Kellan was a little caught off guard by Piscas impromptu speech and raised a hand, the one not hefting his fork, in acknowledgement. He coupled this with a smile, albeit a sleepy one, that could easily be either been endearing or embarrassing, depending on ones point of view.

Once most of the attention was back on Pisca, or elsewhere he turned to Cato and nodded a few times. He spoke softly, as not to let the others in the room overhear. "Yup...an unknown enemy, capable of attacking from any angle, who has shown a real interest in murdering innocents, or worse yet infecting them. We have all of Sandpoint and the surrounding countryside to protect...and despite the recent troubles with the goblins, it's not exactly a castle...it's a small town for Erastils sake."

He took a bite and chewed, speaking with his mouth still partially full. "Gods willing we'll find something at the manor today that can point us in the right direction...otheriwse it's gonna be a long hard slog as we try to root these things out of the area...underwater...maybe underground. It'll be a mess"

Cato nodded, continuing the conversation with Kellan.  "And even if we find the answer at the Manor, that's not going to be easy.  One of the respected local nobility, turned monster, sending out packs of undead to savage the town?  This is the kind of thing that can turn ugly, fast."

Cato watched the crowd for a moment, trying to gauge their reaction to Pisca's speech.

"Maybe we can buy enough time to get to the bottom of this, but as you say, it's going to be difficult if we have to route out every monster, if they can lie in wait on the bottom of the river and wait for suspicion to pass."

Cato went quiet again, deep in thought.

"I wonder if there's another reason for this.  There was that mysterious stranger we encountered before, with the mask and the card.  And that barghest is still trapped in Thistletop; maybe he found another willing conduit.  We should ask Shalelu what's been happening with the goblin tribes."

---

---

The Rusty Dragon’s hushed and murmured conversations immediately halted when Pisca jumped upon the table to begin her declamation.  The silence continued through her oratory, and for a few seconds after.  Then a haggard-looking farmer Kellan recognized at Pol Thatchweave spoke up from a table near the bar.

“You didn’t stop what happened at the mill!  How are you going to stop something like that?”  A chorus of muttered assents accompanied his question.  “You can’t!”  Pol looked from table to table, wild-eyed.  “We’ve all heard what’s happening!  Scarecrows coming alive and walking the night!  Entire families disappearing from their farms!”  His voice rose to an even-higher pitch.  “Monsters rising from the river, grabbing their victims and dragging them back under until they drown!”

“How are you going to put a stop to that?”  The farmer’s querulous question was this time supported by interjections from others.

“Yes!”

“How?”

“You can’t!”  Pol seemed angry now.  “Will you be at my farm when the scarecrows come?  Or your family’s, Kellan?  Will you be watching my daughter when she’s playing down by the creek?  Or will you be like the guard, who might come to investigate a couple days after something happens, if they even come at all?”

“You are five people!  You can’t be everywhere!  What can you do?”  By this point Ameiko was in the public room, moving towards Pol along with Dannin the bartender.  She said something to the man, but he shook his head violently and continued yelling toward Pisca.  “You.  Can’t.  Do.  SHIT!”  He screamed.  Dannin and Ameiko escorted him towards the door, but he kept yelling over his shoulder.  “You can’t do SHIT!!”

And then he was gone.  Silence reigned for one moment, then two.  Then Ameiko stepped back inside; there was no sign of Dannin.  “I’m sorry, everyone.”  She apologized.  “Please, eat.  Hopefully there will be no more interruptions.”  She gave Pisca a level look.  One by one the conversations in the taproom resumed, but even more hushed and guarded then before.  And now those talking were obviously sneaking guarded looks at the table containing Sandpoint’s Saviors.

---

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This message was last edited by the GM at 08:24, Sat 06 Feb 2016.

The gnome's silent eyes followed as the human was escorted to the door of the Rusty Dragon and then out.  She seemed lost in thought as the patroness attempted to revive the mood.  Or, perhaps, Pisca just was just simply lost, and attempting to find the bits of herself on the floor, scattered about in the dark.

"I'm sorry, Ameiko."  The gnome hopped off the table and made her way across the room through the deadly barrage of stares and whispers.  She sighed.  "I guess, I just don't understand humans as well as I thought I did."

"We're really going, though.  Into the heart of things, I think.  You see ... " she said, with a look and a lowering of her voice that told the entire room that what she was about to say was secret and not to be overheard by those who might be within earshot.  "We have a map.  It's a map that we think will bring us to the heart of this thing where we can stop it for good."

With that cast upon the winds of rumor like the white fluff from a dandelion, the gnome sighed.  "Though what I truly don't understand is how they can't know, Ameiko.  How they can't know the power that they themselves have.  Look what they've done.  They've already run off the gobbies by banding together to defend themselves.  Have they forgotten that already?  Are they all really as alone in their fear as that man seemed to be?"

This was an occasion for another sigh.  "Humans," said the gnome, and that one word seemed to express the entirety of it.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:20, Mon 08 Feb 2016.

Kellan felt something well up in his breast as Pol embarked upon his rant, an ugly, hot sort of feeling in his gut that made him want to stand up and go slam a mailed fist right into the farmers face. Here they were, risking life, limb and putting everything else aside to try and better this place, to try and solve the problem while his brothers and sisters in the guard worked hours on end trying to provide some piece of mind. The same sorts that had been on the wall when the goblins had come over, the same sorts he had seen buried all too soon. What was Pol doing to help? Who was he to say such things?

But with practiced ease Kellan let out a long breath and felt the tension begin to drain away. This was far from the first time some malcontent had railed at him, and it certainly would not be the last. "Like water off a ducks back" he remembered Alergast saying with a grin years ago, after some degenerate at fat mans had just made some very lurid remarks about the Lieutenants wife. "Don't give them what they want, don't sink to their level."

"He's...just frustrated" Kellan replied to Pisca and Ameiko. "He's certainly not right, but he's not all wrong either. People have died and these are dangerous times...but that's all the more reason to look out for each other. We thought we were in the clear after the goblins, but it turns out that were not...so we just need to all keep it together until we get his sorted out as well."

"But ... but ... people are always dying, Stomper," said the gnome, throwing up her arms in both exclamation and not a little bit of her own frustration.  "And there are always dangers if you open your eyes to look for them!"

"Humans."  She shook her head.  "Such short memories."

---

---

Ameiko gave Pisca an understanding hug, but it was clear that the Rusty Dragon’s proprietor had many things to do, especially after taking time to deal with Pol Thatchweave’s unexpected outburst.  After a few moments, the entire party had packed up their things and headed out the door, followed by the stares and whispers of those still breaking their fast in the public room.

The brisk air of an early Sandpoint morning greeted the group as they stepped outside.  The slight breeze and bright sun made things just a bit cheerier as they headed over to the Goblin Squash Stables, where Dav Hosk—who had stayed the night in the stable to care for Heily and Nettie—met them with fresh horses.

“I do some business renting out mounts to those who need them,” he explained as he handed them each a pair of reins.  “These are some of my best.”  He waved his hand in the air as Kerr started to ask about pricing.  “Don’t worry about it.  Ser Korvaski told me that the League would cover my costs.  Just,” he continued hesitantly, “be careful with them.  He patted the neck of a large brown gelding as he gave its reins to Kerr.  “They’ve been with me for a while.  And I never like to see a horse hurt.”

After assuring Dav that they would take good care of his equine friends, the party mounted up and headed out on the road to Foxglove Manor, known popularly in the area as the “Misgivings.”  It wasn’t hard to hear dark stories about the happenings at the Foxgloves’ 80-year-old ancestral estate, and for years anything that had gone wrong in the area was blamed on supernatural forces emanating from the reputedly-unholy site.

The common belief was that some sort of tragedy had struck the estate decades earlier.  After that incident, the place had been abandoned until about 25 years ago, when Traver Foxglove and his family moved back into the manor for a few years.  Sadly, tragedy struck again; a fire burned down the servants’ building and Traver’s wife Coralie was found dead, her body burnt and dashed below the cliffs behind the house.  Traver himself was found in the bedroom, killed by his own hand.  Their children, including young Aldern, were sent away to be raised in Korvosa by distant relations.

But the Manor’s dark fortunes had seemingly changed when Aldern returned from Korvosa, a wealthy and successful merchant prince.  The young Lord Foxglove had employed many workers and gone through a great deal of effort to renovate both his family’s ancestral estate and its dark reputation.  He’d even thrown a garden party there for some of Magnimar’s leading lights to celebrate the beginning of his restoration effort.

But Aldern’s labors had not been entirely successful.  It wasn’t long before workers refused to stay through the night on the Manor grounds, choosing instead to camp some distance away.  There were reports that they had seen strange lights in the upper windows and—more disturbingly—faint screams from both above and below the house itself.

The renovation effort encountered much difficulty, and was often plagued by mysterious accidents with no known cause.  And apparently construction had completely ceased when Rogors Craesby, who had been managing the effort, vanished without a word of where he had gone.

Or, so went the story.

Pisca, Kellan, and Kerr related various portions of the Manor’s legend as the group trotted through the Ashen Moor on the Lost Coast Road, crossing the Soggy River as they did so.  The stories reached their culmination just as they caught sight of the Foxglove River.  A small path branched off the main road to the left, heading off to the southeast.

“That’s the Whisperwood,” said Kerr, pointing to the forest in whose general direction the path led.  “This is probably the last time we’d be able to turn out and head to the farmsteads, if we want to investigate exactly what those map pins mean.”

“Or,” he continued, pointing up ahead, “the road to Foxglove Manor follows the river up to their estate.  I’ve never been up there but my father told me about it when we visited Magnimar one time.”  He looked uncomfortable.  No child of Sandpoint--even one blessed by the gods--could broach the subject of Foxglove Manor without at least a shiver.  Deserved or no, the estate’s reputation had delved its way deep into the local psyche, in much the same way as a bogeyman might.  When it came to Foxglove Manor, rationality was optional.

Fear was not.

---

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This message was last edited by the GM at 19:03, Thu 11 Feb 2016.

Cato stared out at the Whisperwood, putting two thoughts together for the first time.  "It just occurred to me: that farmer, Pol, back at the tavern, one of the things he was raving about was scarecrows stealing people from their homes.  I wonder if that could be...connected to the pins?  Perhaps some other ghouls dragging people off, maybe actually disguised as scarecrows, or just farmers mistaking undead in ragged clothes."

Cato shivered and looked ahead.  "Of course, all signs point to the center of all this being Foxglove Manor, and sweeping through the countryside to round up ghouls may not do all that much if they're still being...created there.  But it might slow them down, and bolster the spirits of all the farmers living out here.  And save lives, though ending the threat sooner rather than later probably saves more lives than that."

Cato looked to Liseth and Kerr, trusting in their moral judgement.  "What do you think?"

"The Farmlands are quite extensive," replied the gnome.  She twisted in the saddle for a look to the east across said Farmlands.  "But we could drop in on some of the nearest."

"I think we'll have to anyway.  Sooner or later.  From what I gather from Auggie's notes the old ones make new ones.  So, we'll never stop this completely until we destroy all of them."

To say that Kellan was conflicted would be an understatement. He came from a family of farmers himself, and had worked the land side by side from when he was old enough to pull a weed. Of course he wanted to help, to show up weapon in hand to defend the proverbial homesteads of the many hard working people living in the Sandpoint area.

But his more rational side suggested that the sooner they cut the head off this snake, the better they would all be.

When Pisca brought it up however, he decided to jump on the chance. They did not have to visit every farm, but surely they could check out a few on the way to perhaps shed some light on the meaning of the map?

"Let's do it" Kellan agreed with a nod. "Just a few to see if we can make some sense of those pins, then we can hustle on up to the Manor before the day gets too late."

---

---

"I don't see a problem with that," agreed Kerr.  "I think the first farmstead out here belongs to the Hambleys."  He rolled his eyes.  "Watch out for Mr. Hambley.  He's, um, 'tight-fisted.'  When I was out here helping with that fever that ran through the farmsteads a couple years back--you remember that one, Kellan--he wouldn't even let me in the house to see his own daughter until I assured him that it wouldn't cost him a copper piece.  He's a mean haggler, too.  But as long as he doesn't think we're reaching our hands into his purse it should be okay."  The young paladin chuckled.  "If anyone should know about what's going on out here, it's Mr. Hambley.  Surprised he hasn't already been in town complaining to Mayor Deverin or Ser Jasper."

The party turned off the Lost Coast road and headed out into the farmsteads.  Over three dozen of them dotted the fields and vales southeast of Sandpoint.  Some were more prosperous than others, but it was hard to do too poorly as a farmer in that area; the soil was rich and almost every crop grew well.

The paths connecting the farmsteads were dusty affairs, about ten feet wide, hemmed in by fields of corn and other crops.  Before long the party arrived at the Hambley farmstead, situated in the eaves of the Whisperwood.  Other than the quiet, it seemed to be a beautiful day.  But despite it being very late in the harvest season, there didn’t seem to be any workers in the fields.  The corn was as high as an elephant’s eye as they followed the path into the fields, finding a scarecrow at an intersection that allowed them to continue on straight, head to the right, or go to the left.

"Strange that they don't have anyone out here working," Kerr said, looking around with concern.  "The harvest should really be over by now."  He waved at the tall stalks of corn.  "But it doesn't look like they've even started."

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This message was last edited by the GM at 22:33, Fri 12 Feb 2016.

"Wait."  The gnome slid from the back of her borrowed pony - the one she had studiously refused to give a name.

"Scarecrow," was the single word she gave, the only one that provided any clue to her intent.  With exaggerated caution and stealth she crept up on the construction of cloth and straw, circling around to its back.  Then, with a tentative finger, she poked it in the calf.

---

---

Pisca slowly and carefully crept up to the scarecrow, moving to approach it from the back.  Silence reigned over the party while the gnome stole forward, everyone's breath held in the back of their throat as Pisca--using her small hand--prodded the inert-seeming thing in the leg.

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHRRRRGGGGGHHHH!!"

Everyone jumped but the scarecrow.  Kerr was laughing, slumped over the pommel of his horse's saddle.  "I'm sorry," he said as he straightened up, wiping the tears from his eyes as a few wayward chuckles continued to escape him.  "Everyone was just so . . . serious!  It just seemed . . . ."  He took a deep breath.  "I'm sorry."  He grinned.  "But it was funny, right?"

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This message was last edited by the GM at 07:59, Sun 14 Feb 2016.

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHRRRRGGGGGHHHH!!" the gnome shouted for a second time.  The first one had been considerably less voluntary, and, as such, was of higher pitch and contained a considerably greater volume of surprise.  This, the second one, was performed to see how funny the first one had been, as it had been hard to tell at the time through all of the startlement.

"I dunno, Kerr Mollin," the gnome replied, her voice very serious, her mien very much carrying the weight of critical judgement.  "Doesn't taste very funny to me.  "Though, it was certainly very startling.  The first time."

"Well, this one doesn't seem very dangerous to me.  Which way is the house," asked the gnome, very much down in the Valley of Corn.

---

---

"Well," Kerr replied, looking back and forth at their three options, "I'm pretty sure you can get to the farmhouse any way you go.  But I think the shortest path would be to the right."  He pointed at the trail in that direction.  "The farmhouse is somewhere over there," he waved to the southwest.

---

---

"I ... I think ... I think I want this.  I want to take this scarecrow with us."  Some ideas take a while to convince themselves that they're *good* ideas.  "It ... It could come in handy.  If ... if people think that the ghouls are scarecrows, maybe the ghouls will think a scarecrow is a ghoul too."

"Yeah.  Yeah.  That sounds useful."  She hopped and jumped and hopped before grabbing hold of the material of the pant leg.  There she hung, suspended over the ground, gripping the fabric with both hands.

"Uh ... could I get some help here?"

Cato yelped along with the rest of the group, the not even realizing until Kerr's prank how much tension had been building in the air.  Maybe I'm taking Pol's ranting entirely too seriously, the wizard thought to himself.  Probably just a bunch of farmers swapping stories about what's happening.

Cato watched the corn wave in the breeze and Pisca tried to pull down the scarecrow.  Was it strange that there was no one out here harvesting?  Or was everyone just saying inside because word of the attacks had gotten around?  Either way, merely the fear of these attacks, whether or not they actually manifested, could have dire consequences for Sandpoint.  For the first time, Cato wondered about the town's food supply.  If all these crops lay unharvested in the field, would there be enough food come winter?  The wizard shook his head.

"We've got to get to the bottom of this.  Let's check out the farmhouse, then continue on toward Foxglove Manor."

---

---

While Cato pondered the mystery of the un-harvested fields, Kerr and Kellan dismounted to help Pisca with the scarecrow.  After its bindings were cut, and a brief moment of comedy as it fell on Kerr’s head, they managed to get the straw simulacrum slung over the gnome’s steed.

“I think you’re right, Cato,” Kerr agreed as Liseth helped him remove random pieces of straw from his hair, stifling a giggle as she did so.  “Let’s get to the farmhouse, figure out what’s going on out here, then get up to the manor.”  He looked up at the midday sun.  “I’m not sure we want to get there too late in the day.”

The party re-mounted their horses and turned right, heading through the tall, ripe ears of corn in the general direction of where they now knew the farmhouse to be.  From atop their horses, the human members of the party could see the roofs of the farm buildings slowly come into view off to the southwest, right where Kerr had said they were.

As they approached yet another intersection in the field paths, they saw a second scarecrow silently guarding the fields from the predations of airborne scavengers.

But as they neared this scarecrow, it proved to be more . . . lively than the one that now lay slung over Pisca’s pony.  When Kerr, who was—as the person most familiar with this particular farm—in the lead, was about 25 feet from the scarecrow, it let out one of the most awful wails any of them had ever heard, flailing about as it struggled against the wooden frame to which it was bound.

The horses whinnied in fear as the frame tore apart and the scarecrow dropped to the ground.  It was dressed in cast-off farm clothes and had a canvas bag over its head, with holes for the creature’s eyes and mouth.  It let out another scream, scaring the horses even further, and began running full-speed toward the group, its wheezing, tortured breaths a counterpoint to the pounding of its footsteps.

OOC:  Roll for initiative.  If you beat a 12, you may act.  Your new mounts are not combat-trained, and the ravening, screeching scarecrow is freaking them out.  Everyone needs to make a DC20 Ride check to act in the combat round, otherwise you spend your action controlling your mount.

Since there is just one opponent and no real obstacles in the area, I don’t think we need to head to a map here.  If you beat its initiative and make your ride check, it’s well within your move distance, although it’s far enough away to require a move action if you wish to close with it.

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This message was last edited by the GM at 23:00, Wed 17 Feb 2016.

"*WAH!*"  It wasn't as though the attack of the animated scarecrow was much of a surprise.  They'd been warned, after all.  And Pisca, despite the limp and placid normality of the scarecrow draped across the withers of her borrowed pony, still held out hope for magically alive scarecrows, regardless of the danger that they might represent.

"*WAH!*  Get it off!  Get it off!"  No.  It wasn't so much surprise that kept the gnome from responding heroically to the attack.  Rather, it was trying to twist about in the saddle on the rearing pony to see if the scarecrow that she'd brought along had come to life as well.

Pisca Neep Freemish rolled 5.  Initiative.  (Nat1, BTW.)

Kellans curse was lost beneath the frantic whinnying of their mounts'but his face showed more anger than fear. With his pole axe gripped in his off hand he looked about for a good place to dismount, his chainmail jingling to his horses panicked steps.

17:27, Today: Kellan Storval rolled 20 using 1d20+1.  Ride Check.
17:26, Today: Kellan Storval rolled 6 using 1d20+2.  Initiative.

Relieved after encountering the first real scarecrow, Cato was completely surprised by the appearance of an actual ghoul.  "Ah!" was all he could manage.

07:58, Today: Cato Crispin rolled 7 sing 1d20+6.  Init.
Following in Pisca's illustrious footsteps!

---

---

Amidst the otherwise pastoral setting, chaos reigned.  The group's horses, wide-eyed with fear, bucked and shied from the onrushing scarecrow.  Kerr's steed, mouth flecked with spittle, whinnied in terror as it attempted to turn and run from the oncoming abomination--the paladin could not even draw his weapon.  Liseth's horse wasn't doing much better, rearing in panic and requiring the small blonde to devote all her attention just to remaining ahorse.

The scarecrow had no such issues.  It leaped at Kerr's horse, causing it to scream in pain and distress as it sunk its razor-sharp teeth into the gelding's neck.  The scarecrow flung its head back, its bloodstained jaws letting forth an eerie, unsettling, ululating cry of victory.

OOC:

KERR MOLLIN:

10:10, Today: Kerr Mollin rolled 11 using 1d20+6.  Ride Check.
10:10, Today: Kerr Mollin rolled 16 using 1d20+5.  Initiative.

LISETH THORADIN:

10:08, Today: The Raconteur, on behalf of Liseth Thoradin, rolled 13 using 1d20+6.  Ride Check.
10:07, Today: The Raconteur, on behalf of Liseth Thoradin, rolled 13 using 1d20+1.  Initiative.

SCARECROW:

10:50, Today: The Raconteur, for the NPC Kerr's Horse, rolled 14 using 1d20+6.  Fortitude Save v. Paralysis.
10:48, Today: The Raconteur, for the NPC Scarecrow, rolled 5 using 1d6+1.  Damage to Kerr's Horse.
10:48, Today: The Raconteur, for the NPC Scarecrow, rolled 7 using 1d20+3.  Critical Confirmation.
10:47, Today: The Raconteur, for the NPC Scarecrow, rolled 23 using 1d20+3.  Attack on Kerr's Horse.  (ANOTHER 20!?!?)

---

---

"Whoa, pony.  Whoa, pony.  STOP, STOP STOP!" the gnome shouted as her mount continued to buck and shy.

Pisca Neep Freemish rolled 13.  Ride Check.

Cato's mount likewise reared, and it was all the wizard could do to maintain his seat on the bucking, fearful horse.

"Ah!  Come on, horse!  I can't let anything happen to you!  Dav will want to squash me."

10:04, Today: Cato Crispin rolled 6 using 1d20+2.  Ride Check.

Kellan managed to dismount, swinging one bot easily over the saddle to come down with a clatter on the other side. He took a few staggering steps to get his bearing as he pitched forward and ran towards whatever was latched onto the panicked horse before he cocked back and let fly with a horizontal blow of his pole arm.

15:13, Yesterday: Kellan Storval rolled 17 using 2d4+13.  Damage.
15:12, Yesterday: Kellan Storval rolled 23 using 1d20+11.  Reach Power Attack .