The sunshine and fresh air helped Dellas to relax, tell a few jokes and tease his sister. (Thoguh some of the jokes were rather dry) As the light gives way to the night, Dellas gets off Honeybee rather quickly and stretches himself. "Riding is faster then walking, but the next time we should get a carriage." Vish too, jumps off Dellas and sniffs the evening air.

Volsh wanted to rub his back side, and was delighted to stop and stretch his legs, not that he would admit it to anyone.  "We should set watches for the night."  His tone was a bit more gruff than it needed to be, a little of his discomfort leaking through.

Averdante reined in gratefully at the campsite. He slid off the horse with a barely stifled oath entirely unsuitable for anywhere but docksides and the very lowest sorts of taverns, and then held tight to the saddle for a minute, not entirely sure his legs were ready -- or willing, after the day's abuse -- to take back the burden of carrying him.

"A carriage is an excellent idea," he agreed with Dellas, "if there's another time our own feet aren't good enough for the road." He eyed the saddle with a frown. Could they have devised a more uncomfortable thing to sit on? Surely it wouldn't have hurt to put some padding under that leather. He understood what the phrase "saddle sore" meant with more intimacy than he'd ever desired to acquire.

The horse shifted, and Dante discovered that, yes, his legs would support him. Not without complaint, mind, but he managed not to collapse.

Gingerly stretching, he took another look at the travelers at the other fire pit and silently agreed with Volsh. Keeping watches would be wise. Not to mention, a night spent sleeping on the ground was going to allow the lower half of his body to stiffen up. Thinking he'd volunteer for the middle watch, he turned his attention to the saddle again, shoving the stirrup leather aside for a look at how the belly strap was secured to the saddle.

Removing it would be easy enough; just unfasten it. The trick would be remembering how it was done, so he could reverse that process in the morning when, he thought unhappily, he'd have to saddle the beast back up again. He hoped the halflings would be double-checking that process for the rest of them.

He nods and looks for a nice lean-toe with a post nearby to tie his Honeybee to it. He takes pff her harness and cares for it before looking around and smiles. "Shall I get a fire going for our dinner?" without waiting for an answer he starts to look around for dry branches and more.

Dellas and any other who care to can get branches for the fire, and soon after Narthian has a cheerful blaze going, along with a large pot of stew made from vegetables and herbs he'd gathered during their rest stops, supplemented by some of their rations.  He skewers a few rabbits he (and Thunder) had caught, for people to add meat to their bowls as they wish.  Sir Aberlayne and any who care to can gather water for the horses and ponies, and she'll help the less experienced in caring for the beasts and their tack.

You can sort out watches for the night, but the older Ethrain says,

"If you younglings will take the burden of watching, then this old man will take his full rest.  Don't worry about waking me if you wish to talk, I can sleep through peeper-frog breeding season, just keep any drinking songs down to a small giant's roar, eh?"  With that, he'll set up a small, one-man tent for himself near the lean-to and crawl in if no one has any questions with him.

While Dellas was tending to camp chores, he gives the group in the next site over a good look.  The pale woman seems to be very serious, spreading out a large tome on a traveling desk and studying it in the light of a lantern.  A silver-furred cat oozes out from under her robes and goes to sit on her lap, resting its chin on the desk as if reading the book too.  The gnome in the colorful clothing keeps up his calm pipe music, making a soothing environment around their campfire.  The half-orc is scarred around both wrists, as if he once wore shackles there, and has elaborate tattoos of what seem to be owls on either side of his head, just below his topknot.  His armor, while battered, does not seem to be the usual brown of normal leather, but something vaguely greenish and... warty?  Dellas is almost positive the armor is slightly less battered than it was when they arrived.  Curious indeed...

As the rabbit stewed in the pot and everyone settled down, Dellas goes towards his sister and Bruenor and speaks in hushed tones. "I don't know much about armor, but does the half-orcs armor look funny to you? I don't know the protocol but should we talk to these travelers? Share stories and make sure that they don't want to murder us in our sleep?" He gives the three travelers another glance "I think that woman with the cat might be a magic user herself... guild members maybe?"

Volsh eyed the trio, but gave Dellas a shrug.  "They don't look murderous, unless maybe if you go over there and piss them off."  He gave the man a toothy grin.  He was half kidding, as there were some folk that took an irrational dislike to having their business poked into.  Wizards in particular seemed subtle and quick to anger.  :)

Bruenor dismounts when they reach the campsite, taking in the surrounds and noting the other travellers.  He steals a glance at them occasionally as he tends to Hither, speaking a soothing word as he removes his saddle and waters the horse.

Once his horse is settled, he makes a point of checking his weapons within sight of the other travellers...they looked placid enough, but still...couldn't hurt to let them know the new arrivals were well-armed.  Finally, he sits near the campfire; the smells from the boiling stew making his mouth water.

Bruenor turns to look at Dellas as the Halfling sits down, and then glances at the motley trio at the nearby campsite.  He gives a slight shrug and says, “Not sure…trollskin maybe?” indicating the half-orc’s armor.  “It’s unusual for sure.”

“As long as we have a watch set up, we should sleep ok with this lot over there.  Usually, travellers just want to be left in peace.  I don’t imagine we’ll be singing songs round the campfire together, but a friendly word couldn’t hurt.”

He imagines the Halfling is more concerned about the brutish looking half-orc over there.  In a test of muscle, Bruenor would bank on himself and Volsh.  It was the magic user that worried Bruenor.  While he was finally at ease with his own magic-wielding companions, he still had a healthy suspicion of the arcane arts and all those who practiced them.

Sir Aberlayne squints a bit at the half-orc at Bruenor's comment, and nods slowly.  "I think you might be right about the trollskin armor, Bruenor," she comments.  "That's difficult to obtain, and even harder to make.  Well, at least it's mighty expensive, so I gather it's hard to work with."

The rest of the group can eat and watch the other group.  The pale woman seems to finish studying her book after an hour, and closes the heavy tome with a decisive thud.  She puts it into a leather slipcase and then back into her pack.  She murmurs something to the half-orc and the gnome, and finally crawls into a single-person tent, her cat following after, and ties the door shut firmly.  The half-orc plants himself outside and doesn't move, but the gnome wanders over to your side of the campsite and bobs a short bow, smiling widely.

"Welcome, weary travelers, on this fine evening.  I am Zilini Swiftglass, tale-teller, music-maker, lore-keeper, and merry-maker.  What in the world draws out a such a large Guild party?  Is there some danger about me and mine should be made wise to?"

Volsh shrugged to the diminutive skald, wondering what had tipped the fellow off to the fact they were from the guild.  He was not sure they should be sharing their business with a stranger, but did not want to seem rude.  That said, he decided it best to leave the talking to someone without a foot in their mouth.

Looking up from his bowl he takes a closer look at the gnome before standing up and bows slighty. "Greetings, I am Dellas Nump, wizard and adventurer and these are my travel companions. I'm sure that these days the roads are dangerous in general. Though if you tell us where you are going, we might can tell you more about your road ahead."

"Ah, Zorak and I are guiding Lady Arcane to her destination in Albion," he says with a smile.  "Lady Arcane" is a name used in many ballads and stories, either as a generic name for a woman spellcaster, or to substitute an anonymous name for someone who did not wish notoriety.  "Very diligent, is the lady, and needful of calm and quiet on her journey.  Our travels westward have been mostly good, barring three solid days of rain, one of being stuck behind a farmer driving his herd to market, and an encounter with a bandit troupe five days distant who thought we looked like an easy mark."  Zilini shakes his head with mock sadness.  "Zorak had been in a foul mood that morning, and a grumpy half-orc is not someone to cross.  Alas, they crossed him, and now they they are no more.  With some aid from my humble self to fuddle their efforts at un-crossing, of course.  What of you?  What danger draws such a large party this way?  Such a colorful collection of characters as yourselves is rarely seen outside the Guild."

Volsh was still curious how they had been identified as guild members, so he asked, "Are you members?  Is that why you escort the Lady to Albion?"  For some reason he was still distrustful, despite the skald's cheerful and open manner.  He considered himself a skilled fighter, and at first glance he did not take the trio as an easy mark.  He wondered why the bandits had, as that did not quite add up, unless the bandits were particularly foolish?

Quietly watching and listening, Averdante debates whether to trust the bard or not. Bards hear all kinds of things; he might have heard something useful about mysterious, carnivorous swamp lights. And really, what did they have to hide? The job had been posted at the guild for several weeks. It wouldn't likely be difficult to discover that, or that a group had signed on to deal with it -- particularly if they stopped and talked to the people at the stables. The group's general inexperience with horses had to have been obvious.

For the moment, though, he waited to hear the gnome's answer to Volsh's inquiry.

He listens carefully and nods several times. "Well, what would drive people to be bandits? I hear it's hunger, lust for money or power. Maybe they thought that they could get lucky? Did Lady Arcane also join the fight?" He thought for a moment "I've never been to Albion. I heard that there are many places to go and many things to see, if you have the money. I guess that she will go to some kind of library or something?"

"Yes, yes, Blackwardens both.  We've been with Lady Arcane since Greenfire Lake, some weeks past.  Mostly been delayed by her need to study, and a few road encounters.  The latest, I said, bandits.  They thought they had us outnumbered, but they annoyed Zorak, and few can handle Zorak's annoyance.  I myself am I dab hand at emphasizing that annoyance, so we make a good team," Zilini explains.



"I'm sure we didn't look like much at first.  I mean, Zorak looks like a tough nut to crack, but I'm hardly imposing and the Lady was dressing down.  One strong man isn't going to deter a mob of scoundrels too lazy to work or too cruel for honest employment.  My Lady Arcane didn't join in though, that's what she hired us for.  Why buy a dog and bark yourself, eh?" he says with a laugh.  "Ah, Albon.  The city of song, city by the sea, free city of trade, and more ways to lose your money than a gambler's den, smiling all the while.  My Lady's destination is her own, but Zorak and I judged the city was just a good a place to pick up work as any.  Better, even, than all but Andeluvay.  The Guildhall there is enormous, and a fine place to trade skill for skill amongst fellow members."

"Well met, bard," Averdante speaks up, having made his decision. "I'm Averdante. The road on into as Redhaven is clear. We haven't been west of there recently though, so I can't speak to that. Master Steelhead can likely provide you with information, though.

"Currently, we're headed toward Skord's Swamp for a job. There's apparently some carnivorous swamp lights preying on a village there. Not will o'wisps, the locals are used to them. This is something hungrier."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:01, Fri 11 Dec 2015.

"Ah good.  Usually the road gets better closer to Redhaven, but you never know.  Sometimes the fools decide to be particularly bold. 

"Skord's Swamp?  Hmm... what's a will o' wisp but not one?"  Zilini looks thoughtful, and raises his shalm to his lips.  He puffs out a few soft notes in a descending scale, and blinks.  "Something hungrier...  Can you tell me more about it?"

If anyone will let him know more about what Ethrain described, Zilini muses for a moments and nods.

"I haven't heard of anything exactly like what you said, but there's some stories it reminds me of.  You know the story of the 'Ratcatcher Prince?'  The man who could lure off rats with a song, but the town refused to pay him so the next time he lured off all their children?  Perhaps something of the stripe is happening here, but whoever is doing it is experimenting.  Maybe the person is working up to luring something bigger, or is trying to scare someone in town?"

Dellas nods and pets Vish who appears on his shoulder. "Mmh it's possible, You mean that someone or something is attracting all animals of the same species at the same time to... eat them? Keep them? or just to lock them up to scare someone in the village? Thank you for your advice, we will have to ask if there is someone important enough in the village to kill rats, cats and dogs." He stares into the fire and thinks about everything for a moment.

Volsh spun his finger around his ear.  "Sounds kind of crazy to me.  I'm not sure how scared people are, but I am sure they will be angry if they find out this is some sort of ploy."  There were certainly better ways to scare folks, if that was your intent.

Bruenor listens to the ongoing exchange, not interjecting as the others seems to have it well in-hand.  He visibly relaxes a bit when it becomes clear the bard and his warrior friend are Blackwardens.  There was safety in numbers, especially when sleeping out in the wilds.

At the mention of the Ratcatcher Prince, he lets a small smile slip.  "I remember that tale from my youth... Surely you're not saying there's truth to it, master bard?"

"I could think of many ways to scare people better, but I do that for a living.  Sometimes best to scare a foe off than fight him to the death.  It may be that whoever or whatever is doing this doesn't understand people very well.  Perhaps they are ignorant, or young, or not a person," Zilini says thoughtfully.



"There are some kernels of truth in most stories.  There is magic, enchantments, practiced by mages and some bards and definitely by some fey that can make a person or many people believe they're your best friend.  Now, could someone lure away an entire village's worth of children?  Perhaps, but highly unlikely.  Unless one were quite skilled, or clever, using words and magic together.  Maybe they found some artifact of great power, a magical flute of the gods, or maybe there's more than one working together for some other purpose.  I wish you luck, friends.  Stay alert, and be fearless," Zilini says.

He listens with only one ear, his mind was full of ideas and theories. But he hears the last part "Thank you Zilini Swiftgrass, you gave us something more to think about and it might proof important later on. I hope that our paths will cross again and I hope that it will be under better circumstances." He nods and if there are no other questions or no new information he will prepare to sleep.

Mention of the folktale set Averdante thinking. The story rather fit, although kernel of truth or not, he doubted that's what was happening in Ethrain's village. It did make him wonder if the lights were merely a distraction. Thoughtfully, he suggested that. "The lights could be irrelevant. A distraction to keep the villagers from noticing something else -- a type of sleight-of-hand, as it were. A spell or device could have been used to summon the animals, and they didn't disappear all at once; perhaps because the spell or device could only affect a certain number of animals at a time.

"Or perhaps the lights are a secondary effect to whatever is behind this. Incidental and entirely harmless on their own, but drawn to whatever is luring the animals away." Not that he'd heard any stories of a creature that attracted or was followed by glowing lights, but there was a great deal of the world unknown to him yet.

Even so, the chances of recovering any of the animals was slim. It was easier to kill something than contain and care for it any length of time.

"Fare you well, noble travelers," Zilini says in parting, returning to the other fire.  Within an hour, he and "Lady Arcane" are asleep, with Zorak keeping watch as the evening descends into night.  Those on watch see Zorak and Zilini trade spots a few times, one always awake at some point during the evening.  The silver cat is also seen patrolling around the campsite a few times.

Those on watch hear mostly natural sounds, small animals in the underbrush, once, the death-scream of a rabbit likely becoming dinner for a lynx, the rustling of deer browsing.  This road is reasonably well-traveled, and it seems wise creatures have learned to avoid lurking about it when it is occupied.

By the time dawn comes, along with a serenade of birds, Zorak is back on watch, cooking up something meaty in a stewpot.  Ethrain is up with the sun, making a large pot of porridge and tipping in dried fruits and some honey to sweeten it.

"We didn't get eaten by lights, did we?  Good start, then," he says with a bit of a smile, spooning his breakfast into his mouth in small, efficient bites.  Before long, he has his tent broken down, and finishes repacking and saddling his mount while the rest of you go through your morning routines.  By the time you're ready to go, "Lady Arcane" still hasn't made an appearance, and Zilini and Zorak seem to be in the middle of some game with dice and colorful stones.  Zilini waves as you turn and ride down the road heading south, a spot of color on the road.

Wellop the buckskin gelding, and Kiley, the brown with the blaze, seem a bit frisky this morning, with Narthain having to bribe Kiley with a bit of apple to get her to behave.  Lantamori had taken the more skittish Wellop, and had ended up lagging behind the others a bit as Wellop dawdled and played.  But as the day grew longer, and the growth near the road became more and more impenetrable, he rejoined the group willingly.  The humidity became more noticeable by noon, and Ethrain is looking at at the road with more ease, more recognition.

There are occasional road posts of carved rock, written in an archaic form of Common and decorated with symbols, all overgrown with emerald-green moss.  While its generally scholars and historians who know the actual meaning of the writing, the meaning of the symbols are known by most experienced travelers.  Not surprisingly, many of the road posts here warn that beyond the road is marsh, dangerous for beasts of burden.  One marks a stream course, another that there was a village ahead.  A few hours before sunset, you come to a particularly elaborate road post, and Ethrain reins his horse in and waits until you've come close enough that he can speak.

The symbols on the road post are that of a sun rising inside the horizon.  The symbol for a nearby temple of any sort is a rising sun over the horizon, so the inside-horizon sun has some to mean that the shrine to a small god is nearby.  Ethrain touches the post with a hand both reverent and oddly tentative.

"This is the way to the Stone Tree.  I think she is eager to meet you.  I... she will undoubtedly like to look you over.  It may be she might know something further that has happened in this last week.  She knows..." Ethrain trails off, and looks uncomfortable about saying more.