On one of the afternoons, you got yourself into Olfden in Andoran. The sun was getting low so you looked for a place to sleep. You were a few days earlier so you could spend some time within the city to get a feel for it.
You enter an inn called 'Unlucky Prospector', the inn is well lightened and the fireplace is lightened, a smell of tasty is filling the place.
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Mandoo, recently arrived in Olfden, feels a little lost for what to do next. It didn't seem all that long ago that he was enjoying a little full-body fishing in Anthusis, and now he found himself in Olfden on Pathfinder business.
To be frank, Mandoo was a little surprised to have made it back from Anthusis in one piece. The early part of the voyage had been uneventful enough, but once they had passed the Shackles and started getting close to Mediogalti Island, it turned into a seemingly endless sequence of storms and pirate attacks. He held on for dear life during the squalls and used his trusty bow to help fend off the pirates, but it had been a close-called thing there on a couple of occasions.
With nothing better to do, Mandoo heads toward the nearest inn, an establishment named somewhat ominously as the Unlucky Prospector. As is usually the case when he enters a new inn, his mind wanders back to his beloved Delma and her inn, the Feedmill. Etran's Folly wasn't all that far away; perhaps he would drop by there after this mission was over and see how she was doing. With a little luck she might have changed her mind and be willing to reconsider his proposal. It was worth a try, and the turnip porridge there was to die for.
He ducks his head to go through the door of the inn and pauses a moment for his eyes to become accustomed to the darkness. Those few patrons who bother to look his way see a large human male of Kellid stock. His tan-darkened skin, close-cropped black hair, and somewhat ravaged countenance, framing a pair of steely blue eyes. A semi-permanent scowl discourages closer inspection, but the stronger willed see a tall, lean muscled man in slightly ill-fitting clothes; every part of his exposed body, except for the area around his eyes, is covered in an even crisscrossing of thousands of fine faded scar lines. Across this evenly scarred background, the occasional newer and larger scar can be picked out. Except for a well-used shortbow and quiver of arrows on his back, he seems to carry no other weapons.
He makes his way to the bar and orders a pint of ale which he then takes to one of the large empty tables to wait for his fellow Pathfinders to arrive.
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An older, human woman sits in the corner, quietly quilting and not so quietly judging the "Damn drunkards ..." who come in and immediately beeline for the bar.
Her quilt jumps suddenly, as she's so distracted that she stabs the quilt in the wrong place.
"I'm so sorry, dear," she says to the quilt, smoothing out a few of its wrinkles. The quilt is a large mass of brightly colored squares that are joined to make a larger square.
She carefully folds it and puts it in a carrying bag, and then stands up to approach Mandoo.
"I believe I saw you at the Feedmill in Etran's Folly," she begins. "Mrs. Potipher Perkins," she introduces.
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Upon approaching the bar, Mandoo had noticed the older lady in the corner darning a blanket. It was not something one often saw in an inn, and though he'd found it odd, he'd assumed she must be the owner's mother or some such thing. There was something a little familiar about her, but old ladies all tended to look similar to him even at the best of times.
At her approach, Mandoo looks up a little surprised. Seeing the look on her face, he immediately stands, almost spilling his ale in the process. "Ah! Sorry about that. You caught me off guard there." He quickly glances around to see if there are any more strange elderly patrons approaching him unawares. He collects himself and lets her words sink it. Bowing slightly, he says, "Pleased to meet you Mrs. uh,, Perkins, was it? I am Mandoo." He squints a little to get a better look at her in the dim light. "Yes, you do look a little familiar. We may well have crossed paths in Etran's Folly." He tries to picture her wielding a broken chair leg in a bar fight, but fails miserably in the attempt. Seeing her kit, he adds, "Ah, it appears that you too are here on Pathfinder business." He indicates one of the chairs at the table. "Please join me; I expect that the rest of our merry band will arrive shortly."
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"Etran's Folly?" asks a friendly voice with a gravelly rumble. "And here I thought I'd never hear of that little flyspeck again. Well, it seems that Pathfinders travel in mysterious ways, eh?"
A dwarf with an elaborately plaited beard down his chest and an improbably large shield down his back sweeps off his hat and bows. "Hornbori, son of Mjothvitnir, at your service," he says.
"What's on the menu? They used to do a fine mutton stew here, but that was long ago. I wonder..." He signals the barman for some service. "Will you join me?"
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A goblin in a draconic jump-suit stumbles into the midst of those gathered already.
Etran's Folly? What did Etran do that so bad? Wait, who Etran?
Without even allowing time for an answer he continues on.
I'm Arfsnarf. Who wants a fortune today?
He proceeds to stop in front of each of the first three teammates assembled so far, to briefly blow on a kazoo, roll a polyhedral die, and after viewing the result say You probably not gonna die today, but things could get pretty rough. This indeed happens three times as if the "fortune" was individually applicable and accurate.
A bartender comes to you and looks at Potipher Perkins with a puzzled look
"Wasn't quilting circle gathering today at Drunken Dragon? Or was it Flying Fairies? Or maybe Bellowing Badgers? " He wonders and pauses for a moment.
"Anyway how about I move you closer to the fire, there will be better light, and the table is a bit on the side. Today we have a badger goulash, onion soup with mountain cheese and fresh bread, or chicken stew. With regards to beers, we have some local Aldoran Ales and right from Absalom a GPA: Goblin Puddles Ale. Every pint tastes differently, odd if you ask me... Anyway my name is Chubby Chuck. In roughly 30 minutes a bard will come to cheer up the mood."
People begin to gather, you can see that most of the people know Chubby Chuck and sits at the bar, there are few other groups sitting at the tables, mostly merchants.
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At the mention of food, Mandoo realizes that he's quite hungry. When Chubby shows up and lists the specials, he replies, "I'll take one of the badger goulash and one of the chicken stew. Oh, and another of these goblin ales. This one wasn't all that bad." He indicates the almost empty glass in front of him.
He smiles when Arfnarf gives him his fortune, though he suspects the goblin is not far from the truth. You probably not gonna die today, but things could get pretty rough, was pretty much a description of his whole life... so far. He hoped to keep it that way; the first part at least, if not the last.
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He proceeds to stop in front of each of the first three teammates assembled so far, to briefly blow on a kazoo, roll a polyhedral die, and after viewing the result say You probably not gonna die today, but things could get pretty rough. This indeed happens three times as if the "fortune" was individually applicable and accurate.
Mrs. Perkins eyes this with suspicion. "What sort of witchcraft is this?"
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She orders some chicken stew, and orders the waiter to limit everyone to one beer each. "That's plenty, they need to keep their wits about them, especially the armored one." She points at Hornbori. "Apparently, there's some trouble coming."
When the food arrives, Mrs. Perkins pulls out a large print Acts of Iomedae and reads a prayer before allowing everyone to eat. She will slap anyone's hand who reaches for their food before she's finished.
vs Reflex DC
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"Madame," says Hornbori. "No ale ever made has managed to separate a Highhelm guardsman from his wits."
Onion soup. And the chicken stew. And the Andoran Ale."
Turns out, Hornbori knows his manners well and piously waits for the reading of the prayer, though he snatches at his food the moment the reading is over.
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Mandoo was about to down the rest of his pint in preparation for his next glass of goblin ale when Mrs. Perkins states her edict against more than one beer each. He pauses with the glass halfway to his mouth and wonders if this first ale of his, ordered before her injunction, is included in the count. He glances over at her and seeing the look in her eye, decides that perhaps discretion would be the better part of valor in this case. He slowly puts down the remains of his first pint so as not to waste any of the now precious brew.
Unlike Hornbori, when the food arrives, Mandoo rips off a piece of bread with one hand while snatching up the nearest spoon with the other. He's about to dig into the badger soup when he feels a certain coldness at the table. With a shiver he looks up and notices Mrs. Perkins giving him an icy stare as she pulls out her prayer book. He slowly puts down the spoon and the bread and waits impatiently for her to finish before finally starting on his meal. He carefully husbands the last of his ale to make it last as long as possible.
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A flaming red-haired halfling in a white dress shirt and dark frock and slacks pops into the tavern, nose buried in his notes as he goes. He looks up for a moment and blinks as his eyes adjust to the light and finally focuses on the group of what can only be fellow Pathfinders... or the oddest quilting circle he'd ever seen.
Stuffing the notes into his surgeon's pack with straps added to keep his hands free most of the time, the man waves his way over to the table. Catching sight of the barkeep, he gives a wave. "Chuck! I'll have that Onion soup I ordered this morning and an Andoran Ale!"
Reaching the table he takes an open spot and plops down. "Sooo, Pathfinders, right? I recognize Mandoo over there... Or did Mr. Scars take up quilting? Either way, Symeon Isafira, one of the few trained surgeons in the Society at your service."
Waiting for the food, he goes around the table asking for names. He then settles in to explain. "Dang, if I had known you were coming earlier today, I would have made sure to hurry with asking the local healer about her remedies. Got more than a few I'd like to try... Including a 'sure-fire cure for drunkeness'... Anyone want to be a test subject? The ingredients don't look dangerous and she swore it was the best thing for inebriation."
As you sit around the table and continue with the prayers another person come into the inn.
She is a young woman carrying a lute. She nods to Chuck and finds a place on a few boxes that serve as a stage. She begins to tune her instrument and then begins to sing. A tune is pleasant to hear and her voice keeps to the tune. It is not interfering with your conversations at all.
The bard after a couple of minutes ends the song which she is rewarded with few bravos. Then she tells a tale about a historical event called:
Night of Silver Blood
In the middle of the night, just as 11 Arodus turned into the 12th, 4707, at the height of a full moon on a clear summer night, an army of battle-hungry hobgoblins and hunched-back werewolves swept from Arthfell Forest. In the most coordinated werewolf attack Olfden had ever faced, the army enveloped the town and immediately set to work building up besieging fortifications and rolling in siege weapons. Trebuchet and catapults rained down destruction on the town’s walls, while hobgoblin archers arced burning arrows into the settlement, igniting the wood and thatched-roof buildings within. Worse, the silvered weapons that Olfden’s defenders relied on seemed to have no effect at all on the werewolves. Strangely, though, whenever silvered weapons struck werewolves, the creatures seemed to bleed silver-colored blood.
During the long night, three waves of werewolves, bolstered by hobgoblin allies and led by Shadow Pack druids, assaulted the town walls, striking from the west, the south, and the east. Olfden’s defenders, used to raids from small groups of werewolves and unprepared for the massive and well-organized assault (to say nothing of the strange silver immunity), very nearly lost the walls at several breaches. Fortunately for the town, however, the heroics of several individuals held the attackers at bay long enough for a sortie of Diamond Regiment soldiers and Fangwatch rangers to break the siege.
The next day you make your way towards the lodge. You got a missive inviting you by Venture-Captain Luna Aldred.
The streets of Olfden bustle with activity as shopkeepers call out for attention, promising only the very best wares. In front of the Pathfinder lodge on the outskirts of town stands a
statue of a woman wielding a blade and a wand, furiously battling a group of humanoid wolves. Several stone wolves lie dead at the statue’s base, but it’s clear the woman is being overwhelmed. As if to give voice to the fallen wolves, a chorus of deep barks echoes from a walled yard behind the lodge.
Olfden’s Pathfinder Lodge, Silver Moon Sanctuary, is a sanctuary to wolves. When you knock on the doors an old woman with startling yellow eyes open and ask you to enter.
"I am Luna Aldred, come in, get youself comfortable."
The lodge is decorated with trophies from Luna’s adventuring days, as well as gifts from grateful townsfolk.
When you enter, Luna waves them into a homey reading room with an assortment of plush chairs and side tables haphazardly piled with books, where she awaits them. It’s immediately clear to you that she’s the woman depicted in the statue outside, she might look older but the face looks very similar.
Venture-Captain Luna Aldred sets down a steaming mug as she leans back in her chair. She smiles and gestures for everyone to find seats as she props her feet up on a padded stool and reaches down for her knitting. She looks like the picture of retirement, but a sword hilt and wand poke out of the basket of yarn at her side.
"Welcome to Silver Moon Sanctuary," she says. "Olfden doesn’t see as much activity as some lodges, but I’m always happy to see agents. I recently learned a group of prospectors discovered an entrance to what may be an old dwarven ruin on Droskar’s Crag. It could be part of a much larger complex and may hold significant historical value."
Her silver knitting needles click as she continues. She turns her eyes towards Hornbori and ask me "Be a helpful lad and pass me a ball of wool from that basket, Amaranth color please."
"Where were I? Prospectors, yes. I’d like you to take a look, see what you can find. Oh! It’s probably not a surprise, but it sounds like you’ll be sticking your hand in the wolf’s jaws. The prospectors didn’t all make it back out."
Luna shakes her head sadly. "I couldn’t get many details of what happened—the survivor is pretty upset; I had to push a pocketful of gold on him and swear nobody would get hurt before he would draw a map—but maybe you’ll have more luck. He’s been staying down the street at the Silver Bulette inn, if you want to talk to him."
She sets down her knitting and sits up, yellow eyes intense as she emphasizes her next words.
"I don’t know how big this place is, so don’t go too deep. Explore as much as you can, but I don’t want to send a recovery team in a month just to find out you’ve followed some path to a fey party in the Vale. Clear out any threats and make a note of any tunnels leading deeper into the mountain, but save them for another expedition. All right?"
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Symeon, not finding a ready test subject at the table of the tavern, decides to test it out on himself. He orders three more drinks and downs them in an hour, getting riotously drunk. After a few minutes of trying to give impromptu surgery lessons on patrons at the table next door to the rest of the group, he starts to sob on Mandoo's shoulder about how he had KILL an anatomical model last mission and he still hadn't forgiven himself. With a little coaxing, he mixes up the recipe that the local healer swore by, takes it, and passes out cold 3 minutes later.
He wakes up the next morning, chipper as a bird, and comes downstairs to meet everyone. "So did that cure do anything? I can't remember much after the second drink... but I don't feel hungover at least!"
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Symeon listens to Luna's briefing with avid interest, trying to diagnose or comeprehend what's going on with her eyes. It seems she can still see just fine, without any pupils though. Could it be magic? Some thin glass sheet that she puts over her pupils? Something else?
He does takes notes about the mission itself in the margin of his medical observations. "Explore the caves, find possible further places to venture into later, clear out any deadly things we find? Sounds doable. Can we get the map you coaxed out of him, and was there anything the survivors said about what attacked them?"
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The sixth agent joins the others at the lodge, having been absent from the previous night's bar crawl. He's a middle-aged, dark-haired (but balding) Varisian man of Ustalavic descent. "Kornel Pastovic," he offers a handshake to each of his allies, kneeling down to shake hands with the small-sized Arfsnarf and Symeon. "Good to meet you."
Kornel's outfit is rather unkempt — his undershirt is missing a button or two, his jacket has spots of patchwork and dust. One might be forgiven to mistake this scruffy man for a homeless person.
His face bears a near-permanent smile, or grin, and his posture and mannerisms are quite relaxed and phlegmatic. At a surface level, Kornel seems approachable and amicable enough, if one can ignore his scruffy physical appearance. Yet, many who spend extended periods of time with Kornel find his presence to feel unnerving — like there's something off about him. His smile feels too forced, his laughter sounds hollow, his calm eyes never seem to blink.
"Ah hah. Do not worry, Mrs. Aldred. We will be coming home, how do you say, safe and sound. Everyone knows: the best part of any adventure is coming home alive, eh?" he assures the Venture-Captain, and makes a sound resembling forced laughter.
"But, ah, can we talk with that prospector? Maybe he can tell us more, eh?"
Arfsnarf and Mrs. Perkins might notice that Kornel is staring at them a bit longer than what is socially acceptable, unblinking.
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Mandoo did his best to keep the surgeon from killing himself with alcohol the previous night, but with only mixed results. For having such a small body, the halfling seemed to be able to put away a lot of drink in a short period of time. After the medic finally succumbed to his own treatment, Mandoo stood and bid the company adieu. Picking up Symeon's now unconscious body, he carried it upstairs and dumped it unceremoniously onto one of the beds before claiming his own.
Mandoo remains quiet during Luna's briefing the next morning and lets the others discuss the matter afterward without interjecting. The mission struck him as a standard cavern-crawl pest-control job; nothing he hadn't done many times in the past. Finally he speaks. "The job seems simple enough. Let's talk to this prospector fellow at the Silver Bullet inn to find out what he knows and then head up to the crag for a closer look."
"Can you get the map? Sure, that's why I made it. Look, you'll follow the road to Falcon’s Hollow. Then, I hope none of you gets seasick, because I’ve arranged for you to be ferried up the River Foam to Gold Falls Inn. It’s a nice place, run by a retired Pathfinder, Mierson Berekland. Stay there the night, then head up the mountain." She reaches next to her chair and gives you a parchment with drawn map of the region and entrance to the ruins.
You are aware that some more uncommon heritages could cause changes to ones eyes. You heard about Ifrities having close to red eyes, and Aasimirs that may have glowing eyes. You may see sufficient elements in her to recognize that she is not fully human.
"What kind of creatures do you think live in those caves?"
"Could be anything really. Feys, bears, demons, bandits ... You name it." she responds continuing to knit, a clicking constantly present.
Soon a wolf begin to howl, and is accompanied by tens of others. You can't hear anything else. Luna slowly lifts from chair and comes to window, then she opens it and begins hushing the wolfes, after few seconds they are quiet. She turns back and smiles "Sorry about that, amazing pups, just at times they are vocal." she once again takes a sit.
"But, ah, can we talk with that prospector? Maybe he can tell us more, eh?"
"That is a good idea, as I mentioned he is staying at Silver Bulette inn. They were the usual sort, three of them looking for gold. The survivor is a half-orc man named Elsitt. The other two were a gnome named Gethel and a human woman named Floria. Like I said, Elsitt was pretty upset. The trio were used to handling themselves in the mountains, but they weren’t expecting whatever they found."
You recall that, the ancient dwarven empire Tar Khadurrm dominated this region for centuries. It was known for its cities Jernashall and Raseri Kanton, which were centers of trade in southern Avistan. But when Droskar’s Crag erupted in an event known as the Rending, it destroyed the cities and led to the empire’s demise 500 years later.
Droskar’s Crag erupted nearly 750 years ago, devastating the region.
You recall that, the ancient dwarven empire Tar Khadurrm dominated this region for centuries. It was known for its cities Jernashall and Raseri Kanton, which were centers of trade in southern Avistan. But when Droskar’s Crag erupted in an event known as the Rending, it destroyed the cities and led to the empire’s demise 500 years later.
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Arfsnarf and Mrs. Perkins might notice that Kornel is staring at them a bit longer than what is socially acceptable, unblinking.
The goblin frowns back at Kornel. What? Is there a tarrasque behind arfsnarf? The clacky rock didn't say today was going to be that bad!
Continuing, the goblin nods concurring with Mandoo and Kornel. It definitely sound like routine job, but Arfsnarf definitely want to hear what spooked the last guy! He won't be at Inn forever.
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"I haven't had a young man stare at me like that for many years, thank you for the memories."
Kornel maintains his strange smile, and laughs, in spite of the weird mood he's setting.
"What? Is there a tarrasque behind arfsnarf? The clacky rock didn't say today was going to be that bad!"
"Ah hah... No."
"So, we go to this inn, then, eh?"
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Symeon pauses for a moment when Luna goes to the window and calms her wolves down. Non-human heritage, wolves, silver things around... Could she? But then... No, it couldn't be.
Shaking his head over even doubting she might have lycanthropy, Symeon instead focuses on what he does know. "Lady Perkins, you're probably quite right about it not likely being dwarves, but that doesn't mean that any ruins in there aren't dwarven in nature. The ancient dwarven empire Tar Khadurrm dominated this region for centuries. It was known for its cities Jernashall and Raseri Kanton, which were centers of trade in southern Avistan. But when Droskar’s Crag erupted nearly 750 years ago in an event known as the Rending, it destroyed the cities and led to the empire’s demise 500 years later. We might be looking at one of their buried cities as well as the possibility of duergar." He pauses for a moment to let everyone digest that information before adding, "But we won't get anywhere theorizing, we should probably talk to that survivor."
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"Droskar's Crag!" says Hornbori. "Now there is a name of ill omen. But to find a lost settlement of my people would be worth the risk. We must also ask the prospector about the altitude. The Crag is very tall, enough that cold weather and even difficulty breathing may be involved, depending on the height. Also, which peak. The Anvil is said to be very different from the Hammer."
"Do we know his name?"
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Symeon looks around the lodge while Potipher shows off her quilting and grandkids, before moving outside and starting to ponder what might be happening up in the mountain.
Once she finishes up, and if no one has further business, he starts to look around the town for a tavern with a silver bullete on the sign outside.
"Do we know his name?"...
Potipher looks at the knitting and sees that she is looking at the pro, Luna smiles seeing the quilt and grandkids. "Lovely job"
All of you seem interested in talking to Elsitt. So you leave the lodge and follow her advice in searching the Silver Bullett Inn.
After half an hour of walking, you find Silver Bulette, a large inn with an expansive tavern on the first floor. The rugged half-orc is well into his cups of dwarven whiskey as he mourns his slain friends. You learn from the bartender that his name is Elsitt Treddy.
When you approach him, he looks up blearily when the PCs approach, eyes red-rimmed from crying. Without even looking at you he begins talking, you wonder to how many people he told that tale already
"I wish we'd never been there. No matter how much gold I got for the map, it’s not enough. Gethel would’ve disagreed, there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for gold." he downs another drink and waves at the bartender
"You see Gethel was all about gold, finding gold or silver was the most important for him. We had to keep an eye on him, as he was ready to sell our equipment for a good price. He would sell information, items, maps everything. When well paid he would grab any job. My pal Gethel... He had a saying that Prospector is all about finding the best way to earn money" Elsitt keeps on talking.
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Kornel approaches the bawling man to comfort him, yet doing nothing to hide his permanent smile. The Varisian seats himself next to the half-orc, and pats him on the back.
"Ah, my friend, is it not bit silly to cry when you have won, eh? It sounds like it was a miracle you survived, no? The worst is now over! Now you have a drink in hand, and no more friends to worry about. This, ah, Gethel will not ever again bother you about gold. See, living is much better than dying, eh? Ah. Hah. Hah. Haa."
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Mandoo rolls his eyes at Kornel's ham-fisted look-on-the-bright-side attempt to comfort the prospector, though he doubts that he could have done much better in the strange sorcerer's place. Mandoo decides on a more direct approach.
"We are Pathfinders and our captain, Luna Aldred, wants us to go up to Droskar’s Crag to find out what the trouble is you and your friends ran into. I am quite used to trekking in the mountains, but would appreciate anything you could tell us about the best way to get to the entrance and any dangers we might run into along the way. I would also like to hear about the ill-fated encounter that killed your friends."
When he's done, the monk looks over at Arfsnarf, and catching the goblin's eye, tilts his head towards the half-orc as if to say your turn.
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Symeon takes a moment to sit down with the man as everyone else talks at him. He watches for a moment, before declaring, "Why don't you tell us about him? Do you have any fond memories you'd mind sharing?"
As he listens, Symeon tries to think of similar people he's known or met and express sympathy and comradery through that.
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Arfsnarf winks back and Mandoo and approaches the sad half-orc.
So, clearly Arfsnarf's friends not showing you the bright side of life yet, as your eyes still be leaking. BUT, this goblin know one thing that make your future bright. Nobody can have that bad of luck more than once! Take it from me, I know fortunes! Here with my trusty clacky rock, we will find out what your fortune holds. It can only be bright from here!
He almost shoves the die into the mans eye while holding it up for him to see, in his enthusiasm. He rolls it across the table, watching it careen through Elsitt's empty whiskey tumblers before coming to a rest. The little goblin begins...
"Ah, my friend, is it not bit silly to cry when you have won, eh? It sounds like it was a miracle you survived, no? The worst is now over! Now you have a drink in hand, and no more friends to worry about. This, ah, Gethel will not ever again bother you about gold. See, living is much better than dying, eh? Ah. Hah. Hah. Haa."
First Elsitt is approached by Kornel, who in his own special way try to cheer him up. Elsitt change his color few times hearing what Kornel is saying and very quickly begin to yell
"How dare you! They were my friends! Be gone from here!" The half-orc screams and threatens to throw the bottle at Kornel as he walks away.
Then Mandoo tries his way with the man. The discussion about the lay of the land and Droskar's Crag does help to calm the man down. He offers Mandoo a drink. "The terrain there can be hard, but the entrance that we found is relatively low, hidden by rocks. The entrance itself is not small in any way, you can walk there without any issues."
After Mandoo comes Arfsnarf with his stone. At first, the prospector seems intrigued, his profession depends on skills and luck. But soon he is lost and begins to wander off speaking about unrelated events
"Have you heard about the local hero Luna? During the Night of the Silver Blood, she single-handedly stopped one group of werevolves letting the guards to regroup and defend the city. Her skills in wielding sword and casting spells are unheard of! She has fallen that day but apparently, a priest of Sarenrae has resurrected her." he looks to the sides
He moves closer to the goblin and whispers
"Apparently she got some of the lycanthropy curse herself, but she is able to control it. "
Next come Potipher, who sits with a disapproving look at the amount of alcohol drunk
"Your friend was greedy. If you're good at using your equipment, it's more valuable to you than to anyone else. Are you good at what you do? Is your equipment valuable in your hands? Yes? Then put down the damn bottle and help us."
Elsitt is surprised by that harsh tone but wakes up from his drunken despair and says
"We were attacked by enemies that resembled 'suits of dwarf armor' when we entered the first room."
Beyond that, the prospector says no more. When Hornbori approaches Elsitt is even drunker
"How about you honor Gethel's memory by making a little money with your story?"
"Look, I don't want to talk about it, but if you will go there and recover their bodies, I will share some of the money that I made on drawing that map. They shouldn’t be left to rot—or worse—in that place!"
Finally, the time for Symeon comes Elsitt looks at him
"When we were attacked, those armors did not follow me outside. They stayed there."
Since it is late you can stay in this inn and head out the following day, you know the name of the boat to take you up the river.
You know that animated objects are granted a semblance of life through the use of rituals or other strange magic, animated objects take many forms and serve a variety of uses. A few examples of typical animated objects are listed below. Many of these creatures serve as guardians, surprising unsuspecting adventurers when they suddenly attack. Others serve as idle distractions for the exceptionally rich, simple servants created to handle odd jobs, and the like.
Immunities: bleed, death effects, disease, doomed, drained, fatigued, healing, mental, necromancy, nonlethal attacks, paralyzed, poison, sickened, unconscious
Construct Armors Like normal objects, an animated armor has Hardness. Once an animated armor is reduced to less than half its Hit Points, or immediately upon being damaged by a critical hit
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Potipher makes sure her animate quilt is tucked safely into her bag before noting that animated objects are granted a semblance of life through the use of rituals or other strange magic. Many of these creatures serve as guardians, surprising unsuspecting adventurers when they suddenly attack. Others serve as idle distractions for the exceptionally rich, simple servants created to handle odd jobs, and the like. And some are just friendly quilts.
"That'll be good dwarven manufacture," says Hornbori. "Hardy and faithful, but not overly bright. If we manage to take them one at a time we can defeat them easily."
"If you want to make Torag laugh, tell him all about your plan" says a dwarf walking by your table
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Elsitt's (entirely justified) outburst towards Kornel causes the scruffy man to withdraw from his seat and to the back of the room. Yet his permanent smile doesn't disappear. "I, ah... perhaps we talk later, ah hah..." Kornel mutters as he disappears into the inn's background crowd.
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When the party is discussing what to do about the animated suits of armor, Kornel seems intrigued. "It is likely that these suits of armor were, how do you say, animated as guardians to the dwarven ruins, no? Interesting that they have stayed functional for so long, eh? And even after the Rending. Durable work, ah hah."
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Symeon nods at Potipher's analysis. "Not the easiest things to destroy but gives a good idea of what we'll be fighting."His eyes wander upwards at the suggestion of rusting them. "Rust takes time to form more than we have. Also they are very old meaning they either have someway of cleaning rust off themselves or are extremely rust resistant. Either way that might not be the best idea."
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Mandoo begins to tire of all this technical discussion as to the possible ways to deal with the animate suits of dwarf armor the prospectors found in the ruins. "How about we head up to Droskar’s Crag and find out for ourselves? If we're going mountain climbing, then I'm going to need get some additional equipment before we go."
After having a good night's sleep the future heroes of Olfden depart for
an easy trip north to Falcon’s Hollow. You board a boat to travel 25 miles up the River Foam to the Gold Falls Inn at the base of Droskar’s Crag. The boat seems in good condition and the crew works effectively. Unfortunately, as they make their way north, they encounter an unexpected obstacle at the confluence of the Darkmoon River: a log jam blocks the way forward.
Log drivers from the Lumber Consortium work furiously to clear the mess, but they’re shorthanded and struggling. The log drivers are desperate to clear the jam and get out of this area.
The leader of the log drivers is Boss Pattin, a hirsute, muscular halfling whose normal speaking voice is a shout loud enough to be heard over rapids and tumbling logs. Despite his aggressive demeanor, Boss Pattin cares for his team and doesn’t ask anyone to do anything he wouldn’t do himself. When he spots you, he roars from atop the logs, "Don’t just stand there gawking! You can’t go anywhere until we clear this, so help already!"
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"Don’t just stand there gawking! You can’t go anywhere until we clear this, so help already!"
"Don't you tell me what to do! There wouldn't be a log jam at all if you knew how to clear it properly! You need to ..."
"... and some manners, you little whippersnapper!"
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Mandoo looks out at the vast stretches of logs backing up in the river and notices a few spots where the judicious application of a little force might loosen things up. He takes a deep breath and jumps out onto the logs. Deftly skipping from trunk to spinning trunk, he...
...manages to avoid falling down between them and getting crushed. When he reaches the keystone logs of the jam and gives them a gentle push to try and free them up.