Oakhurst, 1st of Readying (February) 576 CY (Common Year)
The village of Oakhurst clings to the edge of civilization - just a scattering of weathered buildings nestled near the lifeless border of the Ashen Plain. Not far to the north, the land breaks open into a narrow gorge: a jagged ravine avoided by farmers and spoken of in hushed tones by travelers.
Rumors speak of a fortress sunken into the earth - its name mostly forgotten save for one whispered phrase: the Sunless Citadel. Some say goblins dwell there, emerging to raid the countryside. Others speak of older, darker things buried beneath the stone. Whatever the truth, few who venture into the ravine are ever seen again.
And yet, each midsummer, something strange occurs. Goblins appear at the edge of town, offering a single fruit - twisted and pale, yet said to hold miraculous healing power. No one knows where it grows. No one dares follow them back.
But now, Oakhurst faces a deeper worry.
Two young adventurers - Talgen and Sharwyn Hucrele, promising scions of the town’s wealthiest merchant family - descended into the ravine weeks ago, chasing stories of old ruins and darker things. They have not returned.
Their aunt, Kerowyn Hucrele, has been their guardian since a bitter winter three years past, when pneumonia took both of their parents within the span of a month. A woman of discipline and quiet pride, Kerowyn wears her grief like armor - wrapped in tailored silks, her silver-streaked hair pulled tight, her eyes keen and unflinching behind a veil of composure.
She received you in the Hucrele estate, beneath high-beamed ceilings and shelves lined with trade ledgers and heirlooms. There, amid the trappings of a once-proud household, she laid out her terms - "They are all I have left" - she said, her voice taut with restraint - "If they yet live, bring them home. If they do not… bring me their signet rings, and I will see they are properly mourned"
Her offer is precise: 125 gold pieces for each ring recovered, per adventurer. Should you return Talgen and Sharwyn alive, and in sound mind and body, she promises to double the reward. Whatever else lies buried in that place - gold, relics, forgotten sorceries - is yours to keep. She claims only her kin.
The door to the Hucrele home closes behind you with a quiet finality. Kerowyn’s offer still lingers in your mind - coin, salvage rights, and a plea for answers. Around you, Oakhurst carries on in wary silence: a smith’s hammer ringing in the distance, a breeze stirring dust along the village lane.
Whether drawn by gold, duty, or motives of your own, your road ends - for now - at this anxious little village. North of Oakhurst, past the last fields and thickets, a crumbling path leads to the ravine - an old wound in the earth where the Sunless Citadel is said to lie. You know the way, but perhaps the barkeep at the Ol’ Boar Inn has heard the latest rumors. Perhaps the locals will speak, if you ask the right questions. Or maybe it’s best to set off at once and waste no time.
The decision - and the day - are yours. Where will you go?
Temerith listened to the offer carefully. So two kids that fancied themselves as adventurers were missing? Possibly fell in the ravine, but maybe attacked and killed by some predators. Either way, they just need to find them or their bodies for a nice reward. And any 'spoils' found were fair game.
"Might be worth a short stop at the inn to get the local lore of the ravine, and whatever the 'Sunless Citadel' might be. Being a Bard I understand the usual exaggeration of tales by locals. But most stories have a grain of truth behind them."
"Not too much time though. Don't want to be climbing in the dark!"
A chance to look for my mother and someone paying me to do it! I can't turn that down. Silvash nods to Kerowyn and says "I'm in!" probably a bit too energetically.
Having wandered into Oakhurst from along path of least resistance a few days hence, and with no desire other than to likely leave again the same way, Nee is no stranger to the vagaries of the road. And the road has a habit of swallowing folk, especially young, brash folk.
Being happy to assist, and with the addition of a possible reward whatever the discovery, it all seems like a proposition that would be foolish for a currently otherwise unemployed person to ignore. And, hopefully, she can put more distance between herself and any…pursuers.
It seems the halfling and the elf are of a similar mind with regard to employment. Nee scrunches one eye, frowns a little and nods.
”I’m in.”
Turning to Temerith, Nee nods again. ”Old tales may still hold true. I’ll join you.”
And cast an eye over the locals and those more…recently localised…
"I hope they're still alive!" Lanliss admits, "But I'm glad that Madam Hucrele seems prepared for the worst.
"Let's go to the inn and see what information we can glean before we head to the gorge, but I agree that we shouldn't take long before leaving."
Dorian had come to Oakhurst following rumors of ruins to explore nearby. This Sunless Citadel, May be what that rumor talked about. Regardless if it was or wasn't the take of two missing human youths tugged at his heart. He laid a hand on his Warhammer at his belt. Adjusted his shield as he went out the door.
Standing on the street behind, two elves, a halfling and a human he ran his hand down the long beard he had braided and placed a beard ring around to hold it in place during a fight.
Nodding he said Aye. Pay is good. Truth is I'd likely 'Ave done it for nuttin. But let's go to the inn. After, any Smith up and working this early might be of the folk we can stop in there as well. Maybe he knows em. Sold em gear.
Temerith walks beside the dwarf as they head to the inn. "Good point, but maybe not. They came from money. Family might have had plenty of equipment for them to train with while they were growing up. I'm wondering who else went with them."
"We could split up, Dorian. You and I visit the smith, since that's a good idea."
Jacq listens to the assembled group make plans. Like the others, she'd agreed to Kerowyn's offer. She'd just gotten to Oakhurst having served as guide on a merchant caravan; the caravan leader referred Jacq to Kerowyn for additional work, but she hadn't thought it'd be so personal. Still, dumb kids in trouble? Why not help out?
She didn't know most of the folks in the group well, but anyone in the party who had arrived in Oakhurst recently were either likely to have traveled with the caravan or run into it, and thus would recognize the sturdy-looking woman in the fedora who had been taking point on the road. She chews on a licorice root (the actual plant, not the candy) thoughtfully.
"Well I'm definitely bound for the inn. Information's a good thing; getting a drink before getting lost in the wilderness is another."
Dorian looked around at the assemblage that had answered the Lady's call.
The Guide had been in the caravan hed travelled with. She seemed capable and knew the lay of the land.
Lanliss hed met on the trail and shared a cup or two with. For an Elf he was alright. Plus he was a priest. Healing on a mission was always a good thing.
The Halfling was a minstrel, by the instrument he carried, aways good to keep the spirits up...and they always seemed to know things when needed.
The Human Maiden, he knew nothing of. Unarmored, javelin only. But stayed on the balls of her feet, hands always steady and ready. By her walk youd think warrior like himself. but no armor maid him question that. Time would tell about her.
Then The other Elf, he it was easy to see was a Troubleshooter. By his weapons, way he glanced about, They might need someone to pick a lock or disarm a trap here or there.
It was shaping up to be good. Aye then. Lanliss and I will head to the Smith then. By the By. Names Dorian, if ya didna know. After we'll come to the Inn and save ya from yur cups.
Niamhaoife returns the dwarf’s consideration with a cheeky nod, clearly fine with being assessed and categorised.
”Nee-ahv-eefa, but Nee will do. Well met Dorian. I’ll buy the first round, and save one for you. Helps that I don’t touch liquor - you can drink for both of us!”
With her introduction made, Nee heads to the inn.
"Name on the caravan pass is Jacquelin Serra. Just call me Jacq."
"I'm Lanliss!"
Lanliss waves at everyone!
Lanliss & Dorian – The Smithy
As the rest of the party drifts toward the Ol' Boar Inn, Lanliss and Dorian peel off west along the gently rutted lane, boots thudding on firm, cold-packed earth. Oakhurst isn’t sprawling - perhaps a dozen cross streets and a scattering of buildings - but it’s well-kept and lived-in. Freshly chopped wood leans under eaves, and here and there children run bundled in wool, chasing each other past frost-dappled barrels and bare apple trees.
The air carries the scent of hearth smoke, animal dung, and cured pine. Behind the low fog of chimney steam, the slope of the land can be glimpsed rolling away northward toward the ravine. Blackbirds scold from roof peaks, and somewhere, a dog barks insistently.
Ahead, the rhythmic clang of metal on metal guides them toward the smithy. A squat stone building with a soot-streaked roof and a sloping lean-to forge welcomes them. A hammer strikes again, sparking firelight through the open front. The heat of the forge cuts the chill like a hearth opened to the road.
A squat, muscular dwarf with braided auburn beard and thick, soot-smeared arms looks up from his anvil, pausing mid-swing. Leather cords tie back the sleeves of his scorched tunic, and a heavy apron shields him from flying sparks. Soot-blackened goggles are pushed up onto his brow. He eyes you warily beneath bushy brows, expression curious but reserved.
Nee, Jacq, Silvash, Temerith – The Ol’ Boar Inn
The clang of metal fades behind you as the blacksmith's forge disappears from view. The road winds between simple wooden homes, their shutters drawn against the cold. Snow clings to the thatched roofline, and the gardens lie dormant beneath a thin crust of frost. A few chickens huddle near coop doors, scratching half-heartedly at the frozen ground. No laundry stirs on the lines - just empty cords strung stiff between poles, creaking quietly in the morning breeze. Villagers glance up from their chores - watchful, but not unfriendly - offering brief nods or curious stares before returning to their tasks.
As the village center comes into view, you spot a weathered wooden sign swaying above a broad oak-framed building. A boar’s head, carved in bold relief and painted in faded red, hangs prominently from an iron bracket. The structure is sturdy and well-kept, its shingled roof dark with age but intact, the walls built from thick, seasoned timbers. A pair of lanterns flank the doorway, unlit in the cold morning light.
A pair of wooden benches rest under the wide eaves, still damp with morning dew, and a sleepy hound lifts its head to watch as you draw near. From within, the muffled clatter of dishes and low hum of voices hint at life beginning to stir inside. The smell of baking bread and smoked pork drifts out through a cracked shutter, mingling with the crisp, woodsmoke-tinged air.
A signboard above the entrance proclaims the building’s name in flaking paint: The Ol' Boar Inn.
Temerith leads the group into the inn, glancing around the room. He isn't expecting a lot of people this time of day, but maybe a couple folk here for breakfast?
"Greetings. Would there be enough food available for a hungry halfling and friends to have a breakfast? And a bit of conversation as we are new to your friendly town?"
He continues in looking for a good table unless directed to a specific location.
Dorian raises a hand in a friendly gesture to the smith and whispered to Lanliss What'd I tell ya. Cans I tell the hammer rythym of the folk or cans I
With a smile he says Aye to the smith. Names Dorian Gravendak, of Clan Hammersmith. Was hopin to bend yur ear for a few if thats ok.
Jacq offers her hand to the sleepy hound to sniff, and if it seems he assents, gives it a good pat on the head before entering.
And there, she breathes deep as they cross the threshold. What is it about the scent of bread baking that feeds the soul?
She doesn't immediately go to chat with anyone, but orders small beer (low alcohol content suitable for breakfast) and some of that bread and just takes in the overall details of the room and the villagers within. Do they keep to themselves, are they friendly with strangers? Do they seem poorer, middle class, or upperclass, or a good mix? Mostly human or many races? What are they generally talking about? Are they mentioning the missing kids?
Silvash enters the Inn and waves to whomever is serving. He makes his way through the room making small talk. Asking about family or how injuries or illness are being recovered from. Once he has greeted everyone he says "We have been asked by Ms. Hucrele to go find her kin down in the Ravine. In order to stand the best chance of finding them alive we'd like to know any information anybody has about the Ravine or them. We need to bring our townfolk back or bring closure to Ms. Hucrele. Anybody know anything?"
-- The Ol’ Boar Inn --
Temerith’s bright greeting cuts through the tavern’s sleepy hush. Behind the bar, a stout, balding man with thick forearms and a red-veined nose looks up from his endless task of polishing mugs. His apron bears fresh flour stains, and the scent of bread, smoke, and ale follows him like a second skin.
"Morning, sir halfling," he grumbles - tone rough but not unkind. "Always room for folk with manners - and coin. If it’s breakfast you're after, you’re just in time. Pull up a chair, warm yourself - no sense starting the day hungry."
He waves a hand toward a long trestle table near the hearth. "Bread’s fresh, cider’s cold. Stew’s got some bite, but it’ll put strength in your bones."
As Jacq follows, the old hound outside gives her hand a tired sniff, then thumps his tail twice in quiet approval. Inside, the inn is calm. A few early patrons linger - two elderly men with pipes, a woman frowning over a ledger, and a young farmhand staring into his porridge. Their talk is muted: frostbitten crops, stubborn goats, repairs due before the snow hits, and something about cattle herded too far afield turning up dead.
Silvash makes a circuit through the room, offering greetings and asking after news, but his earnestness seems to stiffen the locals. Smiles falter. A few nod politely, but most don’t linger on his questions. When he mentions the Hucreles and the ravine, one man rises abruptly, murmuring - "’Scuse me" - and takes his drink out to the porch. No one speaks up.
-- The Smithy --
At the clang of metal and rising steam, Dorian calls out to the smith. The dwarf - broad and barrel-chested - glances up with narrowed eyes, sizing him quickly. His thick arms glisten with sweat, and soot clings to his leather apron.
"Hammersmith, is it?" - he grunts, adjusting the iron in his tongs. For a moment, it seems he might smile - but he just exhales sharply and shakes his head.
"No time for clan tales today. Orders to fill and not enough hours" - he nods toward the forge, glowing red behind him - "If you’ve coin and need something fixed, speak up. Otherwise, save it for the taproom"
With that, he returns to his work, hammer striking in time once more - the ringing rhythm filling the smithy.
Temerith pulls out a chair and seats himself. "Of course good sir. The bread smells wonderful and the pork I smelled on the way in.... Wonderful. Would that be the stew? Sounds like just the meal I'd want before heading out to take a look in the ravine. And of course I've coin to pay. How much for...." He glances around at the guys that followed him in. "that'll be the four of us? Not sure how hungry the others are, but I'm always ready for a good meal."
"And I'll have a small mug of cider, and some butter for the bread. How much?" He pulls out a couple gold coins.
Dorian nods at the Dwarf and says simply Understood good smith. Are ya friendly with the Hucreles? The youngsters have disappeared. The Lady thinks they went ta ...The Sunless Citadel...I think she called it. The Ravine. Thought Id ask one of blood for yur thoughts.
Lanliss suppresses his usual easy smile. He doesn't like to stereotype, but in his experience, dwarves that he's just met respond better to a serious expression rather than an overly friendly expression. He offers a nod in greeting, but he's otherwise happy to let Dorian talk to his fellow dwarf for now.
The Boar’s Head
Once inside, Nee mentally shakes off the dust of the road, and settles into the place. She watches as Silvash works the room, and also notices the man who leaves to finish his drink outside. As the halfling makes nice with the barkeep, Nee approaches the bar, and puts her hand on Temerith’s, making his hand cover his coins.
”Save your coin. I told Dorian I’ve got the first round. Order away, I’ll pay. Same for the rest of you. ” And someone order for Dorian and Lanliss!”
Flashing a wink to the bartender, sits and stretches her neck a little. She then throws her head toward the door, indicating the man who walked out.
”Not a friend of the Hucrele’s, or just likes to finish his drink in peace?”
Silvash sits down to eat with the rest of the group but says nothing. They are grumpy this morning in here. I wouldn't be surprised at that sort of reaction to those new in town but they all know me. I've grown up with their parents and them and their grand kids.
Jacq watches the interchange between Silvash and his fellow townsfolk. "Now that's odd," she says overly loudly, ostensibly addressing the people she walked into but intending to be heard by those sitting around her. "Most small towns I been to, I expect'em to be leery of outsiders like me. S'normal. Strangers are strangers. But they always look after their own. I heard the elf is a local, but his neighbors give him the cold shoulder. Whaddya reckon, should I tell folks on the caravan trail Oakhurst don't look after their own?"
She is also sure to take in the appearance of the person who left the room.
-- The Smithy --
The dwarf pauses mid-swing again, the hammer lowering with a faint hiss as it cools near the anvil. His brow furrows deeper.
"Look, lad, I know ye mean well - but I said already, I’m not much for chit-chat. I know of the Hucreles, sure, but we’re not friends. Not close" - he eyes Dorian, then Lanliss, giving a slow shake of his head - "If you’re headed to them ruins..."- his gaze lingers, sizing them up - "...You’ll be wantin’ more hands than that. That place has a habit of not givin’ folk back"
Without waiting for a reply, he turns and hefts the hammer once more, the ringing of steel on steel resuming with finality.
-- The Ol’ Boar Inn --
The innkeeper returns a few moments later, setting down a wooden tray with practiced ease. Upon it are thick slices of dark-crusted bread still warm from the oven, a crock of butter, bowls of pork-and-root stew with a generous aroma of garlic and thyme, and small mugs of chilled, slightly cloudy apple cider that bite with a bit of tang.
"Four breakfasts, that’ll be six silver" - he mutters, wiping his hands on the flour-dusted apron. He eyes the gold coins in Temerith’s hand but nods toward Nee with a grunt of acknowledgment when she covers the cost, scooping up the silver.
The room settles again into quiet, broken only by the occasional clink of spoon or creak of chair. Goran, the innkeeper, leans one elbow on the bar as he addresses the small party more directly.
"Folk around here" - he begins, his voice low and even - "Ain’t cold, not by nature. But they’ve got their ways. You walk in askin’ questions, pokin’ about the Hucreles or the ravine, well…" - he tilts his head toward the man who’d stepped outside - "Some’ll take it fine, some’ll not. They don’t mean harm by it. Just - some things around here don’t sit easy"
His gaze flicks to Silvash, then to Jacq - "You come in strong, sometimes folk clam up. Ain’t always about what you say - sometimes it’s how. Tact helps. Diplomacy, too, if you’ve got it. Some do, some don’t. That’s just how people are" - His eyes narrow a touch, voice cooling slightly.
"And as for what folks say on the caravan trail" - he adds, meeting Jacq’s gaze levelly - "You can say what you like. Ain’t no law against speakin’ your mind. But people got their reasons for how they live - and that deserves some respect, too, don’t it? Last I checked, no one’s forced to speak if they don’t feel like it. Sometimes, silence is just a choice - not a slight"
He straightens up, glancing briefly toward the door.
"Now then, the missing lot... That’d be Talgen and Sharwyn Hucrele, brother and sister. Karakas, the tracker, and that knight - Sir Braford, from out east. Paladin of Pelor. Weren’t local, but he had that gleaming blade - Shatterspike, they called it. Looked like it could cleave iron. They left near two weeks back, headed for the ravine. No one’s seen them since"
He exhales slowly, looking toward the hearth - "That ravine… it’s not right. Always had a feel to it. And now this"
A beat of silence follows, broken only by the sound of stew being stirred and cider being sipped.
Temerith listens to the inn keeper's words while he gathers a piece of the bread and smears some butter on it. Fresh baked bread with good butter is always a treat so he takes a large bite (for a halfling....). He dips the bread in the stew for his second bite and enjoys the mix of flavors. "MMmmm.... Thank you Good Sir. I'm Temerith. The others can introduce themselves how they want. This is a really good breakfast!"
"You've got it right about people. I'm a bard. Anyone trying to entertain knows that you have to start quiet and 'read the room' unless you want to be tossed out with the trash for speaking ill without knowing what the ill was." He takes a drink of the cider and glances at the others. "You make an excellent meal, guys, dig in. Never know when the next good meal will be!"
"It sounds like you've got a ghost story in this town. We'd only been told of two missing kids. Thought they might have gone and taken a fall or something. Would there be someone here that could tell the whole tale, and some history of the ravine? If knowing might save us from the same fate as that group, well that'd be worth a couple gold at least." He places the two gold coins on the table and smiles at Goran.
Nee does not spot any signs of anything which might be associated to the Scarlet Brotherhood. For now...
Dorian had a sad look on his face at being rebuffed by the Smith.
right then. Let's be off Lanliss. The others are awaitin. Just thought one of da folk would be carin more for the fate of others like the Soul Forger teaches. But it looks like he's forgotten our ways.. be well Smith. I'll set a stone on.da altar for ya.
And with that Dorisn turns to head back to the Inn.
Dorian had a sad look on his face at being rebuffed by the Smith.
right then. Let's be off Lanliss. The others are awaitin. Just thought one of da folk would be carin more for the fate of others like the Soul Forger teaches. But it looks like he's forgotten our ways.. be well Smith. I'll set a stone on.da altar for ya.
"It was a good thought, Dorian. Worth asking," Lanliss says amiably. He follows the dwarven warrior to the inn.
Jacq turns away from the bartender even as he speaks to her, tipping her fedora over her eyes to break his gaze. A response, indeed, in silence: I wasn't talking to you. She recognizes she herself isn't being terribly diplomatic and could be making matters worse, but the way they reacted to Silvash really bothers her. Triggers her bully senses, and she doesn't like bullies. A person who's lived here for ages, even if he came off a bit awkward, should be treated better. He asked about their well-being, was trying to make conversation first. He wasn't being weird. Defending that with a stated code of silence... something a criminal'd do, not neighbors. Although maybe her time living amongst her dad's "business partners" might be biasing her. But she was leery. Wondered if everyone here's got a secret. Or, they don't like the Hucreles and the party themselves are getting in trouble--but then the townsfolk don't care to warn them about it, so they may as well help the Hucreles anyway.
She instead continues talking to her new compatriots, even as the bartender is still finishing his lecture. She uses a quieter tone of voice this time, one actually more appropriate for the table and harder to overhear:
"Thanks, Nee, for the grub." She then turns to Silvash as he sits.
"Right. Silvash, you've lived here for what, decades, right? Who here do ya trust the most?"
She takes a mug of cider and takes a long gulp. They've probably spit in hers by now, but she's consumed worse things. At least it tastes good.
Temerith asks the bartender his questions, and she hopes the bard's gold undoes some of the damage she's done. She keeps track of what she might owe these folk she's traveling with later.
She also considers the task ahead of them as they discuss the ravine and other issues relevant to their problem. How many days' travel is the area where they are to look for the missing folk? Is it in the same direction as the cattle grazing grounds where some poor critters have turned up dead?
-- The Ol’ Boar Inn --
Goran eyes the coins Temerith sets down. He doesn’t reach for them right away - just gives them a glance, then Jacq another one. With a small shrug, he continues without ceremony - "That’s the whole tale, more or less. Far as most folk here know, anyway. Others have gone down into that ravine over the years, thinking to make a name for themselves. Most don’t come back. The Hucrele pair were just the latest - wide-eyed, they joined them other fellows, and that was the last we saw of 'em"
He gives a vague wave with the rag, more habit than direction - neither beckoning nor warning - "Place used to be a fortress, they say, built by some order of paladins or maybe a dragon cult, depends who you ask. Sank into the ground in some ancient upheaval. What’s left of it now, the Sunless Citadel they call it - nothing but broken stone and deep dark. Critters moved in. Goblins or some such" - he paused - "Folks say there’s still something down there. Something wrong. Crops near the gulch don’t grow right. Animals avoid it. The works"
He finally picks up the coins and tucks them away with the practiced ease of someone used to keeping things running - "Reckon you’ll find what answers you’re lookin’ for at the bottom of that chasm, if you’ve got the steel for it. Most don’t" - he turns away to tend another table, making no effort to linger any further.
Jacquelin knows the ravine should be about ten miles in a northerly direction, traveling via the Old Road.
Nee smiles and nods good naturedly as her compatriots take their provender. Smelling the food deeply, taking a chunk of bread and wolfing it down, Nee feels a certain safety she hasn’t in a while. A bittersweet feeling, given there are those, right now, lost and possibly far from home and hearth. Nee turns to her friends.
”They’ve been gone a while, so we’ll be well behind any events that kept them from returning. All the more reason to get to it, but I’m not keen to move into a ravine at night. Happy to camp somewhere closer, or, you know, [here indicates the inn generally] eat, drink and rest before moving on tomorrow…”
From the doorway, Lanliss spots his companions across the room. He waves and calls out to them.
"Hello, friends! Were you able to ask about the Hucrele twins? Ooh, what's that aroma? It smells delicious!"
Lanliss walks over to join the others where the food is.
Dorian follows Lanliss into the Inn. walks up and says Just a cider fur me. I don drink when im workin. Ya find anyhin out?. We were sent packin by the smith who didna wanna talk he says as he sits with the others.
Temerith sings quietly to himself as he eats the stew, dipping his bread into the stew and taking bites....
"Oh listen to the tail of the Sunless Citadel
I swear by my toes that it's true."
"'Twas a fallen fortress built by Holy Paladins
Or by a dark cult of scaly-friends."
"Oh that ones no good. Gotta think about that line. It's short. Later."
"Many the wannabe hero has fallen...."
"Oh. Hi Lanliss. Dorian. Hey! We'll need two more breakfasts."
"What do you mean Nee? Let's finish breakfast and go check out the ravine. We got the story, but the last group in might still be alive. Or some of them at least. There were four, the kids plus Karakas, a tracker, and a knight called Sir Braford. And the knight had a magic sword. They've been gone for two weeks. Just two weeks. It's possible!"
"So nobody has returned from the Citadel. Let's be the first. Hey, that might fit in my song...."
Temerith finishes his meal and waits impatiently for the rest of the group.
"Smith don't wanna talk either, huh?" Jacq chews on a crust of bread. "Real friendly folk around here," she says glumly.
She gestures toward the party. "We may still need to find some place to shop if possible. What've we got for provisions to pool between us? If I've got the lay of the land right, it should be about 4 hours' walk on foot to the ravine--longer if it's real rough going. I'm gonna guess it's gonna take us awhile to find whatever's happened, and we should plan for the worst in terms of possible fights coming to us. So we'll probably need to camp at least one night. I've got enough food for myself for one day, and can hunt. I'm happy to sleep under a lean-to of sticks or a pile of leaves but not sure about you all. Anything we need before we go?"
Goran comes over, bringing food and drink for Lanliss and Dorian, and removing the empty plates and mugs.
I said 'Nothing to see here' :P
Starting to eat his stew, after the first bite it seems to be disappearing at a rather fast rate. Dorian mumbled between bites Ife got alls I need. 5 days of rations. Ill needs to find water sources after this skin is empty. but othe wise I be good.
Nee frowns and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, nodding and then shrugging as Jacq and Temerith talk options.
”Well…we seem to have a few bits of provisioning folks might want to do, and while it is still morning it will take us a while to get to the possible site of the Citadel….or at the very least the ravine - no telling how easy we will find the going or…what we’ll find. Personally I’m ready to go…just seeing if folks want to head now or wait for any further needs or…details…”
Hefting her pack, Nee nods back to it.
”I have some flasks of oil, some sunrods, good rope…candles, a bit of food. Paper. Flint and steel. Bits and pieces.”
Silvash eats and says "I have food for five days. I will need to replenish water. It might be good if someone can create it magically."
"I've got provisions for myself for 4 days. Figure that if we need to stay more than a couple of nights we can return here. I wouldn't count on scavenging for food or water there. They say crops don't grow near it and animals avoid it. Possibly poisoned water? That's another possibility for the missing folk. Could have drank the water...."
"I can do a little healing if needed, but not water. Lanliss? You're a healer right? Can you create water if we need it? Water is heavy and I'd prefer not to have to carry a lot."
He moves up to the bar and offers another coin to the innkeeper. "For the other two and thanks for the information. Hopefully we'll be back for more of your good food. If not, what good is gold?"
Lanliss gives Dorian, Nee, and Silvash a bright smile.
"I have five days of rations, too! Wow, what are the odds?!"
"Lanliss? You're a healer right? Can you create water if we need it? Water is heavy and I'd prefer not to have to carry a lot."
"Sure, Temerith, I can do that! Also, I can tell if any food or water we find is poisonous! But not venomous, unfortunately...."
"So the wilderness guide is the only one with minimal rations," Jacq says of herself with a smirk. "What? I ate what the cook on the caravan served. Anyway..." She gestures toward Temerith. "Folks were sayin' come cattle were dying if they grazed too far afield. I was thinkin' predators, but could be poison. But if our cleric can make water, we're good there. Though we should find out whatever's causing it before it spreads downstream."
Jacq tucks leftover bread from the table into her pack, apparently not fussed on further stocking up for herself beyond that.
Dorian looked at Jacq. Im sure we an pitch in at get ya some. ...whats dat ya sayin about cows diein? Mayhap we should see ifn it has ta do wit da ravine afore we go. Ask da farmers yanno.
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Oakhurst, 1st of Readying (February) 576 CY (Common Year) - 2pm
Oakhurst dwindles behind you, its clustered rooftops soon lost among the leafless trees. After the breakfast at the Ol’ Boar Inn and some final preparations, you set out along the Old Road. The path winds north through winter-stilled farmland and brittle thickets, the air sharp with cold. Overhead, gray clouds stretch unbroken, casting the land in dull silver light. A hush lingers as you walk - the kind that gathers before stories turn dark.
The road passes to the east of a narrow ravine. At the road's closest approach to the cleft, several broken pillars jut from the earth where the ravine widens and opens into something more akin to a deep, but narrow, canyon. Two of the pillars stand straight, but most of them lean against the sloped earth. Others are broken, and several have apparently fallen into the darkness-shrouded depths. A few similar pillars are visible on the opposite side of the ravine.
Temerith moves up to the edge to peer down. If the light doesn't go to the bottom he casts Dancing Lights and sends the glowing orbs down as far as the spell allows.
Dorian drops his pack and walks over to the pillars looking them over checking the strands of rope and peering inside
(+2 for the pillars because it's stonework)