"The Village of Hommlet has grown up around a crossroads in a woodland. Once far from any important activity, it became embroiled in the struggle between gods and demons when the Temple of Elemental Evil arose but a few leagues away. Luckily for its inhabitants, the Temple and its evil hordes were destroyed a decade ago, but Hommlet still suffers from incursions of bandits and strange monsters..."
"Hommlett; as it is commonly called- is situated in the central part of the Flanaess, that portion of western Oerik Continent which is known and 'civilized.' The hamlet-sized village (local parlance having distinguished it with the greater term) is located some 30 leagues southeast of the town of Verbobonc, or thereabouts, on the fringe of the territory controlled by the noble Lord the Viscount of Verbobonc. It is at a crossroads. To the north Is the mighty Velverdyva River, along whose south bank runs the Lowroad. Many days' travel to the east, on the shores of the Lake of Unknown Depths (Nyr Dyv), is the great walled city of Dyvers.
The village of Sobanwych lies about halfway along the route. Below that to the southeast and east are miles and miles of forest (the Gnarley), beyond which is the Wild Coast, Woolly Bay, and the Sea of Gearnat. The road south forks a lea,gue or so beyond the little community, one branch meandering off towards the Wild Coast, the other rolling through the lower Kron Hills to the village of Ostverk and then eventually turning southwards again into the elven kingdom of Celene. The western route leads into the very heart of the gnomish highlands, passing through Greenway Valley about a day's travel distant and going onwards to the Lortmil Mountains far beyond.
Hommlet grew from a farm or two, a rest house. and a smithy. The roads brought a sufficient number of travelers and merchant wagons to attract tradesmen and artisans to serve those passing through. The resthouse became a thriving inn, and a wheel and wainwright settled in the thorp. More farmers and herdsmen followed, for grain was needed for the passing animals, and meat was in demand for the inn-folk. Prosperity was great, for the lord of the district was mild and taxed but little. Trade was good, and the land was untroubled by war, outlaws, or ravaging beasts. The area was free, beautiful. and bountiful- too much so, in the eyes of some.
Whether the evil came west from Dyvers (as is claimed by one faction} or crept up out of the forestlands bordering the Wild Coast (as others assert), come it did. At first it was only a few thieves and an odd group of bandits molesting the merchant caravans. Then came small bands of humanoids-kobolds or goblins-raiding the flocks and herds. Local militia and foresters of the Waldgraf of Ostverk apparently checked, but did not stop the spread of outlawry and evil.
A collectlon of hovels and their slovenly inhabitants formed the nucleus for the troubles which were to increase. A wicked cleric established a small chapel at this point. The folk of Hommlet tended to ignore this place, Nulb, even though It was but 6 miles distant. But Its out-of-the-way position was ideal for the fell purposes planned for this settlement, as was its position on a small river flowing Into the Velverdyva. The thickets and marshes around Nulb became the lair and hiding place for bandits. brigands, and all sorts of evil men and monsters alike. The chapel grew into a stone temple as Its faithful brought In their illgotten tithes. Good folk were robbed. pillaged, enslaved, and worse. In but three years. a grim and forbidding fortress surrounded the evil place, and swarms of creatures worshipped and worked their wickedness therein. The servants of the Temple of Elemental Evil made Hommlet and the lands for leagues around a mockery of freedom and beauty. Commerce ceased. Crops withered: pestilence was abroad.
But the leaders of this cancer were full of hubris and. In their overweaning pride. sought to overthrow the good realms to the north, who were coming to the rescue of the land being crushed under the tyranny wrought by the evil temple. A great battle was fought. When the good people of Hommlet saw streams of ochre-robed men and humanoids fleeing south and west through their community, there was great rejoicing, for they knew that the murderous oppressors had been defeated and driVen from the field in panic and rout. So great was the slaughter, so complete the victory of good, that the walled stronghold of the Temple of Elemental Evil fell within a fortnight, despite the aid of a terrible demon.
The place was ruined and sealed against a further return of such abominations by powerful blessings and magic.
Life In Hommlet quickly returned to a semblance of Its former self, before the rise of the temple. for five years afterward. the village and the surrounding countryside have become richer and more prosperous than ever before. A monstrous troll which plagued the place for a time was hunted down by a party of passing adventurers. Carrying the ashes and a goodly fortune as well. the adventurers returned to the village. Before going elsewhere to seek their fortunes. the adventurers also returned a portion of the villagers' losses. Other adventurers, knowing of the evll that had once resided in the area, came to seek out similar caches, and several did find remote !airs and wealth, just as some never returned at all.
After a time, adventurers stopped coming to the area. It seemed that no monsters were left to slay, and no evil existed here to be stamped out. The villagers heaved a collective sigh--some pained at the loss of income, but others relieved by the return to the quiet, normal life, and Hommlet continued its quiet existence for four years more.
But then. a year ago. the bandits began to ride the roads again-not frequently, but to some effect. To the good folk of Hommlet, this seemed all too familiar, so they sent word to the Viscount that wicked forces might still lurk thereabouts. This information has been spread throughout the countryside, and the news has attracted outsiders to the village once again. Who and what these men are, no one can be quite sure. All claim to be bent on slaying monsters and bringing peace and security to Hommlet; but deeds speak more loudly than words, and lies cloak the true purposes of the malevolent.
Verbobonc. What dort of name is that? Verbo-BONK!
The party is now approaching the Village of Hommlet, having ridden up from lands of the Wild Coast. Boram the Burglar, Dain the Fighter, Kilain the Priest, Melenthe the Magic-User, and Sorika Zan the Monk. While you all found the prospect of exploring lost ruins exciting at first, in execution, the adventure has left a great deal to be desired. In your searching, you have come across a couple of locations with some promise, but in the end, these excursions have not panned out.
You are poorly mounted, badly equipped, and have no large sums of cash. (You have whatever you had left over in character creation). In fact, all you have is what you wear and what you ride, plus the few coins that are hidden In purses and pockets. What you do possess in quantity, though, is daring and desire to become wealthy and famous.
Thus your group comes to Hommlet to learn. Is this indeed a place for adventurers to seek their fortunes? You all hope, of course, to gain riches and make names for yourselves. The outcome of this is uncertain, but your skill and daring, along with a good measure of luck, will be the main ingredients of what follows, be It for weal or woe.
The small community at the crossroads is a completely unknown quantity. What is there? Who will be encountered? Where should you go? These are your first explorations and encounters, so chance may dictate as much as intelligence. Will outsiders be shunned? Are the reports true- is the whole community engaged in evil practices? Are the bumpkins. easily duped? Does a curse lay upon those who dare to venture into the lands which were once the Temple's? All of these questions will soon be answered.
The dusty, rutted road is lined with closely-grown hedges of brambles and shrubs. Here and there it cuts through hedge or crosses a rivulet. To either hand, forest and meadow have given way to fields and orchards. A small herd of cows graze nearby, and a distant hill is dotted with the wand stone chimneys with thin plumes of blue smoke rising from them. A road angles west into the hill country, and to either side of the road ahead are barns and buildings - Hommlet at last!
The adventure begins ...
Kilain sits astride the aged pony 'applejack'. a he road towards the village. He coughed and said *ahem* Thanks for stickin with me. I know we havent had the success we all hoped for. Rumors tell, though, that this village has information of good ruins to explore. Hopefully we will have more success this venture.
Dain rides a sturdy battle pug and nods to Kilain. Aye. Although I suspect we'll just be bravely disposing of rats and snakes.
Watching the demihumans moving in front of him, Sorika tries to enjoy the banter.
"Rats and snakes will be little enough for me to keep moving. Hopefully the ruins are both real, and profitable."
A whisper of a smile flits across Melenthe's lips, "Ancient ruins means ancient magic. That usually leaves three outcomes: wealth or power or death."
She sits up in her saddle, to get a better view.
"Since there happens to be more than one of us, there could be more than one result."
Before they get too far into the small town he calls out to an old fellow working in his garden. "Pardon good sir. Would you be pointin' tha way ta tha nearest hostel er better yet a tavern where we might wet our whistle?"
The houses on the outskirts of town are simple, if well-constructed affairs, the kind usually found in most farming communities. As the group trods along towards the village proper, an older man pauses to take in the assembled group, wiping his brow with a handkerchief and leaning on a sturdy hoe. He squints one eye at them and nods, "Hostel? Naw. Nothin' fancy like that here. But we've the Inn. 'Welcome Wench, they calls it. Good place, I guess."
Melenthe nods to the farmer, "Thank you." then she urges Spark on.
At the inn, she looks first for a stable hand, "I'll try and arrange something for the horses."
Sorika responds to the old man's apparent hesitation.
"You guess? Would you avoid the place, or attend?"
Arrr! Some ale to wash the dust from my throat would be very fine.
To Sorika, the old man shrugs and says, "Food's decent enough, I suppose. My missus makes better stew. The ale's good, though." A pause, then he adds, "Tis down that way. Three stories. Can't miss it..."
The group trudges forward in the fading light, as sundown nears. As the party passes through, and lamps are lit in windows and doorways, the village seems no more remarkable than many others they have passed through.
Finally, the five adventurers reach the large structure, and the sounds of drinking and conversation fill the night air. Out front is a square sign which shows a buxom, smiling girl holding a flagon of beer. This must indeed be the Inn of the Welcome Wench.
A human stable-boy shuffles up when they approach, along with a girl, maybe a year or two younger than he, and they each offer a small nod of greeting. "Good even'n good sirs...and lady. Welcome. May we take care of your mounts in the stable? If not, there's a tie-post on the other side o' the inn..."
The party sees a reasonably large stable to the rear of the inn, well-lit, and obviously housing several mounts already. The other side of the inn, from what can be seen from this point, lies in the shadow of the inn itself, and is getting more lost into the dark as night approaches.
Kilain hands over the rope he had been leading Applejack with to the lad pulling it a couple silver and giving it to the lad. Will dat be enow to insure all our mounts be taken care of, of do ye be needin a tad bit more? He hands him 3 silver.
Dain hands over his pug, which slobbers over the boy. He be a good lad, don't worry.
The lad won't be short of money with this lot, will he?
The monk hands over his reins without comment, turning instead to the door of the establishment, walking in to get a look around, but stopping just inside the doorway, in a pretty obviously thoughtless move.
"Aye, sir. More'n enough for a day or two." The boy grins, then stands at attention and gives another respectful nod before taking the reins of three of the mounts and encouraging the young girl to do the same with the other two.
Making their way to the entrance, the party finds that the common room to be a bright and cheerful affair. It contains several roughhewn tables and chairs, boards, and benches. Natural tree trunk pillars support the ceiling overhead, all dark with smoke and age.
A motley group of people is already here, mostly human, and none of them have the obvious look of adventurer or soldier. More likely farmers and common folk.
Several barmaids and potboys circulate, bringing drinks and food, taking away the empty plates and flagons, stoking the fire if the day is chill, and so forth.
The innkeeper is a large, heavy-set man, with a shaved head and an impressively large mustache, curled at the ends. His demeanor is friendly and jolly, though his eyes show a spark of wariness that is easy to miss.
Still, the current clientele of the Welcome Wench all seem well mannered folk who enjoy fine food and drink. A plaque behind the bar reads: 'Drunkards and Louts are Not Welcome'?.
Kilain smiles at the signage. Looks like that means ye gots to leave Dain. he motions with his bearded chin at the sign
He heads towards the bar. and comes up saying Good Eve sir. My friends an I be seekin a place to stay, eat and drink and possibly hear about rumors of nearby ruins to be explorin. Names Kilain.
Melenthe lingers with the stablehands, letting the others go in ahead of her, "This is Spark, be good to her. She's sweet."
She smiles at the pair, "You get many adventurers here? Any good stories?"
Dain just bellies up to the bar. One ale please, good barkeep.
"Thank you, Boram." Sorika is careful to follow form over the halfling's generosity. He milks the pint, though, watching the crowd and trying to see what their behaviors will tell him of them.
But it seems one of the barmaids has caught his eye instead.
Dain, Kilain, Boram and Sorika make themselves comfortable at the bar, and the innkeeper seems far from nonplussed at their company. Grinning as only a man happy with his chosen career can be, the large, slightly rotund barkeep sets four heavy, glass mugs down on the bartop. Then, one by one he fills them from the tap, one after another.
"Good evenin' good sirs. Ostler Gundigoot, at your service." He nods and the silver pieces disappear into his hand with practiced ease, and he places each mug out for the newcomers. "That'll do to open a tab, gents...though the first drink is on the house, seeing as you're new here."
"I'm sure that we can find you a place to lay your heads, this eve. I've a few rooms available...will that be one room or more? Each bed holds two..." He pauses, looks at Boram and the dwarves, then shrugs, "Possibly three. An there's two beds in each room." Another pause, then chuckles and adds, "And if you can find yourselves a table, we'll see about some food and what rumors we can dig up!"
Letting his gaze roam across the crowd, Sorika Zan identifies a couple of young serving women, obviously working hard, and an older woman who just might be the innkeeper's wife. And then he spots a very attractive half-elven woman by one of the tables, taking food orders and giggling at some joke. She has dark blond hair, and she blows a strand of it out of her face just as Sorika sees her.
-----
Outside, the young man attending the mounts nods seriously to Melenthe, as if tryin to desperately prove how mature he is, though he can't possibly be more than 14 yrs old. "Spark is a good...er, noble name, mistress. She'll be well treated. On my honor."
"Adventurers? Here?" The teen shoos his sister forward with the mounts into the main area of the stable when she giggles and signals for a quick brush down for the animals while he speaks, "Sometimes. Word is they used to come along far more often...Back when the Temple was still open, and even after the fall."
The word temple is spoken ominously and with respect, though his manner is casual, as if relaying something well known to all. "Sometimes we get a few now, lookin' into the moathouse or on their way to Nulb, but mostly we just get mercenaries and farmers these days. Not like you folk...'
Meals are served on pottery, pewter, or copper services, according to the order. Various leather jacks, pottery mugs. wooden tankards, pewter steins, glass flagons, crystal goblets, or silver chalices are used for potables around the room. A sign hangs at the back of the bar listing the menu for the establishment.
Meals
5cp Breakfast, plain
2sp Breakfast, elaborate
5sp Dinner, plain
1ep Dinner. elaborate
2gp Dinner, 7 course
3sp Supper, plain
7sp Supper, elaborate
Common Drink(per pint)
2sp Ale
1ep Ale, special
5cp Beer. small
1sp Beer, heavy
1ep Mead
15sp Mead, special brew
Wines(per pint)
1ep Table, local
15so Keoish golden
5eo Sundish lilac
1gp Urnst white
2gp Celene ruby
5gp Furyondian emerald pale
1pp Velunan fireamber
Brandies(per gill)
1ep Local
1gp Keoish
3gp Urnst(special aged)
Liqueur
5gp Ulek Elixir, 1/2 gill
Melenthe gives a polite nod and her customary half-smile, ”Well, thank you. That is interesting to learn.”
She thanks the girl as well, then wanders around the inn - just getting the lay of the land - before entering the inn. She surveys the taproom from the doorway, then strolls over to her companions, ”Not many adventurers swing by here these days, the boy says, just the odd group visiting what he called the ‘moathouse’. He implied that the Temple is sealed or closed in some way.” The elf slips onto a stool, ”We should make an initial survey tomorrow.”
After seeing the price of meals, Boram wonders about the price of rooms, Thinking it might be cheaper to sleep in the hayloft of the barn, "So master Gundogoot, what might be tha price on one o'tha fine rooms ya have?"
Remembering something the boy said outside he continues, "Tha boy outside mentioned a Temple, can ya tell us about 'at yeah?"
Ostler smiles warmly at Boram and says, "A room with a single bed, if I had one available, would be 5 ep. The double bedded rooms I mentioned are 1 gp a night. Both include breakfast in the morning." He pauses, then shrugs, "If that's a bit rich for your likin, there IS space to sleep on the floor or benches in the common room, once we shut down for the night. That's 2 sp a night, but you can only stay from when we shut down til dawn when we start setting the place up for tomorrow's breakfast."
He makes his first frown at the mention of the Temple, thinking, Well now, do you mean the Church of St. Cuthbert here in town, or the Druid's Grove? Or possibly...the Temple of Elemental Eeeeevviiil?" This last he says in a typical, mockingly scary voice, and then chuckles.
3 rooms will be fine sirrah. Adjacent if at all possible.
Aye. Split the cost with you, Kilain?
The door to the Welcome Wench suddenly bangs open, framing a large - no, an enormous - man backing through the opening, tugging at what appears to be a rope and muttering curses both under his breath and with fierce gusto. After a moment, his struggles cease and as he shuffles backward into the common room, the head of a very large bull thrusts through the door, a rope wrapped loosely around its thick neck.
A shout erupts from the bar as an old man - perhaps sixty years of age with sun-browned skin and dirty clothes that identify him clearly as a farmer - sets down his beer and rushes toward the animal whose expression seems both annoyed and resigned. "Buster! There ye are, ye big dumb beast! Ha! Thank ye mister, didn't think ye'd find 'im so quick! Only been a few hours! Haven't even finished my third drink!"
The huge man turns as the old farmer moves up behind him and takes the rope in hand. As it turns out, the figure is not human at all - or at least not entirely. His features reflect orcish blood, though his expression and mostly his eyes reflect a sort of peaceful demeanor that his kinsmen are not known for. "Aye, and a long three hours it was. Took me less than an hour to find him. Twice that to 'convince' him to come with me. Didn't seem to believe me when I told him I was only taking him home." The big half-orc steps away from the reunited pair and surveys the room, his face reflecting a cautious wariness that is likely ingrained deeply into his personality. Half-orcs, as a rule, are not generally well-liked or even tolerated in cities, small towns or even villages.
The half-orc's chain shirt and clothes are smeared with dried mud, grass, leaves and all manner of the outdoors for that matter. A huge double-bladed axe is strapped to his back, along with a quiver of javelins. He sighs heavily and moves toward the bar. "I think you mentioned a reward for... uh... Buster's return? I'll settle for a drink while we talk about it." Those who can read his body language can easily tell that despite his general wariness, the half-orc is also dead tired - probably from wrestling the huge bull back into town from wherever he found it.
The disheveled giant glances back at the old man, and then at the ostler with a hopeful expression on his face.
"3?" He sighs, slowly.
Shaking his head and grinning at the overly dramatic naming of the old temple, Sorika looks at the 'keep. "I'm afraid the dwur was looking for the Great Pit of Eeeeevil. you were mentioning."
As the brute interrupts the scene dragging a farm animal into the inn, the human looks askance at him. "Which was holding the leash?"
The half-orc grins at the Suloise man who speaks with him. "Heh. I think it was me more than half the time, was sometimes difficult to tell, though. You have the look of a traveler. I've been doing a bit of that myself before I landed here to track down wayward bulls. Call me Horek." He glances at the ostler and then again at the old man. "Hey! How about that drink? Worked up a thirst dragging your Buster back home!" The big half-orc's deep voice calls out good-naturedly, but one can easily see how Horek could change his tone into something a lot more intimidating if the need arose.
Melenthe tips her head to one side and surveys the half-orc, Knows the area but an outsider. Loose-lipped. Blunt. Likes a drink. He'll open up."
The elf sashays over to the bar, leans against it next to the half-orc, "You're the pinder round here then. I bet you've got some stories: all that time out in the wild?"
Horek grins at the elven girl. "I suppose, though I think today is my first and last job here. I found my way to this little burg late this morning and heard the old man there moaning about his lost bull. I... uh... well, I figured I could help. And the extra coin for reward wouldn't be bad either - have you seen the cost for a pint of ale in this place?"
The half-orc glances back again at the old man who is still busy getting reacquainted with Buster and heaves a sigh. "Hells, I'll probably be lucky to get a few coppers for my efforts. Anyway, you're right. I do spend much of my time in the wild. Just as well, as most city folk would either cringe away or draw steel at the sight of me." Horek again grins, consciously aware it reveals his tusk-like teeth and shifts uneasily at the thought. "I tend to ramble a bit when I find myself among others. All that time spent alone, I guess. You two together? What brings you to this tiny little town? Neither of you strike me as a local." The half-orc glances around the common room, picking out a few others that don't fit in with the local farmers - including a pair of dwarves he notes with some concern. Horek knows well that the dwur don't generally look kindly upon those of orcish blood. Especially if they're out of the lands of Ulek.
A half-smile flits across Melenthe's lips, "Kilain over there," she waves a lazy hand at the dwarf, "was recruiting. His church have ordered him to explore the ruins, make the place safe, recover dwarven artefacts... that kind of thing."
She leans both elbows against the bar, taking in the whole taproom, "Dain, the other dwarf over there, is our axe-man: tough as old boots and about as cheerful." She nods toward Sorika, "That's Sorika, he's quick. The halfling," She points a lazy finger, elbows still on the bar, "Is our sneak."
She turns to face the half-orc again, "And I'm Melenthe."
The elf takes a sip from her beer, raises an eyebrow, "Better than I feared, worse than I hoped." then takes a deep draught, "Have you seen much of the area then, on your travels? Been near the Temple? Or this moathouse?"
Horek listens to the elf girl's words, privately amazed that one of her kind is even speaking with him at all. Perhaps life outside the Gnarley Forest will not be as bad as he feared, given his orc heritage. Though perhaps adventurers such as she and her companions are merely more tolerant than city folk as his mother warned him? Time will certainly tell...
He nods at the diminutive halfling that joins them and listens to the tale they are hinting at. Ruins? Dwarven artifacts? A temple and moathouse? Horek shrugs and says. "I do remember by mother telling me of some great evil that came to this area some years ago, but I was younger then and don't recall much of what she told me. Do you and your friends seek to loot the ruins of this temple and moathouse?"
To Dain Kilain answers Aye. thatll work
then Kilain frowns at the Half-Breed. Of course hed heard of them, but never seen one. I be Kilain, Horek. Yu been workin this area for a time? knows yur way aroun?
Horek nods at the dwarf, his wariness beginning to fade now that it appears these adventurers don't appear to be stumbling over themselves to do him any harm. "Well met Kilain. And I'm afraid I'm not familiar with these hills, I've only just arrived myself earlier today. But I'm fair skilled at getting on in the wilds whether the terrain is familiar or unknown. If you need some help finding these ruins of yours, I figure I could do that - and it's certainly better than running down Buster if that beast manages to get away from the old man again."
I wouldn't be surprised if there are just rats and trash left. Years gone by and it has no doubt been picked clean of anything.
"Given the reality that people have mostly stopped coming to look, the question is what may have moved in? Animals will use good shelter if nobody chases them away. We might manage to secure some hides. Rats ARE a food supply for other things." He taps a pouch that clinks softly. "We're going to have to find something, or keep moving." He looks meaningfully at the price board.
Melenthe gives Sorika's words some thought, "A counter-proposal: Killain's church would not have sent him on a wild-goose chase, I expect."
The elf turns to regard Killain, "You did not upset anyone did you? You're not the pawn in someone's machinations, are you?"