Trunau.
It's home. It's good to be back, but hardly celebratory. Your objective was completed: the giant camps at Skirgaard scattered and their deathless Queen put to permanent rest. But as always, it was not without price. You've come back to bury your dead. Companions who have been with you since the beginning, not simply killed but marred beyond your powers of redemption.
And the sight you see cuts deep into your souls. Trunau has clearly survived away least once siege while you were away. Great pyres of dead orc and giant bodies still shoulder, while the town itself has clearly suffered bombardments of boulders.
But it still stands, defiant. Not unlike you, the Heroes of Trunau. You don't feel like legends, despite your legendary deeds.
The greeting you receive is nothing less a hero's welcome. The people of Trunau- friends, family- gather in mass to meet you. Cheers, tears of both joy and sorrow, jokes, laughter, embraces, food and drink, celebration, funerals; the first night is a long one. But by the gods it's good to be back.
You awake the next morning late. It's been a long time since you've slept in your bed; it's been a long time since you've slept in a bed at all.
You know where you need to go next. Ashpeak. Home to King Tytarian and his clan. More importantly, you believe that the Storm Tyrant Volstus is somewhere inside, preparing his doomsday weapon. There are stories of the war, and none are good. Somehow, the giants have taken Janderhoff. The fall of Skelt is less surprising, but nonetheless disheartening. You had friends and allies in both. Dwarven armies have assembled and slowed the giant advance, but the hordes of Belkzen have rallied and joined the giant war machine. Given time, Varisia will inevitably fall.
You must cut off the head of the serpent. Volstus. But first, Ashpeak. And the secret weapon. Slaying Tytarian will no doubt show chaos in the giant ranks, but another will invariably replace him.
You have time to prepare. How long, you can't say. And though you know the general location of Ashpeak, the journey there will be long without magic.
What do you do, Heroes of Trunau?
Ulmo rose early for his morning prayers. Before him lay the spear, Heartspit. The legendary weapon of Nargrym Steelhand, the famed giantslayer. With it was the Giant’s Nail, the same ancestor’s armor, made from the finger nails of slain giants. He ran his steel hand over them. It was Nargrym’s as well. Ulmo has cut his own hand off for this one. He prayed before them, as though them he felt a connection to his ancestor, and all before them, all the way back to his God, Torag. He knew that as long as he had them he would not fight alone.
Which was good, as so many had already fallen. There were so few left. And now he would be marching forth with strangers. Heroes in their own right, or at the very least, those strong enough to be survivors. As he donned his armor and lifted his spear, he made one last prayer. That their strength would be enough.
Dizzy woke to her mom's pancakes, her father singing as he churned butter in the kitchen.
Coming down for breakfast from her loft, Dizzy started setting the table "Leave it, I'll get it." her father called out at her. "It's fine pa-pop; I have to go meet the others in town this afternoon. Let me help."
She then ignored her father's taunts and finished setting the table.
Soon, the family ate, talked, and laughed together.
Dizzy wasn't a hero just then, nor a powerful magus; instead, she was just a young woman having a meal with her family.
Soon, however, the morning ended, and life once again intruded on the serene moment. Buckling on her Estoc, Dizzy hugged both her parents and then headed into town, weaving past the obvious signs of the siege.
Nodding at the guards on gate duty, Dizzy soon walked into the tavern the group had agreed to meet in.
Argos wakes up as early as seems prudent, given the revelries of the night before. Once he’s up he heads quickly to Clamor, guided by his feet and the loud ringing already coming from the forges. He greets Sara Morninghawk warmly upon his arrival, and she barks out a hearty laugh in response. ”Day’s already half over, boy, I thought you heroic types were supposed to be hard-working! Here, you can help me with these gauntlets. One of Halgra’s whelps just put in a rush order, with all this going on….well, as you can see, business is booming and it’s an adventure just trying to keep up.” She tosses him some unfinished pieces which he examines with a critical eye before responding with a grin.
”I’d say your arm was getting weak in your old age ma, but that’s clearly not the case. Here, hand me that hammer. Do you still have those tongs you made for me? Let’s get these finished while I say my prayers.” His praises to Torag ring out rhythmically with his hammer for the next hour as he performs his morning worship. He exults in the build up of sweat from the heat and exertion, ecstatic to finally be working at a real forge for the first time in what feels like forever. Once his prayers are done he hands over his work for inspection. ”Thanks for the work ma, this is exactly what I needed. I’m going to head over to the House of Wonders now, I’ll give Agrit your love.”
He meanders through the familiar streets of Trunau, greeting familiar faces and offering encouragement and condolences to the beleaguered citizens on the way. The magic shop brings a wide smile to his face as he enters and he plonks a heavy warhammer on to the counter in front of the proprietor and his other surrogate mother figure, Agrit Staginsdar. ”Morning, ma. I hope business is as good here for you as it is for Sara? I thought you might want to see this, the head is made of some sort of skymetal, straight from the heavens. I call it Heaven’s Reckoning. Can you tell me anything about it? Oh, and do you have any diamond dust? I know supplies are tight but our work isn’t done yet and I fear I’ll need this before we reach the sky at the end of the tunnel. The two talk for a long time, discussing magic and family, trials and tribulations. Eventually he finishes up his business, bids Agrit farewell, and goes to join the rest of the Heroes.
Fulk rose early, and headed to the stables, a bale of straw under each arm. You take better care of that beast than yourself one of Halgra's daughters had told him once. He couldn't disagree. When he arrived, he placed the bales in fron of his great white beast. As she stirred, she reached out and snifed him with her trunk, then laid the appendage on his shoulder for a moment before removing it and attacking the straw. He stood there for a moment, admiring the mammoth. She was a special beast, massive and with fur as pale as ice. Blessed by the spirits of the north, his tribe's druidic priests had said. She was his dearest friend. and he only woman who'll give me the time of day. he thought, with a snort. as he pulled up a ladder and began to brush her fur, he thought about the recent journey.
The 'Deathless Queen' proved to be misnamed. But by the spirits that was bloody. he thought, his mind taking him back to the battlefield, strewn with bloodied giant corpses. And Rurk. His rhinoceros had been killed by a hurled boulder, and though the warrior fought on valiantly, he didn't long outlive his beast. I am the last. Fulk thought, melancholy. Eight other beast-riders had traveled south from the Realm of the Mammoth Lords with him. Three had been lost in the attack on the orcs who'd killed his mother and her tribe. Two turned back after that. But three had followed him as he followed Halgra. All were now dead. Each one killed in battle. "And I suppose I am the next, then." he said, barely aware he'd spoken aloud, until Icetusk's massive eye turned to look at him. He smiled, and continued brushing. "Don't worry, girl. We've still got more fight in us. More stories yet to add to our tale." He wondered what Ashpeak would hold for them.
Vashta lounges in bed. There's much to be done, but none of it needs to be done today. Especially when the mattress is so soft -- at least compared with where she's laid her head lately. She may be able to bend others' mind to her will, making them think they're in some palatial manor, but her powers didn't work on herself, more's the pity.
Eventually, she stirs. Rising from the bed, she considers for a moment before finally -- with a heavy sigh, one full of drama even if there's no audience to see -- donning her silvery armor. Yes, it's light enough that no one will even know she's wearing it, she thinks as she dons her usual flowing garb, finishing with her grandmother's kapenia, but it's the principle of the thing. It should be a day of rest, one wear she doesn't have to wear armor, but who knows if the orcs, or giants, will attack again. She was here for one attack against Trunau, and clearly there have been others since then. Better to wear the armor, she thinks ... and her weapon. She was a casual sword wielder before, but experience has proven to be a capable teacher (along with dear Dizzy, of course, and Umlo and Fulk too. Argos hadn't been quite as helpful -- what with his using a hammer, which didn't translate well -- but there had been others too).
Finally, she eschews any of her wigs or other disguises. Today is a day to be herself, in all her glory. Even if herself is now encased in steel and with a blade of power at her waist. She makes her way to the House of Wonders, smiling at any villagers who greet her; one never knows what one will find there, and perhaps there's something worth her interest. Or, it turns out, a traveling companion.
"Good afternoon, darling," she greets Argos, the endearment one she throws around quite casually, he knows. "A lovely day to do some shopping while we're here?"
Argos turns to greet Vashta when she arrives, and a momentary look of quiet panic flashes across his eyes as she calls him "darling" before it's replaced by amusement. "Vashta you flirt, are you trying to start rumors? I have a reputation to uphold, and you know family's the source of the worst pernicious scuttlebutt. Agrit and I were just catching up, she always has a good story of how I bungled something growing up to set me back on the right path."
"Me? I should hope people are talking, and I think with my reputation, I'd hardly do yours any harm, dear. Of course, one could say the same about you. But I should love to hear this story, darling Agrit..." Vashta says brightly as she looks around.
Dizzy was skipping her way towards the tavern when she hears raised voices coming from the Hall of Wonders. Sneaking closer, she props herself against the wall and just listens for a bit, making the international gesture of shush to anyone about to holler at her.
It is well past noon when you head out to the Longhouse to meet with the Council of Trunau. The sun above you is pleasantly warming against the autumn chill and cutting breeze. As you pass through the streets of your hometown, adopted or otherwise, you see a stark contrast to the revelries of the night before. Grim determination at best, but more likely desperation. You still get warm welcomes and smiles from familiar faces, but you can sense the fear that pervades the town. No doubt the last raid was brutal, judging by the state of the defenses and the number of rotting giant corpses outside the walls. The carrion eaters are the only ones rejoicing...
There are also unfamiliar faces. A detachment of the Knights of Ozem oversee the defenses, their armor gleaming in the early afternoon sun. And a number of dwarven volunteers from Janderhoff, industriously focused on preparing the town for the next siege. But larger are the numbers of refugees, too many to be housed in the existing buildings and thus huddling in makeshift encampments. They look at you with equal parts awe and anxiety.
You're met at the threshold of the Longhouse by patrol leader Kurst Grath. He leads you into the council chambers, which are already filled with the leaders of Trunau. At the head of the table is none other than Chief Defender Halgra of Blackened Blades, flanked on one side by Agrit Staginsdar and Sara Morninghawk. On the other side sit councilors Lessie Crumkin, Kessen Plumb, and the mute elf Silvermane. Kurst takes a seat as well, and there's a chair left open for the late Iomedaen priestess Tyari Varvatos, who fell in the Battle of Bloodmarch Hills. Though not members of the council, the half-orc soothsayers Katrezra and Droja.
Halgra is the first to speak, her voice carrying the confidence of authority and the weariness that responsible demands.
"We've heard the reports of the dispersal of the giant training camp at Skirgaard and the death of the frost giant queen. News has travelled fast through the giant ranks, and your actions have struck a terrible blow against the Storm Tyrant's plans. However, as you may have already heard, their invasion progresses onward as more and more giants rally to his banner. The push into Nimrithas and the fall of Skelt are concerning but not unexpected. But the swift conquest of Janderhoff in a mere three days is nearly impossible to believe. The defenders of the Sky Citadel were fully warned and had at least two months to prepare, and yet the giants and their allies easily overcame them. We believe that the Storm Tyrant has a new weapon in his arsenal, which was first deployed in Janderhoff. Yet there is even more dire news. The Storm Tyrant himself has not been seen in some time, leading us to believe he is preparing some sort of advantage which will swiftly win him the war."
She pauses to clear her throat, then continues:
"Your investigations at Skirgaard very much lead us to believe that the current war machine is being spearheaded by a fire giant monarch by the name of Tytarian Branderik. He has gathered several fire giant clans under the Storm Tyrant's banner and is a favored lieutenant. We believe he resides in the dormant volcano fortress of Ashpeak, far south of here. We also believe Tytarian hosts the Storm Tyrant whilst he prepares whatever it is that he is working on. Eliminating Tytarian will be helpful in sowing discord and dismay in the giant ranks, but only until he is inevitably replaced. Instead, you must find and deal with whatever mechanism that has allowed the giants to so effortlessly overcome fortified positions. Then you must find the Storm Tyrant and kill him. Anything short of that is only prolonging the inevitable. The fate of Varisia hangs in the balance."
She waits for you to speak.
"Okay, so, let's start with this: is there anyone who actually saw the weapon they used that can tell us about it? Was it magical, technological, both, or neither? Secondly, what sort of forces are we dealing with at the volcano? 10 giants? 100 giants? 1000 giants? 1,000,000 giants? Next, who made the fortress? Was it giants, Dwarves, Humans, Orcs, or someone else?"
Dizzy was about to ask something else, but she remembered her mother told her to give people time to answer her first questions before going to ask more, like getting multiple plates at dinner.
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The room is silent for a moment after the redhead's dizzying salvo of questions, but then Tom Exposition Agrit Staginsdar does her best to answer:
"We're working with rumors and hearsay at best I'm afraid. However, some of the survivors of Janderhoff say that the giants managed to find a way deep into the citadel, somehow circumventing their strongest defenses and striking at the Janderhoff Council from the inside.
In regards to Ashpeak, we know even less. Perhaps hundreds of giants once lived there, though many are now out leading the Storm Tyrant's armies.
Finally, there are stories that suggest that Ashpeak may have once be home to dwarves long ago, but it has been the realm of fire giants as long as it's history has been recorded. Mind you, fire giants are unusual in their kind in their perchance for strategy and military planning. No doubt Ashpeak will be built to withstand intruders of all types."
She looks to the others to see if they have concerns.
Do we know where he plans to head next? Surely there are other settlements now at risk, we must make sure that the people are warned. I know Trunau is kindly accepting as many refugees as we can - are there other communities that welcome the displaced?"
Dizzy turns to Ulmo and asks "Do you know where the blueprints for the keep would be, if it is a Dwarven Hold? I think it's said that Dwarves never throw anything out, especially not schematics."
"Probably deep in one of Janderhoff's book-rooms. our luck being what it is." Fulk says, gruffly, before shaking his head. "Anyway, fire giants die like any other when you stick 'em deep enough. They just bleed hotter."
Ulmo shook his head sadly, at the fate of his homeland. ”Been saying for decades that all of our cities should be Dwarven-sized.” He muttered. Such pride had led to their downfall. If the ceilings were but shorter, this wouldn’t have happened. Then, louder he said ”If my home didn’t last with warning, where else will? I dare say that Janderhoff’s defenses were stronger than anything that can be mustered here. The best defense for everyone is for us to hit hard and fast.” He could feel his anger building as he spoke, the pain of the loss was too great. He stopped, trying to compose himself. His steel hand gripped his spear tightly, as if though it were as eager as he to spill giant blood.
Kurst is next to speak, carrying a grim certainty that brings memories of his brother, for those who knew him.
"The situation is indeed dire. We must face the fact that the only reason Trunau hasn't fallen is we're not significant enough to warrant the Storm King's attention. We've held off opportunistic warlords and disorganized raiders, but we cannot hold against a true giant army. So Umlo is quite correct in saying our best defense is for you to bring the war to them. Cut the head off the dragon and the body will die."
He turns to look at Silvermane, who silently nods, before continuing:
"As Halgra said, we believe that the Storm Tyrant is working on something even more dangerous than the ability to transport his forces deep into the heart of his enemies' defenses... This is the only explanation for his long absence from the warfront."
Kurst pauses to let the gravity of the situation sink in.
Vashta looks around, thinking she heard the ghost of Tom Exposition, but then realizing he's not there. Her heart sinks for a moment as she realized the slightly annoying man must have been killed in an attack while they were away.
Her attention snaps back to the present at Ulmo's words.
"No, not quite, dear. Clearly we are too small a force -- even if all of Trunau joined us -- to hit them from the front. We need to follow their lead and sneak into Ashpeak and see what trouble we can cause there. It's as my grandmother said: You catch more flies with honey than vinegar. We'll just need to bbe sweet enough to rot their teeth.
"If rumors are true, we may be able to sneak into Ashpeak."
Vashta relays what she can remember about the Fire Duke.
"I think he's going to have to die too, or we've just traded one problem for another," she concludes.
”Aye. Sneak in and kill the fookers. Now, Ashpeak was settled by dwarves exiles from Janderhoff, some eight hundred years ago. Nay many, just two clans. And I don’t bloody well know why. Just that about five hundred years ago the fire giants took over Ashpeak. Most likely killed all the dwarves inside. And nay, there’s no maps or whatnot before anyone asks. They were bloody exiles in the wilderness. And even if there were, the fire giants would have had plenty of time to change much. But!” He held up his finger. ”As the engineers ye see here from my homeland can attest to, we dwarves always have more tunnels that ye’d think. One by one we’ve lost nearly every Sky Hold.” His voice took on a rage filled tone as he spoke. ”These Slag-Filth have tried to massacre us at every turn. So secret escape routes are bloody well needed, lest we go extinct. I’m sure that there be tunnels the giants still know not of. And while I’m nay an engineer, me sister knows more than most longbeards about topics like this. We find one of those tunnels and we will pull the same trick on the giants that they did to me people. We pop up behind their defenses, and we kill everything that bloody well moves.”
"Cause enough damage that they stay focused on us, yes. How do we get there quickly? We have a long journey ahead of us and I don't want to arrive at Ashpeak only to discover that the giants have already moved on."
"We leave today, and march hard the whole way, that's how." Fulk looks ready to go saddle his mammoth right now.
Argos considers for a moment. "If we all mount up, I could muster enough restorative magic to keep us going for quite a while before resting. Possibly a few days."
”Fulk. If ye let us all ride with ye, we can cover the distance in no time. Argos can keep yer comrade going just fine, and we can get to the killing all the faster. Don’t think anyone wants to wait on me wee legs, eh?”
"Or we could, I dunno, ride flying horses?" said Dizzy with a ferocious grin. "We'd have to wait until tomorrow since I didn't memorize enough, but I could get everyone except Sir Stampsalot." Dizzy seemed proud of herself at that nickname.
"Only downside is we don't know where it is."
"Yes, I certainly don't think my legs were made for walking that far, dears," Vashta notes. "They'd start to look more like Ulmo's than .... well, mine."
She looks around.
"Do we have any ability to scry or divine any answers to some of our questions? I think we certainly have one day to take, and if we could have more of an idea of where we should be looking for our way to slip into Ashpeak, well, that seems just lovely."
”Fook if I know where it is. Knew of it, but exiles aren’t always keen to tell where they went. Mayhaps my sister knows. Ingrahild always had a head for that kind of thing.”
"I am not subject to the whispers of the gods, but-" Argos turns to Katrezra and Droja. "Can your visions help guide us into Ashpeak?"
After considering for a moment, Fulk nods. ”I think there’s room for all of you. Icetusk can certainly bear the weight. Just tell me where we’re going.”
Ingrahild steps forward, trying her damndest to overcome her painful shyness. Twisting her braided hair, she looks down and speaks swiftly:
"Well, with the information we gathered from Skirgaard- maps, documents, interrogations- we can assume that Ashpeak is about 100 miles south of Skirgaard, deep in the heights of the Mindspin Mountains. I can pinpoint it's location with a 5 mile margin of error, but we'll be able to see it long before then. By foot, the trip would take about 22 days, but we can move faster. Make half the time, at least. More if we don't have to rest."
All the time, she furiously scribbles on a large map of the Mindspin Mountains.
"I don't expect there to be bolt holes in the mountain after all these years, brother. Fire giants are meticulous in their defenses and paranoid at best in disposition. Five hundred years is more than enough time for them to comb every pebble. In regards to the Ashpeak dwarves, if they did exist they were probably enslaved. Their descendants probably still serve the Branderiks. As for why the Ashpeaks were exiled from Janderhoff, the records either destroyed or hidden, but I've heard mentions that it may have been due to their experimentation with some sort of terrible power or weapon."
Somewhat pleased with her ability to not freeze up before an audience and delighted that her knowledge has proven important, Ingrahild steps back to her brother's side.
About a minute passes with concerned whispers before Droja stands up.
"It is true, Katrezra and I have seen things in the mists. Dark portents, signs of the coming storm. You will not find the mountain you seek in the Mindspin range, for only it's burning shadow remains. No, Ashpeak will be found is a far darker place. Seek the anvil upon which the giant god strikes his hammer, and you will be tested by it's flames. Whether you are pure or impure it matters not, the fire shall swallow you whole."
Katrezra helps his wife back to her seat as a sudden fit of weakness falls over her.
"It is true, I have seen it also. A towering dark figure, wreathed in flames and wearing a great fanged helm. He strikes you down, and then Varisia goes up in flames..."
The room is quiet.
Argos claps his gauntlets together and smiles with hope. "Ingrahild, that's the spirit! With that depth of knowledge and insight, we're blessed to have you coming along." He offers up encouragement for he stepping out of her comfort zone.
His expression darkens as Droja prophesies, and he looks down at his hammer. After silence falls, he takes off the gauntlet on his right hand and he holds the starmetal hammer aloft with his mangled right hand and lets its glow pervade the room. "These giants may seek to break us over anvil and flame, but by Torag's might the forge will bring out our true strength. He doesn't know it yet, but the Storm Tyrant has already forged through hardship the perfect weapon: Us, the assemblage here and all who fight with us. We will be the spear that stabs him in the heart, and we will be the shield that protects Varisia, and Nirmathas, and lands beyond."
Ulmo gave his sister a squeeze on the shoulder and a friendly nod as to her usefulness. He knew it wasn’t easy for her to step into the spotlight like that, but she had done well. Then, at Argos’ speech he smiled grimly. ”Aye. That’s the spirit. The fire will swallow us? Fookin’ fine! Without fire a blade cannot be forged and gold cannot be purified.”
"Fire can swallow? who knew? Does it also chew?" chuckled Dizzy, cheeky smile firmly in place.
"I don't know that I believe in prophesies all that much, if I'm being honest. The idea that someone is going around moving people like pieces on a game board is stupid. Wait, did I say that out loud? Sorry." She pauses to look sheepish, but then quickly continued "So we ride out, assault their fortress, topple their leadership, and the come back to eat cake. Sounds like a plan."
Dizzy then turned her gaze on Ingrahild and says "What's the highest circle of magic you can cast?"
"Yes, well spoken, dear. Both of you, in fact," Vashta says lightly. "Your words are much more pleasant than Droja and Katreza's. Hopefully they'll carry the day. But the anvil upon which the giant god strikes his hammer? Perhaps we need to head back to Minderhal's forge? That sounds like a myster that might be answered there. Unless you're speaking in metaphor?"
Argos beams for a moment, pleased with himself and then his chiseled jaw quirks in intense thought. Minderhal's Forge is...on the way?" He looks between Vashta and Ingrahild for confirmation. "This trial by fire does sound similar to what happened there."
Sara Morninghawk stands up abruptly, a look of furious defiance on her face.
"A lot of giants stood in the way of our son, and they're all dead. The bigger they are, the harder they fall I always say. Trunau ain't gonna fall just because some too big for his britches tyrant says so. Let them come."
Agrit puts her arm around her wife and smiles.
"I'm with Sara. We've put our trust in you before, and you've never come up short. Things may look grim, but like you say, it is in times like these that heroes of legend are born. And we'll be here, waiting for your triumphant return."
There's some raucous encouragement from the Council, before Katrezra speaks up again.
"We live in the Age of Lost omens, do we not? Prophecy is no certain thing, and we wish only to give you warning, not predictions of doom. You must make your own destiny, but know that we've seen in the mists that almost all of your paths lead to this anvil of fire. They're is no doubt of your prowess or accomplishments, but do not underestimate the foe you face either."
He returns to tending to Droja, who is still overwhelmed from her proclamation.
Perhaps emboldened by her previous success, Ingrahild again chimes in, her speech blindingly fast as she nearly chokes on her own words:
"A dark figure wreathed in flame, wearing a fanged helm? That sounds like Zursvaater, the fire giant god. He's known as the Prince of Steel, and like Minderhall has an affinity to forging and metalworking. It's said he forged fire giants from stone giants, and is bitter enemies wwith the frost giant deity Thremyr. If Tytarian's wife is a priestess of Zursvaater, it could be that they've secured some kind of favor from their god. That could be really, really bad news. But I don't think this is related to Minderhall's Forge, but I could be wrong."
With his piece said, Hrungnir listener along intently, considering each piece of information as it came.
Vashta doesn't know much about deities, but does know about fortunes. She never had trues ones herself -- though she could certainly fake them -- but her grandmother had. She ponders whether there are any additional clues to be gleaned from the visions.
Halgra bangs her gauntleted first on the table until all are silent. The Chief Defender clears her throat and speaks in a voice that demands full attention:
"We can speculate all day about gods and prophecy all day, but while we do the giants march onwards. We know who the enemy is and where he is. I have faith in the Heroes of Trunau. One more giant deity isn't going to stop them. Like Sara said, the bigger they are..."
There's murmurs of agreement. Then Halgra continues:
"We will do everything we can to assist you, but as you can see our hands are full with defending our home. Reinforcements from Kraggodan should be here within a week. We can hold until then at least. Our scouts don't report any large concentrations of orcs or giants anywhere this south, but about three weeks ago an enormous red dragon mounted by a giant of some kind did fly over us. The same as right before the Battle of Bloodmarch Hills."
Kessen Plumb has been thoughtfully polishing his glasses all this time, a nervous tick of his. He puts them on, adjusts them, and remarks:
"It's settled then, yes? You set off for Ashpeak at dawn. Quite frankly, the fate of Varisia sits on your shoulders. With that in mind, I've pooled my resources to acquire a gift I image will come in handy."
He then produces a small dark wooden box, inside of which is a narrow yew wand with intricate inscribings in elven. He offers this to whoever among you wishes to take it.
"Thank you, darling, what a lovely gift," Vashta says, handling the wand admiringly before passing it off to someone able to make better use of it.
"It sounds like this Anvil of Fire is our destination, dears," she says to her companions. "Let's make our preparations and sleep well tonight, for tomorrow we fly."
Once the others leave, she'll make her way back to the House of Wonders, hoping to find any protection from fire that might be hidden at the store.
Dizzy will walk back towards the House of Wonders, eventually catching up and say "So, Argos huh?" She seemed serious, but her trademark infectious grin sat on her face.
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Once inside, she spent some time looking through the scrolls to see if she could find one of resist energy to add to her spell book, as well as any other scrolls that might interest her.
Argos can hold on to the wand. He'll make his way through the departing crowd to give greetings and goodbyes to old friends and new. Eventually he'll head back to Clamor for the rest of the afternoon to help equip the town as best he can.
”A mighty gift for a mighty quest. Thank ye.” Ulmo said, before leaving to finish any last minute preparations for the journey.
"Much appreciated. I know that it will come in handy." As the meeting disperses, Fulk exchanges some friendly banter with Halgra then departs to feed his companion again and then get a good night's sleep.
"Argos? Whatever do you mean, dear?" Vashta replies lightly.
The meeting is concluded with a short blessing from the Iomedean chaplain attached to the knights of Ozem, a Fifth Swordknight named Alsom Havrick. Halgra immediately marches off to her next pressing business of the day, but the majority of the council lingers in conversation. The half-orc oracles quietly slip away to their home to rest.
Each at your own pace, you depart the Longhouse to pursue your own business. You spend a much quieter evening than the last spending time with friends and family. Even Fulk manages to catch up with Halgra, who orders him to join her for a family dinner. Ingrahild spends most of the evening buried in the maps and scrolls, but even she goes to bed early.
Items:
+2 greatsword, +1/+1 orc double axe, +1 heavy steel shield, +1 light crossbow, arrow of dragon slaying (lesser), +1 evil-outsider bane silver sling bullets (10), belt of mighty constitution +2, cloak of resistance +2, cowardly crouching cloak, oil of align weapon (good), oil of shillelagh, potion of cure moderate wounds (3), potion of invisibility, potion of resist energy (fire), ring of spell knowledge I, scroll of divine power, scroll of magic weapon, scroll of raise dead, scroll of resist energy (communal), wand of magic missile (37 charges), wand of resist energy (45 charges)
Assume that at this point, most mundane items are simply available in Trunau, including alchemical items, masterwork armor, shields, and weapons (simple, material, plus exotic orc and dwarven weapons). Let me know if there's anything else you'd want.
After an evening of shopping, Vashta retreats to the Ramblehouse for a good night's sleep.
Argos stays in the barracks at the Longhouse, where he's been staying for the past 15 years or so. He'll stay out for a while though after leaving the blacksmith, trading stories and catching up, generally spending time with the people of Trunau. He isn't driving tomorrow morning, and he's got plenty of lesser restoration to sure lack of sleep.