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”Send message to Morn: Names, describings. They go Border Forest, maybe Dagger Falls.”
"He lies. Heard talk at window. No speak of plantings, just gibber. Who visit at dawn?" Samara wrinkles her nose. This carcass stinks from the head down. "You get no names?"
To the group that soke with the farmer, her question is simple. "What learn from him?"
OK, so assuming we're all happy to move things along, if anyone wants to ask any further questions of Korwen please jump in and do so - I'm assuming that you will be. I've given my best OOC advice in that regard since I'm not in the scene. The decisions are out of my hands.
One question I have for my fellow group members is 'how often do you check Discord'? I check them both (Discord and Paizo) fairly frequently.
Here’s my takeaway from Slowdrifter’s post. This game is a mystery that requires the players to be actively thinking, parsing information, sniffing out the red herrings, and gathering clues to solve the mystery through their characters. To this, I say GOOD. This is the basic dynamic for all mystery novels. Readers read Agatha Christie and try to solve the mystery before Hercule Poirot reveals the answers… i.e. mysteries are not passive reading experiences. RPG-based mysteries are cut from the same ‘active engagement’ cloth. The PCs have to lead the investigation and use clues to navigate through the game-world. Which leads to what I think is Slowdrifter’s second point… for any players unwilling to solve the mystery by thinking it through, this likely isn’t the right campaign type for them. They can step away from the game without guilt simply because it isn’t their “cup of tea”. I think this is worth serious consideration for anyone struggling with this game. The unstated, but logical, assumption is that Slowdrifter is not going to change the core ‘mystery’ mechanic/dynamic of the game. A mystery that simply solves itself through a series of rolls and clues handed out on a platter is not a mystery. That’s someone reading you a novel, highlighting every clue, and explaining the mystery to you. You aren’t ‘solving’ anything. Slowdrifter – as a fellow player – has the right to enjoy the game he is running. While every GM is empowered to ‘tweak’ a game to make it flow more smoothly, asking them to change the fundamentals of the game they are running is a bridge too far, IMO. This brings me to Ialia’s reply. Normally, I’d probably leave the following unsaid, but counter-points seem necessary here, so… …you have acknowledged there may be red herrings. [but] …Every conversation with a NPC must have some story-advancing piece of information. Nope. These two are mutually exclusive. You can’t have red herrings AND have every conversation advance the plot. And, related to what I wrote above, if every conversation has story-advancing clues, then the GM is spoon-feeding information which means the mystery dynamic is largely gone. It's critical to separate our characters from the players behind them. Our characters only exist in your world; they are part of the flow. They implicitly know things that we don't. Their only existence is thinking about the things that are happening in that imaginary space. They will reason and tease out the idea because they are part of the story. To make a game of it, the character has to have an opportunity to know something that the player does not. Give us more skill rolls - anything that helps the players to figure out something that our character is likely to know. You are conflating player thinking with character knowledge. I read this in one of two ways. 1) You want characters to get a ‘roll’ to avoid doing something stupid because of a player’s logic fail since they aren’t ‘part of the world’. And/or 2) This bit is just related to your next paragraph about skill rolls. Also, when you post, give more. Every conversation with a NPC must have some story-advancing piece of information that we will receive by the end of it. Nothing can be left unsaid, and if we don't ask the right question, it's on you to make a narrative excuse to give it to us. More Sense Motive checks in spoilers, and then embed higher DC spoilers that give us a fragment with which to craft our next question. And then once we have that one piece of information that we are to get from that NPC, wrap up the encounter immediately and move us on to the next thing. Fully implemented, this set of ideas will soundly kill the mystery dynamic. The game will no longer be a mystery at all, it becomes a set skill rolls requiring virtually no player brain power. Let’s spell it out: Every conversation with a NPC must have some story-advancing piece of information that we will receive… And then once we have that one piece of information that we are to get from that NPC, wrap up the encounter immediately and move us on to the next thing. Result: There are no false leads and you always receive the exact information you need which is overtly telegraphed because the conversation immediately ends. More Sense Motive checks in spoilers, and then embed higher DC spoilers that give us a fragment with which to craft our next question. Result: Players rarely need to think because they can rely on SM (or other) rolls to feed them all the clues, including the next best question to ask. Nothing can be left unsaid, and if we don't ask the right question, it's on you to make a narrative excuse to give it to us. Result: No matter how off-base the questions or mentally lazy the players are… the GM is obligated to spoon-feed them ALL the information and rationalize it somehow. This is the fattest set of training wheels ever. There are also no consequences in the game for poor decisions vis a vis the actual mystery. You can’t fail to solve the mystery because it is dished out on a silver platter, no matter what the characters do. Lead us. We want to be led. Absolutely not. Don’t use ‘we’ and ‘us’ when you really mean ‘I’ and ‘me’. Personally, I have no need to be led and no interest in it. I’m prepared to solve this mystery as the GM has laid it out with a minimum of clues and no adult supervision. I don’t need my hand held as I cross the street. I'll add that when Ialia had to make a CHA roll to get an answer to what seemed like an important question, I was like, What? That's an example of an unnecessary gate. No, that’s part of the rules. You cast Charm Person. Opposed CHA checks are part of the deal and, in this particular case, it was a clue as to what sort of questions you couldn’t ask. There were other lines of questioning you could have tried. I'm not about to metagame Samara's line of questioning. I'm playing my own character. It wasn’t metagaming, it was table talk. I was trying to help my teammates out of a jam so we could forward the plot. If it was metagaming, Slowdrifter could have called me on it and said those options were no longer on the table for you guys as a penalty for my ‘infraction’. Ialia, given all that you wrote and how far apart you seem to be from Slowdrifter’s vision of how to run a mystery campaign (assuming he doesn’t radically change his playstyle), you should probably give more thought to whether this is truly your “cup of tea”.
Did this game die? Given the GM's last post in Discord, I would say 'no'.
Samara is utterly accommodating, ”Apologies, sayyid. The door was open.” She offers a bow by way of apology. ”Is biggest house ever I seen. Curious but I no touch. Forgive for intruding. I leave now.” She follows it with a second bow and heads meekly outside to enjoy the sunrise and wait for the rest of them to complete the work.
With her search cut short by the returning group, Samara heads downstairs. She’s waiting by the kitchen door. She offers the farmer a smile, a polite bow, and a well-oiled phrase. ”You have beautiful house. You golem is fine too. I am Sahaya of the Bedine. Hullo.”
Samara sees no reason to rouse the construct. It was almost certainly under Browrivver’s control and Brownrivver was under Ialia’s. When possible, it was generally best to bypass a problem. It seems likely the construct is guarding that which they seek. But Samara is patient and thorough. She leaves Woody’s room alone and continues her search of the rest of the house.
Semara is a little torn on what to do. Pick going off alone was concerning but he likely had means of escape in animal form which meant, if she pursued there was more chance of them being spotted. With Brownrivver under Ialia’s thumb, Semara really wasn’t needed there. She casts detect magic and then quietly steps into the house to search for clues related to the strange conversation, evidence of the conspiracy, or other people in the residence.
"OR we go get Brownrivver. Ask questions."
The sorceress puzzles over the odd conversation for a moment. She’d heard there were spells that could garble a conversation to make it sound innocuous to others. It seems this was likely the case, but she had no idea how to defeat such magic… or do it so the men in the room wouldn’t know it. While she may not understand the sum of what they're saying, perhaps their actions will reveal more.
Samara mutters under breath then weaves a spell and quickly moves forward through the crop lands.
Status: HP: 35 / 35 | AC: 25 / T:20 / FF:20 | CMD:25 (27 Grapple)
2nd Spells (4): 1st Spells (8): xx Dancing Lights (2): Vest (1): Versatile Spell: CLW (1): Stunning Fist (2): Claws (8): Wand (50): x Effects:
On the off chance that their mission has been discovered (like Tespen is one of the approaching figures), Samara slinks sideways through the crops, moving a bit closer to the house and a bit further away from the team.
The sorcerer deploys the wand and taps the druid with it… giving him yizard armor. She crouches down in a spot among the crops with a view of the path and two sides of the house.
Samara mulls it. She was expecting a larger group to witness whatever was planned. Or maybe they were just the welcoming committee. And that they were on foot meant they likely couldn't escape quick if a chase ensued. Barring the unforeseen, things appeared manageable. "Let them in house then sneak closer?"
Samara use her occult vision (Detect Magic) to see if anything pops around the buildings or the path in.
Regardless of the configuration of the scouting party, Samara casts Message on everyone.
Samara watches Tespen head back to the table, just because. Then she turns and heads out to their meeting spot, thankful for the cool night air.
Samara glances around, looking for people turning an ear to their conversation before pulling the half-elf further away from the crowds and into a more private corner. She presses against him and speaks very quietly. For all intents and purposes, they might be a couple arranging an elicit assignation. ”First, was your question connected to your missing friend?" ”Yes… mebbe he at farm or mebbe not.” ”And second, I have my suspicions that you may have found the group I told you I was looking for. Supposing I am correct in this, are they dangerous? Would it pay to be wary if one were to run into them?" She gives him a mischievous smile, ”That three questions, total. You haggle like Bedine. You look for secret group – they is. Dangerous? Mebbe – to people which cross and people which join they. How dangerous, don’t know yet.” Playing the ‘secret lovers’ card for the crowd, she takes his hands, looks down, and considers his question about wariness. While doing so, she checks his wrists for a green stone bracelet. ”Best they no hear you curious. Some here mebbe with them. Yes, be wared.” Whether she sees a green stone bracelet on him or not, she offers him a disarming smile, "You owe me two answers. Is debt."
”I have questions and I could ask why you want to know, but hopefully if I tell you the little I know, you may see fit to indulge a curious mind. Garvos Brownrivver has a large farm on what is basically the northwest outskirts of Goldfields… keeps to himself. Seems an unlikely pairing with your girl.” Samara nods at Tespen’s response, partly to show understanding and partly to agree with his conclusions. ”Yes, odd fruit. But people say it, so maybe see it.” She sets the farm’s location in her mind before turning to Tespen fully, ”So, answer for answer, is deal. You ask, I say. But first I give Bedine wisdom…” She pulls out one of her books and flips through the pages looking something up. She quickly pulls out another book with Midani and Common text to make sure she has the phrasing correct. Confident, she puts both books away. ”Don’t ask question ‘less prepared for answer you not like.” Wisdom dispensed, she watches Tespen, curious what he’ll ask.
”You look like you might be looking for me. If you’re hoping that I’ve been working on that poetry I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed.” With the bottom half of her face hidden, Samara uses a finger to make a sad mouth symbol where her lips should be. Her tone, however, is light. ”I patience woman. Give you three days learn verra long love poem… in Midani.” She steps a little closer and says quietly, ”Have question. Hear name of Annika friend, not-here farmer, call ‘Brownrivver’. Know where he farm?”
Samara enters the tavern, trying to convince herself there are less people here now than there were before. It works well enough that she doesn’t immediately bolt for the door but the temptation is there. It is just bad luck that Tespen is inside and at a crowded table. She returns his wave then looks for the most open spot possible in which to stand, preferably by an open window. She is utterly out of her comfort zone.
After hearing what Joreld knows about the Thersil family, Samara heads downstairs. She looks for Tespen in the tavern before circling the building.
Did I get a sense of where the Brownrivver farm is from the spell?
Sure. We don't leave immediately, just in case the People of the Green have a spy around. Or Tespen is lurking around being nosy. In an hour or two, we head back towards Goldfields quietly. We go find the farm and sneak as close as we safely can to stake it out. Assuming all is quiet, We hang around til dawn to witness this 'interesting' event and act accordingly. If Annika and Co are there, we should be able to see them leave and figure out roughly where they are going. It may or may not be relevant at a later time. Given the dark turn to the conspirator's talk, the event might be a punishment or execution of a traitor/enemy which is probably something we should stop. If it is something like that, we can guess what happened to Glanwyn... and maybe we can pry the truth from Brownrivver or one of the others. This assumes Glanwyn ran afoul of them, which is what we're trying to determine. If Glanwyn is at the farm as a prisoner, we rescue him. IF he appears to be working with the conspirators... then things get interesting. Is he a 'high ranking' conspirator or is he pretending to be one to uncover the conspiracy?
”Tespen? He nosey he say. Hear about meeting – come see. Not here when Glanwyn mebbe was. Not seen him. But they ‘cross paths’ before. If part of these… uh, plot, he verra clever.” She adds a personal consideration, ”An’ he no say poems.” She looks to Joreld, ”Girl family name is Thersil. Know it?” "Still hours left in day. Much time to go back to Goldfields, look at Brownrivver farm. Or go in dusk. Not seen." ”Farm thing at dawn. Girl an’ gnats leave Inn. Mebbe they at farm for thing. I like we go sneak in dark. Watch to see.”
”Peoples we meet… know Glanwyn is Morn-man. Green stones fight Morn. Green stones in Dagger Springs an’ here. Glanwyn go miss Springs an’ here. He look for trouble, maybe find green stones. They threat new green stones. What do to Glanwyn?” ”I think, go Brownrivver. See ‘interesting’. Mebbe learn thing about… con… conspiration. No need follow girl. Find direction they go, only few towns, an’ they no hide.” Samara mulls the facts and the curious intersections. Green stones… Green Orb. Both set against Morn’s rule. Coincidence? For a conspiracy to overthrow a popular leader, they are moving far too openly. And wearing your allegiance on your wrist? That’s naïve, at best. Could this be a Zhent plan and they are using these People of the Green as unknowing puppets and fodder? It would be a good distraction before a Zhent attack.
Ialia raced out and hadn't returned, and Joreld was likely in his room. Samara nods, picking up on the druid's obvious urgency. "Joreld mebbe in room. Find Ialia around mebbe. We look. Go." She glances around as they head toward the front door and then to the staircase, hoping to find the witch on the way to the Paladin's room.
…before glancing at Joreld, ”Annika, family has name Thersil. Know it?” Joreld leaves the table and retires to his room. Irritation flickers. The paladin had made a point of dropping names. And now, when they had a family name that might provide clues, he had walked off - pouting over a woman. As the young trio leave, they don't return to their table but instead head up a flight of stairs. Some others from their table also rise and follow, as well as a couple of others from around the room. Samara marks the people heading upstairs. She looks to the dwarf, taking a moment to make sure they aren't heard. ”Girl and others go up. Is meeting, I think. A bird or animal mebbe go near and hear things, eh?”
Hanging at the window, Samara sips her tea and silently waits for all the new people to leave, including Tespen. Green eyes or no, she wouldn’t trust him with all that she learned. She is glad when the ‘kids’ leave as well as the gregarious half-elf. Ialia leaving is just bad timing but it couldn’t be helped. When it is just their party, she offers what she’s managed to sort from the collage of instances. ”Heard stuff.” She indicates Annika with her eyes, before glancing at Joreld, ”Annika, family has name Thersil. Know it? Lots places she say is home… Highmoon, Hillsfar, Cormanthor. Travels lot an’ ‘People of Green’ name stick to her… like Dagger Springs. Like gnat, men buzz ‘round her.” She glances about the room, indicating likely people with her eyes as she names them, or looks down when she doesn’t see a likely candidate. ”Skairris Noll, doctor, healer. He respected. Jamill Roshama, corpse skin. They say trouble and womanizer.” Her scoffing tone at the title makes it sounds as if she doubts the claims or the judgment of the women involved. She goes back to looking for targets and finds the obvious one, ”Garril Kormarsh… barely a man, older woman. People wonder.” She looks around a little more, not necessarily expecting to find the final face. ”Korwen Brownrivver. No wife, has big farm on village edge. Stay by self and ‘not community’. How they meet?”
He rubs it [whistle] with his sleeve and then blows a few notes as a test. ”Do you play?” he asks. ”I’m afraid I know nothing of the music of the Bedine but I’ve always felt it was a universal language.” ”Goldfields lady made, yes? We talk, little. Nice.” She shakes her hand at the whistle. ”I no play. Sing, sometimes, but not for peoples. No. No.” ”I’ve heard noises about some kind of meeting of folk from out of town tonight…” Samara nods, ”We hear same. Mebbe no thing but we come, too. This ‘folk’…” she looks at the half-elf, debating what she should say, whether to go with her instincts and his green eyes. ”Is girl with them, dark hair, pretty. Peoples say she lead men by…” she makes a two-fingers-together dangling motion. ”Watch her careful. Mebbe center of ‘folk’. Mebbe ‘folk’ not good folk.” She glances around. ”OK, ‘nough airs. I go see meeting and uh… chats... with… my peoples.” She offers Tespen a slight bow, ”Thank for walk and talk.” She smiles, realizing she made a rhyme. ”Mebbe talk again… after you learns poems.” She turns and slowly heads back towards the Inn, seeing if Tespen will accompany her at least part of the way. Instead of going for the door to the noisy and crowded place, she heads to the window by their table… which is why she chose that particular table, in the first place. She could look in on the crowd but wasn’t trapped within it. Standing outside, she rest her arms on the open window frame and acts casual… much as she’d seen drunken reprobates do across the Dales, ”Hey! Hand me my tea, please. Thanks!” Drunken reprobates didn't say 'please' in her experience, but Samara felt that was going a step too far.
Samara’s laugh is teasing. ”Charming half-elf? You no say poems! How charm wit’ no poems? Dale girls not hard to… to.. please.” At the mention of the return of the Netherese city, a look of consternation crosses Tespen's face. "If even a fraction of what I've heard about a city of…” She nods, turning serious. ”Is true. I there, at Scimitar Spires, when city come…” She demonstrates with her hand, something drifting, floating, ”stop at Shadow Sea. One year in Heartlands, I been. Seen cities, seen towns… Shadow city is big big.” ”I fear you're going to need all the help you can get.” ”Is true… If shadow no stop in Anauroch… Dalelands need help. Sometime neighbor problem go to you problem.” ”I haven't seen him, though I do know who you mean. We've crossed paths before.” Samara doesn’t bother to hide her disappointment. ”Oh. IF him here, be mebbe 10 days ago. You here ‘round then?” ”I know some folk round here, though as it happens I'm looking for some myself. Figured you might be it, given you were the obvious group from elsewhere. Alas not.” ”Who you look? Mebbe, we see.”
Trying to calm Samara's obvious excitement, Tespen replies, "I think it would be fairer to say I know of your people, though that's probably more than many folk. And I was merely referring to eye colour - green among elves is as common as I have just learned black is to the Bedine.” ”Oh.” The sorceress deflates a bit, but gives Tespen a point for admitting the limits of his knowledge. ”Yes, you know more lots Dale peoples. Is good… no say silly asks.” "An accident? Yes - I sensed you were in distress…” She wasn’t a thespian but Samara thought she’d masked her feelings passably well. If Tespen had indeed sensed her mood, and wasn’t simply taking a stab in the dark… It suggested he had some skill. ”Dalemen did follow me ago. First time for ‘distress’. My people, we do not… uh… crowd so much. Is difficult, for me. Unnerstand?” "All of which is to say, I'm intrigued: what brings you together and out here into the frontier? Curious minds - or whatever I have that passes for one - would be interested to know." Samara chuckles at the idea that this water-rich, verdant, temperate land is a ‘frontier’. ”Curious? I unnerstand this. I curious much. So, we do trade, yes? Answer for answer, yes?” When she gets his agreement, she continues. ”Is two question…” She makes a sweeping circular gesture encompassing, presumably, the Dales. ”What bring me here?” Then she points to her feet ”What bring me here-now?” Fairly certain her meanings are clear, she presses on. ”First ask. Leave Anauroch because Netherese.” She almost hisses their name. ”Saw Thultanthar come at my desert. Bedine need allies, so I come Dales.” ”Second ask. Lord of Daggerdales want help. His scout go look for danger. Maybe danger find him. We look for scout to help. Elf scout call Glanwyn.” She observes Tespen’s reaction for clues, before holding up two finger and closing them as she states each of her questions. ”My asks: Have seen Glanwyn? D’you know peoples here 'round?”
”And sure,” he replies, ”a light evening stroll works wonders for many ailments.” Bidding farewell to Joreld and Ialia, who make their way back into the inn, the half-elf continues, ”I think that’s just a difference between our peoples - you are Bedine? - the opposite would be true amongst the Tel’Quessir,” ”Yes, I am Bedine! You know my people?” She’s rather excited to be recognized. It turns to puzzlement. ”Opposite? You people not take air for head hurt? Hmm.. is different.” ”I’m guessing that you didn’t ask me to walk with you just to gaze into my eyes and recite bad poetry though?” She smiles behind her veil. ”Is man job say poems. I listen, no laugh.” She gives him a moment to stew on that before continuing their stroll with a laugh, ”Walk is for head… but I wonder why you find me? Is accident? Also…” she waves towards the receding figures of Joreld and Ialia, ”they make… hm… sheep-eyes at one other.” She shakes her head slowly, ”To me, is not interest.”
”I've an old friend who does dabble in fortune telling, I'm sure she'd be interested in trading tips and tales. If she didn't live across the Dales.” ”I’d like! I travel lot. Mebbe we meet someday. Where she in Dales?” ”And you're sure there's nothing that can be done for your head? Cold water and a warm seat if nothing else works well enough.” ”Night air helps. I walk a bit. Be good. You walk?” At the comment regarding his eyes, he replies good-humouredly, "Kind of you to notice, miss. And yours appear to be black." Samara laughs lightly, ”No. I… Yes. My eyes is black - is common. Green eyes is… hm… verra rare. We Bedine say ‘fate smile’. Green is color of wahatan… oasis? Is fortune sign.” "Indeed. When did you two meet?” The sorceress’ head cocks to the side, curious and amused at Ialia’s tone. ”Met now. I say Samara. He say Tespen. Met.”
The sorceress slightly shakes her veiled head. ”No, with thanks. Is only head-ouch, not… uh… injure. No worry, it leaves.” While the Dalelands game of ‘polite pleasantries’ (as she thought of it) continues, the sorceress sifts through the fragments of collected information. Patterns begin to emerge. One of them dogged Glanwyn’s path from just before he disappeared to now. Perhaps it is coincidence, perhaps not. She finds it interesting nonetheless. Samara turns to the tall stranger. ”Your eyes, sayyid… is green.” She says, as if it was significant.
”Are you ok, miss? You look like you’re in some kind of pain.” No actress, Samara doesn’t need to fake her reaction. She presses on her temples; the spell always left her feeling like her head was an over-ripe fruit, ready to burst its skin. ”Pain. Yes, this is.” She rubs at her temples. ”It goes.” As the ache abates and most of the voices quiet – except the ones about ‘Macneesh’ and his ‘vicious piles’ – Samara carefully wraps and puts away her stack of placards before cautiously rising, a bit unsteadily. She smooths her abaya and offers the half-elf a tentative nod. ”I thank for your worry, sayyid. I am Samara. I speak fortunes… head pain is cost sometimes.”
Samara initially enjoys her late lunch and the people-watching, even though they learn nothing of substance. As dinner time approaches, the sorceress grows more fidgety and her expression (what can be seen of it) sours slightly. Possibly the meal has turned on her? The Inn fills and grows noisy. Samara shifts in her chair, uncomfortable. At a particularly loud burst of laughter and pounding from one table, she’s out of her chair. The words to her tablemates are rushed and clipped. ”Excuse. I be back.” Without awaiting a response, Samara is off, avoiding the larger knots of guests while weaving past the smaller ones. She is out the door quickly. Sense Motive DC:24:
Samara’s agitation grows in proportion to the general din and crowd-size at the Inn.
Outside, the sorceress walks briskly away from the building and the people, trying to slow her breathing. She had hoped that choosing a large table by the window would help, but it had only forestalled the inevitable. Still, it was progress. Despite the strong desire to leap directly out the window, she had refrained. After ten minutes of solitude and meditation, her agitation diminishes and her calm returns… but not enough to dare the crowded dining area. But perhaps enough to work the only spell in her repertoire that filled her with dread. She makes her way around the Inn to the stables, to find an unobserved corner or a spot in the hayloft. She sits down, pulls out her prophetic placards, utters a personal prayer, then recites the incantation. ”… أيها القدر تحدثني عن أنيكا” Midani:
”Fates, speak to me of Annika…”
Samara sets to her meal with relish, making a smorgasbord on the plate before her from the platters at the table's center. She seems oblivious to the conversation. She nods with approval after trying the stew and ladles a serving into a bowl by Pick. "Mushroom. Is verra good!"
"Nice to see you've remembered your manners too, not like some." The Bedine nods, ”Yes. Manners verra important.” She considers the options offered and points to the larger common room. ”We sit there. Thanks. Think five meat and greens, please, and two bread and cheese. Not sure what all like. Maybe one stew? Please and thank you.” She offers the innkeeper a polite bow before proceeding into the common room. She looks for a table large enough for six, near a window. Samara sits down - still finding chairs something of a curiosity - and glances about the room, trying to get a feel for the place.
Entering the inn you discover it’s a dimly-lit place of rambling floors, stout pillars and thick crossbeams. The atmosphere strikes you as typical of the Dales: worn-down and perhaps not as clean as a high-end big city establishment, but made up for in terms of cosiness and easy rustic comfort. An old woman, her stoop and lined face suggest she is well into later life, leans against a large wooden bar and turns to face you as you come in. Samara stops to appreciate the ambiance of the inn for a moment, before engaging the old woman and parroting a phrase from the lady in Goldfields. ”Hullo! We like to have a ‘hot meal’. Please?”
Samara waits quietly, listening, the reins to Pick’s horse looped loosely around her saddlehorn.
Samara’s concern is obvious from her eyes. She takes the horse’s reins from the dwarf. ”OK. Three barks, I come too.” With a flick of her wrist, a magical sapling (familiar to Pick), slides into her hand. ”Want yizard armor?”
With one hand on the pommel, Samara whistles her horse to a westward trot before she deftly leaps onto the saddle. "Haayaa, Wadl."
Samara thanks the woman and leads her horse over to the group, catching the tail-end of the conversation. She points to the road, heading west. ”One-Horn Helm… that way two miles. We can get meal there now. It is roadhome.”
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