Perched at the edge of civilized lands, the small town of Falcon’s Hollow has always had to rely on itself to solve its problems.
Meanwhile, the uncaring lumber barons squeeze the common folk for every last copper, deaf to their pleas.
Unknown to the people of the Falcon’s Hollow, a new group of adventurers would form in their sleepy little town.
And this would be the start of those adventures, which would start with a little quest to check out something going on in the mountains.
It all started at the Busty Minotaur, a local tavern that was rebuild after a terrible fire,
where after some bad luck everyone everyone slowly gathered at a table to get a drink and complain.
-------
Mina is the icon of the Busty Half-minotaur as she is a Busty Minotaur who is 7 foot 7, and Married to Duke Hitum.
Her lower half is like a minotaurs, her upper half is more like an Elf's, though busty and more muscular
Duke is a 6 foot 5 strong man that is married to Mina, and is the owner of the Busty Minoataur and works as the barkeep. He also acts as the bouncer when needed.
If he asks you to have a chat with him out back, it could be very bad for you... though it could just be a polite warning.
Eve is another attractive and charming Barmaid and also one of the cooks, who is 5 foot 9 that works there, she is also married.
Ayla exits her forge, a bit sweaty heading out for the Busty Minotaur for a drink.
As she walks down the street her 6 foot 5 height and fit, curvy figure along with attractive features make her stand out.
Her Blonde hair and heterochromatic eyes of green and blue just add to it as well as the fact she tends to dress lightly.
After walking passed the doorway see sees the place is rather full, and the Symbol of the Busty Minotaur, Mina guides Ayla to an empty table.
"Ayla will have Dragon's Ale, need drink, forge cracked, needs repair.
Can't work til fixed. An Mr Kreed ordered more axes can't make with cracked forge."
Mina:
"Oh dear, Well I hope it gets fixed soon.
Well I'll get you your drink, Ayla."
Mina then walks off to get Ayla her Drink.
One such reason for the order of new axes was Ghur. It was almost comical seeing him enter the Busty Minotaur, given that he was, in fact, a Minotaur. Or at least half one. His head, legs and hooves certainly were. But his green skin? That hinted at orcish blood. The worst of two worlds, as he had often heard. Or “you’re not half wrong. But you aren’t half right, either.” Comments like that, which came from people who became brave when they realized that he wasn’t going to hurt them, or were too deep in their cups. He worked at the lumber yard like three men and was paid like one. Something that he was constantly reminded of being lucky for. Broken axes didn’t pay for themselves. And besides, who else would hire someone like him.
As it was, he was tired. He was hungry. He was thirsty. And he had coin to spend, even though he desperately wanted to save it. Ghur glanced at Ayla, eyes glinting with jealousy. There was someone who was welcomed, despite not being human. Perhaps because she had been born with beauty, the men of the town looked at her as something more than a monster. But him? He looked away. He reminded himself that it was not her fault. Or even the townspeople. For they were right to fear him. How many times has he fought down the urge to rip them limb from limb? To exult in their fear? To drink in their deaths? To show them that they were right with their screams? He was a monster. He knew it, and he fought against it every day. He knew, deep down, that everyone was right about him. And it really made him want a drink.
He went straight to Mina. She treated him fairly. Of course she did, given that the lower half of her was a Minotaur’s. But unlike him, the upper half was fair. Some would even say beautiful. The Duke certainly did. Deep down he envied her as well. Why was she gifted such a form, when he was not? Perhaps because there was the hint of an elf around her, or at least something Fey. While for him the orc was there for all to see. He even questioned whether that was the source of his prediction for violence. He took a deep breath, swallowing the bitterness. Again, it wasn’t her fault. The problem, as always, was within himself. It was a mantra he consistently repeated to keep the darkness at bay. So he would only swing his axe at the trees.
”Mina.” He said, his voice sounding like rocks rubbing together. ”A drink, please. Something hard and cheap.” He didn’t care who stared. Let them, he thought. Just one drink. He had earned it. Just one drink and he’d go back to the shack he called home. Maybe…
Ayla notices that Ghur takes a seat next to him.
She then says looking at Ghur
"Also have bad day?"
Mina:
Mina hears Ghur's request and replies
"So either a MacGuffin Ale, or Ager's 11, which one Ghur?"
His muscles tensed as Ayla appeared next to him. He had been so intent on his own problems that he didn’t even notice her. Something which, given her size, was quite an achievement with Mina before him and Ayla to the side be suddenly found himself being comparatively small. Something which made the animal part of his brain scream danger. It was not something he was used to. It took him an obvious moment to collect himself. Fear made him want to lash out. Everything made him want to lash out. His parents had taught him better than that. They had taught him to be more than his instincts. A deep breath. He couldn’t force a smile. But he could be polite. That he had learned to do. ”Ale. Please.” He tried to make his voice lack the steel when he said it. He nodded politely. When Mina turned to get it some of the animal panic subsided. He was no longer surrounded by potential threats.
But Ayla was still there. Ayla the beautiful. The Ayla the strong. The warrior. The Frostborn. What did she know of hardship? She who had everything he wanted handed to her-no. No. He was being bitter. He was thinking of himself, not her. He could almost hear his mother chiding him. With an effort to be better he answered ”Broken axe. Lost pay. Again. You say you had…a rough day.” It was a statement, he realized. ”How?” He asked, reminding himself to listen to her as a person. To try and understand.
Ayla looks at Ghur with a look on her face of "Oh yeah, rough day.."
She then answers
"Bad day, Ayla working forge and it crack while working a special piece for Mr Kreed.
A part fell spilling some melted metal out, it cost a lot.
With forge cracked, Ayla have to stop work til repaired.
Crack also pour much more heat into room, and Ayla not comfy with more heat."
"After forge crack, had customer come in asking Ayla to buy something off dem, then they call Ayla, a dumb blonde after refusing to buy it."
She tears up some recalling as that is a sore spot for her;
she's strong hardy and attractive, but she's not bright and she's aware of it.
"Ayla not smart, Ayla wish more like normal girl...."
Ghur listened, his heavy brow furrowing as Ayla spoke. The mention of Kreed made his jaw tighten. That man squeezed everyone dry, whether by broken tools or broken promises. But when she mentioned the insult, his thick fingers curled briefly against the table. It took a force of will to not fantasize about a violent response. Instead he just nodded. He could relate.
”Humans.” He rumbled. They were cruel, making up for their frail forms with sharp wit. They masked their fear with barbed words, becoming brave by verbally dominating those they feared. He just didn’t know how to put those feelings into words. ”No days good days. Wish we could earn coin without trees. Without forge.” He sighed, unsure of how to comfort her. He wished that he knew how. The idea of friendship was near foreign to him, outside of his family. ”Drink.” He suggested, doing his best. He had heard many proverbs before. About turning the other cheek. About being stronger than words. He didn’t like them. They cheapened his pain at worst or were confusing at best. ”Bad day will be better.” He offered, meaning well.
Ayla answers pouting some
"It was a gnome that called Ayla, Dumb Blonde."
It is rarely a good day in Falcon’s Hollow, apart from the good hearts that make up for those that bring their worst impulses to the place, or the things that would be good even were the town absent. Ruisxys Ververe intends to be one of the former sort of person, as long as she’ll be here, but there are times that she wonders whether she ought to keep moving and seek a quest elsewhere.
Then, still worried that she’ll have to chase visions of unending bloodied bandages from her dreams this evening, her most recent attempt to gently remonstrate with the leaders of those logging teams that are at risk of cutting too recklessly for the health of the forest has been rebuffed more rudely than usual. Oh, to be sure, it could have been – they would probably swear it was – an accident that while she was talking to a certain captain one of his men dropped his end of the log being levered out of the boom back into the water, splashing the preachy elf terribly. It was probably meant to strike at her dignity, primarily, although soaking her blouse might appeal to some ruffians for other reasons as well.
It didn’t work, of course.
“I am a daughter of a river,” Ruisxys said, icily, arms rising in tight-clenched fists. “I’m hardly going to melt.”
But her closed hands were not threatening: instead, they promptly dipped towards the nearest clean vessel she could borrow, and began to stream with pure water. It’s not that she wasn’t tempted to give her would-be tormentors as good as she got, but, as she barbed as a parting shot, “I wouldn’t waste clean water on you. Live better, and maybe the land will take care of you.” For now, she’s sure that she can find some poor old wreck too feeble to fetch their own water whom she wouldn't begrudge the favour.
It is a surprisingly wet elf that presents herself at the Busty Minotaur some time after her latest self-imposed errand of mercy. No longer dripping as frightfully as some minutes prior, and with her ruffles starting to dry out a bit (more than her heavy golden mane), Ruisxys, though comfortable in her own skin and used to a certain chance of riverine damp, decides she could use a spell by a late autumn fire to get her clothes into a less remarkable condition.
The Minotaur is not her sort of place, but then again, no one would apply its soubriquet to her, so the sorts of people to whom it would appeal are likely to let her dry off in peace. Well, there’s that, and then there’s also the fact that she’s one of those elves: very pretty – beautiful, even, but in a decidedly unearthly sort of way. Even unwillingly soaked, Ruisxys somehow manages to look quite proper, as if some mad mage had decided to animate some temple’s statue of a nymph, complete with carved aquatic draperies, and let her loose. After a few moments of conversation with her, even the most determined lasciviousness tends to waver, at least a little bit. Her quiet but deep religious zeal tends to exacerbate the effect.
When she walks in, the eponymous hostess is busy with other customers, so Ruisxys ends up approaching Eve to order a cup of wine. Long story, her quizzical expression tells the bemused barmaid, though while the elf waits, she spots some more familiar faces than most of the Minotaur’s company, even if one of them is, er, another minotaur.
So, once she has cup in hand, she strolls over. At least, as much as she ever does – floats might be closer to how most humans would put it. “Ghur,” she acknowledges politely, “Mistress Frost. I hope this day finds you well?”
”Better than before.” Ghur said, taking the ale offered to him. It wasn’t clear if he meant the drink in his hand the company he was in, and he gave no indication that he was going to clarify. The face of a Minotaur was not exactly easy to read. He gave no strong reaction to Rui’s presence, aside from his massive shoulders relaxing. Initially he had seen her with his usual mix of jealousy followed by a desire for violence, but the elf had an aura of ‘goodness’ about her that was relaxing. As if being in her presence soothed the worst of his impulses. He had decided that he rather liked having her around. If for no other reason than her being there made it easier to be closer to the kind of man he wanted to be.
Ayla looks up at Ruisxys
"Ayla have Bad day, "
and then recounts things for her..
seeing the soaked state of Ruisxys
"How Ruisxys get soaked, it not rain...."
An austere half-orc walks into the tavern, not overly tall or wide... his dress, utilitarian. As he walks, the jingle of chains.
Stopping just inside the door, he seems to take in the patrons of the place. He knows no one.
That table...
He approaches the trio. Pardon. The establishment is rather busy... or is full the term? I... I... he clears his throat.
Would it be acceptable, that I share this table with you? He bows his head politely. His eyes seem to look at no one in particular but, neither do they shy away from a direct glance.
Ayla sees the stranger and replies
"Hmm.. Sure, take seat.
All us having bad day, was your day also bad?"
He seems momentarily perplexed. A lifetime ago, I would have bad days. Very bad days, or so... I was tricked into thinking that. No more.
Our... experiences are for us to assign meaning to. The interesting part about that is that you and only you get to decide.
Life does not happen to you. Life is what you choose to make it.
He waves the barmaid over, asking only for clean water, bread and cheese. And indicating he will be paying for the table's drinks and food.
Ayla looks up at Ruisxys
"Ayla have Bad day, "
and then recounts things for her..seeing the soaked state of Ruisxys
"How Ruisxys get soaked, it not rain...."
“A … misunderstanding down at the skids,” Ruisxys begins to explain, jaw tightening a bit as she tries not to let the experience rankle and tempt her to bitterness. “The usual business, sadly. Some of the teams will cut too much for the good of the forest, and in the long run it will only ruin not only that, but also their families, or their children’s families, when it can’t grow back again. Not a welcome observation, but someone has to make it, and encourage a more responsible approach. Even if it means risking a soaking in the heat of discussion, until such time as decency prevails, even in disagreement.”
She gives an elegant shrug, resigning herself to the possibility that it might take a long, and apparently sometimes less decorous, struggle to help some of the more desperate locals see their own true interests. She turns on her patch in front of the hearth of the tavern’s common-room to even out its drying warmth.
“I am sorry to hear about your troubles at the forge,” she tells Ayla, adding, with a rueful twitch of her lips, “although it turns out that this afternoon would have been a good time for me to brave the sparks of the smithy.”
The Minotaur’s less intense fire will have to do, and Ruisxys is giving her wrists a shake to help her sleeves along when the remarks of the latest arrival to the table draw her attention.
He seems momentarily perplexed. A lifetime ago, I would have bad days. Very bad days, or so... I was tricked into thinking that. No more.
Our... experiences are for us to assign meaning to. The interesting part about that is that you and only you get to decide.
Life does not happen to you. Life is what you choose to make it.
“Ah, a philosopher! This town would benefit from more of them. Are the Consortium up to their tricks again, or was it something else that has roused your endurance? Although it occurs to me, if we’re rejecting chicanery, that it seems others do have some say in what is made of our lives.”
“But forgive me, I don’t believe we’ve met, sir. Ruisxys Ververe,” she extends her hand, her cuff still quite damp. A quibble and a new face take the edge off the day’s irritations, at least.
The beginnings of a smile.
Curiosities... a partial translated ancient text here, an old wive's tale there. Meaningless or laughable to some. Interesting to others, the gentle tugging at the fringes of one's thought. I wander.
Gut.
That's what brings me here, my love for live... no matter the circumstance. He pauses.
You observe and assume we are disagreeing. We are locked in step. Others do often have control of our circumstances. But it is how we respond to that control or influence that makes us who we are.
It is that, which defines us.
I do not deny your observation, merely offer you an alternate conclusion. He pauses once more.
I am Orne. I will help you.
He states this calmly and matter-of-factly, looking from one face to another at the table. His hand reaching for a hunk of bread, a piece of cheese.
Ruisxys decides this is an interesting fellow. “I quibble, merely. I expect our positions may be closer than it appears. Well met, Orne! As I said, the Hollow could use some wisdom, if a poor knight can say so.”
She hopes she’s not boring the others, and she gestures around the table to take the group in. “It has been a trying day for us all, it seems, bedeviled, in one way or another, by the local potentates who see only the trees, not the forest, and certainly not the people they chew through almost as greedily.”
A mournful frown briefly shadows her features. “Those of us who wander are fortunate. I may well resume my travels shortly, but Falcon’s Hollow will remain. It would be well if I could think of some signal of hope to share, some inspiration to hearts that need it, but our worlds appear so different.”
Her glance dips into her cup, as if in the faint hope that she might descry some way to help Darkmoon Vale in its depths.
A gnome along with his friends enter the tavern and get seated next to your group.
The Smug and Cocky gnome looks at your table and says
"Oh Look, it's the Dumb Blonde Barbarian of a Blacksmith from earlier and she has the company of freaks.
Oh right they even have that Wanna be paladin I heard of, the one who more a tree hugger then a monster slayer."
He and his group laugh and provoke your group some more and a fight breaks out.
During the fight
Orne is cursed from a member of the gnome's group with bad luck for a while.
Duke and Mina quickly put an end to it before it goes any further.
Both groups are found at fault for damage, but the gnomes group is more guilty of it.
During a discussion of punishment, a chandelier almost hits Orne but breaks another table and covers him in bad ale and food.
Someone casts detect curse and finds he's cursed with bad luck for maybe a week or two.
To recover the costs of stuff damaged and broken your all asked to fetch some items from some mountain ruins where some orcs live.
It is also so Orne's new found bad luck is not in town until it is gone.
Your given directions and a map of where the ruins are expected to be, and are warned it'll be a bit chilly.
Ayla is told her forge should be fixed by the time she gets back.
All of you, sans Ayla, grab cold weather outfits and get a ride to a settlement close to the ruins and then get to walking.
Takes a week to get there...
Orne during that time has; stepped in crap, drank some bad water, had bad food rations, stumbled on small rocks and doing a face plant along with a few other simple points of bad luck.
Walking to the ruins you first come upon a cliff that needs climbing. DC: 13
Also everyone rolls a fort save vs Cold, DC 15 sans Ayla due to her cold resistance,
This was not on the agenda... anyone have rope, a grapnel perhaps?
Days after the fact, Ruisxys uses how quickly the afternoon at the tavern turned messy as what she hopes will be a useful meditation on the vicissitudes of fate and how quickly things can spiral out of control if one lets them, perhaps especially in a town like Falcon’s Hollow.
‘More a tree hugger than a monster slayer –’ the taunt still rankles, in the back of her head, though she tries not to let it throw her entirely off-balance. It’s mostly true, and she’s hardly convinced it’s a bad thing. After all, as she snipped back at the time before things went pear-shaped, there were monsters enough cutting wood for the Hollow that if she were to draw steel to go about smiting the lot of them… She stopped short of calling out the Lumber Consortium bosses outright, of course, and she’ll be glad to get out into nature in its own right anyway, but taking a few days away for everyone to cool off might indeed be for the best.
She’s both worried and surreptitiously fascinated by poor Orne’s hexing, too. If one were to watch, one might be forgiven for thinking she was even taking notes, though it is also true that she’s sure to include the poor fellow in her prayers, for what it’s worth. She’s sure it will wear off on its own before too long, and certainly before the goddess grants her the grace to lift the curse directly.
Shaking her head, she refocuses on the trail ahead for their upland supply expedition, not least because it’s interrupted by some inconveniently steep terrain.
This was not on the agenda... anyone have rope, a grapnel perhaps?
“No grapnel, but I have some rope, at least,” she tells Orne, rummaging in her pack and taking a look to see if she should tie off some knots to make climbing still easier, while he considers the best route for climbers.
Watching Orne scramble deftly up, though she's not an alpinist by any stretch of the imagination, Ruisxys gathers her courage and follows before she can second-guess herself, a strategy that works out unreasonably well for once.
Once safely ascended, she gazes back down in the direction of Falcon's Hollow, arranging her heavy cloak gratefully against the chill of the day. No doubt about it, the last days of the year are upon us, she thinks.
Ghur trudged along in poor humor. A bad day indeed. Not only did he make less than he should have, but now he had to work for free because of the actions of others. Again. He climbed along doing his best to avoid dreaming of blood drenched murder. He ignored the cold, taking its bite in stride. And at the ruins? He tried to get his mind off things by looking around carefully for signs that anything had taken up residence. Or…if there was anything valuable around. Something to make his time worth the hassle. Because as it was, he was losing valuable time that could have been spent at the lumber yards. Coming back with naught but *another* debt paid was the most likely outcome but he hoped for something better.
Sees the Cliff and isn't happy, but she gets to Climbing
She has some difficulty climbing up, but she makes it.
"Ayla don't mind comfy weather, but Ayla don't like climbing much."
Everyone gets up the cliff with few problems.
A quick light breeze blows by rustling the nearby trees.
The map shows the path and as you walk it, Ghur starts to notice Orc tracks along with Goblin tracks.
Following the trail you slowly climb up a mountain for another two hours, even crossing over a stream of very cold water using a log that stretches over it.
You all use it to refill your water skins once you cross over.
Two More saves against the cold.
DCs: 16 and then DC 17
Then you reach near it, Orc tracks are present in the area.
Driven forward by anger, Ghur angrily said ”Cold enough to freeze a man solid. And orcs as well. They want us dead.” Bitterness filled his voice. ”They are the monsters. Murderous. Fair skin on the outside, vile on the inside.” He gripped his axe tight, not trusting himself on what would come out of his mouth if he kept talking.
Ayla looks back at Ghur
"Ayla don't think it cold, then again Ayla don't like heat.
Just glad we no fights yet, Hopes we don't have fights at ruins."
The cold is bracing, Ruisxys thinks, both in the air and in the mountain stream that sends a pang of homesickness to sharpen its sweet. It looks like she might really need her warm wrap, though, if they're going to be out here for much longer and it keeps on cooling.
When Ghur points out the tracks and mutters darkly about orcs, the idealistic elf can only hope that the tracker's being a bit too grim. Orcs and goblins and her people do not have a happy history together, so the worst case could be terrible indeed. She keeps her bow ready in case the locals are as aggressive as Ghur warns. If anything tries to jump her, she wants to be ready to respond.
"Remind me, please, what we're looking for again, all the way out here, and why it was just left in the ruins?" If it's something growing, she's not much of an herbalist, but she presumes that someone could cultivate it closer to town if they put the effort in to look after it. If it's anything else, why just leave it where it could so easily go wandering?
She begins to worry whether they might as well have been sent off to fetch a brace of snipe.
Ayla thinks for a bit answering Ruisxys' question
"Reason, Well find artifact that could cover costs.
Seems ruins were found, but not explored,
team that found them were in hurry for something so could not explore."
Too cold... maybe I die here, the curse does with me. He chatters.
Orne with his bad luck has a few holes in his cold weather outfit letting some cold air in.
You continue walking and given the track and the map
roll Perception and stealth checks please.
Ayla is alert was she moves quietly
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Distracted by the need to get Orne out of the weather as it becomes clear that he needs to be bundled up better somehow, and by a lingering unconcern for a ruin of dubious interest abandoned for an indefinite period of time, Ruisxys' steps are not as careful as they ought to be.
A certain amount of jangling metal is inevitable with her armour, but at a particularly awkward point on the trail, her baldric catches unexpectedly and unnoticed on a stone snag that momentarily catches her up short, and forces a cry of surprise out of her that rings out into the cold mountain air, announcing her presence to anything that cares to notice it as she disentangles herself.
Ghur’s lack of subtly was only overshadowed by Rui’s. Standing out in the open made him as obvious as a…well, Minotaur. While taciturn, he gave Orne a friendly pat on the shoulder.
Botting Orne some
You can all start to see some large double doors in a cliff face, with a pile of boulders to the right of the doors along with Orcs on guard duty,
but as most of the Orcs on watch are partially drunk and think at the moment Ghur is a wild bull, but notice Ruisxys but their drunken mind is stalling them...
But seems not all Orcs there are Drunk
Roll Init.
Looks like the party goes first.
Calming his mind, Orne whirls his long chained sickle and steps up to within reach of the nearest threatening orc.
He let's fly, aiming low. Trying to pull the orc's legs from under him, I abhor violence...
...but, he's all yours.
By the time Ruisxys manages to extricate herself and try to style it out, the group is all but upon their destination, and a group of orcs. Maybe there is such a thing as keeping your head too high, the distracted paladin considers, as the first orcs reach for their weapons and it looks like things are only going to get messier.
“In the name of Falcon’s Hollow, stand down!” she warns them, though she doubts it will do much good. “No one needs to get hurt, but we will defend ourselves!”
She indicates Orne’s elegant and merciful swipe as one of the brutes gets too close with a nod, reaching behind her to draw an arrow, which she promptly nocks as she moves to keep her sightlines open in case she or her friends get charged.
Ghur, as a general rule, avoided giving into his violent urges. But now was a time to let go. Channeling all of his anger and frustration, he all but ran at the nearest orc. Axe raised, he imagined that he was swinging it at the damned people who had sent them out to die over broken furniture. The ensuing spray of blood felt good. Far too good for comfort. Though guilt could come later. Now was not the time for it.
Ayla charges an Orc near the double doors with a sword nearly as long as she is tall
Orne trips and Orc, but it rolls away to get up, and does a as Ghur and Ayla cut 2 Orcs in half.
Since Ruisxys waits for an Orc to come at her or one of the others, she fails to take action against the Orc with a bow with partial cover from the pile of boulders
Most southern part of the map
And it shoots at her
As her friends surge forward with ruthless efficiency, Ruisxys finds herself at a loss for a target hurling itself her way. Instead, an arrow comes winging at her, but is mercifully deflected by her armour.
Resigning herself to the mess, she adjusts to return fire.
Players turn.
Orne moves towards the orc that fired upon his new elf friend, stopping 10 feat away. His chained sickle flies once more, this time... biting into flesh.
From which side of the boulder pile do you move around to attack, closest to the cliff wall or further from the cliff wall?
Sorry if the boulder pile is hard to see on the map..
south south west of the door
the dirt is colored a bit different.
From which side of the boulder pile do you move around to attack, closest to the cliff wall or further from the cliff wall?
Sorry if the boulder pile is hard to see on the map..
south south west of the door
the dirt is colored a bit different.
The Cliff is a wall you face, so you can't fall being near or far from it.