"Hey guys, cover me for a minute." Having procured the diamond dust, Khoran will find a private spot away from the Celestial Emporium and spend 3 rounds casting his only restoration for today . He will restore his drained constitution...
After the 18 second spell is complete, and the color has come back into his cheeks, he asks Tristan "Can you use your talents to figure out what the deal is with the guy sleeping in the Celestial Emporium?"
Sure thing...Watch over me for a bit
Secure in the knowing the group is guarding over him while he's helpless in enthralled in the spell Tristan consults "his people"
Using two Ears of the City spells
Sure thing...Watch over me for a bit
Secure in the knowing the group is guarding over him while he's helpless in enthralled in the spell Tristan consults "his people"
Using two Ears of the City spells
[dice=gather info, who's this guy?]1d20+19
[dice=gather info, info on Ashen Wastes?]1d20+19
[dice=gather info, info Chaos Rift ?]1d20+19
[dice=gather info, info Boiling Lands ?]1d20+19
[dice=gather info, info Dead Fields ?]1d20+19
[dice=gather info, Singing Steel availability to create instrument?]1d20+19
Tristan just has one first level bard spell slot left for today, so are there three of those that you'd prioritize?
Also, how much diamond dust is the party buying total? There's no cap on the availability.
We arrived back in one day? If so I'll ask the questions in the order posted. And I'll ask the other questions tomorrow.
the mystery guy
Ashen wastes
Chaos rift
@Zorblag see pm
It's late in the day, but it is still the same day, yes. Also, I forgot that you had used an Ears of the City to find the best place to sell the gear from the Azers and buy diamond dust, so you're all out of first level bard spells for the day and will need to wait until tomorrow to use it to gain information.
5:35 PM on Thingsdag, the seventh of Eostre, 3517 I.R.
Having used all his spells Tristan goes the old-fashioned route and tries waking the guy up. At first gently with his voice Sir, SIR ...you really don't want to sleep out here past sundown
If that does work he'll try shaking him awake, wary of any reflexive knife thrusts.
The sleeping figure responds to Tristan's voice with a bit of moan before he turns over and squints up at you. "Wha ... what are you doing? Wait, where am I?" Eyes blurry, he looks around, taking in his surroundings as though seeing them through a fog. Shaking his head gently, he notices the position of the sun and his eyes grow wider. "Aw hell, I can't stay here now. That Travis must have left ... But never mind that now. Thanks mister, you're a real life saver."
He staggers unsteadily to his feat and gives you nod that unintentionally leans into a slight bow before he rights himself and begins to lurch off to the west, presumably to where ever he normally spends his nights.
"Well, there's our good deed done for the day. Shall we set up camp in the same place we did before?"
sounds like a plan
After selling the equipment from the Azers and purchasing the 1600 iron bits worth of diamond dust (1500 of which is left after Khoran's Restoration spell,) you have a total of 517 iron bits. You also still have Gurg's spiked greatclub and the Decanter of Endless water you're carrying with you. After tonight's meal you will have 25 days worth of rations left from what the group purchased.
Finishing up with the Celestial Emporium at least for today you head back to the area south of Skeribar's Ranger Guides' campsite and garden and settle in for your evening meal and regular nighttime preparations. With just one party member with a ring of Sustenance you'll now need to figure out when Groff is getting his sleep (and who is covering that watch,) and Tristan will need to decide whether to do his evening dance out in the Camp after dark, under the stars.
7:00 PM on Thingsdag, the seventh of Eostre, 3517 I.R.
Tristan will dance as soon as the stars come out... Hopefully with the group watching over him as he does his devotions
Who else stays outside with Tristan while he's dancing?
Grimm will reluctantly join Tristan. He'll wearily spend the time scanning the perimeter for danger.
Actually, before leaving the Celestial Emporium, Khoran will spend 20 bits: a bottle of Oldlaw Whiskey. We need to pour one out for Helgash...
Khoran will keep watch with Grimm and he'll even refrain from catcalling Tristan! Afterwards, let us retire to the shelter of the Sylvan Hideaway, and we can tell Helgash stories.
Bannog eyed the determined gait of the newly assigned hero, Auleth, with more than a little bit of jealousy. He had just gone right in to the priest and volunteered for this quest, and the priest had just said yes! Longshanks had it so easy. Bannog couldn't seem to get anyone to take him seriously as a Hero, at least not yet. A performer, sure. A handy pet, perhaps. But as an honest to goodness Hero? Nobody thought of goblins that way. Well, here was his chance!
The little goblin flew forward until he passed Auleth, then stopped, hovering in midair a scant 5ft in front of him. "Hello Hero Auleth, I be Bannog the Great and Powerful Wizard, sent by same Brother Grindolf to be leader of great hero tribe! We go and smash and zap the desolation together!" He quickly flies in a circle around Auleth, his slightly oversized robes flapping about almost as much as his ears in the wind, before settling in front of him again. "You be following my lead, yes?" he asks, tilting his head curiously as his yellow eyes blink through the oversized goggles on his head, making them seem to be much larger than they actually were.
Auleth was not yet tired from walking, but the road was long and his thoughts were turning toward the potential purchase of a horse. He had the coin to spare now, though as a city-bred man and child of the slums he knew little of riding. An old nag would do, any horse being able to run longer and carry more than any person. There would be travelers’ inns on the way, of course. He was sure he could find one plain enough not to attract attention from bandits bold enough to challenge an armed traveler.
His thoughts also wandered ahead along the road to the destination. The followers of Orcus had been quieted for now in the city itself, some even permanently. He’d been gratified to have rumors reach him of a couple quitting the place entirely for fear of “the grey hunter,” even more gratified to have caught up with them on the road, and still more gratified that none of the denizens of the flophouse they’d chosen to stay in had questioned his checking in at midnight and leaving an hour later, cleaning his sword. But they had been heading north as well, which tickled his instincts. It was just a compass direction, but on it lay the old city of the Prince of Undeath, as well as the Dungeon of Graves also associated with that religion. Had they been going to confer in person with their leaders?
He hadn’t quite been sure what he’d find when he inquired with Brother Grindolf about joining the Church of Muir’s expedition. The priest had heard of his activities, and was glad for an alliance with other faiths, but Auleth had gotten the distinct sense that he thought it a very speculative adventure and had limited expectations. Nevertheless, the signs were pointing to some kind of controlling intelligence, a poisonous root beyond the branches he had been pruning. Perhaps it was in the Desolation that he would find it.
He noticed the flying goblin as it approached, and tensed his grip on his sword for a moment. But its manner was clearly unthreatening, and its boldness to approach in broad daylight suggested curiosity rather than danger. He listened to its pitch ( ) (Bannog seems to have no ranks in Bluff—I’d think he would, given his background), and as the goblin prattled on with what was clearly nonsense, extended his divine senses to check the obvious (casts Detect Evil, assuming nothing turns up). Reassured, but very curious, he asked the goblin, “Anyone who can fly without wings must be a powerful wizard indeed. I will be honest with you, if you are with me. How did you really learn my name and quest?”
Bannog's chest puffs out a little when the man recognizes his greatness, though deflates a little when he accuses him of lying. Oh crud oh no oh boy... He quickly responds "Learned from Brother Grindolf, honest! Ok, maybe he no make me leader, not total leader, but I can help!" The flying goblin quickly reached into a deep pocket in his robe and he pulls out an adorable, spotlessly clean, white rabbit, which he holds up proudly. "Me and Caer, here, we know things! Well, me know things, him just silly rabbit, but he help too! Isn't he cute?"
The rabbit looks faintly annoyed and tries to take a small bite on Bannog's hand. Oy! he replies in a squeak that only Bannog could understand, What sort of daft-headed line is that? Silly rabbit, indeed. I'll leave you to figure out your next question by yourself if you keep this up.
Bannog looks slightly abashed and says "Ok, him not silly, him good friend that eats gross carrots so me no have to! Very smart, too." He says this last with an exaggerated wink of a yellow eye to Auleth, made all the sillier by being magnified by his goggles.
The goblin, still floating midair, holds out a rabbit. Auleth can’t help but laugh. He’d seen street performers and prestidigitating entertainers before, including in the houses of the wealthy he’d plundered, though never had one perform specifically for him. And yet this goblin is actually hovering midair, and the rabbit appears to be truly a rabbit. Furthermore, the goblin does know his name and mission. Auleth has learned his own set of remarkable abilities that produce visual effects—he’s been taught by his colleagues how to summon chains and swords from nothing to grasp and strike his foes, how to see the magically hidden, how to extend his land speed to inhuman lengths for short periods. He recognizes this goblin’s magic, whatever its source, as real.
“I’m certain you can,”, he replies to the goblin. “The road is long and treacherous. I’ll be glad of the company on the way. I was going to see about a horse the next chance I got—does that flying tire you out? If so, we can get you mounted as well.”
As they move along through the countryside north of Bard’s Gate, Auleth gently probes the goblin for his story. “Are you of Muir as well, then?” It is apparent by Auleth’s costume and the feathers at the clasp of his cloak which goddess he follows, at least to one familiar with the churches of the civilized lands. He leaves that unsaid, though, as a test to see what else this Bannog knows.
Bannog gets very excited at the mention of getting a horse. "Horse makes for good eating! Me be glad to split one with you, but whole horse just for me, not even goblins eat that much!" he says with a big laugh, flying alongside the walking man easily. When he finally understands that Auleth meant a horse for riding and not for eating, he looks at him with a most disgusted look.
"You ride horse if you need, me keep distance and... he pauses, swallows, and appears to be struggling mightily, "...not kill and eat it? Flying easy for me, fly all day no problem." He reaches down to pet Caer and talks to him in what appears to be a voice that he thinks only Caer can hear, but is nothing of the sort. "Silly longshanks, me no get them. Why ride evil horse, when killing and eating is more better?" Caer just looks up at him and blinks.
When Auleth brings up Muir, Caer chatters to Bannog This one worships Muir, goddess of virtue & paladins. Her brother is the god Thyr. Muir represents physical might to obtain peace. Honor, truth and courage. A paladin order called the Justicars worship her. Do *not* tell this one of your worship of Snuurge, I do not think he would take it well.
While Caer is chattering in a way only Bannog could hear, the goblin stalls. "Me? No, me not..."of"...Muir. No problem with her or her brother, but not for us goblins." He pauses briefly, thinking, before continuing. "Goblins not so worried about gods and such, really. More eating, less praying! You a, um... a Justicer?" he asks, slightly butchering the pronunciation of the word from Caer (which gives an annoyed sigh), but getting it close enough to get the meaning across.
Auleth has eaten horse meat, though not intentionally – or, rather, indifferently to what sort of creature it was. Among the urban poor, one doesn’t question what animal the meat in the stew came from, or what its condition in life was. The idea of horse as a gourmet meal…well, goblins’ reputation is not entirely undeserved. This one seems cracked in the head, slightly at least. Auleth wonders what the goblin tribes think of him—clearly he’s run afoul of them in some way, otherwise he’d be the great tribal leader he claimed to be at the start.
“I’m not a Justiciar. More a…” What is he, now? Not a paladin, or a knight...and yet he does belong to something greater than himself. The goblin is clearly not overfamiliar with settled folk’s religions, though he knows some things. “I’m an assassin,” Auleth continues, “But only of those who deserve it, for doing great evil. Worshipping the Lord of Undeath, seeking to wreck the world. I follow the Lady of the Winds, myself.”
He looks over at the goblin, deep in conversation with his rabbit. “What interests you in the Desolation?” he asks, sincerely curious about the answer.
After the meal in the Sylvan Hideaway, once it grows dark outside, the party emerges to watch Tristan's random dance beneath the stars. The sound of the Usurer's hammering no longer issues from his workshop and streets and as much of the commons as the dark vision those of you that have it allow you to see are completely deserted. Skeribar's rangers, despite their proximity appear disinterested enough not to send anyone out to see what's happening.
Although you can't shake the feeling of being watched, none of you can point to anything that backs this up, and when Tristan's dance ends half an hour later everyone withdraws to the Sylvan Hideaway to have a memorial for Helgash that lasts well into the night as you share drinks in the half-orc's memories. The Desolation has claimed it's first victim from your party; and you all acknowledge that, based on what you've seen, it might not be the last.
The night passes without incident once everyone but Groff makes their way to their sleeping bags, and the dwarf finds this the quietest night thus far since first entering the camp four days ago. In the morning you get a later start than normal with some members of the party feeling somewhat delicate, and are once again struck by the loss of Helgash as he is not preparing the best meal he can manage with the limitations of the trail rations. Instead, out in the bleak sunlight beside the commons, eating some dried meat and fruit, you watch the Camp begin to stumble into life. Merchants make their way to the Celestial Emporium, a waitress opens up the doors to the Sip of Blood tavern, and a couple of members of Clantock's Furious Fourteen soon make their way to it. A surly looking elf emerges at Finn's Livery to let some run down horses out into the paddock. The Usurer, who's hammering resumed shortly after sun up, continues his work at whatever metal he's in the process of shaping.
As you observe the day starting up around you, you also see two figures approach from the road to the south. It looks like a Human in a breastplate with a blade sheathed by his side and a bow slung across his back accompanied by a goblin dressed in long flowing robes who seems to be floating in the air beside him. From the way they're taking in the sights around them you'd wager they're not from around here.
****For Auleth and Bannog****
The long, dusty road from Bard’s Gate has finally brought you to your destination, a settlement on the very edge of the vast region of ruin known as the Desolation. Before you sprawls a pathetic collection of hovels that appear to be composed of whatever materials happened to be lying around. Here, a building that had an impressive beginning as a stone structure peters out a few feet above the ground where its walls become mud-daubed sticks with bunches of straw stuffed into the chinks. There, wooden poles support walls of woven thatch and roof that is little more than an old hay tarp patched in places with tar. Beyond you can make out a ramshackle wooden structure, obviously the scavenged remains of several merchant wagons as evidenced by the axles and wheels still mounted at places on the outer walls and the hitching tongue protruding above the lintel and supporting a tattered awning.
The trail you are on proceeds straight through the center of this collection of dwellings and travels on into the dusty wasteland beyond, disappearing into the shrouding haze of windblown debris. This hard-packed dirt yard serves as the central focus of the hamlet. Its main feature is a bent, old gallows, crudely constructed and leaning with age. Dangling from this by a frayed rope is a desiccated corpse, its broken neck askew and its leathery face frozen into a rictus grin beneath empty eye sockets. Occasionally crows alight to peck at it. Nailed to its breast is a sign bearing the word “Cheater.”
On the west side of the commons you see a group of four figures, eating a cold meal and paying you more attention than the rest of the inhabitants of the fairly miserable settlement you find yourselves in.
9:20 AM on Festival Day, the eighth of Eostre, 3517 I.R.
“Well, this is it, I guess,” Auleth says, looking around at the settlement. Ahead, the path peters out into the wasteland ahead. The mountains in the distance would be beautiful, except for the subtle menace their shimmering outline contains. Somewhere in that direction is the slumbering ancient city of the Lord of Undeath. “And somewhere in this place are the crusaders of Muir,” Auleth continues his thoughts out loud. He looks over the four who are watching. A mixed bag of races, physiques, and armament suggest that they are adventurers—Auleth is familiar with the type. “Best start with them, I’d think,” he says to Bannog, approaching the four breakfasters.
“Greetings. I am Auleth, and my colleague here is Bannog the Great and Powerful.” Auleth smiles as he mimics the goblin’s introductory puffery. “We are on our way north to explore the Desolation, and had heard of other adventurers on a similar quest. Do you know where we might find them?”
In the morning, Khoran prepares his spells:
Spirits: Life, Nature
Hexes: Silkstring Snare, Slumber
L0 (DC 14, 4) : Guidance, Detect Magic, Create Water, Stabilize
L1 (DC 15, 5) : Burning Disarm, Tears to Wine, Bless, Nature's Path, {open Slot}
L2 (DC 16,4) : False Life , Burst of Radiance, Burst of Radiance, {open Slot}
L3 (DC 17, 3) : Sylvan Hideaway, {open Slot}, {open Slot}
L4 (DC 18, 2) : Restoration, Restoration
Immediately after breakfast, he casts 3 restorations (both 4th level spell and his spirit magic slot), restoring Con to Groff and Tristan, an then Groff's Charisma. He also casts an extended False Life.
After that, Khoran's eye is drawn to the odd pair entering the settlement, and he says "Did those two travel through the night, to be coming into the settlement this early in the morning? Around here? That's odd..."
When they approach and open the conversation, he listens with narrowed eyes, assessing the pair,
+4 Wis
7 rank +3 trained +4wis+1 trait+2 racial +2 alertness
and replies "There might be some such folks around, but who did you hear that story from?"
Bannog tilts his head in puzzlement when Auleth posits their journey at an end. "Think so? Thought we were going someplace bad! This place not bad. Seen much worse. But I take your word for it." He moves forward toward the group of four, eager to meet the intrepid group of Heroes already here.
He looks particularly proud when Auleth refers to him with his full title, his tiny chest puffing up bigger. He looks slightly crestfallen and concerned when they were met with such caution. "You not the Heroes sent by Brother Grindolf? Oh." He throws a sideways glance at Auleth and says "See, told you! Too nice a town to be the Desolation. We in wrong place!" Looking back to Khoran he says "Sorry, we in wrong place. Must have gone wrong before. Which way to Desolation?"
“This is not the Desolation,” Auleth says to Bannog. “That is,” he gestures to the expanse to the north and west. “This is just a way station, it seems.” New, old, ill-cared for? Auleth wonders at the motivations of those who built it. To Khoran, he replies “As my colleague says, the church of Muir has sent a force north. We were hoping to catch up with them—have they left already?”
Reasonably confident the man he’s talking to is who he’s looking for, and knowing how suspicious he and Bannog look, Auleth adds ”We are also sent by Brother Grindolf. I am an officer of Dame Torren, who has been hunting demon-worshippers these few years.”
Khoran looks bemusedly at the goblin and points north, "Desolation, okay, about 100 yards thataway."
Turning to the man, he says, "Sit down, grab yourself some coffee". After taking a swig of his own, he continues "I'd hardly call it a force, but you're in the right place. Hope you've got your affairs settled, this has been pretty ugly so far. I'm Khoran, this is Groff, Tristan and Grimm. We lost Helgash yesterday. So what did Grindolf tell you about the job?"
looks like the real deal, at least the Torrenite is Tristan says quietly under his breath
He examines the Flying Goblin thinking how best to incorporate him into a comedy act... Not that one would gather a crowd here. Still the possibilities are interesting... a Goblin flies into a bar.....
"How did you lose Helgash?" Auleth asks, looking over at the hanged man. "That's not him, is it?"
He takes a sip of the coffee, looking around at the motley group, and at his own motley addition. I've worked with far worse. These seem worn by activity, not ragged by lack of effort. "Brother Grindolf told me little, but that was intriguing. No one's been in there, or came out, for a long while, and no one knows what's in there. But he had heard that some of the old Army of Light may have gotten in there, and wants to know what happened to them." Auleth pauses to take another sip. "With more and more people moving into the north here, there's value in making a safe land route. For which people need to know whether something in there," Auleth gestures to the Desolation in the general direction of the city, "Is going to come out and bother honest travelers."
Bannog still looks confused, but shrugs it off and joins them. He causes a cup of coffee to float to him, takes one cautious sip, and quickly spits it back into the cup with a disgusted look on his face. Eyes shifting back and forth between the very tall people talking around him, he moves the cup behind his back, and then a floating ball of just coffee (no cup) shoots off behind him. He then brings the cup back to the front and pretends to drink out of it as if nothing was wrong.
"Good drink!" he proclaims, smacking is lips loudly. "Me came because me great wizard Hero, and place called Desolation definitely need a Hero! This Helgash, he not have map? Where he get lost? Seems easy to get lost here without map."
"No, that not Helgash. We broke into one of the old ruins out there. Found a trap the hard way, and ended up fighting a bunch of Azers and a bunch of Rasts at the same time... It went badly. We retreated back to the Camp here, and having been patching holes. We'll probably go try the same ruin again tomorrow... From the stuff we've fought in the desolation so far, if anyone wants to travel through it, they'll need a small army."
Auleth nods. "Sometimes a few skilled folk are more capable than any size army. What else have you encountered out there?" He considers a moment how best to ask. "Have you found any other explorers, or adherents of the Lord of Undeath? Or just squatters in the ruins?"
Auleth knows that the Azer are from the elemental plane of Fire and will make contracts with various factions, though they aren't explicitly connected with any demons by default, while he is unaware of any connections at all between Rasts and anything out of the plane of fire.
While you talk a couple of citizens of the Camp in the process of crossing the commons stop as they see you, apparently recognize who you are. One of them gestures to his partner to wait and jogs on over towards you. As he approaches you recognize him as the sleeping drunk from the Celestial Emporium last night. He approaches Tristan in particular and gives a, if not friendly, at least respectful nod. "I didn't get a proper chance ta thank you for last night. Woulda been my life to stay asleep out in the market through the night and most around here wouldn'ta stopped to do anything about it, so I wanted you to know I'm grateful. You'd think Travis might have done something given that we've been workin' together for all these years, but ..." He drifts off, pausing to glare at his companion who glares right back.
Turning back to you he continues, "Anyhow, I just wanted to say thanks and maybe pass on something that might help you if you're heading out to the Desolation. Seems like a sure way to get killed, but I assume you've got your reasons and I'm not here to ask questions about it, it's your business. Anyhow, my pappy warned me not tangle with Old Death in his hollow. His breath brings stony death. Can't say I know what he meant by it or why he thought I might be headin' anywhere out there myself, but it's a warning that plenty give; hope it might do you some good."
Happy to help. Sleeping outside at night seems like a sure way to die here. Didn't see any reason to let that happen to ya. So, thanks for the info on Old Death and his breath. Sounds like a dragon to me. And I've got NO interest in tangling with one of those. Spinning tales tales about them in a taproom is one thing. Meeting one in person is another. Is your pappy still around? I'd be very interested in talking with him about this Old Death, over several beers of course, on my tab.
The man frowns slightly, as if reminded of something he'd rather not think about. "Nah, my pappy's been gone for years now. Livin' here don't exactly lend itself to a ripe old age in most. But, like I said, the warning about Old Death and his hollow is something you'll hear around the Camp. If you're interested you could check with Lucky Bjorc. If people have tales to tell they'd do it when they're drinking and that orc's a good listener when you've had a few."
Glancing over at his friend the man sees the impatience in his stance. "Well, I got no time to stand around. Me an Travis have an errand for Mama Grim to run and, much as I'd like it otherwise, it won't run itself. You take care. Thanks again for waking me last night." With another nod he heads off to start arguing with Travis and the two of them make their way out of the Commons to the east.
Eyes the newcomers once more and decides he can trust them enough with his friends around to be vulnerable for a bit while consulting with his people
Guys watch over me for a bit Tristan steps between Groff and Khoran and casts his spell
You don't learn anything more about Old Death and his Hollow, though his breath turning you to stone certainly comes up again.
Common knowledge in the Camp is that the Ashen Waste is a desert hellhole of choking dust and evil spirits. If you die there your soul wanders forever without finding rest.
Also, the great encampments of soldiers during the war were in what is now the Ashen Waste. People say that is where many valuable treasures have been discovered in the past. The soldiers went off to die and left their valuables behind in their camps where they still lie unclaimed.
Rumor has it that when the winds blow hard through the Chaos Rift it means a gate to Hell has opened and that something very bad is about to come out.
Tristan relays the info to the group including the newcomers. Information is to be shared, not hoarded... At least most information is.
Auleth is particularly interested in the rumor about the Chaos Rift. "Where is the Chaos Rift?" he asks. "The idea of things coming out, well, that deserves investigation. And Old Death doesn't sound like a dragon to me. Stony breath, that might be a basilisk or similar. In any event, perhaps we should find Lucky Bjorc. I could do for a drink to cut the dust of the road."
If the others offer a suggestion, Auleth will be among those who go to find this orc who might know about Old Death.
Tristans always ready to go to a bar!
"Spend the day drinking, aye that seems a decent enough plan, don't have any space nor set up to do any crafting or some such. An we're not wandering off into the desolation until we're all healed up.."
"Drinking is just part of healing. That's an old dwarvish home remedy. "
"Drink sounds good! More better than coffee!"
Grimm shakes his head wearily, "Best to forego the drink here and keep your wits about you, if you want to live. No one in this camp is to be trusted."
Auleth waits for anyone else who wants to go with him, and heads off to look around the camp for bars that may contain a particularly lucky-looking half-orc.
"Not drink? Are ye daft?" he looks over at Auleth "Let's go"
"Bannog always has his wits! Drink no match for Bannog brains! Think they have Bufo? Me love Bufo..." The little goblin immediately takes to flight, floating alongside the others toward wherever they might find a drink.
Having met him during his last trip through the Camp Khoran knows that Lucky Bjorc is the proprietor of the Sip of Blood Tavern, so you head across the commons to the bar.
When you open the door to look inside the building you see a large, smoke-filled L-shaped room with a weathered collection of tables, chairs and stools arranged haphazardly.
Lucky Bjorc, a large orc stand behind a counter which separates what the main room from what looks like a kitchen to the north. He seems to have seen better days with his head hairless on the left side, complementing a missing eye and ear and massive scarring. His right arm ends in a stump above the elbow, and his left hand has only a thumb and two fingers. His left leg ends in a ragged stump just below the knee, long healed, but with exposed bone at the end. When you go to talk to him one of the human women who work at the bar comes up to translate for you as Bjorc's missing tongue prevents him from communicating verbally. He does have a complicated series of hand signs that eventually get his point across.
When you ask him about Old Death and his Hollow Bjorc first gives you the same warning that you've heard in person and through Tristan's spell about his breath bringing stony death. When you press for more information he thinks a bit and then passes the following along through his translator:
"He says that now that you mention it he might have almost met Old Death himself back in his one and only excursion into the Desolation. He started with a mercenary band of orcs, but by the end of their journey it was down to him and Svorgn and they weren't looking for any more trouble. They must have been way up near the north end of the Chaos Rift at the time. They'd just gone by some rock pillars and entered another canyon when they started to notice what looked like a bunch of statues of some sort scattered around the area, most broken into pieces, but statues of all the sorts of creatures they were now spending so much time avoiding since it was down to just the two of them.
"Lucky for him he'd already found his lucky rock earlier in their journey because otherwise he probably would have ended up like Svorgn. He was looking down, examining the sculpted head of a ghoul, impressed by how realistic it was when he heard a shout from Svorgn. The other orc had just gone around a corner and was mostly gone from view, but Bjorc was just able to see his leg as it turned to stone. After that some sort of scaley claw stuck out from around the corner, but Bjorc has enough sense not to stick around to find out what it was attached to. He high-tailed it back the way he'd come, eventually making his way back to the road and then the Camp itself. The haul he made from that trip was enough to set up the bar here; a much better prospect than setting out in the Desolation again given how much luck he must have used that one time out."
Bjorc seems to be entirely earnest when telling the story; you have no reason to it went down more or less as he's described it.
For those of you who care to drink or eat at the tavern you find the selection of drinks surprisingly varied (including Bufo,) and the food, if not appetizing, at least probably not poisonous? Bjorc does only take iron bits though, so anything purchased will need to use those rather than gold or other currency.
11:00 AM on Festival Day, the eighth of Eostre, 3517 I.R.
"Well gents, tomorrow, when we're all healed up, shall we go back to Helgash's doom?
"Best we be finished there. "