The sun is just scrapping the rim of the horizon as the caravan begins to roll through the outskirts of Ravensmoor. Word has it the aftershocks from the quake stopped more than 2 weeks ago, but there is still an uneasiness in the air; a feeling that the floor could give way at any moment.
As you ride and walk along with the rest of the caravan there is a strange sense of temporary permanence, the contradiction setting your hair on end slightly. Tents and ramshackle buildings stand next to fields and piles of rubble. Some efforts have been made to begin rebuilding, but bringing in the harvest appears to have taken priority.
The cart driver at the front of the caravan seems to have a mixture of sadness and anger. "Hmmph, I guess the finer wares won't be selling this trip. I'll spend most of my time trying to pay a reasonable price for their foodstuffs. On the plus side the lumber and construction materials I brought will do well here. Must let the merchants know not to gouge though...these are lifetime customers, not a one-time opportunity." A single tear rolls down the rotund half-orc's face getting lost in his characteristic red gotee as he guides the carts further into the center.
As you pull to the center of the village, you are greeted by the site of a two-story stone and brick building with a large crack with light peeking out running at an angle down the front and its roof caved in. A sign proclaiming to be the "Wandering Herdsman" hangs at an angle off of a sign post, one of the chains broken and swinging free in the evening breeze.
A youthful looking halfling woman stands officiously on the deck of this inn. Behind her is an elven figure, older than ancient. The man has milky white hair that falls from his crown down to his waist as he leans heavily upon a staff that rises to his height. As he turns to acknowledge the jingle of the tack and clop of the horses hooves you see that his eyes are as milky as his hair.
The halfling mutters a few words to the elf behind her and steps down to meet the carts. "You made good time this year Tuskbeard, we appreciate it. We could make use of the wares you carry. I'm afraid the Herdsman is not in shape to accept your patronage on this trip though, so I will have to ask you to circle your wagons on the outskirts. Joseph Ingleton's field has already been cleared and the weather has been dry, you should find solid enough ground there for all your people."
The half-orc nodded and with a wave of his hand directed the lesser drivers to the appropriate place. "It's good to see you too Mistress Mortana. I am saddened to see the state of Ravensmoor, but you lead a hearty people. I've no doubt they will rebuild just as they did 20 years ago when the Lampblack jumped its banks.
Allow me to introduce some of the travelers that have joined me on my journey this year. Tuskbeard waves the group of your forward. "Mistress, each of these begged passage with my troop claiming they respond to a call for assistance from Ravensmoor."
Climbing off the cart, Zordlon glanced again at the scars of destruction and renewal. Again, the gods had struck, for reasons known only to them. Nothing to do, but rebuild. The signs and portents had told him that he would be needed here. Time to get to work.
"Mistress... Mortana, is it? I am Zordlon, locksmith, bowyer, and acrobat of no small skill. My lady above," He touches the spiral of Pharasma around his neck," Told me that your town would be requiring my services in some way. What can I do to help?"
The boy follows the caravan as it makes it's way to Ravensmoor. The destination nor the caravan itself was of much interest to the boy. It was a raven haired beauty that he watched for. Something inside him felt warm and anxious whenever he glimpsed her. She once stretched during the dawn hours of a glorious day, and the boy thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Keeping to the tree line, the boy pretended that he was a part of the travelers, someone important and respected like his father.
The tree line dwindled to sparse shrubs, bushes and tall grass as they get closer to the town. He noticed more activity on the road of people walking, riding horses and leading carts pulled by oxen. It felt more dangerous hiding in the grass lands than walking the road. However, his disheveled and dirty appearance made him look out of place based on the others he had seen.
Darting from cover in the grass, the boy makes his way to a animal shed on the outskirts of the town. He continued to dart from building cover to building cover hoping to stay stealthy. All in order to see what is happening with the dark haired beauty.
A townsperson, Fredrick Von Hoffer, The local smithy sees the boy. Worried that the teen was up to no good, He sneaks in behind the boy. Nabbing him by the nape of the neck, The boy fought back hard; he fought like a full grown man. Fredrick, surprised by the strength and ferocity of the child, launches himself in a tackling move that brings them both down. "Calm. Calm." He says while on top of him.
Villagers run to the commotion. A commotion that garners the attention of the caravan and Mistress Ivonette Mortana.
Taanimohka looks upon the settlement with a mixture of distaste and pity. Distaste for the architecture, lack of planning and general lack of trees. Pity for the same, but also for the devastation enacted by the quaking earth.
Still, and end to travel and a new beginning!
Taani jumps down easily from the 'van and stretches her legs, then turns to help any elderly or otherwise less able down. The elf-maid smiles and nods companionably to the Mistress of the inn and the venerable elf beside her. She is about to introduce herself when a commotion occurs. She sees a burly man holding a wild looking human boy. Taani moves toward them. She crouches down on her haunches beside them.
"What ails you lad? Is this man hurting you?"
Elsewhere, near the south-eastern edge of the town, heads turn to stare at another odd sight; a green-scaled kobold rides into town on a flaming horse. A couple remember him from when he visited last year, but most simply gawk at the unusual traveler. The kobold canters over to a nearby farmer, in the middle of repairing a section of fence.
"Greetings. Do you know where Sheth could purchase adventuring supplies? Sheth is on a mission directed by the earth herself," the kobold asks in a slightly raspy voice.
"Err..." the local says, clearly taken aback, "A merchant caravan should be arriving in town today, over yonder. They might have what you're looking for?"
"Ah, excellent. Sheth thanks you for your help."
"Best of luck in rebuilding your farm," added his fiery horse.
At this, the strange little kobold and his mount turned and headed in the direction the farmer had indicated. Before long, he heard agitated shouting, and picked up the pace, rushing to see what was the matter! As he arrived, he found a large, brawny human pinning a smaller human to the ground, as an elf kneels next to them both, and a crowd begins to gather.
"Sheth... has no idea what is going on here. Is this a human thing?"
Taanimohka smiles, and looks up at the interesting kobold riding an even more interesting...thing.
"Perhaps. The humans haven't answered yet."
Climbing off the cart, Zordlon glanced again at the scars of destruction and renewal. Again, the gods had struck, for reasons known only to them. Nothing to do, but rebuild. The signs and portents had told him that he would be needed here. Time to get to work.
"Mistress... Mortana, is it? I am Zordlon, locksmith, bowyer, and acrobat of no small skill. My lady above," He touches the spiral of Pharasma around his neck," Told me that your town would be requiring my services in some way. What can I do to help?"
Mistress Mortana nodded acknowledgement to Zordlon and opened her mouth to speak when a ruckus down the path grabbed her attention.
"What fresh trouble are you bringing me now Fredrick? Are the pixies in your fastenings again?"
A middle-aged human male with arms like tree timbers and a chest like a barrel struggled to drag a feral looking youth forward. An unintroduced member of the caravan approached the group, as did a small kobold from further down the path.
As the Kobold became visible, the caravan guard () that had previously said nothing eyed him carefully and eased his mace from its belthook. "Is being cautious time now Mistress Khovahani," he said in a gravely undertone. "Is kobold. I haff encountered before on the trail. Often many. Small dragonkin, mess-chevious mind, sharp claws. Not trustworthy." Keeping his mace relaxed but ready at his side as he kept a close eye on the Kobold with the strange mount, watching for any malicious intent.
The human that Mortana had identified as Fredrick remained oblivious to this, and responded to her query. "Be-Beggin' your pardon Mistress. I did see this rapscallion lurking in the shadows of your inn. Had an unfriendly look in his eye; lookin' at the caravan havin' jus arrived. I did be thinkin he meant ill to our vistors."
The halfling let out an exasperated sigh as she massaged her temples. "And so of course you, fool that you are, acted with your muscles instead of your brain and assaulted a visitor to our community who had not committed a crime." Von Hoffer opened his mouth to protest and explain, but she raised her had making it clear she was not done speaking. "He is a little young to be a highwayman don't you think? And so disheveled that if he is one he can't be a very good one. Besides, if he meant ill for the caravan wouldn't he have attacked it before Tuskbeard arrived in our village? There are a lot more guards and eyes here than in the middle of the wilderness I reckon. Go on now, let him up. If he means any harm we will know soon enough and I will let you wrassle him again to your heart's content."
Looking chagrinned at the chastisement the blacksmith loosened his grip on the boy and backed off on the weight pressed into the small of his back. Fredrick did not back off all of the way though; he clearly stood ready to reengage if the need arose.
Giving a warm, motherly smile to the boy; Mistress Mortana apologized for the crassness with which he had been greeted and encouraged him to regain his feet.
Feeling that familiar sensation of being watched, Sheth looks over, and returns the guard's cautious stare.
"Is there something that Sheth can help you with?"
The boy is released and his eyes dart back and forth looking for an opening he can run through. His silence to questions and complete focus on escape isn't lost on the gathered crowd. They instinctively coral the youth with a fence made from their bodies. The boy then eyes the kobold on the fiery horse and cocks his head.
In Draconic he says, "You trust these cheese skins?"
Sheth notices two things. First, the child's koboldian diction is nearly perfect, and second, the use of the pejorative which is used for humans and demi-humans. Since kobold physiology cannot process cheese well, a kobold eating it would suffer from cramps and sickness that would be eliminated from both ends in a rapid and excruciating manner. The resulting elimination looks like the skin of the human-things skin (depending on the color of cheese). It would be rare in the extreme for any non-kobold to ever hear the slur directly.
Watching the commotion gather together, Zordlon continues to hang back a little. As non-threatening as the newcomer appeared, it wouldn't do for everyone to be caught unaware in the case that it was some sort of bandit bluff. The burning horse, and the small kobold riding it, could be exactly the sort of distraction that unsavory types would exploit.
"Now... If I was..." The words almost slip from his lips as he hops back up on top of the wagon, back again within reach of his longbow, and the height to inspect the nearby trees.
Taanimohka laughs easily. She returns in fair Draconic as she stands, brushing dust of the road off her military-like breeches.
Draconic: "Cheeseskins. Funny. I don't get it though."
She turns to look at Sheth more closely, inspecting his mount.
In Draconic again she asks him:
Draconic: "Is that a kobold thing?"
Sheth looks back in open shock at the boy, startled at hearing such well-spoken kobold Draconic for the first time in many years. When Taanimohka responds in rougher Draconic, he is again surprised, though much less so. After a moment to to collect himself, and clear the incredulous look from his face, he responds.
Draconic: "I can't say. I've never heard the term before, but then, the last time I was around my own kind, I was hardly more than a pup."
Turning to face the boy, he answers the original question
Draconic: "I've been given no reason to distrust these people before now; they gave me no trouble during my previous visit. May I ask where you learned to speak our language so well?"
At this, Sheth dismounts, and approaches the young lad.
The boy relaxes a bit, and looks down at his feet as he shuffles them. "Cringe." He says in an almost inaudible tone.
He stiffens up and looks back at the smithy with daggers in his eyes that soften almost immediately. Raising his left hand in a fluttering motion and whistling like a bat, he gathers the eyes and attention of those watching him...including Fredrick. Without looking away from his own distracting movements, his right backhand tags the large smithy in his marriage tackle. A benign but sickening smack sends waves of nausea through the big man. The boy backs away towards the halfling lady, a look of defiance beams from him.
Mortana chuckles at the way the boy shrugs the older man off of him with ease; Fredrick sitting on his backside in the roaddust, clearly confused at what just happened.
"Serves you right Fredrick. Don't go picking fights and you won't get into trouble." She turns to address the rest of the larger crowd. "And the rest of you, don't you have something better to be about. There is about an hour of sunlight left...go about your business. Or get home and start cooking dinner. There is something better to do that stand around here and gawk rudely at the new people."
With a wave of her hands the diminutive halfling rather impressively herds the group of people easily twice her height back to their homesteads. Turning back to the group of adventurers that same unflappable smile still adorns her face.
"I had best take you inside. There isn't lodging available, or really much in the way of refreshment, but if we stay out here the crowd will just come back. Best to take ourselves off of display."
You are ushered into the lamplit but disheveled interior of the Wandering Herdsman, and guided to what appears to be the only existing table in the common room. Several table legs and portions of tops are stacked against the wall, apparently dismantled and being used as makeshift building supplies. Indeed, even the chairs you sit in are chaotic and mismatched.
As you sit with Mistress Mortana and the elderly elf, a younger halfling girl of about 18 or 20 brings a tray with goblets of an amber liquid. With a nod of thanks from Mortana she backs away and exits the room. "I'm afraid all we can offer you is ale. The well collapsed with the earthquake and the water from the Lampblack has taken on a funny taste. We don't trust to drink it just now. About a week and we will have new water supplies for sure, but until then it is in short supply. Now then, before we were interrupted by Mr Von Hoffer's rudeness I believe we were in the middle of introductions." Mortana places a hand upon the boy's shoulder, looking like the picture of motherliness. "I am sorry for the way you were treated. It is always most terrible when a first impression goes wrong. My name is Ivonette Mortana and this is my home. Might I ask who you are youngling; and what brings you to my community?"
The boy sniffs at his drink and his face grimaces. He carefully takes a sip, and the bubbles and bitterness are enough of a shock for him to spit it out. He wipes his tongue with a corner of his filthy shirt. Almost reflexively, water begins gushing from his hands, and he drinks deep from them.
When asked a question directly from Ivonette, he looks away and then down. He glances upwards at the raven haired beauty and then back down. He shrugs noncommittally. "Hel-help out." he stutters. The boy seems to have difficultly forming the words in common.
Shortly after being brought into the ramshackle inn, Sheth sits on the floor for a minute as the kind halfling speaks. As he finally stands, his blazing pony vanishes. It is somehow replaced by an creature even odder still. Carefully picking its way along the shattered floor with it's tentacles, the cerulean-blue creature has a bulbous body, atop which is perched a tiny crown, far too small for its wearer. Carefully moving up to the side of the table before easing down onto itself, it mutters quietly in Aquan, "This place is hardly worthy of one of my status, but I suppose it beats the dirty wilds this kobold normally frequents."
Sheth, used to his watery companion muttering things he doesn't understand, merely takes a seat at the table, and sips the offered beverage. Pulling a face, he subtly 'purifies' it into water, before continuing to drink. After hearing the boy's 'answer', Sheth turns to him and says, in Draconic, "Do you struggle with the common tongue as well? Would you find it easier if I translated from kobold-tongue for you?"
The boy looks at Sheth for more than a few moments. He shrugs, "Got nothin' more to say."
Accompanied by Dornhold is a young Varisian woman slightly taller than most, with dark tan skin, midnight black curly waist length hair, eyes the orange color of the sunrise, and small blue tattoos of butterflies on her cheeks. She lightly fingers a gold and sliver necklace as she enters. Her fellow travelers on the caravan know her as Sayarisha Khovihani, a traveler, explorer, and practitioner of rare arcane arts.
"Brave Dornhold, many have had their problems with the small scaled kin in the past, myself as well. But within them lies the blood of the mighty and they can be capable of great things."
Gesturing to Dornhold to take a seat at the table, she nods and smile in greetings to each of the others who came in on the caravan.
With a curtsy and a grateful smile Sayarisha addresses their halfing hostess, "In the wake the troubles you've suffered, thank you for welcoming us into your home Mistess Mortana. May The Starsong bless your dreams, The Dawnstar your days, and Cayden your drinks. "
She then turns her attention to the kobold and the boy. "Clearly, neither of you are simply what you appear to be." she says in Common.
"You seem to be far away from others like you, if indeed there are many others like you. Welcome and thank you for trying to help." she says to Sheth in Draconic.
Kneeling next to the boy she looks into his face with an expression of both curiosity and concern, the concern also mirrored in her voice "I think you might need my help young man. Especially as you seem better with the tongue of dragon kin than with the tongues of humans. I am Saryarisha and I'd like to help you." she says in Draconic.
"Ivonette Mortana." begins Taanimohka. "I am Taanimohka Essirien, of Kyonin. I wish to explore the fissure created by the quake. Could you provide directions?" the elf continues, driving straight to the point without preamble.
Something dawns over the kobold's face, and he says, in common, "Ah, yes, in all the commotion, Sheth forgot to introduce himself properly. Sheth is a kobold once of the Sanos Forests, and the last of a once-great clan. Sheth seeks to prevent any others from suffering the same fate, by preserving the many species found within nature. Nature has pointed Sheth north, towards the source of the quakes, and so Sheth has stopped by this village for supplies. Though, it seems much more has been found." At this, Sheth peers around the table at those surrounding him.
"And We," the water elemental chimes in, are Duke Renbugul, third in line to the throne of Riptide. A fact that this one would do well to remember from time to time," he adds with a pointed look at Sheth.
"I think you might need my help young man. Especially as you seem better with the tongue of dragon kin than with the tongues of humans. I am Saryarisha and I'd like to help you." she says in Draconic.
The boy shakes his head no. I help you. he says in common while emphasizing the 'you', briefly locking eyes. He pulls his spear and stands with his back to her. The boy looks back and smiles, ever so slightly.
Dornhold chuckles at the display. "Seeming wolf-cub wanting my job Sayarisha. I not renegotiate price just because new competition."
Dornhold laughs into his cup, draining the watery ale in a single elongated gulp. Putting the tankard back on the table, he addresses the Mayor.
"I am being Dornhold Merriweather. They say I am being merry regardless of the weather. I was guard for Tuskbeard's caravan, but back and forth is boring, and life is short. Mistress Sayarisha Khovihani has hired me as a manservant and bodyguard, which may be less boring, but more short."
Unbeugsam gladly stretched himself after the caravan finally reached Ravensmoor. He had been grumpy for the first few days of the trip, but the clean air and the simple voyage, while not without it´s challenges had truly lifted his spirits. The town had for sure a simpler outlook than Riddleport. But then it would for sure be not a pool of snakes.
Fetching his pay from the caravan master and taking his toolbox from the wagon he walked to the gathered adventurers and stroked his long lustrous brown beard, held in many braids by bronze beads.
"What are your plans for the future lads. Stay here? Investigate the rumours?"
Flexing his strong caloused hands in antipication he smiled. The ugly scar running from his left eyelid down to his lip made it for sure a ghastly view, but at least he was lucky. He had known others who couldn´t but help to drool!
Mortana's gaze drifts across the gathered group. "Well, we are very grateful for your presence. The quake was unusual, but we have faced cold winters and flooded fields before; as Tuskbeard said, we can rebuild from this too. More concerning to me is the portents that Travaran has been reading in his cards."
The blind elf grunts as he hears his name and pats the many threadbare pockets of his robe. In short order a small laquered wooden box with ivory inlays is produced, and a deck of cards is brought out of it. His sand dry voice scratches from his throat. "I told you before Ivie, I do not read the cards. I cannot see, how could I possibly read anything? The possibilities, the probabilities, the realities that are laid bare when the cards are shuffled are entwined with the probabilities and realities that define our world. It is a simplified form and shadow of what is happening around us." The soft whir of cards being bridged together punctuates his words. "By interpreting the pattern that randomized cards come out of a pack you get a peek at the shadows on the wall. You can see down to the threads and view the weave instead of the image that it creates."
Travaran begins to deal the cards face down in a 3 by 3 grid in front of the table, after which he places a card face down in front of each member of the party.
- The Hidden Truth
- The Crows
- The Vision
- The Joke
- The Rakshasa
- The Forge
- The Tyrant
- The Snakebite
- The Survivor
- The Sickness
- The Wanderer
- The Avalanche
- The Fiend
- The Dance
- The Midwife
"You may look at the card that fate has dealt you if you choose, but know that by viewing your future you both cement it into place and change its form. It becomes both unavoidable and unknowable in the act of trying to know it."
Spreading his hands wide over the table, Travaran's snow blind eyes glow with an arcane light. That same blueish nimbus seems to surround the 4 cards in the corners of the grid. Without turning them over or examining them in any further way he intones, in a different voice now; somehow darker and more cracked than before,
"Through the crack in Storval, down below the deep.
Lies a stone once hidden, that now begins to creep.
Mortal hands never touched, no mortal eyes did see,
What lies within the stone below, that now yearns to be free.
The place the stone doth lie, a hidden hand looks to take,
Power untold from before time; and thus caused the great quake.
Go swiftly but beware, there lies a danger rare.
Go swiftly but be kind, for I know not what you will find.”
The old elf slumps back in his chair. A pained look crosses his face as he clutches the edge of the table, apparently just barely keeping from collapsing straight to the floor.
Unable to make sense of anything the blind elf was saying, the boy begins to pick his nose and finds something good. With concentrated effort he digs and digs, until he pulls out his mined piece of gold. Rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, the boy examines it carefully. The old man collapses in his chair, and the boy flicks his fascination away. He immediately stands not knowing what to do.
"By the lady." Such a clear sign. It had been years since the will of the heavens was made so plain.
Drawing his card, Zordlon turned it over slowly in his hand. The sickness. Danger within. With the words of the seer still reverberating, it could only mean more earthquakes. But not natural ones. Something under the ground was causing them. His task was obvious. It remained to been seen if the others would help.
The kobold's hand hovers over the card in front of him, before going back to his side. "Tempted as Sheth is to see what fate has in store, Sheth would rather have control over the future than commit to whatever fate the cards have decided. About the prophecy... Sheth is even more uncertain. There is a rock underground, and we must be careful around the underground rock. This does not sound helpful."
Having said his part, Sheth eases back in the chair, looking contemplative, for all he had brushed off the prophecy. At Zordlon's comment, Sheth's eyes dart back to his own card, but he does not reach for it again.
Unbeugsam takes his card and looks at the dwarfen woman holding a slain devil in her hand.
"This is a good omen. I will tell of victories, of fame and fortune in the end!"
Stroking his beard he smiles at the others.
"This will be so glorious!"
Taanimohka eyes the old blind elf with a deep abiding will, her glance almost a physical blade of keen interest.
"The space surrounding the act is as illusory as what the act purports to represent. Only the act of interpreting the card gives it any meaning. The images, the interpretations - all merely gateways. Some prefer to wander untrammeled [here Taanimohka glances at the wild boy and the kobold] while others at least will poke the fire to see the sparks arise."
The elf-maid nods a kind smile to Unbeugsam.
"As so obviously do I."
Her delicate fingers turn the card she has been presented with and she glances at it for the merest moment.
"The Avalanche. A picture of a falling wagon, and an earth elemental raining down. From the suit of Keys."
Taanimohka returns the card to its place and smiles, looking again at the blind old elf.
"The Kyonin knew this already. Some omens are passed. Others are as the wind. These are but cards - the Harrow itself knows nothing. Like us, the cards mean everything. But perhaps only to ourselves and those we mean something to."
The orange eyed woman stands beside the young boy and briefly tousles his already unkempt hair before taking another moment to playfully arrange it. "Well young man, we can be stronger together, me helping you and you helping me. Let’s agree to do just that." She briefly hugs him around his shoulders and grins at Dornhold before releasing the boy and turning her attention back to Mortana and then to Travaran.
Looking on to the Harrowing with fascination and reverence, Sayarisha remains fixed in place seeming to be almost frozen except for the slow and steady rise and fall of her breasts as she breathes. After Travaran lays down the last card and gives his prophetic speech, Sayarisha quickly moves forward to help settle the ancient aged and sightless elf more comfortably into his chair. “Thank you for sharing you gift with us, is there anything more we can do for you Elder Travaran?” She will wait for his response and his request if any, before returning to her seat and looking at the card presented for her.
With her eyes closed she lays her open palm on top of the Harrow card while gently humming a short tune. When her song ends, she pulls the card up to her eye level and rapidly turns it over to reveal the picture on the face. After a moment, she smiles and replaces the card in its original position on the table.
In a serious but confident voice she addresses the others around the table. “We are all here to answer the call for help. Some of us because we are looking for adventure, others because we have been sent by higher powers, yet others because they cannot refuse a honest request for help. In my case, the reasons are all of those and others. But whatever your reasons are, we’ve been given a task deep beneath Storval to insure that whatever power is sealed within that stone is not released or taken by that which has caused the earthquake. There is danger enough for all but songs to be sung and dances to be danced when we are done.”
The wizened elf smiled gratefully at Sayarisha's kindness.
"I am well, I just need a moment." His arm carefully but surely moves for the mug of ale sitting in front of him; as if seeing it clearly through his ruined eyes. With a shaking grasp he brings the ale to his lips and drinks silently.
Hearing a slight chittering in the rafters you look up to notice a squirrel posted in the ceiling beams. It gazes intently down at the table with a slight silver sheen in its eyes.
Putting his mug back on the table, the elf's smile broadens as he turns to the boy and Sheth. "So you've discovered my secret, most do not notice him so quickly. Please pay no mind to Aeschyli, he simply helps me get around."
Mistress Mortana smiles up at the squirrel, she does not seem surprised that it is nearby, although she apparently was not aware of its exact location until this moment. She then returns her attention to the group of you.
"So, you have heard Travaran's reading. Yes, I know, it isn't technically reading anything, but that's what everyone else calls it. Anyways, you have heard the reading, it is much the same as the one I first heard a month ago. After that first reading he marked this spot here on the map that we have of the wildlands surrounding the community." She unrolls a small parchment map of the local floodplain of the lampblack, and points to a inked in black diamond.
"It is our understanding that the crack in Storval that the reading pronounces can be found there. It is about a two week journey on foot from here. We do not have much to offer in your efforts to explore this danger, but we can provide provisions to at least get you to the crack. We can provide a cart, provisions for the 2 week journey, and pay for your bodyguard for the two week period on the trail. From there I am afraid you would be on your own.
We are indebted to the brave souls that answer this call for assistance, but understand if the lack of pay may cause some hesitance. It is not mine to give, but as mayor of this community I grant salvage rights to anything you find on this expedition. That right may be contested, but it is my hope that there may be treasures and riches there to satisfy the need for compensation.
If you are in agreement, I would recommend that you rest with the caravan for tonight and set out on the journey in the morning."
The boy briefly wonders what the squirrel would taste like, and his mouth begins to water. He smells something cooking. Without a word, he follows his nose into the kitchen. The archer considered it obvious that he would follow Sayarisha wherever she chose to go. So he would just let her handle all the talky-talky stuff.
There working, he sees the young Halfling girl, who had served them ale. He watched as she was rotating some kind of bird on a spit which was set into a large brick fireplace. The comely girl brushed some heavenly smelling liquid on its browning skin as she did so. The boy was so quiet that she had not noticed him enter. She nearly jumps out of her skin when the youngling's stomach growls as he stands over her watching. The girl quickly regains her composure and says. "You gave me a start. Dinner's not ready yet." The youth does not react, his attention rapt on the cooking bird. "Shoe, Shoe" She emphasizes with a waving away of her hands.
The boy sulks like a chastised dog slipping back into the common room.
..."If you are in agreement, I would recommend that you rest with the caravan for tonight and set out on the journey in the morning."Mistress Mortana finishes.
" A fair enough distance that I for one will be glad for the use of the cart. Thank you for the salvage rights, I've always found that the adventures that the heavens send me have paid well enough. Hopefully that this one doesn't pay so well that the folks over in Riddleport have something to say about it."
Taanimohka nods.
"Acceptable payment. Salvage rights it is then. I am ready to leave on the morrow, with cart, provisions and bodyguard as offered."
With that, and another mug of ale, the group disperses to their various sleeping arrangements. Smorth, the caravaneer, can be heard grumbling to himself about having to sleep in his wagon again as you depart from the Herdsman, "The traders going down the Ivory road don't deal with this I tell you."
The night is cool, but not cold; it is a comfortable evening for sleeping with the stars as a blanket. Small fires are built outside various wagons and carts for companionship and conversation more than they are for warmth. A few small games of chance involving travelworn dice or cards spring up here and there as well.
As the night wears on, some begin to bed down; apparently expecting an early morning of commerce to greet them with the sunrise.
Perception: 7(9) = +1 rank, +3 Class, +3 Stat (+2 Racial in darkness concealment)
Stealth: 7(9) = +1 rank, +3 Class, +3 Stat (+2 Racial in darkness concealment)
Unbeugsam will move towards the tavern and interact with the local townsfolk.
Offering a coin or two he listens to the latest gossip.
"Sheth does not mind the lack of payment. Sheth planned to go into the caves either way, after all."
With that said, the kobold downed his second glass of 'ale', and headed out into the night air. Instinctively, he begins to head for the treeline, but pauses after a few steps, and turns to head towards a nearby campfire. If he's going to be traveling, and exploring with these people, it would do to get to know them. Especially those he's going underground with.
Son of Atrau:
Having gotten into a capricious frame of mind, you make your way to the smithery you saw Frederick Van Hoffer coming out of earlier in the day.
You are able to make it to the door unnoticed, and find the smithy closed and locked for the night. The lock is of fairly simple design, one of the many that Cringe showed you to overcome during your formative years. You are able to disable it without to much trouble
Sliding into the shadows of the room, you begin to search it under the dull red glow of the cooling forge. After a few moments you come away with 3 smithy hammers, a prybar, and a pair of heavy tongs that seem like it would be frustrating if they suddenly went missing. You also see a well made dagger with an artistically stylized cross-guard and a box of simple nails (50) that appear to be the most recent commissions that were just completed today.
Sliding back out of the smithy you quietly skulk through the township to hide your finds amoungst a few various carts in the caravan.
Unbeugsam
Only a few of the locals seem to be up for conversation this evening. You gather from those that do stick around to speak with you that most leisure has fallen by the wayside over the past month as all efforts have been focused on the harvest and rebuilding. Most people work until they are too exhausted to stand and then sleep through the night before starting again the next day. Meal times are focused purely on the consumption of sustenance.
Fredrick Von Hoffer is very interested to speak with you as he has never spent time in the company of a dwarf before and has heard that they are natural smiths. He spends a good hour telling you about the locals of the village, including his main rival in smithing, Blur Ashwood, a real 'ash-hole' Von Hoffer says. During the conversation he also plies you for information about how dwarven smithing differs from what he practices. He is particularly interested in your experiences as a weaponsmith in Mulberry End.
The boy snickers to himself quietly as he absconds with the tools. While the dagger was pretty, somehow it didn't feel right to steal something for personal gain. He was only interested in making the goofy blacksmith's slack-jawed face twist in frustration and anger. Slipping under one of the wagons then another, he lodges the tools tightly beneath the under carriage. He imagines the idiot searching the caravans goods only to come up empty. The thought makes the boy smile throughout the remainder of the night.
In the hope of making good time for the morrow, Zordlon is going to have a mug or two of ale, and head to bed early
Taanimohka will choose option 5 - rest.
Taanimohka repairs to the caravan to rest. Before retiring she makes her own predestinative inquiry of the harrow.
Taani smiles, as if laughing at an inside joke. With that she goes to sleep.
Sayarisha easily agrees to the terms offered, nodding to Dornhold and smiling to the others.
“All that makes our traveling easier is welcome, especially food and a cart. I know that faithful Dornhold will appreciate the payment forthcoming as well. While we are there, I think that some of what we salvage might come in useful, if the stories I've heard of like journeys are to be believed.”
****
As the evening falls and everyone gathers at the site of the caravan, Sayarisha will drape a blanket around her shoulders and gather who she can around their own campfire, including Dornhold, Sheth, and anyone else who's willing to join them.
“Welcome friends, lets us sit around the fire and talk. If you all share a word or two mayhaps I will share a secret and a dance.”
A few of the caravan drivers do join you at your campfire. A thin human woman with flaxen hair introduces herself as Elsina and sits with a blanket across her knees. She knits small yarn dolls absentmindedly as she engages you in conversation. During the course of the evening you watch a white unicorn and a large grizzly bear with mottled brown and black fur take shape through the coaxing of her needles. Each are about 4 inches tall and are of fine enough make to belie the simple nature of their materials.
Your second companion is a clean shaven dwarf, Jakk, looking strangely out of place without a beard adorning his round and cheerful face. He is jovial; laughing and telling jokes into the evening, until Dornhold asks about his lack of beard. When the topic is brought up the dwarf's face grows dark and he brusquely excuses himself from the group heading to his wagon for the evening. Elsina sighs as she looks down for a moment at the bear between her needles.
"I wish you hadn't of asked. You couldn't have known of course, but he will be sour for days now. Two years ago Jakk told me, while drunk mind, that his family had been cursed by a witch over 500 years ago. No male of his line would ever be able to grow a beard. It caused his line to be struck from the clan. They've been outcasts ever since. There's not many of them mind, apparently no self-respecting dwarven woman will give a dwarf with no beard the time of the season, so their family tree does not have a robust set of branches."
Sayarisha shakes her head and briefly frowns at Dornhold. Looking at the path Jakk took away from the fire, Sayarisha sighs in sympathy, "Oh what a harsh punishment, especially to those whose only crime was to be born of that line. Perhaps some day it will be lifted."
She turns to Sheth, "Please tell us more about yourself. For example, how you learned to call upon the elements and have them listen?"
Does Sayarisha have a chance to know anything about the curse on Jakk's family? Or has she learned about similar curses and the ways to lift them?
Sheth, uninterested in the seamstress' craft at first, becomes intrigued as the form of the unicorn emerges from a neatly bundled mass of yarn. By the time the grizzly bear approaches completion, he has one slitted eye locked on her hands as they work.
As Sayarisha takes her seat, Sheth mentally debates asking her about her past, until she asks him about his. "Well, Sheth was abandoned when very young, and grew up in the wild forests and blasted plains - what others call the Cinderlands. A dwarven druid -"
"Accompanied by naught but peasantry, himself," interjects 'Duke' Renbugul.
"Yes, well, a couple years ago, Barissom found Sheth in the wilds, and found Sheth's attunement to nature well-suited for a druid. So Barissom provided training in the ways of not just a druid, but also an elemental shaman. And the common tongue," he quickly adds."Sheth only learned Draconic as a hatchling, so at first, speech was... difficult."
"But that is enough about Sheth. Perhaps Sayarisha would care to tell us about the past? Why drives Sayarisha to take Door-hold and the strange boy, and explore the deep earth?"
Gently caressing the butterfly tattoo on her left cheek she answers "Why? As I said before there are many reasons why I choose to go on this quest. My people have always been followers of Mother Moon, and since my coming of age Starsong has guided me in my dreams and in Harrowings from time to time. Also, I am drawn to new adventures whenever I can find them. And, I love being able to help others when they are in need. This is one of those times too."
She pauses and looks to the night sky, smiling warmly as if briefly caught in a happy memory. Still smiling she continues, "Why did I hire Dornhold? Wit and wisdom tell me that sometimes a trained warrior with armor and steel is better than even the mightiest of spells in a battle. Besides, he's dependable and forthright. Right, Dornhold?" Sayarisha gave a playful hug on the former guardsman along with the compliment.
Returning her full attention back to the kobold druid she adds, "As for the boy, I feel that he might be coming along with us no matter if I chose to care for him or not. He is a kindred spirit I feel and also in need of a little guidance and love. But I can also see in need within him to prove himself, to himself and others. I think he is a young warrior, not just a boy."
She pauses and looks thoughtful for a moment, "We should find out his name, or gift him with one if he doesn't know. I wonder where he is?