Aurora offers the young woman a stiffly awkward pat on the back before she's detatched herself to molest Talathel's elven face. The cleric clears her throat lightly and adjusts her braid before offering, "I have coffee beans. We can put some water up to heat and have some hot drinks, does that sound.. nice?"
She listens to Ippolit's tale as she beckons the the refugees into their camp, and goes to hang a pot over the fire and fill it with water to boil. If the fire isn't already going, she'll stoke one to life if no one else does it for her.
"It may be that we're heading back to Zelkor's Ferry earlier than we expected to, at this rate." The comment seems just as much to herself as it is to the rest of the group. Slightly louder, and more directed to the refugees, she adds, "We're about two days away from the town, on the route we take.
The people you found on the road follow you back to camp. As the party packs their bags to head on back to the Ferry, exactly 24 hours after he fell asleep, Brand wakes up.
"Oy, what a wonderful dream! Sawen was there! And you was there, Tal! An Trag. An Aurora. An the dwarf, an the awkward elves, and Gelvah! But could it really have been you? Ah, 'twas a good 'un! What was under the rug, then? Treasure or summat?"
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Anzath slings Brand across Molotov’s back, and when he wakes, she allows him to ride the donkey, should he wish. “Bedlam burned de rug,” she informs him, “Ve had to escape from fireball.”
During the journey back, Anzath tries to ignore the yokel busy objectifying Talathel and occupies herself by scouting ahead, searching for game trails, and taking small excursions off the road and into the forest, looking for signs of some other nearby cave system or other entrance to the dungeon.
Tragershen stands aloof of the visitors, instead sitting away from the rest with his books. He uses the time to catch up on his journal, making extensive notes on their exploits during the latest delve. Even so, he listens carefully to what they may have to say.
When they make it back to Zelkor's Ferry, Trag relaxes some, but mostly keeps to himself. In the evening, he passes some of his time adding a detailed drawing to his journal book. The ink sketch depicts Anzath leaping above the flames and swinging across the trapped room. When it is complete, he sets it aside to dry and resumes work on his spellbook.
Tragershen's confidence in the party's safe return to Zelkor's Ferry is somewhat reckless...
Brand's grumbling about leaving the dungeon right after he had such a lovely sleep is overruled by the exigencies of having civilians on your hands. You turn your paths to home.
Month 2 Day 1
Month 2 Day 3
...but one should never doubt a Diviner. The party and the refugees make it back to Zelkor's Ferry with no further trouble.
Sawen rushes through the gates, sweeping Brand quite literally off his feet. The young couple beams.
Odo Bristleback smiles, too, though a worried look crosses his weather-worn visage when he sees the refugees. Bristleback's concerns are somewhat mollified when the jeweler offers to buy a house in the Ferry, flashing enough shine to back up his desire.
"Nobody owns land in Zelkor's Ferry but me, an' there are no vacant buildings. But you and yours can stay in the inn while we build you one to rent, 'specially now that all those mercenaries have left. And I'll give you a long lease. But we're a tight little community, here, and you'll have to follow the rules."
The jeweler settles down working with the gemcutter, the woodswoman picks up her profession where she left off, the tailor makes himself so useful that even the most ragtag band of adventurers finds their tatterdemalion aesthetic suddenly lose initiative, and the weaponsmith alternately helps and feuds with Big Morgan, the Ferry's blacksmith. The scribe is given the front desk at the inn, but she talks big game about leaving for the mainland as soon as she can.
More to come, posting to fend off Forum Monster...
Bedlam happily crafts for the party.
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Soon the woodcutter is dragging logs out of the woods with one of the Bristleback mules. Her expert axework and the help of her new neighbors means the modest dwelling will be complete in just a short while. Here's a video of the process, start at 4:30 or so. The cabin goes up between the barracks and Ulman's house, taking one of the last spots suitable for building on this marshy little peninsula. Bristleback half-jokes that they'll need to build out the walls if any more people decide to come stay.
The party learns a trait from each of the refugees:
Anzath gets Woodswoman's Knowledge: +1 to Survival
Tragershen gets Jeweler's Conversation: +1 to Appraise
Talathel gets Smith's Insight: +1 to Craft Arms and Armor
Bedlam gets Tailor's Seams: +1 to Profession: Tailor (will help with all the damage his clothes tend to take)
and Tragershen gets Scribe's Eye: +1 to Craft: Calligraphy
The jeweler presents an emerald to the party that he swears is worth 500 gold.
Anzath's explorations of the hills over the Mouth of Doom (you'd have had plenty of time to poke around while Brand was sleeping) bear some fruit--she finds many small caves and other like formations. To explore them thoroughly would take some time and might involve danger from, at the very least, bears.
Anzath quickly divulges her discovery of nearby caves to her comrades. She blazes a trail, cutting a notch in a tree here, bending a branch there, tying a piece of string to a twig here, so that she can easily find her way back. She’s very eager to return to the site post haste and make quick work of the green slime, bears be damned.
In the mean time, she shares an ale or two or three with the woodswoman and even learns something. She also is very encouraging to the young scribe to leave for the mainland, “Iz very nice,” she tells her after a few drinks, “Lotz of elvez. Very tall onez. Very smart onez. You vill really like it, A LOT. Dere iz no reason to stay here. Talathel iz not interested in girl like you.”
While they travel, Tragershen converses with a couple of the band. He delves into their professions, quizzing them on some of the finer details to help distract them from their current plight.
When Anzath mentions the caves, Tragershen is intrigued. "We should investigate. Perhaps one of them would make a better camp location for us, if we can find one that is large enough."
Presenting a smartly dressed dungeon delver, the dwarf begins tailoring new duds for the entire group.
A patch showing each members area of expertise intertwined together is sown into each left shoulder of the jacket the dwarf presents to everyone.
Aurora maintains a vigilant eye for any dangers on the group's trip back to the Ferry and doesn't seem to relax much until her newest wards are safely delivered to the Bristlebacks. At the Ferry, she resumes her usual antics of being a Nethysian cleric in a backwater.
She politely rejects the notion of wearing anything sewn by a mad alchemist.
"So. Back to the Demon's Maw, or to Rappan Athuk proper? I am not sure how much is left in the Maw, but for what is beneath that nasty trap that caught Brand. Which I do not want to approach, on account of it... dangerous magic, that, if the fire didn't destroy it. But the Dungeon of Graves is much further away, and as you know, Sawen does want me to wed her to Brand when the time comes."
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Talathel notes the attention of the young secretary and gently prevents her from seizing his hair (in his assessment).
"There are numerous elves in Kyonin, and other places. I will return there in triumph if I do not die horribly in Rappan Uthuk.", he states flatly but not harshly.
He is pleased to see the refugees integrate and abide by the rules of Zelkor's Ferry.
A place for everyone and everyone in their place., he thinks to himself, the warm sensation of sensible order in action upon him.
Talathel silently assess the quality of the patch that Bedlam provides him before deciding on whether to wear it or keep it in his belongings. Either way, he thanks the dwarf sincerely.
"I think we should ascertain whether the room we last saw in the Maw can now be safely bypassed. There could easily be unguarded treasure just beyond and it would be foolish to not at least check."
“Iz nice,” remarks Anzath after receiving her team jacket, trying to resolve a hangover. Man, that nameless woodswoman can drink! She checks the inside lining and asks Bedlam if he can sew extra pockets for ease of access to potions and the like.
You betcha!, shouts the smiling dwarf.
"Ugh..." groans Anzath, rubbing her temples.
Sylvia the Woodswoman stumbles down the inn stairs, grinning. "Hey there, Annzi! Phew, what a night! My, but we've seen troubles in our years, haven't we? Feels good to make your own trouble sometimes."
She orders "hair of the dog" from Sawen, who grins and pours her something else entirely--her own concoction of various liquors, herbs, fruits, vegetables, bone broth, and a dash of salt. "You need a Bloody Skeleton. This'll get you back on your feet every time." She plops a second Bloody Skeleton on the table in front of "Annzi," too.
After a few weak laughs and jokes, and after she finishes honing her axes, Sylvia mutters something about needing to put a roof over her husband's head. He, the weaponsmith, apparently rose early to go to work. "I might be in a lil trouble for staying out on the town so late..."
While drinking, Sylvia told many tall tales of Southward. Some concern the so-called Coast Road, hardly a road at all, that carries traffic from Southward to Northgate, the fishing town on the north end of the island. The Coast Road passes close to the Dungeon of Graves, or so say the few travelers who brave the trek. Haunted forts, a secretive monastery, pirates, witches, bandits, even a dragon--there are plenty of tales about the Coast Road. "But I don't reckon there will be many overland travelers anymore, now that Southward is gone..."
Anzath gulps down the curative brew and is soon back on her feet. She asks Sawen if there is a safe or someplace secure where they can stash their latest loot before braving the wilderness once again. "You do not vant Brand'z dovery to fall into handz of banditz, yez?"
She thanks Sylvia for the intel, although she cringes at the woodswoman's nickname for her. She hopes to the gods that her comrades did not hear it.
Bedlam prepares by brewing, tailoring, eating,y drinking and sleeping until they depart.
Me still be tink'_n dat we be clearing out da Mouth.
"Useful items return with us. All else can remain here for future trade."
Talathel smiles to himself, amused by Sylvia's nickname for his companion...
After a day and night of rest, relaxation, healthy eatin', perhaps some amateur carpentry, the party sets off once more. They leave their stalward Brand behind--Sawen pins him to the wall and tells him they need to get to know each other a little.
Gelver reluctantly leaves his killer buddy behind. He and Ippolit fill big packs of rations, cards, illustrated manuscripts, and board games. "We got so bored last time..."
Month 2 Day 5
Month 2 Day 6
4 y/o female future organist
66 m keyboardist
18 m bookbinder
13 m singer
36 f trapper
68 f engineer
63 m percussionist
15 m soldier
15 m miner
13 m keyboardist
At dusk on the second day, not far from camp, you hear singing and talking in the woods, plus haunting melodies of melodica. As you approach, you realize that there are multiple melodicas playing intricate counterpoints. You also hear a lot of rambunctious teenage boy voices.
Yep, another batch of refugees.
ugh... boybandz...
Anzath suggests they take the long way around.
Unless stopped, Talathel will describe the dangers of the various routes in detail.
Aurora drops her head back to stare directly up into the sky, brows lofting in a mixture of disbelief and exasperation. She flatly declares, "The Gods are testing us."
"Shall we give them directions to town and proceed with our mission, leaving them to whatever horror lay within the woods, or shall we be good people once again and shepherd the flock to safety no matter how much it inconveniences us?"
"They possess some skill. It would be a shame to see it wasted by some murderous soldier. And we can test our blades on said soldiers if they appear. I say that we accompany them."
Me be need'n un nuther barrel of ale, anyways.
Anzath’s face twitches as she covers her head with her hood. “Ve vere so cloze,” she grumbles.
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As you settle in for the night at your old base camp (you were so close, might as well camp behind a wall), some of you may ponder the nature of hell. For some people, hell is fire. Others ice. But from what you've experienced camping with Monsieur Clavichord's School of Music for Boys, you might have another circle or two to add to Dante's scheme.
The refugees, indeed, are from a boarding school that was forced to live on the edge of that ill-fated town, due to the incessant racket. As the ships entered the harbor, M. Clavichord and his wife (a no-nonsense engineer) gathered their young charges and their son (an apprentice bookbinder who had been busily stitching together folios of music for the lads) and headed to the woods. They would have perished, but much as Sylvia the woodswoman saved the last bunch, they ran into a trapper-woman who had been checking her snares with her baby strapped to her back, papoose-style.
You spend your nights alternately in the misery of "dueling melodicas" and the anxiety of the sudden silence of their hoots--a sure signal that the one lad who says "I'm already an amazing soldier!" is leading his crew off into the Mouth of Doom, only to be rounded up by an increasingly haggard Ippolit.
In the morning, you turn homeward.
Month 2 Day 7
Month 2 Day 8
The gods smile on the wanderers, and allow them to enter Zelkor's Ferry without further trouble. Bristleback bristles at the addition of a bunch of sloppy, noisy, rebellious manchildren to his peaceful town. Sawen remonstrates, reminding him that they would all have been eaten by wolves if not for their good luck. Bristleback retorts that there's no room in the walls for so many residents and no money to ship them elsewhere.
That's when the engineer volunteers to design and supervise the construction of a second wall beyond the current boundary. "We don't intend to freeload. And it will keep the lads busy and tired. It will just be a palisade with sentry posts, just to give us enough warning to get behind your stones in trouble. We'll feed ourselves and pay interest next year, if you can spare the seed corn."
Bristleback reluctantly agrees, with the condition that any troublemaking lads will be apprenticed to Captain Lamb and sent away to sea. There's no culture of baseball in Zelkor's Ferry: you get two strikes, and you're out.
Month 2 Day 9
Month 2 Day 10
Talathel approvingly nods at the decisions reached.
"Work hard and effectively." he says in what might well be an encouraging tone.
Aurora just smiles in a manner some might consider sheepishly at the Bristlebacks.
Ain't quite quenched me thirst, me s'poseing.
Anzath holds her mouth on the trip back, but her nerves are on edge. It’s a wonder, with how much noise all the kazoos are making, that they weren’t attracting the attention of everything deadly in the forest. She’s eager to disperse of the refugees this time, telling Bristleback, “Iz your problem now.” She doesn’t even step foot in town, choosing to instead hang out outside the gates, playing cards with Gelver and Ippolit until they head out again.
70 y/o m basketweaver
11 m future soldier
73 m singer
66 m woodcutter
33 m locksmith
As you enter your camp after nightfall on the second day, you trip over a body. A live body. An old body. After the requisite screams and drawing of blades and flashing of lights, you find yourselves confronted not with a dangerous encounter, but with yet more refugees from Southward. The slowest of the village people to escape the invasion--a trio of retirees, guided by the one of them who was once a woodcutter. His son and his grandson are also present, one a locksmith, the other another annoying boy, this one waving a wooden sword.
Talathel's spear flashes but he stops its motion before he injures anyone.
Pointing his spear to the sky, he calmly addresses the refugees.
"Ah. More former citizens of Southward. Is Zelkor's Ferry your destination? And are there marauders close by?"
Critfisher flashes bright and purple through the darkness before Anzath realizes what she's doing. The little boy standing there, shaking, holding the short end of a now sundered wooden sword, is enought to quickly bring her to her senses. "S!~*," she mutters as she sheathes her actual weapon, "Sorry."
Bedlam grumbles, Yous be in danger out 'ere! We be having our fort just a bit dis way.
The dwarf points toward the direction of their make-shift fort.
Be needing a fence builder. You do.
Bedlam continues to march to the Mouth.
The future soldier makes his first tactical retreat. He hides behind the woodcutter.
Talathel's kinder words cause the woodcutter to lower his axe.
"If you've heard what happened to Southward--that means others got out?" He weeps with quiet joy to hear that so, so many of his fellow townsfolk have escaped capture. "I dunno about marauders. The ships took the town so quickly that only those of us who lived on the woodside got away. Lots of soldiers got off the ships, so I think they will be around. I think we've all been outlawed for trespassing on the land of House Cholmondeley of Riddleport..."
At Bedlam's suggestion, he starts to shore up Sarge's fort with further logs and defensive fripperies. The locksmith rummages around in his sack, soon pulling out an enormous lock and some hinges--in an hour or so, your fort will have a proper, likely wolf-proof door. Now if only you could find the Roofers of Southward.
Bedlam trucks into the dungeon willy-nilly. The party follows, I assume. The refugees hole up with Ippolit in the fort, but the party takes along Gelver to lessen the strain on the refugees' already damaged nerves. He consents to being gagged, for the safety of all. His manic grunts and groans punctuate your journey into the depths.
Where to?
Talathel says to Gelver:
"It is for a greater good. A more secure fortification for when we return. And besides, we have improved matters in the maw. Mostly."
Seeing the woodcutter's grandson hide in terror of her, Anzath is suddenly pained by flashbacks to her own childhood spent in chains, and of the kindness the other slaves and her dwarven rescuers showed her. Thinking of her adopted father, Anzath presents one of her masterwork gladii, a parting gift from the dwarf who raised her, to the boy.
"Iz time you have real veapon," she tells him, before assigning him the privileged honor of donkey duty.
Once in the dungeon, she addresses her comrades, "Let'z klear thiz plaze out, retrieve de bodiez from de slime, and move on to bigger and badder dingz."
You return to the room of sleep and fire.
After opening the stout door, a stale, sooty pall of unbreathable air rushes into the hall.
You reckon it will take an hour for the bad air to, erm, air itself out.
Want to go in anyway? Too bad you can't "Praise Orcus" for an Air Bubble. As you compare notes and Trag's map, you'll notice that there's only one more unexplored hallway on this level, oddly enough, the first decision you made on climbing down the illusory fountain took you northwards, but you've never made it back to head west. If you decide to scout out that way while you wait (forgive me for assuming you will if you'd rather not), you'll see a long hallway leading to a single door. There's also one door on the side of the hall, opening to the south.