The storm outside rages fiercely, a tempest born from the wild heart of the Kindred Coast. In stark contrast, the warm glow of Elder Ordwi's pub in Osprey Cove offers a haven against the howling wind and driving rain. The pub, a sturdy, welcoming building, creaks gently in the storm's embrace, its windows aglow with the soft, flickering light of candles and hearth fire.
You sit inside where the wave of warmth greets you, mingling with the rich scents of spiced ale and hearty stew. The atmosphere inside is one of jovial resilience in the face of nature's fury. Patrons, a mix of local villagers and a few rugged individuals who could be travelers or fisherfolk, are gathered in small, cozy clusters. Their conversations are a blend of laughter, shared stories, and the occasional boisterous song, creating a tapestry of communal camaraderie.
Elder Ordwi, a devout priest of Cayden Cailean, presides over this homely scene with a benevolent eye. Her hands, skilled from years of service, deftly pour ales and pass around mugs of hot drinks to those seeking refuge from the storm. Her presence is a comforting constant, as much a part of the pub as the aged wood and the crackling fireplace.
In one corner of the pub, a group of villagers is engaged in a spirited retelling of local legends and tales of daring from the seas. Their voices rise and fall with the cadence of practiced storytellers, their faces animated by the flickering candlelight.
Near the fireplace, a small band of musicians, undeterred by the weather, plays a lively tune. The music, a blend of fiddle, flute, and drum, weaves through the air, inviting toes to tap and spirits to lift. It's a sound that speaks of the resilience and joy of the people of Osprey Cove, even in the face of adversity.
The single guest room upstairs stands ready, a testament to Elder Ordwi's foresight for travelers or patrons who might need it. It's a small but cozy space, furnished simply with a bed, a washstand, and a small window that looks out onto the stormy sea, the sound of the waves a steady, soothing rhythm.
Krachton heads in and looks around before passing his coins over the bar and ordering softly. While Elder Ordwi had put down the religious war splitting Cayden's flock, it was still not good to make waves that might disrupt the nervous peace. He gets his warm-mug and settles down with his pumpkin-spice mulled ale.
Zarzuket quietly hums along in between sips of pumpkin-spice ale. As a follower of Nethys, he finds the Spicer/Purist debate silly; pumpkin spice is fine to have occasionally, but it isn't that important.
Then again, perhaps some of the debates among followers of Nethys about magical terminology aren't much better. Such arguments rarely turn into physical brawls, but Zarzuket has heard of debates about the exact distinction between arcane and occult magic that ended with the participants using prestidigitation to soil each other's clothes.
Half a spicy pumpkin pint is all it takes to loosen the motor function of the extremity limbs that stretch Quatar's lithe frame.
"Look Ordwi" the young man forgets himself, dispenses with the honorary "Look at what I won in a game of chicken!" he holds aloft the glistening ruby amulet, allows her to examine it to her liking, then secures it back around his skinny neck with a single silver clasp securing a modest silver chain "I think it is Auspicious:" he smiles and immediately elaborates "And so, I know you, pouring drinks out first, then making your prayers and wishes second. I am far too old to be fooled by your tricks this time. You see. So go on, out with it now. What is it that you want? Speak plainly" knowingly sinking himself on the elder's hook, although his tone is a touch more strident than usual, it comes from a place of warmth and deep respect "Don't tell me: It is that city that appeared of here, isn't it? I know it bothers you. Why worry so much about such a silly thing? If they wanted to live here, then they would. Simple as that, I say"
He looks around the room, and tries to lip-read the story-tellers while tapping his foot to the music, animated and jovial, and takes another sip, which, sets his spirits into a perfect stride, so much so that absolutely nothing could ruin his day!
Zarkuzet hears Quatar and turns his head to see what Quatar is talking about. Curious about the amulet, he walks within 30 feet of Quatar and casts detect magic.
"Yes it is magical. In fact, it is Abjurative. That means that it is Lucky, I think" Quatar turns to Zarzuket "I have not seen a black cat cross my path since I won it the other day!"
“Not exactly,” says Zarzuket. “Abjuration magic is concerned with protection and suppression of other people’s magic. In Thassilonian rune magic, it’s associated with the sin of envy. Belimarius is an abjurer, and Edasseril used to be known as the Realm of Envy.”
This reminds Zarzuket that Quatar said something to Ordwi about a city appearing; was he talking about Xin-Edasseril? “Sorry, what were you talking to Elder Ordwi about?”
A hulking orc woman enters the bar. Standing nearly seven feet tall, it is hard to miss her. Her muscles ripple under her steel breastplate, and a greatsword almost as big as her is strapped to her back. Kragga, Osprey Cove’s lone orc resident, is a sight to behold. Several patrons scurry out of her way, worried that she’s come to start another brawl.
Lucky for them, she isn’t interested in violence. Yet. She sits at the bar and raises a hand. ”Mulled ale. Pure,” she states. Her eyes scan the room, as if daring somebody to fight her over her order.
Near the band, propped on a lone stool, sat Pickle Tooth. A kholo with aspirations of being a famous adventurer, he held a mug of the pumpkin ale aloft, swaying it back and forth with the rhythm of the band.
He liked the tune. It was…fine. But the band had gotten so set in their routine, and so often played the same songs each night, that one could almost use their set list as a means to tell the time.
Just once, Pickle wished they would let him join in. He could do that song about the dwarf who invented beer. It was a good song.
At the bar he raises his glass to the large orc woman. "Cheers! It was Kragga, wasn't it? I'm Krachton."
Kragga eyes the grayish dwarf speaking to her. After a moment's judgment, she clinks her own glass against his mug. "Cheers. Yes, Kragga. Nice suit."
"Thanks! It's waterproof and keeps me warm when diving." he smiles at the thought of diving. He holds it for just a moment to long before returning to the conversation. "Nice sword. It's so incredibly long. But looks well-tempered."
"Took it from an ogre," Kragga says with a smirk. She doesn't elaborate further.
As the ferocious storm outside howls its last, its fury dwindling into the night, the ambiance inside the pub remains warm and convivial. Patrons savor their drinks, a delightful array of both spiced concoctions and pure libations, while familiar melodies play softly in the background, providing a comforting soundtrack to the evening's end. Finally, as the tempest outside subsides, the night has deepened, signaling it's time for everyone to retire to their respective abodes.
You and your companions, having shared the evening's shelter, find yourselves departing together. Courteously, you take turns holding the door for each other as you leave the cozy refuge of the pub. The air outside, freshly cleansed by the storm, carries a sense of calm and renewal. However, as you prepare to part ways and head to your individual homes, a sudden commotion up the street catches your collective attention.
A crowd has gathered, their murmurs of concern drifting on the night air. As you approach, the scene that unfolds is both alarming and curious. In the midst of the gathered townsfolk stands Elder Healer Johedeia, a female half-elf known for her skill and compassion. She is kneeling beside a figure sprawled on the ground – a man lying in the middle of the town's main road. The moonlight reveals his dire condition: he bears two grievous wounds on his chest and his body is marked with rust-red splotches, a troubling and unusual sight.
The man struggles to speak, his words failing him in his weakened state. Johedeia leans closer, lending her ear to his faltering whispers. The gathered crowd falls silent, straining to hear. In his final moments, the man musters the strength for a few gasping breaths, uttering a cryptic message that sends a chill through the night air: "Something.Dreadful.Iron.Harbor."
With these last words, he succumbs, leaving behind a palpable tension and a mystery that seems to beckon you and your companions.
You all know of Iron Harbor, it's Osprey Cove’s sibling settlement.
his skin and muscles to atrophy.
"I am in no mood for further travel" Quatar protests "Nor, to run head first into Something Dreadful!" he clutches his lucky ruby, rubs it with his thumb "But, I am feeling great fortune tonight, and I have been practicing my boomerang skill..." he seems to be trying to talk himself into something "Elder Healer Johedeia - surely there is a search party already sent to my mother's village - Iron Harbor?" his exasperated hope, feigned and flirting, as if trying to convince himself of the inprobable!
I do wonder how she is doing - it has been some time since I have seen her last...
He looks around at his close friends "What do you think Zarzuket, Kragga, Pickle Tooth and Krachxton?"
Smiling nervously!
"I think he's dead," Kragga observes bluntly. She draws her oversized sword and pokes the dead man with the hilt. "Yep. He's dead."
Zarzuket is horrified to see someone dying in front of him like that. If only he'd arrived on the scene a few seconds sooner, he might have had time to cast a healing spell. It then occurs to Zarkuzet that this probably wouldn't have helped; he can heal wounds, but he's far from a powerful enough cleric to cure diseases or curses. But this isn't a very comforting thought. He forces himself to look more carefully at the body.
"Giant centipede venom, delivered via two crossbow bolts," says Zarzuket. He isn't a powerful enough cleric to neutralize poisons either, which isn't a very comforting thought either.
"I definitely want to go if they're sending a group!" Zarzuket replies to Quatar. His excitement at the prospect of an adventure is tainted by the man's death, but not enough to entirely suppress his gnomish impulses.
Johedeia looks up from the lifeless body, her expression a mix of concern and resolve. "Well, no, there is not a search party yet," she says, sighing deeply. "As of ten minutes ago, there was no need. I will confer with the other Elders on the matter, but it seems likely we'll need to send one."
Rising to her feet, she scans the group, her gaze lingering on Quatar for a moment. "Since your mother is there and others are volunteering, I assume you'll all be onboard for a trip there on behalf of the town. Why don't we meet back here at, oh say, seven bells to give me time to discuss this with the other elders and formulate a plan."
Her eyes reflect the seriousness of the situation, yet there's an underlying spark of determination. "This is grave news, and we must act swiftly. Your skills and willingness to help are invaluable at this moment. I'll ensure that everything is arranged for your journey." She gives a nod of gratitude and a faint, reassuring smile, acknowledging the weight of the task ahead.
Pickle Tooth stood on his toes to peer over the heads at the body.
“This one thinks that you are correct,” Pickle said to Zarzuket. “This one has no way of knowing for sure but, you seem confident enough.”
The kholo turned to Quatar. “This man’s dying words were a plea for help for Iron Harbor. This one thinks we ought honor his request."
Pickle nodded in agreement with Johedeia "Seven bells, yes.”
Quatar slaps his forehead.
"Look at what you and your big mouth have gotten yourself into!" he can hear his mother's tone of voice...
"Okay, okay - I will be there at the seventh bell - but first, I must go confer with my father, for if it is true what this man has said, that there is Something Dreadful, it wouldn't do to run forth into danger with out at least kissing your loved ones first"
Fleet of foot, Quatar makes quick, long-legged strides in the direction of his father's home, reports to him that he is "going to go see mother", to which the callous old man turns his back and pretends he didn't hear him, to which Quatar kisses him on the forehead, explains to him "I know you want to talk me down but I am too old myself now and we both know I am not well-suited to doing what I am told", to which the old man nods, to which Quatar embraces him one last time then grabs his bandolier of hunting boomerangs, his spear, his "cat claw", and "lucky bag of trinkets", and a backpack with some camping (and lockpicking) supplies, and arrives at the agreed upon time.
The seventh bell rings "I am ready to travel in the direction the man who died of poison came from - speaking of poison, does anyone have skill tending to poison? I do not care much for snakes, or centipedes, or... any of those kinds of creatures!"
"I can lead the way if need be"
”I’m in. Maybe there will be fighting. That will be fun,” Kragga says with a savage grin. ”With a town full of Gorumites, there had better be fighting!”
Zarzuket returns home to prepare for the expedition. In addition to standard adventuring gear, he brings along two sets of caltrops and a cold iron chunk.
Although the combination of excitement, anxiety, and guilt makes it difficult for him to sleep at first, he eventually manages to receive an adequate amount of sleep.
In the morning, he prepares spells with the possibility of danger in mind.
1st: Magic Missile, Fear
1st (divine font): Heal x3
Cantrips: Needle Darts, Light, Guidance, Stabilize, Detect Aura
Zarzuket arrives on time. "Unfortunately, my medical abilities are strictly magical, and the spells for treating poisons are too advanced for me. Krachton and Kragga, you both have some medical skills, right? Did you bring your healer's tools?"
In the morning, Krachton arrives. He's coming from the shore and wringing a little seawater out of his beard.
"Aye, I've dealt with a couple people who've stepped on the wrong rays." He pats his pack. "And feel free to stand behind me. Dwarven blood is too think for poisons to spread."
Still, he isn't carrying any weapon beyond his clan dagger.
The next day, as agreed, you gather together, punctual and ready. Upon your arrival, you're greeted by Osprey Cove's youngest elder, Elder Ordwi.
She addresses you promptly, "The elders convened last evening to deliberate on the recent events. I understand you have all volunteered for this journey, and for that, the town expresses its deepest gratitude. I'll be joining you on our trek eastward to Iron Harbor. My presence serves a dual purpose: to provide assistance where necessary and to extend a hand of peace, aiming to resolve the longstanding conflict that has divided the only two settlements on the Kindred Coast."
She pauses, allowing her words to sink in before continuing, "Should you have any inquiries or need to make any final preparations or purchases, now is the perfect moment to do so."
"Peace, too, is my aim, Elder Ordwi" he adds "I'm afraid we have lost a whole day, but perhaps, a day well spent" he pulls out his last two gold coins "I've nearly enough for a single cup of Antidote - as I do not think standing behind even a rock-bender will work if the snake moves"
Before they leave, he grabs a handful of seashells "My mother and I used to use these as money" stowing them in his pocket for safekeeping.
Zarzuket asks Elder Ordwi for a few details about what sort of assistance she plans to provide.
Kragga stands with her arms crossed over her chest. Her spiked iron armor is buffed and polished, and her big sword is securely fastened to her back. "Let's go," she says.
Elder Ordwi explains she's focused on healing. She has spells to bless, heal, and link spirits. She also knows how to daze opponents, use a shield spell, cast light, stabilize the dying, and cast forbidding warnings. Finally, she knows how to make strides unimpeded should that be required.
When everyone is set, you all depart for Iron Harbor.
At about the midpoint of the journey, approximately 9 miles from Osprey Cove, the faint traces of the road you have been following east along the coast become more obvious. You know this means you approaching Kindred Crossing—the site where citizens from both villages originally started working together to create a bridge over a cleft in the shoreline near the tip of a short peninsula.
Here, the road grows more obvious, with portions even retaining old paving stones as it turns south toward a short, rocky peninsula. To the north, a steep, weather-worn ridge of stone rises thirty feet high into the air, featuring an occasional ledge that appears to provide nesting spots for ospreys. To the east, the road rises up from the shoreline to follow a wide ledge that winds around the peninsula. Ahead, near the peninsula’s tip, the road reaches a cleft in the steep shoreline, over which the remains of an old and incomplete wooden bridge stand. Nearby, what appears to be a freshly wrecked rowboat sits upside down among the tide pools.
Your attention is drawn to the overturned, wrecked rowboat. As you draw nearer, you begin to hear high-pitched cries for help
Kragga draws her huge sword and looks around to see if any creatures might be lying in wait.
If she doesn't see anything, she will cautiously approach the rowboat.
If other group members are also moving at half speed, Zarzuket investigates as he moves. If they’re all moving at full speed, Zarzuket moves at full speed as well.
Hoping he isn’t too late again, Zarzuket rushes to the water’s edge to see if there’s anything he can do to help. He is aware enough of his physical limitations not to actually enter the water, however.
Quatar - yet unseasoned and still of trusting temperament - approaches ahead of the group, eager to help.
”Are you okay?”
As you approach the overturned rowboat, an annoyed and territorial reefclaw, slithers out to attack you!
When the reefclaw begins to engage, a gremlin begins cackling and splashing about in a tidepool nearby, clearly giddy about these events.
Kragga flies into a rage as she charges the reefclaw, bringing her huge sword down on it!
“That one seems ‘okay,’” Pickle said to Quatar with a smile and a gesture to the gremlin in the tidepool.
Pickle bounded forward. He pulled a few bits of metal from a pocket and spoke a few syllables before sending a small volley of darts at the gremlin.
Zarzuket shoots darts of cold iron towards the reefclaw.
It’s his first time casting that spell in an actual fight, and he aims poorly.
”All-Seeing Eye, guide my thoughts,” he prays as he tries to remember what he knows about this kind of gremlin. He wants to be sure that it was actually responsible for overturning the boat, and not just a bystander indulging in schadenfreude, before attacking it.
He then realizes that Pickle Tooth is attacking the fey already. How he reacts to this will depend on what he remembers about the gremlin.
Quatar stops in his tracks "Oh my" and his allies catch up to him "We should defend ourselves!"
Studying the Gremlin from afar, he pulls his trusty boomerang and tosses it at the crabby reefclaw!
◆) Exploit Vulnerability @ Gremlin
◆) Draw Boomerang (a Recovery weapon)
◆) Strike Reefclaw
↺) Amulet's Abeyance (3) (First trigger)
Elder Ordwi's jaw drops as the party springs into action and quickly disptches both the gremlin and the reefclaw. It takes her a moment to compose herself, but she claps for you all and says "Oh my, indeed! Blessed be! I am beyond impressed with your remarkable abilities!"
A quick search of the rowboat reveals no trapped prisoners and a realization the gremlin was likely playing tricks on you.
The rowboat, once a lifeboat for a pirate ship that sunk during the storm, has a small stash of treasure tucked into a waterproof leather bag that was stuffed into a cabinet under a seat. Within are 20 sp, 1 gp, and a potion of water breathing in an airtight bottle.
Kragga’s fury is short lived. She grunts and shakes the gore off of her weapon. ”Bah. That was barely worth the effort.” She prods the dead reefclaw with her boot.
Zarzuket is thrilled to have survived his first battle without any of his allies or innocent bystanders being harmed, but is disappointed that he didn’t actually do much to contribute to the outcome. He spends 10 minutes praying to Nethys.
Zarzuket recognizes the trickster gremlin as one of the most benign of its type, a Haniver. Known for their incessant curiosity and tendency to steal as well as their ability to use spells such as ventriloquism and prestidigitation to further their antics.
krachton seems a bit startled by the combat people might notice some mist and sand starting to drift up, but the event is over before it's anything significant.
Quatar catches his boomerang.
"That was my first hit" he puffs his chest, feeling pride "I think my practice has payed off" clutches his ruby amulet, he strokes it, wonders "And a bit of luck..."
Zarzuket still isn't sure what how he feels about the death of the gremlin.
Or about the death of the reefclaw, for that matter.
He supposes that the gremlin really was the one at fault for deliberately engineering the fight between the party and the reefclaw, and that calming down the reefclaw would have been difficult.
Still, couldn't the party (himself included - he'd tried to attack the reefclaw even if he'd refrained from attacking the gremlin) have been less trigger-happy?
Given that at the time, they had had every reason to believe that there were people in the rowboat in imminent danger, Zarzuket tentatively decides that they had done the right thing, so he doesn't say anything to the others about it.
He's ready to move along now.
With the skirmish on the beach concluded, the party returnes to the path.
Two weatherworn stone statues stand on either side of a fifteen-foot-wide rift in the shore, extending their arms toward one another. A partially completed, partially eroded old stone bridge doesn’t quite cross the gulf. In the water fifteen feet below, the surf crashes on a worn wedge of stone that might have once been part of the bridge.
"I'm sorry," says Zarzuket, "but I'm not in great shape for this kind of thing. Would it be possible for Kragga or Krachton to carry me? I can also help others get across with a spell that gives them a bit of divine guidance for about six seconds."
"Sure thing. How about riding my shoulders?/" he offers, kneeling down. "It's probably best for balance."
"Thank you!"
Zarzuket gets on Krachton's shoulders and casts guidance on him.
Quatar Leaps over narrowest part of the ravine without breaking a sweat.
"Throw me the rope, and I will see where I can fasten it"