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Ulfbrecht wheels around to the sound of the voice, hand still gripped around the haft of his handaxe. His eyes move from Ping to the newcomer and notes her taking cover behind him and turns to more fully block her from view, facing the human face on. "Gōd-ġemōt to ye, fremde..." the ranger says slowly. "habbaþ things wel in hand, do we, wyrd be cynd." He studies the man for a moment, noting his clothing, wondering if he could be the ranger the group was seeking.

"forġiefe I, but the last folc came upon us on the road meant to make us prey. Mite ye give your nama?"

He scans the surrounding brush and cover in case there are those lying it wait for ambush like last time.

Wisdom? (primary): 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (8) + 3 = 11

Ulf looks around, emerging from behind the bushes to retrieve this thrown axe. He turns over one of the frog corpses with his foot to get a better look at it, shrugging.

"Looks it, nebb-wendere face-changer" Ulf replies. He sets to using the recovered axe to open the corpses, loosing the haul onto the sodden ground. "Welthy frogcan, be they." His eye twitches at the goblin corpse. "Eh. Gutt-slime a better smell for the pūca, say I. Be ware..for if lurks one pūca, there lurk many."

Ulf admires the deer figurine solely for its craft and gives himself a little reassuring half-grin 'neath his whiskers, hoping his own skill with plane and chisel could match up someday.

Aye, the red frog.

Heyo, just checking in. Still at work converting all of my write-ups into a better organized library in a google drive. Probably going overboard but oh well! I'm aiming to provide a resource for as much lore and background and setting info as I can. I'd like to kick off a game that is really centered around and focused on the players and characters. I'm not really planning an overarching story or plotline. I'd like to work with all the would-be players to get some very world-ingrained characters made up with goals and motivations and purposes and all that and really let the story and campaign as a whole grow around that. Slightly sandbox (desert sandbox, har har!) in the sense that it will be the characters' aims, decisions, desires that will create the plot and push it along.

Appreciate the patience, looking forward to getting into it.

Ulf crouches in the thick brush near the burly monk, peering through the reeds at the source of interest. Spotting the massive frog, the ranger squints. "Queer ġesċeafte creatures have ye on the ābufan-grundsurface/above-ground" he whispers. He wonders for a moment if it would be more efficient to simply let the frogs be and continue on their way, but as he eyes the rest of the group moving into position and Spiro and Mos drop one with well-struck arrows, he nods to himself, accepting the course of action before him. "Yet.. say would ye lot the same of min hām, reckon I."

Ulfbrecht takes his handaxe from his belt, tosses it up once a few inches above his hand before catching it and then flinging it at the frog directly ahead of him.

Handaxe Throw: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (10) + 2 = 12
Damage: 1d6 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 1 = 7

(Thought I already posted a response but I guess only in my head!)

Sound good. I'm working on getting some things together with the setting and potential campaign info that I can compile in a doc/drive and share and we can move on from there with figuring out the rest. Thanks for sticking around!

No decisions made yet, I'm more apt to make a game that all would be gung-ho for; granted the 'all' right now is just us!

Rekkar-Sarrat is loosely inspired by the Nile region at its core, with the surrounding regions being more akin to deserts. For a very, very truncated background -

The Pharosi people, led by the Pharaohs, flee their ancient homeland of the Empires of Pharos for a now-unknown reason. They make a decades-long sojourn through the Dunes of Empty Sun and emerge into the floodplain of the great river Do'ol set Maradha. They immediately begin to conquest/colonize it, displacing, destroying, or assimilating the peoples they encounter - the Shuka (a small race of shamans and druids) are at first enslaved and then driven out, while the Nomadi (another race of humans) are treated more warmly, though most of the nomads simply move out of the way, some are assimilated. The Pharosi start building their kingdoms, introducing their controlled irrigation and sustained agriculture, eventually forming a series of kingdoms along the river and building a new civilization (Rekkar-Sarrat). There is great growth and expansion but also infighting as Pharaohs contest with one another. Gnomes arrive on trading vessels down the river from far to the north and eventually bring Rekkar-Sarrat into a more expansive network of trade and the region gradually becomes a major hub of commerce. This leads to a great influx of different goods, cultures, religions, philosophies, and people start to turn their backs on the Pharaohs that they have served for thousands of years and turn to the almighty gold piece, creating a more mercantile society, with the power of the Pharaohs waning considerable and the power of mercantile guilds and trade princes rising. Though some dynasties/Pharaohs still exist, this current period is seen as the very end of the so-called Age of Pharaohs.

There's a lot more to it then that but that's kind of a very general overview of the core region. I have a lot of lore written that I can work to brush up and link if interested. There's three major human races - Pharosi, Dwahani, Nomadi - each with their own distinct cultures and all. Gnomes, Halflings, Dwarves make up the most common of the common races (Gnomes and halfling tweaked slightly from core - Dwarves are very different; vested much more in the arcane and arranged into Houses that constantly plot against one another...more like drow society than typical Dwarven). The region is very cosmopolitan in current times, however, so you have full-blooded Orcs from the Scablands, Goblinoid and Gnoll slavers that do business in the kingdoms, Solari elven (more like core elves, from afar) traders, painted elves (a kind of spin on wild elves) from the Shimmering Sea, a sect of which has opened trade with humans, half-orc and half-elves that have migrated or stayed behind off merchant vessels to set up shop, plus a number of other ethnic human groups including the northern pirates from Xeng Qui and the mountain mercenaries of Lanpei, and traders from beyond.

I've got stuff written up for most of the regions and races.

I also have a fairly fully-fleshed out continent elsewhere that features more traditional fare. It has the Empire of Eliendor formed by the conquest/assimilation of petty kingdoms currently led by another imperialistic queen hungry for more. Eliendor is made up of smaller baronies, the most recent of which is Varuna's Chase, a region very culturally different than the rest of the empire (think Franks and Norse). South of them is Cethlennean which has so far resisted repeated Elindean incursion due to their heavily forested and boggy homeland advantage and the close alliance with the elves of Setal Solaris across the sea. East of Eliendor is Arc, a now backwoods former-kingdom made up of small principalities that rose up after the ruling family died out after a series of malign mishaps. Arc is a bit of a superstitious land and viewed as cursed by outsiders (and by many insiders). North of Arc across the mountains is Spiria, an expanse of tundra and taiga and frozen shores, notable for its most prominent city of Glysten that is ruled by a rather metropolitan white dragon. South of Arc is Jerdala which is a great steppe of Orcish horselord nomads. Basically orc mongolia. Just south of this continent is a series of island city states collectively called Sarkrosa; mercantile, maritime society.

There's more I could ramble on about but that's a brief overview of a couple places anyway!

Hey friends,

Haven't heard back from Byakko in a couple of weeks since I reached out. Hope he is faring well and it's just a tangle of real life stuff that's pulled 'im away.

Either way, not sure where that leaves us at this juncture. We've cycled through quite a few players in this venture over the past.. 11! years (thanks for being here since Day 1 Geedra!) and I fear the adventure path is kind of out of steam for introducing new ones. There's no riders left to pass a mantle and I kind of think that things are so deep in it's hard to introduce new players to the storyline and all. Not that I want to draw the curtain on things but I'm not sure trudging on with a mostly new party is quite so engaging. Open to both of your thoughts though, mates.

Certainly don't want to cease playing with you, either, if things do end up coming to a close here. Maybe a fresh start is in order. Reflecting, I can kind of realize how the characters cycling in and out and the loss of pulse on the story in this campaign (I think this path is a rough one to run in this format) could have definitely affected my own gusto and motivation, so maybe a new beginning could be a nice shot of invigoration.

Anyways, just mulling things over at present. All ears for your weigh-ins!

Sounds good. I'll ping Byakko and we'll try to get back at it this weekend.

Aye, poised n' prepped to crack some folc-taker knees.

It's one of my favorites as well. The first half of my 5E game was RHoD and when it concluded we just continued the adventures in Elsir Vale. I liked it better running it in 3rd Edition / PF1e though. I don't think 5E is rough and gritty enough to hammer home the long, exhausting slogs.

I know we are a bit stalled here waiting for Byakko and Skäne but just wanted to say no rush, we'll keep truckin when you are all back. I'm more keen to wait for everyone rather than DMPC 90% of the encounter, lol.

Kind of readjusting things in my life from a hobby standpoint and I've discovered that I really want to shift RPGs back to being the nucleus. I've been running into snags trying to divide my attention to too many different things and probably letting my creativity get dejected in the process. Recently been looking over old worldbuilding stuff and campaigns (I was even doing a nighttime reread of our old Red Hand of Doom campaign, Gerald!) and it's kind of snapped me back. I think falling into a forever DM role in my offline games had been beleaguering me a bit (hence taking a break from the homebrew 5e game) and that probably spilled over a bit. Anyway, hoping to inject a bit more vitality into my posting, and hopefully find some more roleplaying opportunities to layer in to our game here. I think that's the primary issue I have with some of the adventures in this AP (this adventure in particular) - just a lot of dotted lines of combat encounters and less roleplaying opportunities since 99% of what you are coming across is hostile, lol. Might also try to find a better way to handle the map thing. Should probably just utilize the Google suite to cut down on map editing and all, so I'll look into that.

Yeah, it was Byakko. In my head I was just going with the narrative that he had been repeatedly attacked to no avail to this point and now realize in hindsight that it was confusing since Skäne is the shield-man, lol.

Back from a short vacation and feeling refreshed after a trying week, so should be able to focus down on things here finally.

Round 2

Skäne delivers a pair of skewering strikes on the malevolent fey, with one pushing into her corrupted flesh, splitting it against the tip of the spear. She doesn't seem too bothered by it, though, leaning in close to the stern warrior and hissing before playfully pushing him away as the wound remains blood free. "Come now, you can do better than that."

Round 3

The frenzy of the melee continues with Skäne's mighty stabs interlacing with Byakko and Enii's swipes, but this adversary is possessed of impressive mettle and she dodges the thrusts in a wickedly beautiful dance. As the vikingr roars his threat, she leans back from him, hunching down and hissing once more, but it is difficult to say if it is our of fear, rage, or some combination... You did hit that DC right on the nose, so shaken for 1 round :)

On to Round 4 Actions for our other adventurers!

The next morning, Ulfbrecht appears at the tail end of the commotion but lets the others handle the situation, reckoning he's not the best choice for diffusing a tense social situation. He stands nearby just in case, giving the others a nod to let them know he is there to help if need be.

Outside

Ulfbrecht listen's intently to Ping's story, taking each sentence into himself as if it were a parcel, unpacking each neatly to store in his mind. When her tale speaks of the broken-nosed woman, a flash ripples across his eyes. A door in his mind opens where he sees internally a series of floating stone tablets, each carved as a bas-relief of a nebulous, humanoid form, the only sure-cut features the ones he has heard of in his travels. A hunchback, a towering form in armor...a nondescript woman with only her broken nose a fine casting.

Ping's voice fills this mental chamber - "PRENTYSS" - and as she speaks it, an unseen chisel imprints the letters at the base of the carving. P R E N T Y S S. Since accompanying this group he has not only found out about a potential bastion of operations for this cult, but now a name as well.

His eye flickers a squint as she speaks of this orcish greed-monger and his ways, and his dealings with this Prentyss, but holds his tongue until Ping is finished speaking.

Dwarven: "Coin is the darkest folly of all with a palm." he says grimly. "This have I seen with mine own eyes as the weight of gold and silver drowned another." He reaches to his belt and produces the smallest of purses, upending it. Naught but a single gold coin falls out, nestling quietly onto the ground. "This is all I dare keep for myself. For a bite of bread or a grain of knowledge. Sooner would I work as a man's barkeep for a day in exchange for a night's bed than have wealth enough to stay a week." His tone is some strange mix of resolved and somber. Much like his views on coin swaying folk like Marko to join in brigandry, the concepts of money owed paid in violence seems to touch some nerve.

"n' mean I no disrespect to your father, let it be known. But no peace have I for those that prey on folc's need for it, or for those who weight their worth in greed, like this Malidont. n' to come and collect on a dead man's kin...nay, not if'n this dwarf is 'round to cross paths with them. n' our paths be crossed for true, say I. If'n your orc-blood runs with this Prentyss. My Milde is a young girl, for true, but she's a child of stone, so I must need believe she is as solid. Whatever hands this woman has on my niece will make a fine necklace o' fingerbones, say I."

His words taper to a hard edge when he speaks of the peril Milde is in; the blade of wroth he has forged for her captors is tempered by his love for his niece, however, and he keeps a measured head. "Ech, mind not my furnace-words. But let it be so known that none'll stand between she and I. n' if this Malidont is involved, have will I his tusks for the folly. But ech, enough of the qualms of mine.. we speak of ye! If'n ye haven't seen, ye have a host 'round you now. Know not this Malidont...but seen have I your friendly orc-blood in a fight. n' the Lightfoot, the music-blower, the archer, the aelf... seems to me that Malidont is the one that needs worry." He offers Ping a grin. "Speak for the rest, I cannot, but you can take these words from a Dwarf already on the path of his blood-oath; be it the broken-nosed Prentyss or the greed-glutted Gulven Malidont, I've enough hammers for 'em all."

Ulfbrecht leans back in his seat, chewing air for a moment as he processes Ping's response; the nervous energy, the hesitant stance. He did not mean to provoke any anxiety in the girl, only open a path twixt himself and another of this band, but perhaps in the forthright assurance of his own plans and intentions he failed to realize others may have cause to not be so open.

He opens his mouth to dismiss the issue but catches himself as the gnome invites him outside.

"Ah..eh, yes, gá I wiþ I'll go with ye, if'n ye wish. o' course," he replies, getting back to his feet. "Moon-balm is a selden gift for I," he muses.

Once outside, he speaks low again, and in Dwarven to remain more confidential.

Ulf finds his way to the Baron o' Mutton, mind still a methodical strike of mallet upon chisel as he etches his most recent interactions into the tablet in his mind. He repeats the knowledge gleaned of the Gleaming Glade until the words are sure as stuck to him, still mulling over this as he pushed through the door and into the inn.

He accepts the change in atmosphere, feeling a bit more at home with a roof over his head and walls around him. He scratches at his beard as he scans the interior, looking for familiar faces. Spotting those he could call traveling companions, he lumbers over, his nose picking out the wafting scents of bread and drink.

"God æfnung," Ulf says with a nod as he joins the ranks. "Carlanis walks still the dream-path. þaccode (beat) the mann god, Hûƞidark did. The Marko lad wealwaþ (wallows) in his poor cyras (choices). God folc is Garyld, þēah (though)." He gives his report and offloads his pack to a nearby free spot. "þēah drenċas (what drinks) mind wel the tunge in this guest-house?"

Ulf nods. "Under-stand I the ire when hearm befealle a kin. Seek I one of mine own from these thrall-makers." He sighs and his eyes flick over the outhouse. "Seems the orc-blod þaccode the mann god 'n well. Like'n be a-sleep til morn. wȳsċe I to spece with him..be-fore any such sweord a-swings, if'n ye could see to it." He gathers up his whittling and carving tools from where he left them and packs them away neatly.

"Mine thancs for the drink 'n smoca. Most for the..ech, what say ye upp hēr.. knowledge?" he fuddles with the word, pushing it out after a moment. "More'n thats found my ears yet. wealce I to the guest-house. brēad n' ċīese would be god." He thanks Garyld again for the visit before plodding off to the Baron of Mutton to afford himself a meager meal and check in with his newfound compatriots. Perhaps they would be willing to investigate this Glade, or at least more information about it and it's dark denizens.

Garyld's

Ulf moves quickly over to the worktable and leans over to get a good view of the map. His gaze maneuvers across it, back and forth, studying the surrounding environs and roadways, his mind a steady, methodical turning grindstone as it processes. He nods as Garyld speaks, wincing slightly at the prospect of this foray being something he could very well likely be unable to surmount here and now.

"Aye..made glances have I at beorgas where the dēad once rison," he says, remembering scouting and spelunking old barrow-tombs in ruins and buried sepulchers in his past. It had been said that draugr and ghouls and the like had walked there, but when he had searched them there were only gnawed bones and claw marks in the stone.

"ōþer ways, if'n wyrd be cynd," he muses. "Say ye have watch-ed the plæċe ? Seen have ye the...ech..comings and goings of these deorc folc? May be could tace one off the pæþ..." he scratches at his chin, the early threads of different plans starting to spool.

"Be it so hwelċ way ever, be it a plæċe of gast or dēofol or ent..there trede will I, for mine blod there is no line." He lets out a sigh of resolve and looks to the carpenter. "Thanc ye, of all that found my ears, your words are the most help-full."

Hey guys, sorry for the silence as of late. Been dealing with some health issues, bouncing around between doctors and spent 8 hours in the ER on Wednesday getting a bunch of tests. I think things have calmed down for now until a follow up appointment Monday so I should be able to get back to it over the weekend. Thanks for bearing with me.

Garyld's

Ulf frowns at the talk of bandits. "Cumen a time for some in such werk when the mynet from stelende things falls short, and the stelende of folc is longer." He sighs but accepts the pipe with a nod. "þanc ye."

His frown turns smirk at the news of the count's son running off. "This I understande. oþer-sonu...second-son..was I of my folc. brōþor tōc the blōd-cræft, and slanc away did I. Scout, explorer, tracker. Much time spent from home and folc. Had time in the top-lands before...but not in some years." He takes another drag as he reminisces for a moment before passing the pipe back to the carpenter.

He stands with a start as the man explains the place where the followers of the cult were said to gather.

" 'Gleaming Glade..'" he rubs his beard. "Is this land near?" This information was the most significant lead the ranger had received as to the location of these people and their activities. He goes over the name of the place again and again in his mind until it cannot be forgotten. "A fell land as ye tell it, but a land that may have what I seek. cnǣwst ye the way to this fyrhþe?"

Garyld's

Ulfbrecht smiles wistfully, running a thumb along the rim of his cup. "Aye, hard work is the mægntrade of mine folc, truth find the ears. From the axe-grinders to the lagu-makers. Unsōþfæstan folc too, be it said."

He chuckles a bit at the talk of goblins. "And when turn ye the stone over, lōcast at the botm; cnāwen are pūca to stick! But be there wiersa things than they, in the deorc-ways of the bodan." he inclines his head towards the outhouse where the prisoners are confined. "Be they with the thrall-makers or the God-Ripere cult or nay, such is my hunt. If'n only it was a hundred hundred pūca. A mite easier task, say I."

Garyld's

Ulf accepts the drink with a nod, setting down his tools to take up the cup. He raises his own to meet Garyld's honour and gives a small smile. "Better'n mine top-wealcere tunge, say I." With another nod, he adds, "forefæderes wuldor." He downs a gulp of the brew and wipes his moistened whiskers with the back of his hand.

"Ná efel," he says approvingly. "Not bad. In mine tún, brēowaþ we a wassail of swamm and beterōt with sealt. Much ungelic to this. But thanc ye do I; liketh this as well."

He slaps the side of his face where the dead flesh is. "Aye! rash was I as a ladd...more bold than bræġn. Learn-ed the better now. More'n say I for that pūca. Took his head for the ċēce." He chuckles and downs the rest of his cup.

As others depart from the carpenter's abode, Ulf remains at the makeshift gaol, stretching his bones for a few moments before regarding the fellow ranger.

"If'n ye don't mind the ġefēr company, stay would I to rest..'n help wæċċe watch these," the dwarf says, inclining his head towards the outhouse.

If Garyld has no qualms with him sticking around, Ulfbrecht finds a nice spot in the shade to sit and enjoy some time off of his feet. Pensive, he reflects stoically on the day, tracing imaginary lines in his head that represent his many paths. He does his best to slowly chisel the faces of Carlanis, Marko, and the other bandits into his mind's eye, adding them to the mental hall of statues he keeps. He conjures up the images of the God-Reaper's cult; at least, the mental images he has put together from the descriptions given to him; to keep them fresh in his memory. The woman with the broken nose, the armored brute, the mad elf, the hunched priest.

Shaking his head with a sigh he sifts through the contents of his pack, drinking some from his skin before pulling forth his knife, chisel, file, and block of wood that is beginning to take shape in the form of an austere tower. His memory flits back to the place he espied years ago, a long forgotten bastion in a dark, forlorn crack in the world. A simpler time, he thinks. A time to return to, once Milde is safe.

It is the image of the young dwarven girl that stays in his mind as he works.

Post incoming tomorrow gents...just been one of those weeks.

Ulf waits for a non-awkward moment to interject and approach Garyld, clapping Ping on the shoulder along the way. "Good moot to ye, wood-shaper," he says with a nod, studying the man's face. "Join-ed have I with these folc and with they feaht fought these cnafan knaves. If'n left here they are to be, wish I to stay, if'n ye..eh, agree." He gestures to the unconscious man. "Words mean I to ask of he when roused, if'n a slave-taker for true." Whether or not the man was a bandit, slaver, hostage-taker, or else, there was at least a mite of a chance that he could have had an interaction with the roving cult. 'No stone unturned, not even the tiniest of pebbles.'

In the talk of the prisoners, Ulfbrecht mulls and rubs his chin, eyes set on the unconscious Carlanis. "Still speak I with this one, when he is upriht... He flicks his eyes around to these new companions. "If'n ye dung-weardas dungeon-guards wolde ālīefeþ allow it? Noht fullhīwcūþ very familiar with'n how all of ye laga..ech, laws, work."

"My thanks for the offer, but I will make my own way through this stream. It also might help to wash some of this goblin stink off my clothes"

Ulfbrecht snorts a laugh. "Be needing māra than a fish-road for that, lēohtfōt! May hap æċed vinegar, ash, and lye...but betera better to be sicor...eh, safe..and burn them!"

The dwarf secures his things and crosses the stream, wringing out his hair once on the other side.

Ulf would likely just hang around wherever the prisoners are being taken to and wait for Carlanis to wake up so he can question him, if the locals will allow it.

Ulfbrecht helps the Lady to her feet. "A cudgel to the head," he says bluntly. "A saying of my folc...it would mean 'a strong mind breaks stone.'" He points to a spot on his head that aligns with the point at which she suffered the blow. "Took ye the strike well."

Looking between Ping and Hûƞidark, Ulf shrugs.

"May be the lǣdere cnēowe leader knows of this cult of the God-Rīpere...may be that he hēaps lyġas lies on the plates of his folc yet works with the thrall-makers...or for them." The dwarf absentmindedly spits to the side on the ground as if to get the taste of such foul business from his mouth. He sighs. "This cult I hunt has forstolen mine nift - niece. Kill-ed mine brother and his wife. The only purpose of mine life is to finde her."

Ulfbrecht shoots a hard look to Marko briefly before setting his gaze on the unconscious Carlanis. "When woken, cnāwe I what cnēowe he. Soþ hit sylf acyþeð. Cræfta gehwilc byþ cealde forgolden."Truth will make itself known. Every deceit will be coldly repaid.

Before Hûƞidark takes the man into shackles, Ulf stares hard at the man's face now that the heat of the fray has died down, cataloging his features and checking them against any of the descriptions of the slavers he hunts. After an uncomfortably long look, he pushes the chap into the half-orc's custody and goes over and checks the face of the unconscious Carlanis as well. Even if he doesn't mesh with any of the descriptions Ulf has, he carves this man's face into his memory nonetheless.

He gathers his axe and hammer back to his person as he listens to Marko speak his tale. "A ǣmtiġ purs empty purse will drive a mann to fūl deeds..as true as a pūca stinks of hland" goblin stinks of piss.

Eventually his eyes fall on Ping and he walks over to her, rubbing a chin as the interrogation with Marko continues. He studies her face a moment before he speaks.

After speaking, he nods, and then looks to Jenneleth. He kneels by the unconscious woman and lightly touches the bludgeon wound on her head. "Yer charge lives, by my eye. Poor lass.. was a earg cowardly blow."

Wasn't tracking that we'd be gaining such a quantity upon level up; will definitely help the decision to be a bit freer with them!

Shoving away from Franz's swing, Ulfbrecht keeps his eyes trained hard on the man as the weapon sails by him, hearing the thud of it hitting the ground as if it were somewhere out in the distance. The dwarf's heartbeat pounds in his ears as he steps forward inside the reach of the knave's reach once more.

"Mine-paws, ech?" Ulf spits, grabbing his light hammer from his belt. "Be it so - Have I a hamor for your knee, if'n you recall!" He swings low on the man with the hammer to hobble him.

Hammer Strike: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (16) + 1 = 17 Not really going for a called shot or anything, just swinging on his knees as a callback/for thematic reasons.

damage: 1d4 + 1 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 + 1 = 3 Naturally I would get minimum damage upon finally hitting ;)

Oof, I feel for ya Ulfbrecht. Those rolls stink. On the plus side, it might make Franz waste his turn laughing.

Aye, can't surmount the fates every time. Not a spry first showing for this weathered Dwarf..hopefully I can make amends with some fine tracking or herbalism rolls soon :]

Ulfbrecht frowns at himself for missing such an easy strike; perhaps fighting in the wide openness of the surface and beneath the light of the sun will take some getting used to. Fortunately his adversary isn't fairing much better and he watches the quarterstaff sail harmlessly by.

Then a voice rings hard against his ears; a voice unfamiliar but the words all too. "Slavers! They're slavers!" The shout echoes deep into his bones and reverberates within his skull and he is nearly sucked away from the present for a split second before his gaze snaps hard onto Franz. His brow furrows more than the field of a ten-armed plougher behind on his taxes as a mask of pure wroth usurps his face.

"þeow-makere, eh?" He reaches out to grasp the man before him with his hands and attempt to hold him against the tree. "Ye will speak what you know!"

Grapple: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 1 = 3 From what I gather a grapple attempt is just a regular attack roll if I'm not mistaken.

Oof...let's Fortune's Fool a Fate Point to reroll that one.

Grapple Reroll: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4

Welp.

Ulfbrecht detaches from the exchange for a moment, narrowing his eyes to take stock of their surroundings. His brow furrows as he spots what he had expected, but otherwise does not largely react to the development. He glances to Elyan and whispers,

Making an assumption that the aelf would be back towards the cart near Ulfbrecht.

Looking ahead at Hûƞidark and Zeebo having closed distance with these men, his eyes fix on the Halfling's back. Figuring there was perhaps less of a chance of these men knowing Dwarven-tunge than Halfling, he makes a stride forward, muttering low as he is within earshot of the Monk.

He then clears his throat and switches to Common as he stands next to Hûƞidark and Zeebo.

"Ech, ahem...forġiefan I forgive me..If ye folc have word of such dark ones, lend them to mine ears. Trailed them have I from the under-lands, and a hamor hammer have I for ǣlċ each of their knees." He points at a hammer looped in his belt. "Mine hunt to deal with such folc, and fǣr not, found will they be.. none of wall, flōd-slit, berg, or beast will stopp a Dwarv on a blod-oath."

Sorry to hear of your woes and loss. Departures are seldom easy, but as you mentioned, there is some solace in the end of suffering. It sounds like she led a good, long life. Mourn well; sending off the departed with the knowledge that there are those left behind that care for them and will carry their memory on is the finest gift we can give in their passage.

In the evening, Ulfbrecht retires early, the weight of long, hard travel suddenly dawning upon him as he finds some brief respite from only thinking of his goals. He is slightly unsettled by Lafayer covering his expenses, but in truth does not protest as his purse is so light it no longer jingles, the single coin within the lone survivor from the trek to the surface and its events.

"A wilcuma cynd-ness, god-speaker," he tells the man. "Yet be it knowen that the gield payment will be efn (even) made sum-day, be it by mynet - coin - or by deed. On āþ of mīn blōd."

"God-niht to ye," he offers to the others with whom he had spoken. "Mine thancs to ye as well, for the offrian..offer to guida this fremde stranger to this Eorl of yours." Without much other fanfare, the dwarf retreats to his room. Though he is used to taking his sleep still clad in leathers and boots alike, he welcomes the comfort of lightening the burdens and feeling some of the weariness slough off of him. His mind is still at work, arranging the faces and names of these new folk, ordering the facts that will mortar the stepping stones of the future path. He sits upon the edge of the bed and undoes his pack, fishing from it a half-carved block of wood and a file, chisel, and small knife, letting his hands get to work as he thinks. The rhythmic scraping of the wood and metal brings him some peace and eventually he allows himself the comfort of sleep.

He descends to the common room on the morning, early as is his custom, feeling quite refreshed. Upon seeing the others gathered thus far, he plods over to them, standing perhaps a mite awkwardly off to the side, adjusting his jaw to speak as he gives the ælf a nod and clears his throat.

"God ge-mot, ælf," he says, keeping his tone as diplomatically neutral as possible. "Your nama missed mine ears last niht, but I am call-ed Ulfbrecht. Ech..." he trails off for a moment and scratches at his neck, before switching tongues to the Elven one.

Hope everyone had good holidays indeed. I've been dealing with a very fun abscessed infection in my gum that my very kind wisdom tooth decided to gift me, so forgive me for the absence this week. Hopefully I'll be able to get into the dentist in the coming days to get it sorted.

Not sure what kind of diplomacy I'm after here..

This adventure is just really weird. My biggest pain with adventure paths is that sometimes they are just so focused on the structure or machination of the adventure/lore/behind the scenes stuff that it actually spites the players/characters. There are sometimes I read portions of these books and it's just the most self-congratulatory "look how cool and interesting I am" passages from the authors...like a high school kid writing edge poetry or something. Like, there will be one paragraph of player-presented information about a given NPC or story beat but then 8 paragraphs of "the players will assume this but really this is only happening because of that which in turn is because of this but they will never know that because of this other thing and plus there's this fourth thing that has to do with the third thing and now let me lore dump this reasoning to you that never matters because as I said the players specifically CANNOT know about it because of things 2 and 5." This sort of stuff is really prevalent in this adventure and if anything I think it makes it harder for a DM to run because you are left trying to find ways to explain apparently inexplicable things and give players something to work with while the adventure itself fights you in doing that.

I ran this adventure path in an offline group once as well (this was the last book we did before that playgroup fizzled) and it was hard in person to and I ended up just having to take a lot of liberties because the players were so confused. The adventure path really has this heavy hand in trying to force a "the players and their characters are too dumb to even hope to possibly comprehend the machinations of Baba Yaga" vibe which I just don't think makes for a great experience. I haven't read the last 3 books in this path yet but I hope they do a bit better in these regards.

The Jadrenka stuff is probably some of the most confusing in the book. The book point blank says that she will never reveal to the PCs who she is or that she is the Warden or anything, and is forbidden to help them because of she does actively help them than her pacts with Baba Yaga are broken and she loses all of her powers and status as the Warden...but nowhere else does it explain this pact or why that is part of the pact or how it makes sense...and it specifically doesn't make sense because the party are the goddamn riders of Baba Yaga. I understand not wanting to have her help the party directly because she's powerful and would trivialize a lot of stuff, and that they want some of this adventure to remain enigmatic with the raven riddles and all, but I feel like they could come up with a better reason than "she's not allowed to because I said so." The book pretty much assumes that every room you come to you will just kill whatever enemy there is and doesn't really touch on "what if they talk to this person" so I guess it also assumes that you'll never have any interactions with anyone else about the Warden? (other than Caigreal who tries to maneuver you against her...but if you do act against her you kind of just break the adventure for yourselves?).

Anyway didn't mean to go off there, my ultimate point is if you are ever feeling lost, confused, or frustrated with this adventure, I'm right there with you, lol. I'm trying to ease the pains by being a bit more straightforward with some things.

Psst, Ulfbrecht, just an FYI, Zeebo is supposed to be an aged halfling wizard. If you're seeing Gnome features, they would be, rather curiously, of a young gnomish woman. ;)

The dwarf gives a solemn nod to the pilgrim, but says nothing else.

Ulfbrecht regards Eireachdail as he sits before him and studies the man for a moment, his interest piqued at the mention of his kin. "Ay? A moot with mine cȳþþ (kith) ye had, drēam-bláwere? (music-blower)? Ech..wel, not mine own kin, recenian (reckon) I, but furþor nēahġebūrs (farther neighbors). The folc of Glorigirn do not make..myc..much upfærelds (journeys upward). I...ech..what is the word..appre-ciate the godnes of your words, yet ár-weorþnes...what you call honor..wel, be it an earning of the mann, not the kind. Dwarves there are that un-árian (dishonor) their deeds as wel. He ponders for a moment and shakes his had, tapping the table with his thumb.

"But wóþ-sanges (songs) of the deep-folc, say ye?" The ranger cracks a smile and nods. "If'n ye be of mind to give share, would be it god to feel a bite of home. If'n singan them ye can in mine own tung, all the better," he says with a laugh. "Tung of sky-children is slow a-scacan (to shake off) the rust."

To Zeebo, he gives a brief pensive look and shrugs. "This Haranshire was mine ende-ern (end-place/destination) beforan the cropp-takers and sheep-hierdes told me of this rest-house. Hope I to find word there of the thrall-makers. Ge-wuna (accustomed) with being án-stapa a lone wanderer am I, yet ye folc are better with the sky-lands than I, wisse (certainly)..and mayhap a fareld with ye will sharpen the tung. A..Count..say ye? Eorl-cund, yes? Ah, that is.. like an Earl? Wel, god-hlít (good-fortune) may be has at last cross-ed mine path."

At the mention of an ælf, Ulf's eyes shoot hard and fast into the direction Lafayer gestures to. He had not crossed path with any elves in his journey topside thus far, and the only gleaning of one he obtained was the description of the one in this group of slavers..yet upon quickly recognizing that this elf was assuredly well-removed from that description, he eases the sudden tension and returns to his interactions with those gathered at the table with a light clearing of his throat.

"The God-Reapers faithful!? Ill tidings indeed..."

Ulfbrecht stifles a frown and nods. "Aye, that one..God-Rīpere...ye nay have herd of them, then? These ilk, or their wanderings?" He turns to 'Zeebo' and studies him for a moment, registering the features of the gnome to chisel to memory, as he does with all he interfaces with. "Nay ye, either, so seems it." Discouraged, the dwarf is nevertheless persistent. He pools his thoughts on the matter a bit more and speaks on. "Now not I much more...small details. The she-ælf is fæstes..by-chance..a mite wód. hēafod-mixd. Ech..what do ye say..head-touched? Mad - aye, mad. Insane. A devil-mouth ever on her lips, if the truth found mine ears. The steeled mann basalt-headed..black of hǣr. Ent-cyn - giant of a mann. The wīfmann (woman), cymlīċ is she - comly - fair of face, but a brocen nose." He pushes his own nose with his finger to the side that it mimics the description he has. "And of course the hunch-ed mann..unfæger (ugly); worse of face than I," he says with a half-chuckle, pointing at the withered patch of grey flesh on his cheek. "Dimm and dark, is he."

When the pilgrim approaches and makes her case, Ulf interjects when he is able to ask of her of the slavers as well. "What of you, græf-folgere? (grave-disciple) Have ye or your folc seen such as them?"

No worries, this is kind of a convoluted adventure path even at a table, let alone in a a PbP.

Basically Baba Yaga in her infinite wisdom and planning left a breadcrumb trail for her Riders if anything was to ever happen to her and she disappeared. It was ascertainable that something did indeed happen to her when she didn't return for her removal of the current Whitethrone Queen and installation of a new one which she has done every 100 years for 1000+ years. The Riders are charged with following these breadcrumbs in the form of keys that when placed in the Dancing hut cauldron take the Hut and the Riders on the next step of this trail.

The original keys were given to you what feels like eons ago by the Black Rider. Putting those keys in the hut brought you to Iobaria and ultimately Artrosa where the next set of keys are. The ravens' riddles in the campaign info tab give some hint as to the nature of the keys. But that's your main reason to be here - to find the keys for the hut to continue your Riders' quest to find Baba Yaga as only she can stop the machinations of the usurper Queen Elvanna.

Ulfbrecht listens respectfully to the Bard's performance, ne'er opposed to a good song. His rustiness with the common tongue keeps him from following the lyrical content too closely, but he enjoys the cadence and melody, albeit in the stoic way of someone wary of their surroundings. When the lad is finished he raps the table twice with the bottom of a closed fist to give a show of praise.

Upon being referenced by one of the travelers, Ulfbrecht turns to regard him, an eye traveling from the man's face to his feet back to his face again for what surely feels like an awkwardly long moment. The dwarf drums his fingertips once upon the tabletop and clears his throat.

"The preóst asce..ech, speaks the truth of it, top-wealcere," he says, inclining his head towards Lafayer. "The tunges of the sun-bless-ed lands sit hefeg..heavy on mine own. Many tīma-spanns have gone since come have I to make moots with sky-children."

He turns his posture slightly, angling his stance in the chair to invite Spiro and whatever tablemates he may have into his conversation with Lafayer, at this point wishing to cast a wide a net as he can for information on his quarry.

"Know do I some of these thrall-makers; little, but little is spann more than had I scoru-dæġs..days.. beforan. Four to their number, if the truth found mine ears. Three of human, one of them wīfmann, one hunch-ed of back as a knee-capped troll, one seolh..seal-ed in armour. Last of them an ælf." As he lists off each one, he puts a fingertip down on the table starting with his pinky. He then taps his thumb a few times as he orders his thoughts to continue. "The hunch-ed mann..told am I a preóst as well, of the dēaþ-god - him of murder and slahtr. A cult of the Rīpere God mite they be."

He looks intently at those gathered around, hopeful that such descriptions might be known to any of them, in passing at the very least.

Ulfbrecht nods to Lafayer and sits, putting his arms atop the table. He shifts his gear around and maneuvers the haft of his pole arm to accommodate being seated. "Ech...of course. Call-ed am I Ulfbrecht - Thragimthal. forþ-cymen I from Glorigirn, a deep-tún afar. A hunt has taken mine travel to these sky-lands." He looks around for a moment, to once more register his surroundings. "A hunt for heolstrig folk..dark folk of dark deed. Shackle-rattlers, slave-takers, may even cult-gatherers. Seek I any knowledge ye fæstes have on such as them. Heard have I ye may." He leans forward, his tone stoic but a captive fierceness sleeps behind his eyes. "From mine blood have they for-stolen."

He studies the man before him, hopeful that the rumors that led him here would hold true, and that this priest of libation would not disappoint him. If so, there were other travelers in the guest-house, and perhaps one of them would have a lead.

Oof, no fun Byakko! Hope you have a speedy recovery. No worries, take your time.

Also, I'll be working from home for the rest of the year, so I'll be much more available to keep things lively and moving :)

A bit later, after the party has entered the inn..

The door to the inn opens, letting in both the night air and a traveler. A dwarf stands in the doorway for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the firelight before he trudges a single step into the common area, pushing the door closed behind him. An expression is made on him both dour and deliberate, that gruff air that comes naturally to many a dwarf, but he seems more expectant or hopeful than annoyed or chagrined. His grey eyes scan the room, their slate color flecked with amber, in a general assessment of these new environs. He wears the dust of the road, the dark hair made darker in some places with sweat and grit lays plastered about his countenance. His beard is kept a mite shorter than others of his ilk, the dense whiskers coming down only to his collarbones. The left side of his face 'twixt jaw and eye is marred by a discolored patch of withered flesh where no hair grows.

His dress is of simple, sturdy gear; thick vestments of mossy green and stony grey. A hooded shoulder mantle lays atop a suit of ring mail, well-struck but soiled with road grime, itself over a quilted backing reinforced by boiled leather and a roughspun tunic, trousers, and heavy boots. Armed, a series of hammers and hand-axe line his belt and a pole arm sporting both a hammer and a spiked head is slung loosely on his back instead of in hand to appease the locals.

He makes for the nearest of folk who look to be in the employ or service of the inn and speaks low to them, his voice heavily accented and an unfamiliar weave of some Dwarven dialect and common . "Hail then, níw-fara. Seek I the āgend of this guest-house...elles-wise, the mann named Prestor. ge-cnáwan he..? ech.. know of him? To mine ears I am told a god-speaker. I've words to make with he."

Sorry all. Been under the weather this week and..processing the political climate, as it were.

Greala narrows her eyes, brow furrowing as the gnome speaks. She meets his gaze and lets out a long sigh. "Couldn't just make things easy, could you, little cricket?" Her voice is different, sharp, low, with a slight rasp. [b]"I'd hoped to make tools of you lot, but I don't think you'd be receptive to my methods. No matter, I'll at least see what I can do with one of you."

Her fingers upon Mithas's shoulder tighten and she grins. "Ta ta for now, lovelies."

There is a ripple across her, the colors comprising her being flickering and stretching for a brief second, which carries through to Mithas. A breath later, with a light pop of sound, they are gone.

Ungrist stands blinking for several seconds before he erupts in laughter. "Hahahahahaha! We weres all hoodswinked by Caegriel!" He slaps his thighs as he goes on, chuckles punctuating his words. "Should have known! Tricksy one! Good prank."

"Anyway, give yous gnome, yous get golds from Jadrenka Warden, we all friends, yes?"

Haha, hardly! But the campaign tab now has a list of NPCs and short blurbs on them and an important info spoiler that I will add to for yours guys' quick reference to pertinent bits of information you pick up.

Updated the campaign tab with the new loot list. It should be everything you guys have picked up that hasn't been claimed by someone/is recorded on their sheet.

Next goal is to get up a dramatis personae with all of the (importantish) NPCs you've encountered in your adventures.

Hail and well met, intrepid Dwarven ranger here to guide you through any caves and/or dungeons ye may want to delve.

Rolling for gold to get armed and armored: 3d8 ⇒ (2, 2, 2) = 6 x10 = 60 - looks like I'll be traveling light!