"Never heard of Zafron the Yellow," Buvet guffaws, choking some on a swallow of stew. "You're really not from anywhere around here, are you?"
The dwarf takes a glug of ale to clear his throat and leans in conspiratorially.
"Zafron was a bright boy, but picked on," he says, reveling in the opportunity to spin a tale. "A real strange loner-type, that one. Anyway, he gets it in his head to leave Gafolweed and learn the arcane arts out in the world. A decade passes and no one hears word one from the lad, not even when his father died. Then, one day he returns, his hair up to here wearing some nasty yellow cloak and just raring to stir up trouble. The council had the good sense to exile him official-like. So, he comes back not two weeks later with a band of gnolls calling him 'master' and the like in that barking cough they do. Took everything Tobin, myself, and the elves had to drive him off again, for good that time. Least that's what we thought."
Buvet sits back and pats his stomach, pride and flecks of foam slathered all over his face.
"Bet you my hammer that creature all the farmers are messing themselves over ain't nothing but a figment created by Zafron," he says. "Bet he's holed up in that Yellow Cave of his again just aching to get revenge now that us heroes are on in our years a bit."
"Eh, I can unnerstand holdin' a grudge for being picked on. Dwarves ain't the type to be fergettin' wrongs easily or quickly." Gerund takes a long draft of the ale and digs in to the stew.
After some thought, Gerund looks up at his fellow dwarf, "Well, if'n you ain't got the stones to help us out," Gerund gives a playful smirk, "care to point us in the direction of someone who may be willing to find this Yeller Zafron?"
Gerund takes a look around at the other patrons, hoping to spot a likely candidate.
"Ain't got the stones!," Buvet blusters in mock outrage. "More like ain't got the gold. The Honeybead, beauty as she is, don't run herself. Can't be running off on every adventure that comes my way ... now, if there were some treasure to be had on this quest of yours, then my old hammer might not look so heavy."
Buvet flashes a broad grin and strokes his mustache thoughtfully.
"Buy any one of them old timers a drink and they'll talk yer ear off about Zafron or any other old thing," he says. "Drunk, old farmers are like boulders rolling down a hill ..."
The dwarf directs you to a table across the tavern from your own where sit three elderly men who he identifies as Cleff, Retha, and Kilut.
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Aranmon looks to Buvet "Didn't you hear? They raised the reward to 500 gp. So there will be a pretty purse for each of us. I think I will go talk to those gentlemen you pointed out." He then drains his tankard "And besides I need a refill." Aranmon takes his empty mug to the bar and walks away with four full ones and heads for the elderly gentlemen's table. Pulling up a chair he passes out the tankards and takes a seat, "If you don't mind I'd like to ask you a few questions about Zafron and the attacks that have been happening to the loggers. Some are saying the two might be connected and that nothing happens in this town without you three hearing about it."
To Retha: "If everyone knows about the Yellow Cave how come no one has sealed it?"
To Kilut: "What is a Sturgimate anyways and why do you think it has something to do with these attacks?"
Giving Buvet a sly smile."So you are going with us, but we are just talking price huh? Well how about a equal share of the reward and treasure we may find along the way?"
Gerund grins, glad that Buvet was able to take some ribbing. "Aye, I'll go share some brew with these fellers. Maybe I'll try my luck with Cleff first."
Gerund places a tankard of ale in front of the old man and sits down. He inquires about any rumors he may have heard of strange goings-on.
"Hyenas and a hooded figure? Well, I heard that Zafron was back in town and got himself a yellow cloak. Maybe the hyenas are the only friends he was able to hold..."
Gerund takes a long draft from his own ale. And looks at Kilut, following up with Aranmon's question. "I seen a few things in my years, but I ain't never heard a no Sturgimate."
Buvet considers the offer for a moment before slapping Kalvin on the back with a loud guffaw.
"Ha!" he says, a broad grin on his round face. "You can count me in ... fer an equal split of the treasure we find, and a share of the reward. Oh, how I've longed to be out there again fighting fer me life. Ulfgar, fetch me that hammer off the wall - the boss is going out!"
A sturdy young man puts down his bus tray and towel and hurries over to the fireplace. He carefully pushes up on the warhammer until it comes loose, handing it to Buvet. The dwarf swings it before him a few times with deft, precise movements.
"Aye," he says excitedly. "No time to dilly-dally now. I've got to get me supplies in order!"
*****
Cleff and Retha both agree that Zafron the Yellow and his gnoll minions would be likely culprits. They go back and forth a bit as to why the cave was never sealed, eventually settling on "lack of willing wizards" and "it's just a cave without Zafron" as acceptable reasons.
Kilut leans back in his chair and takes a slow draw of his ale.
"Ah, to know the Sturgimate, you'd have to know of the Savant of Sumiclef," he says, his voice a low, shaky rasp. "Have you heard this tale before?"
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Aranmon looks to Kilut "Oh, you mean the tale of Jarl defeating five half-sphinx/half-manticores, so those were Sturgimates, I always thought that was just a fairy tale." Aranmon gives a longing looks towards the ceiling with a slight smile says more to himself then anyone else "If I could only have a chance to study Jarl's spellbook, the wonders it could teach me." Noticing the fact that everyone was now staring at him Aranmon quickly tries to divert their attention "Kilut, I have only heard the brief telling that is given to children as a bedtime story maybe, if you wouldn't mind, could you tell us more of the adult version?"
"Great Buvet, we will see you early in the morning and we can ferret this Zafron out from his cave." Giving the dwarf a firm hand shake and a smile to seal the deal.
Kilut smiles as his companions rolls their eyes.
"I might be up to the task," the old stonecutter says, leaning back in his chair to begin his tale ...
"Long time ago, the Savant of Sumiclyf, an old and wise man, lived east of Gafolweed, in a secret dwelling on the Peak of the Vernal Dawn. A powerful magician, he became a true friend to the people, who affectionately called him Jarl. It is said that Jarl knew nearly everything in the world, and that whenever he used his penknife to cut paper, it transformed into an oracle. Even in the deepest darkness, the gleaming gold buttons of his waistcoat reflected the light of the sun. He was also rumored to be immortal, or nearly so.
"In his great wisdom, the old man would answer the most abstruse questions and solve intricate puzzles. This is the tale of how he used his wisdom when he faced the five Sturgimates, a group of man-faced beasts that fell upon the land at the end of a long cold winter, subjugating the people to a reign of terror. The Sturgimates were the devilish, long-lived progeny of a sphinx and a manticore. In addition to the manticore’s deadly spiked tail, they had a lion’s body, bat wings, and a human head. Although fond of human flesh and bent to the low instincts of manticores, the Sturgimates possessed a passion for riddles, and the mocking calmness of sphinxes when posing and solving them.
"To free the people from the Sturgimates, he challenged the flesh-eating monsters a duel of wits. The Sturgimates agreed and laid out their conditions. Each of them would ask the sage a question. If the sage failed to answer even on question correctly, the Sturgimates would devour him and their reign would continue. If he correctly answered all five questions, the Sturgimates would be banished from the lands for the next 500 years. The sage agreed, provided that for each correctly answered question, the Sturgimate would surrender one of their fangs as a token of their loyalty to the pact. Thereafter, if a Sturgimate violated the pact, a spell cast on the fangs would unleash upon the creature a deadly curse.
"True to his reputation, the sage correctly solved the Sturgimates questions. With each correct answer he magically plucked a front fang from the monster who asked the question and placed it in his leather pouch. After a short time, four of the Sturgimates, angry and sore, found themselves anxiously awaiting for the youngest and treacherous of them to pose the final riddle. Instead of formulating a question, the last Sturgimate violated the terms of the contest and tried to pounce on the sage to devour him. Unsurprised by the beast’s treachery, the old man quickly cast a magic spell upon the monster, holding it fast. Then with a quick gesture, he deftly plucked the fifth and final fang from the surprised Sturgimate’s gaping mouth. Finally defeated, the Sturgimates fluttered away, howling and cursing, leaving the lands free from their villainy. Only their five fangs remained as a trophy of victory of good’s triumph over evil.
"Legend’s say that for many years after, the Savant of Sumiclyf lived on, keeping watch over Gafolweed and its people. Then one day, he disappeared. Some say he emigrated to a distant place of eternity and bliss, others say he died and turned into a mountain of silver— a treasure sought by many, but never found."
By the time the old man is finished spinning his yarn, a small crowd has gathered around the table, including Buvet.
"Aye," the dwarven tavern master blusters. "Just as likely it's the tooth fairy killing them loggers, I say. It's Zafron the Yellow, couldn't be clearer. Would be nice to get me mitts on that silver though ... if it weren't just a tale fer the kiddies, that is."
Kilut frowns at Buvet's mockery of his tale, as do a few other true believers in the crowd.
"The tale is true," the old man says, resolute in his belief. "And if the Sturgimate has returned, then we're in more trouble than any of us realize."
"Whatever it is my ax is going to have a conversation with it and tell it to stop causing trouble." Kalvin will spend the rest of the night singing very badly and drinking with the locals.
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Aranmon sits completely aghast listening to the story, mouth hanging open, when Buvet finishes and Aranmon hears the other guests joking about it he wipes the drool from his bottom lip and tries to look cool. "Could there be any possibility that Zafron could be working with, or even worse could have summoned, the Sturgimate?"
Gerund picks up on Aranmon's idea, "Aye, that's not such a far-fetched idea. This lad, Zafron - maybe he remembers this tale and tries to summon a Sturgimate..."
The dwarf shifts in his seat, his brow furrowing at the possibilities. While the tale may just be a fable, he can't help but feel uneasy about everything.
"Pfft," Kilut sighs. "Not even Zafron, as misguided as that poor boy might have been, would throw his lot in with such a treacherous beast."
"More like he wasn't able to," Buvet chimes in. "Seeing as the Sturgimate's a fairy story and all. I say Zafron's back with them gnolls out in the hills. He's probably holed up in that cave of his right now. I have a half a mind to march down there this very night ..."
The dwarf's face grows red and his hands twist around the handle of his warhammer. A few nearby townsfolk give him a odd look before returning to the last of their drinks. The night has grown long.
"Erm," the dwarf stutters. "Perhaps it's best we wait til morning. But it's to the Yellow Cave we ought to go, not up in the mountains searching for some figment of an old man's bedtime stories."
Kilut excuses himself, tired from arguing with the dwarves and others, and soon the rest of the dining room has thinned to the tavern's staff and the drunkest of its guests. Buvet shows you to your common room. The accommodations are simple but cozy: four beds with a sturdy chest at the foot of each and a crackling hearth at the center of the room.
"Rest well, my new friends," he says as he closes the door behind him. "Tomorrow, we quest!"
Kalvin raises early and sharpens his weapons while waiting on the other to get out of bed.
Gerund nods along with Kilut, "Well, you're the one ought to know better 'n' us." He finishes off his draft.
Gerund's sleep is deep and restful, "Oi this bed is cozy!" In the morning, he offers his prayers to Gorum.
Once up, he finds a table at the tavern and orders himself a large breakfast. "On the mayor's tab, of course," he tells his server with a smile.
Seeing Gerund up and about, Kalvin follows the dwarf down to the tavern's common room. "If dwarfs are known for anything, it's their healthy appetite." Sitting down with Gerund at the table he waves at the barmaid. "Make that two."
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Aranmon wakes to the sound of Kalvin sharpening weapons and mumbles to himself "Couldn't he have gone outside to do that, doesn't he know that some of us are trying to sleep?" Then he rolls over and trys to go back to sleep, but to no avail. "Guess I might as well get up. He looks to Kalvin and gives a friendly smile "Morning, you know if you sharpen those things any sharper there going to cut right through their sheaths." Aranmon will then pack up his things grabbing his spellbook, but instead of packing it up he instead opens it and starts to read it memorizing every little piece of every spell. He continues to read as he heads for breakfast. Unlike the others he will go for a smaller meat of some hot cereal and juice.
"Fine vittles at this establishment, yes indeedy!" Gerund stifles a burp as he leans back after finishing his breakfast. He eyes Kalvin's plate.
"That oughta hold me for a couple hours," he grins.
"So, Kalvin, whatcha think about the talk of mythical beasts an' these killings? Gotta admit, I get a bit superstitious meself and I rather hope we don't have to face nothin' like a sturgimate - the way they was described."
"I hope it is just stories as well. The Sturgimate sounds like a powerful enemy."
"Ah, that ham and eggs smell good. Can I get an ale is well to start the day off right and get my blood flowing." Kalvin digs into his meal eating very loudly and talking with his mouth full.
Turning to Aranmon "That is an idea but I think we should check out this cave first then the sages house...chew..chew... unless of course the house is closer or on the way...chew..chew... then we can just go by it on the way to the cave."
Buvet approaches the breakfast table, his arms laden with gear and a broad, stupid grin on his face.
"Nearly ready?" he asks. "I was too excited to eat, and that's saying something there."
The dwarf makes small talk with the trio, commenting on the distance and difficulty of journeying to the Peak of the Vernal Dawn (two days through forest and rough terrain) and the likelihood of finding Zafron and his band of gnolls at the Yellow Cave (very). As he begins a particularly animated retelling of his previous battle with Zafron, daylight and the chill of the breeze pushes into the Honeybead through the front door.
Sergeant Ulbent, the stoic half-elf warden from the preivous day's activity in the market, steps in and hangs his hat on the hook beside the entrance. Immediately noting the location of the party, he, too, approaches the table.
"Sorry to disturb you," he says. "But Master Zergu has sent me here to request your company for some rather unfortunate business. The mayor seems to believe you should investigate the site of the most recent attack for any clues of the assailant. If you don't mind, I will lead you there following Halmil's funeral services this morning, say half-an-hour? That is, unless you intend on attending the services, in which case we ought to depart presently."
"Yeah, the cave first, sounds good."
Gerund sits upright at the sergeant makes his request. "Aye, attendin' the funeral seems the proper thing to do. I was about to order up another side of ham but," he leans forward and snatches a slice of ham from Kalvin's plate, "this'll do."
He stands up and brushes his hands off, with the ham hanging out of his mouth. With a couple of dexterous bites, he finishes it quickly. "I suppose I ought not speak for you lads. Care to join us for the services?"
Gerund hoists his pack on and gives a nod to Sergeant Ulbent indicating that he is ready to depart.
"Hey!! In the house I grew up in stealing food is grounds for wrestling match. Next time you might get a fork in the hand as well."
Kalvin gives Gerund a stern look with a smile creeping in at the end. "Let's pay are respects to the boy." Kalvin stands and adjusts his weapons. "I still need to get to the market for the additional weapons I want."
"Hey now lad, you were long overdue for makin' an offering to Gorum." Gerund smiles. "Now, you're square with him."
"Aye, tis the right thing to do," Buvet says. "Halmil was a good lad, after all. Kalvin, you can get your weapons afterwards. There won't be a merchant about if the whole town's going to be there anyways."
Once the party has collected their things, Sergeant Ulbent leads them to the village temple. The priests' servants have erected a small pyre in the courtyard in front of the temple. Halmil's body rests atop it, groomed and dressed in a simple white tunic. Father Edor chants a long prayer for the young man's soul as villagers approach in a single file line to pay their respects, each laying a flower on the pyre. Those closer to the deceased express their condolences to Halmil's parents, or try to comfort Tissa, the victim's betrothed, who weeps quietly beside her fallen fiance.
The trio and Buvet follow Sergeant Ulbent into the queue, which moves slowly and somberly around the temple courtyard and directly past Halmil. The poor dead logger's funeral tunic leaves his neck exposed, giving the party a view of his wounds that they were denied the previous afternoon.
The party reaches the end of the line right before the priests light the pyre. As they plunge the flames into the pile of hay and dry twigs beneath Halmil's body, Tissa approaches the four adventurers.
"The mayor tells me what you've agreed to do," she says, tears welling in her big, blue eyes. "Please, kill whatever's done this to my poor Halmil and avenge his death!"
Gerund waits patiently and solemnly in line, knowing that now is not the time for any attempt at cleverness. When his turn is up, he takes a respectful look at the body.
He's able to get a good enough look to notice the bite mark on his neck, apparently from a large human that is missing a canine tooth. He also notices the cat-like claw marks. He makes a mental note to share this information with his friends at the next opportune moment.
Gerund agrees with Aranmon's assurance to Tissa, "Aye, we'll not let the fiend that did this get away."
"Well, since that is done I am going to make my way to the market to get some supplies." Kalvin turns to walk back toward the market square.
At the market Kalvin will search for weapons vendor that is selling a net and longspear.
Tissa acknowledges your reassurance with wide, wet eyes, just managing to gasp a weak "bless you" before being ushered toward the pyre. As the flames engulf Halmil's body, Father Edor approaches the party with a small bundle.
"Thank you for what you're doing for her," he says, handing the bundle to Gerund. "For all of us, really. Take this, please. Tis not much, but it might aid you with the dangers ahead, whatever they might be."
Once the crowd dissipates, Commander Tobin is able to direct Kalvin to a local merchant, who to the fighter's disappointment only carries a standard 5-foot-long spear. When told of their quest to slay the beast menacing Gafolweed, however, the merchant insists Kalvin take the spear for free.
*****
Sergeant Ulbent leads the party to the attack site about a half a mile northeast of the village, close to a gully near a pile of twigs and branches stripped form the trunks of felled trees. On the ground rests a pool of Halmil's coagulated blood.
"Well we have good news and bad news. Good news is we know what we are fighting. Bad news is we know what we are fighting. A big nasty cat."
Buvet squats down and peers at the tracks.
"Aye," he says. "Or it could be the tracks of a gnoll. They've got paws about that size, and the beasts've been known to pal around on all fours when it suits them. Fond of water they are, too."
Having spotted the footprints in the mud, the party continues its search for clues.
Kalvin looks around the scene dumbfounded."Whatever it is just point it out and I'll kill it."
Gerund takes the package from Father Edor with a grateful bow. He stows the flask carefully in his backpack.
Gerund does his best to help Aranmon search for more clues regarding the tracks.
"Strange, there are definitely some tufts of leonine fur that must've been shed by the creature making the tracks. However, it seems that we've got some longer hairs that have come from a human."
Sturgimate, the dwarf thinks to himself, not saying the word aloud.
Kalvin mopes around the scene acting like he is doing something but really just irritated by his inability to wrap his mind around any of the clues. "Where to next?"
"Hmm ...," Buvet sighs as he traces a line forged in the hardened mud. "Looks like whatever beast this was had a mighty set of wings. See how they dragged in the mud here before the tracks disappear."
The dwarf wears a frown as he approaches the group, visibly disappointed that his insistence on the tracks belonging to gnolls had been so quickly been proven unfounded.
"Still," he offers, "I say its got to be Zafron behind the monster's attacks. Maybe the fool's gotten in bed with the beast, so to say, and convinced it to do his bidding. We ought spare not one more second here when he's probably plottin' and plannin' our deaths out in the Yellow Cave."
Sergeant Ulbent remains stoic throughout the investigation, only confirming the various findings - the human hair and wings - through his hunter's expertise.
"I do not mean to rush you all by any means," the half-elf says after a half-an-hour or so, "But I am expected to escort the first of the loggers this morning. I really must get back to town."
Excusing himself politely, Sergeant Ulbent wishes you well and provides you with a map of the wilderness surrounding Gafolweed, taking special care to point out the Yellow Cave and the Cobalt Chasm - the rocky path that is purported to lead to the legendary Halls of Sumiclef. He says that the Yellow Cave is a day's hike away through the abandoned village of Twiggy Down, while the Cobalt Chasm is two days of hiking east of the village.
"I say we move toward Twiggy Down and see how far we get. The dawn is near half over already so we might only make it to the abandoned village before we have to rest. Anyone know why the village is abandoned?"
"I say we move toward Twiggy Down and see how far we get. The day is near half over already so we might only make it to the abandoned village before we have to rest. Anyone know why the village is abandoned?"
Before the half-elf can respond, Buvet chimes in, only too eager to display his knowledge of the area.
"When the dwarves in the mountains finally stopped their stubbornness and started trading their stone, folks quit bothering to pay much attention to mining," he says. "Focused on logging instead - no use trying to compete with dwarves when it comes to stone. Twiggy Down was one of many little mining towns that fell apart when the stonecutters moved on."
Sergeant Ulbent nods in confirmation of the dwarf's story.
"Twiggy Down would make for a suitable camp," the half-elf adds. "I remember there being a few structures still standing last I visited."
"All right then, sounds like we have a plan let's get a move on daylight is wasting."
"Aye, to Twiggy Down!" Gerund holds a fist up in the air in excitement.
It seems as though no one has used the Stonecutter’s Way for decades. At times, the overgrown trail tends to disappear in the vegetation. After spending the first half-day traversing cultivated fields, orchards, and logging areas; the landscape becomes wilder and generally untamed. The journey proceeds without incident until the party reaches the site of the centuries-old village of Twiggy Down.
As the party approaches the ruined village, the howl of a hyena rises in the distance, though there are no visible threats. Crowning the low, shrub-topped hillock ahead stand the vine-draped, crumbling stone foundations of ancient huts and the blackened stumps of wooden poles, which barely jut out from the tall grass. An eerie silence shrouds the fading ruins of what must have been an ancient village.
In the middle of the ruins lie the ashen remains of a recent bonfire and a deer carcass, coarsely cooked and avidly consumed. Near the bonfire, partially hidden by a tree, stands a wooden pole topped by the rotting, fly-infested skull of a hyena-like being. At the very center of Twiggy Down, lie the fragments of a shattered granite statue.
Drawing his shortbow Kalvin keep a wary eye out for any trouble. "Looks like we found at least one Gnoll."