Chapter 1: DRAKTHAR'S WAY
The dry season is nearing a close and it's a day like any other in the city of Cauldron. Folks are bustling at the market near the Western Gate, buying food for the midday meal or just enjoying the fine warm weather.
The town crier finds a clear spot and begins ringing his bell, attracting everyone's attention:
"Hear ye, good citizens of Cauldron! Three children have gone missing from the widow Oakleg's house on Lantern Street near the Eastern Gate! The city guards swear that no one has passed through the gates in the night. The mayor and Father Iverson invite all good men and true to look for the lost children; the church of Abadar will justly reward those who find them. All searchers are to report to Father Iverson at the Golden Vault."
Murmurs begin passing through the crowd quickly.
"Missing kids? Probably just run off somewheres."
"It was hot last night; maybe they sneaked out for a dip in the lake."
"What, are you saying they got gobbled up by the Crater Lake monster? They woulda come home by now."
"Monster. Pfft."
"I bet it's them robbers. They still haven't figured out whose been breaking into houses since spring. First it's jewels, and now it's kids."
"Well, it's gotta be someone in town; the guards haven't seen anyone leaving."
"Maybe the guards are in on it!"
"I'm going to get that juicy reward. I bet I can guess where they are..."
"Where?"
"I ain't tellin' you!"
A few men and women start moving off towards the Golden Vault -- Cauldron's cathedral of Abadar, the god of cities and merchants. Most buildings in Cauldron are made out of mud or clay, but the Golden Vault is made from stone bewitched to look like gold, silver, and other precious metals.
Stone scratches the day old stubble on his chin and slowly walks towards the Golden Vault, listening to the conversations going on around him.
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Chapter 1: DRAKTHAR'S WAY
"Missing kids?
Having only arrived in Cauldron this morning, Daeg finds himself roaming the streets, taking in the differences from his former home in Absalom, the buildings and wharves of his landing in Eleder, and the few way points his trade caravan passed on its journey to Cauldron. Not what he expected, Daeg still finds the commonality of every place he's visited. People are people, and the all seem to need a place to meet. With that he wanders towards the market area. At one time, he thinks, his father had family here. Perhaps they are still here, and know something about his father, his heritage, his past.
Iomedae, is this why I am here, Am I here to learn of my past, to find my family. Am I to bring honor and justice to their lives, such as what my father lost for my mother and myself.
It is then that he hears, the town crier, and the voices of the crowds.
No, time enough for personal matters later. There is action required, and honor demands the worthy act. Taking out a small silver sword charm, Daegan places atop the back of his gauntleted hand, whispering a small prayer to Iomedae. The sword shines faintly in the sunlight. "Guide my blade, my lady." With the puff of breath, the tiny blade turns in a lazy circle, ending pointing in the direction of the Golden Vault. "Thy will be done."
Daeg heads in the direction of the Golden Vault, and begins again the journey Iomedae has placed before him.
It's an unusual time for Myvannuii to be up and about; normally she does most of her business in the twilight hours, whether just at the break of dawn, or as the last glow of sunset begins to fade in the west. Since leaving the Mwangi Expanse and travelling among humans, she has come to realize more vividly just how differently townsfolk live from the way she did in the forests of her home, and has made the slightest adjustments for convenenience. Today, anyway, she's been restless since midmorning, and so she is visiting the market to burn off excess energy.
She's dancing between the groups of people in the market, relatively slowly to avoid bumping into them, so her saltarello is a bit stranger even than might be expected. "If any think to ask why I dance," she muses, "I will say that it is more amusing than merely walking." She turns on her heel, so that her backward steps take her in the direction she wishes to go rather than keeping her in place, casting a glance over the stalls as she goes. No sense in ignoring all of the surrounding conditions.
Myvannuii sees the town crier out of the corner of her eye, and, as he delivers the announcement and the murmurs of the crowd reach her ears, she slows to a halt. As she pauses to consider the crier's words, she grins momentarily, thinking, "I am no man, but I hope I am good and true. Feeble wit, yet I cannot muster better so presently." She joins the few others drifting toward the Golden Vault, walking now that something else occupies her mind.
"Ye call this ale?" Gjoren mutters, shuddering as he takes a sip of the warm, weak beer he just purchased for a few coppers from the cart set up in the market. "There's stronger brew that comes from mothers nursing their babes back home, and it comes out twice as cold." He sighs, once again reminded just how different life in the south was.
He takes another sip and scans the crowd, tugging his beard absentmindedly. He was a tracker, a bounty-hunter, and it seemed that no one needed his services. Not for the first time, he seriously considers leaving town to head towards the Mwangi expanse. Maybe someone there could hire him. He tightens the strings on his coinpurse, and shakes his head at how light it has become.
Seeing a commotion, and catching the tail end of the crier's pronouncement, Gjoren smiles slightly.
Maybe my luck is changin', he thinks. Now that sounds like a job I can sink my teeth into. Sniffing the air softly, and taking in the scent of sweat, unwashed bodies, cooking meat, and a hint of fear, he makes his way to the Golden Vault.
Bron had been in the city for just a few days. As such, he was wandering the streets of Cauldron, which would come to be his new home. As he strolled through the streets, he took in the different types of people; Chelaxians, Mwangi as well as a rare elf or two. Definitely different than the population he was use to seeing. In fact, he had yet to run into a single Varisian which were all but rare where he was from.
As he wonders the streets, buying an apple to snack on, his blue eyes scan the bustling market as his unhelmed head took in the sights. Bron was a rather impressive example of a Chelaxian; tall and blond with a muscular frame yet a lightness of step that betrayed his natural dexterity. The battered war hammer, and scale mail, coupled with the engraved kukri that rested at his hip, showed him to be a warrior of some type.
As he listened to the bustle of the market place, his ears picked up the town crier's news and he listened for a moment to the talk of the people. Knowing he would need money to fund his future operation, and the fact that no one should be kidnapped then held against their will, he quickly made his way to the Golden Vault to see what this Iverson had to offer. No time for an ale now, there are some children that need help.
The volunteers (Cauldron natives and strangers alike) make their way down to the Golden Vault. Standing in front of the glittering cathedral are a stern-looking priest in a golden cassock and a frowning member of the city guard. The priest speaks to the assembled citizens; there are around 20 or so, mostly humans except for a dwarf standing with a pair of half-elves.
"I am Father Iverson and this is Captain Skellerang, head of the city watch. Mrs. Oakleg is one of my parishioners, and this morning she came to me very upset. She has generously opened her home to three orphans and when she woke up this morning, they were gone. She has no idea where they went off to, but the city guard has seen neither hide nor hair of them. The guards at the North, East and West gates didn't see anyone leaving, so they are likely still in the city. Captain Skellerang thinks that it is premature to assume anything is wrong," -- the Captain's frown deepens as his name is mentioned -- "but I have asked for his co-operation with a search. Any person, or group of persons, who find the missing children is entitled to a reward of 50 gold pieces from the Holy Treasury."
A murmur of excitement and disbelief goes up from the crowd. The dwarf mutters to his half-elven companions: "Father Iverson givin' away good gold? If I hadn't heard it with me own ears, I wouldna' believed it!"
Father Iverson stares daggers at the dwarf and then continues. "I have here a picture of the three children -- two humans named Elisa and Terrem, and a halfling named Borat." He holds up a charcoal sketch on a large piece of parchment. The girl Elisa is thin and nervous-looking while Terrem has a round face and freckles. Borat is notable for his protruding eyes and a scar on his forehead.
The crowd pushes forward to look at the picture, then begins to move away as individuals or in small groups. Some of them give the outlandish foreigners a suspicious look before leaving; could they be kidnappers? The dwarf snaps his fingers and crows: "I just bet I know where they are! Fario, Fellian -- come with me. The rest o' ye, don't follow us! That reward'll be ours, and ours alone!" He trundles off, looking over his shoulder every ten paces.
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As the crowds disperse somewhat, Daegan moves towards the golden priest, head somewhat tilted in a deferential nod, though not in subservience.
“Greetings, Father Iverson, I am Her Sword Knight Esquire Daegan Mueller, late of Absalom. Though newly arrived in Cauldron, might this humble servant of Iomedae offer his services to this worthy cause? As I am unsure of the neighborhood to aid greatly in the search directly, perhaps I might assist in offering encouragement and comfort to the wards of Mrs. Oakleg. Where perchance might I find her boarding home and orphanage?”
Daegan makes little note of the glances of the crowds, confident that his armor and tabard are well presented and presentable. He does make note of others the crowd likewise similarly judges. Comrades in a new found sea perhaps, he gives each a friendly nod as glances meet.
Gjoren sets his cup down on a stall as he strides past, eliciting an angry shout from the merchant, which is soundly ignored. He shoves his way through the dispersing crowd, not with too much force, and makes eye contact with an armored man speaking to the priest. He bares his teeth in the northern semblence of a smile at the man and nods.
"'Ello, Far," he says to the priest, slipping into Skald briefly. "I find people, and I'm good at it. Like as not, them's I look for don't want ta be found, but I find 'em anyway. I'll find yer kids."
He acknowledges the armored man. "I'm Gjoren, called the Hound, and if you want ta be my muscle, we can have these kids back before what passes for lunch in this crater."
Turning back to the priest, whether or not the armored man answers, he says, "So, Far can we talk ta this widow? Should I go knock on her door or can I just poke around her place a bit? We're wasting the day talking about it as it is."
“I am Her Sword Knight Esquire Daegan Mueller, late of Absalom...As I am unsure of the neighborhood to aid greatly in the search directly, perhaps I might assist in offering encouragement and comfort to the wards of Mrs. Oakleg. Where perchance might I find her boarding home and orphanage?”
Stone glances at the dwarf and the two half-elves. “Hmmm…I could follow them – but no. If their intentions are honorable, there is no need. If not, I will see them again soon enough.”
Stone rubs his right hand once over his shaved head and steps forward.
Stone stands next to the Knight who has just offered to assist. “My name is Stone,” he says with a slight bow, “it would be my honor to help you find the children.” He gives a polite nod to the Knight. “It may be a good idea to talk to Mrs. Oakleg first, unless Father – or you Captain, have any leads you think would be more useful to follow?”
Father Iverson looks at the five remaining volunteers, unimpressed. "Are you allowed to talk to Mrs. Oakleg? Use your brains, and quit looking for others to tell you what to do. Her house is three doors north of the bakery by the East Gate, against the crater wall. Now stop bothering me. I'm a very busy man."
He attaches the sketch to the front door of the church, and then goes inside. Captain Skellerang shakes his head and says, "Good luck, strangers, but I bet those young brats will find their way home by lunchtime. What do I care? It's Iverson's money, if he wants to waste it."
Stone pulls the sketch from the front door of the church and holds it his right hand, studies it for a moment and then offers it to the group. “Well, gentlemen - and lady… shall we pay a visit to Mrs. Oakleg?”
Father Iverson looks at the five remaining volunteers, unimpressed. "Are you allowed to talk to Mrs. Oakleg? Use your brains, and quit looking for others to tell you what to do."
Gjoren bites back a response, and says to the others next to him. "He wants us ta report ta him, then he brushes us off. Ye southerners make no sense ta me. Ye ken, if a Far talked to someone like that where I'm from, we'd have his tongue cut out and tossed in a fire.
"Anyways, I reckon a visit to tha widow might be a good plan. I can see if I can pick up any tracks or tha like."
Unless stopped, Gjoren makes a beeline to Lantern Street, covering the ground with long purposeful strides.
Stone looks at Gjoren as he takes off and thinks: In a hurry, impatient…a tracker and very much a practical thinker…
Stone smiles, shrugs his shoulders at the rest of the group and follows.
Catching up with the group of volunteers before the Golden Vault, Myvannuii briefly examines the cathedral before turning her gaze to those standing before it. Although still most concerned about the missing children, a thought flashes across her mind before she can check it: "Ostentatious." The crowd having dispersed so quickly after the Abadarian priest has addressed it, Myvannuii closes the distance to those who remain as a shaven-headed man offers his respects to Father Iverson. She raises an eyebrow as the Abadarian – tetchily, as she sees it – takes his leave, and winks at the four others. She swings into step as the Hound sets off. “I’m Myvannuii,” she offers, addressing herself to the group as a whole in the introduction she makes in the tracker’s wake.
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Following along with the others, Daegan calls out a greeting, keeping pace behind Stone, and occasionally glancing around to assure no one, especially the elven lass, are lost in the rush.
"Greetings all, and ‘tis truly a pleasure to be amongst such eager company. I am Daegan, Daeg to my sword mates, and humbly am I at your service. Let's not be unduly harsh with the dour Abadarian, ‘tis not in their nature to freely part with coin or bar. Lest not without fair and beyond return, that is."
Gjoren nods at his newfound workmates and smiles his unnerving smile.
"Aye, we're sword mates now, until the task be done. More blades are better, unless they skimp on the coin in the end. Still, I'd rather make a few coins in the end than have a few coins be the end of me."
... a few coins be the end of me.""Then let us bargain well fellow sword. Show me to a decent and cleanly lodging hostel here in Cauldron, and once we succeed in returning these wayward youths to their home, my share of the Abadarian's offered coin is yours."
Gjoren shrugs. "Let me not be tha man who takes another man's coin, if he earns it, but let it not be said for the Hound that he turned down a drink at days end." Gjoren grins.
"Let's find tha children first, Daegan."
Snapping out of his thoughts, he notices that he is the only one now remaining in the square. Scanning the streets, Bron sees a crowd of volunteers as they head around a corner. Heading that way at a run, the tall Chelaxian figures it best to make some friends here in the city. Skeetering to a halt as he catches up with the group, he says, "Sorry for the intrusion, but you are all headed to visit Mrs. Oakleg, right? I'm headed that way too and was wondering if I could join ya'? The names Bron, and I am new to town." Though a bit addle-brained after his run, Bron appears a competent warrior, standing at 6'3" and decked in battered scale mail.
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To Gjoren: “ Agreed my friend, first round’s on me. Though, advice on a good lodgings ‘twould be appreciated.”
To Bron: “True, we go to Mrs. Oakleg’s, and welcome. I am Daegan, and like you newly arrived to this town. These are I believe, and I apologize for the presumption, Masters Stone and Gjoren, and the Lady Myvannuii.”
Daegan notices Bron’s Chelaxian features, slightly similar to those of his father. Daeg took after his Andoren mother, and for just a moment wonders, would he recognize his father’s features in his lost relations? Shaking his head to clear it, he focuses on the task at hand. Iomedae would see the children to safety before her own personal issues, and so should he. Let honor be served and justice be done before the setting of the sun.
The band of strangers is relatively unfamiliar with the city, but it is not hard to find the East Gate. From there, they follow along the crater rim until they find the bakery. Counting three houses north, they find a simple clay brick house (like any other in this neighbourhood). A distressed female voice comes from within.
Gjoren's keen eyes scan the unassuming house and its surroundings.
Stone stands next to Gjoren and takes a look around....
1d20+3 = 16
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/2123943/
Myvannuii nods a greeting in response to Bron's, but waves off Daegan's honorific: "Mistress - or Miss - will do for me, Daegan, thanks. 'Lady' can wait until I lead a cabal of my own."
She is silent for a few minutes while the group walks to the widow Oakleg's house, before the flippant occurs to her: "Quennerlye, if this is a Cauldron, what potions are brewed in it?" Just as she speaks, though, she hears the cry from within. She joins everyone in straining to see anything untoward.
Daegan:
Gjoren:
"Hold up," Gjoren says lifting a hand. He moves over and crouches in front of the steps leading up to the bakery. "There is something here."
Gjoren:
For DM:
"I see tracks here. A child, or perhaps a halfling or gnome passed here, and were either bleeding or spilling something...wine, maybe."
Gjoren moistens his finger, trails it through one of the stains, and touches the tip of the finger to his tongue.
You know what dirt tastes like? It tastes almost exactly like that.
Gjoren finds a spot that's not quite dried out and a little bit tacky, though, so it could be blood. The tracks look pretty fresh, maybe an hour or two old.
Gjoren figures he might be able to follow the tracks, if he put his mind to it. It would take a while, though.
Gjoren figures he might be able to follow the tracks, if he put his mind to it. It would take a while, though.
"Impressive my friend, most impressive.
Could you follow the trail? We should talk to the poor woman inside first...but if you could follow the trail, that should be our next step...in my opinion."
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Noting to himself that it seems odd the bakery is closed this early, Daegan takes in the area. So close to the Oakleg home, and tracks that could lead away from the home, perhaps even those of one of the missing children. Curious, and worth investigating, but so is the Oakleg home.
"Perhaps a quick look around the area, then, if only just to familiarize ourselves with the neighborhood. Mrs. Oakleg's not likely to wander far with the children missing."
"Very well - let's act quickly...the trail will be hard enough to track and with get harder with each monent we stand here."
Gjoren nods his head. "Aye, the widow first, then I'll see if I can follow tha tracks."
He moves with his companions to Oakleg's door.
Shaking her head in admiration at Gjoren's detection of the tracks, still invisible to her, Myvannuii follows the others.
Stone knocks politely on the door. Nothing happens; the group can still hear noises from inside.
He knocks again more loudly. A startled cry comes from inside, and shuffling footsteps can be heard moving towards the door.
The door flies open and an elderly halfling woman is standing behind it. Her homely face is pale with worry and tears glimmer in the corner of her eyes. Through the door you can see her clean, modest home.
"Who are you? Have you found my darlings?" she asks confusedly in a rather loud voice.
"Who are you? Have you found my darlings?" she asks confusedly in a rather loud voice.
Stone bows slightly to the sad woman and wonders what she thinks about this strange army of characters in front of her door.
Ah – but I am a fool. Her world has been turned upside down – she is in all likelihood thinking only of her “darlings.”“Hello ma’am…you must be Mrs. Oakleg. My name is Stone and I am very sorry to disturb you. Father Iverson has told us about the missing children and I and my comrades standing beside me wish to help find them. I suspect you may have a number of strangers come to your doorstep recently and I will be honest with you…there is a reward involved. I do not intend to claim any of it – and that does not make me a better or nobler person – but I thought you should know that.”
Stone shows the sketch to the woman.
“Is there anything you could share with us that would help in the search for Elisa, Terrem, and Borat? Did they get into any trouble recently? Did you see a stranger talking to them recently? Did they talk about anything new, do or say anything different in the last couple of days? Have they gone missing before? Please don’t torture yourself – if you know of nothing that you think would aid us in the search then we shall leave you in peace and begin our search.”
Seeing the distraught woman, Bron does his best to understand the lady's situation. Putting on a caring expression, Bron says, "I understand your feelings ma'am and can assure you that we will do everything we can to find your missing charges. But in order to do that, we first need to know how they were taken. If you don't mind, would it be possible to have a look around to see if we can find anything that might tell us about how they were taken, if indeed they were taken from his place.
Gjoren hangs in the back of the group. Though probably the most experienced tracker, he is smart enough to know that his appearance and gruff mannerisms wouldn't help the situation much. He shifts from foot to foot, impatiently waiting for the talking to end so he can do something useful.
The more time they spend flappin' their gobs, the further these children are gettin'...or bein' taken.
"Eh? Yes, that's them," she answers, wringing a handkerchief helplessly. "They're good children. Elisa would never wander off, never! Terrem and Borat, well, boys will be boys and Terrem is full of beans sometimes, but I'm sure they'd be back by now."
"You can look around if you want; seems like everyone else has, so why not you too..." She beckons you inside without much hope. Her home is a pretty simple place; the two boys sleep on the bottom floor that also has the kitchen and the main room, while Mrs. Oakleg and Elisa sleep upstairs.
""You can look around if you want; seems like everyone else has, so why not you too..." She beckons you inside without much hope.
"Thank you ma'am."
Without more than a nod to the widow, Gjoren enters the home and searches for any unusual signs or tracks within.
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"Ma'm, we are deeply sorry for your troubles, and the loss of the children. By the guiding light of Iomedae, we will see your young back with you as quickly as possible."
Moving her gently out of the doorway, into a more relaxed area like the living room or dining area, Daegan askes her to take a seat, trying to make her comfortable while the others look around. "Truly, I do not wish to linger on this hardship, but we must ask a few questions, if only to hasten their safe return. Can you tell us a little more about the children? Something that would help us get a better understanding of them, something we can use when we find them, which would help them know we are friends meant to help them." I then give her time to reply, nodding and commenting as appropriate, taking in her responses.
Daeg, if possible, then takes a seat nearby, within her comfort zone. "Can you think of anyone that might cause them to be away so long? Perhaps a new friend or someone in the neighborhood that they could be with. Has there been anyone new in the area, or someone strange that you can recall recently?" Again I give time to respond and show her we are serious about wanting to help the children.
"They're good children. Elisa is a quiet one, a good girl. She never causes me no trouble at all, and she's real helpful around the house. Borat, he's a funny one, always making us laugh. And smart, too! Why, can you believe that Father Iverson arranged for him to learn his letters and numbers? Sometimes he has trouble paying attention, but he tries hard. And Terrem..." She sighs. "Terrem is a good boy, but he's got lots of energy. Sometimes he gets to be a handful, but boys will be boys, you know?"
"There's no way that they would run off, Elisa anyways. I'm sure someone would've said something if they had a new friend or if they thought there was trouble."
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The searchers look through the house. Nothing seems out of order, but Terrem's few possessions (a pocket knife and a wooden sword) have been knocked off the small table the boys share.
Gjoren looks for footprints and he finds at least two types of boots have tracked some dust inside, both going inside the house and leaving the house. One type of boots is huge; the man who left those tracks much be approaching 7' tall, maybe.
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Sensing the others nearing completion of their investigations, Daegan stands and begins to make a few closing remarks for his questioning of the worried, elderly woman.
"Mrs. Oakleg, we want to thank you for your time and patience during these trying moments. We are going to do everything we can to see the children returned to you. That said but I must ask something else. Who else has been asking after the children, seeking their safe return? Have they mentioned where they intend to look for them? We don't want to end up spending time covering the same grounds when seperate searches will more quickly recover the lost ones and bring them home again."
While Deagan speaks to Mrs. Oakleg, Bron goes about searching the house for clues, however, the only think out of the ordinary he finds is the things knocked off the bedroom table.