Just a reminder...the party is still about a day's journey to the west of Borderton, and night is well and truly come.  Plus, Villhalas is down to -9  hp.  I'll need a decision as to what you'll be doing for the night.  Dominique thinks that moving Villhalas is a dangerous idea without additional healing.  Totmacher and Aine think that any roving predators in the area (read wyverns) would probably be satisfied with scavenging the freshly-dead corpses of orcs and ogres.  That said, your choices are two: a) Dom puts the last of his healing spells (3 0-level Cure Minor Wound spells) into Vil and the party moves or b) drag the orcish and ogrish bodies away from the current site and set up camp without moving Vil.

The party had passed a small, tumbledown hut or outbuilding during their explorations of the area.  No one entered or checked the place out, as you were all involved in other endeavors.  The place is indicated on the "road map" link on the website.  Disregard the red X--you are currently in sector E5, about 2 kilometers southwest of the hut.  I'll update the map when I get home tonight.

Dominique quietly chants a series of simple prayers--three in quick succession.  Some of the more minor injuries associated with Villhalas' wounds show improvement, and the half-elf's shallow, ragged breathing becomes a bit deeper and more regular.  The little Mithran priest wipes at his brow, and says, "My friends, I believe he can be moved now...but not far, and as carefully as you can, yes?"  He glances over at Totmacher and says, "Perhaps you should see to him."  Villhalas is stable at -6 hp.

Assuming that Tot will play the role of ambulance, I'll move us ahead.  By the way, does any of the rest of the party realize that Totmacher and Villhalas are half-brothers?  I can't remember if that is generally known info within the party.  Otherwise, maybe folks just think that they're, y'know, kinda close.

Totmacher stoops and picks up Villhalas.  Aine guides Villhalas' horse over and the two manage to arrange the wounded half-elf on the mare, securing him to the saddle and lashing his arms securely about the horse's neck.  While not an entirely desireable means of transportation for a wounded person, such an arrangement was the best to be had under the circumstances.

The party sets out towards the cabin, Aine indicating the direction (Intuit Direction roll is 5+4=9 for a DC of 10--a slight miss, but close enough to get there with only about a 15 minute delay due to the error).  Her Handle Animal roll is 6+4=10 for a DC of 10--meaning she can guide the horse so that it minimizes any jostling of Villhalas or missteps on the uneven ground in the dark.

The party continues to make its way back to the old outbuilding, eventually arriving after about an hour--the darkness and vegetation cutting back on the pace the companions can set.  Once there, Totmacher kindles a small fire within the dirt-floored building--providing some warmth and comfort and yet betraying little indication that the party is there.  Trail rations are consumed, and Aine cooks up a thin broth using dried venison and dried vegetables for those who will be taking watches into the night, leaving the mixture to simmer near the embers of the fire.

The night passes uneventfully, and the next day dawns clear and warm.  Dominique sits quietly, meditating and praying as the sun climbs above the horizon.  As other members of the party rekindle the banked fire and prepare a quick meal, the Mithran priest finishes his prayers.  Pacing over to Villhalas, he kneels and solemnly intones the Prayer for Salubrious Health and Well-Being (Cure Light Wounds).  Dominique administers 7+3=10 hp of healing to Villhalas, bringing the half-elf to consciousness as many of his worst injuries mend and scar over (Vil is at 4 hp).  The Mithran priest says another prayer and touches Villhalas' forehead again, delivering an additional 8+3=11 hp of healing.  Completely healed, but with a tracery of scarring to show for it, Villhalas is up and healthy

Sighing softly, Dominique recites his Prayer for Blessed Health and Respite from Injury (Cure Moderate Wounds), laying his hands on Totmacher's shoulder as he does so.  Tot receives 8+3=11 hp of healing.  A second prayer is dispatched by the little Mithran priest, and Totmacher receives another 6+3=9 hp of healing--for a total of 20 hp of damage healed, bringing Totmacher's current total to 30 hp, by my count.  Dominique intones his final Prayer for Salubrious Mending and Well-Being (Cure Light Wounds) to Aine, restoring only 1+3=4 hp of damage to the ranger.  Sighing again, Dominique murmurs, "I do not feel the power of Mithras and Vagrani upon me this morning, my friends.  My healing is more often of greater potency when the blessings of the Solstice Lord and the Far-Traveler are upon me."  So saying, Dominique begins to ready his backpack to depart.

The rest of the party has already prepared to leave--Aine has erased the traces of the small campfire and Caylin has seen to the feeding of the party's mounts.  By daylight, the small outbuilding appears to have been a storage shed of some sort, and is currently sagging into an eventual collapse as the warped boards and wooden pegs that comprise the structure gradually give up trying.  Variously mounted and on foot, the party bids a silent farewell to the old edifice and set their faces to the Imperial highway to the south.  After an hour of following small game trails and the occasional remnant of abandoned cartways--alternating with overland bushwhacking through the scrubby hill lands--the party makes its way to the east-west highway.  The day has grown hot, and the sun blazes down from a clear, bleached blue sky.  Garryn, glancing up, realizes that Midsummer's Eve is but a week distant; it seems years since he began his journey with t! hese people in the cold rains of the early spring.

The day passes uneventfully, as the companions fare towards the borders of the Paldorian Empire.  Near the noon hour, a pair of scruffy-looking but well-equipped individuals pass the party in the opposite direction.  The party is engaged in their mid-day meal, and Villhalas hails the two individuals.  They join the party, nodding and greeting all as fellow travelers.  One is a human, who introduces himself as Fionn na Loveen; the other is other is a dwarf by the name of Ulnorn Hardanvil.  Both are, they claim, traders from Phanar turned monster hunters.  Caylin speaks to them in Phanarian, and both repy readily and easily.  The two have come from Borderton, and are in search of bounties for monster trophies that Cameron, Montvale, and the Imperial fortresses have established this season.  The two switch to a Phanarian-accented Paldorian, and continue their discourse.  "Aye," says Ulnorn the dwarf, "there be some gold in it! ...as th' troubles this spring ha' taxed e'en the Imperials hereabouts.  They say th' Riders (Imperial Pegasi Riders) are hard-put t' e'en keep th' wyverns fra bein' a nuisance t' bein' a full-fledged threat t' travlers."  The dwarf pauses, and takes a swig from a large flask of ale, offering it around to all and sundry.  His companion Fionn takes up the conversation with a slight smile, his soft voice in marked contrast to the dwarf's.  "Ahh.  But the plethora of dangerous creatures means gold for us.  Even orc heads are worth a bit, and the bounty for trolls, ogres, and other giantkin are the best I can recall in the past ten years.  As so often is the case, others' misfortunes translate into the fortunes of others.  We are bound for Cameron eventually...but we will stop at both the Sword and Briarfell in the process.  The summer should be a profitable one."

Tot will clear his throat at the "orc head comment" and gesture for the flask.

He will then proceed to gulp down the remaining ale

Garryn mentions the party's battle with the ogres and orcs recently, and laments the fact that he knew nothing of bounties being offered.

Garryn frankly states the availability of orcish and ogrish heads, as Totmacher takes the proffered skin of ale and drains the entire thing.  Fionn and Ulnorn exchange glances and the dwarf chuckles.  He reaches into a much-patched leather sack and draws forth a small keg with a single brawny arm.  He pops the cork from the bung of the keg, gestures for the empty ale-skin, and refills it when he receives it back.

To Garryn, Fionn says, "Thanks for your information, friend.  Howsoever...why didn't you collect these bounties yourselves?  You look to be traveling towards Borderton, and someone there would give you a bit of coin if'n you were to come bearing the heads of these creatures.  But I appreciate your candor.  Allow me to repay the favor...do you need news of  Borderton?"

Garryn shakes his head ruefully and replies, "In truth we didn't know they held any value or we would certainly have taken them but we have no time to retrieve them. News of Bordertown would be much appreciated."

The human, Fionn, laughs.  "No, friend," he says in reply to Garryn.  "'Tis a messy business, and can be a nasty one in this warm weather.  We're somewhat prepared to deal with decapitated heads and such, but just slinging 'em across your saddle horn would get right disgusting pretty quickly--less than a day, I'd imagine."

The dwarf, Ulnorn, replies to Thomas' questions.  "Don't rightly know 'bout th' monsters.  O' course, th' orcs an' ogres came down fra th' hills this season; jest that time fer a wave o' th' scum t' invade--happens once or twice every score o' years.  Rumor has it, coulda been worse.  Some scout-assassins out o' Briarfell dispatched a high-up muckety-muck shaman afore he could raise up an army o' undead.  Anyhow, th' rest o' th' monsters are a bit o' a mystery.  Wyverns are a-breedin' well this year, so mamas an' papas were huntin' fer their young'uns--an' some o' last year's young'uns are tryin' fer their own territories this year.  Trolls're said t' have moved back inta some o' th' abandoned mines in Turgrad, an' Fionn here tells me he's heard a couple o' tales o' livestock an' children gone missin' along the eastern marches o' Paldor."  The human nods.

The dwarf helps himself to the aleskin again, and passes it around to the group.  He packs a pipe with a fragrant tobacco, lighting it and continuing.  "Th' Imperial boyos told me that some renegade hill giants had come down wi' th' orcish hordes, an' some were still on th' prowl.  Ol' Pyribrotos th' Red has expanded his range t' cover some o' th' caravan routes out east, an' Achylos th' Black has declared herself queen o' a portion o' th' Malg Swamp--e'en has some o' th' Salted Wound tribes worshipin' her or some such foolery.  Then there's th' troubles wi' some o' th' troglodyte-folk down in th' silver mines o' th' Barrier Mountains..."

"Enough," laughs Fionn.  "With another mug of ale you would llist all of the monsters in Arret by their first names, Ulnorn.  Our hosts have also asked of news of Borderton."  The dwarf merely grunts and falls silent.  The human continues the thread.  "The eastern caravans are just beginning to arrive in Borderton, having awaited the springtides to traverse the wastes between Narvil and here.  Yet, no caravans were arrived from the true east--across the Dreaming Lands, eh, Ulnorn?"  The dwarf shakes his head.  "So, scant few have arrived, and almost all of the goods were from Arkenhem or Narvil.  The wars take their toll, and I doubt we'll see much in the way of silks, spices, or...certain illicit substances anytime soon.  When we left Borderton, there was some concern that even some of the smaller caravans from Narvil had failed to make an appearance.  Then, too, one of the town aldermen was worried ab! out some sort of arsonist visiting revenge upon the town--I really don't know the details.  Madame Chiva's girls are as delightful as ever, I can assure you.  Let's see...a new captain of the guard was transferred from the Sword to Borderton; I believe his name is Garlings or something like that...don't know much else.  The food at the Honeyed Tongue has declined woefully in quality, but the savory pies at the Grimacing Goblin are the best they've been since..."

"Now YER th' one what's maunderin' on," says Ulnorn.  "Let these folk get a question or so in, an' then we need be off."  So saying, the dwarf refills the aleskin yet again, drinks, and offers it around a final time.

The day waxes warmer as the noon hour passes, and the sun beats down from a clear blue sky.  Cicadas emit a droning chorus, quickening their cadence as the sun traverses overhead.  Swallows skim through the air above the road and surrounding vegetation, foraging for insects.  Heat shimmers up from the road in the distance, and the party, at rest during their midday meal, senses that the day will only continue to get hotter.  Fionn and Ulgren shift their gear and stand.  Fionn remarks, "We should be off...the day grows no younger.  Well-met, travelers, and good fortune to you on your way to Borderton and wherever your paths lead you from there."  Turning to Garryn, the Phanarian sketches a brief bow.  "Thank you for the information about orcish and ogrish heads that need retrieving.  We'll make a brief detour and follow the turkey vultures."  The man smiles.  "I'll raise a toast to you at the Sword for the bounties, and will stand you all drinks if we meet again."  So saying, the human and dwarf lift their hands in farewell and continue along the road, moving westbound.

Finishing their meal, the party readies its own gear and prepares to depart from their makeshift resting spot.  Taking to the road once again, the companions continue their journey eastward towards Perrinth's Wall and Borderton.  The countryside has changed subtly over the miles since the party left the Fortress of the Sword.  The copses of trees, small woods, and lush meadows and wetlands that had formerly dominated the landscape have given way to scattered scrub trees, shrubs, and expanses of grassland.  Clearly, the area to the east was drier, as the vegetation seemed to indicate.  The day continues hot and begins to be uncomfortable for those party members wearing armor.  Caylin and Villhalas, riding, are somewhat less bothered by the heat than their companions who trudge along the road beside them.

Towards evening, the party passes a small pothole lake, and a flock of small teal wheel up from the still waters, silhouetting against the sky.  Following their flight, the eyes of the party are drawn to the towering walls of the Perrinth, but a scant few miles distant.  The walls loom closer as the companions continue along the road.  Two large watchtowers, flanking a huge stone gate that stands open, provide parentheses to the road as it continues to the east.  Guards along the crenellated towers peer down at the travelers, and one hails them.  "Where bound?"

Thomas answers, using an old Imperial form of address for soldiers, "To Borderton, Bellator.  We seek to reach its gates before nightfall."

The man, leaning on his spear, answers, "Pass, then.  You may wish to hurry--although you can see the town's lights from here--you'll race the twilight to make it before night takes you."  Thomas raises his hand in salute and the party passes the Perrinth.  Hurriedly, they wind down from the hillside upon which the walls are built, and gradually approach the sprawl of Borderton.  Outlying merchant stalls and carts are beginning to make their way back into town from their position along the road, but Caylin pauses for a flagon of ale at one lingering seller, and the party joins the halfling in a quick round, toasting to their successful arrival at Borderton's gates.  Finishing their drinks, the party follows the last of the merchant carts through the gates and into the custom house.  There, they are met by a sturdy, middle-aged woman in a scale mail cuirass.  She appraises the party frankly, then steps forward.  "I am Mistress Waera, customsmaster here in the eastern house."  A strong Wulfheimern accent attends her pronouncement.  "I would bid you remain here for a bit...one of the aldermen of the town will certainly wish to speak to you.  I think...ahh, he is here now."

So saying, the woman turns to a man striding through the customs house, talking earnestly to a simply-dressed young man.   The woman speaks again, "Alderman Perysinos, some likely travelers have arrived."  Almost simultaneously, Dominique says, "Mistress Waera, do you know where we might find a caravanmaster by the name of Arkexis?"

Asher, approaching the oddly-mixed group with the alderman Savin Perysinos, overhears Dominique's question.  Arkexis of Narvil was known to him--in fact, after his departure from the monastery, Arkexis was one of the first people Asher had met inn Deuxchay, and he had provided Asher with employment in a westbound caravan.  The two had established a somewhat awkward and distant, but relatively friendly, aquaintanceship.  Arkexis had informed Asher that he would be in the caravan departing soon after Asher's own, and would probably see him in Borderton.

Savin Perysinos clears his throat and appears about to speak...
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:43, Fri 21 May 2004.

Tot will nudge Vil--"what does the Alderman want of us?"  Continuing, "you probably don't want me to ask--do you?"

Tot will not only size up the Alderman but also Asher (and not be discrete about the sizing if you know what I mean).

Asher scans the group briefly. He believes he notes some similarities between one of the half-elves and the large animal, who appears to have taken a special interest in him; he writes it off as part of the great illusion.

Asher responds to Dominiques question of Mistress Waera, "Are you a friend of Arkexis?"

Vil nods slightly at the mention of Arkexis. "Yes, we are due - overdue actually (Vil briefly glances in the way of his recovering wounds here) - in meeting with him". Before turning his attention to the Alderman, Villhalas raises one of his finely manicured eyebrows slightly (only slightly, mind you) at the young Monk's mention of their contact.

Turning his attention then to Savin, Vil offers a cordial nod - "Greetings Alderman Perysinos. I hope all finds you and your citizens well this day. Let me introduce myself - My name is Villhalas of Cameron. My colleagues and I have just arrived from the Fortress of the Sword. We've come seeking some shelter - and rest (smiles wearily here) - from the battles we've encountered on our way here. It seems the packs of Ogres & other beasts that were once contained to the North have become more daring as of late - making open attacks on our citizens traveling the roads to Borderton." (will make a slight inflection on "our" here)  -Pauses for Response-

In response to Asher's question, Dominique replies, "No, but we have some business to conduct with him.  Do you know him?"

Simultaneously, the alderman Savin Perysinosis addressing Villhalas and Thomas.  Mistress Waera departs, calling back in her Wulfheimern accented Paldorian, "If you have further need of me, Alderman, you will know where to find me."  Savin nods absently.

The alderman appears suitably impressed with Villhalas' speech.  Thomas unobtrusively interjects
himself into the conversation, adding to Villhalas' commentary (Thomas' Diplomacy check is a 19+8=27).  Making smooth use of a kind of provincial argot and etiquette for minor nobles, Thomas introduces himself, compliments Savin, and chats pleasantly and briefly.  Savin smiles and says, "I confess myself a bit astounded; I had not expected such well-spoken and courteous travelers.  But perhaps this is not so surprising, and your arrival was meant to be."  The alderman indicates Asher.  "I was just explaining to this other young traveler the dire   Things are ill in Borderton, and I cannot seem to make those around me understand this.  The caravans are uninterested in the day to day workings of the town--they are itinerant and their interest lie elsewhere.  Many of the locals are unwilling to listen or help...some out of fear, I ! imagine.  The aldercouncil does not meet until the next tenday."

Savin pauses.  He is a small, wiry man--neatly dressed in a black tunic woven with silver filligree.  A pair of gray riding breeches set with a light blue silk stripe adorn the man's legs, and finely tooled leather riding boots complete the ensemble.  Savin's hair is graying and closely cropped, and, unusually, he wears a pair of silver-rimmed spectacles--a rare feature generally only crafted by gnomish artisans.

The alderman continues, "Allow me to explain further.  A very dangerous man has returned to Borderton, and I believe he means to exact some sort of perceived 'revenge' upon the town.  I believe he is extremely dangerous.  He was responsible for a series of arsons some years ago, and I know he has come back.  He is devious, and fond of games and riddles, I surmise."

The customs house around the party bustles with activity, as the caravans declare their cargos, checks are made, tarriffs are paid, and teamsters maneuver their animals through the cavernous house.

Savin clears his throat and speaks again.  "I am uncertain as the the recompense I can provide--I will need to speak to the other council members concerning this.  My sole recourse is to turn to citizens of the Empire...," here Savin pauses and looks dubiously at Totmacher.  Hurriedly, the alderman presses on, "I seek responsible help, and can assure you that Borderton can offer some of its services to you.  Time is of the essence, however, as I believe this man will strike soon.  Will you aid me?"  Savin has produced a folded piece of parchment as he asks this last question.

Eyeing Savin evenly, Villhalas offers a somber nod in response to his apparent dilemma.  "Well, Given the rather ...odd encounters we have experienced her in Southern Paldor lately, our party probably wouldn't find your account all that extraordinary Alderman Perysinosis.."  Vil offers up a Veteran's smile at this point.  Glancing around at his party - and the strange young newcomer in their midst - Vil rouses his voice out of the tone & tempo of the "Pensive Philosopher" Villhalas, and continues w/purpose - "Why don't we discuss your situation a bit more good Alderman - after we have had an opportunity to recoup a bit and meet up w/our business associates here in Town?"  pauses for response.

In addition, Vil solicits Savin for advice on lodging & dining (for the evening meeting Vil's proposing).  Intent here is to allow for the alderman to perform his duties as host - which, I believe, would be fitting protocol given the group of Venerable Delgates that he has standing before him.

Once we've had a chance to disengage from the conversation w/Savin, Vil would like to turn his attention to the young assosicate of Arkexis...

One other thought regarding recompense -> You know, Vil may be more interested in an "honorary city council member" -or equivalent - position if Savin isn't capable of offering  suitable monetary compensation...  (which by the looks of his attire, may actually be well w/in his means..)  What do you think Tot - care to be the first Half-man / Half-beast representative on the Borderton City Council?? They could probably benefit from the sage-like wisdom your 33lb noggin would bring to the table..

Villhalas gets a sense of genuine concern and frustration from Savin, reflecting the man's superficial demeanor.  Unless this man is dissembling extremely well, Villhalas thinks that Savin believes what he is saying. Your agreement with the merchant Arillatoris was for 100 gp each or a share of the profits from the sale of the spices--your choice.  Either way, a trip back to the Fortress of the Sword would be required.

Brian:  In response to Asher's question, Dominique says, "I believe our business is an honorable one, inasmuch as buying and trading can be considered honorable.  My name is Dominique de Vedia, a Palonish man of Mithras from a sect that reveres the Amentos Spanta Vagrani--and these are my friends and traveling companions.  Do you know Arkexis, then?"

Villhalas gestures for Thomas to take the paper that Savin holds.  The bard move forward, and Savin relinquishes the parchment--clearly, he construes Thomas' acceptance of the parchment as tacit agreement that the party is willing to help.  "Excellent, then.  Time is truly of the essence, however.  The evil man of whom I speak is called..." here the alderman lowers his voice.  "Zante Barbaras.  He was responsible for setting fire to much of the town some eight or nine years ago, and has languished in the royal dungeons in Montvale for that time.  To our great misfortune! , however, he has recently escaped--killing two guards in the process--and made his way back to Borderton."  Savin pauses and smooths his tunic, looking thoughtful.  "I believe that Barbaras was hired by elements out of Rimsedge with mercantile connections...or perhaps even by Thrailian interests.  He was unable to destroy as much of Borderton as he sought, and I believe he intends to return to complete his task.  He is devious and extremely dangerous."

The alderman nods to the paper in Thomas' hand.  "That was found pinned to the statue of King Tanoch Dwarffriend in the town square.  So far we have not deciphered it--can you make sense of it?"

The note reads:

Burgomaster,
Revenge comes under the stars from five points
Point one is the first place
Point two is the most likely place
Point three is the least likely place
Point four is the impossible place
Point five, of course, is the only place left
Here's hoping you make the right connections
                          --Zante Barbaras

Savin continues, "The Burgomaster is Almon Capulin--he was burgomaster when Barbaras was caught.  He is not taking this very seriously, and discounts the possibility of disaster being visited upon Borderton."  The alderman squares his shoulders.  "Thus, I have taken it upon myself to find likely aid for our town.  Your presence here is most welcome."  Seeing Thomas still poring over the parchment, he adds, "I hope you can solve the conundrum.  Zante Barbaras is notorious for leaving baffling clues to his crimes.  He is untrustworthy, so I wouldn't place much stock in his puzzles, as he has been known to use them to misdirect.  I don't know exactly what to make of this missive.  Perhaps adventurers of your caliber can succeed where we civil servants have not."

Nodding to himself, Savin declares, "I would ask you to do two related things.  Stop Barbaras if you can, and aid our town in combating his revenge.  He will likely use fire as a tool in his schemes, and we have a means of combating that--a wagon equipped with some magic to allow for extinguishing flames."  He continues earnestly "I will offer 300 gold Nobles from my own coffers if you will do this, and will attempt to leverage some additional monies from the municipal funds.  No one else is likely to provide aid, and I greatly fear that Barbaras is even now setting his plans in motion.  Will you not accompany me to the stables where our wagon is kept?  I believe it will aid you in your task."  Savin turns to leave the customshouse, glancing over his shoulder to gauge the party's response.

In reply to some of the concerns voiced by various party members (Asher, Aine, Thomas, etc.), Savin explains a bit.  "I know of no extant copies of Barbaras' previous cryptic notes--I fear too much time has elapsed since his last spree of arsons.  I know only of his reputation for a bent towards riddles and conundrums.  I can recall no pattern to his last arsons; he just seemed to wish to cause as much destruction as possible."  The alderman pauses a bit, and then continues, "I greatly fear that time is of the essence, and that this madman will strike soon--that, at least, IS a clear pattern, following the discovery of the man's clues.  Will you not accompany me to the small stable where we keep our fire wagon?  I worry that tonight will be even less quiet than normal Borderton night..."  Savin trails off and appears ready to depart the customshouse, looking to see if the party will follow him.

Villhalas repeats his desire to discuss the venture over a meal sometime this evening, indicating that he won't take a "no" for an answer.

At Villhalas' suggestion that a dinner meeting would be an appropriate venue to discuss their business, Savin strikes his forehead with an open hand.  "Did you not understand me?  I fear that Barbaras is moving *tonight*!  Perhaps you are not the folk I took you to be...if you will not accompany me to the stables where our firewagon is, then so be it.  I must depart to see to Borderton's well-being.  If no untoward events occur in the meanwhile, I will meet you at the Sparrow and Briar--an inn and eatery of a reputable nature--in an hour's time."

So saying, Savin hurries away, leaving the party in the rapidly-emptying customshouse.  A grizzled old man is beginning to sweep the wooden floor, and the various minor clerks and officials appear to be readying to leave for the evening.  Gathering mounts and belongings, the party gradually drifts out one of the large, barn-like doors of the cavernous customshouse, finding themselves in the main street just inside of Borderton's gates.  A brief consultation reveals some minor dissent within the party--Caylin and Totmacher want to get some ale and food before finding lodgings, Dominique expresses some concern over Savin's predicament as an immediate issue, Villhalas and Garryn wish to procure lodgings for the night, and Thomas and Aine appear road-weary and silent.

The sun, vanished behind the western horizon, sends its last streamers of light into the evening sky as the brighter stars begin to pinpoint the heavens to the east.  The evening is still quite warm, and the smell of cooking fires, food, livestock ordure, and the complex olfactory background of a bustling town permeate the air--providing a counterpoint to the hot dust that still hangs in the air from the arrival of the caravans.  The companions stand in the street, discussing their immediate options.  Two men, dressed in mercenary armor and garb, walk by arguing amiably.  "Ye owe me fer th' shot...I took out th' thrush wi' one arrow--in the bush, too."

"Ahh, yer're jes lucky.  But a wager's a wager...ale an' kidney pies at th' Rest, then?  I hear tell th' latest batch o' Dwarven..."  An explosion and flash of light punctuate the evening, and both men turn their faces to the northeast.  A large building is on fire.  "Looks like th' Rest ain't th' place fer us, this eve.  How's th' food at th' Three Chimneys?"

The two men make a right turn and continue on.

Tot is interested in checking out the fire at the Pilgrim's Rest Inn enroute to Sparrow and Briar.

Tot will literally stop the mercenaries by placing his hands on their chests and ask, "Do you two know how the fire started?"

Flames leap high into the air, easily visible in the growing twilight.  The dusty road on which the party stands is close to the many stalls and vending carts that line the nearby courtyard.  Exclamations of surprise and cries of, "What was that?" begin to filter through the warm, dusty evening.  Clearly, the fire had just reached the attention of those nearby--in fact, had perhaps just started, given the preceding explosion.  Totmacher, meanwhile, has strode forward and accosted the two mercenaries, laying a huge, powerful palm on each man's chest and curtly questioning the two regarding the origin of the fire.  The younger mercenary on Totmacher's right looks surprised and nervous, taking a step backwards.  The older mercenary--the one who was to stand his partner dinner--takes the briefest of glances down at the big half-orc's hand, then smiles a tiny, tight, cold smile.  "Take yer fuckin' hand offa me, sonny," the man says very softly.

Vil, attempting to save [an albeit ugly] face for his younger half-brother, smoothly interjects himself between the older Merc and Totmacher.  Resting a hand on the half-orc's shoulder:  Gentlemen, please excuse my friend here - we've just arrived and made a commitment to the local officials that we would assist in just this event (nods in the way of the erupting fire).  Do you know where the firewagon is kept here?  I believe it's located in the stables...

Tot will respond to his brothers actions and leave a parting shot to the two mercenaries:

"Sorry old man, don't have time to embarrass you in front of your lover--have more important business..."

And proceed in haste towards the fire w/ Vil.

Villhalas smoothly intervenes, but is barely able to defuse the tension between the mercenary and Totmacher (Diplomacy check is a 13+7=20 for a DC of 20).  Villhalas reflects that his half-brother seems prone to generate potential altercations with no discernable effort.  The party hurries away, as Totmacher lands a parting shot at the mercenary.  The man stares at the party darkly.

During their movement towards the Pilgrims' Rest, Asher steps over to Villhalas, and speaks quickly--stating frankly that the fires have begun, and more might follow.  Asher outlines a hypothetical solution to Barbaras' riddle, stressing the importance of *where* these fire might be anticipated to occur.  Vil nods, accepting this line of reasoning, and requests that Caylin and Garryn to scout out one of the next potential sites for Zante's arsons.  The two accede and move away from the rest of the party.

Arriving the burning inn, the remaining comrades note that the southern portion of the building is ablaze, and part of it has collapsed.  A crowd has gathered around the inn, and continues to do so--although no one stands closer than 10 yards or so from the building.

Two minor clerical acolytes tend to the slight injuries of three soot-coated individuals, and a general murmur of conversation and commentary arises from the steadily-gathering crowd surrounding the inn.  Above the ambient sound of the crowd and the roar of the fire, only Totmacher (Listen roll of 17+4=21 vs. a DC of 20), Dominique (Listen roll of 18+3=21 vs. a DC of 20), and Aine (Listen roll of 19 +11=30 vs. DCs of 20 and 30) hear someone crying from the building.  DM:  the other Listen rolls were well below 20 with respective modifications.

Totmacher, Aine, and Dom identify the cries as those of a child--emanating from the middle portion of the inn (western side facing the party).  Aine discerns the faint cries of someone else in distress, and puts the location at the northern portion of the inn.

Garryn and Caylin make their way north through Borderton, and note the buildings and functions as they pass.