Franka can't do anything but stare at Emil as his words turn into a rant, apparently beyond the point where he's talking about this situation anymore. Since she also seems to have failed to make a dent in the Shaman's confidence. She looks from him to Emil, to the Chief and to the rest of their companions. The image of an avalanche comes to mind, slowly gaining pace, and unable to be controlled unless they're quick. Help?
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Audsley, vulpine and confident under the influence of his mutagen, stands at the back of the group. The situation is clearly sliding out of control. Emil's rant does little more than devolve into a fit of coughing, while Franka's words do nothing to impress the shaman.
With a quiet smile, Audsley lets a bomb slip into his palm, and then quietly lobs it over the crowd right at the candle.
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The group doesn't seem to gain traction in swaying the kobold tribe, especially given Emil's descent into near unitelligibility. A majority are unable to understand common so the words are mostly lost on them, and the shaman seems on the verge of issuing an order for attacking. Apparently the alchemist has discovered a cureall for societal ills in the form of bombs, as Audsley makes a break from the conversation and sends his volatile concoction dead into the Candle, causing it to explode into small waxy bits!
The collected kobold tribe gasps in unison, several screaming, "The demon! It will kill us all!" and fleeing as a thick red cloud forms from the disolving wax as it sinks into the the bubbling pool of blood. The shaman himself appears to be the most distraught, staring at the destroyed totem and uttering. "No! No-, nononononono-" which breaks off as a pair of smoky arms form up, and wrap around his neck before going up his nose. He convulses suddenly, achingly, before flinging himself into the cauldron. As the body thrashes in the thick liquid, the smoke dissipates, matching his gurgling screams.
Chief Sootscale, who remained rooted in the spot, slowly lowers his spear and echos Turante's comment. "Well, that was a thing." He switches to Draconic and yells out, "The vile worm that has slain so many of our kind has been defeated! We no longer shall hide under the shadow of him or his demon!"
|
"It's a victory," Janna agrees, shaking his head, an expression of disbelief on his face.
The comrades back home would put me in an asylum if I told them this story.
"Nice throw, Auds," he tacks on, still half-expecting to wake up at some moment and find out he has had malaria for a week or something.
Emil's cheeks color a very deep tinge of red as he realizes in that instant that rather than threaten the creature, he has just made a fool of himself. "Ah... Uh.. Yeah... Great job Auds. I'm going to... Uh... Go that way. Ahem. Just a minute" he blurts out sheepishly, and awkwardly makes his way to a hopefully more secluded portion of the lair not far from the others where he can attempt to compose himself.
Franka's image of an avalanche is suddenly disrupted by an impossible tall Audsley, standing on top of the mountain and dropping a tiny bomb down the slope with a sardonic smile. The avalanche than explodes. Coming back to reality, Franka watches events unfold with open mouth, not finding the words to express her amazement. "Audsley, that was... unexpected. And... effective. Very... very... effective."
Audsley sketches a bow to all corners of the cavern. "I find that when confronted with an intractable problem, a touch of deadly explosives often does the trick."
It's clear he's inordinately proud of himself and trying very hard to appear both nonchalant and modest.
"Ahem. Now. We were, ah, negotiating with the chief?"
"Yeah, yeah Auds. Just give me a minute" sounds off Emil from his corner. From behind the palms that now rub across his face, he deadpans: "I'm picking up my self-esteem here. I'll be done shortly."
"Oh, ah." Audsley's face drops as he realizes how tactless he's been. "Um, please take your time, ah, Emil. There's really no rush now, I don't suppose."
Audsley links his hands behind his back and rocks from the balls of his feet to his heels, studiously avoiding everyone's eyes.
In the aftermath of Emil's explosive outburst and Audsley's equally explosive action, the kobold tribe is left with a single leader in the form of Chief Sootscale. Although most of the kobolds are too timid to investigate their ex-shaman's lair (especially given the grotesque nature of his demise), you are able to explore it and find a large collection of goods that the kobold has been accumulating off of the tribe.
In the lair:
bracers of armor +1,
7,420 cp, 2,132 sp, 302 gp
a masterwork light metal shield
seven +1 flaming crossbow bolts
a pair of boots of elvenkind,
There is also a soiled leather bag that contains 321sp, 249 gp, 13 pp, a pouch containing a single dose of dust of illusion, and a clean goblin skull
Of note, you find a strange journal written in Undercommon. Tucked into the last page is a scroll of Fly
In one most lucid passage after his transformation, "Tartuk" writes of how he approached a strange woman, who set him on a genocidal path. "Once every drop of kobold blood has been spilled, your curse shall be lifted." It then describes a bloody trail of kobold tribes that he had integrated in and led to destruction through a combination of intimidation, spell casting, and a ruse of convincing superstitious kobolds that he possessed a demonic totem.
One other notable passage describes how he was beginning to consider an alternative interpretation to the woman's words, whether or not she was real, and that should he grow tired of reveling in sending kobolds to their deaths, he would Fly as high as he possibly could, and let the end of the spell's duration end his suffering as a scale-bound savage.
Chief Sootscale orders that the remaining pieces of the candle be collected, and distributed far from the tribe. He makes a deep nod in a gesture of respect. "Thank you, soft-skins. Your aid has saved my people from a long torturous death."
In the aftermath, Franka does what she can to put a decent spin on things, speaking in Draconic for his sake. "I am glad we could be here to... solve your problem, Chief Sootscale. I hope our actions have brought lasting friendship between us and your tribe. We will stay in these lands, exploring it and mapping it. Do you know anything that could aid us? We heard about a smart ghoul-like creature?"
She puts an arm around Emil, squeezing to pit some spirit into him. "Come on, Emil. We all have our good days, and the bad. I must say this wasn't my finest hour as well."
--
Intriged by the nature of the candle, Franka weaves some magic and searches for magical resides. She quickly rounds up some of the magical items left in the shaman's den, picking up some interesting non-magical items as well. She quickly checks in with the leader of the kobolds. "Chief, would these items stay with your tribe? Or should we take them, so your tribe can forget about this grizzly affair?"
--
Later that night, Franka studies on her spell. She's had no trouble with the strange journal, but luckily she has some magic to aid her.
The chief looks over the large pile of wealth that the shaman has taken from his people, then makes a negligent motion. "Gold and trinkets can be re-aquired. The lives of my clutchmates cannot be replaced. Take these, as a show of thankfullness and respect for the way you have removed the plague from our tribe."
Franka takes the items while thanking the Chief. "A healing wand. That should come in useful now and again. Won't it, Emil?" she teases. "These boots looks distinctly elvish. Túrante, I assume you will want these? Some crossbow bolts as well. Any takers? Finally, bracers that provide some protection as if you're wearing armor, but without slowing you down. I could don those, just in case we'll get attacked when I haven't had a chance to prepare."
--
With magical aid, Franka eventually manages to decipher the Shaman's diary. Reading it leaves her disturbed, and she shares her findings with the others. "It is a tragic case, if you look at it. The cause of this curse is quite disturbing, and even more so his encounter with this strange woman. I wonder if she was the one who cursed him in the first place, since she apparently knew about it." She considers some more, flicking back and forth. "Tartuk write about a possible alternative interpretation to her words, although he was clearly not in a good state of mind back then. What could he have meant?" She ponders, before suddenly hitting upon a possible solution. "Oh, that's just cruel! You remember what the woman said about every drop of kobold blood spilled? Tartuk was a kobold as well. Could it have been that the curse was never removable? That he needed to die before he could find rest? Because he also had kobold blood in him, I mean... That's just plain evil, giving a man hope like that while sending him on a such a grizzly mission. What would it have done for his conscience, knowing he had led all those kobolds tribes to ruin for naught... It would make me want to kill myself as well, I suppose."
She suddenly barks a mirthless laugh, mindlessly tossing the magical scroll from one hand to the other. "Do you know what the worst part is? His suicide attempt would have failed... The spell has built-in protection against the duration running out while you're still aloft." She shakes her head, a resigned sigh. "It's almost exemplary for his life... Chasing a way out of his misery, that would prove to be futile. Poor fellow."
"They may have been made by elven hands, but that does not preclude them being a gift to someone else," Túrante says after a moment of reflection. "As with all things, where they may be of most use to our venture, there should they be set."
"I really wish the gods would find it in them to send more good days though" he says with a grin that hides a wince, patting Franka on the back, hoping she will let go; her arm is pressing rather insistently on a puncture wound left by the chief mite's mount. "But yeah, that wand should come in handy. Keep it close by, in case another mounted evildoer catches me off of my Flora. What do the boots do Turanthe?"
And as they move away from the shaman's chambers, he muses: "And who is that person he mentions in the journal?"
Túrante answers, "These kinds of boots are made to lighten the step and make it easier to leap and tumble about, whether in battle or just while navigating difficult terrain."
"All in all, it seems a terrible fate for a terrible person. Unless the fate made him evil? Who is to know? Either way, he has found rest."
Audsley nods glumly, following along behind the others. "Where to now?"
Where to now indeed?
In what was a matter of weeks the party has managed to pacify a significant portion of the Stolen Lands. Although there still remains to corners of your map to fill in, you have succesfully forged a foothold into these lawless lands the likes that haven't been seen in decades. You have dealt with the looming threat of the Stag Lord, recruited from some of his followers. You have made diplomatic overtures with tribes of kobolds, slew dangerous (if mildly annoying) menaces, and have succeeded far beyond what might have seemed likely in a dingy inn nearly a month ago.
Where will you go from here? With the major threats to the peace of the Greenbelt dealt with, you're sure that travelers and traders, farmers and frontiersman, soldiers and settlers all will be soon coming to see for themselves what opportunities may be found in the Stolen Lands.
"We need to report back our achievements. People won't know what's happened her unless we send letters back home, detailing our successes in pacifying this lawless land," says Túrante. "Then we need to look to fortifying these accomplishments. Oleg's trading post will not serve as the sole bulwark of civilization - monsters and the like will creep back in if these lands do not come under the sway of a polity."
"A polity? Er... Turante? Could you explain that word please?" asks Emil as he readies Flora up for the remainder of the trip back to the Inn, and from there maybe back to Brevoy. "If you just mean that these people will need protection, I think we're going to have to talk business with the kobolds. And probably gear ourselves up a little more; I think we could all use things that didn't belong to someone else before coming into our possession. And hire some masons for Fort Owlbear. And probably others. Auds, what kind of people do we need to restore the old girl up?"
"A political body or nation," says Túrante. "Basically, if nobody decides to live out here, then it will continue to be wild land inhabited by monsters and bandits." She gestures to the south and says, "Perhaps if the keep served as the focus of a new settlement, and a road connected it to Oleg's, it could serve as a center to a new territory. There's a reason for people to come out here - there's open land, free and clear, where they can make new lives for themselves. But if nobody knows and nobody comes, then things will come crawling back in under cover of darkness, maybe things worse than the Stag Lord."
"We took on the mission of suppressing the monsters and bandits in these lands," she finishes, "but that also means that we have to decide, what next? Roads and bridges and farmhouses? Orchards hidden in the forest with elven rangers protecting the paths? If we simply 'have done' now that the Stag Lord is ended, within a few years this place will be just as dangerous as it was when we first arrived."
"We need to report back our achievements. People won't know what's happened her unless we send letters back home, detailing our successes in pacifying this lawless land," says Túrante.
Franka laughs. "I'm not so sure about that. From what we know so far, our mysterious Solicitor keeps pretty close tabs on what we're doing here. He could have people lined up already, chomping at the bit to settle the lands pacified by the Adventurers in Gold."
She laughs again, then grows a bit pensive as the conversation continues. "I think it would be good for more people to come in, to restore Fort Owlbear, and give the area some semblance of settled land. Still, I'm worried about the cost... Where civilization arrives, other things are pushed out. What of the fey creatures we've met? The ancient grove dedicated to Erastil? The cave under the sycamore with its supposed portal to the Aether? Will there still be place for those kinds of things? Does the Aether Valencia as we know it disappear?"
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"It's up to us to set the guidance for where to settle and what's acceptable," says Túrante. "Unless Restov sends an armed force and expels us, we're the ones who know these lands best now, and we're the ones that people will look to when they ask questions like 'where can I build a safe farm for my family?' and 'what parts of the woods are haunted and dangerous, where I shouldn't go?'."
"You might be right," Franka replies. "But I have the impression that people - humans, I should say, perhaps - are a stubborn lot. Settlers in particular. They'll go where they damn well please. We'd have to consider it, at least, before it's too late."
"I think that we are going to need to determine exactly what kind of support we can now expect from our dear Solicitor. For if we are to rebuild Fort Owlbear, we're going to need quite a lot in terms of resources, skilled laborers, soldiers to then man the fort and so forth. Beyond that, getting those resources to the fort will require building a level road, and perhaps even a bridge or two. None of which we can do without the Solictor's support, both financial and political."
Audsley chews on some dried berries. "Perhaps we should return to Oleg's, make our reports, and wait to see what the Solicitor opines? And then determine if we are all of a like mind?"
"Hmm... We should. But I'm afraid he might not have the same ideas about this land as we do. And people with the gold tend to make the rules" opines Emil, a vague sense of worry forming in the back of his mind.
Deciding that your actions likely have made a significant impact in the stability of the region, the party returns back to Oleg's Trading post. Although your journey back goes without much excitment, your arrival more than makes up with it. From even a mile away the changes to the humble trading post have been notable and the population that inhabits it have swelled past the Trading Post walls. There are pickets of horses, carts, tents, and more curiously, the signs of building materials set aside and carefully stacked. All told, there are as many as 50 people visible at your approach and murmurs and cheers break out at your arrival. Several of the guards salute you, including Kesten Garress.
Coming forward Oleg looks around with a strange mixture of annoyance and amazement at the crowd that has invaded his simple homestead, then grins at you all. "Well, so it appears that you've managed to survive, now haven't you?" He gestures to a massive cauldron that could feed a small army, then to the simple table that nearly a month ago you first had a meal with him. "Stew is ready, come get it while it's hot!" without a trace of irony, he grins and says, "Svetlana will skewer me if supper gets cold, best to see to that."
Dismounting, Emil affectionately taps Flora's flank and comments "Don't worry, I'll groom you right after I'm done avoiding this man a fate worse than death." Passing a hand through his hair, he sighs wearily as he approaches the dinner table. "You know, if anything I'm going to argue for some roads. Actual roads. Hopefully the fae or any of the others will have a problem with that" he comments towards his companions, and takes a seat.
"Yeah, we survived. You know, the land out here is strange and fascinating, but it gets more the former as you travel in, and not necessarily the good kind of strange either" he replies amiably with an overexaggerated wince. "Oleg, what's with all the people here? And the lumber, stones and nails?" he asks, picking up a spoon and eagerly waiting for the cauldron to make it's way towards his end of the table.
Oleg shakes his head at the mention of crowds and lumber. "Been this way for several days; folk comming by that seem to have gotten some fool idea that the Stolen Lands might be openning to settlement soon, or looking for oppurtunities to be had out here. The way a few would tell it, they think the wilds of the Stolen Lands are more civilized than Brevoy these days!" He snorts a bit, then thinks. "Oh, I nearly forgot. When you're finished with your meal, one of those damned birds dropped off another letter for you. 'Side that, I know several people want to talk to you, though I'll try to steer them so they don't overwhelm you. I imagine it's been a few since you've had a full cooked meal."
Audsley tucks into the meal with gusto, chewing with chipmunk cheeks and washing it all down with elderberry juice. He nods enthusiastically along with Emil's account, and then finally pushes his plate away.
"Ah, it's wonderful to be back, Oleg! You won't believe the privations we've suffered in the wilds - cold nights, damp mornings around barely lit fires, poor rations, more walking and riding than I ever thought I'd do in this life..." He trails off, shaking his head as he remembers his woes.
"Still, it makes homecoming all the grander. And yes - a chance to take a look at that missive would be most appreciated. Perhaps thereafter we can start speaking with folks that want speaking to?"
Franka snorts a laugh at seeing what Oleg's humble outpost has turned into. "What did I tell you, Túrante? sommeone's keeping very close tabs on what we do out here..." She steers Heimdall through the picket lines and clusters of people, giving them them a self-conscious wave in response to the salutes. "Ah, Oleg. It's good to see you. Business is booming, ay?" she asks with a laugh.
--
Following Emil's example Franka dismounts. "I'll take care of them. You go assure Svetlana that we'll be in time before supper gets cold." She takes both horses to the stables, takes off the tack and saddle and gives them a quick rubdown. "There. You two have fun." With the horses taken care of, she returns to the group, sparing a quick glance out the gate at the stacks of building material.
--
At Oleg's explanation, Franka gives her companions a knowing smile. "Really, that's quite a coincidence" she says with a slightly innocent tone. "We were just discussing what we should do next, on the way here, and some talk of fixing up Fort Owlbear did come up. Makes you wonder, doesn't it..." The last words comes out a bit louder than necessary, as if she's trying to draw the attention of someone who would be eavesdropping.
Dropping the theatricality, Franka eats her supper in silence for a bit. "It's really appreciated, Oleg, what you're doing for us. I can imagine if must have taken some time to get used to so many people, after it was just you and Svetlana for so long. You're right, by the way, that there's still danger in these lands. And I must say that Audsley is exaggerating slightly; nothing that's unexpected for living outdoors. I think the people who came here will be used to that. And I can see the benefit of more people here - Less chance of bandit resurgence, for one. I'm curious to see that letter, but it can wait for now..."
After you’ve had a measured time to sit and eat (a firm glare from Oleg and a whispered word from Svetlana, a wide range of individuals come to see you. There is an almost overwhelming flood of well-wishers and individuals eager to take your measure: new and old faces.
Kesten Garress inquires on the fate of the bandits and looks forward to bringing Falgrim Sneeg to justice. It seems that he and his band have struck an agreement with the Brevic contingent stationed at Fort Serenko to keep the road between Oleg’s Trading post and the Fort safer than they have been in over a decade.
Jhod Kavken whispers to you that he has been given a vision from Erastil of a deep corrupted heart being cleaned, of life returning to the woods. ”I have seen it, this will be my path of redemption! I will take my place in the temple as its guardian and bring it back to a place of wonder.”
Vekkel Benzen presents you with a massive helping of head cheese from the slain boar, and makes a point of showing you the mounted head of Tuskgutter he’s kept in Oleg’s main room.
A bemused trapper introduces himself as Ateris, and gravely informs you, ”I have been given this duty on behalf of their most noble selves, Perlivash and Tyg-Titter-Tut, as a sign of renewed friendship, respect, and hopes that you will provide more yummies in the future.” He makes a mock bow, then holds out a simple oak leaf, that appears as green as if it was still on a tree. ”I’m not sure what this is, but better safe than sorry with the fae…”
Still others are incredibly curious about your future plans. The Brevic Commerce guild is thankful for your dealing with the kobolds and unseelie influences in the region, hoping to re-secure trade with the riches available. Others are settlers that look to escape from Brevoy. Still others whisper of dangers to the south: sightings of trolls, fae, and other horrors.
As the crowd dies down, Svetlana makes her way to the women of the party and whispers a conspiratorial ”I think it’s working…” before Oleg returns with a massive bag of clinking coins and an unbroken, sealed envelope: the seal a simple red circle with an upturned hand.
Inside, you find two pieces of parchment.
The first is a letter that you immediately recognize the handwriting from:
My esteemed associates:
Once more you have succeeded far beyond my expectations and have been rewarded in commensurate fashion. A sum of coin has been made available, as well as provisions, goods, and materials that you will need in your next steps of in making yours these Stolen Lands. As you have shown uncommon good sense and initiative I will not dictate how you use these, though I may offer a suggestion or two from time to time. Besides, we wouldn’t want Pitax or Mivon to think that an agent of Brevoy was inching to close, would we?
May the gods smile upon you and shield you from the Dust.
The Solicitor
The second letter is much grander, with illuminated lettering and several seals and ribbon. The ink alone probably would have cost a months pay for you months ago.
Be it so known that the bearers of this charter, having delivered the northern reaches of the Greenbelt from the scourge of banditry, having provided detailed maps of the lay of the land, and having done no small amount of work in the exploration of said land and the culling of hostile monsters and indigenous hazards, are hereby granted the right to rule.
The nature and laws of rule are theirs to define, and the wellbeing of this new nation is theirs to protect. In accordance for providing a stable nation to the south of central Rostland, let there be a generous stipend of funds, support, and advice provided to this fledgling nation as a token of Restov and Brevoy’s goodwill, such that future relations between kingdoms might be mutually beneficial.
So witnessed under the watchful eye of the Lordship of Restov and by the authority granted by Lord Noleski Surtova, current Regent of the Dragonscale Throne.
Franka is quickly overwhelmed by the stream of well-wishers and other people that want their attention. Taking the lead in forging their relation with the fae and the kobolds had seemed natural - not least because of her tenuous grasp of Draconic - but these kinds of talks make her feel out of her depth.
She does have some words for Jhod Kavken, ready to head for the temple. "I am glad that we were able to cleanse the temple. I think it would be a good idea for someone to see how the site is at present." He really seemed to know about it already. It must be a powerful site, for him to receive such a vision...
The trapper Ateris's mention of the two fae has Franka's full attention. She approaches him to receive the oak leaf, and laughs at the fae's hope for yummies. "If you see them again, please thank them for the gift. We will be sure to bring plenty of 'yummies' is we ever find ourselves near their home again. Ateris, is it? Have you lived her for long? Who have you find it here, to make a living among the woodland creatures and the few others that choose to settle here?"
She pays attention to the others and their stories, but leaves it to the others to answer, especially when the likes of the Brevic Commerce guild need dealing with. Likewise, Svetlana's conspiratorial whisper earn a confused glance. Huh? What is working?
--
Reading the note from the Solicitor, Franka lets out ad admiring wistle. "Well, at least we made out 'employer' happy. And we get to keep our independence, out here. That suits me fine, really," she says, thinking about the sites she would like to revisit for further study. "someone please remind me: Who are Pitax and Mivon, and what is their stake in our venture here?"
The second letter doesn't earn a whistle, where its content probably would have warranted one. Instead, Franka is struck numb. When she's recovered, she bobs her head left and right on thought. "This is really something, is it? Laws or rule," she quotes. "A fledgling nation... Are we really going to do this, between the five of us?"
Túrante always stays close to someone in the group and frequently demurs when complimentary well-wishers come to call. She seems to be skilled in deflecting attention to her peers while evading notice herself - something that the party may recognize from her earlier comments about not having undue influence on the course of politics in Brevic internal affairs.
When the Solicitor's letter arrives, her ears twitch and she seems to be deep in thought. Finally she says, "Civic matters in Brevoy must be coming to a head. Instead of creating an outpost they are relying on us to establish an independent state - which means they want outsiders to wonder at our motivations and not know whether we are supporters or opponents of Restovian independence, or allies of some outside group. But with Lord Surtova's name on this charter, it's clear that Restov is now sandwiched between us and Issia. It's a smart maneuver, but also one that means we will need to be very diplomatic with Restov."
"Pitax and Mivon are nearby independent city-states," Túrante says to Franka. "In plain terms, Pitax is a domineering monument to one man's ego, while Mivon is a functional small nation with one large town and a few villages, with order kept by swordlords who migrated there many years before. Mivon resulted from political instability in Brevoy in the past, so relations have always been cool; Pitax is estranged from other towns because the ruler is, to be blunt, a tyrant."
|
|
So much for a temporary reassignment.
"Are we opponents to Restovian independence?" Janna blurts out, incredulously, possibly betraying his thoughts on the issue, and quickly changes the subject.
"Do any of you have experience with what they're asking us? Running a kingdom is a bit out of my personal experience- -there's not much overlap between excising bandits and building roads. What exactly does this Solicitor see in us?"
Just how much about us- -about me- -does he know?
Túrante says calmly, "I am, broadly speaking, a supporter of self-determination of the people. But, this maneuver may help to prevent a civil war, and a great deal of bloodshed. It may also prompt an attempt at a diplomatic solution to Restovian turmoil - a peaceful separation instead of a violent one."
"I am, of course, versed in the ways of the court, in law, the responsibilities of nobility, in the drafting of proclamations and management of civic functions, and I am at your disposal to assist in any way that I can."
Emil, mulls over what has been said and finally speaks up. "I don't know anything about whether or not Restov should be independent or not. I don't know a whole lot altogether to be honest. I barely know that that "head cheese" thing isn't cheese and eating brains isn't my thing. What I do know is that these people" gesturing broadly at the assembled pilgriims, travelers and various settlers "are coming down here with the assumtion that someone's going to be there to protect them. And I feel like this assumption is because we cleared out the major problems that plagued this land. In my mind, that makes me responsible for their safety. I won't speak for you, that's not my place. But I am going to try and protect them. And if that means I have to run a kingdom, I'll learn how to; I'll sit my dumb ass down and listen to learned men on "how to rule well". Yeah Janna, you and I have no experience, but that doesn't mean we can't try. And we'll probably get things wrong, and we'll muck other things up and probably stay awake late at night thinking about what we should have done. But I think in the end we'll actually do a great job, because we had a hand in creating this. And because people will be counting on us."
He smiles hopefully and asks: "Adventurers in Gold, are we all going to give this a shot? Anyone with me?"
Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes, please say yes...
Franka nods as she listens to Túrante's explanation. The facts seem clear enough, but the intricacies of the political balance are lost to her. Emil's heartfelt speech resonates better with her, even though she doesn't yet feel a great personal responsibility. "I guess you're right, Emil. So... Does that make us a sort of Council of Elders, for those who come here? Or will we need a figurehead?"
Looking back out across the grassy landscape of the Narlmarches, Túrante says, "From our perch at Fort Owlbear the sun will glitter off the Tuskwater every morning and evening; in the summer, the fields beyond will be rich with wheat and barley and rye, as it is the human fashion to plant such grains on farms throughout the open lands of the river valleys. So I propose that we see to the protection and guidance of this new settlement, and the people whose hopes for a better life lie there with us and our best intentions, as the town of Summergold. A fitting home for these Adventurers in Gold, I think."
"Besides," she says with a wry smile, "Names like that always spawn stories about how they were chosen."
After the sheer shock of your new Charter (and apparent new responsibilities) set in, it is almost brings some relief when more "familiar" needs of dealing with Greenbelt issues provide a much needed excuse from poring over provision requests and managing settlement concerns.
During a break from one of your planning sessions, Kesten Garess approaches the group with a crisp salute. "I hate to interrupt important matters... though honestly, it looks like you could use it. We have a bit of a situation with some of the foresters that are trying to catch game to the South to supplement our expansion efforts."
"It seems that foresters around here have always claimed that parts of the Narlmarches are haunted, but a few frontiersmen that have been bounding in that area haven't returned, and those that have swear by the gods that they've seen a ghost. We can get by provisioning further East, but that's going to slow us down a fair clip. Think you can investigate matters?"
He provides the approximate location on the map as to where the "haunting" supposedly is. It is suspiciously close to where you previously met the fae Perlivash and Tyg-Titter-Tutt
"I like Summergold! It sounds nice... Wait. It's not a name that'll change with the seasons right? Just "Summergold"? Just checking..." Kesten's arrival silences the cavalier who listens attentively to his words. Finally, after a few moments processing the information he comments "Ghost sightings huh? I don't know much about ghosts or what to do with them, but we can at least check up on them and see what happened to the others. If it's a ghost, I guess we'll have to ... come up with something? I know we have money set aside for provisioning in Restov, but maybe we can buy some things here that might help. Can we rent a cleric? Or a cleric's insight? Or better, Auds, Franka, what do you know about ghosts?"
"Ghost or maybe faerie..." says Túrante softly.
"Summergold..." Franka cocks her head as if tasting the name. "Yeah, I could see that working."
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Franka listens with interest as Garess tells his story. She can't avoid a smile when we says where the haunting is supposed to have happened, nodding to Túrante's soft words. Yep. "Hmmm. Thanks for bringing this to our attention Kesten. It's good to know what troubles people. We've actually been there ourselves, and I have a good idea what these frontiersmen are talking about. The forest isn't haunted, but it would still be best for them to avoid the area, even if it slows them down."
She leans in closer conspiratorially, but keeps her voice clear enough to be heard. "There's actually some woodland creatures living there that like their privacy and have some minor magical ability. They use it to discourage people from settling there. They aren't dangerous at all, and we'd like to respect their homes. So, you can see it's best to just leave the area alone for now."
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"Summergold, Home of the Adventurers in Gold," Janna repeats chuckling. "I suppose it's better than Owlbearsburg or Fort Owlbear City or something. But we should be worrying about the city surviving long enough for its name to be remembered. The Stolen Lands are full of failed settlements. Some are lucky to see multiple summers, let alone any gold."
Lassen.
He shakes his head at the brief memory, doing his best to pass it off as a shiver.
--
"For now, we should probably worry about ghost stories before we end up with a ghost town." he turns to Franka. "Think our friends would let our fellows pass through if we convince them they are only passing through?"
"I think we ought to go and have a look personally. Usually if someone is complaining about how 'someone in charge should do something,' I've found, it means that there's a dispute, and that means the other side has a complaint, too. If the 'other side' in this case really is our old acquaintances, we should hear from them."
"Oh... OOOOOH! Right. Them. There. Okay." exclaims Emil as things suddenly start to click. "Well, like I said. We should go. Sort things out. Maybe see where everyone has gone to. And if they are able to come back."
Kesten shrugs. "It could be fae, it could be ghosts, it could be haunts... I'm not sure. 'Superstitious' is probably the wrong word, but anyone that's lived in these forests long enough is probably jumpy enough to steer clear of a situation they don't understand."
He thinks. "At this point, it's near impossible to decide what is real and what is rumor, but I've heard several mention of strange noises, seeing something that isn't really there, and just a general feeling that something was wrong."
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"Regardless of what is causing the reports, there are missing settlers," Janna states.
I've gone from 'soldier' to 'settler' in a couple of months.
"Let's find our people, first. We can sort out why, once we learn a bit more. It'll be nice to ride again," Janna nods to Emil.
Garess is right- a break from the town will be nice.
"Alright then! I'll get everyone's horses ready" says Emil, a twinge of excitement in his voice.
After making some preparations and gathering your horses, you set off into the Greenbelt, entering the Narlmarches through the Thorn River Ford. How strange it is that only months ago you could set off into the wilderness without needing to inform *someone* that you were leaving. In your short travel, you can already see increased signs of human inhabitation in the previous trackless area.
You uneventfully pass by the Thorn River camp where you encountered Kressle and her men. The area has now has been staged by foresters to store some supplies and you can make a ready camp. One small benefit in the increased stability in the region, at least.
Finally, you approach the site where the strange activities were reported, not far from the Camp. While you don't initially find any sign of supernatural activity, on the south side of the Thorn River you discover a gruesome sight. You discover the remains of a man dressed in the leather and browns that is almost a uniform for woodmen in this area is, his legs crushed under several large logs that seem recently cut. It is hard to tell exactly how long he had been deceased as animals had started to get to him, though you do locate a well crafted axe in a nearby cut stump. You also note a rope dangling from a tie-off in the tree above.