"I... I'm not a healer!" Signey exclaims worriedly. "I don't know what to do! Maybe tomorrow, after some prayer..."
Reynwyn feels horrible, in pain, and sweating profusely, but not in danger of death from the poison.
Reynwyn smiles as the key turns the lock, but suddenly he feels the sharp prick and a realization of dread washes over him just as the burning sensation spreads throughout his body. He stumbles to the side and falls to his knees as he begins to retch violently upon the stone floor as his stomach twists and convulses as it tries to empty itself. Jareth caws and flaps from Reynwyn's shoulder onto the floor next to him and stares at the young half-elf, cawing and carefully pecking at his leg.
After a few moments of dry-heaving he gasps and wipes off his mouth as he falls back onto his backside. "Careful... there's a trap..." He closes his eyes as his vision continues to swim. "I feel terrible." Jareth flaps back to his perch at Reynwyn's shoulder and makes a sort of inquisitive coo'ing sound. "No, I'm okay Jareth. I hope that was the worst of the poison though..."
Despite Reynwyn's pain and weakness, the party looks down on a box full of valuable coins and jewellery, and also Kehlann Majarra's lockbox. Whoever "V" is, and whatever the designs of the sheriff and her goblinoid lackeys, it appears that they have been stopped in their tracks.
Relieved to see that Reynwyn is not fading away, Revjak says:
"We have our prize! But we should clear out the last few rooms, in case any last goblins or servants of Shar are hiding within!"
Reynwyn nods and groans as he stands, swaying on his feet. "Perhaps a short rest to recover some of my strength first? After that, I am more than glad to finish ridding this place of remaining denizens."
Revjak nods.
"That is fine by me, friend. You lie there for a spell."
"I appreciate that, Revjak. I believe perhaps this has been a test of sorts for me. Perhaps divine retribution for the destruction of the summoning pool." He smiles weakly and spends sometime focusing on centering himself.
The hunt for the prize is over, but I agree we should tidy up a bit. Shall we?
Reynwyn, feeling unable to continue, lays down for an hour, and the rest of the party rests as well.
When he rouses, Reynwyn feels much better. While still a bit weak and shaky, his strength has largely returned, and the nausea and sweating have passed.
Taking possession of the two lockboxes, the party moves back down towards the goblin common room, towards the last of the unexplored doors. The first is in the corridor just north of the common room, and appears to be a medium-sized torture chamber. Hooks, spikes, pinchers and other instruments of torment and persecution are hung about the walls. In addition, the center of the chamber is dominated by a large and revolting pile of slimy goblin excrement. The smell is nauseating, and there are flies everywhere. You all partake in a swift search of the room, but there is nothing of value nor interest to be found, and no other exits from this room.
The last unexplored door leads to what appears to be a kitchen. A bubbling cauldron full of rotten meat sits atop a roaring fire in a recessed hearth. Wooden tables are weighed down by animal carcasses in varying states of butchery. There is a small well in one corner. Two dirty, naked human males cower near the fire place, not daring to look at you. They look more like frightening dogs than people.
Revjak is not undeterred by the stenches, but he does not relish the goblin reek.
And then they find the pair of men.
With his glaive held to the side, and his arms spread wide, he speaks to them.
"The goblins are all fled or dead. Ye need fear them no longer. Who are ye?"
"We should leave them be." says Piety as he dumps out the pot of what is likely manflesh. "Slaves rarely have anything of value to offer in conversation."
Nonsense, Piety, we free them, now!
Carric sets to work on freeing the prisoners.
Come now, you are free to go.
The two men refuse to look at you, their fear-filled faces fixated on the floor.
Revjak is appalled to see men brought to such a lowly state.
Better dead then this! But maybe they have some spark left in them yet.
"If ye will not speak, so be it. But you are coming with us, back to Melton. You will be slaves no longer."
The two men don't move, but one of the mutters in a feverish voice, "No... leave us be... it's another trick... leave us...!"
Revjak speaks again.
"No trick. My glaive blade has tasted goblin blood, and the end has broken their skulls. My companions have done likewise. You are free from the goblins, whether you believe it or not."
Revjak speaks again.
"No trick. My glaive blade has tasted goblin blood, and the end has broken their skulls. My companions have done likewise. You are free from the goblins, whether you believe it or not."
The one who spoke, an emaciated ginger-haired man, raises his eyes to Revjak's for a brief moment, then drops them to the floor again. "Do... do you speak true? We are free?" He starts to stand slowly. "Can you... can you get us home?" At this, the other man, also emaciated but tall and dark-haired, looks over as well.
Revjak nods. And feels relief that he has gotten through to the men.
"Yes, and yes. Where are you men from? We have to return to Melton, and I would recommend that you come with us for at least that far. The roads are not the safest."
The ginger-haired man meets your gaze again - his eyes are like those of a beaten dog. "We're from Triboar," he whispers, his voice quiet but a little stronger. "Are you leaving? Now? We will come." He seems to be regaining his sense of self a little as he talks to you. He turns to his fellow prisoner. "Mikel, stand. Let's get out of this hellhole and get home." The taller man slowly unfurls, standing up slowly at his companion's words, although he looks ready to flee from you all at a moment's notice. The ginger-haired man looks at Revjak. "I'm Jereth Windpeak. Please, get us out of here."
"Jereth. Mikel. I have no spare clothes for you, and the goblins' rags are barely worth the name. But we did find the quarters of the masked one, the *former* sheriff of Melton. There may be some decent clothing there. And you are welcome to weapons. We did come across a few.", he finishes with a grin.
"Armed slaves never ends well." mutters Piety to himself.
Some of you recall seeing some discarded clothes in the hobgoblin bedroom - they are ill-fitting and hardly fashionable but they serve to allow the men some modesty.
Revjak gives Piety a strange look at his comment.
"A man is armed in the tribe of the Elk. I know southerners do not always carry weapons but that sounds strange to me Piety."
Strabe, indeed. We should move on.
Once the men are clothed in dirty hobgoblin clothes, you arm them with goblin scimitars. They seem unfamiliar with holding weapons, but they stand a little straighter once they have them. Piety gathers up the body of the constable, and the party makes its way out of the subterranean temple to Shar.
You exit the temple to a bright autumn morning; the sun is shining, and there is a strong, fresh breeze blowing from the north. It has only been 17 or 18 hours since you entered the temple, yet it feels like an eternity since you have seen the blue sky.
7pm, 7th of Eleint, 335 NR (1367 DR)
The trek back to Melton is uneventful, but takes the whole day. The sun is dipping towards the horizon as the town walls come into view. As you approach the gate, the watchmen scampers down from his perch near the top of the wall to meet you. When he sees the body of the constable in Piety's arms, his face twists in confusion, and he lets you pass without challenge.
You head to the Weary Knight Inn, and see Kehlann's wagons are still hitched outside. When you enter the common room, which is filled with perhaps 20 people spread out among the large tables, conversation stops dead. Kehlann leaps to his feet as you enter, a broad grin on his face.
"You made it back! Well done! Is everyone alright? Did you get my lockbox?" His words trail off as he sees the body that Piety carries.
There is something of a commotion as the townsfolk realise their constable, one Frieda Greatheart, is dead, and they listen openmouthed to the party's tale. They shake their heads to hear of her treachery, but no one seems to doubt your tale. The old innkeep, Seth Greenhill, just shakes his head. "She ain't never been right since her boy died four winters ago. But by Tymora, I'd 'a never thought she'd go down that path." He makes a sign of warding, and turns back to the bar to get the party drinks, "On account of how ye've ended the goblin threat to our town." Maybe the grumpy old innkeep isn't all bad.
Once the hubbub has died down, Kehlann takes you all up to his chambers, apparently very keen to take possession of his lockbox once more. You leave the two rescued men in the common room and follow him upstairs. Once you are all inside, he turns to you. "Thank you again, my friends. You have my eternal gratitude... and I will make that more than just words once we reach Waterdeep. Now, please, may I have my property back?"
Revjak relishes the bright sun and fresh air on his face. It is warmer than what he is used to, but pleasant. And a damn sight better than the goblin hole the party has just departed.
He asks Jereth and Mikel questions about their lives before slavery, trying to get a picture of the men. And to encourage them to feel their freedom. And who knows, he might learn something.
Back in town, he replies "Loss can cut deeper than a blade.", as if quoting someone.
A little later he says, "Cheers for the ale, innkeep!" before heading upstairs.
"You are welcome Kehlann, and it is good to see you hale and hearty! We did good work, Melton is that much safer and your box is returned. Here it is."
And with that, the giant northerner places the lockbox - carefully - in front of Kehlann.
Carric simply tags along with Revjak, smiling at the show of gratitude and joining in the brief celebration before returning the box to their benefactor.
The men begin to come to life somewhat during the walk to Melton. Revjak finds out that they are two friends, both the sons of merchants, who had travelled to Melton to visit a lass that Jereth fancied, and to talk to her parents about a betrothal. They were waylaid south of Melton by goblins and brought to the temple eight months ago. They shiver and stop talking when they reach that point, and it is obvious they have been tortured and toyed with for two thirds of a year.
Kehlann breathes a sigh of relief as the Majarra lockbox is placed in front of him. "Well done, friends. You have no idea how important it is that this reaches Waterdeep. I will see you well looked after once we get home." He looks at you all and takes a key from his pocket. "I'd better check it hasn't been looted." He puts the key in the lock and turns it.
You're not sure what you were expecting to see when Kehlann opened the box, but it was certainly more exciting than the reality. There are two small velvet jewellery bags, but Kehlann pushes them aside and reveals a medium-sized book bound in blue leather. It looks like a journal or record book. Kehlann sighs in relief, puts the jewellery bags back on top, and closes and locks the box once more.
"Well that's that then. All's well. We might head off by mid-morning tomorrow, so if there's anything you need you'll have the morning to go and buy it. Thanks again, my friends. Come on, let me buy you all a stiff drink." With that, he waves you all back down to the common room.
Revjak will enjoy the stiff drink and the glow of a victorious outing.
He will try to procure Jereth and Mikel some fresh clothes, and get them to talk with himself, his companions, and the locals.
Revjak makes it known that the rescued prisoners need decent attire, and an obliging citizen leaves to get some of his son's old clothing. The two men are still somewhat shell-shocked and skittish, but they appear to be holding up alright now that they have a tankard of ale and the company of friendly faces. They thank Revjak again for the party's assistance, and pledge that they will make it up to you all.
"Where are you all headed now?" asks Jereth, the more vocal and recovered of the two. "You're more than welcome to stay with my family in Triboar if you need to, for any length of time."
A half-elf has been quietly strumming his lute in a corner since the party arrived, and after a while he approaches Carric, enquiring after the party's doings, and their story of the defeat of the goblin threat.
The attractive barmaid smiles prettily at Reynwyn as she pours him an ale. "Where are you from, Master Half-elf?" she asks. "Do you plan to stay in Melton very long?"
In general, Piety finds himself left alone. None of the locals seem to know quite how to approach him, let alone what he is.
As the previous night, once he delivered the body of the sheriff and was involved in telling the story of the group's exploits, Piety returned outside and stood guard impassively, while once again running formulas and calculations for creating Golems in his head.
Carric regales the bard with stories of the groups' exploits in battle and how they successfully undertook and acquired an item of interest while defeating the goblin lair. He lays on Revjak's melee prowess, his archery skills, Renwyn's magic, and Piety's brute strength and mechanical distinctions.
Revjak is happy to talk with the locals and the two they rescued while he works on his glaive with a whetstone, and brings up the caravan.
"Triboar is on our way. Kehlann, what do you think? Two more for the road south?"
Turning back to the two:
"How are ye for weapons? If you are in need, I can find some. Even a dirk can make a difference in battle."
Carric regales the bard with stories of the groups' exploits in battle and how they successfully undertook and acquired an item of interest while defeating the goblin lair. He lays on Revjak's melee prowess, his archery skills, Renwyn's magic, and Piety's brute strength and mechanical distinctions.
@Revjak: Kehlann nods mid-swig, swallows, wipes his lips, and says, "But of course. We have replenished our provisions, and can certainly offer company to you two on your way back to Triboar." With that, he stands up, downs the rest of his drink, and makes his goodbyes, pleading an early rise on the morrow.
@Piety: While you stand contemplating the energy flows required to power your own limbs, a little old man steps outside the inn and approaches you slowly. "Just wanted to say, my boy and his wife were done in by those goblins. Had a little house on some land a mile or so out of town. He was my only son, and never got to have any of his own. So, my thanks for puttin' a stop to them. Now they can't take anyone else's lads or lasses away from them." He gives a nod of his head and heads off for home.
The half-elf lutist, who introduces himself as Glennian Farwhisper, seems intrigued by the references to Shar and the mask. He's happy to discuss the other facets that you've focused on, such as the party members' valour in battle, but at one point he does divert from those topics, asking, "So did the mask appear to have any magical properties, apart from the glowing eyes?"
Piety says "You are most welcome. I'm glad to see our actions have made a positive difference in your life."
"Aye. The sheriff raised a hand, the mask's eyes glowed purple, and the hallway fell into total darkness. It did not save her from the bite of my glaive!" , he adds proudly.
Nor the point of my arrow.
Carric adds with a slap to Revjak's back.
Glennian nods thoughtfully, then follows Carric and Revjak as they turn the focus back to their valour and skill.
A while (and four pints) later, Glennian's eyes are somewhat droopy, and talk has turned to many different stories of heroism, both from Carric and Revjak relating their own adventures, and from Glennian, telling all manner of exciting tales. After a lull in the yarn-spinning, Glennian sits up a little straighter. "You know, there's an old tale about a mask like that in the North, years ago, if not centuries. An instrument of the Lady of Shadow, 'tis said. A fearsome artifact in the hands of a powerful servant of Shar. And glowing purple eyes, conjuring darkness... it all kind of fits the tale, doesn't it? Ah well, I guess we'll never know." He stands up abruptly, then sways a little. "Time for bed for me, lads. Well met, and may we meet again!" After a brief period of hand-clasping and well-wishing, the bard totters up the stairs.
Reynwyn looks up from his journal to see the flirtatious barmaid and smiles. "I'm come from Daggerford originally, but left home behind for some adventure. I am not sure how long we will stay in Melton as I am in the employ of master Kehlann to guard his caravan on our way to Waterdeep. So I imagine once he is well enough to travel we will be on our way. What about you, dear? Surely one as pretty as you cannot be a local of Melton." He winks at her.
While Revjak and Carric regale the half-elf bard, and many of the other patrons, with tales of high adventure, Reynwyn strikes up an ongoing conversation with the barmaid, Nida. As the night winds up, the warlock and the barmaid continue to flirt. Nida is obviously interested, and she hints that Reynwyn would be welcome to accompany her to her little cottage down the street. She takes her apron off and hangs it up, turns to Reynwyn, and gives him a questioning smile.
As she does, a shadow flashes across her face. The shadow, brief as it is, is unmistakably the face of Ania, Reynwyn's ex-betrothed, staring at his with eyes of loss and pain. A split second later, Ania is gone, and Nida continues to wait for a sign. Then - flash - another shadow, this time his Queen, staring at him with amusement, yet with a strange intensity. Then she, too, is gone.
Revjak enjoys the company of Carric and Glennian, and boasts:
"If that *hic* goblin wretch ever shows his masked face again, I would take it from his corpse and be happy to have you check it!"
When he sees Reynwyn getting on well with the barmaid, he gives his companion an encouraging lift of his ale mug and resumes conversation with the others.
The next morning, he swings by the local establishments, with only a slightly sore head and a hankering for armour...
11am, 7th of Eleint, 335 NR (1367 DR)
You all rise in various states of disrepair the next morning, and there is a period of general provisioning throughout the morning (although some of you miss that entirely). An hour before midday, the caravan rolls out, Kehlann's family lockbox restored, and everyone in good spirits.
An uneventful couple of days follow, and on noon of the third day on the road the caravan arrives at Triboar. The small walled town is strategically located where the Long Road and the major trail to the east (sometimes called the Evermoor Way, which lead to Silverymoon, although a commonly used name for the route has never been established). It houses about 2,500 souls, and the currently elected Lord Protector is Faurael Blackhammer - he has held the post for 40 years or more. Triboar has a variety of local businesses, and there are a number of ranches around the the town that bring their livestock to town for trading.
Jereth and Mikel are thrilled to be home, finally. They have come to life throughout the trip, and you have discovered that Jereth can be quite forthright, even blunt, while the tall and lanky Mikel has quite the dry sense of humour. Jereth insists that the caravan park up at his parents' large house, and you all oblige his request. His family are horse traders, and beyond feeding you and putting you up for the night, they insist on awarding you all with a fine mount each (all of you, add a riding horse to your equipment, and feel free to name it!).
The next day, you are all on the road again, knowing that you have more than a tenday on the road before you reach Waterdeep. Your mounts are welcome additions - you now ride alongside the wagons rather than walking, and are far more mobile in case of an attack.
2pm, 14th of Eleint, 335 NR (1367 DR)
Four days out of Triboar, the caravan is forced off the main road by a rockfall at the beginning of a small pass through high hills. The caravan travels to the east, along a winding trail through the lightly wooded hills. An hour or so later, as the trees press in closely on either side of the trail, you see a figure, sitting up a tree...
Revjak is more than happy to enjoy the hospitality of Jereth's family, and is thrilled to be given a fine mount.
"Thunder! Like your hooves when we charge into battle!", he exclaims, rubbing the horse on the nose happily.
******
Revjak raises an arm to wave at the stranger.
"Ho stranger! How is the breeze up there?"
Piety, not wishing to subject a horse to his weight, will simply tie it to one of the caravan wagons.
"What message do you bring?"
Carric enjoys the hospitality, and he chooses a dappled gray mount.
I shall call you Smoke!
Carric slowly draws an arrow to his bow as Revjak speaks to the visitor in the tree. He is very familiar with the area as he was a member of the Knights in Silver of Silverymoon.