A few days in Stormhaven has a way of turning into several more, the very city seeming to take on a life of its own as a living, breathing being, intent upon waylaying a person with one event after another: some fortuitous, others not so much.

Such was the case for the heroes over the past week, or so. Was it really a week since they returned from Rush Hollow? Quite possibly, though it is hard to tell for certain, for each member was ensnared in their own little world upon returning to the City of Adventure.

The party spent no small amount of effort planning for their next trek, north of the Witchlight Marsh to find and slay whatever beast haunts the Demonstone.

Desmonstone is found somewhere within the Forlorn Hills, a low roll of upland country framing the western banks of the Elsir River, a broad serpentine waterway which carries the majority of the foodstuff consumed within Stormhaven.

The Forlorn Hills are a forgotten, haunted place that have long been uninhabited by the Good People of the World. Nothing friendly dwells in that realm now, though some are tempted to go there to seek out the buried treasures of civilizations lost to time. Most do not return.

The group passes through a handful of small thorps, hamlets and villages while traveling along the Elsir Way, a trade route running along side the river of the same name. Aside from perhaps passing familiarity with a name or two, these settlements are all but unknown to most of the heroes.

When one lives in the city, there is little reason to go elsewhere.

One thing is for certain, traveling by foot is no joke! This lesson is made painfully clear to Inas, Norion and Rath, all of whom wear heavy armor. Likewise, Monvo makes his displeasure known about halfway through the first day's travel: "Blasted stars! Would it have been that hard to arrange for a wagon, or something?" he mutters under his breath, but this sentiment is perhaps heard by some.

Whatever the case, the heroes find room and board at The Fat Falconer Inn, a recommended haunt in a rather large walled village by the name of Windham. There, they enjoy a mostly restful night of sleep, for in the morning, the Forlorn Hills await.

***

Several hours after crossing the river, the heroes are now climbing into the upland country of the Forlorn Hill, a heather-strewn landscape of very few stunted, barren trees which rises into several lines of low-slung rocky-capped ridges leading away to the north. The remnants of an ancient civilization can be seen here or there, mostly in the form of a few bricks hinting at a wall, though nearly all have been reclaimed by the land.

The party travels for several hours, the air growing more dense with each passing step as plumes of warm steam begin to filter out of orifices in the rocky soil here or there. Pools of steam gather at the heroes footsteps and ooze slowly up slope toward higher heights.

Then, the party hears what sounds like howling somewhere in the mist ahead: hounds...or perhaps, wolves!
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:16, Tue 17 Sept 2013.

Eagle listens intently to the howls, using his druidic knowledge to identify the animal cries one way or the other.

[Private to GM: OOC: using druid's knowledge ability. . .]

Saliq kept silent, waiting for Eagle to determine the threat if any.  Not that the illusionist was simply standing idle... in his mind he was debating which phantasms to employ.

Eagle recognizes the howls as what sounds like what one would expect of a large dog, perhaps some sort of mastiff?

Whatever the case, the howls come from a very agitated animal on the verge of attack. These are not the scared cries of a cornered animal, rather, the call of a vicious predator on the verge of pouncing on its prey.

Inas silently slid his longbow off his shoulder and nocked an arrow, an old-fashioned steel-tipped one for now. He kept low and added some tension to the string, but didn't pull it taut... yet.

He looked around, trying to detect the direction that the sound was coming from. Was it carried on the wind, or echoing through a gully in the rocks? He gestured to the others to form a circle, lest there be more than one creature. Also, this would give them eyes on all sides. The beast may not be hunting them, they may have simply wandered into a predator's kill. Nature was cruel, but there was no malice in a carnivorous beast claiming its prey to feed its younglings. This was the way of the world.

Saliq drew the Jambiya Moonblade, though his intention was less to use than his true talents.

"My friends." He hissed to the others. "I have a plan; I could conjure a ring of phantasmal flames around us - if we face wolves or dogs they will slink away rather than risk the fire."

Left unsaid was the possibility they were facing something worse than mortal animals...

At the front of the group, Rath brings his trident forward to meet a charge, if the beast (whatever it is) does the stupid thing. "Guard the rear," he mutters to the henchmen, trusting that Saliq and Ben will have the sense to take positions in the center of the circle.

Rath hold his ground and peers into the mist, listening.

The further into the new territory they move, the less Norion says.  On foot or pony or wagon, travel on the surface always has its miseries, not like deep below the earth in nice cool caverns.

When the dogs begin to howl, he takes a deep breathe, clears his mind, and pulls out his great axe and moves to the front.

"Alright fightin' men, step up, time ta' show yer metal..." he hesitates a moment as if debating in his head, then..."ah've found, and no great mind ahm I, but when you first come to a new land, it tests you.  That's it, tests you straight away, if you flinch, or play defense, yer in fer'it, a long hard haul, but stand straight up and punch it hard, an' it'll respect you....lands ar' like creatures in tha' regard, come with me fight'r's, lets go punch this thing.....".

Norion moves forward into the mist.

Astride his pony, Ben tried not to gloat over much, and is willing to allow the others to use the beast to carry some of their load.

His stiffness towards Inas is more pronounced, and accented by the exaggerated welcome he gives to Rath's body guard.

The countryside bores Ben, who spends much of his time lost in foolish planning of days he may never live to see, and lips he may never get to kiss. The remnants of the old civilization catch his eye, hints of cities perhaps?

"Hey Saliq, you think these stones are from the same people who build the zigga-whozits?"

His interest in faint though, and barring a fascinating tale from Saliq or some hint that the bricks are made of gold (or silver) he quickly returns to day dreaming.

His experience with Rush Hollow has clearly tainted his impression of small town folk, and he is equally happy to leave the little townlets as he is to enter them after a long day.

Come the howling, Ben slides to the ground, lacking trust in his own abilities to stay mounted should the animal bolt. Standing in the middle of the huddle, he strokes the beasts nose to calm it, and hobbles it with a quick loop hitch around the front legs...

The howling and occasional growling grows louder with each passing moment, seemingly coming from all directions, though that might just be a trick caused by the rocky, surreal terrain. Steam begins to pool up around the heroes' feet, as though the very landscape is conspiring against them.

Monvo and Bruno heed Rath's orders, both taking up position near the party's rear, swords and shields at the ready.

Someone thinks they spotted a set of glowing orbs through the mist, and then another somewhere else.

Silence.

The air is now quite warm and still.
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:43, Wed 18 Sept 2013.

The sudden warmth causes Ben to check if he had wet himself... but he feels dry. For now.

"What the hell...?"

Inas scanned around, trying to make out what he could of whatever they faced. "Torches," he hissed at his companions, "Many animals have a fear of flame."