Having been the first to turn in, Garrokmal is among the first to appear in the common room. He shakes some moisture out from his tankard, drops it forcefully onto the tabletop and calls for breakfast.
"Amazing what some rest will do for body and spirit after a hard day like yesterday... I take it the night passed uneventfully? Not counting our bard's revelry, of course - I may have to find some cotton batting to fill my ears in the future. That little half-man could teach Cayden himself a thing or two about drinking!"
He greedily settles into his food when it arrives, keeping one eye on each of the doors, looking for his companions from upstairs or anyone else from outside.
Not sure of the time but certain of his need for grease, the gnome sees a server and calls "Might I trouble you for a plate of grinders and those savory potatoes. Oh, and coffee, Troll-strength, if you please."
He then slips off his pack and climbs into a chair next to Garrok.
"Greetings, friend. Are you the only one up? I shouldn't be, but the sun was just so loud this morning."
"Good morning, master gnome - it appears so at the moment... Feeling the wearisome effects of last night's festivities, are you? Order up a mug of Kobold Offal - it's the local remedy for that sort of thing. Don't worry, nothing more unusual in it than eggs, peppers and some local seasoning... although - come to think of it, no reason there couldn't be some Kobold in there..."
Garrokmal drifts off momentarily, but regains himself. "Feeling much improved, myself - looking forward to seeing who the Mayor has in mind to help us out. Thistletop would be no small challenge at the best of times.
"Oh, and I do hope you convinced that elf to take her studies elsewhere... Witches are queer enough, but an elf, well, my people don't exactly mix well with them."
Soaking up the last of his ale with a piece of bread, he looks around. "I wonder what's keeping Hieronymous. I intend to take a walk around town 'ere the Mayor's meeting and would invite him along if he's not going to be a laggard."
The gnome eyes the half-orc, warily, and finally shrugs his shoulders. There's nothing to be done for it now...
"Well, our dear H. may have invited the lass on our quest. But I'm sure the elf isn't so bad. And you're a strapping lad. What could she possibly do that would worry you? Besides, we need more of the arcane in our little troop. Another sword to complement yours and mine couldn't hurt, either."
He quiets then and chokes down some coffee delivered to their table. It was so thick he almost had to chew it, and bitter enough to make his teeth hurt.
That's the stuff.
Hieronymous walks into the room, his girth making it a bit difficult to pass between the tables and chairs, sets down his backpack, spear and mace, pulls up his pants a bit, and sits with his companions.
"Good Morning my friends, my apologies for waking a bit late, I've not had that much to drink in quite a long time."
He looks at Garrokmal, "Had a talk with the elf, Ithrinniel, last night after you retired, I think she's a good person, despite being a witch, provided the mayor is ok with her, I really think we need to bring her along, there just aren't many people in town who could be of much help to us where we're going."
He sits back a bit, "Besides, the last witch we traveled with was invaluable, and I daresay without her help we wouldn't be sitting here today."
He looks around for a waitress or whomever might be serving some food and orders whatever smells so good.
Ithrinniel shuffles into the common room, balancing her backpack and an armful of books, and sighs with relief upon seeing familiar faces from last night. Hoping they won't mind her company, Ithrinniel pivots toward the group and makes it within a few feet of their table when she slips on some spilled ale. All of her books go tumbling to the ground with a loud THUD, and the three men jump in their seats as her cheeks burn. Ithrinniel quickly gathers her books and sits next to Hieronymous. "Good morning!" she exclaims cheerfully, refusing to acknowledge her own clumsiness. "Did you all have a good rest? Have you seen the mayor yet? Ah, this food looks so good! How is the coffee? I should go order my breakfast." she jumps up just as quickly as she had sat down, to go find a waitress and order some food.
Garrokmal narrows his eyes at Hieronymous and broods.
Hieronymous smiles at Garrokmal and whispers as Ithrinniel wanders away, "Have faith my friend."
He then nods his head knowingly and continues to eat his food.
"I pay tribute to a drunkard - faith doesn't come into it.
"You can see her to our meeting with the mayor, yes? I have a few things I'd like to pick up before we get started. See you there."
With that, Garrokmal pushes his empty plate away, stows his tankard in his pack and heads out into the streets of Sandpoint.
Hieronymous, apparently not phased by the half=orc's grumpiness, smiles back at Garrokmal and tilts his head in a respectful manner, "Agreed, we'll see you there!"
He then continues to eat his food, knowing that this could be the last good meal he eats for a while.
"Yes, see you there, Garrok." The bard calls after his companion. He turns to his tablemates and shrugs "Well, that was pleasant. He'll warm up to you, miss elf, he just needs a reminder how useful a witch can be when you're in a tight spot. And I'm sure there will be plenty of those on the way to Thistletop."
Hieronymous looks around the table to make sure Zaf and Ithrinniel are done with their food, "Alright then, I suppose now is the time to go meet with the mayor."
He pushed himself out of his chair, puts on his backpack, secures his mace to his side, and uses his spear as a walking stick as he walks out the door to meet with the mayor.
Everyone meets at City Hall as the last of the fog burns off from the previous night. Shalelu and Father Zantus usher you all in to meet the Mayor and Professor Gandethus in a second story meeting room. The polished wood is nice for Sandpoint, but not too ostentatious, it feels more homely than impressive.
The Mayor clears her voice and says, "Nice to see you all gathered again this morning. I hope everyone slept well. I provided Professor Gandethus the book that you gave me, he read it with much interest." She looks over the gathered lot and stops when her eyes fall on Ithrinniel.
She looks to Zantus, "I thought this to be a closed meeting."
The Father shrugs and says, "She came with them."
Mayor Deverin smiles and asks, "You'll pardon my asking, but in these tough times Sandpoint must be ever vigilant. Especially with those who appear to dabble in the arcane arts, I heard that Katarina was called away after our meeting last night, but I do not know who you are my dear. What is your purpose here?" It seems the Mayor is used to getting answers to her questions.
Hieronymous enters the meeting room and moves off to the side, then pulls of his hood, his hair looking a bit more staticy than normal.
He then leans on his spear and watches Ithrinniel through his clouded eyes to see how she will handle herself while answering the mayor's question.
Ithrinniel takes a deep breath, "Hello Mayor Deverin, it is so nice to meet you! My name is Ithrinniel. I'm a Thassilonian scholar, here in Sandpoint to study the ruins of the Old Light. I met these admirable gentlemen during my travels here and I plan to help them in their investigation, while I continue my current endeavor to write a tome translating every Thassilonian marking in Varisia."
Ithrinniel turns and smiles warmly at Hieronymous and Zafzalurg, but when her eyes pass over Garrokmal, her smile fades and she looks as though she suddenly might be sick. Realizing this (hopefully) just in time, Ithrinniel quickly turns back to the Mayor and resumes her proud, beaming stance.
Garrokmal experiences some small satisfaction when the elf's eyes fall on him and she momentarily looks ready to flee... She fears me... That's a good start. Listening for the first time to what she's really saying, however, his interest is piqued and he can't help but think that having a fellow enthusiast of ancient places along would be interesting.*
He wonders what the Mayor will make of this.
Mayor Deverin nods to herself as Ithrinniel speaks, then answers. "Sandpoint is in danger and needs those who step forward. It seems the gods still watch over us and send us those that we need in our troubled times. Thank you for coming."
She then turns to Gandethus and asks him, "Well Professor, tell us what you've gleaned from that book they gave you."
Gandethus steps forward and pales slightly as he places the book on the table before him. "It's a prayerbook. To Lamashtu, the mother of monsters. More precisely, its a bestiary, or a catalog of the horrors that Lamashtu has unleashed upon this world. It details a great number of horrors that even I have never heard of. Let us hope that they never come to Sandpoint. It could be useful for someone that can read abyssal, but it is a dark thing indeed."
The Mayor shivers as she looks at the manual then barrels on with the rest of the meeting, "Thistletop has proven to be the source of our troubles, what is our next course of action?"
"I've spent enough time running through these forests to know the area a bit...
"But I can't tell you much about what to expect in Thistletop - it's always been a goblin warren as far as I know - maybe Shalaelu knows more? In any case, if that's the source of the disturbance, that's where we're going."
Looking at Ithrinniel, he heaves a weary sigh...
"And if you're coming with us, you're going to need more than books to fight this evil. I think Hieronymous here has something you might be able to use.
"Mayor, is there any word from the Sheriff on when he might return? I was hoping we'd have a message from him by now."
Garrok busies himself, adjusting the straps on his new backpack.
Hieronymous suppresses a smile, keeping a neutral look on his face as Garrokmal thaws a bit, I knew he'd come around!
When Garrokmal mentions that he has something for Ithrinniel, he pats his hands on his pockets and blinks his eyes a few times, wondering what he meant, The silver dagger? Hmmm, oh, I know...
He walks over to Ithrinniel, somehow seeing where he is going and not bumping into anyone in the room despite his eyes, reaches inside his cloak and pulls out a scroll that somehow wasn't destroyed in all the fighting.
"I believe you'll have more use for this than any of the rest of us, it is a scroll of Burning Hands," he offers it to her with a reassuring smile.
He then replies to what Garrokmal spoke of as he returns to the spot he was standing in, "I'd certainly be hesitant to head off to Thistletop unless you think the town will be safe without us Ms. Deverin."
He returns to leaning on his spear, looking around for Erin, realizing that he hasn't seen the quiet girl since they got back last night. Seemingly talking to himself, he mutters loud enough for everyone to hear, "Where has Erin gone?"
Professor Gandethus, hearing the question, gives a small smile and replies, "Erin has informed me that, while she was most glad to have your company on the grand adventure under Sandpoint. Adventuring is not for her. She has returned to her studies and the safety of her books. She's in the Academy if you wish to speak to her."
The Mayor allows the Professor to finish before replying to Garrok. "The Sheriff is most likely still making his way to Magnimar, he expected to be gone five days, two there, one to gather the additional troops, and two back. Until then we have to fend for ourselves and I've never been one to sit around while our enemy plans our demise. Shalelu, what information do you have about Thistletop?"
The rather quiet elf ceases her work inspecting the fletchings on one of her many arrows and thinks for a second, then says "The goblin's probably couldn't have picked a better place to set their headquarters than Thistletop. It's some kind of sea mount, seperated from land and only accessible from a narrow rope bridge making it easily defended. Inside are narrow corridors of stone and darkness, much more suited to goblins than humanoids. And with the goblin clans uniting for whatever hellish reason, Thistletop will be full of goblins. The woods surrounding it are full of sentries and goblin camps as well as traps. Unfortunately that is all that I know. A grim nut to crack."
"Sooooo... can we go? Should we go? Maybe we should go? I'm ready. Who's ready? Garrok? Hieronymous? Elf lady whose name I promise to learn? Let's go."
Zafzalurg dances anxiously in his gear. Perhaps, he thinks, I'm missing the constant movement of the sea...
Hieronymous chuckles at Zaf, and then says, "Sounds like we may have to approach it by sea."
He shifts his weight, hearing the floorboards creak a bit.
Garrokmal's scruffy eyebrows raise and scrunch at Hieronymous's comment "That's not a half bad idea... Do we have the means to approach in a boat?"
Ithrinniel clutches the scroll given to her by Hieronymous at her side - she's ready, she's (almost) as anxious as Zaf, but she remains silent under the weight of Shalelu's ominous words.
The Mayor considers what you've said and gives Shalelu a questioning look."Does their plan have merit?"
Shalelu thinks for a second.
"I know of no entrance and have heard no rumors of other entrances. The goblins have picked themselves a worthy stronghold."
The Mayor considers her words and says, "If you wish to explore a sea route the town can provide a boat, but if you're spotted it may blow any chance of a surprise attack upon them."
"Well, it's an interesting idea, but the thought of being pinned down in a boat if we're discovered isn't very encouraging. If we approach by land we'll have to be careful, but at least we'll have a path of retreat if we need it.
"If the gods favor us, then we may be able to get to the bridge by evading or killing anybody we come across. If they don't know we're there, then crossing it may not be as dangerous as the boat approach."
Garrok briefly examines his gear and performs a mental inventory... "Well, I think the bard is right - we should go. Unless anyone else has reason to delay, I think it's time to dig out a thistle!"
"Hmmm, yeah, I guess it does sound like the bridge will be the best way to go, let us see what fate has in store for us," Hieronymous twists his neck around a little to loosen it up and then blinks his eyes a few times, looking like he is trying to clear the perpetual fog he is in.
"Hmmm, I don't know that being pinned on a bridge would be any better. At least with the boat, we could turn around and sail to safety. A bridge, evil creeps on either end... our only options then are up. Or down."
The gnome whistles a descending scale to punctuate his point, then continues.
"But if the group consensus is to go by bridge, then bridge it is! Perhaps the mayor might consider a two-pronged attack - us from the bridge and another party by boat. Perhaps we can split their attention, and improve the chances for one of the groups to breach Thistletop."
"If there's no access to the keep by sea, then half our strength will be wasted... I'm afraid we're stuck with the more obvious approach. I know you'd have liked a chance to put your seafaring skills on display, Zafzalurg."
Standing up and heading toward the door, Garrokmal turns once more to the Mayor and Shalelu: "Unless you have any other information, we'll be on our way. The next time you see us, have a roast pig and plenty of ale on hand to celebrate the end of all this madness. Alternatively, build a funeral pyre tall enough for the gods themselves to see!"
Garrok stands in the doorway, looking toward the Lost Coast Road, wondering what awaits them in the woods.
Hieronymous adjusts his gear and readies himself for the day, blinking his eyes and shaking his head in another vain attempt to shake out the fog.
With little else to be said, the group gathers together and heads back out the Old Stone Gate along the Magnimar road. Emit the guard gives you a nod as you walk by and says, "Be careful lads, Sandpoint needs ya."
The walk from the gate to the bridge at the Thistle river take a couple hours and is uneventful. Retracing your steps back to the site of the battle with Shalelu is easy, and the tracks of several more goblins can be seen mixing with yours. As you approach the battle site the smell of bodies fills the air, the goblins have not taken the time to bury or burn their own dead. You move on quickly wanting to avoid the festering area and make your way north along the routes Shalelu provided. Soon enough you hear the sea and smell brine on the air.
The briars and thistles that grow so rampantly in Nettlewood are even more dense and tangled here, close to the shore. Although not quite dense enough to block the sound of waves crashing on the unseen shores to the west, the undergrowth is certainly thick enough to block sight and access to the coast. Few trees grow this close to the edge of the sea, but the briars themselves often reach heights to rival them; here, the patch is nearly twenty feet high.
Everyone but Garrok:
As you study the giant wall of thorns it seems there's an obvious space that seems just a little different from the rest of it, perhaps a doorway through the barbed wall.
Garrok: You see an impenetrable wall of thorns before you.
Wary of unseen observers, Garrokmal keeps his frustration in check and his voice low: "Well this is a fine start - how do we even get close? It's just a giant wall of brambles."
Feeling vulnerable just wandering around the forest, he readies his shield and longsword, making sure they're ready for action.
Hieronymous looks at the wall of thorns, and then at Garrockmal, and then back at the wall of thorns. He blinks his eyes a couple times and starts walking toward the part that looks a little different.
"I don't often see things right, but does anyone else see how different the thorns look over here?"
He walks up to the spot and proceeds to try and find a way through.
As Hieronymous, careful not to get stuck by large gnarly briars, grabs the section of thorn, it pulls away in a knot of vines that have been shoved into a four foot by four foot door. A four-foot-high tunnel winds through the dense briars and nettles. The floor is hard-packed earth, with patches of wiry plants growing stubbornly here and there.
Hieronymous looks back at everyone, "There we go! Who wants to go first?" He stands next to the makeshift door he found, somewhat pleased with himself.
"Well this certainly feels like a trap, but if it's the only way in, then I guess we just have to be ready. I'll go."
With that, Garrok squeezes into the tight opening and works his way through, wary of booby traps.
As you enter the brambles, paths open up to the North, the East and the West. Countless goblin and goblin dog tracks litter the passages and you can see that each gets heavy traffic.
Looking to the ground Garrok immediately notices something interesting in the churned up soil. A long trail lies in the mud, looking as though something heavy were dragged to the East.
Hieronymous follows behind Garrokmal, and quietly says, "If we get into a fight in close quarters, I figure it pays to have a somewhat blind healer at your back."
"Garrok, I don't know how you're not wedged in these brambles... It's like trying to get a potato through a straw. Not that you're a potato, or look like a potato, or smell like one someone forgot in the cellar a few seasons back. Let's just say I'm glad you are leading our stalwart group and hope the winds continue to favor us."
"I shouldn't need to point out, master gnome, that if worse comes to worst, you're the one most likely to fit inside a stewing pot." Garrokmal grins wickedly.
Spotting the marks in the dirt, he considers...
"It looks like something heavy has been taken to the east... If we wanted to avoid running into anything, we could try going north. These goblins have been up to some foul deeds, though - I think we should see what they took this way."
Barring any objection from the team, he leads the group quietly to the east.
You make your way East careful to avoid the thorns that stick out from every inch of the walls around you. Three thistle tunnels open into a large cave-like chamber. Above, the thorny canopy grows thin enough that tiny slivers of the sky above can be seen, while below, the ground consists of trampled dirt. To the west, the distant sound of sloshing
waves echoes up from a hole.
The drag marks continue on to the North.
Keeping one eye in the direction the drag marks lead, Garrokmal walks over to the hole and examines it.
This may be the subterranean access we were looking for. Still, we should see what they dragged away... hmmm...
"Hieronymous, is there anything you can see through this rock that we can't make out through the hole?"
Hieronmyous looks down at the ground. blinking a few times, "I don't think I can see far enough through the ground to be of much help."
Hieronymous moves up to the hole and peers over into darkness that descends well past the limits of his vision. Far below he hears the sound of water lapping but all is dark. Rising from the hole the smell of brine mixed with death fills his nostrils.
"Hm - looks like nothing we can take advantage of... Let's see where those tracks lead."
Garrokmal continues to lead the group east, following the marks on the ground.
"I appreciate your concern, Hieronymous, but I can fend for myself for as long as it may take you to get around to helping me. You should protect these two from any surprises from behind.
"Miss Ithrinniel - perhaps your raven's eyes would be of some use up near me."
