Erista ducks quickly back under the wagon as the rain starts.  She'd slept rather well there, and Astral had dined happily on spiders, but she's still been quiet through the morning.

Eilieen may note that either her dusty brown robe, with its dark brown trim, is new, or she does not actually have any cleaning spells.

Ozzy parks his small butt on the end of the wagon, accepting the offered bowl with wide eyes and a wide smile. " Thanks sunshine!" he says brightly as he sets to shoveling breakfast into his mouth. His legs swing happily back and forth off the back of the wagon he feels he is now waiting on. Not the drover mind you, it was the wagon that was delaying the adventure. He determines this much about halfway through the bowl, his brain finally sparking into coherence.

Aarnr pronounces the return of the rain to be a "gleepin' good omen", and sets about dismantling the rudimentary camp by the simple expedient of chucking anything that looks like it wasn't part of the landscape into the back of the wagon, including anyone who doesn't get out of the way fast enough, and undoubtedly a few rocks for good measure.

"All ready," he declares at length.  Statement, not a question.

The priest's own state of attire is most charitably described as 'travel-stained', but this doesn't seem to worry him.  The fragrance might entice those of lesser fortitude or plain good taste to remain upwind of him, though.

"Perhaps we could swap the froggin' wagon for some grub ?" Aarnr suggests, more at home with barter than commerce, though in either case, the opening negotiating gambit involves a lot of sword-waving to establish your position.

"No matter, Miss." Fergus says hurriedly.  "It was just a dream."  For some reason, this statement causes Fergus to turn an even brighter shade of red.  He turns away and begins hastily packing his kit.  He's probably just anxious to eat breakfast...

After breakfast, Fergus, having largely regained his compusre, turns his attention to the passage through Fairhill to the Grimwood.

"I could teach you to drive the oxen, no problem.  As long as we stick to the road you'd just need to keep them moving, they'll steer themselves."

"For myself, I'd just as rather drive to Fairhill, leave the cart on the edge of town and walk around.  It's not our cart anyway.  But if you want to go through town, I'll not hide.  I'm pledged to the Ree...the Gardener now.  Shandril'd see things straight if anyone tried to stop me."

Fergus could stand the mockery of the townsfolk for the time it took to get through Fairhill.  Everything would be fine, as long as his parents weren't in town.

"Well, one hopes it was a pleasant dream, Fergus!" Eilieen brightly replies, blissfully unaware of Fergus' shades of pink.  Or rather, not unaware of the colour, but of the meaning.  Fergus is, after all, Fergus, and nothing like the people at her former temple.

...and they did't exactly blush much, either.  Unless it for calculated effect.

She smiles back at Ozzy and gives a small bow.  "I'll assume you meant the warming light of the sun.  If not, my thanks."  Erista receives a suspicious stare.  No, no cleaning spell...pity.  But a new cloak.  Lucky, lucky mage!  She needs to take some time in the town, herself.

Which brings them to the problem of Fergus.  "I would rather not expose you to such, Fergus," she decides.  "Best we leave the wagon behind, if it comes to that, and continue on foot.  Though honestly, we're doing the town a favour, helping look for their lost chalice.  One would think they could be more appreciative!"  A small stamp of the foot follows, then Eilieen pats the big man on the shoulder.  "We shall go around," she assures him.  "And leave the cart."

It's not nearly as important as the feelings of one of her friends.

"Sure!" Erista agrees to the plan, in case anybody was wondering, although she does step back a little from the splashing mud when Eilieen stamps her foot.  "Aarnr's got the right idea, I think.  So long as we're taking it to the edges of town anyway, perhaps one or two of us can go on in and sell it to somebody.  For grub," she allows, "Or possibly money if that's what they have on hand.  The Oxes'll get better care from someone as paid for them than if we just cut them loose, too," she points out, affirming that the proper care of the oxen is absolutely her foremost concern.

A decision reached, the cart is loaded up with various packs, the fire is carefully extinguished (though, truth be told, in the damp conditions the flames offer little resistance to this), and the group set off along the track towards Fairhill.

Fergus drives the cart, while Aarnr and Colwyn observe carefully, taking note of every flick of the reins and encouraging word.  Others either walk alongside the vehicle, or take their tern riding in the back alongside the gear.  While it may be just as wet there, the journey is less tiring, and features a lot less mud.

Perhaps unsurprisingly the few people they meet on the road, even as they approach the village, pay little attention to the cart, or to Fergus.  Most of them seem lost in their own thoughts.  Depressing ones, apparently.  Probably about rain, or stolen good luck charms.

Corian makes a suggestion as they enter the village itself, "Perhaps we should retain the cart until after we have visited Grimwood.  It will make it easier to bring back the spoils of our venture.  We can always trade it when we return to the village."

A halfling approaches the cart, stops, and turns his back.    Two men clad in uniforms - local Watch by the looks of them, observe the cart and its occupants.  One of the nods to Fergus, and offers a friendly, "Hello." as the group pass them by...

Erista waves to the halfling, but otherwise rides with her arms folded behind her head, looking up at the clouds.  "Works for me," she agrees, a bit sleepily, to Corian's proposal.

<Backpost> Aramil eats his dinner and then crawls into his blanket to sleep. It seems that all this walking still uses up a lot of the half-elf's energy, or maybe he just wishes to be warm and dry. Neither is found this night and although awake he spends his time lazing in the roll rather than getting up. As the weather seems determined to continue to be wet, Aramil finally gets up when some else decides to get breakfast. Even the amusing situation between Fergus and Eileen doesn't get a response from the sulking half-elf.Grumbling about the weather he refrains from comments about the cart. It would seem that the half-elf doesn't care about it, but that might change if he has to carry lots of plunder back out. </Backpost>

Heading into the village seems to echo Aramil's feelings about today. The bleak weather, or maybe the loss of the holy artefact, seems to have made the locals quiet and depressed. Even seeing Lannet doesn't get much of a reaction from the Half-elf. When the local watch call a friendly "Hello" to Fergus Aramil then remembers the farmer's reluctance to return to the village. Threw the fog effect this weather is having on his brain, Aramil wonders what is the problem. For a man who is so open and easy to understand, the puzzle about Fairhill finally gets Aramil over his sulks and depression. He is soon humming to a song that is sung in the inns and taverns of Varagost.

Unlike Aramil, Aarnr is having a great time !  A pleasant drizzle falling and he is finally allowed to sit up front with Fergus, even if he has to trade places with Colwyn on and off as the pair seek to master the arcane art of getting oxen to go where you want them to.

Indeed, the priest is so engrossed in the task that he neglects to sneer at the guardsmen as they pass by, though like the Half-Elf this serves to remind him of Fergus's need to avoid those who live in this vast cosmopolis they call a village.

"Thou want to skirt around the outside now ?" the big man suggests to Fergus. "Colwyn can take the reeky reins and I'll grab the beef-witted beasts' halters ... between the two of us we can fobbin' drag the beslubberin' boar-pigs along if we have to !"

Moving up to the fore, Aarnr stoops to have a word with the pair. "An' ye cockered coxcombs put one froggin' foot wrong an' I'll be dinin' on roast ox tonight, ye muckin' well mind me ?!!" he informs them in a low, menacing tone.

OOC: What do you need Handle Animal for when you have Intimidate ? ;>

"Hello, Lannet!"  Eilieen waves brightly, wondering why the Halfling turns his back.  Well, it could be because of the unpleasantness of before.  "We really do need to find their chalice.  Look at these poor, miserable people.  Fergus, if you wish to stay, by all means.  I suspect they have more to concern themselves at the moment.  But if you need to go, now would be the time."

She rolls her eyes as Aarnr does his level best to browbeat the oxen into obeying.  "If you think we'll have enough 'spoils' that we need a cart, Corian...very optimistic of you."  The Priestess fingers her sadly worn cloak.  "We have not done so well thus far, and haven't had much luck helping people."

That last gets to her more than the lack of finery.

The journey through the village goes smoothly.  The steady drizzle continues, but the oxen seem content to keep going at their steady pace.  Their response to Aarnr's presence, and his threats and demands, is to trudge along the road, chewing the cud.  In other words, they act as if the priest is wholly irrelevant to them.  Which he may well be.  They understand the reins, the cart behind, and the road ahead.  They even understand, on a very basic level, the encouraging words of a driver.

Threats of violence and talk of retribution are meaningless, so they don't listen to them.

At one point, as the cart passes along one side of the village's market place, one man recognises some of the people with it as the strangers who had been taken in to talk with Shandril yesterday.  He speaks to another, who points them out to a third, then a fourth... and the cart's passage out of the northern end of the market is accompanied by a ragged cheer, and cries of, "Get the Crucible back!" and "Make the thieving bastard suffer!"

The temple of Freya and sundry smaller shrines, stand close to the road where it exits the village running north.  Beyond the temple, it is immediately noticeable that the road is even more rutted and time-worn than that to the south of the village.  Clearly nobody has tried to keep the road to Grimwood in good condition, at least not for many years.

And still they carry on, leaving Fairhill behind them.

As the road leads further north, the land rises, becoming more and more bleak.  Rough, rock-strewn hillocks covered with heather, gorse and briars, interspersed with low-lying areas of marshland where the frogs call constantly, the calls carrying eerily in the cold damp air.

And there, in the distance, they finally spot a dark smear across the horizon which can only be Grimwood.

And, as if some sort of omen of ill fortune, there is a hill to their right, too even in shape to be natural, and with five stone stelae standing on its crown, like the fingers of some vast hand clawing at the low clouds...

Fergus is quite content on the drive in to Fairhill.  As a young man better known for his brawn than his brains it was rare for Fergus to win praise as an able student and the idea that he may have useful skills to teach comes as quite a novelty.  Not that there is much to teach about driving oxen.

As the party comes within sight of Fairhill, Fergus seems to shrink in on himself.  He pulls his hood, already up against the drizzle, further down over his eyes and he hunches slightly.  It is only after the first greetings are exchanged that he seems to remember his promise not to hide, straightening his back and his shoulders.  He doesn't say much but by the the group leaves the town, Fergus is a study in determination and not even the shadow of the Grimwood or the ring of sentry stones can diminish his resolve.

Eilieen waves happily at the people cheering them on, though some need correcting.  "No, no," she calls out.  "No suffering.  Just getting your Crucible back!"  Another wave, but she can't help seeing how grim some of the faces look.

"Well, I wouldn't want to be the thieves if that lot got ahold of them," she mutters, settling back into place on the cart.  Ahhh, so much better than walking.  "This was a grand idea, Corian."

Her pleasure soon turns to foreboding.  The land grows grim and dire as they continue, much like the focus on Fergus' face.  Eilieen peers about, shivering as the damp seeps into her clothing.  Even the croaking of the frogs - normally a sound to put a smile on her delicate features - seems ominous.  Go-back go-back go-back, they seem to call.

The standing stones merely complete the descent into darkness.

"Suddenly not looking forward to this," the Priestess murmurs, crossing her legs and placing her spear across her lap (carefully - wouldn't do to skewer Oswald).  "Zadastha, watch over us with your wise eyes, carry us in your gentle hands, shield us from darkness with your shining hair."

Erista's gentle doze is quickly broken by the worn road, and she finally climbs up to sit next to Fergus at the front.  Seeing the hill, she says, "Wow."

After a moment's thought, she goes on.  "If I ever have a place I want to keep people out of, I want to build one of those.  I'd think that'd do for pretty much anyone with any kind of sense."

Having set the oxen straight (to a simple barbarian the effect is explained by the cause, so his menacing words indeed seemed to produce the desired outcome), Aarnr is midly annoyed to find his seat taken by one of the halflings, but before he can remonstrate with the guilty party he is confronted with the approbation of the villagers, and is forced to watch them carefully until they are out of sight.

But as they leave Fergus's home behind, a more dire yet warning is heard, as the foul cries of Tsathogga's get are an ever present threat.

The standing stones seem almost welcome in contrast.  "What the frog is that ?" the priest asks, looking to Fergus and Corian as the most likely to know.

Corian frowns at the too-symetrical hill and the stones on its summit.  "A warning, mayhap.  Before the Grand Duchy was founded, and spread its mantle over the land west of what is now Bard's Gate, there were tribes of savage hunters and warriors who lived around here.  A few of their ilk still live to the east of Bard's Gate, in the Forest Kingdoms."

"This hill might mark a territorial boundary, a sign for others to stay away, or possibly to warn its builders that they were getting close to yonder wood."

"Or it could mark the grave of some tribal chieftain, or a dynasty of them, since the five stones might mark individual graves."  He looks at Fergus, "Do the people of Fairhill tell any tales of this hill, or know aught of it?"

"Or it might mark a blessed occurence, such as a manifestation of a god's power," Eilieen chimes in.  "Who can say?  Without getting closer, or knowledge from Fergus...well, there could be any number of reasons."  She's starting to babble, Eilieen knows, and clamps her mouth shut.

Nervousness can be contagious, and she doesn't want the others following her down that path.  Truthfully, she also doesn't want the others looking down upon her; they don't seem terribly phased by all of this.

Erista nods slowly.  "Yyy-eah," she agrees.  "That could be blessèd.  I bet one of the really happy Gods said, 'Hey, let's make it look like a giant skeletal hand is reaching up to snatch someone and drag them into the earth!  It'll be a beautiful spot for weddings.'  Sometimes I don't think they quite understand us little folk."  She seems to be - rather graciously - including Humans in as little folk this time, at least by comparison to Gods.

Ozzy takes out his lute, feeling the concern and tension building within his fellow travellers. Taking just a moment to tune the instrument, he begins strumming as he sings quietly anough to reassure his companions,

'Cause that night the sun in retreat
 Made the skyline look
 Like crooked teeth
 In the mouth of a man
 Who was devouring, us both

You're so cute when you're slurring your speech
 But they're closing the bar and they want us to leave

And you can't find nothing at all
 If there was nothing there all along
 No you can't find nothing at all
 If there was nothing there all along...

As he plays, his small legs swing off the back of the wagon, keeping time to the old Death Carriage for Cutie tune.

I'm a war of head versus heart
 And it's always this way
 My head is weak, my heart always speaks
 Before I know what it will say

And you can't find nothing at all
 If there was nothing there all along
 No you can't find nothing at all
 If there was nothing there all along

And you can't find nothing at all
 If there was nothing there all along
 There were churches, theme parks and malls
 But there was nothing there all along...

Their spirits... er... bolstered by Ozzy's music, the group continue on, passing the sinister looking hill.  Closer, the stones look less like grasping fingers, and more like gaunt giants watching the track.

Not exactly reassuring.

Unless compared to the shadows under the eaves of Grimwood.

It is, perhaps, just a little after noon when the cart moves in below the trees and out of the rain.  The wood is quiet.  No birdsong, no hurried movement of squirrels along the boughs or frantic scurrying of rabbit.  Only silence beneath the fungus-laden trees.

The trail is still visible though, just.  And there are footprints in a patch of muddy earth near the edge of the wood.  Booted footprints heading into the wood.  When Aarnr stands in the mud alongside them, his own prints, though about the same size, are not so deep.

The oxen snort nervously as Fergus drives them further under the forest canopy.

Despite his interest in exploring the sinister hillock on the off chance there's some undead lurking about up there in need of slaying, the dark and forbidding woods and the wishes of his companions persuade Aarnr to leave them be for now.  The party have to come back this way after all, and he's sure they'll keep.  Or at least not rot away entirely ...

The halfling, as usual, sings gibberish ... but the tune has a beat to it that is not unpleasant, and the priest happily hums along as he picks it up, if well off-key, and for some time after Ozzy stops, though the discovery of the prints in the mud thankfully ends his musical interlude.

"Froggin' big puttock," Aarnr surmises as he compares them to his own footmarks, eyes shining as he warms to the challenge they represent.  "Can we follow them ?"  This with an eye to the oxen ... though the way this alledged trail is going, he can't really see much to distinguish it.

Eilieen slants Ozzy a look from under half-closed eyelids, but refrains from comments.  His singing isn't helping her at all...but it seems to be doing wonders for his own spirits, and so she lets it pass.  "Devouring," she murmurs, then shudders.  How wonderful.

It's wonderful to finally be out of the rain - her travel cloak is long-since soaked through - but the silence is unnerving.  The fungus doesn't help; disgusted, Eilieen covers her nose and mouth with a corner of her cloak, smells the dampness, and gives up with a huff.  "Footprints, Aarnr?"  Oblivious as to what they might demonstrate, the Priestess peers over the side of the wagon.  "Perhaps this is what we seek.  Certainly it might be a good idea to see where this soul is heading."

Given the mud, Aarnr is sure he can follow in the wake of the wayward 'soul', but leaves it up to Fergus to determine if the oxen are able to make a go of it.

"Aye," he tells the priestess. "What do thou reckon, Fergus - can thou steer a path through there ?"

<backpost>
"I dunno," Fergus freely admits, "I've never had cause to come this side of Fairhill before.  Still it's just stones and a hill, right?  Can't be that bad."
</backpost>

At the eaves of the forest, Fergus halts the oxen, not that they need much persuasion.  He is still determined to see the task through, however unpleasant or dangerous it may become, but he needs time to think about the best approach and Eilieen and Aarnr have hit on the first difficulty.

"I'm pretty sure I can follow it, but that might not be the best idea.  It takes a fair bit of space to turn a cart around and if the trail gets narrower, we might get stuck.  And trying to get oxen to walk backwards is a pig of a job, in case that's what you're thinking."

"I'll try if you want me to.  Or we could tie the oxen on a long lead here.  If we leave them loose, they'll probably wander back to town eventually."