A Time for Heroes - GM Slowdrifter's Forgotten Realms (Inactive)

Game Master Slowdrifter

Spellcraft: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (20) + 12 = 32

In her short life, Ialia had been surrounded by powerful, cynical people, mostly men who eyed their neighbors with suspicion and ensconced themselves behind tough-looking personal guards. Compassion was not something she saw a lot of unless she was with her family, and she had to admit the relentless thrum of war drums had changed her. Having first learned that her unusual physical traits were inherited on one side from her grandmother who is a witch, and on the other side from her biological mother who is a hag, and then later enlisting into the service of Saerloon and selling herself into sexual slavery to infiltrate the highest reaches of power, Ialia's spirit was in many ways sundered, and she had built a wall around her heart to protect her own sanity.

Although she knew this much about why she is the way she is and how she came to be this way, the understanding did not often help her adapt. Ialia's heart properly ached for the families of the faceless dead, but she lacked the capacity to extend forgiveness to Rissa in the way Cariamma has done. The young witch saw this attack as an injustice, and she wondered at the ease with which the others were willing to take Rissa at her word. Her motivation, or that she was scammed by an unscrupulous merchant, was irrelevant to the fact that she had made the ill-conceived choice to acquire the eggs of a minor dragon, and people died as a result.

If they found the merchant, would Cariamma show him the same mercy she was freely giving to Rissa? Had they not committed the same crime? On the other hand, Ialia knew very little about the laws and culture of Dagger Falls and it was inappropriate to project her won morals onto this situation.

"What do you hope to learn by studying the eggs?" asks Ialia, more interested in the reason for all of this than following the trail.

At the Wall

“Nice shot,” he called out, his drawl carrying down to Samara. “Next time, save me one to chase, eh?”

Samara gives the archer a friendly wave to acknowledge the compliment. She wasn’t quite sure if his question was a subtle part of the compliment or a genuine request. ”Umm… OK, next time.”

In the Field

”I don’t think any more fingers need to be pointed. Rissa acknowledges that she was in the wrong.” She turns to the gnome and continues, ”I’m sure you know as well as I do that Tunfer is going to require you to undertake some kind of penance, and he will be right to do so. I’m disappointed, too, Rissa.”

The anger doesn’t leave the Bedine woman’s stance or face - which is somewhat hidden by her veil. Men were dead - broken at the base of the wall - along with four (in this case) innocent wyverns. And Samara had no small part in making those latter deaths happen. Guilt fueled her anger. And it seemed the gnome’s only punishment was going to be soft words. Little wonder she had gotten into trouble before; she had faced no real consequences.

The Dalelands were not Anauroch, that much was clear. And Samara had no place imposing her views about ‘proper’ punishment… so she suppressed her anger and concentrated on memorizing the face of the egg-thief. If they met, there would be a reckoning.

Spellcraft vs DC17: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (10) + 9 = 19

”I didn’t mean for that to happen, I’m sorry,” she says quietly. The guileless expression on her face shows that her contrition is real. ”I’m not a child though,” she says, somewhat petulantly, ”I’m probably older than all of you.” While this is technically true given gnomes have much longer lifespans than humans, comparatively Rissa is still very young, even if not quite as young as her cherub-like appearance would suggest.

"Doubt it," Pick deadpans. His bright eyes continue to gaze at Rissa as if trying to bore a hole to her heart.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (20) + 13 = 33

He studies her in silence for a long moment, then gives a slow, not-entirely-pleased-but-grudgingly-accepting nod, at any rate.

Cariamma turns to the gnome and continues, ”I’m sure you know as well as I do that Tunfer is going to require you to undertake some kind of penance, and he will be right to do so."

The dwarf suggests in a somewhat venomous tone, "Penance: she tells families. Helps with burial."

A shrug after the words-- he knows what he'd do to Rissa, and it would be worse than that suggestion alone, but it is Tunfer whose word is law here, after Morn's, at any rate. Pick is, as always, reminded he is glad he does not live in towns, with their complex sense of rules and who can do what and who can give orders. Nature's rules are simpler.

He does note the face that Rissa portrays in the image, committing it to memory, then crouches to wipe his hands on the grass and the earth, transferring the blood (more or less) to the soil, though acquiring soil in turn on his fingers, which doesn't bother him. Earth is clean.

His eyes roam the wyvern corpses, huge piles of scales and limbs and meat, and he glances up at Veil and White Hair both, as the two who he who had heard saying things about the beasts. Hmm. They had both been yelling at the creatures.

"Wy... verns..." A new word, at least in the Common, for him. "Wyverns... talk?"

Ialia's focus shifts abruptly to Pick, as if dislodged from a trance.

"Why not? But in honesty, I don't know; a wyvern has never spoken to me. On the other hand, I wasn't asking it a question. Perhaps I should have. The idea crossed my mind to attempt to restrain that one and not kill it, but the opportunity did not present itself."

Gonna take my 20 knowledge check roll for a walk here. Correct me if I overstep.

She nods to the druid's question. "Can talk; didn't talk. They not dragon smart."

Pick duly listens to both of them, then nods once at the women. That is a good enough answer for him: not smart like dragons. The dwarf wordlessly trots over the raked-up earth to the nearest of the wyverns, drawing his belt knife as he goes.

It is a pity, he thinks, that if they are to set out tomorrow, there is not remotely enough time to dress and butcher... four of these wyverns? Thousands of pounds of meat. Most of it will go to waste.

He hopes that at least the fort guards have sense enough to cut the wyverns into pieces and drag them to the nearest woods, so that animals may feed in peace, rather than letting the beasts rot here in front of their castle and draw predators to the site.

In the meantime, this segment of the tail looks like the meatiest, choicest part of the wyvern. Pick sets to cutting loose a decent-sized hunk of the giant reptile's flesh. It is good to eat your kills.

Survival for harvestin' some meats: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (14) + 14 = 28

He will sear most of it later. But first he slices off a chunk about the size of a thumb, the blood still very fresh as the giant beast died not even a few minutes prior, and pops it into his mouth for some slow, thoughtful chewing.

In the meantime, this segment of the tail looks like the meatiest, choicest part of the wyvern. Pick sets to cutting loose a decent-sized hunk of the giant reptile's flesh. It is good to eat your kills.

Curious, Samara follows Pick to the wyvern’s corpse. Protein was hard to come by in the desert. For a people whose children grow up hunting scorpions to add to the dinner table, most sources of clean meat are acceptable. So, the Bedine sees the logic of butchering the wyvern. As Pick begins to cut into the tail, she waves to get his attention and points to the stinger at the far end. ”Don’t cut poison… uh.. tube.” She points to a spot on the rear of the creature. ”Poison bags maybe there. Be care.”

Survival: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (15) + 3 = 18

The dwarf nods mute acknowledgment of the warning. He slices clean another morsel of meat and wordlessly offers it over.

Hmn. The owl maybe wants some too. Pick cuts a slightly larger gobbet of meat and looks around for Lunaris and her human.

Samara takes the small, bloody, chunk, moves her veil away from her mouth, and carefully pops the meat in her mouth trying to keep the blood off her clothes. She chews on it experimentally then with more enjoyment, comparing it to other flavours she knows. Not scorpion or spider, not snake or bat…

She nods to the druid, ”You know behir? Tastes like behir and maybe more hm grassy.”

The dwarf thinks for a moment. The name doesn't strike any sparks for him, but perhaps it is just a different name for a creature he has seen. He shrugs instead of a verbal answer.

Pick wipes his dagger on the flank of the dead wyvern a few times before resheathing it.

"Behir. Your language? Other names?"

Samara frowns, thinking. ”Only know behir name… Big than wyvern, no wings, head horns, blue lizard-dragon.” She makes one hand crawl across her other palm like a spider, ”Six legs.”

Ialia walks a polite distance away from Pick and the corpse of the wyvern. Best not to further stain her outfit with blood that isn't her own.

Calen strode up to where Pick stood, wiping his knife clean on his sleeve as Lunaris eagerly tore into the piece of wyvern meat the dwarf had cut for her. The scent of blood and fresh air mingled, and Calen gave a low whistle, eyeing the clean cuts on the wyvern carcass.

"Well now, you do good work, Pick," Calen remarked, nodding toward the neatly dressed beast. "That’s a fine slice. Lunaris seems to appreciate it."

Calen chuckled softly, stepping closer to admire the dwarf's handiwork. "Aye, wyverns don’t go down easy. But you got a knack for this, I’ll give you that." He crouched down, tracing his fingers along one of the wyvern’s scaled limbs. "Ain't often you see 'em this close. There’s a lot we can pull from this beast—venom sacs, tendons... even some scales might fetch a good price with the right buyer."

Kn: Arcana to remember Behir: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (12) + 10 = 22

Calen paused, looking up at Samara with a knowing smirk. "Behir, huh? Nasty beasts. Long as a barn and quick like lightning. Lunaris and I ran from one once. Reckon it was the size of a wagon. Sometimes we know when we've bit off more than we could chew, had to come back with a whole team to take it down,"

The sorceress nods, "Very danger. We had two tribes' hunters work together... four died."

The dwarf suggests in a somewhat venomous tone, "Penance: she tells families. Helps with burial."

”I expect Tunfer would probably be thinking along very similar lines, Pick,” Cariamma says. Rissa’s face pales. ”Yes, Rissa. I don’t disagree. In fact I will suggest it to him. I will come with you though,” Cariamma places a hand comfortingly on the gnome’s shoulder. Her other hand reaches for the waterfall symbol at her throat and she repeats an article of faith: ”We do not let people drown, we teach them to swim.”

She then crouches down on her haunches so she can look Rissa in the eye. ”I want you to see the consequences of your actions so you understand them and learn the right lessons, which is why I will accompany you. Punishment without purpose is scarcely more than vengeance. Besides, it’s what Lord Morn would do. Leadership - good leadership,” she corrects herself, ”often involves difficult and unpleasant things.” Rissa nods in understanding, though she doesn't look entirely comfortable.

”What about Zhent soldiers?” she asks after a silence. ”Is it ok to kill them when they might have families too? Do they deserve that?”

”It is a good question,” Cariamma agrees. ”and one that has no easy answers. It would perhaps be easier if all Zhentarim were unequivocally evil rather than just greedy or power-hungry. Many of them choose to serve for such reasons but others have less choice in the matter, either because they are forced to or because if that is what they need to do to put bread and meat on the family table then it doesn’t feel like so much of a choice. And that’s to say nothing of your actual question.”The priestess sighs. ”That is why I strive to follow a different path, one of less conflict. I pray for a world that teaches and values peace. It is not an easy path, that of Eldath, but I know she walks beside me.” Cariamma stands back up, saying, ”We can definitely continue this conversation but I think that is enough philosophy lessons for today.”

To the party she says, ”Shall we return to our discussion?” She gestures to the right. ”I’m afraid that we have a little walk back round to the gatehouse. Unless those of you who can harness the power of flight wish to make your way back up to the top of the wall that way?”

"What do you hope to learn by studying the eggs?" asks Ialia, more interested in the reason for all of this than following the trail.

As you make your way back to the garrison, Rissa seems wary of you, at least until her natural curiosity begins to get the better of her and she answers Ialia’s question. ”Well, lots of things really. Wyverns have many useful properties. I was reading a book and it mentioned their skin can be used for bookbindings or even armour if it goes through the right process.” She starts ticking other uses off on her fingers. ”Their tail is poisonous - I guess you know that - so that can be collected. And meat, of course. Then the eggs can also be used as components in a lot of magical spells. See, they’re really interesting creatures, and useful. Plus if you don’t study things, how do you know anything? Like how long do they take to hatch? Or what are baby wyverns like? Do they make good pets? I think having one might be cool. And two of you have pets.” she adds, pre-empting any negative comments by pointing out the potential hypocrisy of criticising her desire for a companion creature.

”Are you a wizard? I think maybe this is your familiar?” Rissa asks Ialia. ”You don’t look like one though, I don’t think,” she says to Calen. ”Your owl is beautiful though. And she is definitely one - her magic was very impressive.” The gnome gestures towards Samara, though doesn’t address her directly, finding her somewhat intimidating for the harsh way she had spoken earlier.

At the mention of "Pets," there is an eruption of hissing, squeaks, and shrieks from the large bat perched on Ialia's shoulder. While the rest of you are spared the diatribe, Ialia gets this in her ear:

"Pet?! PET!?! Do I look like a house cat, all fluff and no purpose, interrupting a busy schedule of sleeping all day only to eat and then lick my own ass? I am NOT a pet! This little one says she's not a child but she's got the brains of a six-year-old. A wyvern as a pet! Yes, do give that a try..."

Ialia combs a hand through her hair and gives Basil a swat, sending the curmudgeonly creature spinning into the air. The young witch walks with the group; it is not her habit to expend magical energy unnecessarily.

Cariamma's gentleness toward the gnome causes Ialia to wonder if Rissa is touched in the head. This thought is reinforced when Rissa speaks.

"Yes, well, I suppose it might be cool to have a wyvern pet, as you say. And I am not a wizard, but you're not far off."

To the philosophy lesson, Ialia adds: "A soldier makes a choice to serve. Even a conscript has choice, although his options may be worse. What you're really asking is if it is acceptable to kill one's enemies. If you believe you are on the side of right and they are on the side of wrong and they threaten you, then your enemy must be eliminated. But what if you are a cynic who does not believe in your own cause? Is your enemy truly your enemy?" Ialia considers her own disillusion with Saerloon's hawkish leaders.

"I would be surprised if we did not agree that the Zhentarim represent the former category. Unlike these men that were killed today because of your foolishness, the Zhent represent a threat to all free peoples, and must be dealt with in the most severe terms. While it is generous of Cariamma to suggest a Zhent soldier may not be evil, the cause or dark god they fight for, willingly or not, most certainly is."

K Religion, Eldath: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (10) + 5 = 15

Ialia does not know a lot about the path of Eldath, but it sounds forgiving to a fault, perhaps even at odds with reality. But maybe the world needed a lot more Cariammas.

”Are you a wizard? I think maybe this is your familiar?” Rissa asks Ialia. ”…And she is definitely one - her magic was very impressive.” The gnome gestures towards Samara, though doesn’t address her directly, finding her somewhat intimidating for the harsh way she had spoken earlier.

The cloaked desert woman walks along with the group in silence until the gnome gestures toward her. She replies neutrally, ”No pet, no fam-ill-yar.” For Cariamma, she adds, ”No fly.”

Samara glances at the witch, curious about her somewhat evasive answer and her odd magical skills. Noting her torn clothing, she pipes up. ”You fix? If need, can fix.”

As the group made their way back to the garrison, Calen walked alongside Lunaris, listening quietly while Rissa rambled about wyverns and their uses. When she mentioned the potential of wyverns as pets, he couldn’t help but chuckle softly under his breath.

"You reckon a wyvern’d make a good pet, do ya?" Calen drawled, glancing over at her with an amused smirk. "Can’t say I’d fancy feedin’ one."

Calen’s smirk softened, and he shook his head. "Aye, they’re fascinatin'—no arguin’ that. But they ain’t just dangerous ‘cause of their teeth or their venom. A wyvern ain’t somethin' you can trust. And the moment you think you’ve got one tamed, that’s when it turns on you." He tapped his temple. "That’s a lesson some learn too late, darlin’. Ain’t the same as havin’ a loyal companion or a familiar by your side."

Samara glances at the witch, curious about her somewhat evasive answer and her odd magical skills. Noting her torn clothing, she pipes up. ”You fix? If need, can fix.”

Ialia smiles at Samara's offer. She tries to temper her delight. "If it's no great effort, I would like that. Thank you."

”Is simple.” She mutters a minor phrase of power and makes a stitching motion with her sandblasted hands. Threads along the tears animate and stretch across the gaps, pulling the fabric together and then reweave it. ”Welcome.”

Cast Mending

Meanwhile..
Lord Joreld is directed to Tunfer in hopes to better coordinate the priority injured.

”Is simple.” She mutters a minor phrase of power and makes a stitching motion with her sandblasted hands. Threads along the tears animate and stretch across the gaps, pulling the fabric together and then reweave it. ”Welcome.”

Cast Mending

Although Ialia has always taken pride in her state of dress, and having her clothes torn is embarrassing. She admires Samara's work. "I know the spell, but it's not one I often have need of. That may change if we find ourselves in more scrapes like this."

Samara taps her head, "I has always. You, no need."

Samara frowns, thinking. ”Only know behir name… Big than wyvern, no wings, head horns, blue lizard-dragon.” She makes one hand crawl across her other palm like a spider, ”Six legs.”

Pick devotes some more thought to this description but eventually just shakes his head in the negative once more, though he listens with some interest when the owl's human joins the conversation on them.

He lets the conversation of the others wash over him like white noise as he walks back to the gatehouse. Magic, evil, good, justifications... the world is simpler for him, and he has nothing to contribute to the conversation. Instead his eyes roam the landscape around them, settling on a rocky knoll that is tall enough to be visible from within the town, even with the walls. He should go there tonight, he thinks. It would be respectful.

(A servant at the gatehouse manages to intercept the dwarf before he carries a literally-dripping hunk of meat inside the building, and somewhat insistently offers Pick some cloth to wrap his gruesome bundle in. Equally insistently he indicates that Pick should wash his hands at the animal trough before coming in. The dwarf blankly complies.)

Ialia considers Samara, then says to her in guttural tones,

Barely visible behind Samara’s veil, an eyebrow rises. Her head bobs as she laughs, “इससे चीजें बहुत आसान हो जाएंगी क्योंकि मैं आपकी आम भाषा सीखने की कोशिश कर रहा हूँ। आपसे मिलना और बात करना मेरे लिए खुशी की बात है।”

Ialia's anger over the wyvern attack is forgotten, and truly, what happens to Rissa is none of her business anyway. There was a reason they were summoned and Tunfer and Cariamma were just getting to that before all hell broke loose. Perhaps now was not the time to trade stories with the carelessness of a schoolgirl, but she really couldn't help herself.

The sorceress mulls what to say of her homeland. “मैं आपको दक्षिणी अनाउरोच के बारे में बताऊंगा - तलवार और सैय्यददार के बारे में। यह रेत का एक विशाल सागर है, जिसकी विशाल धीमी गति से चलने वाली लहरें सैकड़ों फीट चौड़ी हैं। रेत का यह सागर सूरज की रोशनी में गर्म और चाँद की रोशनी में कड़ाके की ठंडक देता है। बिखरे हुए द्वीपों की तरह, धरती के छोटे-छोटे मैदान भी हैं, जो सूरज की रोशनी में लोहे की तरह सख्त हो गए हैं। लेकिन बेडिन में कुछ मरूद्यान और वादी भी हैं, जहाँ पानी और छायादार पेड़ पाए जा सकते हैं। सैय्यददार के उत्तर में, रेत से पहाड़ियाँ और फिर ऊँचे पहाड़ों की एक पंक्ति उभरती है।”

She continues, ”चाँद, अँधेरा और ठंड, दयालुता है। रात में अकेले में, आप केवल रेत की फिसलन, हवाओं का चलना और जिन्न की फुसफुसाहट सुनते हैं।”

Back up on the city walls, Tunfer is busy coordinating a lot of things but is able to point Joreld in the direction of the room where the wounded are being treated. ”Thank you, Lord Huntsilver, for your bravery out there. I’m sure the High Mornmaster will appreciate your help here just as much.” He points Joreld to a short, squat man with close-cropped hair and light stubble on his face wearing the white robes of a Lathanderite temple leader. Two acolytes dressed in scarlet are assisting him. At Joreld’s approach, the man greets him with a beaming smile as he picks out the holy symbol of a fellow worshipper of the Morninglord. ”As the sun rises,” he says, clasping Joreld’s hand. ”Harndarr Oryn. This is Esari and Sanimm. The trainee priests bow and offer similarly effusive greetings.

Ialia listens intently to Samara, and thinks for a short time before responding.

Knowledge (religion): 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (4) + 11 = 15
Knowledge (local): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (6) + 8 = 14
Too focused on the task at hand, Joreld misses the finer points of this introduction. Yet, the paladin recognizes Lathlanderan iconography to understand when he's in the presence of a priest. The red warrior removes his helm and shakes the outstretched hand.
"Joreld Huntsilver of Cormyr. How bad are the injuries?" The paladin asks as he unhooks his healer's kit from his backpack.
A Knowledge (nobility) DC 10 should let the priest and acolytes who Joreld is. Diplomacy: 1d20 + 15 ⇒ (16) + 15 = 31

"I like to go boat someday."

The red warrior removes his helm and shakes the outstretched hand. "Joreld Huntsilver of Cormyr. How bad are the injuries?" The paladin asks as he unhooks his healer's kit from his backpack.

”The pleasure is all ours, Saer Huntsilver. And largely not too bad. Aside from those we can do nothing for save to sing them off to a new dawn, there were only a couple of serious injuries. Everything else seems to be little more than superficial.” The priest looks up into Joreld’s face. ”Our thanks go to you - as I hear it your bravery in engaging and dispatching the creatures so quickly meant that considerably less harm was done than might otherwise have been the case.”

As Joreld accompanies Harndarr and helps tend the remaining minor injuries, the priest says, ”You must come and visit the temple at an opportune time. We are blessed to have a trio of Knights of the Aster associated with us. Have you ever considered joining the Order, Lord Huntsilver?” he asks. ”Obviously serving the Morninglord can be done in any many ways as there are sunrises but you would be a worthy addition to the ranks. Lynthaen is the only one present currently but I’m sure he would love to speak with you.”

* * * * *

"Yes, well, I suppose it might be cool to have a wyvern pet, as you say. And I am not a wizard, but you're not far off."

Rissa looks curiously at the bat chittering away and chooses to ignore the sarcasm in Ialia’s voice, instead engaging Calen.

"You reckon a wyvern’d make a good pet, do ya?" Calen drawled, glancing over at her with an amused smirk. "Can’t say I’d fancy feedin’ one."

Calen’s smirk softened, and he shook his head. "Aye, they’re fascinatin'—no arguin’ that. But they ain’t just dangerous ‘cause of their teeth or their venom. A wyvern ain’t somethin' you can trust. And the moment you think you’ve got one tamed, that’s when it turns on you." He tapped his temple. "That’s a lesson some learn too late, darlin’. Ain’t the same as havin’ a loyal companion or a familiar by your side."

”I said a cool pet, not necessarily a good one,” Rissa points out. ”But why not? I know they ride griffons in Waterdeep and surely you’ve heard stories of dragon riders or those who have raised other unusual creatures. Doing it from an egg or when they are young is how they learn who to trust. Why else do dog trainers prefer work with puppies or horse breeders sell the young which are easier to train? The same principle presumably applies - they could be a loyal companion if you raise them as one. Did you raise her from when she hatched?,” she asks. ”I’m sorry,” she apologises to Lunaris, ” I haven’t picked up your name. Or yours for that matter,” she says to Calen.

Walking slightly ahead of the others, silently alongside Pick, Cariamma’s eyebrows rise slightly at Ialia’s starkly binary views on good and evil. I’ve met some crusading holy knights who see things with a greater sense of shades of grey. Not that there aren’t countless folk around the Dale who would attack Zhents on sight, nor can I blame them. And no doubt I thought more that way once upon a time with all the certainty of youth. She stores the information away, trying to build up a sense of this collection of thrown together individuals they are going to be relying on.

The dwarf she at least understands somewhat, knowing that he lives off the land and follows the laws of nature. But even that broad concept covers a swathe of different beliefs and tenets - a follower of Chauntea would look to cultivate the land to best serve its tenders, bringing her into opposition with the destructive nature of worshippers of Talos and potentially upsetting the balance favoured by Silvanus too. Her own faith is different yet again, trying to walk a path of pacifism and tending quiet places that would be anathema to hunters of Malar the Beastlord. Strangely, in this case they would probably have seen the situation as unfolding as it should have done according to nature: the men killed by the wyverns were weak and the wyverns were slain in turn by stronger predators and that is all that matters.

Cariamma sighs silently, a flood of weariness washing over her. How she would dearly love a few days to just get away into the woods with Glanwyn and swim. Glan. She pushes aside her worries and refocuses her attention on the matter at hand as they reconvene back at the garrison.

* * * * *

Tunfer is already present in the meeting room you had hastily abandoned previously. Rissa looks uncertain as to whether she should be here, though the Tyrran answers the unasked question with a simple command of ”Stay,” punctuated with a heavy subtext of “where I can keep an eye - or ideally two - on you”.

”You may be of some use here, Rissa, though this does not absolve you of responsibility or atonement for the grave mistake you have made,” he says sternly. ”Equally, Tyr weighs all. One poor lapse of judgement, however grievous the consequences, does not undo good deeds that you have done. We are none of us perfect, we simply strive to follow better courses of action that our individual ledgers may be judged accordingly in the end.” This last comment seems addressed to everyone present and has the polished air of a regularly delivered sermon.

”You have our thanks,” he says to the group. ”Your skill with arms and magic prevented a bad situation from unfolding into something considerably worse. All wounds have been treated - thank you again, Lord Huntsilver, the High Mornmaster was grateful for your aid. And the town cellars will be boosted by a welcome supply of wyvern meat once that which we cannot immediately sell has been treated for long-term storage."

”But we should return to the business of our missing scout. We covered what we know of Glanwyn’s movements and some potential hazards of the region. I believe there is more we should discuss regarding the lay of the land but do you have any further questions at this point?” asks Tunfer.

”The pleasure is all ours, Saer Huntsilver. And largely not too bad. Aside from those we can do nothing for save to sing them off to a new dawn, there were only a couple of serious injuries. Everything else seems to be little more than superficial.” The priest looks up into Joreld’s face. ”Our thanks go to you - as I hear it your bravery in engaging and dispatching the creatures so quickly meant that considerably less harm was done than might otherwise have been the case.”

Jareld nods. ”Let us see to the serious injuries.”

As Joreld accompanies Harndarr and helps tend the remaining minor injuries, the priest says, ”You must come and visit the temple at an opportune time. We are blessed to have a trio of Knights of the Aster associated with us. Have you ever considered joining the Order, Lord Huntsilver?” he asks. ”Obviously serving the Morninglord can be done in any many ways as there are sunrises but you would be a worthy addition to the ranks. Lynthaen is the only one present currently but I’m sure he would love to speak with you.”

Knowledge (religion): 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (8) + 11 = 19

Tunfer is already present in the meeting room you had hastily abandoned previously. Rissa looks uncertain as to whether she should be here, though the Tyrran answers the unasked question with a simple command of ”Stay,” punctuated with a heavy subtext of “where I can keep an eye - or ideally two - on you”.

”You may be of some use here, Rissa, though this does not absolve you of responsibility or atonement for the grave mistake you have made,” he says sternly. ”Equally, Tyr weighs all. One poor lapse of judgement, however grievous the consequences, does not undo good deeds that you have done. We are none of us perfect, we simply strive to follow better courses of action that our individual ledgers may be judged accordingly in the end.” This last comment seems addressed to everyone present and has the polished air of a regularly delivered sermon.
”You have our thanks,” he says to the group. ”Your skill with arms and magic prevented a bad situation from unfolding into something considerably worse. All wounds have been treated - thank you again, Lord Huntsilver, the High Mornmaster was grateful for your aid. And the town cellars will be boosted by a welcome supply of wyvern meat once that which we cannot immediately sell has been treated for long-term storage."

The Lathanderite paladin sits down a little more heavier than he likely intended. Joreld was pleased The Morninglord was able to work through him to help save the health and well-being of the injured. With his Lay on Hands fully expended, the cormyran knight felt empty, maybe a little hollow. Ever wishing to portray humility, Joreld simply nods to the acknowledgment.

Calen chuckled, a deep, warm sound as he glanced down at Rissa. "A cool pet, huh? Fair enough." He nodded, tipping his hat back slightly. "But wyverns ain’t exactly like dogs or horses. There’s more wild in 'em, more... untamable. Still, I’ll give you this—you’ve got guts, Rissa."

Lunaris hooted softly, ruffling her feathers as Calen reached up to scratch the side of her neck. "Her name’s Lunaris," he said, gesturing to the giant owl. "And no, I didn’t raise her from an egg. Found her, or maybe she found me. Don’t rightly know. Woke up in a forest one night, moon shinin' down, and there she was, watchin’ me like I was meant to be there."

He paused, giving the owl a soft smile. "Ever since, we’ve been partners. Ain’t no trainin' needed—more like we just understand each other."

Turning back to Rissa, his eyes softened a bit. "Names Calen, by the way. As for trainin’ a wyvern... Well, I wish you luck if you ever get to try. Just be careful it don’t decide you’re dinner one day."

---------

With Tunfer and the others, "Well, I think there isn't much else to ask. We know the area to search, the dangers t'keep an eye out for. At this point, we just need to decide if we are setting out immediately or first thing in the morning,"

"Though my own healing abilities are spent", the red warrior answered, "it may be unlikely we will need them before tomorrow, if we were to leave immediately. I understand that Labelas Enoreth is of the Essence to seek out Glanwyth."

Trying to encourage the Abbot onward, Samara says, "No questions. Speak more."

Ialia is blissfully unaware of Cariamma's judgemental obsession with her, and that is fortunate. The witch might have recoiled, wondering how it was the Dalelander could have been so easily offended by her words, and she would likely have suggested that the fastest way to meet one's deity was to pause to consider the personal motivations of the Bane cultist kicking in one's door. Of course, Bane had been vanquished...

Having bonded with Samara, Ialia feels a sense of relief. She knew she was pretty, but her tongue often set her back when making new acquaintances. She wondered what might happen if she were to be silent, like a doll. What if she stopped trying so hard to impress people? Reflecting on Samara, the conversation had simply happened. Something to learn from.

"Was there a map in the offer?" she asks Tunfer when he pauses for questions. "And supplies; horses, at least, for those of us that prefer to ride."

K Religion: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (13) + 5 = 18

Joereld's insistence on speaking regularly of deities would be hard for her to follow, but at least for now she got the gist of his concerns.

Back in the briefing room, Pick resumes his posture of crouched on his haunches in a corner. He listens to the discussion in silence until the matter of possibly acquiring mounts is brought up.

"Horses make it faster," he admits. "But also must carry food for them. You all want horses?

"Supplies take time. Supplies for you, supplies for horses. Start in morning is better if you want to... shop." A slight pause as if he were trying to remember that specific word.

He falls silent after that, looking to Tunfer to continue whatever elaborations he has in mind.

The paladin nods to himself. The dwarf is making many good points.
"I do have a horse. Whether is carries myself or supplies or another search party member, he will be available."
Joreld looks around the room at the others. Noticing Ialia's garments have been mended, he nods.

Ialia is a little surprised that something as obvious as transportation has not already been arranged for the group, given the need for expediency. When Pick shares his concerns she decides that these type of logistics are not her strength. Better to defer to others.

"I would sit with you, Joreld, if securing and caring for additional animals would interfere with the task at hand."

Joreld couldn't help but let out a little smile. "I don't think Sunrise would mind."

"The Order of the Aster!" Joreld says with surprise. "I've always.." But then the paladin quiets himself. "It would be an honor to become a member of that elite Lathanderite force... But I am a Huntsilver. I have many family obligations awaiting me on my return to Suzail." Joreld smiled. ”Perhaps I can speak with Lynthaen tomorrow, after Sunrise Mass.”

Harndarr returns the smile. ”You would be most welcome. I am sure he would relish the opportunity. Until the morrow then.”

* * * * *

"Was there a map in the offer?" she asks Tunfer when he pauses for questions. "And supplies; horses, at least, for those of us that prefer to ride."

”To your second point first,” Tunfer says to Ialia, ”we can certainly provide you with mounts. I did not to wish to presume any preference or skill with a horse on anybody’s part but if you desire it then it shall be so.”

"Though my own healing abilities are spent", the red warrior answered, "it may be unlikely we will need them before tomorrow, if we were to leave immediately. I understand that Labelas Enoreth is of the Essence to seek out Glanwyn."

”I would gently suggest that you ensure you are fully prepared before you leave,” Cariamma says. ”Options to resupply elsewhere will be few. A lot of these villages are scarcely more than a handful of farms. It would be fair to say these places will be quite different to Suzail or Selgaunt.” She looks from Joreld to Ialia as the big city dwellers. ”I beg forgiveness, the fault is surely mine, but I am unsure why you are invoking one of the Seldarine, Lord Huntsilver? Please could you elaborate.”

”We had been discussing the lay of the land previously - I believe we covered the rough area we believe Glanwyn was likely in.” Tunfer beckons you all over to a large and detailed map of the Dale spread out on the table. "We know he took the Tethyamar Trail down south and stopped through the three villages here.” The priest points to a trio of places marked Anathar’s Dell, Nettle and Upper Nettle.

”That was the last we heard from him,” Cariamma confirms. ”We assume he was somewhere between the Dagger and the Tesh.” She picks out the two rivers running broadly in an east-west direction. ”He would have planned to call in on these two villages - Dagger Springs and Goldfields. Unlike some of the villages, the Zhentarim drove out or slew the whole population when they conquered the Dale. Both have been resettled and are recovering slowly. Stonehouse,” she points to another spot on the map, ”was abandoned decades ago when the quarry ran out.”

”It’s regularly occupied by orcs, goblins, sometimes bandits,” Tunfer says. ”At least until some enterprising group kicks them out and then another band of greenskins moves in and the cycle begins anew. Glanwyn would have gone to scout out it’s current occupants but he’s no fool and would not have engaged unless he was extremely confident he could remove any threat himself. Even then, it’s a big risk when travelling solo so seems unlikely.”

Cariamma nods in agreement, though worry lines crease her face as she does so. ”He would have given this place a wide berth and I would ask you to as well.” She points to Gwathburg on the map. ”It is ruled by some kind of army of undead, or so the stories say, but they have always kept themselves to themselves so travellers just steer clear. I'm sure he would have stayed away. Unless there was something out of the ordinary. No, I just can’t see any reason why Glan would break that. But what if–”

”Stop equivocating, Cariamma,” Tunfer interjects. The tone is firm but there is a kindness to it as well. ”Glanwyn is one of the most patient, least hot-headed people I’ve ever met. We’ve just agreed that it’s unlikely he would launch a solo attack on a bunch of goblins. He’s not going to single-handedly march into a castle full of the living dead.”

”He’s right,” Rissa agrees, looking over at Cariamma with large sympathetic eyes. The gnome is stood on a chair next to the table and has been surprisingly quiet for a while. ”It’s got some interesting history though - Gwathburg, that is. It’s the reason why Daggerdale is called Daggerdale. Would you believe that it used to be called Merrydale? Well, it did until a large number of vampires originating from the castle spread across the Dale and people decided that such a cheerful name didn’t seem very appropriate any more. Which is fair enough really. I can’t find out anything about Gwath though.” Rissa looks disappointed. ”You’d think that there would be more stories if you’ve given your name to a place but I’ve struggled to find anything. I think they must have been some kind of undead though given what we do know about it. A vampire is likely, obviously, because of what I just said. But they might have been a lich or something else too.”

”Thank you for that history lesson, Rissa,” Tunfer cuts her off as the gnome seems to be getting into her stride. ”Whatever lives there, I am not aware of any conflict or even involvement with anyone outside the walls of Gwathburg in decades. According to Zhent records we found here they mounted an expedition there many years ago but apparently it vanished without trace. They never tried again. But nor did they believe that they suffered any reprisals.” The Tyrran priest does not look as if he particularly enjoys the idea of having those kind of neighbours but he continues, ”Frankly we have more than enough other issues as it is. Glanwyn would not have gone anywhere near that castle and I am not willing to sanction a fool’s errand which risks stirring up something powerful and unknown.”

”The other place I would ask you to avoid is Green Orb. Glanwyn passed by going down the Trail anyway, but it’s politically sensitive. It’s a fairly wealthy place and a lot of the villagers have sympathies with the Zhentarim still. They don’t much care for outsiders. Make no mistake, it’s a thorn in the foot but we’re dealing with it.” Tunfer looks pointedly at you all to ensure that you have received the message.

”I think that covers the western Dale,” Cariamma says. ”And while that is a special case, it’s not just the people of Green Orb who may be wary. Dalesfolk are a resilient lot but many of these people are still getting used to freedom after either fighting hard for it or suffering under the Zhent yoke for a long time. I would caution you to be mindful of this and use sensitivity and care.”

”I appreciate that was a lot of information to absorb. Any questions?” Tunfer asks.

Joreld Huntsilver wrote:

"Though my own healing abilities are spent", the red warrior answered, "it may be unlikely we will need them before tomorrow, if we were to leave immediately. I understand that Labelas Enoreth is of the Essence to seek out Glanwyn."

”I would gently suggest that you ensure you are fully prepared before you leave,” Cariamma says. ”Options to resupply elsewhere will be few. A lot of these villages are scarcely more than a handful of farms. It would be fair to say these places will be quite different to Suzail or Selgaunt.” She looks from Joreld to Ialia as the big city dwellers. ”I beg forgiveness, the fault is surely mine, but I am unsure why you are invoking one of the Seldarine, Lord Huntsilver? Please could you elaborate.”

Joreld shrank slightly. "Well.. Labelas Enoreth is the elven god of Time. Therefore. Time Is Of The Essense. A little religious wordplay."

Cariamma colours slightly, wiping her brow with her hand. "Ah, of course. Forgive me, Lord Huntsilver. I'm tired and I should have realised what you meant."

Cariamma colours slightly, wiping her brow with her hand. "Ah, of course. Forgive me, Lord Huntsilver. I'm tired and I should have realised what you meant."

"It's been quite a day already. Once the heat of battle wears off one cannot help but feel drained," says Ialia, throwing Cariamma a bone.

"Thank you for the detailed information. Your knowledge of your lands is very helpful. I have dealt with vampires; they see us as cattle and hunt us for sport, no different from a mountain lion. But they are far from mindless killers and can sometimes be bargained with. It all depends on the state of the coven. I would not choose to encounter them in their territory but if that is where the trail leads..." She can't hide a shiver running down her spine at the memory of her dangerous interactions with the Crimson Shadow. How stupid she was. And lucky.

"Remind me, what did you say was Glanwyn's likely motivation for traveling to these dangerous areas? Merely scouting?"

Calen leans over the map, his fingers tracing the paths between the rivers and villages. With his usual slow, Southern drawl, he speaks up, eyes scanning the layout.

"I don’t have any questions 'bout Glanwyn’s path just yet, but Gwathburg... a place like that don’t stay quiet without reason. I know there ain't been any conflict in years, but places with a history like that tend to carry a shadow long after folks stop talkin’ 'bout ‘em. You hear of any strange happenings around those parts? Bad weather, crops dyin’, travelers goin’ missin’? Even if Glan didn’t go near it, might not hurt to know if that place has been stirrin’ in the dark."

He pauses, glancing at Cariamma, then at Tunfer. "As for the folk ‘round here, we’ll tread light. People carry scars long after the fight’s over, and we sure ain’t here to stir any trouble. We’ll approach with respect, not force."

There were a lot of words spoken that Samara doesn’t know, so she restates her understanding to keep it clear in her mind. She stabs a finger at Green Orb, Gwathburg, then Stonehome. ”We no go, unless need.”

She points to the section of trail between Nettle and Dagger Springs. ”Might be here, yes? South of river.” The Bedine looks at the map closely and runs her finger along the road between Dagger Springs, past Gwathburg, toward Goldfields. ”As well, from Springs to Goldfields… would he go road or take straight?”

”My apologies, Miss Frostmoon. I doubt not your courage, you have already amply demonstrated that. When I referred to a history lesson, the events Rissa spoke of occurred over five hundred years ago,” Tunfer says. ”And while I take your point, Mister Derethor, that is a very long time to remain essentially silent. As I say, folks tend to avoid the place for obvious reasons, though truth be told there has been none of what you ask about to my knowledge. The Zhent expedition that I mentioned vanished but if any other travellers have gone missing then it has gone either unnoticed or unreported.”

”Don’t misunderstand me, I don’t like it but there’s no evidence of any harm to anyone or anything. It is alway going to have a fell reputation for its part in Daggerdale’s history. Lord Morn once described looking at its forbidding walls you get the sense that it is a place that could do you harm if it chose to. I would not have put it that way myself but I understand exactly what he meant.” He wipes his hand on his brow. ”Who inhabits it, what they are doing or what they want, who can say? Beyond knowing Tyr judges all I am not in a position to guess. But I’m not looking to risk stirring up trouble without good reason for the same reason I wouldn’t poke a wasps’ nest with a stick just to determine whether there were any inside.”

”We appreciate your understanding of the situation,” adds Cariamma. ”Samara. I think it’s probable he crossed the Dagger but I don’t know for certain. To your point, Ialia, yes, checking in and getting the measure of what is happening in the communities across the Dale as well as looking beyond them for any threats or other activity. Generally he sticks to the trails - though the Tethyamar Trail is the only real road through most of the Dale - but he’s comfortable enough with the land to move away from them if he had reason to do so.”

Samara nods, "OK. I like to horse travel. Thanks. Go when others ready." She looks at Cariamma. "After meet. We talk private for one minute, please?"