"Oh, my. I hope she's okay. I hope the crysmal's okay, too."
Neither Caladra nor the crysmal are to be found in the main hall where the hempen ladder descends from the bottom of the shaft.
This ominous portent is rendered harmless, though, as you instead find the two of them standing by the partially barricaded tunnel branching off towards the Darklands pathway.
They are not alone.
A short, stout woman possessing a slate gray complexion stands at the tunnel mouth. Stringy gray hair hangs down from beneath a cap woven from white silk, and an impatient expression slightly breaks from her face as she sees you approach.
"About time," the small, gray woman says in strangely accented Common Taldane. "One more instant of waiting and I was about to leave and never come back.
"Then again, as I told this one," she says with a stubby thumb pointed to Caladra, "The only reason I was patient at all was because you Overburn folks oughta be better customers than those trogs. They had their gems, but those aren't exactly scarce back home."
Cyrioul, Bree, and Thorek recognize this visitor from below as a Svirfneblin, a "deep gnome" from the Darklands.
Caladra further introduces her as Novvi, explaining that she is a traveling merchant.
"I was surprised to hear the trogs were all dead," Novvi muses, "But I suppose that's the way it goes. Anyhow, shall we do business?"
"I don't see why not," Cedric says, feeling deeply relieved by the fact that it's a possibly friendly encounter. "What sorts of things do you sell? I think we have some pretty good stuff to trade, if you're interested in barter, but we also have some gold as well. I'm Cedric, by the way. It's a pleasure to meet someone that doesn't attack on sight for a change."
"Speaking for myself, if you've access to magic weapons or armor I'd be interested..."
Cyrioul also breathes a sigh of relief. Thank the gods... yes, we will likely have much to trade. I'm Cyrioul, and I track the inventory for our group. I don't suppose you have any arcane scrolls at your disposal, do you? Or, if you have an arcanist in your community, perhaps I could send a request with you to deliver to them.
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"Thank the gods. I thought something was wrong down here." Bree looks their new "guest" over. "Novvi, if you don't mind my asking, how did you get in here?"
Boudra sighs in relief. She’s not ready to fight for this home AGAIN, just yet. She mulls over the loot they’ve acquired while the rest of the group talks to Novvi.
Lily nearly collapses from relief. Upon hearing the request she says,"Well I'm not sure exactly what I can use but if you can bring more crystals for our friend so they don't starve that would be nice."
Upon contemplating her situation a bit more she yells out loud,"ARROWS! I NEED ARROWS! All the arrows!"
"I make a regular circuit between Nar-Voth and settlements closer to the Overburn...like this one," Novvi explains. "The trogs would offer meat, vegetables, and occasionally gems of considerable size and ask for sturdier tools and weapons than they could make from stone. I usually got stuff like that from Glimmerhold and Kraggodan, and the dwarves were more than happy to buy thick cuts of meat. They'd usually turn their bulbous noses up at the trog's low-quality gemstones, but I know some morlocks and mongrelmen who like them."
Nar-Voth is home to mostly "tribal" peoples, such as troglodytes, mongrelmen, and vegepygmies. However, there are also bastions belonging to the duergar that can be found there.
Novvi reaches into a pocket sewn into the interior of her jacket, and she withdraws a slender trade bar of gold. Oddly, it seems unlikely that she could have so deftly hidden such a thing in her jacket.
"I also usually carry a few of these, as well as minted coins, from dwarf holds to buy new stock. You'd be surprised what supplies are in high demand amongst some of my other customers. As for magic, I have a couple items at the moment. The trogs were never too keen on magic that wasn't born of their 'excavator god' or whatever they called it, so I haven't brought all too much."
Novvi seems to suddenly remember something, then she places the golden trade bar back in her jacket pocket. She then plunges her hand deeper into the pocket - impossibly deep - and retrieves a long, obsidian-headed spear of all things!
"Ighiz, the priestess of the trogs, had requested this magic spear," Novvi explains, resting the butt of the spear upon the tunnel floor. "She went on and on about why she needed it, but I was only concerned with the 'what' rather than the 'why.'
"I've got plenty of arrows," she answers Lily, though she glowers at the outburst. "As for how I got here, my shortcuts and safe routes are a trade secret, and I'm not about to throw away my best business advantage."
Cyrioul nods. A perilous route, indeed. Are you a messenger as well, or just a merchant? I wouldn't wish to endanger your operations with anyone else, of course, but should the need arise.
Boudra looks curiously at the prayer beads. What is she asking for them? She signs to Caladra. I lost mine several weeks ago.
While checking over the inventory, Cyrioul spies the unidentified Aegis, and spends a few moments studying it with the aid of a spell...
Cyrioul recognizes that the item, a mantle to be worn like a necklace or large emblem, is an Aegis of Recovery. Adorned with iconography associated with Erastil, the enchanted item aids in resisting afflictions such as poison and disease.
The magic spear Novvi produces is a normal spear, not a longer one that provides reach. As the troglodytes lived in the confines of the caves and tunnels, you reason that the priestess had little need for a weapon that could not be effectively wielded in such tight quarters.
For the prayer beads, Novvi charges 9000gp. In addition to normal wealth and currency, she will also accept goods in trade at half their market price.
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Lily blushes at her outburst. "I'm sorry. Anyway all I would like is some blunt arrows.," she says.
Cyrioul holds out the aegis to Cedric. You're getting into the mix more often than before, now that Caladra is staying here with the others. Might be best for you to wear this. The adornment helps, of course.
He also holds out one of the magical cloaks to the cleric. You might consider this, too. It'll help you resist ill effects. Again, you're often on the front line, and a likely target.
"You said you stop by Kraggodan? I propose a trade in that case," Thorek unlimbers the stone hammer and sets on before the deep gnome. "The hammer is magical, but not really my style. If you can pick up a magical dorn-dergar--" the burned warpriest pats the chains looped over his shoulder, causing them to clink softly, "--I'll trade you the hammer plus coin or other goods to make up any difference in value."
"A suit of full plate wouldn't go amiss either," he adds after a moment.
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Cedric considers Cyrioul's offer of equipment. His first instinct is to argue that even as a sometimes-frontliner by necessity, there's still others who can make better use of it themselves. But then he realizes that most of the things which these items protect against are problems he can use Erastil's blessings to help with, but not if he himself succumbs to their effects first. So realizing, he allows himself to accept the offered aegis and cloak.
Upon seeing the relative shortness of the magic spear, his interest in the weapon wanes. He likes the advantage of his spear's reach, especially when compounded with his ability to further increase it when he grows.
"Any chance you have a set of decent lockpicks, Novvi? I'd be happy to take those off your hands."
From her magic traveling pack, Novvi produces a finely crafted set of lockpicks and similar tools made from blackened steel, reminiscent of masterful dwarven or gnomish craftsmanship.
"One hundred gold," she declares flatly. "Payable in coins or trade."
As luck would have it, Novvi also has a couple bundles of blunt arrows available for sale. You'd rather not contemplate why her other customers would want to take live prisoners.
Novvi cocks a curious eye to the chain weapon that Thorek indicates, suggesting she previously had never heard of a "dorn-dergar."
"Are you kin of the Kraggodan dwarves?" she asks Thorek before offering a quick snort. "The smiths who could produce such weapons and armor aren't usually keen to trade with me. A token of introduction, proof that I'm working on your behalf, would better ensure that I can procure such things."
The deep gnome merchant further indicates that she only visited the troglodytes once a month at most, but she could stop by Hidden Hope once a fortnight - or even once a week if you prove to be especially good customers.
Boudra quietly removes a few items from the pile before they're traded to Novvi.
"A token of introduction, proof that I'm working on your behalf, would better ensure that I can procure such things."
"The fact that you can get through the siege lines either speaks very highly of you, or very poorly of the Molthuni," Thorek notes with a shake of his head. Retrieving some parchment and ink, he sketches out the Ironspark clan-rune and a quick genealogy before signing it and handing it to the gnome. "Tell them to quit foolin' around with the Molthuni unless they want to miss out on fighting the hobs."
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Lily just thinks about the implications involving blunt arrows but shrugs them off. She knows that sometimes things die more easily to blunt arrows. "I'll take a stack of them just in case we fight oozes?, skeletons?. I'll be honest I forgot what I needed them for," she says a bit confused.
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Bree is so glad she can finally get a good set of lockpicks. It will be so worth it if they run across any traps in the future.
Cyrioul grabs some paper, and starts making an inventory of everything to be sold to the trader. After some time, he heads upstairs to get a few of the townsfolk to help him gather everything together and bring it down to the svirfneblin.
Here are the items we're willing to part with for now, as far as I can understand you can compensate us for.
He also hands her a list. I have an additional list of requests, if you are able to procure arcane scrolls in those settlements. His list details four spells, one to see invisible creatures, one to quicken a person's reflexes, one to increase a person's intelligence, and one to shoot rays of fire. Thank you for your trade. Tell me, how close can you get to Tamran on your routes?
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Novvi retrieves a small notebook and a grease pencil to tally up the transaction. After she double checks her numbers, she withdraws the requested items from her magic pack and magic jacket pocket - the arrows, the masterwork lockpicks. It is especially strange to watch her pull the masterwork backpack out of another backpack, and the sight leaves you with a fleeting sense of vertigo.
"Tamran?" Novvi asks herself quizzically, not looking up from her notebook as she records the spell scrolls Cyrioul requests. After a moment, a subtle raise of her eyebrow bespeaks remembrance. "Oh, that human city. My routes never take me that far east. The tunnels around there are sparse and too wild for my liking."
She slaps her notebook shut and looks up abruptly.
"And I am not a courier. I'm a businesswoman. So don't expect me to carry messages."
Bree is very excited that Novvi had both of the items she felt she needed to improve her performance. But she also noticed a hesitance in the gnome. And mom said I never notice anything. She blinks her eyes a few times and rubs at them with the back of her shirt sleeve, hoping nobody notices.
"We want you to know how thankful we are that your services are available, Novvi. I know we're new to you and you may be unsure about us. But I want to assure you: we're just folks trying to survive through a very rough situation. I'm inclined to think Abadar himself might have sent you here," she says with a smile.
"Yeah I understand your apprehension. I hope our future actions earn your trust."
Cyrioul holds his palms up. Of course - forgive my curiosity to hear word from my home. We look forward to your return!
It is almost imperceptible, like a thin layer of sediment worn away, but Novvi seems to soften to the party, her new trading partners. With the business at hand concluded, she withdraws back down the tunnel leading to the upper reaches of the Darklands, traveling her underground trade routes to Kraggodan and other parts unknown.
When news of a link to the outside world - even if through such an unusual avenue - reaches the refugees, there is another palpable boost in morale. The isolation becomes less all-consuming, and the Phaendar-folk under your care approach their tasks with renewed vigor.
"Wait, Novvi, before you go--could you let us know if we have any neighbors down those tunnels we should be on the lookout for? We don't need to know your routes or anything, but if you're aware of any monsters or possible threats we'd be grateful for the warning."
"There's nothing too dangerous," she grumbles, caught mid-exit. "I think the trogs fought their way through whatever was living nearby as they made their way up here. If you're still around when I return, maybe I'll share some local stories with you."
It's not even a promise, but only the potential for information, but by offering even this much suggests that Novvi is warming to you, in her own subtle, subterranean way.
Thorek does a circuit of Hidden Hope to double-check that everything is well, then cleans his gear and bathes to the extent that is possible. The dwarf then enjoys a night's sleep in (relative) comfort in safety.
The next morning, after his prayers to Angradd, the dwarf rejoins the others in full gear. "Alright, so we need to find this Kelloch person...and the Chernasado Rangers if they're still in the area. Anyone have an idea of where to start?"
"We were following a game trail that we supposed would lead us to Kelloch when we discovered the tracks from the Ironfang scouts," Cedric suggests. "If we go back that way we can possibly find it again, and we can also check to see if there are any signs that their camp has been discovered by their fellows. I have no idea how to even begin looking for the Rangers. Maybe Kelloch would know their habits better if we locate him first?"
Herds (14 animals, no food production today): Aubrin (Primary), Annis, Cleo, Clyde, Sera
Hunting/Foraging (+23 Provisions, new total 81): Jet, Baldric, Clidon, Farrow, Edran, Thor, Maighrit, Guinnep, Pete, Elden, Benn, Oreld, Faro
Forge Repair: Kining (Progress: 7/10)
Retraining: Mera (Commoner 1 to Expert 1; Progress: 3/5)
Watch: Caladra
Cyrioul listens in on the decision making, and nods the suggestions.
I agree - looking for Kelloch will be our best bet for now. I'll be ready to travel in a few moments.
After their last trip out, Cyrioul drops a few posessions off in the store room that he won't need, and picks up a couple that he might. Knowing that his wands for casting bolts of force are nearly depleted, he makes sure that his crossbow is ready and stocked with bolts.
Signing to Boudra, he asks, What do you think we'll get for weather today, or even tomorrow?
You suspect that a storm will roll in within the next 18 hours or so.
Without distractions from beasts or hobgoblins, the party is able to pick up the game trail again and follow the hunter's tracks back to their source.
A wooden cabin, small and square, stands in a clearing dotted with tree stumps. Someone has deforested this area to make room for the structure, leaving only tall grass to carpet the clearing. A jumble of poles near the cabin serves as racks for drying animal hides or fish. No smoke issues from the chimney.
A well-worn dirt path cuts through the grass of the clearing, leading to the cabin before curving around to an outbuilding behind it.
Bree's nerves are already on edge. She puts a little extra focus in as she scans the area around the cabin.
She almost misses the concealed bear trap. "Be careful here," she says pointing the trap out to the others. No sense in disarming the trap if we can simply step over it.
Cyrioul nods, stepping carefully over the trap. As the party approaches the cabin, he casts detect thoughts to discern any humanoid presence inside and what they might be thinking.
You detect surface thoughts. The amount of information revealed depends on how long you study a particular area or subject.
1st Round: Presence or absence of thoughts (from conscious creatures with Intelligence scores of 1 or higher).
2nd Round: Number of thinking minds and the Intelligence score of each. If the highest Intelligence is 26 or higher (and at least 10 points higher than your own Intelligence score), you are stunned for 1 round and the spell ends. This spell does not let you determine the location of the thinking minds if you can’t see the creatures whose thoughts you are detecting.
3rd Round: Surface thoughts of any mind in the area. A target’s Will save prevents you from reading its thoughts, and you must cast detect thoughts again to have another chance. Creatures of animal intelligence (Int 1 or 2) have simple, instinctual thoughts.
Each round, you can turn to detect thoughts in a new area. The spell can penetrate barriers, but 1 foot of stone, 1 inch of common metal, a thin sheet of lead, or 3 feet of wood or dirt blocks it.
Cyrioul's magic can glean no thoughts from within the cabin.
As the party emerges from the treeline and steps onto the path to avoid the hidden trap, you also notice many scratches and claw marks upon the tree trunks lining the clearing.
Hmmm, that's odd. That looks to be about the size of a bobcat, but I don't recall them making marks on trees like that. Normally, I think they scent-mark.
"Just a heads-up. We may be in the territory of a decent size cat. May be the bear trap was intended for it."
Thorek keeps a respectful distance from the bear trap once Bree points it out, kneeling down for a better look. Whistling appreciatively, the dwarf glances back at the cabin. "I wonder if he's got spares he'd be willing to sell? I'm sure Hidden Hope's sentries would feel better with some hidden traps to back them up."
Pushing back to his feet, he eyes the smokeless cabin skeptically. "Should we announce ourselves?"
"I think we probably should. Where there's one trap found, there's probably many other that we don't see." Careful to avoid the trap they know about, and with spear ready in case the shouting catches the attention of the apparent big cat, he gets closer and tries to make contact.
"Kelloch?" he shouts. "Are you in there? We're a group that escaped Phaendar after the Ironfang hobgoblins sacked it. We'd very much like talk to you, and possibly work together if you're willing. These woods are crawling with those gray menaces, but there's strength in numbers and we could really use your expertise." Message sent, he waits, hopeful for a response and ready in case that response is unfriendly.
Cedric's entreaty at the cabin door earns no vocal response. The sound of shuffling movement comes from within, accompanied by a low throaty growl. Shortly after, you can hear the commotion of furniture being tossed about.
Whoever - or whatever - is inside does not seem happy to have visitors!
Cedric puts hand to his ear. "It sounds like trouble inside, and perhaps a large cat yowling nearby. Everybody should stay alert. Would someone sneaky please creep up and see what that ruckus inside is for? We'll be ready to come to your aid and watch out for kitty." Just after asking, he prepares for a probable confrontation by casting shield other on Thorek.
Bree nods at Cedric. She sneaks up to the house to peek in the window.
She checks the door to see if it's even locked.
"Listen. We are being hunted down by an army. We are tired, hungry, angry, and sad. If there is anything you can do to help up please. Even if you can't or won't just tell us. We'll leave."
Turning to the party she says,"You know its probably whoever's in there cat. We might not want to kill it."
Cedric thrusts his arm out, stopping Bree from testing the front door. He notices signs suggesting that it is rigged with some manner of trap.
Instead, Bree sidles along the side of the cabin and peers through a mouldering window. Although the walls of the cabin remain sturdy, the ceiling has partially collapsed upon the single room dwelling. All the furniture - the simple cot, tables, dressers and chests - has been overturned and left in shambles. The only thing not thrown about is a single stool left sitting in a corner.
Inside, Bree also spots the gray figure of a man. His white hair and beard are wild and umkempt. His clothes, those of a seasoned hunter, are torn and unwashed. He is very gaunt, and his head is hunched down. He grabs a long-handled axe propped up beside the door and looks ready to burst through the front door.