Brandt wipes the daemonic ichor off his father's axeblade, shaking his head, As if we don't have enough problems here, those problems can draw outsiders to the lands now too? I thought I'd seen everything with meeting multiple dragons and battling fey soldiers, but apparently not... Well, we've always intended to inspect the gold mine, so I suppose this is as good a chance as any to see if we've got an investment, or merely a hole in the ground. the Ulfen looks aroud the area, inspecting it for what he'd expect a gold mine to look like, before he stops and looks at Orlogg, Orlogg, I suspect you'd be better at this than I, any thoughts on if this mine actually could work?
Bydar shares what he knows of the Daemon, and he looks quite chilled, "Well, Shelyn hold me close, that creature was terrifying."
Christian looks to the creature as it dissipates.
We will be waiting...
His demeanor turns worrisome as the weight of their decision falls on his shoulders. He heavily sighs and looks up.
What the hell did we just unleash on the region?
Bydar shares what he knows of the Daemon, and he looks quite chilled, "Well, Shelyn hold me close, that creature was terrifying."
Motioning to Brandt and himself.
We killed it...did we not?So how is it still alive and where is it now? Can we track it by the ichor that was left behind?
Brandt wipes the daemonic ichor off his father's axeblade, shaking his head, As if we don't have enough problems here, those problems can draw outsiders to the lands now too? I thought I'd seen everything with meeting multiple dragons and battling fey soldiers, but apparently not...
Fey soldiers....could this thing be part of them or maybe even part of the cult?
*after talking about the daemon*
Well, we've always intended to inspect the gold mine, so I suppose this is as good a chance as any to see if we've got an investment, or merely a hole in the ground. the Ulfen looks aroud the area, inspecting it for what he'd expect a gold mine to look like, before he stops and looks at Orlogg, Orlogg, I suspect you'd be better at this than I, any thoughts on if this mine actually could work?
Yes, let us see what we are dealing with and what the old man left behind.
"Well, that solves that." He turns to one of his comrade. "Hey Bydar, let me see that glaive of yours. Now that there is no more foes to kill, I could use some magic to fix it."
Once it is done, Orlog looks deeper in the tunnel. "Well, let's start exploring. Might be more traps, keep an eye out."
"Glady, and thank you, Orlog," Gratefully he hands it over, and when the dwarf sees to it, takes it back
After repairing Bydar's glaive, Orlog presses onward and discovers a couple more traps guarding the rest of the short walk into the cavern, but none of them are currently armed. Perhaps the hermit would set these traps when he and his strange companion went out into the wilds to hunt and scavenge. Nevertheless, Orlog's careful guidance ensures no one is injured by the sharp and dirty components.
At the rear of the cavern, looming over the filthy pallet of leaves and hides that served as bedding for the cavern's slain inhabitants, the most immediately noticeable feature is the effigy crafted by a set of human remains. An almost complete humanoid skeleton is woven together by rope and vines and suspended like a scarecrow. A smooth, carefully shaped length of wood serves as a crossbar, holding the skeleton's arm bones akimbo.
Brandt stalks forward with Orlogg, keeping an eye out for more surprises left by the cannibalistic hermit. This is quite a place, shame he made such a mess in here, but I suppose it won't matter much if there's really gold in here.
Peering at the wall, Brandt whistles, Well Orlogg, I hope you know the secrets of your people, because that sure appears to be a LOT of gold in these caverns... Charis may be set for a while with income if we can start mining operations!
"Thank you for trusting me," Syretia says, letting out the breath she'd been holding. "I didn't think there was time to explain, it could have been stalling for time as part of its treacherous nature. Don't trouble yourself overmuch, Lord D'Elagante. It had already been set loose on the region; we have, at the least, delivered it a serious setback."
Once it seems safe to do so, she joins in a search of the chambers. "What's this?" she exclaims, exposing the container hidden within the hollow.
"I'm not a miner, but I sure I can find some!" Orlog looks around trying to see everything at once. Ties as he may, he just can't seem to see the gold that Brand is talking about, not that he would let the human know.
He nods to Syretia
I trust your judgment, I do but I must ask...is that thing still
alive?
Once inside the cavern.
I see it as well.
Syretia considers the question for a moment. "Normally, I'd say yes. Most fiends do, in fact, die when you cut their heads off. But its parting words were, and I quote, 'See you soon.' Another thing to keep an eye out for."
"It was not of this world..." Bydar observes, "Vulnadaemons are tied to murder and betrayal.. it maybe we did not so much kill it as.. de-summonn? It might one day find it's way back here from Abbadon."
He looks at the Container , "Does it have magic in or on it?"
Brushing aside the leaves and detritus reveals a worn, mossy chest. Not only is the container not locked, but even the latch has broken off, leaving no resistance at all.
Inside, you find the eclectic riches that the hermit has collected from his victims: rings, bracelets, and pendants rendered in copper and brass; small bundles of herbs, spices, and pipeweed; small holy icons and trinkets; and, of course, scattered coins of various denominations and mints.
On top of all these other trinkets is a brooch in the shape of a shield, set with several small red garnets in a mosaic pattern. Relatively fresh blood still splatters its surface, strongly suggesting that it was taken from the hermit's most recent victim - and identifying the victim as a Redshield merchant. Such a piece of jewelry would be worth several hundred pieces of gold, although returning it to the merchant house might bring an intangible reward worth far more.
One other item set apart from the others is a tarnished silver locket, hanging upon a bent nail stuck in the side of the chest. It sits open upon its hinge, revealing a tiny, faded portrait of a young woman. Although it would be of little monetary value, it is curious that the hermit would keep it in such a prominent place.
Lastly, there are three wooden flasks that contain unknown, odoriferous liquids.
"It was not of this world..." Bydar observes, "Vulnadaemons are tied to murder and betrayal.. it maybe we did not so much kill it as.. de-summonn? It might one day find it's way back here from Abbadon."
How long before is can return?
Brushing aside the leaves and detritus reveals a worn, mossy chest. Not only is the container not locked, but even the latch has broken off, leaving no resistance at all.
Inside, you find the eclectic riches that the hermit has collected from his victims: rings, bracelets, and pendants rendered in copper and brass; small bundles of herbs, spices, and pipeweed; small holy icons and trinkets; and, of course, scattered coins of various denominations and mints.
On top of all these other trinkets is a brooch in the shape of a shield, set with several small red garnets in a mosaic pattern. Relatively fresh blood still splatters its surface, strongly suggesting that it was taken from the hermit's most recent victim - and identifying the victim as a Redshield merchant. Such a piece of jewelry would be worth several hundred pieces of gold, although returning it to the merchant house might bring an intangible reward worth far more.
One other item set apart from the others is a tarnished silver locket, hanging upon a bent nail stuck in the side of the chest. It sits open upon its hinge, revealing a tiny, faded portrait of a young woman. Although it would be of little monetary value, it is curious that the hermit would keep it in such a prominent place.
Lastly, there are three wooden flasks that contain unknown, odoriferous liquids.
Looking down at the brooch with a sad face.
It would appear that we have even more to bring to the RedShields.
I wonder whom this locket is of, a lost love driving a man to reclusion and madness? That is a tale for the skalds certainly! Brandt looks around the room, Again, more connections to these Redhshields, it does press the matter further that visiting them in Restov must be done.
Brandt stands up from where he was crouched over the group reading the notes and examining the brooch. He crosses to the near human effigy and looks at its face. You have died as bravely as you could, we will lay these remains to rest according to the best we know how. he then begins laying them on the ground to get to the shaped piece of wood framing the entire gruesome structure. He turns it over in his hands, trying to guess what it’s purpose or intention may have been. Syretia, what do you make of this, if anything? he asks before continuing to take apart the human sculpture of bones.
At the rear of the cavern, looming over the filthy pallet of leaves and hides that served as bedding for the cavern's slain inhabitants, the most immediately noticeable feature is the effigy crafted by a set of human remains. An almost complete humanoid skeleton is woven together by rope and vines and suspended like a scarecrow. A smooth, carefully shaped length of wood serves as a crossbar, holding the skeleton's arm bones akimbo.
Christian looks at the skeleton with remorse and concern rolled into one emotion. He points to the effigy.
Could this be a shrine to the creature and maybe the way it came here? We should destroy it and grant that person the rest the deserve...What is that piece of wood about the shoulder area?Inside, you find the eclectic riches that the hermit has collected from his victims: rings, bracelets, and pendants rendered in copper and brass; small bundles of herbs, spices, and pipeweed; small holy icons and trinkets; and, of course, scattered coins of various denominations and mints.
We should collect these and return them with the brooch. I think these trade goods belong to the merchant.
On top of all these other trinkets is a brooch in the shape of a shield, set with several small red garnets in a mosaic pattern. Relatively fresh blood still splatters its surface, strongly suggesting that it was taken from the hermit's most recent victim - and identifying the victim as a Redshield merchant. Such a piece of jewelry would be worth several hundred pieces of gold, although returning it to the merchant house might bring an intangible reward worth far more.
Speaking of which...where is the merchant. If we can locate the remains, we should also lay them to rest.
One other item set apart from the others is a tarnished silver locket, hanging upon a bent nail stuck in the side of the chest. It sits open upon its hinge, revealing a tiny, faded portrait of a young woman. Although it would be of little monetary value, it is curious that the hermit would keep it in such a prominent place.
Christian looks to the locket and picks it up.
Perhaps this was a family member. If possible...maybe we could try and locate this person to alleviate any worries they might have for this individual? A bit of closure so to speak.
Lastly, there are three wooden flasks that contain unknown, odoriferous liquids.
Anyone able to determine what these area?
Brandt finds that the effigy's crossbeam is, in fact, a simple but well-crafted staff akin to a shepherd's crook.
Meanwhile, the smell makes it all too easy to locate the merchant's remains. The body is hung upside down at the rear of the cavern, a coil of hempen rope wrapped around his ankles and tied to an iron hook driven into the stone ceiling. The body is not complete, however, as large hunks of flesh have been sheared off by the hermit's knife.
Syretia, who had been pointedly avoiding the effigy, grimaces when Brandt asks her to consider it. Still, she tries to puzzle out any religious significance it may have, before turning to identifying some of the other items they've found.
Syretia can identify no religious significance for the arrangement of the old skeletal remains or the fresher remains of the Redshield merchant. In the former case, the hermit simply seems to have possessed some manner of fixation on the dead man; as for the latter, the hermit simply hung the merchant up for the same reasons a butcher would hoist a beef carcass.
The potions within the flasks prove to be a much easier puzzle for Syretia to solve.
You also realize that you have seen containers similar to these roughly carved wooden flasks before. A couple locals in your own land have been seen carrying them, usually after a particularly successful day of work. They spoke of a man named Bokken, purportedly a druid or hedge maze who lives in an otherwise empty stretch of land southeast of Oleg's Trading Post.
As for the staff, it certainly does prove to be magic. Its banal appearance belies the power it contains, as Syretia identifies it as a Staff of Blessed Relief.
"I'll say prayers for the bodies." He says, also looking over the remains
"the flasks look familar in style" and he helps as Lord Christian directs "the mystery of the Redshields grows."
Should we check on this Bokken? Introduce ourselves to him? And that is an interesting staff certainly. Something we should keep or sell? the Ulfen asks the group. And since we're dragging out all the bodies, do we need to do anything else in this mine, or should we continue traveling?
I feel that we should at least lay to rest the old man. A proper burial or at least as close to one as we can under the circumstances.
Turning to address the group. He looks to the remains of the merchant.
Is it possible to...preserve...the body, so that we can return it as well. This man is of the RedShields and they will know of his family if any. I am compelled to return the body to his family. If it is not possible then let us bury him and mark both graves.
Christian stares deeper into the caves in hopes that his eyesight will pierce the darkness to see the gold within.
Master Brightshield, how soon do you think we can get some help with this mine and from where would this help come from?
Syretia grimaces. "Such a spell exists, but it's not one I know how to cast. Frankly, even if we did, I'm not sure we want to be carting around someone's mutilated remains, and I don't know if his relatives would be pleased to see them. I'd much rather give the poor sod a decent burial and note its location for his family to visit."
She glances back at the mad druid's corpse. "I think it would be best if we didn't site the graves too close together, either."
Christian stares deeper into the caves in hopes that his eyesight will pierce the darkness to see the gold within.
Master Brightshield, how soon do you think we can get some help with this mine and from where would this help come from?
"I did sent a letter to my master some time ago, but I haven't had a reply yet. If we are to go all the way to Restov, I could take some time to see him in person." Looking around at the cave, he can't help but wonder how someone could live like this. The place will need to be cleaned and purified first. Who knows what evil energy could linger here.
"I could consecrate this area, but I'd have to pray for new miracles"
The bodies are carefully removed from the cavern, transported away from the rocky outcropping and along the treeline, until a suitable burial site is found, well removed from the potential gold mine. After all, it seems foolish to build a future mining camp atop a burial site.
Graves are then dug, with the crazed hermit being buried well away from his victims.
"Any of you mind if I spit into his grave before you heap the dirt on him?" Nore asks, looking down upon the hermit's remains in his open grave. "Don't give me that look! This is a compromise. Given the chance, I'd rather piss on the dead sot."
Christian steps forward and lays a hand on Nore's shoulder. His grip is gentle but his visage is determined.
As much as I detested what this man did, we do not desecrate the dead. Curse him all you want but his body will rest in peace. He will stand in front of Pharasma and will be judge accordingly. While I curse the man for his actions, we do not know the whole story...his story. The fault does not lie with him alone.
His voice carries so that all can hear him.
The mine is secured and we should get a move on. We can make for Oleg's and then seek out this Bokken person as we head to Restov. Once in Restov maybe Master Brightshield can inquire about the letter in person? Let us take what we can and get ready to leave soon.
Brandt shrugs, somewhat indifferent to the elf's desire to decorate the dead flesh-eater's corpse. Well Nore, we will see you in Charis then, as we're heading the opposite direction? he swings himself onto his horse, settling onto the saddle.
"Yeah, yeah, you made your point," Nore replies to Christian. The lord's brief rhetoric reminds the uncouth elf woman that yours is a group whose rules are worth playing by.
"If you're going to see Bokken, don't forget to ask about his 'Fangberry Special.' While I'm guessing his potions and poultices are his bread and butter, that brew alone is reason enough to keep him around. Then again, as far as hermits go, at least he doesn't blooming eat people! Plus he actually bathes."
Nore's nose wrinkles slightly, catching a whiff of herself and suddenly realizing she may not be one to talk.
As the Whitehollow company have previously had dealings with Bokken, Nore is able to provide some further information on him. Nore describes him akin to a jittery bird, nervous around people and eager to finish every conversation as quickly as possible. She also provided directions to his home, about 12 miles southeast of the trading post.
"I don't think he's a proper druid, though. One time when we visited to buy some healing tinctures, he was trying to drive a family of possums out of his hovel. It was not going very well for him. He's probably just some hedge wizard or something."
For a moment, Syretia considers offering Nore a quick cleansing with a casting of prestidigitation, but dismisses the idea almost immediately when she can't think of a way to offer it that wouldn't also be humiliating. She can sort that out herself.
"Thank you for your help, Nore." Syretia turns to the others. "Shall we go?"
"Shelyn's love on you, Nore." Bydar says.
THen he nods to Syretia
Christian nods appreciatively as Nore.
I guess we are all set then. Let us ride for Oleg's then.
"I don't suppose you have a couple coppers or even a silver or two to spare?" Nore asks before parting. "I'm pretty broke right now, and I'm sure you wouldn't want to find me having starved or died of thirst by the time you get back to your town."
...
Once the party parts ways with Nore, you travel north along the forest's edge, towards the trading post.
On horseback, you might've been able to arrive within a day, but investigating the potential gold mine and burying the bodies cost a couple hours. Thus, you make camp at the northernmost verge of the Narlmarches before continuing across the southern band of the Rostland Plains in the morning. Thankfully, the night brings no new dangers, whether from vengeful daemons or mere beasts.
By mid-morning on the following day, you find yourselves again at the wooden gate and palisade of Oleg's Trading Post. The bastion of civilization out in the wilds has become busier still since your last visit, as more people use it as a stopping point on their way to Charis.
Your councilor, the abrasive Oleg, seems none-to-pleased to suddenly have to deal with so manner newcomers. Your diplomat, Svetlana, by contrast, handles the boom in business with aplomb, handling requests and complaints from the visitors without betraying any frustration.
Bydar hands her one gold piece, one silver,, and one copper "You can pay it forward to someone else who might need some kindness in the future."
............
Bydar smiles to see Oleg and Svetlana again "How goes things here? Looks like you may need to expand a bit." He can easily see a village forming here one day if this keeps up. There will always be those who stop half way.
probably to Oleg's frustration.
Nore offers a pleased, almost wolfish smile when given the money.
"Thanks, cutie," she says before setting off southward, toward Charis.
.....
Svetlana confirms that they've been seeing more folks passing through along the Old Rostland Road, coming westward from Brevoy. Although most have been settlers or merchants heading towards Charis, quite a few have been continuing westward towards Numeria.
"Looked like adventurers to me," she says, adding a shrug. "Not sure how many of them will ever come back this way again.
"Anyhow, Oleg's been finding any excuse to avoid dealing with all these new visitors. Even patching the smallest mouse hole in a wall is important enough to demand his attention," she adds, hands on her hips and with a roll of her eyes. Nevertheless, she still speaks of him with affection. "On the other hand, I thought I'd practice for my role as diplomat by taking a greater hand in these day-to-day discussions. Of course, there's also the fact that if I don't do it, no one will."
She throws up her hands in mock frustration, offering a small laugh. She is clearly enjoying having more responsibility in running the business.
Christian nods as Nore leaves.
Lady Leveton...you are a godsend.
He takes her hand and kisses it appreciatively.
We are lucky to have both you and Lord Leveton with us.
Stepping back to tack in the area.
You have done well here. I most impressed.
He glances around for Oleg.
Perhpas later we can all sit down and talk about current events.
Orlog looks around at the outpost, if this word still applies. "My. This is place will just get bigger and bigger. Maybe we can just turn this into a official village." He ponders at the though as he walks around. Once he located the man of the place, he heads toward him. "Oleg! I was wondering if you saw an older dwarf pass by. He is about this tall, white braided beard, and arms the size of tree trunk. He answer to the Fargrim Steelforge."
You find Oleg stirring a pot of pitch over a fire as he prepares to fix up the roofs of the trading post buildings. He snorts derisively when Orlog suggests a full village forming around his post.
"No dwarves other than you, Master Brightshield. However..." he adds, reaching over to his toolbox, "A messenger arrived yesterday. Deposited this letter to be passed along to you."
Oleg hands the letter over to Orlog, who recognizes the wax seal of his master upon the back.
Bydar smiles. "It could indeed become a village, Svetlana. Hopefully not too big or your husband will blame us I fear." He ponders "Have you seen any men working for the redshields coming through?"
Orlog takes the letter and thanks Oleg. He walks until he finds a secluded spot and opens it hoping for some good news.
Christian watches as Orlog walks away with the letter in hand. He does not follow and says nothing.
He does turn back to Oleg.
Lord Oleg, would you like a hand with the repairs. I would be interested in your words on matters of late. We can talk while we work.
Syretia's attention is entirely focused on documenting the trading post, its inhabitants, and the life stories of anyone foolish enough to stop and "answer a few questions."
Blessings of the Father upon you, Lord Brightshield,
You can almost see Fargrim before you, offering a wink as he refers to you as a "lord."
Your accomplishments bring honor to us all. Please convey my gratitude to your companions; I am not so old and prideful that I cannot recognize the contributions of those outside our clan, especially when they have clearly provided what our previous expedition lacked.
"If you ever wondered why Father Torag safeguarded your life, I would hope that now you see His wisdom in guiding your path, even through pain and hardship. In every act of creation, there is no failure, only lessons to be learned.
You're familiar enough with Master Steelforge's handwriting that you can recognize how, here, he set down his quill and took a pause before continuing with the letter. He paused to think about matters going forward.
"Our clan is divided. Half would eagerly load up their every possession into wagons and carts, hitch up the mules, and immediately set out to join your glory beneath the banner of this land, Charis. Such enthusiasm, such desire to blaze a new future does my old heart good. I have seen many of my own old peers go to their tombs, ever shackled by tradition and conservatism. If my generation was raw iron, then yours is refined steel.
"Of course, not all share this enthusiasm. Sadly, there are many among our kin still in mourning. Ones haunted by restless nights, plagued by all-too-familiar nightmares. They fear seeing history repeat itself.
"For now, I will leave the decision to you and the Lord of Charis. If you believe it will help your new land, I can rally the willing and we can depart for Charis at once. Elsewise, I will continue to shepherd our people as we await news of your further success to embolden their hearts."
The rest of the letter is the litany of blessings and well wishes that Master Steelforge is fond of using to close out his correspondences. Sometimes you suspect the delays in his responses are often owed to how much thought he pours into such a minor portion of his letters.
...
Oleg replies to Christian's offer with a snort.
"A lord helping to spread pitch upon a roof?" he scoffs. "Are you sure that's good for your reputation?"
You aren't sure whether Oleg is being his usual gruff, skeptical self, or if maybe he is genuinely concerned for Lord Christian's potential standing among the movers and shakers of Rostland, Issia, and the River Kingdoms.
...
Meanwhile, Syretia finds visitors a little wary about speaking with her.
"They probably worry that you're some flim-flam artist or some other charlatan," Svetlana explains in a soft whisper. "I've heard about a few of them plying their dishonest trade along the road between here and Brevoy. These folks here probably haven't even the faintest idea that you're actually one of the rulers of their very destination."
"Really?" Syretia asks, whirling to face Svetlana. "What can you tell me about these scam artists? When did you first hear about them? Does it sound like they're all working alone, or could it be part of some organized racket?"
"A lord helping to spread pitch upon a roof?" he scoffs. "Are you sure that's good for your reputation?"
You aren't sure whether Oleg is being his usual gruff, skeptical self, or if maybe he is genuinely concerned for Lord Christian's potential standing among the movers and shakers of Rostland, Issia, and the River Kingdoms.
Bydar gives Lord Christian a proud smile while he hopes for an answer about Redshields "I think it's a fine example for all, myself." He ponders something else "Anyone here injured or ill? I'll tend to them."
Brandt spends some time walking the perimeter of Oleg's, looking over the wall's integrity, and speaking with any martial-looking types in the area. Other than that, he contents himself with sitting on a rock in the sun, relieved that today no more daemons or fey were trying to kill them at this very moment.
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"A lord helping to spread pitch upon a roof?" he scoffs. "Are you sure that's good for your reputation?"
Christian laughs lightly at that comment and proceeds without care that others may be watching.
I have learned that success is to be measured not so much by the position that one has reached in life as by the obstacles which he has had to overcome while trying to succeed.He keeps his smile and places a hand on the Lord's shoulder
I may dress elegant and have a fancy tittle but my birth does not make me any better than anyone else.
He holds up his hands to show the cuts, scrapes, calluses and chipped nails. His demeanor turns serious with that every present smile.
I am not above getting dirty or working hard to see my goals come to fruition. Without labor...nothing prospers.
Now then, show me what needs to be repaired. Two sets of hands are better than one.
"Oh, I don't think they're organized at all," Svetlana replies to Syretia. "Outside the cities, such men usually operate on their own.
"I first heard travelers complaining about them about a fortnight ago. They pose as tax collectors, toll collectors, issuers of citizenship, wagon inspectors, and any number of other titles they can think of. They're all the same, essentially: claiming to be collecting money on behalf of his Lordship of Charis.
"Oleg caught one of them plying his crooked trade too close to the trading post. He snapped the haft of his shovel in twain while giving that man a drubbing. I hadn't seen that many people cheering since the last time I saw a show in a Restov playhouse."
A jolt suddenly races through Svetlana.
"Oh! But you were asking about those Redshields, weren't you? Yes, wagons belonging to those merchants have come along the south road almost as long as we've been running the post. Of course, they almost always use us as a stopping point before they continue westward, toward Numeria.
"Ever since your lordships founded Charis, though, they've actually turned the trading post into a destination, selling goods that we could then trade to locals and settlers. Not too long ago, I saw the first of the Redshield's merchants pass through and venture towards Charis itself. You might've passed him on your way here."
...
Oleg leans his sturdy ladder against the side of the storage barn and gestures towards the roof.
"I've taken care of the palisade already. Now I just need to get the roofs patched and sealed before winter."
"thank you, Svetlana" He says as she shares the knowledge of goings ons "Fake tax collectors, banditry by scams. Charming."