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Early in the morning you receive a discreet call for help from the Mayor of Saringallow, Sandra Trinelli. She wishes to meet with you in her office on the ground floor of the Saringallow Town Hall.
The plush red carpet and oak furniture upholstered with velvet lend this room an air of comfort, but it’s also clearly a place of official business, with several layers of administrative papers, staff memos, maps, and charts covering the wide surface of the solid desk in the center. From her tall-backed chair behind her desk, Mayor Sandra Trinelli looks up, shaking herself out of a deep concentration. A subtle look of relief flashes across her face as she motions to the oversized chairs in front of her.
“Normally, I’d exchange more pleasantries with my guests, but I fear there is no time,” she says. “The business that brought you here is quite urgent—it may actually be a matter of life and death.
“Let me explain. You may have heard that several young apprentices from various establishments in Saringallow have disappeared in the last couple of weeks. Every one of them has failed to show up to work, and nobody seems to know where they’ve gone.
“That’s not all. Rumors are spreading about sightings of enormous insects roaming about town. So far, the townspeople have chalked up such rumors to overactive imaginations, but I fear they might be real, and that they might have something to do with the missing apprentices. I have no proof that the situations are connected, but if folks get that notion into their heads, things are bound to spiral out of control.”
She shifts nervously, as if avoiding an uncomfortable implication, before continuing.
“Please, I implore you to look into this matter quietly and thoroughly—find out where our apprentices have gone and discover the cause of our vermin problem. Don’t jump to conclusions until you have investigated every possible angle; we need to be absolutely sure that we know who or what is responsible before we take any necessary law enforcement actions.
“I suggest you start by interviewing the masters of every missing apprentice on this list I’ve compiled. I suspect that, collectively, they might shed some light on the youngsters’ whereabouts. That could in turn illuminate our vermin problem, but until we have more information, I caution you against suggesting to anyone that the two situations are connected. Beyond that, though, you have my full
cooperation in this matter. If anyone gives you guff about your line of questioning, show them this letter.” The mayor pushes a scrap of paper with several names scribbled on it (Link) across her desk, as well as a rolled-up, ribbon bound letter written on thick parchment (Link).
“As far as an incentive,” the mayor says, “I’ve pooled together 50 gold pieces as a reward for each apprentice you manage to find and rescue, as well as an additional 100 gold pieces if you can determine the cause of our vermin problem—and eliminate it. Do we have a deal?”
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A Varisian man, clad in bedraggled clothes and a battered chain shirt, nods as Mayor Trinelli speaks. No proof they're connected, Fletcher says, absently polishing a starkly well-kept heavy crossbow, but no proof they're not connected either. Huh. He pops a few sunflower seeds into his mouth and continues after Justain's question. Yeah, that. And apprentices to whom? Any connection there?
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An oread with an angular, androgynous figure sits silently through the mayor's briefing. She is well dressed and bedecked in jewelry, though everything shows the influence of provincial craftspeople. The well-tailored pants and shirt are made of homespun and naturally dyed cloth, and leather and silver pendants and bracelets all incorporate uncut crystal and gems. A simple, thick silver ring adorns her left hand, featureless except for a large, exotic-looking rune carved into it.
The loss of a crafter is always tragic, but to never more so than when an apprentice is lost, as so much potential goes with them. I assure you we will do our best to recover them."
The oread takes a moment to review the list,
"Can you tell us anything about their patrons? Specifically Pricknettle and Father Ruvarra? Alchemy and religion invite more danger than shoes or hats. Perhaps one of them was engaged in something unsavory, or attracted the attention of a malevolent force?"
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Conal looks at the list and furrows his brow in thought. He shifts his stance as he ponders the situation, causing his wicked blade to bounce off his leg. The tassels of blue and green with gold knots indicating him as a native of Taldor.
I wonder if the apprentice knew each other...regardless, we shall do our best, ma'am. I'm ready to go... he says as he shoulders his pack.
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Hydris listens and scribbles a couple notes in his book for later and as he nods in agreement.
Hmm, I'll need a catchy name for this job if I'm ever to get into the chronicles...
Apprentices eaten by giant insects? More likely than you think!
The ten most common ways apprentices get eaten, you'll never believe number seven!
Finally Hydris responds, beeimg "Just as Durvin Guest left no stone unturned when he explored the ruins of lost Azlant, you should find our investigation exceedingly thorough."
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A Garundi man in his late thirties looks over the scrap of paper, and answers to Justain. "According to this, six apprentices so far." His voice is deep, and he talks slowly.
The man had introduced himself as Orseb, and preferred to be on a first-name basis. His tanned skin has some modest piercings, and his black hair has some grey spots. He carries some religious symbols, but tries to keep them away from the public eye.
"I have a question. What kind of insects do the townsfolk gossip of? Mosquitoes, flies, mantises?"
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How many people did you say are missing?
"There are six missing. There are all listed on the paper I have giving you, so no need to remember everything."
And apprentices to whom? Any connection there?
The mayor sighs "Once again, all of that information is on the scroll I have handed to you. Please read it first."
"Can you tell us anything about their patrons? Specifically Pricknettle and Father Ruvarra? Alchemy and religion invite more danger than shoes or hats. Perhaps one of them was engaged in something unsavory, or attracted the attention of a malevolent force?"
"Nolaria Winteren dealt a bit more with Erastil." She digs around in her table and produces a beat up map of the town. "Here is a map of the town and a few areas of interest." She circcles a few areas on the map and let's you know what they are as she hands the rolled up map to OK.
"I have a question. What kind of insects do the townsfolk gossip of? Mosquitoes, flies, mantises?"
"All manner of insects. Though it is difficult to tell the rumors from what someone actually saw."
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1. Noble's Folley The road known as Nobles’ Folly winds through the woods to the decrepit ruins of the Sarini Estate. It sees little use, as it leads nowhere that any reasonable citizen of Saringallow would wish to travel, so weeds and moss choke its ancient cobblestones. On foggy nights, children sometimes dare one another to walk the twisted road. Some particularly brave ones even go all the way to the eerie old estate, but more than one has undertaken such a journey and never returned. Thus, incredible superstition surrounds the road, which is the subject of many traditional ghost stories told in Saringallow.
2. Old Gallows: Both of Saringallow’s town squares— the old Merchant’s Square to the south and the Traveler’s Square to the north—were the site of dozens of hangings following the uprising against House Sarini. The original gallows still stand, kept in working shape as a matter of tradition and occasional necessity, though they have seen less use as the decades have passed. A single guard stands watch at each site at all times during the day, a duty that is partly symbolic, but also serves to keep guards at easy hailing distance for much of the city. On the rare occasions when an executioner is needed, a guard dons a solemn (and disguising) hood and takes up the traditional axe and lantern to dispatch the condemned.
5. Pricknettle’s Potions and Poultices:The town’s foremost apothecary, Majara Pricknettle, hails from the Isgeri gnome settlement of Umok. Tragedy struck her family during the Goblinblood Wars, and she fled Umok to distance herself from those painful memories. Saringallow, with its high walls and townsfolk who keep their distance, in addition to its small but established gnome population, suited her needs quite well. She settled there permanently, vowing never to return home.
After several years, as the townsfolk finally warmed toward her, Majara decided to take on Gellion as her apprentice, seeing the benefit of passing her skills on to other locals.
Standing behind the counter is a thing blue haired gnome woman who curtly greets herself as Majara Pricknettle. "Haven't seen you about these parts. What can I do for you?" She asks excitedly
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Majara becomes quite curt with her responses as she changes the subject away from Gellion and back to her wares.
"Yes, Gellion is my apprentice but have you seen this new potion I have? It is said to make you look nearly 10 years younger!"
And have you seen these strange insects we've been told about?
"I haven't seen any strange insects. Don't go spreading around any more tall tales."
OK looks over the counter discreetly and sees all manner of potions, herbs and oils. None of which resemble poisons or anything of ill-intent.
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Hydris will look at the goods a bit...
[b]"So my cousin, he swears by this fizzy drink to help him out of bed after a long night of drinking... I keep telling him it'd be cheaper to purchase as powder and make his own but he won't believe me.
Favored by young rakes and others of means, this is a crystalline powder resembling salt. Mixed with water, it makes a fizzing cocktail that eliminates the effects of a hangover within 10 minutes of drinking it.
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Orseb listens to the conversation, and checks the list of names. When given an opportunity to speak, he asks the gnome shopkeep: "What can you tell us about Gellion? What kind of person was he? Did he have any troubles?"
"Fine alchemical goods you cook here, by the way." It seems Orseb can read a situation, and people.
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Oh, so you don't believe that they exist, but you've heard others mention them? Who, in particular? I just think they story is fascinating, I'd like to find someone to tell me about their "encounter".
She waves her hand as if to dismiss it. "Was just a few of the local boys in here to buy a couple of love potions. Sounded more like they were telling tall tales to impress a couple of young girls."
Majara sighs as Orseb continues to bring up her apprentice, though she does smile as Hydris makes a purchase.
"I haven't seen Gellion for several days now. I bet that Nolaria Wintren has a little something to do with it. She is an apprentice over at the Temple of Erastil. That priest's apprentice is a meddler who keeps putting dangerous ideas into Gellion's head."
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The peasants brought in by House Sarini built this temple to Erastil in the early days of the settlement, and it is now one of the largest and oldest structures in town. The space is dedicated to the needs of the people, rather than the needs of the temple’s staff: the infirmary and housing areas for the poor dwarf the priests’ modest chambers. Many people pass through on a daily basis, seeking blessings and prayers before traveling or interacting with outsiders. The current head priest is Ildris Ruvarra. Though he has lived in Saringallow for only a decade or so, he is well respected for his selflessness as a healer. Ruvarra’s adopted daughter is well known as Nolaria Wintren.
After wading through the line you find a gray haired man finish healing a dog bite on a small girl. Spending several moments consoling her she stops crying. Patting her on her shoulder she wanders back home to her fathers arms.
Wiping his hands on his robes Ildris stands up. "What ails you that I can help with?"
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Well, we can help you with looking for her. Is there anything you can tell us about her friends...perhaps whee they go for fun...to get away from the rest? I know when I was younger me and my friends would run away to this one tree we had a rope hung from a high branch and would swing into the river...ahh, to be 13 again...
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Ildris smiles. "Thanks. She was an orphan of the Goblin Blood Wars and has a tendency to bend the rules around here, which lands her in a bit of trouble. I don't believe she would knowingly endanger her friends, though she does overestimate her own abilities from time to time. Last I heard she was near the Old Graveyard with her pet raven."
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Fletcher smiles at Ildris' account of the missing girl. Ah, yes, we've all— he stops himself as he considers Justain — ah, most of us— he stops again, remembering Hydris and Orseb — um, some of us, anyway...have bent the rules from time to time...
He clears his throat, a bit red-faced. Ahem. Graveyard, you say?
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"To my shame, I may have also 'bent the rules' more than I would like to admit," mutters Orseb, reminiscing his time in his homeland.
A capricious grin flashes on Orseb's usually-serious face, at the mention of a graveyard. "Where would this Old Graveyard be? Is there a New Graveyard, too? We're not locals, if you hadn't noticed."
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Orseb inquires more. "So, Nolaria had a 'pet' raven. Is that a familiar, or just the non-magical variety? I don't know how common ravens are as mere pets in these lands."
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"Just and older section of the graveyard is what I mean. It can be found on the far western side of town. You can't miss it with all of the markers."
"So, Nolaria had a 'pet' raven. Is that a familiar, or just the non-magical variety? I don't know how common ravens are as mere pets in these lands."
"Blackfeather is Nolaria's familiar."
Overestimated or not, what abilities do you believe she has?
"Erastil just started answering her calls a few weeks ago. She is able to heal the sick and wounded, though only minor injuries at best."
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"You said she was a war orphan? Were her parents from Saringallow originally? The consequences of a difficult childhood can take time to fully manifest."
Nolaria’s parents were both officers in Isger’s army during the Goblinblood Wars. As the war wound down and the goblin forces fled one by one back into Chitterwood, a desperate hobgoblin captain called Gristlebriar led a surprise attack against the village where Nolaria’s parents were stationed. Neither of them survived the battle. Gristlebriar razed the village to the ground, but a few people escaped, including myself, a young priest of Erastil and a friend to Nolaria’s parents. When I searched the burned buildings for survivors, I found little Nolaria Wintren in the ruined temple of Erastil, hiding under the bell tower’s giant cracked bell. It was clear to me that she would grow up to serve the church, and that it was my responsibility to adopt the girl and raise her as my own daughter. After the war, I relocated to Saringallow, where I eventually became the head priest.
It only takes roughly 15 minutes to wind around town and reach the graveyard. The members of the Sarini family were not the only ones who died when the people of Sarini’s Hollow rose up. Following the revolt, much of the frightened populace accused their rivals and neighbors of consorting with evil. The witch-hunt lasted several years and resulted in several dozen hangings. The town’s small graveyard is crowded with bodies, all given proper burials at the insistence of the clergy of Erastil. Today, the nearby walls mostly prevent ghouls and other scavengers from desecrating the graves, but a patrol of priests and town guards still visits at least once a month to clear the deserted place of any dangers.
Hundreds of small grave markers stand between a few large mausoleums in this graveyard. Crows leer from the gravestones, scattering when other creatures draw near, only to resettle some distance away.