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.
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A small, smiling gnome walks the streets of Olfden. This gnome however doesn't dress in the bright colours normally associated with his folk. His eyes are black and he favours drab colours.
One might almost think him a bleaching, but his own skin glows with a healthy hue, and his demeanor is cheerful.
He cautiously approaches the statue, tossing a bit of sausage to one of the stone wolves before taking a mount upon it. From this perch he surveys the street, and eats the rest of his bread and sausage.
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A small figure, dressed in oversized robes and furs, with a hood over its head enters into the lodge. In one one is a quarterstaff that it leans on as a walking stick. On its shoulder is a lump that the figure seems to be talking with. A white, scaly hand holds the staff and a white reptilian looking snout pokes out from beneath the hood.
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Another small figure, a gnome with finely combed red hair, approaches the statue and pauses to study it. "Curious," he comments to himself. "The town hero, perhaps?"
He retrieves a pair of small glasses from his pocket, and perching them on his nose pulls a small notebook and quill from another pouch. As he jots down something in the notebook, he continues to mutter to himself. "A topic I shall have to research later."
He pops the notebook pack into his pocket and seemingly notices the others at the scene for the first time. "Ah. Hello! If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say you are fellow Pathfinders, yes? Allow me to introduce myself, I am Arakwernott Siss. Pleased to meet you!"
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Makai came to Olfden a week earlier. She found a blacksmith workshop that was in need of help. And as a dwarf and Torag cleric she had no issues finding her job there.
Clang-clang
She stayed near the fireplace, working the steel. Next to her was her Warhammer and steel shield. Her massive arms used the tools with ease she was so accustomed to. Yet she was not the most skilled one in her clan. She lacked the patience and experience to make beautiful items, what is more, she was filled with anger that she tried to process while working.
Very quickly she decided to simply pre-work the steel and leave it for other blacksmiths to form and give it purpose. Clang-clang
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Makai walked down the street seeing gathered around the statue. She stopped nearby looking at the others and their pathfinders. "I am Makai Goldenaok at your service." she bowed her head.
Makai wore half-plate armor and a heavy steel shield on her backpack. On her belt hanged heavy warhammer and on her chest she had a hanging symbol of a similar warhammer.
She had long brown hair and under her heavy armor, you could spot clerical robes. She turns towards the statue
"Isn't it in remembrance of Night of Silver Blood?" asks wondering if anyone know
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"Isn't it in remembrance of Night of Silver Blood?" asks wondering if anyone know
"Aye," comments an older gentleman, seemingly with nothing better to do than answer rhetorical questions addressed to nobody in particular. "'Tis Luna Aldred herself, when the werewolves attacked, she held them off long enough to rescue the town. She died from her wounds, but a high priest of Sarenrae brought her back the next day. They say she came back with werewolf powers."
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Olfden’s Pathfinder Lodge, Silver Moon Sanctuary, is decorated with trophies from adventurer, as well as gifts from grateful townsfolk.
When the Pathfinders 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. She’s an older woman with startling yellow eyes.
It’s immediately clear to the Pathfinders that she’s the woman depicted in the statue outside.
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.
“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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Makai enters the lodge and bows to Luna Aldred "It is an honor to meet a war hero!" she says fully believing in it
She looks around and as much as she is surprised with all of the yarn, she tries not to show it. She brings her hand closer to the wand and tries to feel the magic emanating from the obviously magical item.
Then she finds a spot and sits on a piece of furniture that could accommodate her weight with all of the armor and weapons.
"What was the state of that entrance? Is that dwarven fortress in good shape? Or are those mostly collapsed corridors?" Makai is clearly excited to hear about investigating the dwarven ruins.
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Arak enters the lodge, and likewise bows in greeting to Luna. "Arakwernott Siss, at your service madam!". He stares at Luna's odd colored eyes with curiosity, before remember his manners and taking a seat.
He listens intently, his interest piqued at the mention of ruins to explore. "A forgotten ruin, how exciting! Perhaps we can be the first to uncover it's secrets!" he says he jots a few lines in his notebook. "Are dwarven ruins common in this are?"
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Anjo remains standing during the briefing. A slender Garundi male, his darker skin blends in with the shadow from his cloak, making his face hard to see. Wha is obvious is the bow on his back.
Anjo rarely found these briefings to be very informative. No one ever seemed to have any information that actually made the effort easier. But it Anjo could not do it alone and was forced to wait until everyone was ready before proceeding on.
"So... what did you learn from the...survivor?" asks the little gnome.
"Not much, but I'm far too old to be swaying the opinion of young'uns. Perhaps if you were to talk to him, maybe share some of your stories, he'd open up a little."
"And why would you think there would be fey influence in a dwarven ruin?"
"Oh, dear, that was just an example of someplace you could end up if you're not careful."
"What was the state of that entrance? Is that dwarven fortress in good shape? Or are those mostly collapsed corridors?" Makai is clearly excited to hear about investigating the dwarven ruins.
"Are dwarven ruins common in this are?"
"Surely, you should have heard the story, right?" She smiles at Makai.
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At the Silver Bulette, the rugged half-orc is well into his cups of dwarven whiskey as he mourns his slain friends. He looks up blearily when the Pathfinders approach, eyes red-rimmed from crying.
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"I've done some reading on the history of this region, from what I understand this Droskar's Crag erupted in a massive explosion some 750 years ago. Much of the area was devastated from what I've heard. I imagine it would be rare to find many unexplored ruins that pre-date the event."
Arak makes conversation to his new companions as they make their way through the streets of Olfden. "Martin, your animal companion here, I must admit I've never seen such a creature. Some sort of....large feline? I take it he's friendly?" Arak glances at the strange creature a bit apprehensively.
Arak orders himself a beer as well and takes a seat as Slipp gets the unfortunate half-orc his drink.
"Why is it called Carr's Light?" he asks.
"It does have a sort of shine to it yes? Silvery almost." Arak says as he takes a sip.
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Martin nods his head at Arakwernott's explanation. "Indeed! The explosion was so severe that it destroyed the trade cities of Jernashall and Raseri Kanton. These were major dwarven cities in Southern Avistan. Things went bad from there."
"Oh yes! Actually, Mavenee's a she! The memories of how we came into contact are still blurry. But she has been with me through thick and thin. She likes it when you scratch her chin. Try it!" Martin starts scratching Mavenee's chin.
The eidolon rolls her eyes.
"To Gethel and Floria," the half-orc says as he raises his glass, downing the entire draught in one gulp.
You folks wouldn't understand. What do you know of hardship? What do you know of loss?"
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Makai listens to the stories of Droskar's Crag "Do any of you remember why that volcano has the cursed one in its name?" she asks casually but when she speaks Droskar her voice is full of hatred.
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In the Silver Bullet, Makai sits with the others and listens to what the prospector is saying. She first smells the Carr's Light and takes a sip. She pushes her mug towards the half-orc
"Here, drink mine as well. I am not in a mood for drinking"
"My people lost their whole world. Here we just slowly die. Fading from the very fabric of reality."
"Tell me more!"
It seems like Elsitt is eager to listen to more commiseration stories ...
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"WEll" starts Slipp. "Many, many, many generations ago, gnomes lived in the first world. A place of bright colour, energy and life. Why we left is... unclear." he adds.
"But deep within our souls we long to return to the first world. If we don't engage with this world... well... our original one pulls us back. Slowly we *fade*. Our colour and zest for life leaves us. So you see there are two sorts of gnomes. Those who have bleached. And those who will."
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Arak listens to Slipp speak of the gnomish race's sad history, nodding in places for emphasis.
"You know, you remind me of the mighty Corth, a half-orc from Tymon who I fou-," Arak stumbles over his words a bit here before regaining his composure and continuing. "... I mean who I watched fight in the gladiator arenas there. He himself suffered a great personal tragedy, not unlike your own, and he became one of the best fighters to come out of the gladiatorial colleges there!" Arak goes on to describe a tale of a half-orc who lost many friends, before going on to become a great fighter, trying to cheer Elsitt up.
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Makai listens to the gnome's tales and nods her head.
"I can tell you a story. Once upon a time, dwarves lived only underground. We built tunnels and underground cities full of wonder. But my people received a prophecy from the Forge Father, that when we feel the earth shake we should start digging up to reach the surface. And we did that, it took a few generations to achieve it, but finally, the dwarves saw the night sky, saw the stars and moon and sun. It turned out that with great beauty came great dangers, as the surface is no safer than Underground. Some of the dwarves, decided to stay underground and not listen to the prophecy of the Father of Creation. "
Elsitt listens to Slipp's story, but can't really relate. He's much more interested in the story about the half-orc gladiator. When Makai begins telling stories about underground dwarves, he also pays attention.
Meepette, Martin, and Anjo still have the opportunity to tell a story.
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Anjo sees what is happening after Arak elbows come into play
"Well, if I can give you any advice, we were scouting a haunted forest. I was unable to track the fey that harrassed us and we took many wounds. There little feat blended in perfectly with the moss and they were beyond my tracking skills."
Meepette tells a story about loss, which Elsitt understands. But Anjo's story about being in the dangerous woods is riveting, even to the other Pathfinders. Martin's story pales by comparison, and he feels like Elsitt's just hoping Anjo will tell another one.
Elsitt puts aside his mug and opens up a little about what happened.
"We didn't get that f-f-far into the cave. These suits of dwarf armor attacked us immediately when we entered the first room. M-m-my friends were killed before they could escape, so I just ... just ... I JUST RAN!"
"It was hot. Really hot. It felt like we had stepped into an oven. You might want to bring some protection."
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After getting information from Elsitt, the Pathfinders depart. Just as they reach the threshold of the tavern, Elsitt calls out to them.
"If you bring back my friends’ bodies for a proper burial," he tells them, "I'll give you a share of the money I got from Luna Aldred as a reward! They shouldn’t be left to rot—or worse—in that place!"
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"We didn't get that f-f-far into the cave. These suits of dwarf armor attacked us immediately when we entered the first room. M-m-my friends were killed before they could escape, so I just ... just ... I JUST RAN!"
"Autonomous suits of armor? Fascinating..."
"Heat?" questions Slipp.
"I guess it is inside a volcano... but I've little idea about how to protect myself from it.."
He looks around hopefully for suggestions from the others.
"Hmm well there are potions to resist such effects, but I'm afraid I'm a bit short of cash a the moment for such things..."
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The Pathfinders depart for an easy trip north to Falcon’s Hollow. They board a boat to travel 25 miles up the River Foam to the Gold Falls Inn at the base of Droskar’s Crag.
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 leader of the log drivers is a hirsute, muscular halfling whose normal speaking voice is a shout loud enough to be heard over rapids and tumbling logs. When he spots the Pathfinders, 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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The coloured, if bland, gnome tells his own story. "Animated armor? That sounds like something we'd not want to mess with. All the stories I have heard of them indicate they are guardians.... did your team disturb anything before they attacked?" he asks.
"As they are not living, they are immune to many things that affect normal mortals, or even immortals.." Then with the closest thing to glee you have seen out of him, he starts to count off on his fingers way they cannot be hurt. "Lets see, they don't bleed. Magic death effects are right off the menu. Forget about diseases - although you might get one from a rusty suit I guess. Necromancy has no hold on them, they don't get tired. You can't paralyze or poison them. They have no biology to get sickened. Obviously no brain, so metal attacks are out. And of course, as they are not living, sucking out their life energy or dooming them are also ineffective. I guess if we end up in a fight, it is just ripping them apart the good old fashioned way."
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Looking at the log jam, Slipp thinks for a moment.
"You know beavers make dams, and they sometimes get washed away in a flood, do you think.."