Freebooters on the Frontier Homebrew Funnel

Game Master Branding Opportunity

You may dot/dot-and-erase here.

The noontime sky is dark. Rain, relentless. Mud, ankle-deep. Crofters wring their hands, bemoaning the loss of field and livestock. For the Reliquary lies empty. The Hand of St. Ignys–protector of all you know–is gone. The priest, once a comfort, speaks ceaseless dooms in the downpour: “The gods have forsaken us for our stuipidity!” Some of you disagree, and have banded together to prove it. You will find the Hand. You will prove your worth in the eyes of the gods. You will save your home.

Questions for everyone:
* Who among you leads this band?
* Who was Saint Ignys, and why do you believe so fervently in her/him?
* What holy power is the Hand said to possess, and what evidence have you seen of that power?
* Why have the Standing Stones been shunned since time immemorial?
* What makes you think the Standing Stones hold some clue to the Hand’s whereabouts?

"St. Ignys. Her hand you say? Missing eh?" Syrina says to the rotund man behind the battered bar of the Pig and Pickle. She takes a small sip of the cider she'd been nursing all afternoon. A half eaten pickle, a trio of stems, and a few cheese crumbs are scattered on a plate at her elbow. Her dark green eyes peer about the less than crowded common room of the place. It wasn't much, but it was what she could afford.

"St. Ignys. Isn't she the one whose bits are scattered all about the West? I think I saw a church once claiming they had her left foot...intact even. Place was big as a palace. Priests as cooked as, well, priests." She says.

The tavern keeper grimaces at the use of the feminine pronoun but nods his head. "Aye. We've been blessed by His hand for as long as I can remember." He says, emphasizing the male usage. "But now its gone missing and everything's falling apart." He shakes his head sadly.

"Get you another pickle plate?" He adds, trying to calculate exactly how many platters the tall woman can actually get down.

"Not now, thank you though." She says politely, ignoring the man's not so subtle correction. She'd no desire to step into that particular religious argument at the moment. There were plenty of others who would come to blows over such things, but she'd more important interests on her mind. She turns back to watch the crowd for any sign of her most recent quarry, The Black Rose. The latest rumor of the slippery bandit had him holed up somewhere around this village.

Her hand reaches down to check her purse and the quiver dangling at her hip. One can never be to careful in places like this. Finds both as near empty as they were before. This unchanging discovery causes her to suddenly turn back to the keeper. "Is there a reward being offered?"

*SPLORK*

"Oh blast and damnation!" Candace swears lifting her soaked boot, and now foot, from the more than ankle deep puddle. "This never ending rain has turned the entire forest on the south side of the village into a murky, disgusting swamp." She adds to no one in particular, except maybe the small, puffed up, sparrow sitting a few paces above her head. Although she will never know it, the sparrow does agree with her general sentiment. It flies away looking for a drier perch.

Somewhere high above, near the very top of the wide, tall elder firs that marked this gloomy area there's a loud chirrip. Followed by three more in quick succession.

"I hear you laughing up there Talon." The young woman says, gray eyes peering up into the dense canopy only to be rewarded with a massive plop of rainwater dripping into said eye. "Bah. Silly bird. Get down here this instant!" She hollers, rubbing water from her eye as her long dark hair, pulled back into a single pony tail flops back and forth.

"If father, or Ignys forbid, Agatha, find out we've been in Gloomwood, we'll not hear the end of it for weeks." She's past her majority, by too many years, but still her eldest sister treated her like one of the twins. Sometimes it was more than infuriating at times.

*Chirrip* Is the bold reply from high above.

"Well, I don't know why it's forbidden. It just...it just is. Silly bird." She replies, although its somewhat unclear if the eloquent falcon is listening. "Something to do with ghosts or spirits or something, I think. Or maybe it was evil faeries. There're always evil faeries in gloomy woods. Or was it a dragon. Dragon's often live near villages and eat their cattle. Or maybe..."

*Chirrip*

"What? Oh...well, I know it has to do with those old stones that are out here somewhere. Creepy old mossy covered things. Just standing there in a circle for no good reason."

Fighting her way through a patch of tangled brambles and vines she stops in her muddy tracks. Before her is a narrow path leading deeper into the wood. It isn't the overgrown, swampy trail that surprises her. No, it is the odd, water filled footprint squished into the path. A footprint, most certainly not human, on a path no one in the village ever uses. She couldn't wait to tell Charolette.

If she hurried, she could catch the cook's helper at the Pig and Pickle before she headed home from her shift.

"Come on Talon. Really we've got to go this time." She shouts.

*Chirrup* The bird replies, but this time swoops down out of the trees to land on the long leather glove covering the young woman's outstretched arm.

Water pours off Benoit’s plumed hat as he shakes it off just before entering the Pig and Pickle, then quickly places it back on his head before entering. What remains of his black wavy hair pulled back into a pull back and bound with a ribbon. His pegleg makes its distinctive clack as he makes it to the bar, “did someone say pickle plate? And whatever you have an abundance of to drink, would hate for others to be deprived of a limited comfort on my account,” Benoit drums his thick fingers on the bar, ”pardon the interruption, I am Benoit de Bar, town crier, although not much news has come through lately.”

There's a loud slap as something falls wet and heavy on the floorboards near the backdoor of the Pig and Pickle. Remy stands there, poised with his gnarled staff and feet spread wide like a prophet of old. The fire in his eyes suggests the same. "Now you have to believe me," he mutters to the room, looking down at the sheet of honeycomb recently dropped at his feet. Then louder, with growing confidence, "Now you HAVE TO believe me!"

He nods vigorously at the discarded mat of honey and hexes, slightly cracked and mundane enough, though clearly out of place. "You can see it now, can't you?" His voice rises and falls as if he's talking to himself, then remembers the audience and his desire to project. "Can't YOU? I told you it was at the standing stones. You didn't believe me. But the bees know. They've known for a while. Look at this. LOOK at this!"

He swings his staff to indicate nine different parts of the hive, which all look relatively the same as any other part. "... and here, wait no, here I mean. You see it? Do you see the stones?! We have to go. I'm not the only one with losses. You all have felt them. This is where our answers lie."

* * *

Seated uncomfortably close to this charade, alone and nursing a large pickle she really isn't enjoying, Mathilde becomes increasingly aware of how visible she is sitting right beside the strange scene of tea-leaf-honeycomb-divination.

She tries to stand slowly to step away--give the man some space--but the scraping of her chair against the floorboards gives her away.

Her eyes grow wide as Remy applauds her sudden adoption and haste to set off. Mathilde goes to shake her head in defiance but her eyes instead fall upon Syrina--successful and lauded Syrina.

"Yep," she hears herself croak before she registers the impulse. "Um, yeah. I was... I was thinking the same and I'm ready to go. Right now even." She brushes the barely-chewed pickle aside and coughs into her fist while mustering confidence, then settles into a more comfortable stance at that awkward angle she often adopts.

Candace clattered with every step she took. Her hurried pace into town causing the tiny bones woven into her long strands of hair to tap-tap while noble Talon rode resolutely upon her narrow, cloaked shoulder. She'd spotted two more of the odd, three-toed, tracks along her way. One more leaving town and one entering. That last one sent chills racing along her spine.

"Do you think it's some kind of shapeshifter?" She says to the golden eyed bird on her shoulder. "I wonder if it is that big, tall woman who came into town a day or two ago. That would explain why she's so tall and broad shouldered. Why, I bet she's her to eat up..."

*Chirrip*

Candace sighs. Talon was right. She couldn't let her imagination run wild. Agatha was always calling her a mooneyed ninny because, well because Agatha was Agatha and ever since Candace can remember her sister didn't believe when she said a pixie hid father's favorite mug, or that bogan's were bothering the milk cow. So it was always up to Candace to put things right by giving offering a bit of Remy's honey to the pixie or draping a necklace of mistletoe and lavender around Nutmeg's neck to keep the bogan's at bay.

She passed the cobbler's, the baker's, and the candlestick maker's. The later had recently burnt down in yet another of the mysterious accidents since the Hand had gone missing.

Finally arriving at the Pig and Pickle, dripping and mudsoaked, she's surprised to see a crowd gathered in the common room staring down at a mass of honey comb, slowly oozing its golden contents into the gaps of the floorboards. Much like the entire village, the tangy smell of pickles permeates the air.

Looking down at the broken honeycomb at Remy's feet, her eyes suddenly go wide.

"Oh my." She exclaims, not noticing the odd looks of all the others staring at the beekeeper, or at the tavern keeper's frown as he notices Talon riding on her shoulder. "That looks like a perfect replica of the Standing Stones." She says, the bones in her hair clacking as she leans forward to get a closer look at the scattered comb.

*Chirrip*

Since we're still waiting on one player, I'll continue the "Tales of the Pig & Pickle" a bit.

The sound of a heated argument presages the arrival of the town council. This is the third town council that has been formed at the request of the aging baron in the last two months, the previous two having fallen apart due to infighting.

"What do you mean, we can't do anything about this? This is clearly a problem that we as the town council have to deal with!" shouts Councilwoman Cécile Astier, the butcher's wife, as she bursts into the main room of the Pig & Pickle. She throws the large pail she had been using to protect herself from the rain into a corner and stomps over to the bar where she signals for a drink.

She is followed into the room by Florian the Merchant, the longest-serving member of the town council (he'd been serving for the past three town councils). "No, no, you missunderstand me, Mistress Astier," Master Florian intones with as much gravitas as he can muster from under his rain-soaked floppy hat. "All I was saying is that we need to first establish a sub-committee to study the problem before we can take an active role. We don't just want to rush off, willy-nilly. This is a serious crisis!" The merchant carefully un-dons his feathered hat and places it carefully on a table before joining Councilwoman Astier at the bar where he orders a pint of bitter.

The two are followed by the remaining two council members: Ernest Colbert, the village's second-most-famous candlemaker, and Alain Messier, the local clockmaker. The two join Florian and Cecile at the bar, but remain mum, content to let the others go at it.

Stitch leaned back in his chair, taking another sip of the latest batch of the pub's cider to wash down the last bit of cheese from his Duke's Platter. Business had been good since the constant rains were driving the entire surrounding rodent population indoors. The ratcatcher sat in his usual shadow filled corner of the place, his hat tipped low covering the long, scaly scar that marred the right portion of his face.

He'd mostly ignored the ruckus caused by Remy and his crackpot honeybee theory. Although all that honey seeping into the floor was bound to attract the attention of some industrious mouse. Best talk to Butterman about extending my contract. He thinks marking a note elsewhere in the little journal. When the girl with her bird walks, he can't quite stifle the grimace. That bird was competition, and he didn't like the golden-eyed look it gave him before turning back to where Candace stared at the gooey honeycomb oozing toward Mathilde's boot.

But his disinterest in immediate events changes when the councilors come striding in, words passing like heavy hammer blows between them. He shakes his head. Those two couldn't agree on the sky being blue if their lives depended on it. But... He pulls out a tiny, tattered journal from the saddlebags resting near his feet. Flipping through the pages filled with long lists of names and numbered scratchings, he puts a finger to one row and raises his gaze to Councilor Florian.

His chair squawks as he slides in back and shuffles his way across the common room of the Pig and Pickle. His features are barely noticeable between the floppy hat and long coat, but as he passes, the locals almost unconsciously sidle aside. Not out of fear or respect. Instead it is fairly safe to surmise the pair of limp rat tails poking from one of his bulging coat pockets is the real cause.

"Indeed, best to study the situation completely, before spending the villages hard earned money on rewards and such." He says to draw the attention of the councilors. Lady Astier just snorts and steps away, not bothering to hide her disgust at the ratcatcher. Florian sighs and turns to Stitch.

"What do you want?" He says clearly wishing the man were anywhere but standing in front of him.

"Just emptied my traps at your place. You owe me two and a half silver bits."

"Ugh...don't bother me with that now man, can't you see I'm in the middle of village business?" Is Florian's annoyed reply.

"Eeeeek!" Stitch starts to reply only to be interrupted by a screech from the kitchen maid.

*SNAP!*

The familiar sound echoes from the kitchen and brings a smile to Stitch's face.

"We'll talk about it later Councilman." He says before disappearing into the kitchen, slipping past Remy, Candace, and the large stranger leaning against the bar.

Receiving nothing but a shrug from the tavernkeeper in regards to her question about potential financial compensation, Syrina continues to sip her cider and watch further events unfold.

When the creepy ratcatcher slides by her like a shadow crossing a moonbeam, her heart-shaped face can't help but curl in revulsion. But the lingering smell of dead rodent doesn't make her forget the most important bit of she'd just overheard. So she turns to the two councilors.

"So is there a reward or not?" She asks bluntly.

One of the councilors, Master Florian the Merchant, turns to Syrina with a look of annoyance.

"A reward for what, Lady? And who are you anyway?"

Syrina blinks, her eyes taking in the councilor as she finishes another bite of pickle.

"Syrina du Shay. I hail from across the river, east of the Wall." She says, tilting her head in polite greeting. Her voice calm, matter of fact as if she's given the spiel more than a few times. She digs out a battered flyer. Wanted! tops the head of the paper as she holds it out in front of the councilor. Below the headline is a poorly printed woodblock image of a man dressed in black leathers and sporting a wide smile while brandishing a thin blade with a rosework pommel. "I'm hunting the Black Rose, trail led me to your little town. But now he seems to have vanished." She sighs and shakes her head in both self recrimination and frustration before glancing back up at the councilor and giving him a friendly smile.

"But, by Fortune's Fate, I couldn't help but overhear all this talk of a religious icon gone missing and the subsequent misfortunes plaguing the land hereabout." She leans back against the bar. "In most cases a village might offer a reward to those willing to spend time and risk their lives to find and recover such an item. Same as a sheriff offers good silver for bringing in menacing desperadoes. So I was asking if there was a reward."

She takes another bite of pickle, crunching away waiting for the councilor's response.

The wealthy man shakes his head. "There is no reward for the recovery of the relic, nor has it yet been decided whether there SHOULD be a reward. Most of us think that we can look to our fellow townsfolk to take care of our problems and not rely on the paid work of outsiders to take care of things, but maybe I am in the minority in that opinion."

"As for this Black Rose, I have never heard of her."

Just my luck. A town with no money...or skinflint leaders. Syrina ponders as the councilor responds. Still, there could be opportunity here.

"What of other treasure or items that might be discovered by those who participate in the recovery? Will any who set out on the endeavor be able to split the valuables among themselves?" She asks, her heart dreaming of a potential dragon's hoard of gathered gold unlocked by St. Ignys' holy fingers, while her mind expects nothing more than a few moldering bones stashed in some crazy hermit's hut upon a lonely moor. "Assuming there is the potential to share other discovered wealth, I'd join your expedition to recover the good saints bones. Surely another willing, strong body would be a boon to the endeavor." The big woman adds patting her trusty crossbow while insuring her cloak covers the nearly empty quiver.

The merchant thinks about it for a moment, then turns to the other members of the town council and gathers them close to him. The group has a short but involved discussion.

When it seems they have resolved their differences, Master Florian turns back to Syrina.

"It is thus decided. Yes, anything you come across that it not someone else's property or is the property of the party or parties who stole the Hand is fair game. You may not, however, hold any member of the town council or its representatives liable should you NOT find any valuables while retreaving the Hand, nor does the town council or its representatives guarantee your safety during your search."

A curly-haired, deceptively youthful looking man- in spite of the faint 5 O' clock faintly covering his chin- openly scoffs at Syrina's job proposal to Councilman Florian by loudly declaring, "Even if there's somebody here so crass as to seek out Her bones for mere worldly lucre, others of us here would have no need of such... reasons other than the prestige and honor of doing right by St. Ignys!", even as he nurses a mug full of small beer between his hands. Those native to the town would recognize the man as a local apprentice Miller by the name of Thibault Grandoir.

The doors to the Pig and Pickle open once more, admitting two very different pair of women into the tavern's premises.

The taller of the two ladies appears armed with a spear and is wearing the uniform of the local Town Watch although she is holding a spare rain-soaked Watch cloak over a slightly shorter middle-aged member of St. Ignys' clergy.

The scarred Town Watch guard is a locally known person by the name of Zuni Apertaux although she is much better known by her affectionately named call-sign of 'Motherbear' among the locals.

Zuni herself seems much more preoccupied with searching for something or someone inside the bar proper and once she lays her eyes upon the direction of where Remy is standing at, she lights up with a smile but upon seeing the remains of the honey and hexes mat, the watch-guard lets out a groan of frustration as she exclaims, "Damnit all- we missed out on old Remy's Honey-Divination!"

Grumbling a bit under her breath, Zuni addresses her clergy-member companion, an Undertaker of St. Ignys known to the townsfolk as Hagar Renault, "I told you that we were going to be late in getting here. We should've left earlier."

For her part, the elder of the two shakes her head in light admonishment as the horse-faced Hagar replies, "To rely upon such heretical readings- admit it, you just wanted to attend to them for a chance to get some of the left-over divinatory honey."

Zuni, not bothering to answer back, merely looks longingly over at the discarded honey mats.

"Oh...hello Motherbear...errr...Miss Apertaux." Candace says, her face scrunching to a grimace at her initial slip into familiarity with the Watchwoman. Her sister was always berating her for 'being much too familiar with the common folk. To do so, is to encourage the riffraff to strive above their proper station. Candace thought that was just nonsense, after all most of the other villagers didn't have a leaky roof or a stove that put more smoke than heat into the kitchen. Based on her own experience in her just over two decades of life, she'd much rather live a common folks life than that her noble family offered. Alas, life is what it is. Still she offers the Watchwoman a shy smile and nods toward the oozing honey.

"It is a lovely rendition of the old standing stones, don't you think?"

She frowns down at the indecipherable mess. "Or at least it was. Even the strange, twisted, Iron Watcher in the southeast corner of the circle was portrayed. Or it was until Lady Astier stepped on it." She adds, her eyes shifting to focus on the councilwoman's honey coated shoe standing near the edge of Remy's tossed divination.

*Chirrup* Talon pips from Candace's shoulder, a friendly avian greeting to the Watchwoman and her undertaker companion.

Syrina smiles brightly at the councilman's announcement. The act reveals a magnificent set of dimples and brings out the true beauty hidden beneath the bulky outfit worn by the foreign bounty hunter.

"That is a most welcome decision." She says raising her glass in a toast to the council. "I will be pleased to aide however I may in the recovery of this potent relic."

She pauses, ponders the words of the outspoken youth across the room. Her eyes catch his from over the top her glass. Thoughts rattle for several seconds until she speaks again. "And it seems there are those who would forego their shares out of respectful piety and devotion. It only seems right to divide their shares among those not so compelled." She turns and asks the tavernkeeper for a bit of paper or slate. "Perhaps we should take a count of who wishes to partake of a worldly reward and who is content with the blessings and gratitude of the good St. Ignys?"

"Yes, yes... er, the site is but a window into what is. It is... is but a remnant now," Remy mumbles as he stares down at the honeycomb melting at his feet. He's still shocked at Candace's immediate recognition. Few have such insight so intuitively.

"So then, our... our 'militia' is growing, no?"

Then, in acknowledgment of Syrina's query--"Oh... yes. I would forgo my compensation. Monetary compensation anyway. I just... I owe this to the bees."

Upon hearing a familiar voice greeting the tall watchwoman, Zuni 'Motherbear' Apertaux breaks her focused gaze away her from the delectable remains of the shaped mass of honey mat on the floor and upon seeing the friendly face of Lady Candace/"Bones", the heavily scarred watchwoman replies back with, "Motherbear's perfectly fine by me, Bones- or would you prefer it if I called you Lady Candace?", grinning widely as she does so- followed by a respectful nod towards Talon plus "You as well, Talon" in reply to the Falcon- although Zuni's grin does falter a wee bit at the mention of Lady Astier stepping into the sculpted mass of honey and wax.

Upon hearing mention of the old standing stones, Zuni frowns a bit as she remarks, "Sounds like bad portents to me; the Snobbig Moors was just lousy with standing stones and other ancient ruins- and they were all full of bad news, one and all."

Thibault snorts disdainfully after Syrina's declaration for profiteering from all of this blasphemous occurrence but being all too quick to note the stranger's revealed beauty hastily mutters aloud, "At least the greedy she-devil knows the real truth of it with St. Ignys' true form...", as he takes another swig from his mug. The youthful apprentice Miller still had an appreciation for the fairer gender after all.

Sniffing disdainfully at the honey and waxen representation of the paganous old standing stones, Hagar acquires a handy rag from the piously correct bartender of the Pig and Pickle and heads over to Remy's sculpted honey mat and open says, "Best to dispose of the parts of this honey ritual that was stepped upon by trodden feet lest a certain member of the watch gets another sore tummy ache from eating such tainted fare..." while openly eyeing over in Zuni's direction. Unsure of how Remy will react to the intention to partly clear away his edible sculpture

Upon hearing all the discussion of who would forgo the monetary share from seeking out the missing Hand, Hagar declares, "It would seem that the Town Council have made the correct decision, if all this talk of receiving worldly compensation or our Saint's blessings upon retrieval of his Hand is about. Know that I've been called upon by our holy representative to aid in such a holy endeavor; I've a specially blessed coffin that will carry St. Ignys's relic back to where it rightfully belongs."

"Oh...uhhhh...really just Candace is fine." Candace says still blushing at Zuni's kindness as she responds to the woman's question. The big watchwoman was everything the baron's daughter wished she could be. Strong, courageous, respected by most folk in the village. Free of any pushy sisters, at least as far as Candace knew.

Her thoughts quickly turn from admiration and back to the task at hand when Zuni mentions the Moors. And she remembers why she'd come to the Pig and Pickle in the first place.

"Ummm...Talon and I...uh...well we just happened to be walking along...err...well Talon was flying...the edge of the Moors. On the old path, you know, the one that goes to those Standing Stone tucked in the vale behind Twin Top. And we saw these tracks..." She says quietly, barely heard amongst the rest of the chatter.

"Big prints. Not like cattle or uhhh sheep. They were heading away from the village." She adds shyly and with a shiver as she too thinks of all the children's tales of evil and dangers lurking in the Moors.

The members of the village counsel who are present grimly take a count and make a list of everyone who proclaims their willingness to take part in the expedition to recover the Hand of St. Ignys. Once that is accomplished, they quickly leave the tavern to head back to their "council chambers" (in actuality just the large, well-appointed home of Master Florian).

So what now? The only clue to the hand's possible location are the Standing Stones, but might there be other clues around town? You certainly have not asked around yet. Additionally, do any of you want to scrounge for any supplies in or around town that might be useful in your expedition? Unless it's listed in your inventory, you don't have money, but I would certainly allow any of your PCs to make a "Negotiate" move (p. 21 of the Funnel doc) to convince someone to help you out or swap something that you own.

I am also assuming that those of you from the village have access to the mundane things needed to perform your profession, such as a knife, length of role, sack, etc.

Syrina dutifully notes those whose faith would be their compensation should the expedition be successful and those who preferred more worldly payment. Those who espoused that the good Ignys would see them taken care of was another simple reminder of why she'd left Delver's Field in the first place. It was a village much as this one. Filled with honest, decent, hard working folk who believed in the gods and their saints and feared the demons and devils of the Underdark. Phooey! Oh certainly the gods and saints existed. She was no Infidel nonbeliever, she simply believed the gods had more to do than look after every tiny village and backwater berg in all the wide world. To truly prove one's faith a person needed to take care of themselves. And that required cold hard coin.

And so she carefully, meticulously, so there can be no misunderstandings later, takes down names and choices.

When the woman, Hagar, announces she's the blessing of the local priest and a means to convey the relic back to town, Syrina bows her head to the woman. "It is good to know we've means to properly carry the remains in the event of our success." She says and then turns to the full gathered crowd.

"So it seems we've a reasonable notion to investigate these standing stones. Shall everyone take a bit of time to gather a bit of gear and we'll set out from the village square two bells from now?" She inquires looking around the room to see if there were other suggestions.

Stitch slips back into the main room of the Pig and Pickle just as Councilor Florian makes his announcement. He listens as he slips the empty rat trap into the big pocket on the right side of his worn and weathered long coat. What looks to be a pale white round tail tip pokes from the oddly bulging left side pocket.

"That'll be another bit." He leans over and whispers to the frowning tavern keeper.

"What?! Oh aye, well add it to my bill." The man says distracted by the flow of events happening in his little pub. He could feel it in his bones. Something was stirring, the beginnings of heroic deeds and legendary tales. And all right here at the Pig & Pickle. If all went well, folk would flock here from up and down the valley, maybe even lure travelers from every city west of the Wall.

While the tavern keeper was lost in his dreams of future pickle sales, Stitch insures he's marked down as one who wishes to keep his share of any treasures found during the foray into the Moors. Business was good right now, but if they did find the old saint's hand and the rains stopped, well then the rats might go back to eating grains in the fields and apples in the orchards. So a bit of treasure would see him just fine until the harvest was in and the granaries needed constant trapping.

Not interested in running out into a muddy moor after some unknown religious icon thief with little actual knowledge of...well anything, Syrina decides to use some of the interim time to canvas a few of the other villagers to see what they may know or have seen. She runs a hand through her hair, wipes the pickle juice from her chin and and hands and sets about her task.

"I'm going to ask around to see if anyone else in the village might know something useful to our cause. Does anyone wish to join me?" She says before departing the Pig & Pickle.

Unsure who might be the best informed, she simply starts to ask questions of folk on the street or in nearby shops figuring even if they knew nothing of the old Standing Stones, they might point her to who would. Or who might hold a grudge against the village. One big enough to risk meddling with a saints bones as part of their revenge. She adds thoughtfully to herself.

Ask Around Move using CHA(+1): 2d6 + 1 ⇒ (6, 2) + 1 = 9 Basically just giving a Move a try here...

Syrina is attempting a "Find Answers" move (p. 20). A result of 9 has the following result: "the Judge's answer is cryptic and incomplete, but they'll tell you how to learn more". Here's how I interpret that:

Shay asks around among the people of the village who have congregated in and around the Pig & Pickle. Few seem particularly eager to talk to the young bounty hunter, being an outsider and all, but she finally corners a squirrly-looking man with wet, thinning hair. He seems particuarly nervous about talking to her, constantly looking towards the door and not meeting her eyes as she is asking questions. Finally he blurts out: "Check the oldest man in town! You'll find the answer there!". He then pushes a passing waiter into Syrina, who is knocked off balance and falls to the ground. By the time she jumps back up and looks around, the man is nowhere in sight.

Watching Syrina try to learn more about the Standing Stones and mostly running into the usual stone-faced silence that outsiders encountered, Candace decides to tackle another important challenge. Mainly, the fact she had nearly nothing suitable for traipsing off into the moors to crawl about in forgotten caverns or tombs or whatever might be lurking out there.

"Agatha will be most displeased, if she knew what we were doing. So we certainly can't go home to get any supplies. She'd stop us in a heartbeat." She says to Talon eliciting a confused look from those sitting nearby, until they realize it was just Candance being...well Candace. She always was considered a bit strange by most folk.

Chirrip Came the usual reply, the falcon's eyes keenly following the rat tail dangling from Stitch's pocket.

She sits thoughtfully pondering her problem until her eyes finally light up and she hurries after the departing councilors.

"Master Florian! Master Florian!" She calls to the town's largest merchant when she spots him making his way across the mud filled main lane.

The man doesn't stop until he is back under cover of the lantern makers shop at which point he turns and simply quirks an eyebrow wondering what the baron's odd daughter might want of him.

Slopping through the mud, Candance takes a moment to catch her breath and then makes her request. "Master Florian, since the council has sanctioned our expedition to recover the good saints hand. I thought it might be possible for the council to either donate some of the equipment we might need, or at the very least, provide it on account to be paid upon the hand's safe return." She looks up at him, her hair completely out of sorts and bedraggled with the rain and her journey from the manor. She was never an attractive girl, not like that woman Syrina, but her youthful looks and knowledge of her family could occasionally sway folks to be a bit more charitable or kind to her. She looks at Florian, her eyes filled with excitement for the endeavor and fear of its failure. "Surely it would benefit the entire village and the council if we are well equipped at the start to give us the best chance of success? And a bit of rope, a few torches, a shovel or two for digging, maybe a few other odds and ends that others might think of. Would that be possible councilor?"

Negotiate for basic equipment using CHA: 2d6 + 0 ⇒ (5, 4) + 0 = 9

Stitch contemplated what they might find out there in the wilds beyond the village fields and well traveled roads. Neither the council, the sheriff, or the laggards running things in the capital saw fit to patrol or deal with much beyond the barest effort required to keep merchant losses somewhat minimal. Venture off the main roads and who knows what you'd run into. Still there's gold and silver to be had beneath those stones. Nearly every story tells of how the Old Ones were buried with all their treasures along with their favorite husbands or wives.

Thoughts of gold and silver turn to protecting his own skin as he slips the short bladed, rusting knife from its simple belt scabbard. That just isn't going to do. Could barely fight off a rabid squirrel with that thing, better yet a bandit or one of the Lurkers.

He puzzles over how to better arm himself when he spots Charlotte working to clean up the sticky mess left by Remy. He remembered her father having an old hunting bow. Used to keep it wrapped in cloth near the door of his cabin. Stitch remembered seeing it when the farmer went hunting with his father every season. After the old man passed last year from the pox that whirled through the village, Stitch never gave Charlotte's father another thought. Other than the fact he raised a fine looking daughter. Maybe....

He steps over to where the Pig & Pickle's barmaid was busy scrapping honey into a bucket.

"Ahem...hello Charlotte." Stitch says slipping his hat from his head revealing an early onset widows peak.

"What? Oh...it's you." The barmaid replies coldly. Would the odious man ever leave her alone?

Clueless as to the woman's dislike, Stitch plows forward. "Charlotte, you know I'm joining the others to recover the saint's hand. And I was wondering if you still had your father's bow stashed away somewhere and if you might be willing to loan it to me to help bring the relic back safely?"

Negotiate for a bow using CHA: 2d6 + 0 ⇒ (1, 3) + 0 = 4

Master Florian listens with the air of someone who is being pushed to stay out in the elements longer than he wishes, even if he is under the partial shelter of the lantern maker's home. When Candace seems to be finished speaking, he replies curtly.

"I, of course, understand that it would be in the town's best interest that you are in good kit, what being the Baron's daughter and all. It is truly a sad sight to see one of the county's most historic families brought so low that one of its children comes begging to one such as me." Even though he hides it very well, it is clear that Master Florian is enjoying himself thoroughly.

"But something your father should have taught you is that nothing is life comes free. I will provide you with servicable gear from my own supplies, but only under two conditions. Firstly, I ask you to use what little influence you have with your father and try to convince him to lower the gate tolls of the village. It has been negatively impacting trade, and I believe if they were perhaps half of what they are now, the increase in commerce in the town with be in everyone's best interest."

"Secondly," and here the merchant looks around to make sure nobody is listening, "You will be my eyes and ears in this expedition. You will wear this brooch on you at all times. It has been enchanted so that I may hear and see through your eyes and ears whenever I so choose." He reaches into a pocket and draws out a small metal brooch shaped like an open eye and presents it to Candace.

"Do we have a deal?"

Charlotte the barmaid looks at Stitch with an expression that is a cross of pity and frustration as she cleans up the sticky mess on the floor. Once she is finished, she stands up and throws the rag back in the bucket and answers him in a plain and matter-of-fact manner.

"Stitch, I can't believe I have to tell you of all people this, but my father has not forgiven you for what you did to my sister, and he will never forgive you. The only reason he hasn't taken you out behind the woodshed himself is that he respects your father too much. I can't believe I have to tell you this, since you are not stupid, but you can't go around treating people the way you do and expect them to do you favors. The only boon you'll get from our family is that I won't tell my father that you asked me such a braind-dead question. I don't think he'd be able to contain his temper if I did."

Having said her piece, Charlotte turns around and disappears back into the kitchen.

Having failed big time, you may "Mark Charisma" on Stitch's charachter sheet. You can find the info on this on p. 39 of the Rules document. Once a given ability has been marked 5 times, you increase the ability's current and maximum score by 1 and erase all its marks. It's one of the two ways in the game of improving your character (the other is Marking XP).

Having said his piece, Remy is more than happy to assist Hagar and Charlotte in cleaning up his honeyed prophecy. "Er... careful please, with they... oh, sure, but maybe not the... oh, very right. Nevermind." Whatever he is attempting to salvage is quickly scraped up and discarded. Forlorn, he stares for a moment down at the sticky print that remains on the floorboards--the silhouette of a hand, if you squint hard enough.

"Oh, you must mean Jerrod!" he calls to Syrina. "The oldest man in the village, right? I mean, he doesn't quite live in the village, but just on the outskirts in his hovel. Certainly he would be the oldest, no?"

Assuming it's ok to make up some lore. Adjust this all accordingly, GM BrOp...

Jerrod is a well known hunter who lives just outside of town. He is rarely seen except by those who go out to barter for some of his game. He is incredibly self-sufficient and even the oldest members of the town remember him much the same as he is now--old, reclusive, and peculiar-- even when they were kids. He is the subject of numerous folktales that kids like to repeat, and no one seems to know exactly how old he is... but it must be high, no?

"Sometimes I trade honey for a bit of his stock. It preserves well, you know. I haven't been to see him in a while, but perhaps we could pay him a visit?"

Mathilde discards her pickle along with the honeycomb detritus. "You mean Rootman Jerrod? He's real?! How's that song go? 'Something, something, down with the roots.' Then something else about blood on his boots? That Jerrod?"

When Remy nods and shrugs, Mathilde purses her lips and shrugs in kind. "Sure then, if he may know something. What about the temple as well? Should we see if there's anything there that could shed light on the situation?"

Zuni volunteers in the search and will accept monetary compensation for it.

"Big prints. Not like cattle or uhhh sheep. They were heading away from the village." She adds shyly and with a shiver as she too thinks of all the children's tales of evil and dangers lurking in the Moors.

recalling something about big prints near the moors and who or what the footprints belong to: 2d6 + 1 ⇒ (2, 6) + 1 = 9.

Furrowing her brows in thought, Zuni tries to recall who or what could be lurking out there to make such big enough prints that Candace described.

The members of the village counsel who are present grimly take a count and make a list of everyone who proclaims their willingness to take part in the expedition to recover the Hand of St. Ignys.

"Since there's a bunch of our fellow village-folk that are taking part in this, it wouldn't be right with me to sit this out- so you all can count me in. I'd imagine that the watch wouldn't want to keep paying me much if I was out of town though- so I'll be taking the monetary compensation."

"So it seems we've a reasonable notion to investigate these standing stones. Shall everyone take a bit of time to gather a bit of gear and we'll set out from the village square two bells from now?" She inquires looking around the room to see if there were other suggestions.

Looking over to where Benoit is at, Zuni says, "I'm sure that Benoit here will keep everybody reminded of when we have to leave off."

Having said his piece, Remy is more than happy to assist Hagar and Charlotte in cleaning up his honeyed prophecy. "Er... careful please, with they... oh, sure, but maybe not the... oh, very right. Nevermind." Whatever he is attempting to salvage is quickly scraped up and discarded. Forlorn, he stares for a moment down at the sticky print that remains on the floorboards--the silhouette of a hand, if you squint hard enough.

"Oh, you must mean Jerrod!" he calls to Syrina. "The oldest man in the village, right? I mean, he doesn't quite live in the village, but just on the outskirts in his hovel. Certainly he would be the oldest, no?"

"Sometimes I trade honey for a bit of his stock. It preserves well, you know. I haven't been to see him in a while, but perhaps we could pay him a visit?"

Mathilde discards her pickle along with the honeycomb detritus. "You mean Rootman Jerrod? He's real?! How's that song go? 'Something, something, down with the roots.' Then something else about blood on his boots? That Jerrod?"

Munching on some of the leftover honeycomb that hadn't touched the floor or had been trod upon [due to Hagar], Zuni adds in with a nod to both Mathilde and Remy, "Same one- but all that's a bunch of nonsense that the local kids made up about him; he ain't so bad though really... after all Remy here trades with him."

Oddly enough, Zuni and others of the watch had to make sure the local youths didn't bother Rootman Jerrold so upon quite a few occasions.

Thibault will volunteer in the search but foregoes the reward.

Taking a final swig of his small beer, Thibault leaves the Pig and Pickle afterwards in order to request a few days off from his apprenticeship to Gregory the Miller in order to seek out the Hand of St. Ignys.

"... Oh yeah, that reminds me, Master Gregory... saw your son Stitch over at the Pig and Pickle. He was busy making small talk with Charlotte, as usual, last I saw of him."

Negotiate for some time off/Int: 2d6 + 1 ⇒ (3, 4) + 1 = 8.

Almost forgot, Zuni will try to negotiate for some supplies from either the Town Watch Commander or the Watch Quartermaster for her and some of the villagers; this'll take place the day after the quest announcement, maybe.

Negotiate for some extra supplies/Int: 2d6 + 1 ⇒ (6, 4) + 1 = 11.

"...Like I said, the villagers that are going ain't likely to have much in the way of anything. Any supplies that could be reasonably spared for this undertaking would really be of help and all."

Naturally, Hagar volunteers for the journey to recover the Saint's Hand without any compensation whatsoever.

When the woman, Hagar, announces she's the blessing of the local priest and a means to convey the relic back to town, Syrina bows her head to the woman. "It is good to know we've means to properly carry the remains in the event of our success." She says and then turns to the full gathered crowd.

Much to Hagar's chagrin, the words spoken by Bounty-hunting Stranger reminds the middle-aged matron that she had yet to procure some sort of transport for the specially blessed coffin- not out of neglect but rather she had been rushed alongside, keeping up with Motherbear Zuni who had wanted to attend Remy's divination ceremony for obvious reasons. I will have to start thinking of procuring at least some sort of mount for the coffin...

Negotiate for a mount to carry the blessed coffin/Int: 2d6 + 1 ⇒ (4, 6) + 1 = 11.

When Remy nods and shrugs, Mathilde purses her lips and shrugs in kind. "Sure then, if he may know something. What about the temple as well? Should we see if there's anything there that could shed light on the situation?"

Hagar confidently replies to Mathilde's concern, "In a time of such urgency, I'm certain that the temple will lend it's support in this holy endeavor."

Negotiate for healing supplies and various assortments/Int: 2d6 + 1 ⇒ (1, 2) + 1 = 4.

May St. Ignys have some mercy for the perpetrators of this theft, for Hagar shall have none to spare for them... ;p

Syrina was about to thank the man but instead finds herself on the floor of the pub, looking up at the smoke blackened ceiling. Is everyone in this village crazy or rude! She exclaims in her mind while pulling herself off the filthy floor. Fortunately, she didn't land in the mass of honey. Unfortunately her backside did manage to locate some amalgamation of old pickle, cider, oatmeal (most likely from the morning breakfast special), and what she very sincerely hopes is not rat scat. In a second bout of bad luck only about half of the sticky mess remains on the floor when she finally rises, the rest decided bonding itself to her backside was preferable to eventually being scrubbed away by Charlotte's brush.

To some the ensuing stain looked to be that of a grinning demon, while others, more devout and perhaps charitable, considered it resembled the twinned stars of St. Ignys. Still others simply found the canvas upon which is was displayed to be of more interest.

Syrina, her mind already set upon a task, ignores it altogether. Instead, the bounty hunter turns to the honey throwing fortune teller. What was his name? Oh yes.

"Remy, is it? Well my good sir, since you know this Jerrod, perhaps you'd accompany me and we shall see what he might be able to tell us about the stones and the missing hand?"

Candace flushes as Florian quips about her families financial straights. It wasn't usually something she thought about much, preferring the company of Talon, the woods, and open hills more than the village. Still, she knew they had fallen on hard times and Agatha and Gwendolyn and Marisa were always going on about the need to raise more funds. Of course none of them agreed on how to go about doing that.

The only other one in the family who didn't seem to be bothered by their financial misfortune was Evelyn, her raven haired sister second oldest after Agatha. Candace wasn't sure exactly how Evelyn managed it, but her sister always seemed to have just enough money for whatever she happened to need at the time.

"Do we have a deal?"

The words draw Candace out of her internal thoughts and she nods at the rather arrogant councilor. "Certainly, I'll talk to father." She says cheerfully, knowing full well that the odds of anyone listening to her thoughts about business were laughably long.

She then cautiously takes the brooch, handling it as if it were covered in the toxic effluent of the Sixteenth Pit of Chaos. "It...it's...magical?" She stammers, looking at the little bit of jewelry as if it were ready to reach out and strangle her at any moment. "I don't..." She considers all of the others on the expedition who might need and benefit from the supplies. Not just herself. Adventurers and heroes often have to deal with great and powerful magics. Best learn to do so right at the start, girl. Else you might as well just go home and clean the kitchens and finish your knitting. Candance swallows hard and slowly nods.

"Oooo...okay. I'll wear it for you Master Florian." She says, gingerly pinning the brooch onto her worn cloak.

*Chirrup* Talon quips uneasily, shifting to the shoulder opposite the brooch.

Stitch's knuckles turn white as Charlotte throws his request back in his face like so much pasture manure. Twisting his hat practically into knots, thunderclouds seethe in his eyes as he stares stoically at a particularly large knot in the wood behind the third cider barrel. Standing rigid as a post, the ratcatcher doesn't blink until his gaze shifts to follow the furious barmaid's form as it disappears into the kitchen.

He wasn't concerned about the various stares and rather weak efforts not to stare. After all everyone in the village knew the story. Knew how his engagement to Monika ended. How the long anticipated marriage of the miller's son to the eldest daughter of the most talented boyer in the region, their union blessed by saints, gods, and most importantly, family, fell into the Pits of Chaos and tore asunder friendships and village alliances that had weathered invasion, disease, storm and a hundred other challenges.

Let 'em all get a good look. A voice growls in his head. Let them soak it all in to feed the vines of gossip and rancor a bit longer. Blasted old men and their blasted grudges. To the Pits with them all!

Stitch eventually slaps his rumpled hat back upon his head and chin thrust out defiantly, daring anyone to stop him, leaves the Pig & Pickle. He still needed to find a weapon, he wasn't going against the unknown beasts of the Moors armed only with a paltry rat skinning knife.

Slopping his way across the village green, he can't help but recall that fateful time when so many things went so wrong. His boots slop and splash across the flooded green, the tops of the water sick grass swirling like hundreds of green worms in his wake.

Assuming it's ok to make up some lore. Adjust this all accordingly, GM BrOp...

Yup, please, go ahead! When you create something that either a) has no direct positive impact on you or the other PCs, or b) has a negative impact, I will generally be okay with such "expansions" of lore and story. The only time this won't be the case, is if I've already decided on something that would be changed by your suggestion.

Candace "Bones" Macdougal wrote:

"Big prints. Not like cattle or uhhh sheep. They were heading away from the village." She adds shyly and with a shiver as she too thinks of all the children's tales of evil and dangers lurking in the Moors.

Furrowing her brows in thought, Zuni tries to recall who or what could be lurking out there to make such big enough prints that Candace described.

Motherbear thinks for a moment and decides that judging from the shape and arrangement of the tracks, it was most likely a beast of burden of some sort, but not one that he immediately recognizes. He does remember that there is an old trapper named Jerrod living outside the village who would probably know the answer.

Taking a final swig of his small beer, Thibault leaves the Pig and Pickle afterwards in order to request a few days off from his apprenticeship to Gregory the Miller in order to seek out the Hand of St. Ignys.

"... Oh yeah, that reminds me, Master Gregory... saw your son Stitch over at the Pig and Pickle. He was busy making small talk with Charlotte, as usual, last I saw of him."

Gregory growls at the mention of Stitch's name and seems inordinately annoyed.

"What? Time off? I have four other lads who are dying for the work, Thibault. Fine. I'll give you the time off, but don't be surprised if you find yourself with a pay cut and working under somebody new when you get back."

The miller seems done with the conversation and excuses himself, leaving Thibault out standing in the rain.

Almost forgot, Zuni will try to negotiate for some supplies from either the Town Watch Commander or the Watch Quartermaster for her and some of the villagers; this'll take place the day after the quest announcement, maybe.

"...Like I said, the villagers that are going ain't likely to have much in the way of anything. Any supplies that could be reasonably spared for this undertaking would really be of help and all."

The Watch's Quartermaster, a middle-aged woman named Leslie Cheron, had taken Zuni under her wing when she first joined and seems happy to help.

"Here, you can have these," she says as she rummages through an old chest covered in dust, pulling out several items. "They're not the newest, but I guess that's okay for just a short trip into the country."

The Quartermistress gives Zuni two sets of leather armor and a shield, but none are in good condition and have the fragile tag. They otherwise work as stated on p. 16 of the "Funnel" doc.

[dice=Negotiate for a mount to carry the blessed coffin/Int]2d6+1.

The local temple is willing to help and loans you the use of Beatrice, an old donkey with a bit of an attitude, but who is still quite capable of carrying her weight.

Beatrice has a capacity of 8 but also has the tag "cantakerous".

Hagar confidently replies to Mathilde's concern, "In a time of such urgency, I'm certain that the temple will lend it's support in this holy endeavor."

[dice=Negotiate for healing supplies and various assortments/Int]2d6+1.

Upon hearing a second request, the local Lama's face goes red. "Haven't we helped enough, Madame Renault? We are not made of money, you know!"

If it's not clear, that's a "No" on the healing supplies.

The Story Coninues ...

A group of folk make the short journey into the village's backcountry on the edge of the Gloomwood to speak with an old hunter/trapper name Jerrod. While the man certainly does not have the friendliest reputation and generally does not interact with townfolk, it's been years since he's shot at someone who approached his hut.

Not everyone has to go visit Jerrod, so if others want to do other stuff, please feel free. I'm assuming you don't do this immediately after the Pig and Pickle scene, as that occurs at night, and will wait until the next morning to visit the hunter.

This is where I make a "Check Reaction" move (p. 20 of the Funnel doc).

Check Reaction move: 2d6 ⇒ (6, 1) = 7

You know that Jerrod long ago withdrew from earthly life, and lives on a platform in a tree at the top of a small hill that has a good view of the surrounding countryside. As you begin to make the slow climb up the switchback trail to his home, you hear a voice call out from above.

"What the Seven Hells are you lot doing tromping on my flowers? Who are you and what do you want? Speak up or do you want an arrow in the chest?"

The previous night...

Having decided upon an immediate course of action, Syrina settles in for the remainder of the evening at the Pig & Pickle interested to see what kind of entertainment, if any, the good tavern keeper usually kept on hand. But as the evening passes, she continues to fret over her lack of ammunition for her trusty crossbow.

Having heard the chatter following her dressing down of the scroungy looking ratcatcher, Syrina approaches Charlotte as things begin to wind down for the evening.

"Excuse me miss." She says to Charlotte hoping to get the young woman's attention. "I couldn't help but overhear a few things earlier today. One being that your family are excellent fletchers and bowmakers." Her eyes glance down upon her nearly empty quiver. "You know I'm setting out to help find and return the missing hand of St. Ignys. Unfortunately, most of my bolts were lost crossing the river during this latest round of heavy rains. Could you tell me if your father might be interested in backing the expedition with a score of well made bolts?" She holds up a hand to forestall any immediate objection and quickly continues. "I would, of course, be willing to pay for them from any proceeds made during the effort. Plus a small premium for the initial loan of the goods, as would only be proper." She adds with a dimpled smile.

"Even if you could only point me to your father's shop and perhaps put in a good word on my behalf, that would be most welcome. It seems outsiders are met with considerable suspicion, even when attempting to help."

Negotiate for some bolts: 2d6 ⇒ (4, 4) = 8

The next morning...

Syrina pulls her hat tight upon her head and flips the collar of her coat up and pulls it closer around her neck. All in a futile effort to keep the massive blobs of gathered drizzle from their inevitable impact down the back of her neck. Her grumbling curse at the foul weather is preempted by the a different grumbling, voice from the trees just ahead.

Being the stranger, the woman holds her own tongue for the moment, waiting to see how her new companions treat with the old town eccentric.

Syrina, in order to keep things moving and not take up too much more time in this "preliminary" part of the adventure, let's just say that the bowyer agrees to help you out, but requires you to do some physical work in exchange for the bolts. This work will lower you Constitution score by 2 points when you begin the "adventure" part of this adventure. You can regain Constitution as per the normal rules for the "Pass the Night" move (Funnel doc, p. 25). In exchange he will gift you with 2 more bolts, but note that this doesn't mean that he gives you literally 2 bolts. Take a look at the "Shoot or Throw" move on p. 22, and you will see that you actually only mark off the ammo if you roll poorly during combat. Do you want to take him up on this offer?

EDIT: I forgot to mention, the above happens because you rolled an "8" in the Negotiate. The moves states that with that number "they'll do it, but only if you conced something meaningful in return."