower, and tracks in the dirt indicate a mounted patrol of some forty riders passed through the day before (heading east).

The wagons roll onwards, and Dierik’s faith in their route is rewarded as the traces of an ancient road begin to take form amidst the tussocked grass of the wilderness. Despite the pitched and broken stones, and the stretches where it simply vanishes for some jolting minutes, the remnants of this thoroughfare are sufficient for the caravan to make up some ground.

By midday, they are following the line of Harchrist’s Blockade, their trail now revealed as the vestiges of a service road which once ran parallel for the length of the once mighty wall. Flanking their sword arms as they ride: open wilderness rolls south, eventually to be civilised by Lastwall. Flanking their shield arms: the tumbled stones of Harchrist’s Blockade, sometimes still mighty and imposing, sometimes so fallen and sundered the breaches run for the length of several bowshots, permitting an uninterrupted view of the badlands of the Hold of Belkzen beyond.

Although bettered by the older Sunwall that lies further north, Harchrist’s Blockade - named for the general who ordered its construction – remains a testament to the days when Lastwall was a greater and bolder nation. Constructed in 4237 A.R, it’s line of modest, uniform keeps every six or seven miles, running from the northern edge of the Mindspin Mountains along the southern bank of the Esk until crossing at Fallenford and driving northwards to end at the borders of the Ustalavic county of Canterwall. For this stretch of the Blockade, with its proximity to the orc capital of Urgir, the fortresses were augmented and connected with a thick stone wall, originally some fifteen feet high and still thirty feet wide.

The only incident of note during the afternoon is Old Stubborness and a dislocated axle. Almost two hours of fiddling by Agiz and his men are needed before the damage is repaired and the caravan can continue.

At nightfall the caravan stops beside a secure stretch of wall whose bulk blocks out the wind that has begun to howl out of the Hold. After ensuring that a couple of Callan’s men are stationed atop the wall to ensure no orcs or predators could approach unseen, Dierik orders the caravan laagered and for Crinkles to prepare some of his perennial (but nonetheless tasty) potato and jerky broth. The caravan settles down for the night.

Basically, despite the ominous date, not a great deal happens today unless the PCs go looking for trouble. Knowledge (history) checks can be made to learn a little more about Harchrist’s Blockade. Some avenues of interest might be;
-Make an exploration of the abandoned Lastwall outpost on the border (it’ll have to be quick, as Dierik doesn’t want to hang around).
-Exploring some of the ruined keeps of Harchrist’s Blockade that the caravan passes (again, Dierik’s unlikely to be keen on stopping for such purposes).
-Asking Dierik about why he decided to go to the Freedom Town rather than immediately follow the Flood Road.
-Helping Agiz repair the wagon.
-Conversations with any of the other caravan NPCs.
-Something else entirely.

Once the caravan moves away from the Fallenford to the northeast rather than the expected northwest direction to follow the Flood Road, Pellius directs Signior to where Dierik was riding his impressive warhorse.

The magus slows down to match Dierik's horse and casually asks, "Why are we heading away from the Flood Road? Wouldn't it make more sense to border the marshes and head straight to Urigir? Is there something we should be aware of?"

LATER

Pellius watches as the ratman deftly starts to disassemble the axle on the wagon. Seeing how the man struggled with the rusty bar, he nears the man and offers his help, "Don't know much about the fixing but perhaps I can be of aid. Would it help you if I cleaned the rust off the axle and lubricated it some?"

Assuming a positive response...

The magus got off Signior and pulled his hands free from his leather gloves. He then murmured his minor incantation and mimicked a cleaning motion passing his hands over the dirty axle. It was slow work but the rust fell off the metal piece and was left with shiny wet sheen.

"Is this better?"

Back on the road, Delkaneth resumes his normal routine of moving around the caravan to ride in different positions throughout the day. This includes the two hours spent repairing the axle: with so many eyes focused inward on the wagon he makes extra sure to focus outward to avoid surprises.

As the wall and its keeps come into view his natural curiousity rises. He finds that his movement along the length of the caravan never leaves the side of the Blockade. While every instinct he has cries to ride off and explore them all, common sense prevails. Running off again so soon would leave a bad impression. I'm sure there will be more keeps tomorrow.

He does wonder what great stories those stones have to tell..........

Knowledge (history): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (12) + 6 = 18

"Why are we heading away from the Flood Road? Wouldn't it make more sense to border the marshes and head straight to Urigir? Is there something we should be aware of?"

Dierik gives Pellius a friendly nod as the magus pulls alongside. He seems in a cheerful mood, perhaps energised to be leaving Lastwall (and his past) behind him and to be heading into wilder lands. He pats the neck Isabellina’s Arrow affectionately as he talks with Pellius.

“I know you’re anxious to find your brother, Pellius, but I was always pondering on this detour. The success of our venture is a delicate thing, and the more we know about the Hold before we enter it, the better prepared I’ll be. I’ve got some contacts in the Freedom Town, who know both the lie of the land and the state of the politics well. Even before this recent engagement by the Ghostlight Marshes I was considering seeking out their council, but with battles being fought and armies on the march I’m convinced it’s necessary.”

- - - - -

Agiz provides Pellius no more than a sceptical sniff at his offer of help, but does not prevent him from using his cantrip to strip away the rust from the corroded axle. He’s much more receptive to Dunagan. Thanks to their smaller stature, they both wriggle under the stranded wagon to investigate the problem. From this rather claustrophobic position, their muffled voices can be heard discussing the mechanical workings of the vehicle at length. Both of them seem fairly content under there, perhaps the confined conditions strike a chord with the subterranean (or burrow dwelling) heritage of their peoples.

When Agiz finally re-emerges Pellius shows him his handiwork.

"Is this better?"

“Aesthetic,” shrugs Agiz, then turns back to continue muttering with Dunagan about some architectural topic or other.

I’ll give another 24 hours to develop any of the above, and to give others to post actions should they get the opportunity. Unless some impromptu keep exploration takes place, I’ll then move events along to the evening/night.

@ Pellius - Remember your present tense! :-)

When Agiz finally re-emerges Pellius shows him his handiwork.

Pellius wrote:

"Is this better?"

“Aesthetic,” shrugs Agiz, then turns back to continue muttering with Dunagan about some architectural topic or other.

The magus tilts his head sideways trying to understand the ratman. When communication is broken off, Pellius raises his hand to his head and salutes; in a mocking voice he says, "You're welcome. Anytime you need anything, just come see me and I'll bend over backwards again."

To no one in particular anyone?, he mutters, "Did you see that? It's the first time I've seen help go unappreciated here."

-----
LATER

I'd like to continue conversing with Dierik. Do I know anyone in Freedom Town? I don't need much just a name and a sentence or two. Feel free to roll the appropriate skill.

Sorry about the past tense thing. :)

As the caravan is ordered laagered, and all set to their designated tasks, Bonegrit seizes an opportunity to approach those he set out with from Vigil. He keeps his voice low as he ambles up between Dunagan, Pellius and Delkaneth; Pyotr's broad back is facing Bonegrit initially, though the ranger's voice is still audible enough that the Iomedaean can hear. "I've seen the Blockade a time or two in my day, but seldom this close. Always wondered what was inside them fortresses and outposts what were abandoned. Any of ya up for a gander tonight once the caravan gets settled?" Bonegrit shuffles nervously from foot to foot as he awaits their responses. So soon on the heels of the Ghostlights incident, he worried his companions might find the thought reckless. And they might be right. Reckless or not, however, the looming, crumbling bastions of old that towered above them—as stark and foreboding as it was magnificent—left Bonegrit wanting desperately to gain a much more intimate knowing of what lay inside the ruin.

Regarding keeps, the caravan is laagered against a stretch of wall between keeps. The closest keep is visible as dusk sets in; it’s about a mile to the east.

Pellius has certainly heard of the Freedom Town, although he’s never visited the settlement nor knows anyone that resides there. It’s a place of outcasts, fugitives and loners, somewhere to cater for those people who fail to fit in with Lastwall’s rigid chivalry. The town’s name is somewhat ironic, for it’s a lawless, rough and tumble place – men are free to do whatever they choose, regardless of the repercussions. It was founded some twenty years ago by the dangerous Sharpes’ Gang, a group of bandits who escaped their sentence of hanging in Vigil. The remnants and descendants of Sharpes’ Gang continue to be the major powers in the Freedom Town today. Other Lastwall outlaws are thought to have found a home there; such as Yevender; a notorious dueller and jouster whose engagements often ended in the death of his foes. He fled to the Freedom Town a decade ago when his penchant for poisoned blade and false lance caps was discovered. Another refugee is Navareene, a midwife of Vigil exposed as a witch who trysted with vodyanov. The men of the Freedom Town are said to brew rich, potent beer which is occasionally smuggled into Vigil (though the townspeople drink far more than they export).

The Precentors Martial of Vigil consider the Freedom Town an annoyance, but not one that bears immediate attention. For years they’ve been waiting for an orc horde to sweep away the town for them, but this is yet to pass. One possible reason for the town’s continued existence is that the nearby Cleft Head orcs have a fondness for the Freedom Town’s beer, and that the orcs and men meet regularly to trade.

Hopefully there’s enough there to get you going Pellius.

On Lastwall’s Fortifications (known to all)
The architects of the Sunwall and Harchrist’s Blockade followed templates in their castle design, thus each of the periodic keeps that dot these old borders are more or less identical in layout to the last. Whilst the keeps of the Sunwall were quite large, those of Harchrist’s Blockade are modest affairs – the ungenerous might consider them no more than large towers.

Our main focus for the moment is how the PCs respond to Bonegrit's proposition.

Modoru nods at Pyotr’s price, lays his shield on the grass and quickly piles shining gold coins in stacks of five until the amount is reached

Did Modoru leave the shield, as well?

"I've seen the Blockade a time or two in my day, but seldom this close. Always wondered what was inside them fortresses and outposts what were abandoned. Any of ya up for a gander tonight once the caravan gets settled?"

Pyotr turns towards the ranger. His initial intent is to decline, citing the brevity of the stay and the need to attend to the caravan. But a second's thought reminds him that he is responsible to Precentor Keyron Saiville for intelligence. Knowledge of a functional redoubt here against the borderlands might prove to be valued information.

"I would appreciate the chance to observe the power of Harchrist's construction."

Did Modoru leave the shield, as well?

Afraid not, I was just being descriptive.

Delkaneth's instincts shout for him to second his friend's proposal, especially if it gets him the chance to explore one of those keeps. He is about to respond as Pyotr speaks and is very glad he hesitated. No need to appear over-eager to break ranks again, let one more have their say before you agree.....

Bonegrit wrote:

"I've seen the Blockade a time or two in my day, but seldom this close. Always wondered what was inside them fortresses and outposts what were abandoned. Any of ya up for a gander tonight once the caravan gets settled?"

Pyotr turns towards the ranger. His initial intent is to decline, citing the brevity of the stay and the need to attend to the caravan. But a second's thought reminds him that he is responsible to Precentor Keyron Saiville for intelligence. Knowledge of a functional redoubt here against the borderlands might prove to be valued information.

"I would appreciate the chance to observe the power of Harchrist's construction."

Pellius smirks and shrugs his shoulder at the same time. "You guys know me by now. I'm a little of a history nut when it comes to soldiers and who knows when is the next time we'll get a chance to pass be here. I'm in."

He looks back at camp, "Although I think we should tell 'someone' we'll be gone for a bit. Who should we tell?"

Dierik gives Pellius a friendly nod as the magus pulls alongside. He seems in a cheerful mood, perhaps energised to be leaving Lastwall (and his past) behind him and to be heading into wilder lands. He pats the neck Isabellina’s Arrow affectionately as he talks with Pellius.

“I know you’re anxious to find your brother, Pellius, but I was always pondering on this detour. The success of our venture is a delicate thing, and the more we know about the Hold before we enter it, the better prepared I’ll be. I’ve got some contacts in the Freedom Town, who know both the lie of the land and the state of the politics well. Even before this recent engagement by the Ghostlight Marshes I was considering seeking out their council, but with battles being fought and armies on the march I’m convinced it’s necessary.”

The magus isn't terribly excited about Freedom Town. The survivor aspect of the place certainly is admirable but the lawlessness doesn't sit well with him. "Plenty of thieves in that place. We should be extra careful with our goods."

He adjusts his sitting on Signior, "I'm curious who you know in such a place. Have you ever visited there before?"

Do you hear me Pyotr? It’s Orradin here. You needn’t speak, answer me with your thoughts.

-How is the trail treating you child?

-Knight Captain Paelinus Deutruch and his train of wounded made it safely to Vigil. He told us they met your caravan on the road, and that Dierik aided them and agreed to bury the dead of the battle. This recent engagement concerns the Precentors Martial greatly. What did you find on the battlefield?

-What of Dierik? Have you judged any of his behaviour suspicious?

Pyotr takes a moment to focus his thoughts.

I hear you. I am well, brother.

Strange tidings, I fear. The orcs that attacked the soldiers of Castle Firrine were of several small tribes. Some, at least, were far from home. Two were identified: The Boar Biters Tribe, whose symbol is three fanged jawbones on a rusty field; and the Staked Drakes Clan, whose emblem is two spears piercing the wings of a grounded drake. Both lair high in the western Mindspin Mountains. I suspect both clans were routed and wiped out at the skirmish at Fallenford.

More ominously, the honorable dead of Firrine's Company were found heaped into a pile, with a crude, oversized falchion driven through the hill. The orc corpses lay untouched by all but the ravens. The grotesque scene was the unmistakable image of Gorum's holy symbol. I removed the blade. The soldiers are now buried beneath a great cairn. I must beg your indulgence in this matter. Kindly make every effort to see that the ground is consecrated. That hallowed place should lie undisturbed, to stand as a monument to those brave men.

Ironcoffer seems a worthy enough man. He has honor, though he would rather not display it. He may be a bit self-centered. But, he was more than ready to provide for Knight-Captain Deutruch's wounded, and took little enough prodding to send his crew to help bury the dead. He has built quite a list of naysayers, and one determined enemy.

Speaking of which... Is there any news of our mutual acquaintance, Knight-Captain Haisnar Rosenholt? He should have returned some few days ago.

"I'm curious who you know in such a place. Have you ever visited there before?"

Dierik takes his hand from the neck of Isabellina’s Arrow and taps the horn of his saddle absentmindedly.

“I think my friends in the Freedom Town will ensure that our goods are unmolested, but I’ll post a careful guard nonetheless. I was in the Freedom Town long ago . . . where my hopes at returning to my old life were dashed . . .”

Dierik quickly changes the subject.

“How have you been faring, Pellius?” he asks. “This caravan of mine’s a lot more ramshackle than the Vigilant Scouts. I’m sure it can take a bit of getting used to for a soldier.”

“And what of your brother? Do you still bear hope after the carnage we saw by the Ghostlight Marshes.”

Our main focus now is probably the answer to Pellius’ observation “we should probably tell someone we’re going, but who to tell?”
Do the other PCs agree with this conclusion, and if so who’re they going to talk to?

Incidentally, at this point Dunagan’s already asleep, wanting a good night’s rest before his dawn watch. By his contented snoring, it doesn’t look like he appreciate being woken.

Pellius wrote:

"I'm curious who you know in such a place. Have you ever visited there before?"

Dierik takes his hand from the neck of Isabellina’s Arrow and taps the horn of his saddle absentmindedly.

“I think my friends in the Freedom Town will ensure that our goods are unmolested, but I’ll post a careful guard nonetheless. I was in the Freedom Town long ago . . . where my hopes at returning to my old life were dashed . . .”

Dierik quickly changes the subject.

“How have you been faring, Pellius?” he asks. “This caravan of mine’s a lot more ramshackle than the Vigilant Scouts. I’m sure it can take a bit of getting used to for a soldier.”

“And what of your brother? Do you still bear hope after the carnage we saw by the Ghostlight Marshes.”

Sense motive: 1d20 ⇒ 4

Not sensing anything undue in the conversation, the magus thinks back on his brother. "You know sometimes it's hard to keep the faith but that is what I pray for. I guess I'm hoping Tharxes somehow was able to prove his worth and is know fathering a whole lot of half-orcs with some ugly, matronly orcs. Ha! That would be suit him fine."

Pellius looks out to the horizon as if remembering, "Seriously though, it's not unheard of for the tribes to keep humans as slaves and I know my brother has the stamina to endure that so, yes, I do have hope of finding him alive."

Our main focus now is probably the answer to Pellius’ observation “we should probably tell someone we’re going, but who to tell?”

I'll solve this issue in the morning if no one steps up but I would rather wait so as to not hog the limelight too much. :)

As for Haisnar, he’s the talk of the city. Arrived at Northgate in naught but his doublet, and broke the jaw of the gate guard who’d asked what befell of him. He’s not been seen since, the gates of his townhouse remain locked, and although the servants have been seen to come and go, Haisnar ventures out not, nor receives visitors.

Proud and foolish. And unsurprising. He will reappear when he has draped himself once more in the trappings of a knight.

Is there anything more, brother? If not, then I bid you walk in the Lady's grace.

"Although I think we should tell 'someone' we'll be gone for a bit. Who should we tell?"

"I think it best to inform Crooked Callan. It is he, and his crew, that will have to absorb the responsibility of our absence."

The Chelaxian nods his head in agreement. "Callan is the right person to tell. WIll be a shame when he tells us not to go....."

He gazes off whistfully in the direction of the nearest keep.

It’s been pretty hectic over at my end, so I’ll wait until my morning before updating (about 7 or 8 hours). Hopefully Bonegrit will get a chance to post before then, but if not I’ll assume the PCs go to talk to Callan and move things along.

It would also be worth deciding when you talk to Callan, and what time you go off to explore the ruined keep. Assume it’s about 8 at night at present.

As the sun dips towards the horizon, Dierik calls for a halt to the caravan. Callan spends a few moment deploying his standard screen of guards as the wagons are wheeled into their standard defensive circle. Pyotr approaches the scarred lieutenant.

"I dislike putting our backs up against such a wall with no knowledge of what is inside. We are less than a day's hard ride from a major battle against the horde, and who knows what remnants remain within the borderlands. One of these towers could be our salvation or our downfall. Master Ironcoffer has made it clear he wishes us to operate outside of the normal guard routine. We believe it to be in our best interest to scout out the nearest of these towers."

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (14) + 7 = 21

Bonegrit nods in assent at Pyotr's suggestion, visibly relaxed that his request was not met with much hostility. "I'll have to help Deramil tend to his flock first, I reckon. I can already smell Crinkles' labor pickin' up. Go pickin' through the keep after fillin' our bellies, yeah?" He lets the question hang about the gathered men, though his gaze wanders to their intended quarry in short order. Hope the orcs ain't as curious as us, then.

Once the group receives permission to go exploring the old keep, the magus sits on the ground and makes himself comfortable. He takes out his feather pen and murmurs a cantrip over it. In a second the feather is glowing and casting enough light for him to see by. The magus carefully places the feather on his ear and opens his leather-bound spellbook.

After carefully flipping through a few pages, Pellius selects the spells to memorize. The next few minutes are spent reciting arcane words and making esoteric gestures with his left hand. Pellius' hand glows red hot and flames travel along his outstretched fingers before he stops the completion of the incantation. Once satisfied, the magus moves on to his next spell. This time, he makes a fist from where a solid white beam is projected. The magus aims this beam at different locations on the ground leaving no visible effect.

Satisfied that all is well, the magus closes his book and slowly tucks it away. He checks his sword, his finger traces the arcane runes once before sheathing it again.

He nears his three other companions, "I know you two can see in the dark but Del and I will need illuminations. I can provide hands-free lighting. Other than that, I'm ready. You all set to go?"

Added disrupt undead and burning hands to spells memorized