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Her head shoots up from her work. "That is my concern. Not yours. I will not let it interfere with the business. Now do you need anything?"
With that she lowers her head and begins muttering to herself as she tears a heel off of a shoe.
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Drummady stands up, placing her hands on the table as she continues to look down.
"They are both my kids....Petrello was my husband. We bumped heads over our kids, Pavolus and Betrona. Pavolus is my apprentice, and Betrona is Petrello’s apprentice. Their father is terribly strict with them, while I am far more permissive. The largest point of contention between us is Petrello’s disapproval of Pavolus’s interest in Gellion, who the haberdasher believes is a distraction and not nearly good enough for our son."
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"Hmmm. No, no Yellow-foot though Pavolus recently made Gellion a pair of bright yellow boots as a gift" A fact that she emphasizes to display her son’s kindness, and to criticize her ex-husband’s disapproval of him.
"Gellion was certainly the most charismatic of the missing apprentices, and usually acted as the group’s de facto leader."
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We now answered that question. What was this group up to before the disappearances, any idea? Did they say anything?
"No, afraid they just ran off to hang out as they always did. Just haven't returned." Her face takes on a somber expression as she is worried about her two children. She mumbles a bit of thanks to Conal for purchasing a pair of shoes.
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"Hm, so the apprentices did know one another, and spent time together," says Orseb, mostly to his fellow agents.
"So far we've only heard something about four of the apprentices — Betrona, Gellion, Nolaria, and Pavolus — but nothing about Morvinarr or Noemi. Should we try to understand the... hm, how do you say it... the bigger picture before we dig deeper?"
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A sign depicting a dark-haired figure burning at the stake hangs over the door of this building. Alcie Kruptin is the imposing proprietor of the Witch’s End Tavern. Well over 6 feet tall, she makes a point of learning the name and occupation of every visitor to her establishment, and holds great distrust for adventurers and spellcasters; the only reason the tavern is so popular with travelers is because its food is phenomenal.
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Fletcher notes what the people say about Alcie and makes a fair effort to make his adventurer's equipment less conspicuous. Not much I can do with ol' Blue, though, he thinks to himself, noting the crossbow that won't be easily hidden.
Er, ah...maybe our coin will have to do some of the talking here, he says quietly just before entering.
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The tavern keeper is in a particularly foul mood, which only seems to get worse as her eyes move from one of you to the other. The backpacks and massive amount of weaponry that adorns you along with the dirt of travel makes her grimace.
Kruptin has little to say outside of taking your order and bringing your ale. "You adventurers are all alike. Come in, eat our food, don't tip worth a damn, get drunk and belligerent and break my s%*!." She slams the mugs onto the counter. "What do you want to eat. I have chicken and chicken" She leans over staring at Conal, uncomfortably close as she gets annoyed by him not answering right away. "Well... What is it?"
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Justain tosses his coin purse (46 gold) onto the counter in front of the woman. He decides he can't be silent after all. I'll take salted pork if you have it. Otherwise, the chicken will do. And an ale. Now, you take what you think we should pay, plus that tip, and then take some more for information on what you know about those missing apprentices. We adventurers aim to find them. Care to help?
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Help!? HA! Adventurers cause nothing but trouble. Kruptin laughs.
She leaves back to the kitchen and returns with a few plates of the driest looking chicken and drops them down on the counter. "Movinaar was my best cook and training and bouncer round here. Now he's gone so you get this."
You can earn Kruptin’s respect by showing intimate knowledge of the town and its history (Knowledge [local] or [history] DC 20), or by showing bluster that might lend itself to keeping the peace in her tavern (Intimidate or Bluff DC 18).
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Kruptin seems impressed as Conal works a couple of hours in the tavern as a bouncer. As a few of the locals begin to get rowdy Conal grabs them by the arm, neck or collar and 'escorts' them promptly out the door in a timely fashion.
After several hours of Conal's help Kruptin begins to get a little more talkative. "Morvinarr, as the biggest and strongest of his friends, saw himself as their protector. Where they went, he went, always making sure to keep them out of harm’s way. Most often it was Nolaria who led them on wild adventures outside of town; they would often return to the tavern to boast about their exploits. Recently, however, they seem to have been avoiding the Witch’s End, and Morvinarr has been taking more time off as of late."" I bet that they were getting into something I would not approve of— which more than likely has something to do with magic. Further, when Morvinarr disappeared, I searched his room and discovered a crumpled up note (Link)."
She digs around behind the bar and pulls a disheveled piece of parchment ffrom below and sets it on the counter.
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The usual place? Any ideas where that is? The graveyard, perhaps?
"Not a clue"
Orseb nods to Kruptin, an understand look on his face. "Yes, we've heard about Nolaria and her tendency to cause trouble. What makes you think their antics have to do with magic?"
"That inane girl was always dabbling in the arts. Now look. I answered your questions. Thanks fer the little bit you did but get out of here before you cause me any further annoyance." Kruptin points towards the door.
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We'll leave you be ma'am...and we'll get your cook back to you...good day.
As they walk out, Conal whispersShe's as warm as a frost giant's heart.
After thinking about their next move, he nods in agreement with Justain.
Aye, the graveyard might shed some light on our missing apprentices. Let's go... as he heads towards the cemetary.
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Heading back to the graveyard the group finds little more than cobwebs in the chill air. The only thing of note is near where the cold iron Morningstar was found is a pile of bubbling greasy looking purple goo.
You recognize the purple greasy slime-like substance as Demon's Bile. It is a very powerful disease that takes a while to onset though once it does it causes a creature to lose a bit of its mind, becoming more primal and stronger with extremely violent tendencies.
-1 Wis; +1 Str and Shift one alignment towards chaotic evil. Gain Fiendish Template
In addition to suffering the effects above, creatures under the effects of the demon’s bile disease hear a constant buzzing in their heads that, along with their shifting alignment, prompts them to undertake tasks that most would consider madness. This madness manifests in different ways for each creature, but it often involves delusions.
Demon’s bile is biological in nature, and if left in an open area unchecked, even a small amount of it can begin growing until, in 1d4 months, the substance takes up a 10-foot-by-10-foot area of filth. Demon’s bile that covers an area of that size or larger then begins growing in earnest, expanding at a rate of about 5 feet per day. Demon’s bile attracts vermin, and those that wallow in it (as well as some other creatures exposed to it) often grow in size, gain the fiendish template, or both. Additionally, demon’s bile that covers a 10-foot-by-10-foot area or greater has a 50% chance to spew forth fiendish vermin every 1d4 days. Any good-aligned damage, damage from cold iron weapons, or positive energy damage applied to any 5-foot square of bile destroys it.
Blackfeather continues to caw mercilessly nearby about "Yellow-foot, Yellow-foot"
