"Sure, maybe I'm just slow, but let me see if I've pieced this together. You and Thrif part ways and somehow he ended up with this family heirloom of yours. Eventually, you wind up getting chased and end up here where you start to pick up his trail. Now you want us to help you find him in the Fangwood starting with finding this local spellcaster or family of them."
"Can I assume family heirloom is your way of saying heart? It works better for my book. Star-crossed lovers and all."
Vecil gives Ulfarr a combined nod and shake of his head. "Close enough," he says with a grin.
Something still doesn't sit right with me about this story.
"It sounds to me more like he stole a family heirloom from you without you knowing about it until it was too late."
Vecil winces, "'Stole' may be a bit too strong of a word, given the circumstances of our parting. It is true that I realized it far too late; I didn't even care until about six months ago." He glances at each of you, a certain amount of distrust restraining him from speaking further.
"But enough about me. If we're to be bedfellows in this little sidetrek, I'd like to know more about each of you. What are your stories? How did you end up in this refugee town out in the sticks?
"Sure, I'll start." Someplace along the way Black Úlfarr has managed to come by a new mug of the warmed mead and starts into it as he begins. "I'm sure you can tell I come from the Lands of the Linnorm Kings, far north of here." At his feet, the two wolves stir a bit, hearing their master's voice speaking of home. "Like you, I've had some "family business" and mine drove me from home. I was born to Clan Rúnólfr and the blood of the wolf runs a little differently in me than my brothers."
A legendary clan from the rugged interior of Aegos in the Linnorm Kingdom of Broken Bay. They have a dire reputation for harboring natural lycanthropes and were thought to be merely old tales until King Ingimundr claimed the crown of Broken Bay and brought them into his service.
"We had a falling out and I left the clan to pledge service to Jarl Aerlfin and Clan Arngrim when he sought men to go a viking. Surtr and I were part of a boat that made a number of successful raids, but when we returned to Bildt, we found that while we were gone the Jarl had died and we were no longer welcome in the new Jarl's service."
He takes a long drink of mead as you can see him thinking back to those times. "Surtr and I left the islands then and headed for the mainland. Fought for some other jarls looking to become kings and eventually made our way through other lands. Even fought with the Shoanti against the orcs where an old shaman told us Bleikr was looking for us...but that's another story. Worked as guards for a Varisian caravan making the run across the Hold to Freedom Town and then worked in Vigil before realizing that they prefer their warrior to work for faith instead of coin. So, we headed south after hearing that Nirmathas needed men to fight against Molthune. That's how we ended up here."
As Jericho gets up and walks off, Vecil retrieves his platinum coin. He cannot help but chuckle.
"Poor lad would've probably gotten himself killed out there anyway..."
Vecil raises an eyebrow. "Zwain? Kaelyn?"
"I can only tell you so much. I was the court bard for a king, many a year ago, but where that court is I cannot say. I was loved for many of my skills, my humor more than anything else. But I took that humor too far, and got myself thrown from the court. I found myself on the run, for there was a price out on my head. I fell in with a group of gnolls who were traveling this way—they were hesitant to have me at first, but we made things work. They taught me of the ways of Lamashtu, whom I now serve. But I still like a good joke every now and again. And a bit of danger too."
Black Úlfarr listens quietly and somewhat incredulously, wondering if Kaelyn is telling the truth or a tale.
"Present!" Zwain raises his hand to Vecil's query. After a moment of writing, repeating only a couple words of Ulfarr and Kaelyn's story, the eccentric wizard looks up.
"What happened to the sexually frustrated, financially destitute warrior?" He scratches through a couple things on his parchment and then mutters, "Changing name to Robin to maintain his anonymity ... let's see, here we go, 'Brave, brave Sir Robin ..."
Oblivious to any awkward pauses and right as someone else starts to speak, Zwain closes his journal with a loud snap and says, "Right, me ... so, umm Dad was a glass-blower in Sandpoint, where he raised me to spin the most amazing ... um, wait. That was someone else. Dad was eaten by goblins. Ok, right. Um, MOM! Yes, of course, mom ... mom was a merchant, selling her wares from city to city, mainly spices and some antiquites, but ... no, no .. that's not right. Also eaten by goblins. Huh." Zwain looks pensive for a moment and the digs into a bag pulling out a large tome, emblazoned with ancient runes.
"Let's say Mom and Dad are this book. And this book tells me ... nope, that sounds weird ... let's do this instead. Let's say the book is ... or is it are, huh ... Mom and Dad! Yes, much better. Mom and Dad," Zwain makes the air quotes sign,"instructed me on some of the very simple lost arcana of Thassilon. Specifically the ideas of enchanting others against their will. Fascinating stuff really. It's why I left Sandpoint. Or maybe I just got lost ... actually, that's probably more accurate. I have no idea why I'm here, really? Where are we? Yes, in the inn. Of course. How all good adventures start, right!" He claps Black Ulfarr on the shoulder, laughing out loud. "But seriously .. thats who I am." He stops and leans back, looking very content with himself.
Somehow, the strange mix of companions begins to grow on Úlfarr as the evening continues. Perhaps it is the mead. He smiles in response, "My adventures certainly did...in a drinking hall at least."
Vecil cannot help but smile at Zwain's embellished and rambling story. "I thank you for your candor. It seems we're all misfits or malcontents, on the run from something." He turns to Kaelyn. "Did I hear you say 'Lamashtu', as in the 'Mother of Monsters'?" he asks, eyebrow raised.
"You heard correctly, good sir, but I prefer 'Grandmother Nightmare,' and a nightmare I am to those who cross me." She winks at her newly met companion. "You have nothing to worry about. I'm one of Lamashtu's most . . . level-headed followers. Plus, I like you." She grins at him, hoping to calm his nerves.
"Indeed... I am surprised you would mention such worship among civilized company. Lamashtu is not well regarded in such places. Thus, you are either mad and have no inhibitions on what you say, or are speaking the truth, and walk some razor's edge."
"I surely thought you were telling tales Kaelyn, but you are serious. Mother of Monsters or Grandmother Nightmare, she and her followers are renowned for trouble...generally not of any sort most would want to be associated with. Tell us of how you came to be in her service."
"As I said, I found myself in dire straights after insulting my former master, and I had to flee the...area...quickly." Kaelyn hesitates, trying not to give away too much of her past life. "Just when I thought I had escaped my pursuers, I was ambushed, and found myself surrounded. I prayed aloud to any god that would listen, offering my devotion for a safe exit from my predicament.
"Lamashtu heard me and sent the aforementioned gnolls to my rescue, and I fell in with them, thanking Grandmother Nightmare on my knees every night for saving my life.
"She has taught me much in the ways of deception...and darkness, though I use her aid only to protect myself, as I seem to find myself in trouble more than a normal person might. She asks only for my praise, and I see no reason to hide my worship of her, especially from folks such as yourselves, who seem to have your own dark secrets. My actions will prove to you that I can be trusted."
"At least it wasn't goblins ... don't think I'd be able to stomach that story. Nanna Nightmare sounds much more welcoming than parent-eating sickos."
"Aye, those little devils are terrible. Ran into a few of them myself when crossing through Varisia. They say they are thick as the northern gnats in Arodus down in Isger."