"I've come to claim my inheritance - an old place called Vraath Keep - at least, that's what it used to be known as. Might be called something else now." Valissa said, in no particular mood to be barred by a town guard. Probably best to keep quiet about all the hobgoblins she'd killed - people outside of her chain of command rarely believed her. "Anything happening in the area that I should know about?"
"Vraath keep ehh? You a treasurehunter?" He accuses, but appears a little impressed. "Aye, you shouldn't ought t' be going out there on your lonesome. Whole bleedin' Chitterwood is crawling with bleedin' goblins!" He spat on the ground. "That's what I think of them! Savages ain't never done an honest day's work, raiders and thieves, the ot o' them!" Catching himself, he calms down a little.
"We get a lot of them these last weeks. 'S why a man is out here instead of over by the Old Bridge like he ought."
Valissa frowned slightly. Beasts like hobgoblins were almost uniformly predictable. They might do raids, but long-term activity usually meant a goal of some kind - especially because they backstabbed each other so often that only a truly capable leader could direct them for any real length of time. Iiiiinteresting. "I met a few of them on the road, but they shouldn't be a problem anymore." she said calmly. "Thank you for the information."
She nodded politely to him and headed deeper into the town - she still needed to get her bearings, check for shops and supplies, and see what she could learn about the likely challenges of the keep.
"You're welcome. Head up the Old Bridge Inn if you want lodgings, 's right up the road, can't miss it." He seems right pleased with himself, helping travelers.
You pass a stable on your right, presumably there so the creatures can be let out on the green without leading them through town, but still be conveniently close for traders and other travelers, and a dog rises to bark at you as you pass a store on your left - the place is a little dingy. Past the store there's a windowless brick building, with a heavy lock on the door and a guard posted out front. He watches you carefully as you pass. Then the road ends, opening onto a green field, with a grand oak in the middle and what seems to be farmers in the process of collapsing their market stands and loading unsold wares back on their carts. The shadows are growing longer; the town seems to be closing down for the evening. On your right, what you presume is the Old Bridge Inn is teeming with business. Farmers and towndsfolk mostly, you'd say, the two-story building is whitewashed, and well kept.
Nodding slightly to herself, Valissa headed into the Inn. Places like this were excellent for gathering information, and all you really had to do was sit around for awhile. She wasted no time at all in heading over to the bar to get a drink. Strangers who walked in and sat down were trouble - strangers who sat down with a mug in their hands were also trouble, but significantly less so.
When in Absalom, do as Absalom does.
Basic tenet of fitting in, even if she was going to go no further with it than she deemed necessary. Besides, the owner of a keep was probably supposed to be prideful.
The proprietor is a halfling. He's brownhaired, wears a brown waistcoat with a wide belt, and is standing on a stepstool behind the bar. He forks over a pint of Ale. "Hey stranger. Welcome to the Old Bridge Inn! You want a plate of food with that? My Ellie makes a mean roast."
In the inn, most people are in good spirits. There are farmers, a few traders and townsfolk, come to the inn to eat, drink and generally have a good time. Most of the people here seem like they're either wealthy, or at least earn a fairly decent wage.
At one table tree young guardsmen, a darkskinned man, a townsperson by the looks of his clothes, but probably with ancestors from across the inner sea, and a young halfling man are playing cards.
Two halfling barmaids dart about, carrying, refilling and cleaning out mugs and bringing meals to the people who order it.
You note one of them surreptously kick the gambling halfling across the shin as she passes him.
It's not all fun and games - there are serious faces too.
At one table a wizened, burly dwarf sits down with an elderly lady in a priestess' robes and a balding man, wealthy by the looks of it. They're clearly disagreeing about something, but keep it quiet enough that their voices can't be made out at distance.
At another, an armored man, a guard by the looks of it, and a woman with a sword slung across the back of her chair, both of them in their early thirties, are having a conversation.
"... Might have to evacuate if it gets any worse. They told me they were all gone, we're nowhere near prepared for this..." You pick up as you pass their table - stopping to listen in on their conversation would be pretty rude.
There are a few empty tables, most of them near the door. The patrons are content to mind their own business, although a few of them nonchalantly eye you over their mugs. Travelers are always at least a little interesting.
"Soup, if you've got any." Valissa answered, giving her order - it was generally cheap, hearty, and reasonably tasty - which made it pretty much the perfect food as far as she was concerned. Let the nobles engage in luxury. She wasn't worried about watching her pockets, either - everything of value was in her extradimensional storage (though that wouldn't stop her from breaking a nose - or an arm - if somebody felt around for a coinpurse). All right, taking stock of the situation... lots and lots of hobgoblins on the road, somewhat nervous townspeople... yeah, this was going to be a headache, wasn't it? Sigh. Peasants probably didn't even know how to defend themselves.
"I'll need a room for the night, too." she added, fully intending to head up as soon as her meal was done.
He looks a bit disappointed. "Yeah, sure I have soup. The roast is pretty good though. I really can't tempt you? Ah well. Rosie will show you up to your room when you've eaten, just show her this." He hands you a key from under the bar. It has a small polished wooden plaque attached, with the number '6' written in gold paint. "Rosie!" he bellows. He has a good set of lungs on him, for a halfling. "Show the lass up to her room once she's eaten!" One of the barmaid nods at the innkeeper. "That'll be 2 gold pieces, incidentally." He says.
You eat your soup in peace - it's really quite good, as soup goes - and Rosie shows you to your room. It's small, but clean, and besides the bed there's a closet and a small desk with a chair. It overlooks the green field that seems to serve as town square, through a little window. The sun is set, but the summer night has more than enough light for you to find your way around.
Just about a minute has passed when there's a knock at the door.
Outside is a halfling teen. He's wearing shorts, and a green shirt with the sort of prevailing smudges that arise from many a climbed tree and wild chase through the forest. Brown eyes smile at you from under a wild mop of brown hair.
"Hiya, miss. Mr. Wiston is here to see you, 'e's downstairs in the drawing room. Want me to show you down there?"
"He'd better not be planning on wasting my time." Valissa said, frowning slightly. Well, it didn't really bother her if anyone wanted to look through her room or something while she was downstairs, given that she was leaving behind exactly nothing. Ah, the fringe benefits of extradimensional storage. With a shrug, she followed the rugrat.
"Oh, not the town speaker, he wouldn't, very busy man you see."
He leads you downstairs, and through a door on the right. It's a good-size room, with the walls beclad with dark wooden panels, and a plush, dark green carpet on the floor. There are some comfortable-looking chairs at one end, a pool table in the middle, and an oaken table at the other, surrounded by straight-back chairs. At the table sits two human men, looking down at the map they've lain out. One of them is the guardsman whose conversation you overheard a bit of in the dining room, the other is a middle-aged man, balding but still brown-haired, and with a closecut dark beard. He wears fairly expensive clothing, and there's a silver chain around his neck with a plaque resting on his chest.
He rises as you enter, and walks toward you, extending a hand for you to shake. "Thank you for seeing us, miss. I'm Norro Wiston, town speaker, and this here is Soran Entham, captain of the town guard." He introduce them. Soran nods at you. "Greetings."
Valissa took a seat on one of the chairs and sat down, crossing her legs - she did not accept the offer to shake his hand. "Since you're being polite, I presume you're not here to try and arrest me." she said, watching them and blinking a little less frequently than people usually did. "But you are here in your official capacities... a problem with security in the area, I suppose?" She clasped her hands together and rested them on her knees. "I do hope it's a serious matter - I dislike being bothered for things any halfway competent individual could take care of, and I have matters of my own to attend to." Guards had a job, and she expected them to do it.
He has the look of a man biting back a sharp retort. Apparently, he really wants something from you. He clears his throat.
"Our town is under attack." he begins, "They've been killing people at the outlying homesteads, and everyone who go west along the old imperial road is killed. It looks like a large tribe has come down from the Aspodells, we've had that sort of trouble before, but never on this scale - they might be numerous enough to sack the town!
"Beyond the threat to our home, we need the roads open. There's not much trade running through here these days, but what little we have is vital. They've cut us off from the west, and you're the first traveler to come up from south for a month! Even if they don't overrun us, the town will die a slow death from the lack of trade for sure."
He holds up a hand, warding off protests. "Yeah, I know. You've got personal business and all. But I hear you're wanting to head up the old imperial road into chitterwood, to have a go at the old keep in there. Since you're headed that way regardless, we'd like you to scout up ahead, as far up as to the bridge. There'll be a base with a leader somewhere, once he's dead, they will fall apart. If you can take him out, we'd be much obliged. Otherwise, just knowing what's out there and where they're based will be extremely useful."
Valissa held up one finger. "If this is so crucial, why haven't you taken care of it yourselves?" she asked. "You could at least deputize some townsfolk with good arms, shove weapons into their hands, and have them guard the walls while the most capable warriors go out to kill the leader."
She held up a second finger. "Furthermore, you have no idea who I am or where my talents lie, yet you're asking me to go kill the leader of some kind of warband all by myself? You'd normally have a team of capable people doing that. If I were a suspicious sort of person, I might think you wanted to get rid of me, since you're clearly willing to let me leave despite how apparently dangerous it is out there."
She held up a third finger. "If you're coming to a complete stranger for help, then you are clearly badly in need of it. Therefore, if you want my assistance, you will do as I say. I am a soldier - as it happens, I do know how to deal with issues like this. I realize it is not easy to swallow your pride and do as a stranger tells you to when your homes and families are on the line, but if you don't think I know what I'm doing, then you shouldn't be coming to me for help in the first place. If you wish for my help, then you will also accept my advice, and that is not negotiable. As for why..."
She held out one hand, and the hobgoblin's longsword she'd picked up earlier clattered onto the table as she withdrew it from its storage space. "...that would be because the raiding party stopping travelers from the south is no longer a problem. Their leader is gone, as is a significant part of their force and their entire camp. I was quite thorough."
She brought her hand back to rest on her knee again. Basic negotiation strategy, really - hit them with the tough demands, and while they're uncertain, drive it home with evidence of competence and power. They were worried about their town being sacked? Then they were darn well going to take things seriously, and not flail about like peasants who didn't even know which end of a sword to grab. Or better, a spear - reach was good in mass combat. "Your pride is not worth your town, gentlemen, but you don't need to worry about losing it - my guidance may be strict, but it is not demeaning, and it will help to keep your families safe. Make your decision."
"Whatever you say, we have no guarantee that your 'advice' would be even remotely beneficial. I've good men and women advicing me, people I trust, and no use for some know-it-all stranger who thinks she's some hotshot commando. I don't need some outsider trying to tell me what to do - I've more than enough of those already. What I need is intelligence, as you military folks say, and an expendable scout who's confident to go out there and gather it. I don't think you lack for confidence."
Valissa raised an eyebrow as the man spoke. "Really." she said. "So you want me - a stranger - to go risk my life for your town solely out of the goodness of my heart?" That would be sad if it wasn't so funny. Or maybe it was the other way around. "Frankly, it sounds like a job for a local scout - someone who actually knows the terrain. To be blunt, Mr. Wiston, I am not a tool for you to use and discard as you see fit. Nor do I have a lot of patience for local officials who are going to get a lot of innocent people killed because they aren't willing to do what's necessary. From what you told me, you have been able to accomplish basically nothing in terms of protecting your town beyond its walls, and you are turning to literally the least-knowledgeable person in the entire town for scouting. I hope you'll understand if I'm not yet impressed by your advisers."
With that, she began to give advice, pointing out specific flaws in the town's defenses and what the most effective way to remedy them would be, up to and including training and weaponry for the citizens.
"Basically nothing?! I think I've heard enough."
He gets up and leaves, heedless of protests.
He pauses briefly at the door. "See what sort of ideas she has, captain."
The captain listens attentively to what you have to say. You find that much of it has been thought of already, while some of it is new ideas to him. "Yeah, we already have a militia. There's the guardsmen of course, plus miscellaneous folks who know what's what, and we've a hundred strong men and women running around in boiled leathers all day, ready to run down the armory for a spear and crossbow. I could probably drum up a hundred more, but I'd be scraping the barrel. Training's a good idea, me and Katera are already giving the militia some on the weekends, but we could probably stand to step it up. I'll start them up tomorrow morning."
He listens some more.
"Advance warning, you say? Hmm. Might work. We could have some pairs of men sitting on a few outlying hills. I'll make sure they have a signal horn, and blow it if they see raiders or homesteads on fire. We could come to their aid a lot faster then."
"You really think we should evacuate the west bank? We can certainly try, and I see what you mean with the forest growing right up to the edge of town, but... It's going to be hard. People have lived there all their lives, and they own their land - we can't actually order them to leave their homes. Besides, almost half of our militia lives over there. They're keen on holding onto what's theirs, and might figure they could hold their land as easily as we could if the militiamen stayed home. We can try, but I don't think it's going to be possible."
Once you've said your piece, he gets ready to leave.
"Well, thank you for that. It just might make a difference, although I don't know if evacuating the western part of town will be possible." He seems to waver indecisively a little, but then smiles at you. "Look, I think you'd do pretty well listen some advice yourself: this isn't the military. If you berate some stranger and then barks orders at them, they're not going to listen to you. Why should they? You might just be full of yourself. Many people are. Besides, mr. Wiston is a good man. He's been leading the town for twenty years, and has handled it pretty well. He's even taking this crisis in stride, but he isn't a dictator - he leads the town, he doesn't command it."
"What did you think would happen, he'd roll over like a chastised dog?"
"A military crisis requires an autocratic authority system. If he wants this place to survive, he should learn to command it, and everyone else should learn to obey." she answered bluntly - which shouldn't have been too unusual in this nation. Of course, this was hardly the first time her personality had been off-putting to those in positions of authority... her intentions (and advice) were good, but she simply wasn't the type to coddle others or try and suck up to them. Most rulers - seeing themselves as more important than anyone else in the area - found it hard to deal with such abrasion.
Simply put, she was never going to be a very good diplomat.
"Furthermore, he's already demonstrated a lack of good judgment. If you really want someone to go do something for you, and it's dangerous, it's traditional to offer compensation of some kind. I could, for example, simply walk out the door and go home, leaving all of you to whatever happens, good or bad. I doubt much harm would be done to an old, unoccupied fort even after an all-out assault on the town, and in terms of sheer practicality, waiting until the army pacifies the tribe and returning to claim my inheritance afterwards would be both safer and easier for me. I am under no obligation to risk my life simply because you're in trouble and need help."
All of which was completely true, though she wasn't admitting that she had no intention of simply leaving people to die. That would be both morally wrong and not very helpful for achieving Andoran's goals. Innocent people didn't deserve to die just because their leaders were irresponsible, and that was why she hated these provincial ruler types...
"I honestly don't care about how good or bad a man Mr. Wiston is. All I care about is whether or not he has the spine to do what's necessary and protect this town. Is he the kind of man who can make the tough decisions, or will he crumble when the pressure gets too great?"
"You didn't give him much time to get around to offer you compensation before telling him off, did you now? Anyway, I'm just a guard. I do what people tell me to. Wroof! Good dog, rolling over." He joked, winking at you.
"All I'm saying is you might get more things done quicker if you treated people with a little more respect." He added, somewhat more seriously.
Most people would agree with that statement. Intellectually, Valissa even understood what she meant. "If he demonstrates competence in his position, I'll apologize for any remarks that gave offense." she said - which was about as close as she could come to a compromise. She really, really wasn't the kind of person who'd make a good diplomat, though, simply because she generally refused to accept nonsense from people who really ought to have known better. She expected excellence from them, and wasn't shy about pointing this out.
"Well then. I'd best get about business. Goodnight, miss." He gets up, gathers his things, and makes for the door.
Valissa simply nodded and watched him leave, then returned to her bed, intending to get some sleep. Tomorrow was going to be... interesting. On the bright side, she knew exactly what she wanted to do - she just had to find a way of making it happen.
Your sleep is uninterrupted. You wake up to the sound of clanging pots and pans from downstairs. Being summer, the sun is starting to show in the east, even though you're an early riser.
Valissa stretched widely as she woke up, doing a few exercises to keep her body loose and ready for the day. After a bit of prayer and meditation - something people who didn't know her well were often surprised to learn she did at all - she headed downstairs with the goal of getting some breakfast. After that, well... there were some hobgoblins to eliminate, weren't there? Once that was done, she could see about getting that old fort set up properly.
As you finish your routine, the room is starting to smell like breakfeast - you must live right above the kitchens. You also hear other people walking past your door, probably other patrons headed down to get something to eat. Board is usually included when you rent a room at a place like this, albeit you'll have to buy your own ale, if you need that sort of thing.
Contrary to popular belief, getting drunk was not the ideal start to a day... especially when you were going to need your wits about you. After getting breakfast downstairs and filling her stomach - she didn't really care what it was, as long as it wasn't going to cause problems - she began asking around for more information. At the very least, she wanted to know where people figured this... camp of Hobgoblins... was located. She wasn't too fond of the Mayor, but that was no reason to allow innocent people to be hurt if there was something she could do about it.
You ask around. It takes a few false starts, people aren't especially willing to talk to strangers, but you do find one man, a gaunt elven farmer who, by the sound of it, likes to talk about absolutely everything, to anyone who's willing to listen. "Weell.. They'd be up in Chitterwood, of course! It's old hobgoblin country, you know, right up until a hundred years ago when we called in the Irregulars and drove them out. Saying goes they used to have tribes in there, lived in villages, they did. Might be they've used one of the old clearings, although as the stories go, everything was torched. Still, they've probably set up warcamps, right? Can't be too far from the edge of the woods, probably closer than the Skull Gorge, they'd get tired with all that running around in armor elsewise." He suddenly stops talking, as his mind caught up with his mouth. He speaks again, in a lower voice. "You're not planning of heading out there, are you? That'd be downright dangerous. Things grow big in there, there's stirges the size of dogs, even the forest people grow to be giants. Besides, no-one knows how to get around the woods, except for by the west road. Well, except Jorr of course."
"And who is this... Jorr?" Valissa asked, tapping her foot and bracing herself for another long spiel. It was just a peasant, it was just a peasant... responsible people didn't yell at them when they weren't in active danger, and she was responsible. Mostly. Kind of. Usually.
"Ranger. Lives out at the edge of the forrest." He says.
"I see. Seems he's the one to talk to, then." Valissa mused, nodding to the man before turning and heading off towards the forest. Information was often the key to success or failure, and she had every intention of gathering what knowledge she could before setting off to drive the hobgoblins away.
You set off. As you exit the inn, you see peasants in leather armor on the greem, drilling with spears and maces, under the leadership of the woman you saw together with Soran, the guard captain, yesterday. A group is walking east with crossbows and bolts in their hands, off to a shooting range.
To get to Chitterwood you need to cross the river, and the only way to do so seems by ferry. A pair of oxen, two at each post, rotate the axels that make the ropes that span the river move back and forth.
As the ferry comes in, and the passagers disembark, and the ferryman secures the barge to the other rope, so it can be pulled back across.
The crossing seems to take forever, but you eventually get to the other side. This side of town seems much more sparsely populated than the one you left, with more space between houses and fields going all the way into town.
Nearly all the townsfolk you see here are wearing armor of some sort, and carrying weaponry on the hip.
At the edge of town, roads lead off into different directions. The landscape opens up, and you can see far and wide, all the way to the edge of Chitterwood, and the northern foothills of the Aspodells.
The Old Imperial Road lies before you, disappearing into the darkness of Chitterwood just a few miles ahead.
Valissa promptly stepped off the road, though she was intending to keep it in view even as she searched for Jorr's house. He supposedly lived at the edge of the forest, so he wouldn't be too hard to find - and every now and then, she simply teleported a good distance, an old habit that helped to break up her trail and make it all but impossible to follow her. You weren't being paranoid when there really were marauders that wanted you dead.
It takes a good hour of hiking to reach the forrest, and from there it's another good hour of searching before you find the cabin.
The weather is sunny and hot, even in the morning hours. The forrest, by contrast, is humid and silent. Not much light is let through the tree crowns, making it gloomy, even on a bright day like today.
The wooden cabin is a fairly well-hidden affair, the roof tatched with grass, and located in a small dell, just off the road. It isn't until you're practically standing next to it that you notice it.
There's a small, open area covered in moss out front, and the roof extends out to cover a wooden porch. On the porch rests three huge hounds. They're almost the size of horses, with pointy snouts, ears, and fleshy growths on their sides and legs. They rise to growl at you as you get closer.
"F*&* off! I've told you c%*%s to keep out!" a voice rings out from inside the cabin.
"Well, that's a nice way to treat a stranger." Valissa said, keeping her voice audible. "I'm not here to cause trouble for you or your hounds - I'm just looking for some information on the hobgoblins, and then I'll be on my way."
A man appears in the doorway. He's probably of age with the town speaker, weathered, but tough. His gear is well kept, and of surprisingly high quality for a woodsman. Right now he's holding a heavy bow, not quite aiming at you, but it's there if he turns out to need it.
He looks you over, then nods, and prod the nearest dog with his boot. "Down." Satisified that the beasts are currently behaving, he adresses you. "Huh. Thought it was the townspeople come out here again. Still, you dont like a talking to you can sod off." There's not much vitrol to it, though, more like an off-hand comment. "Might have some for you. Not sure how much. Don't see why I should tell you, unless you're willing to trade for it. What do you want to know?"
"Where they are, what kind of forces they have, and what their commander's like." Valissa said. "I have my own reasons for being out here, and the presence of thugs like them is inconvenient, so I plan to drive them off - which means you and your own land will be safer as well." she pointed out. "You risk nothing but a few minutes of time by telling me what I want to know, and stand to benefit quite significantly if I succeed. I'd say that's already a pretty good trade."
"Yeah." he paused artistically. "And, I could also be 50gp richer right now."
"I can tell you how many I've seen, where they usually go, and give you some ideas of where to look for their camps." He shrugged. "You decide that's worth paying me or not. We're not scared of some savage half-wits, are we girl?"
That last bit was aimed at one of his hounds. He hammered his hand into its side a few times, causing it to wag its tail against the floor of the porch with a successions of thunks.
You can tell that he's missing at least one finger on his left hand - he's wearing gloves, but the little finger doesn't bend with the others.
Valissa merely raised an eyebrow, then gestured - and the coins rose into the air before floating over towards him. Ah, the many uses of telekinesis. "Fear is healthy. The ones who completely ignore it are usually the first to die." she observed calmly.
"People are f&$*ing stupid."
He grinned, showing a few missing teeth, and snatched the coins out of the air, stuffing them in his pouch, which swallowed them with an audible burp. "Right. Now that we've done waxing filosofic'l."
"Far as I know, there's four main groups, each of them with about thirty men. They're slow, and like to take the main road, but sometimes move along the southern edge of the forest, to pop out and surprise the town. Good riddance too, right? Usually, they spend about a week out there before coming back with whatever loot they've assembled. You can usually dodge 'em quite easily in the woods, if you know what you're doing, but you gotta look out for their scouts. Small ones, on wolves, they are. Fierce wolves too, smart, though they're scrawny, not like Bertha here."
The giant dog got another heavyhanded petting, and salivated on the ranger's boots.
"Anyway, for their main lair, I'd say it's probably between three days and a week's march up the Imperial Road - they always head up that way when they return. It's not any farther than the up by Skull Gorge, that's for sure. Also quite sure it's got to be past the Swift Creek, no-one in their right mind would put up a base camp in the south, unless they put it just on the edge like meself. Too f*@@ing muddy, ye know. If they've settled in somewhere, it'll probably be the keep. It's smashed up good, but it's where I'd go, if I didn't know s~&@ about the woods. You just follow the road for three days or so, look for a green boulder on the left side of the road around noon, marks the track to the keep. 'S not much, but probably beats the wilds. If they're not at the keep, track 'em down. If you're not a tracker, well, you're f*%%ed." He looks at you appraisingly, while taking off his right glove in order to pick at the wax in his ear.
"I can track well enough, and I'm not interested in the small fry." Valissa answered calmly. "They're treacherous, opportunistic beasts, but even hobgoblins will at least leave an area before changing commanders if you keep killing who's in charge." With that, she turned around and headed towards the Imperial Road, not especially interested in conversing with the man further. Instead, she went for the method she'd been using before - stay off the road to avoid main ambushes while randomly warping forward to break off her tracks and make it hard for anyone to stay on her trail. A few days out in the wild she could handle, too - that was part of her profession, after all, and soldiers learned to deal with it. The sooner she could get to fixing that keep properly, the better off they'd all be.