It is raining. Nothing serious, no lightning flashes across the grey Autumn sky, no thunder peals with a crash. No. The rain is more timid than that, sparse needling drops that come slowly, lightly, but without end.
The road leading to the ferry, the road which had led you all here, is nothing more than mud and slop.
A guard, slim and young with just the beginning wisps of facial hair eyed each passenger as they approached. Those with armed with weapons, he would offer a slight glance to. "Keep your weapons to your self in Falcon's Hollow. The Consortium doesn't take kindly to ruffians out here."
The ferry is lightly populated. Besides the two guards, a few sturdy looking men who man the rope,a knot of new lumberjacks, and a pot-bellied dwarf woman who calls herself captain of the dingy ferry a only a few passengers stand out:
A solidly built man of dark skin peers over the boat's edge studying his reflection in the River Foam. He watches his face appear and disperse as the rain drops shatter the water's surface tension.
A skinny youthful man with ashen skin and unruly hair taps his spear against the floor of the ferry in an impatient cadence.
A tall, handsome youth, barely a man, with a well-cared for goatee and piercing eyes surveys the people gathered on the ferry. His eyes roam taking in the people with a cursory glance; it is a sharp gaze that doesn't settle on one victim.
Another young man , two swords strapped at his side, immediately strides towards the front of the boat. He shields his face from the cool rain and studies the shore where the town of Falcon's Hollow nestles.
Lastly, a young striking woman with pale hair takes position at the rear of the boat. She stands proud, head upturned, eyes challenging.
Most the passengers keep quiet, bundling up against the steady drizzle. However, one man, stocky and short with perhaps a touch of elven blood will not stop talking. He stands amidst the group of new lumberjacks. "Lads your gonna love it. Good pay. Good eats. Good drink. Aye, it is a hards day work to get it, but thats only honest work so nothing to scoff." He goes on extolling the benefits of the job but ends somberly his voice dipping. "Ya may want to stay out of town proper for a bit though boys. A nasty cough has been ripping righ on through it; killing the sick, old, and young. Only Irori knows how to cure it, and he ain't telling."
Malleon approaches the young woman with the striking pale hair.
Leaning on the rail, he casually asks "Have you been to Falcon's Hollow before?"
Anyone close to Oso, can make out a spiders web of white scars across his back and arms.
The warrior checks to make sure his worn saddlebags and weapons are untouched. Slowly he stands up straight and surveys the other passengers and Falcon's Hollow. His catlike yellow eyes mark him out as one of the nomadic tribesmen.
Chalen coughs slightly, and then raises his hands above his head, palms outward. "Good citizens and visitors of Falcon's Hollow," he belts out. "Has anyone here ever heard of a lumber worker named Merro? He's a relative of mine, and therefore likely to be of some import."
Bobek edges closer to the stocky man talking to the lumber workers, pulling a damp sack of dried herbs bound for the Low Market behind him.
He nervously touches the gold coins in his belt pouch for the thousandth time, and eyes the fresh cutyard recruits with a twinge of regret.
"Some of these miserable lads are no older than me," Bobek thinks to himself, "And yet these coins could very well purchase the blade or the arrow which cuts their young lives short."
He hunkers down against the drizzle and listens for more details about the "killing cough" which has afflicted Falcon's Hollow.
Chalen coughs slightly, and then raises his hands above his head, palms outward. "Good citizens and visitors of Falcon's Hollow," he belts out. "Has anyone here ever heard of a lumber worker named Merro? He's a relative of mine, and therefore likely to be of some import."
At this the stocky spokesman of the lumberjacks pauses, clears his throats and studies Chalen. "Son, I am sorry, but Merro passed on naught more than 2 weeks ago."
He takes a step forward. "Seems he was running around with a young lass in the Hollow who'd taken ill. He must a caught the taint himself, cause he came back to camp a coughing and hacking. One o' the bosses told me they found him the next morning dead in his barrack. Sorry son. Merro was a good kid, and boy he could swing a mean axe."
"Have you been to Falcon's Hollow before?"
Louinor looks over at the man at the rail with "No I have not but here are a lot of places I haven't been......yet." She walks over to the name and smiles at him "My name is Louinor, who might you be?"
Appearing temporarily crestfallen, Chalen mumbles his thanks and shuffles off the boat. Shaking off his moment of melancholy, he straightens his shoulders and begins marching into town as if about to lay siege to it.
Picking up his equipment, Oso prepares to leave the ferry with the others.
The village of Falcon's Hollow spreads out before you. Ramshackle huts, buildings, and docks decorate the shore in haphazard manner, while stately looking manors to the north peer down condescedingly on the town.
The town has a few people out today, if you do not count the men working the ferry. A sickly looking man sits at the end of one dock coughing up what appears to be blood, whilst a youngish elven lass with auburn hair gently pats his back. A few drunken men, lumberjacks by thier build and attire fish in between laughs and swigs of their rotgut, in their drunkeness they pay no mind to the drizzle that falls about them.
From what you can see of the rest of the town, it is relatively quiet.
Louinor walks down the dock towards the small town not minding the little rain at all, her clan has spent far worse days walking through the rain going from town to town. As she walks by the man coughing up blood pity runs though her, mostly for the small girl next to him, from the little Louinor has heard about this sickness the man probably won't make it to the next sunrise.
'If only I was a little closer to Desna and was better at talking to my loving goddess I could help some of these people' Louinor thinks to herself.
She looks over at the man that she talked to earlier and wonders what his purpose in town is.
Blasted rain! Bobek knows his merchant contact at the Low Market won't be out in this downpour, so he might as well dry off at one of the taverns.
But first... Bobek approaches the sickly man and the elven woman, curious about the man's cough.
"Lady, your friend there seems to be in a bad way. Perhaps sittin' in the rain ain't the best place for him. And I don't mind tellin' you, I got some herbs in my sack which could soothe his throat a bit. For a small bit of silver, I'll gladly share 'em with you."
Blasted rain! Bobek knows his merchant contact at the Low Market won't be out in this downpour, so he might as well dry off at one of the taverns.
But first... Bobek approaches the sickly man and the elven woman, curious about the man's cough.
"Lady, your friend there seems to be in a bad way. Perhaps sittin' in the rain ain't the best place for him. And I don't mind tellin' you, I got some herbs in my sack which could soothe his throat a bit. For a small bit of silver, I'll gladly share 'em with you."
Bobek:
The woman looks at you sharply, her fine elven features contorted with a hint of anger. "Selling stuff are you? While a man is dying right, next to me?" She perches a thin eyebrow while studying your reaction.
"'Sides he knows he's dead he quite wanted to be put see the River Foam again before he left us." She turns to continue caressing the man as he coughs more blood over the side of the deck.
She gives you one more sidelong glance, "Besides I ain't for buying balms and cures, I'm for selling them. Name's Celessa, if your interested."
Her voice is light and lilting, but her grammar hints at a relatively uncultured upbringing.
Chalen desperately attempts to avoid staring at the ill, and instead stands in the rain, scanning the bulletin boards. Perhaps there is something here suited to a man of my unparalleled talents. Assuredly, even a backwater such as this has a need for learned scholars.
Chalen desperately attempts to avoid staring at the ill, and instead stands in the rain, scanning the bulletin boards. Perhaps there is something here suited to a man of my unparalleled talents. Assuredly, even a backwater such as this has a need for learned scholars.
Chalen:
Oso stands next to Chalen.
"What words are written on this, friend?" states the black barbarian.
"Hmmm, oh hello there...," Chalen muses absentmindedly as he studies the posting, then starts suddenly at Oso's "uncivilized" appearance. "Wait, you don't read? That's extraordinary! I've never met anyone who couldn't...but then, I haven't met that many people, truthfully." Pulling down the dubious work note, he states, "I'm just on my way to turn in this free drink coupon; nice meeting you." and heads off towards Jak'a'napes.
Body guards. Dignitaries always have bodyguards, right? This place looks decidedly downtrodden; bet it couldn’t hurt to have a little muscle around. Least I can do is buy the poor savage something warm for his troubles
Over his shoulder, Chalen mutters, "Would you like to join me for a drink and get out of this blasted weather?"
"Have you been to Falcon's Hollow before?"Louinor looks over at the man at the rail with "No I have not but here are a lot of places I haven't been......yet." She walks over to the name and smiles at him "My name is Louinor, who might you be?"
"Malleon Harper at your service" he says as he pushes his wet hair out of his eyes.
"I'm new to Falcon's Hollow myself, but I heard rumors in Korvosa that Darkmoon Vale was a frontier where an adventurer might make his name. And so here I am."
Malleon eyes Louinor's scalemail and weaponry. "Are you too perhaps in search of adventure?"
Ignoring the worsening rain, Malleon looks at the bulletin boards and his gaze falls on a flyer for the Church of Iomedae.
Hmm... a temple to the Goddess of Justice & Valor. Just the place to look for an opportunity to be a hero.
"I think the Church of Iomedae would be a good place to visit." Malleon says to Louinor, loud enough for the others to overhear.
Malleon checks that his oilskin pouch is tightly tied, protecting the bowstrings within from the rain, and then shoulders his pack and strides off deeper into town towards the Church of Iomedae.
Oso stares at Chalen and the offer of a free drink.
"Need work first. He said the Church offers work," replies the big man pointing at Malleon.
"I got free drink you can have."
Bobek flushes red with embarrassment at the elven woman's words. Need to remember my manners here in town... been living like an animal for so long, I'm starting to turn into one.
"Pardon, I meant no offense. May his spirit have an easy journey..." Bobek fishes in his sack of dried herbs. "If you know healing lore, then you'll know this yellow beetle nut will give him some meager comfort if he chews it slowly."
Bobek offers what looks like a small shiny acorn, "Here, no charge." The sick man convulses with a wet, bloody cough. "That's an evil hack. What sort of blight tears a man up like that?"
Malleon turns and looks at Oso, who seems to be some sort of warrrior based on his gear.
"I didn't say that they had work exactly, I said it would be a good place to look for work. And what sort of work are you looking for?"
Oso regards the young man more closely.
"I am a warrior, and my only rule is that the work must be clean and honourable. This is not the Hold of Belzen."
Oso regards the young man more closely.
"I am a warrior, and my only rule is that the work must be clean and honourable. This is not the Hold of Belzen."
"Excellent. I've heard that Darkmoon Vale is a place where a brave man with a strong blade and quick wits might make his mark. But such men working as a team are stronger than their the sum of their skills.
You look like a capable fellow, and your talk of honor mirrors my own thoughts. What say you to working as a team to win renown here on the frontier?
And what better place to look for an opportunity to win renown and honor than the Temple of Iomedae? Shall we speak to the priests?"
Malleon looks at Louinor. "Three are stronger than two. Care to join us?"
After getting a response (hopefully positive) Malleon sets off for the Temple to see what opportunities for adventure there might be in Falcon's Hollow.
"Renown cannot put food on the table or gasra in the pot," answers Oso bluntly.
"But your words ring true. I will go with you. I am Oso Legumbe. My sword and bow are ready. Hopefully we can earn enough so that I can get another horse."
Oso hefts the saddlebags over one shoulder.
"You coming?" points Oso to Chalen.
"I have another engagement, my apologies. Perhaps we'll see each other around town."
"I owe you drink still. Here. Gasra!"
Oso pulls out of one saddlebag a big clay jug and removes the stopper. He hands the jug over to Chalen and bows from the head like an indian offering a peace pipe..
Chalen can smell the alcohol inside on the breeze. When he looks in, the jug contains a yoghurty, milky mixture that slops from side to side as the warrior waits, arms outstretched.
Oso eyes challenge the man to drink.
Oso eyes challenge the man to drink.
Chalen's face scrunches up in obvious distaste. Unaware of the grave offense he's likely about to commit, he chokes out,
"I think if I drank this I'd be accompanying you to the temple after all!"
Oso takes a long glug. Chalen can see him swallowing the lumpy drink.
Then he lowers the jug.
"AH! soft and weak ale, gasra for real men!" His eyes twinkle happily at the human.
Fighting down bile, Chalen excuses himself abruptly and makes a beeline for Jak'a'napes.
"HA! HA! HA!" rings in Chalen's ears as he heads away.
BOBEK -- The pretty elven woman offers you a polite smile. "I should get back to Harix here; perhaps, we can do business in the future. If you want to, look for me here near the docks." She turns her head dismissing you to the cold rain that falls.
Sounds correct to me
Malleon looks at Louinor. "Three are stronger than two. Care to join us?"
Louinor looks at her new friend and smiles "I am in, I'm always looking for some new experiences." She follows the newly formed group down the street to the Temple in town as the rain picks up thinking to herself 'Even with the rain my day is definitely picking up fast'.
Louinor laughs as the tall man with the goatee almost flees from the large dark skinned man with the jug of apparently noxious brew.
"He is making friends fast." She says to Malleon.
Bobek frowns as the elven woman turns her back. Townsfolk. Always so damned preoccupied with their own business.
The rain is soaking and cold now, so it's time for something warm and alcoholic. Bobek grabs his sack and heads toward Jak'a'napes, taking note of the tall dark ferry passenger striding brashly in the same direction. Hmmm... don't remember seeing him around here before. In fact, all these passengers look like out-of-towners, come to think on it.
CHURCH - The church is a simple, functional structure. It is clean and new looking. Upon entering the church your senses are assaulted, however. Throughout the floor of the main worship room, lay dozens of sickly, coughing townsfolk. Their rattling coughs, sneezes, and phlegmatic voices echo loudly within the church. Outnumbered, and apparently overworked, the acolytes of Iomedae tend to the ill the best that they can. A well-dressed woman of about 30 with straw colored hair stands at the altar, leading a few people in a prayer. Her robes indicate her as a cleric of Iomedae.
JAK'A'NAPES - As you walk through the town, it is relatively quiet. The rain has driven people in doors, and merchants, smiths, and guards look at you with only slight interest as you wander the streets of their village. The only people who seem to be truly curious about you is a group of 5 children who stop their game of 'Warriors and Goblins' to watch you pass.
Jak'a'napes is a ramshackle tavern, both inside and out. As it is midday, and mid-week, the tavern is relatively empty. A smiling man tends bar, he is a bit older with a few wisps of flame red hair streaking out from his bald head. A group of men, you surmise as more lumberjacks, drink beers in the corners and play dice.
CHURCH - The church is a simple, functional structure. It is clean and new looking. Upon entering the church your senses are assaulted, however. Throughout the floor of the main worship room, lay dozens of sickly, coughing townsfolk. Their rattling coughs, sneezes, and phlegmatic voices echo loudly within the church. Outnumbered, and apparently overworked, the acolytes of Iomedae tend to the ill the best that they can. A well-dressed woman of about 30 with straw colored hair stands at the altar, leading a few people in a prayer. Her robes indicate her as a cleric of Iomedae.
Malleon shakes the rainwater from his cloak as he enters the church, and is visibly shaken by the hordes of seemingly deathly ill people. This seems more like a plague or epidemic than the "coughing sickness" I had heard about on the ferry.
Malleon approaches the woman at the altar, and respectfully waits to gain her attention.
But what I see here of this sickness shows that there are more pressing issue besetting Falcon's Hollow. Is there anything I can do to help?"
Bobek shakes the rain out of his shaggy hair, and quickly scans the crowd in the tavern.
CHURCH -- You do not have to wait long for the priestess of Iomedae to acknowledge your presence. She finishes her prayer and listens to Malleon. She lets loose a sigh and an exasperated chuckle, "Adventurers? Perhaps. Healers. Definitely." She casts a gaze at Louinor and lets her eyes linger on the symbol of Desna, here eyes are hopeful. "But, where are my manners. My name is Lady Cirthana."
After introductions are made, she continues. "I am new here, and despite my best ministrations, I cannot heal this disease, this blackscour taint. Many have turned to a herbalist named Laurel. She is a good woman, if overworked. She runs Roots and Remedies on the west edge of town. If you are looking for more information, I would speak with her."
She turns back to face Malleon. "Unfortunately, I doubt there is little you can do, unless you are skilled healers. If you wish to help otherwise speak with the town constable; I hear that he is trying to form a search party for some missing kids. They are likely just lost in the woods, so it may not be grand adventure, but at least it is a start."
JAK'A'NAPES -
CHURCH -- You do not have to wait long for the priestess of Iomedae to acknowledge your presence. She finishes her prayer and listens to Malleon. She lets loose a sigh and an exasperated chuckle, "Adventurers? Perhaps. Healers. Definitely." She casts a gaze at Louinor and lets her eyes linger on the symbol of Desna, here eyes are hopeful. "But, where are my manners. My name is Lady Cirthana."
After introductions are made, she continues. "I am new here, and despite my best ministrations, I cannot heal this disease, this blackscour taint. Many have turned to a herbalist named Laurel. She is a good woman, if overworked. She runs Roots and Remedies on the west edge of town. If you are looking for more information, I would speak with her."
She turns back to face Malleon. "Unfortunately, I doubt there is little you can do, unless you are skilled healers. If you wish to help otherwise speak with the town constable; I hear that he is trying to form a search party for some missing kids. They are likely just lost in the woods, so it may not be grand adventure, but at least it is a start."
"Lady Cirthana, where might I find the constable? While I may not be able to help directly with this blackscour taint, I might be able to help with the missing children."