No one thinks much about Falcon's Hollow who doesn't live there--and among those who do, many just think about how to get away. Nestled in the shadows of the towering peak known as Droskar's Crag, the little town on a little bit of ranching, a little bit of farming, and a lot of logging. Most of those with any ambition leave as soon as they are able, seeking greener pastures in the cities along the coasts or dreaming of heroics among the Eagle Knights on the border with Cheliax. Of the rest, most end up in the ranks of the Lumber Consortium, for lack of better options if nothing else.
The only regular visitors are the handful of merchant wagons that visit a few times a year to ply their wares, but after recent events even those have stopped coming. In the past week, numerous residents of Falcon’s Hollow have fallen ill, each suffering from the same hacking affliction known as "the blackscour". Local remedies prove as useless as prayers
of the local priests of Iomedae and Erastil, and already at least one town elder has been claimed by the wheezing death.
Fortunately for Falcon’s Hollow, a canny local herbalist named Laurel has traced the source of the malady to Brookman’s well, a small spring on the edge of town, and a rare fungus called blackscour. By banning the use of the spring, the town constabulary hopes to prevent further infection, but such measures offer little respite to the dozens already afflicted. While Laurel has attempted numerous mundane and alchemical treatments, she too has been unable to cure the disease. The old woman insist she is nearing a breakthrough, however; she tells anyone who will listen that she still lacks the reagents to brew one last unusual medicine, though all the necessary elements can be found within nearby Darkmoon Vale. Thus far, though, no townsfolk have dared to venture into the wooded reaches and secure the ingredients for this potential cure. The Lumber Consortium has been little help, prioritizing the health of its own members over the many and avoiding the village entirely in many cases.
Falcon's Hollow is palpably on edge as your walk through the fading light of evening to Laurel's small home on the edge of town, luring by the desire to help, the plight of a loved one, or simply the lure of adventure. Whatever your reason, you may very be Falcon Hollow's last hope.
An elderly Tian man walks, straight-backed, down the path toward Laurel's home. His shaved head is wrinkled enough that the tattoos that once covered it are now an indecipherable jumble. His long white beard is streaked with dust from the road. He absentmindedly runs fingers through it as he walks, black eyes rheumy and distant, a thoughtful frown on his face. Despite his considerable age, he carries himself with strength and surety, and the polearm on his back is well worn with use.
He mutters to himself and anyone who might overhear "Another ill wind, another plague. A fine joke Xiayeng, a fine, fine joke to play on me. But this time I will have your tail. Mark me. Your tail."
He stops at the front door, and...
"Try to grab my tail, old man, and you'll get more than you bargained for," says a voice behind Bắc Đẩu. If he turns, there stands a very unusual woman. With skin a deep crimson; pale, pupilless eyes; a face framed by a pair of ram's horns curling through white, braided hair; and yes, a long, thick tail, there's no mistaking what she is.
The leather of Ascian's armor creaks slightly as she crosses her arms and looks the human over. "Laurel's good people. Are you here to hurt her?"
"She is," replied a soft-spoken voice, edged with a bit of steel, as an dark-skinned elf appears from around the corner of the house. "I've only gotten to know her recently, learning of the local fauna, but I have seen this. It's no wonder that such a person would attract those who seek to help. Peace."
The elf's deep-red hair is a wild mane the flows down to about the middle of his back. The hides that he wears are well made, and a brace of spears are strapped to his back. Various animal-like tattoos are exposed on his skin where the hides do not cover. He bows gracefully at the waist, introducing himself, "I am Kane. My mother is of the Tiger Clan."
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Over the last couple years, Falcon's Hollow had been something of a respite for the dwarf between working jobs for the Bellflowers near the Vale. But it'd seen far better days. Despite his frequent visits to the town, none of the folk approaching old Laurel's cottage were familiar. None of them had helped him ferry freed slaves through the tunnels to the north, nor been party to the less than legal jobs Casovallo usually set him up with- that last part was probably a good thing.
"Ain't no one here to hurt old Laurel, lass." The dark-haired, dark-garbed dwarf shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders as he steps from the shadows left of one of the larger oaks, his hands far from his weapons to lessen any blow of his words. "But she's prolly the only one that knows what ails this place."
"Dhaene," he says simply, a hand extended to the flame-haired elf.
Ascian's tail thumps against the ground at "lass," but she seems to relax somewhat. "My name is Ascian, if we're introducing ourselves."
Bac Dau turns, his face cracking into a broad smile for Ascian "Don't tempt me with a good time, thanh niên!"
When she continues into her accusation he scoffs, though it turns into more of a hacking cough. He recovers and says "I wouldn't dream of hurting Miss Laurel. I've heard she's the one doing the most to help in this dark time. And I'm here to place myself at her disposal, if she'll take me." And as the others step forward, he adds "As are these strapping hands, it seems."
"Bắc Đẩu is the name." He folds his hands together and offers the slightest of bows to the group, some remnant of his Tian mannerisms. "But I've been called Bucky most of my years, so you can use that if it suits you."
Having heard of the needs of the town and the search for the necessary reagents, Theo travelled up from the Capital. The last few miles were spent in the company of a number of different people. One was an elder Tien, another a tiefling...a dwarf and finally an elf, alone with the drovers. Theo spent most of his time reading up on the area, but now that they had arrived it was time to engage the others.
"I am Theodorus of house Merula. I too am here to assist."
He looks at the others as if waiting for them to do something
The latch to the cabin door rattles as it opens, and an older woman with crows feet around her eyes and hair gone nearly entirely grey stands in the doorway. "Ah good, you're all here. Well come on in then, tea's getting cold. Did anyone follow you?" Not a tall woman, Laurel Ciravon attempts to peer past you all with a wary look down the street.
As you step into the cabin a plain but functional wooden table sits in the middle of the main room adjacent to the entryway, with six cups of dark red tea still steaming in their saucers.
"Time is short so I'll get right to it," Laurel announces as you sip your beverages. "I can't tell you how grateful I am that you've all agreed to help us here in the Hollow, the gods know we need it. The blackscour cough has sickened nearly one in eight here--they won't all die, but plenty will and many of the survivor will have weak lungs the rest of their days." With a grunt the apothecary retrieves an thick old leatherbound tome and sets it on the table with a solid thump. Flipping the book open, she turns to a page near the back marked with a length of cord.
"Despite what you might have heard I don't do any magic, but that wasn't always the case. My grandmother traded her sight to the Darkwood Witch in exchange for this tome. I don't know if any of it is magic but there's plenty on wisdom to be found in it--including our cure!" Tracing the handwriting with her finger, Laurel reads the recipe again and shakes her head. "There's three necessary ingredients I need to make it work. They can all be found out there in the forest, but between the dangers out there and worries aplenty at home folk haven't been willing to venture out. The Lumber Consortium has been making noises about cordoning off the town too, damn their eyes. You'll need to hurry."
Grattfaulk figures the transition from mercenary to adventurer shouldn't be too difficult, do work, try to stay alive, and collect payment. There seems to be a small gathering outside the Laurel's house as he approaches, "well met," the brawny chainmail clad Half-Orc greets the others. "So... are we waiting outside for a reason...?"
Kane accepts the tea with a nod and sips at it slowly. He takes some interest in the book that she brings out, but doesn't pry, giving her time to speak.
After she is done, he takes another sip of the warm tea before asking, "What are we looking for, then? And where can we find them?"
Bac Dau downs his own tea in a flash and takes the initiative to pour himself some more as he listens to Laurel's story. If there isn't more in the pot, he rather brazenly makes use of the apothecary's kitchen to put more water to boil.
He listens somberly to the number of afflicted, returning to the table as the list of required ingredients is read out. "Very lucky for the town that your grandmother made that trade. Very lucky! And the ingredients I can find for you. No Lumber Consortium will stop me, and these fine hands, from undertaking the search." He caresses his beard, nodding with agreement at Kane's questions. "A description of each as well. In case we haven't crossed paths with them before."
Laurel frowns at Bac Dau as he starts brewing more tea on his own initiative, then shrugs and leans back over her book.
"Most of this I have in my shop already, but a few of these are rarer or less generally useful. The first one is called elderwood moss, which I’ve never heard of, but granny says the stuff only grows on the oldest trees, that have been struck by lightning. Sounds like hokum to me, but we're a bit short on options here. Next one is a specially pickled root called rat’s tail, even has a little sketch here." Laurel turns the book to show you the picture. "And finally we'll need ironbloom mushrooms--stunty little things that only grow in dark places thick with metal and rust, a favorite among dwarves, or so I hear. Given how many people are sick...I'll need at least seven. For the moss and rat's tail just fill these up.” Laurel reaches up onto the shelf and retrieves two clay pots, just large enough that they don't fit comfortably in one of her hands, and sets them on the table. "How quickly can you set out?"
You're a long way from home, so while you're not familiar with the plants Laurel is naming--or at least not the local names for them--you're pretty confident you know where to start looking for old-growth trees that may have been struck by lightning. The lower slopes of the mountain, Droskar's Crag, will have the oldest trees and will have just enough elevation to be more vulnerable to lightning.
You vaguely recall one of the Farmers you've worked with talking about rat's tail. This long, snaky fungus worms spreads through the dirt only a an inch or two into the dirt, especially loving areas enriched by rotting wood or flesh. The root is uncommon but beloved by badgers, who go wild for the stuff and often dig their burrows near the fungus if they can.
Kane nods sagely as Laurel goes over the details of the needed ingredients. "I'm still learning the area, but the trees near Droskar's Crag should be a good place to search for this elderwood moss. It has both the appropriately aged trees, as well as enough elevation for lightning to strike." Having talked so much, he takes another sip of the tea.
As Laurel speaks the half-orc sips his tea with a interested but slightly confused look on his face and his mail armor giving a metallic jingle each time he raises the cup to his lips. Grattfaulk is highly suspicious of the book, why would a woman trade her sight to a witch for a book she then couldn't read.
"I am ready to head out at daybreak, or now if anyone is overzealous enough to demand we set out immediately."
Wholly unfamiliar with the ingredients in question, Ascian simply sips her tea and listens, committing the names, descriptions, and likely locations of the ingredients to memory. As she does this, she looks over the others crammed into Laurel's home. When Laurel asks when they're ready to go, Ascian sets her cup back down on the table and pushes off from the wall she'd been leaning against.
"I'm ready to go now," she says confidently. "People've been waiting too long for some real help as it is." Behind her, her tail flicks back in forth, out of excitement, nervousness, or some combination.
Kane finishes his tea and places the cup down gently. "The wilds have dangers, regardless of the time, though they may vary more. These are not my native jungles, but I can still help make our way. We can rest as needed along the way."
Bac Dau grins gratefully when Kane and Dhaene show signs of understanding things "Glad we've got a woodsman or two among us." Addressing Laurel, he adds "The Ironblood mushrooms, do you think anyone round town knows where we can find those?"
"I'm raring to go now. Quicker we get these shrooms and things, quicker people start getting better." He downs the rest of his tea and slaps a hand on Laurel's shoulder "We'll be back fore you know it."
"There's a dwarven monastery on the far side of the Vale. Laurel says dwarves love the things, maybe they have some or know where we can find em."
Having in the area for a while, you are both aware that virtually all the dwarven settlements in the region were abandoned long ago when Droskar's Crag erupted. While dwarves from the Five Kings Mountains are not infrequent visitors in the area, you recall that the monastery on the other side of the forest is one of the abandoned ruins that ring the great mountain.
"Well if you're leaving now, best to hop to it. A small bit of advice--the Lumber Consortium is run by greedy bastards, but the rank and file aren't all bad. One of their scouts, by name of Milon Rhoddam, has offered to help when he came to me a week ago. His nephew has the blackscour cough too so if you need directions about there he's a good person to speak with." She also gives you directions to the lumber camp Milon works at.
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Dhaene idles near to Ascian where he could talk to her without too many overhearing. "Do ye mean the monastery near the crags? It's been abandoned nearly 800 years or so. From back when Droskar's Crag blew its top and the Rending began. Ther'll be no dwarves there. You lot could try talking to the dwarves in Five Kings. But if you go to Taggoret, I can't go with you."
Fortunately for Ascian, her skin is already so red that it's hard to see the flush of embarrassment that creeps up her neck. Instead, she gives a sharp nod. "I didn't realize that. Thank you," she says.
"Well even with the dwarves gone the monastery might not be the worst place to look," Grattfaulk finishes his tea placing the cup on its saucer, "if everyone is done with tea time we best be off if the plan is to get the search underway. Luarel, thank you for the tea."
Kane nods in agreement. "We'll need to move as quickly as we can, if we want to make good time. We'll already be slowed somewhat by the darkness of night."
Bac bows his head. "Thank you for the tea. We will be back soon." Turning to his newfound allies he asks "Do we ask little Milon first for advice, or do we start with the moss and hope to find our badgers and mushrooms along the way? Either way, we'll be taking a snooze before we reach anything tonight."
He rubs fingers through his beard "I feel a good omen in Milon's name. Maybe because he's closer than the rest." He grins. "How about there first?"
Thinking about the suggestion, Kane nods in agreement. "We can rest outside the camp and scout it out before making our way to see this Milon."
Taking your leave from Laurel's home, you set out into the night to try and find the lumber camp where Milon Rhoddam works. Despite the darkness, the trail is clear enough and it takes less than an hour and a half to walk the full distance. Cresting a small rise, you can see the lanterns of the camp burning in the distance and can faintly here the laughter of rough men and women unwinding after a hard day.
The Lumber Consortium has an ill reputation in the area--they instill a sullen and insular culture among their members, demanding loyalty to the Consortium above and beyond any loyalty to the town overall. "Company people" who have proved their loyalty tend to be the only ones to advance up the ladder; in many ways the Lumber Consortium operates as a (relatively) powerful political patronage machine and borderline organized crime entity, but it fulfills its contractual obligations reliably so it doesn't receive too much scrutiny from Almas.
As you draw nearer to the camp, you can see a low palisade surrounds the camp to keep out beasts or the overly curious. A handful of burly men and woman are sitting by the gate, passing a pair of wineskins around doing a poor job of keeping watch. They don't appear to have noticed you, and have an assortment of clubs and axes close at hand.
Bac takes a seat on the ground, wincing and rubbing at his knees as he does so. "They don't look like they're offering tours. You don't put up walls like that and guard the way in if you're fine with guests." He picks up a stick and draws in the dirt "We can talk to the ones out front, ask them about Milon. Then, unless they're willing to tell him to come out and talk to us, we might be better served waiting until dawn and to catch him when he leaves. Could use a good sleep, if we're going to be pushing hard tomorrow."
"Agreed," Kane says. "Trying to get in tonight might cause us more problems than necessary."
The elf immediately gets to work on settings up a defensible camp.
Grattfaulk shakes his head at the drinking and inattentive behavior of those on guard duty. He nods in agreement with Bac and Kane.
Theo has been following along quietly and, having nothing he feels would add to the conversation, keeps to himself during the walk to the lumber camp. When the group decided to wait until morning to speak with the lumberjacks, the young man simply shrugs his shoulders and starts to walk towards the guards.
"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, my name is Theodorus of house Merula. I and my friends are looking to speak with a member of your crew by the name of Milon. Would we be able to speak with this person this evening?"
He stands holding his staff with his raven familiar sitting on his shoulder.
"Oh, hell..." Ascian mutters, once she realizes the human has wandered off straight to the camp guards. Not wanting to risk making things even worse with her presence, she tries to keep out of sight as she follows after him.
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Dhaene takes a moment to stretch his shoulders a bit and gestures to Theodorus. To his new elven and half-orc companions, he says simply "Doesn't look like we'll have much time to work out any kind of plan. Games' afoot." He smiles a bit, but it's one of anticipation if a little bit of mirth as well.
Bac hurries after Theo, following his formal introduction with a wave of a gnarled hand. "'Hoy! Don't mind his manners." He vaguely gestures to Theo "You having a good night? Seems like a fine time for some good drink. Though, of course, we brought our own." Well acquainted with strangers looking to beg a drink, he makes sure to dispel that potential worry.
"Milon in tonight? We're meaning to chat with him."
Grattfaulk was about to pull his tent from his pack when he hears 'oh hell' from Ascian and he looks up to see Theodorus approaching the guards followed by Bac Dau and Ascian slipping into cover. "It would appear so," he replies to Dhaene with a half-hearted sigh. Grattfaulk re-slings his pack over one shoulder and heads down the path with his maul in his other hand.
Seeing the spontaneous action of the quiet human, Kane waits to see what the others do before making a decision. When it seems like the rest are going to follow, he shrugs and follows suit.
Before they get within line of sight of the guards, Kane mutters a brief chant, and suddenly his form shrinks and morphs into a small cat (like this).
He then trails along with the others, trying to stay out of sight, using the others as cover.
The laughter and conversation die down as Theodorus approaches, the loggers staring in sullen silence at the wizard as he makes his introduction. Bac Dau's amiable approach diffuses some of the tension, and the loggers visibly relax--though none of them smile.
"Milon in tonight? We're meaning to chat with him."
"He might be. Who's asking?" drawls a burly woman leaning against the palisade. Her hair is hacked off short and her muscled arms are heavily callused and crisscrossed with scars. "Outsiders aren't popular around here."
"Its Bac. We're here on Laurel's behalf, and I know Milon wouldn't want to disappoint that woman. Savvy?" He eyes the woman's muscles "You can just tell him if he comes and talks to us, he'd be helping Laurel out. If he doesn't want to come, well, these unpopular outsiders aren't going ta be bothering you any more."
Theo looks over at the old Tien man and frowns. He listens to the man speak with the guards and wonders what he did that was different to get an actual response. Perplexed, he continues to watch the interplay between the two groups. After a moment he takes out a stylus and wax tablet and begins to take some notes.
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Dhaene stays to the back of the group, not loading his crossbow, but prepared in case this all goes pear shaped. He's a little surprised that the old human proved so eloquent, but glad he did. For a moment, he thinks to open his mouth to offer some platitudes of his own, but thinks better of it, instead scanning around them to make sure their group isn't caught unawares.
Narrowing her eyes at Bac, the woman nudges the man sitting next to her with the side of her boot. "Rawls, let Milon know that he's got visitors." Grumbling in protest, Rawls pushes to his feet and lopes off into the camp, returning a few minutes later with a slender, wiring human with sharp blue eyes tanned skin.
"What's this all about, Tahra?" the other man says, expression wary but tone respectful. He eyes you all skeptically.
"Not my idea, these lot decided they had to speak with you. I'd tell 'em to eat sawdust but I'm curious what brings this little gaggle of freaks to you in the middle of the night." Crossing her arms, Tahra raises one eyebrow and gives Bac a sardonic grin. "Well? Go on then." Milon puts his hands on his hips, also waiting.
"Hey boy. Laurel sent us. It's about the blackscour. We're looking to help Laurel and you can help us help her, ya see." He lays a gnarled hand out and beckons for Milon. "We're looking for advice - you don't even have to stick your neck out unless you want to."
Milon's eyebrows go up in an surprise. "You want my advice? What would I have to..." His eyes flicker over Tahra, who is watching him rather than any of you. "Ah. She's sending you into the forest then?"
Milon is being cautious about what he says in front of Tahra; neither of them seems to like or trust the other.
In his cat form, Kane continues watches the exchange from the shadows. Something tells him that he wouldn't be a very welcome sight to these loggers, neither as an elf, and especially as a druid.
"Ya got it. Right into the forest." Bac raises an eyebrow at the subtle exchange, but really isn't interested in playing games if he doesn't have to. "You want to talk here or take a few steps over that ways?" He gestures to the treeline a distance away from the logging camp.
Whether or not Milon wants privacy from Tahra, Bac delivers his questions "That girl Laurel's looking for ironbloom mushrooms and rat's tail. Do you know of any spots we could find them growing, or of any places where there are a lot of badger burrows for the root, or rusting metal for the ironblooms?"
Theo listens very carefully to the interaction between Bac Dau and the logger. He waits for the man to speak to take down the information he has.
"Look, I told Laurel her scheme is just going to get people hurt, and right now it looks like 'people' is you. I don't know why you're wanting to stick your neck out for Falcon's Hollow, but some of our people have been attacked by bandits, wolves, or both. To make matters worse a wyvern was spotted a few days ago. This is shaping up to be a bad year, and I'd rather not have your lives on my conscience."
"Hells and harrows, Milon! You wanna tell 'em about our latest bonus and where the best groves are while you're at it?" Tahra snarls, finally looking back at the group of you. "He doesn't wanna talk to you, tough luck. Now beat it before we beat you."
Milon looks nearly cowed by Tahra's display, but then sets his jaw. "You'll find rust at the old hall--it's a dwarven ruin, been there long as anyone can remember. Be careful though, that area's got wolves aplenty. Rat's tail is easy--check along the riverbanks, or upslope; floods or landslides will topple lots of trees and rat's tail likes the rot. Good luck strangers, for my nephew's sake." With a glare at Tahra's back Milon turns and walks back into the camp.
Kane waits until the others are well away from the camp before he changes back to his normal form, allowing the others to see the change, if they wish.
"That was easier than anticipated. We done, Bắc. And you Theodorus for sparking the initiative. My only concern is that the others didn't seem happy that Milon gave us the information. Hopefully they won't be a problem."