Wyvurn's admonishments, backed with small sparks appearing around Tsarok's head, quickly convince the yokels to back off. It occurs to you that they were making a show because they were scared of him, which may be why they are so easy to scare off.
Jaegr:
"I thought so," he replies. "You're not an emissary of Balin's. Please, accept the hospitality of the fort, Sir Jaegr. If you need anything, do not hesitate to let someone know, and please forgive my grave lack of courtesy in starting our conversation... can I offer you a glass of Scotch? It's distilled in the village of Wolvishton, just north of here."
Jaegr nods and says, "Good. Thank you for the drink. No need for you to apologize about anything, the direct approach is the preferred one with mountain dwarves like myself. Stick with that and we won't have a problem."
Jaegr enjoys the drink not knowing much about it, and enjoys the moment of conversation, not knowing anything about any undercurrents in the conversation.
Jaegr returns after a little while nods to Kelgan and returns to his thoughts.
Tsarok rolls his eyes as the cowards scamper off with their tails between their legs. "These 'civilised' people seem to live as if they were scared beasts, fearful of anything unknown. They are not so far above my kind, much as they like to pretend that they are."
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"Stop talking and get back in your cage bra-boom monster!"
Caspian laughs....
of course Cricket is the one the men should be afraid of.....
Time comes to depart the fort. Cricket and Wyvurn are used to living outdoors; assuming they take 10 on Survival checks, they press Fenrift's guys outfit you all with warmer clothes, so that you don't freeze to death, and waterproof boots, so that your feet don't rot and/or get frostbite from cold water in the moors. (Tsarok, the only other party member used to living in those conditions, needs no boots. Being cold-blooded; he presumably uses his Survival skill to time his movements, conserve energy, and lie in the weak sunshine as needed.)
The decision whether to head north, skirting both forest and hills, or whether to go cut through the highlands and then down into the moors, has yet to be made.
Caspian looks at the potential paths ahead and looks at his bagpgipes,
"Wouldn't be right to not take these pipes into the highlands and moors!"
Caspain starts a marching song, but does not choose a direction.....
"Can you get me a dossier on Lord Fairpoint before I go? One of the bounty hunters we defeated mentioned that name in connection with the mastermind, and I need a better idea of the allies he has and their resources before I confront him."
"Sure, I'll send him in."
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"We should head through the highlands. It's fine mountain territory, and you can see what's about you. Though it's been years, I still know these hills from my misspent youth."
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Jaegr nods at Kelgan's suggestion, "If you think you can guide us then let us head that way." Even though Kelgan is clearly a superior member of his race, Jaegr keeps his thoughts about the chance of running into other hill dwarves to himself.
Kelgan,
No one really knows Fenrift too well, but you've gotten pretty good at correlating his verbal shifts with his more oblique "requests." This time is no different. "Sergeant," he says, "Your orders are of course to follow up on the assassination thing, regardless of where, geographically, that investigation and its aftermath takes you. Of course civilians cannot be given official status, but there are no rules against you traveling with others, by whatever route you deem most prudent. In the event you finish quickly, however, and if your companions seem particularly mettlesome, I'd urge you to return by the fastest possible route, avoiding the highlands -- we are of course always in dire need of competent adventurers.
"On the other hand, if the campaign in the moors is protracted, further orders will be sent to you there. By the way, recruitment of the lizard tribes as military allies will be considered a success in and of itself, if what I'm thinking comes to pass.
"Finally -- a personal favor in no way connected with your orders, and that should in no way interfere with your duties: my young daughter has been missing for a week. Any rumor or word of her possible whereabouts or fate would be appreciated." His face and voice show absolutely no emotion; he might be asking about the weather. But you notice he's wearing his sword belt even inside, at his desk, surrounded by soldiers.
Caspian sings a tune...
"Over the highlands and through the moors to Tasarock house we go..."
Kelgan knows the way to carry on for pay
Through white and drifted blow.
Over the highlands and through the moors,
Oh, how the wind does blow.
It stings the toes and bites the nose
As over the ground we go.
Over the highlands and through the moors ,
Trot fast my goblin gay;
Spring o'er the ground just like a hound,
For this is our finest day.......
Cricket is still too befuddled and discombobulated after his encounter with the racist underwater stars to trot, neither fast nor gay. He can pull it together enough, however, to totally use his awesome woodsy skills to help the party (Survival taking 10 = 18) and even offer Tsarok a daily endure cold spell, if he so wishes.
He seems to not spend as much time paying attention to Wolvie, however, who, feeling hurt, spends much of his time trying to lick the dwarves.
What?!? It made him less sexy?!?
The trip into the highlands is slow going -- the annoyance of the constant uphill slog is compounded by the fact that the rutted trail you're on zigzags back and forth, to keep the grade reasonably gentle, so it seems like you're hardly making any forward progress at all. Occasional low stone walls, mostly in rubble, indicate that at one point this edge of the hills was more civilized than it is now.
And, of course, there's the problem that, sometime around Day 2 of the trip, someone yells in very bad Hill Dwarf-accented Common: "Put your weapons and valuables on the ground, then keep walking, except for the little jester in the wood elf clothes. We'll keep him for entertainment!"
The voice is coming from a hill dwarf face, squinting in the aim of a heavy crossbow pointed in your direction. The rest of the dwarf is behind a low stone wall, about fifty feet away.
Cricket and Kelgan:
Cricket rolls for initiative or casts barkskin.
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Wyvurn curses under his breath. The dwarves' ambush now apparent. He blames himself for getting lost in his own musings as to why the cold of the mountains and the heat of the burning distillery didn't have much of an effect on him. The scar from the old bite in the goblin lair itching just a little as if it plays some role.
"Fie ye foolish swaggers. You've no idea who you've pointed them steelbands at. Count your teeth and slack them strings before you're counting them on the ground. If'n so much as one of ye skulks so much as scratches them what's under my watch, I'll boil you in my still and sell your bones to your granpappy for spit and silver."
"Actually we'll be asking you to do the same, minus you giving us another one of him.", pointing at Cricket, "No offense" he says to the goblin.
Initiative
"I'm the one with fine bagpipes and they want him for entertainment.....oh I see these are real hill people!"
Cricket is beyond the reach of his companions' petty jibes.
Escaping the confines of the human lands and returning to much more familiar grounds puts Tsarok in quite a good mood as they march through the hills. He'd prefer to avoid the chill of the mountains and go underneath the safety of the forest - but the stout one seemed confident in his ability, so there was little point in arguing.
At the very least, the rocks they pass by tend to absorb the sun's rays, and occasionally Tsarok picks one up to nurse the warmth from.
And then there were dwarves, and the lizard-man can do little but arch a brow in response. He wonders how he managed to make it to the human lands without running into a half-dozen ambushes therein; did this lot he'd taken up with just attract trouble?
"You block the way to my homeland. The storm will rain down upon you if you persist in doing so, rock-cobblers."
Bandits' Initiative:
Ha! Kelgan's diligence and instant response catches them quite off-guard.
Bluff:
It's clear they have no idea who you are, but the sight of the lizard man and hobgoblin makes them a little uneasy. The leader lowers his crossbow and asks, with a tinge of fear in his voice:
"Are you with Obmi, sir?"
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"Not by all the breath in me. I'm my own dwarf and take orders from none but my belly and my bladder. Since ye are bandying about names, though, I've one of my own: Giovanni. Any of ye had dealings with or know of any who have with that swollen sh!t sack?"
Kelgan steps forward, to get a better look at the dwarf. He still hasn't drawn his own weapons, confident in his ability to cow these cowards with words alone.
The bandit spits, before replying in rapid Hill Dwarf. "That one thought he could start his own Family in the big city, without paying the tribute back here. If his throat got cut tomorrow, no one would cry."
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"Aye. He got in my way so I blew up his forge and him along with it. Scattered his bloody bits across the city, so everyone got wise that messing with me was a bad idea. Ye can let me make that point again here, or ye can rather run along and pass the word: Kelgan Cragbelly's back in the Highlands, and ye'd better stay the hell out of his way or ye'll die screaming."
Kelgan's shiney head is a constant reminder that Caspian wants a set of bongos.......
Sometimes he catches himself wanting to thump it to see what sound it makes.....
Knowledge (Warfare):
"Your name rings no bells here, Paesan, but your glaive does! Go on your way; Golvetto and his boys will not bar it today. Watch out for Obmi -- he fancies himself a great bandit chief now, and might well be. Also, a lyndwyrm lives in the tarn east of here; it ate poor Flindi yesterday."
"Smart choice, Golvetto. As for the warning about the wyrm and Obmi, here's a little something in return. Brewed it myself. If ye got more words, I'll hear them."
Kelgan approaches the leader and draws out one of the small bottles of whiskey. He hands it over and waits.
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Golvetto seems quite nervous to have you within dagger's reach, and wonders if you plan to kill him when he reaches for the bottle. After no such death stroke falls, he nods and says,
"Of course! If you have been away, you need news, my friend. Things are much as they have been -- we protect our families in the villages, and collect tolls from interlopers; there are many more such now that a pass across the mountains to Aramni has been found to the south, so the pickings are usually good. Obmi's band has had great success, and he thinks to put the rest of us 'honest' bandits out of business.
"Otherwise, I am not so sure. There are rumors of activity at the old pile of rocks to the northeast, the one the humans called Skarn Keep. You'll recall they abandoned the place years ago after all their people were driven mad. Why anyone would go back is a great mystery, if indeed it is true."
Jaegr will let Kelgan do the talking as Jaegr would prefer to just thump these bandits but getting information is always a good thing.
Check for when needed:
Caspian helpfully adds to Jaegr's check ....+4
"Aye, I know the one. Humans are foolish and fill their heads with flights of fancy. No doubt they've forgotten what happened and the new ones will all die too."
"Can you point out yonder tarn where lairs the wyrm? I've always sought a scaled cloak, and this one might fit."
"Mark the pass on my map. It's good to know of it, though I doubt those devil-worshippers will bring anything good into the hills besides their gold."
"Tell me more of Obmi. If he's starving honest families, that's something I won't stand for."
"Lastly, I seek an elf-daughter, kidnapped from the Keep. Proper bounty on her. A young one, likely in her second or third decade. You hear of someone like that recently?"
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The meeting with the now apparently friendly bandit-dwarves has shifted from an annoyance to merely tedious, so Tsarok finds a sunny spot nearby and lounges out for a while. Sadly without some bad jazz in the background and a cocktail in hand, lounge lizard that he is.
-----
Later, Tsarok will look for the sort of food that suits his palette, having a penchant for raw meat (maggots are fine too!) and various grubs. Caspian may find some amusement in the fact that he really enjoys eating crickets, although the joke is likely to be lost in translation.
He misses the swamp with its bounty of delicious treats...
Caspian may find some amusement in the fact that he really enjoys eating crickets, although the joke is likely to be lost in translation.
"Tell me more of Obmi. If he's starving honest families, that's something I won't stand for."
After marking up Kelgan's map, Golvetto shrugs expressively. "What can I say of Obmi? The less the better. He was one of Scappo's hard boys; as mean as they come. He has a hammer that comes back to his hand when he throws it, and is as likely to throw it at disloyal soldiers as at civilians. I would not cross him, not even for the gold you're going to pay me for all this information..."
Caspian picks up a few words here and there given his linguistics skill and the time he has spent in Burl's around the dwarves. It is likely that he will learn the language in time but for now he just listens and observes....
He also guesses the hill dwarves must be more competent than this crew, though one did say that one of his fellows was eaten by something that they know where was.....maybe they meant he was eaten and now they know where the critter is....
Bongos, for certain bongos.....
Moving along!
Kelgan:
Based on your newly-updated map, it looks like the "lyndwyrm" lake is the closest place with a lot of fresh water. But Cricket can prepare create water, and enough of you have good enough Survival skill, that thirst ends up not being a problem. You can therefore avoid the local monster and continue on your way.
The next day, Wyvurn and Cricket spot some fresh elk tracks where some moss covers the rocks, and you guys are able to track the thing and shoot it. Food is covered!
Once, from the height of a ridge, you see a column of hill dwarves -- a couple dozen of them -- marching along a path in the distance.
Every night when you camp, it's a bit colder, and firewood is getting hard to come by. Cricket takes to preparing endure elements for everyone who lacks that ability on their own, and you all might have to get used to cold food.
Eventually, you crest a ridge and see a pond below -- and beyond that, standing water and some scrub trees. You've reached the Altland Moors.
So, this is the Altland Moors, huh? Looks around. It's kinda pretty, in an austere way. Which way, Master Dwarf?
"It may be time for Tsarok to lead the way now that we are in the moors"