“Meet at The Old Toll House. Drellin’s Ferry,” the message concluded.

The giant owl delivered identical copies of that same parchment across Elsir Vale and then winged off to northwest, back toward the Blackfens, the ancestral home of the Tiri Kitor elves.

In truth, the remnants of The Trailblazers who trekked into the Wyrmsmoke Mountains three years ago were not entirely sure who might answer the call. But they knew they needed aid if they were going to pursue this endeavor any further.

So, reluctantly, they clandestinely marked the serpentine trail leading into the slot canyon and turned and headed back along the rock-choked wash that led out toward the Dawn Way. They passed through the goblinoid territory without incident, but not without their fair share of close calls. Several days later, the Wyrmsmokes were behind them, the Dawn Way, and Drellin's Ferry ahead

The last time they passed through Drellin’s Ferry, The Old Toll House was practically the only building in the entire village that escaped The Red Hand’s destruction. But that was only days (or was it weeks?) after The Battle of Brindol. There was no telling what state it, or the town, would be in now. So much time had passed...

As it turned out, Drellin’s Ferry recovered and the expedition found affairs almost back to pre-war conditions, if not a little less populous. New homes and workshops spread across the countryside and even that venerable establishment, The Old Bridge Inn, had been rebuilt and occupied a place of prominence in front of the village Green.

But they did not turn back at the doorstep of their long-pursued quarry and march back over one hundred miles to Drellin’s Ferry to admire its prosperity. They came to see who was prepared to end the Wyrmlord’s tyranny, once and for all.

***

The Old Toll House is the largest and sturdiest building in Drellin’s Ferry, one of the original structures built by the dwarves so long ago. Now, it serves as the town hall, courtroom, jail, and Town Guard headquarters. It seems Drellin’s Ferry got advance notice of the adventurers’ arrival, if the modest spread of food and drink in the reception hall serves as any indication.

A small gathering awaits, some familiar faces, and others not. Among the familiar, Town Speaker Wiston and Captain Anitah. Speaker Wiston has lost more hair and gone grayer since the adventurers last saw him, but otherwise appears hale. He graces the adventurers with a warm smile. Captain Anitah does not smile, but she never was much for outward displays of emotion. Still, she greets the adventurers warmly and seems happy to see them in her own, reserved fashion.

Among the throng, is a short, stocky, smartly dressed, and heavily powdered man with porcine features. The man, a court representative of the Lords and Ladies of Brindol, eventually identifies himself as Lord Morton Guidry. His demeanor is guarded and nervous throughout the meeting.

A handful of others are here as well, most bearing the rough look and demeanor of mercenaries and sell-swords, in addition to the usual persons of interest, hangers-on, and gossips one might expect.

Speaker Wiston raises a goblet and clears his throat to capture the attention of the assembly.

“Lord Guidry of Brindol, Friends, it is my great honor to introduce none other than Eoni, Sister of Avandra, and Dame of Brindol and Vaxfar Leaf, Hunter of Tiri Kitor. Both, Heroes of the Battle of Brindol!” This proclamation elicits a round of cheers. Even Lord Guidry claps heartily and cheers, his flabby jowls quivering in response. Then, not wanting to commit any social faux pas, the Speaker looks about the room for any other familiar faces or persons of note.

In particular, he looks among the crowd for Valthur, Marklin, Aldara, Taerix, and Sarah. Not seeing them, he sighs and after several moments, offers the floor to Eoni.

[Private to Eoni Daflin: Hope you don't mind me putting you on the spot, but seems like something Speaker Wiston would do. He doesn't know what you're going to say, just that you asked others to meet you here]

[Private to Sarah: I made the assumption Sarah would be skulking somewhere in the back of the crowd and wanted to give you the opportunity to make your appearance on your own terms (or not) befitting your character's persona.]



[Private to GM: When the commotion has subsided, Speaker Wiston notices someone skulking in the corner. He smiles broadly and gestures in that direction, “And what have we here?”
All eyes turn in that direction.
There, seated behind a clutch of onlookers, is a non-descript young woman wearing simple traveler’s clothes beneath a homespun cloak.
“Sarah, is that you?”]
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:17, Wed 22 July 2020.

The Sister of Avandra stood and surveyed those present, the wooden symbol of her faith ever present around her neck.  She'd tried to clean up for the occasion, but it was obvious she'd been on the road a long time.  She'd been hoping for familiar faces in the crowd, but found none other than those of Drellen's Ferry.

It had been a long time.  She did not begrudge them their peace.

For her, there was no peace.  Many had died under her command and she would not let their deaths be for naught.

"Thank you for this warm welcome," she began, nodding specifically to Mayor Wiston.  His familiar face had buoyed her upon their return.  Someone they'd been able to save.  The townsfolk the Trailbreakers had been able to save.  Though, from what she'd heard, Valthur's penchant of calling them the Trailblazers had taken a firmer hold in her absence.

"I'll keep this short and to the point," she continued, turning to address everyone present.  "We have found Azur Kul, leader of the Red Hand, but his stronghold is well fortified and protected by some of the most vile creatures you could imagine.

"We return these long miles to seek aid in confronting this threat before he returns to wreak destruction down on the Vale a second time.  Our troop suffered losses and great hardship in searching out his lair and now we need your aid in bringing this war to it's final conclusion."

She looked about the mercenaries and sellswords, and particularly Lord Guidry of Brindol whom she expected would provide the bulk of the supplies and troops for their final assault.  She knew Lord Jarnath would not let her down.

"The time for this to end is near and we will finish what the Red Hand began once and for all!"

She hadn't intended to end her speech with such force, but they were so near the end now.  So near.

Lord Guidry shuffles nervously as Eoni makes her plea. He allows a few moments of silence before interjecting.

"Well, on behalf of the Lords and Ladies of Brindol, allow me to be the first to welcome you back, with open arms," he says in a pompous tone with grand gestures, "back from your expedition."

"But really now," his tone changes, "that battle has already been won. There have been no goblin attacks since the War ended. And more's the better!" He says looking for shows of support among the crowd.

He goes on to explain that in the time since Eoni and Vaxfar have been gone, Brindol's attention has been focused on rebuilding what was lost and protecting the city's commerce interests from predatory Dennovarian trading costers. Further, there have been a few minor scuffles between the armies of Brindol and Dennovar along the Dawn Way and tensions are running high.

"Now is not the time to stir up new trouble, where none exists. Let sleeping Wyrmlords lie," he says with a hint of sarcasm.

"Besides, I have heard some, shall we say, very nice rumors, that the Wyrmlord was overthrown by his own kind and the goblins have gone back to killing and eating one another, as their kind are wont to do."

His chest had puffed up during this little speech and he now visibily breathes heavy from the effort.

"Let them eat their own!"

The Sister of Avandra felt blindsided by Lord Guidry's assertion that the threat had passed.  Even more so by Azur Kul's alleged fall from power.  She was just there and he couldn't be more wrong!

Biting back what she really wanted to say, Dame Daflin attempted to tackle these rumors head on.

"I assure you the rumors of the Wyrmlords demise are completely false," she began sternly.  "Any of my men, veteran soldiers of Brindol, will tell you they are far from beaten and just biding their time for the Vale to look away.

"I understand Brindol has many obligations to it's people, but even just a small force of a hundred men and supplies would see us through to the end.  Safeguarding the Vale against another attack from the Wyrmsmoke tribes for decades.

"Take the time to speak with my officers and hear for yourself what they've seen.  This is a decision not to be made on hearsay and rumor."

Lord Guidry holds his arms out expansively, palms facing outward, while addressing both Eoni and, more importantly, the assembly at large. "The Lord's Council is appreciative of the sacrifices these brave folk have made these past three years. It has not gone without notice, to be sure."

"And I am sure it was all to the good. But the time has come to hang up war banners. The War is over," he says.

Turning now to address the handful of soldiers who returned with Eoni, because that's all there is at this point. The detachment that marched out of Drellin's Ferry under the under the capable command of Lieutenant Untracht three years ago numbered thirty soldiers. Now, Lieutenant Untracht counted just seven soldiers in his ranks, all of them tired and weary of three years of hardship.

"Go home to your husbands, wives, and children," Lord Guidry implores. "You have all done your duty and will be justly rewarded for your service to our City."

Lieutenant Untracht is stoic throughout, but his soldiers now seem dejected, the mention of family reminding them of their sacrifice.

The tone of the room now becomes sullen. Even the mercenaries shift around uncomfortably.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:44, Thu 23 July 2020.

Biting back another retort, she looked about to consider her options.  Her men were weary and she held no malice for their desire to return home.  Many more were not so fortunate.  But she had to go back.  This had to end.

She now regretted having proposed a troop of one hundred to return.  Any of these mercenaries and sell-swords who might have stepped forward for adventure would think twice if they numbered only a small fraction of that hundred.

Nevertheless, she had to try.  Turning to those whose allegiance was bound to wealth and adventure, the Sister submitted her request.

"Even without the support of Brindol," she began, looking about the room, "I must return to finish what was started.  I cannot do so alone so I ask of any of you if you will join me in this journey.

"It will be a hard road with many obstacles and I cannot guarantee any rewards other than the Blessing of Avandra and the knowledge of your own good deeds.  Will any of you step forward to join me?"

Even if they all stepped forward, it would be far less than the troop three years prior.  How would such a meager band have any hope of success?

Three years had passed since the battle of Brindol and Vaxfar's face was no easier to behold.  His appearance had changed for those who had seen him at that battle as he now wore a seamless coat of elven chain mail that shimmered in the sun.  He sported a longbow and a quiver of arrows, a proficiency he had added in the intervening time.

He had continued his wanderlust as he patrolled the Wyrmsmoke mountains and had the happy chance of encountering his old friend and companion, Sister Eoni.  It was a delightful reunion, though short on celebration as he quickly understood the gravity of the task at hand:  searching for clues leading to Wyrmlord Kul's lair.

"Sister Eoni speaks the truth, after a relentless search, we found the Wyrmlord's lair, The Fane of Tiamat.  It would be foolish to ignore the evil and wait for it to amass strength and arrive at your doorstep in full force!  I too appreciate the warm welcome and the kind words but the celebration must wait.  Who will join *us*!" Vaxfar says with an imperceptible wink toward Eoni as he steps forward to stand beside her.

Several of the gathered mercenaries whisper disagreeably to one another. Neither Eoni or Vaxfar's impassioned but clear-eyed pleas has done much to win over the crowd.

A few start for the door, perhaps stopping at the banquet table to gather a handful of grapes or a slice of cheese on the way out.

OOC: Gotta love Basic D&D Retainer reaction rules!

Ovo had been standing in the back with the others who had traveled from far off Brindol. The dwarf had heard of Dame Daflin and the other Trailbreakers oft enough. Who from that place had not? That and Ovo knew Valthur as well. The other dwarf had passed Eoni's message on to Ovo. That the Dame needed help was clear enough. That Ovo needed coin for his pouch was clearer still. Seeing the other mercenaries beginning to leave brought a scowl to the dwarf's lips. If they had no stomach for it, good riddance! The dwarf would have enough work protecting his own hide much less that of cowards who would run at first blood.

The dwarf looked to his two companions and gave them a curt nod. Ovo had made up his mind. As for Dergan and Elam... it was up to them how and when they would pledge themselves. The Axe For Hire had fought alongside both and trusted them with his life. They may be mercenaries but they had honor about them as well. Ovo liked that... respected that. Once they had pledged their steel or spell to another, they were true to their word. To Ovo, that was all he had left... his word and his axe. Outcast and clanless was Ovo Goldenshield! Mayhaps when this business was over, the dwarf would have regained his honor, if not with the clans of Hammerfist then at least with the good folk of the vales.

Ovo pushed his way through the retreating sell-swords to stand before the Priestess of Avandra. The Goddess was the deity of luck was she not? Ovo grinned to himself. They would need that for certain... that and much more he was thinking.

"Dame Daflin!" Ovo said, his voice gruff as his manner. "The dwarfs have ah say'n... you don't find gold by lick'n the rock! Tis work ye have to do and hard work it is. I am used to such work. I came from Brindol meself but it twas Valthur Ironhelm who sent me. Me and two others but I'll nay speak for them. Only for meself, ye see. I pledge me axe to yer service and that o' Brindol as I've done before."

Ovo laid his axe at the Priestess' feet "Before ye say aye... ye should know I require ah equal share in any treasure gained. No more... no less. When I pledge meself n' me axe I will nay forsake such ah pledge nor any who will travel wi' us. Nay mind the rock lickers on their way out! For its better they leave now than later methinks. Well? Wot say ye Dame Dalfin? Have I n' me companions wasted our time n' me breath?"

"You have not," the Sister replied to gruff dwarf.  If Valthur had sent him, he was worth having at their side.  "If you take up your axe against Azur Kul and the Red Hand, you will have earned an equal share of his plunder."

Not quite buoyed by a single dwarf's acceptance of their plea, it at least proved their mission to recruit had not been entirely in vain.  Though still vexing at how easily such a dire threat could be imagined away.

Ovo gave Eoni a curt nod and stiff bow at the waist before picking up his axe. The stout dwarf with a cropped beard then moved to stand beside the scarred elf and Priestess. Ovo's coal-black eyes stared out into the crowd seeking those who had marched with him from Brindol. The dwarf hoped they too would pledge themselves. They were good men both... if man Elam truly was. Only time would tell but Ovo, like Eoni and Vaxfar, could hope could they not? It didn't cost them a copper to do so in Ovo's mind.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:31, Fri 24 July 2020.

Pm[Private to DM Pawn: Looks like I sent the pm to the private thread accidentally ]

A voice sounding vaguely similar to Lord Guidry's rings out from within the throng of onlookers seated and standing near the plutarch.

"You have made a compelling case our hero’s of Brindol,  Sister Eoni and Vaxfar! All good men who are able, should join the cause to protect our realm.”

This sudden proclamation causes a few mercenaries to linger a bit longer, particularly as talk of equal shares are bandied about. Up until this point there have been no talk of remuneration, only of sacrifice and duty, neither of which meant much to men and women who plied their art in exchange for treasure.

A large lanky man at the rear of the hall, with his helm in his lap, long hair disheveled shakes his head, and mutters, "Ovo, why do you have to be first in line to be killed...".  He sighs but stands and moves to the exit door.

"Coward coward,coward..." he says to each who leaves. With a nod to the dwarf, "I'm in, you damn fool.  Coward, Coward, Ugly Coward.  Sissy......".

Ovo had convinced Elam to attend the ceremony, but he stood toward the back, away from people for the most part. It had become a comfortable and familiar place for him over the years. He listened intently to the veiled argument between the Lords and Lady. The warlock had never found the point of such eloquent speeches and etiquette. So much effort, which more often than not spoiled moods and resolved nothing.

Only the deaf hadn't heard the bards sing of the deeds of the Dame of Brindol and her companions. He had heard rumors that the Wyrmlord and the Red Hand were beginning to stir again had been circulating, and now he has heard it directly from the Dame herself. Only a fool wouldn't take her warning seriously. "Leave it to a pigheaded Lord to be the fool," he muttered to himself.

Elam wasn't surprised to see the dwarf elbow his way through the crowd and promise his axe to aid Sister Eoni. "Always trying to prove his honor, that one," Elam chided to the tall bearded warrior that still stood by his side. "I suppose we better look after him."

The hooded mage made his way through the crowd with much less elbowing as people caught glimpses of the sores on his hands. "Only a fool would ignore your warning, Sister. Denying the existence of danger does not negate the reality of the threat. If my dwarven companion here is willing to join your cause, I will follow." Elam was cognizant of the looks of doubt on some of the faces as they looked at his weak frame, and ragged attire. He raised both arms up in a V. "Yes, I am frail, but what I lack in physical strength, I offer you thrice over in intellect and great knowledge of the arcane. Elam N'Tari at your service." He finished with a bow. Still seeing the usual hesitation and focus on his exposed skin. "Fear not, this is merely the price I pay for such power. It is not contagious."

In reply to Dergan (msg # 14):

The dwarf chuckled at the warrior's words and gave the swordsman a jaunty wink "Tis ah dirty job, aye Dergan! Yet someone has to do it methinks!"

Ovo stood a bit taller if that was at all possible when the lanky fighter threw in his lot with Eoni and Vaxfar as well. Then Elam came forth. Most dwarfs did not put their trust in magic or spells. Steel was consistent as any sane man would tell you but Ovo did not doubt that magic had its place. Nor did he doubt Elam, the man who could use it and use it well. When Elam also joined the venture, Ovo gave him a nod and wink. The dwarf then looked between Vaxfar and Eoni with a smile plastered upon his face.

"Ye should take them up on their offer methinks. Nay ah rock licker betwixt the two n' that be true as steel M'lady... n' elf."

Dame Daflin tried not to stare at the tattered arcanist.  He was a far cry from their former sorceress, but it seemed he was known by the dwarf as well.  So she resisted the urge to finger the wooden amulet about her neck to test whether he was truly living or dead.

"We thank you for your aid in our endeavor and you are welcome to join," she said to the disheveled figure with a bow of her head.  "The arcane will be sorely needed on the road ahead."

She glanced in the direction of Lord Guidry in an effort to cover her verbal gaff and see if perhaps she could spot the source of this seeming about face in the man's attitude.  She'd thought he was against their endeavor, but perhaps it was only Brindol's role in the fight that concerned him.  Without cost to Brindol, he appeared willing to do what he could.

Looking about, the Sister hoped the Lord's pronouncement might sway a few more.  She couldn't hear, but it looked as though a tall man with the beard of a dwarf worked to stem the tide of departure with his own words near the exit.  She thought he might be the other the dwarf proposed would join them as well.

A handful of mercenaries remain, one of which, a brawny woman with short, frizzy fiery red hair, bellows out, "That's all well and good, but you never mentioned anything about wages or shares for that matter. Can't speak for the others here, but I aint getting any younger and there aint much longevity in this line of work."

A small chorus of chuckles breaks out among the gathered, followed by knowing nods and verbal shows of support.

"Equal shares for everyone," Dame Daflin replied to the woman.  She and Vaxfar hadn't really discussed this, but it's how they'd always done it.  Though there was that time they hired on some men before the war started.  Even though she couldn't remember their names, she hoped they'd made it through all right.

"And we'll take care of supplies," she added, wondering if there were any pack or riding animals available nearby.  They'd only just arrived themselves and hadn't had a chance to get the lay of the land after three years.  Or even if the gold she'd banked in Brindol would be available here.

[Private to DM Pawn: Eoni has a lot of gold not spent after the Battle of Brindol that she certainly wasn't carrying around these past three years.  If she couldn't bank it in Brindol, she would have compacted it into jewelry.  It may be in Brindol and unavailable in a useful timeframe, or she could have lost the jewelry in the past three years while making that ill advised river crossing.]

The tall warrior grows bored poking fun at those leaving and puts his helmet on and moves down nearer to the front, sitting and leaning back to better watch and hear what goes on.

He frowns for a moment, looking at that wizard.  He hopes the man was speaking true and it was not something he could catch.  He had been sitting quite close earlier.  Maybe it was time for his weekly bath when this was resolved.

In reply to DM Pawn (msg # 18):

Ovo smiled grimly at the red-headed warrior. She was making a good point. Yet, death was not only the nature of their business but also the way of the world. Many shop-keepers, farmers, merchants, and craftsmen had also lost their lives during the war. Village after village was razed as well. To Ovo's eyes, the world was a dangerous place and there were no guarantees in this life. However, the gruff mercenary thought his chances were better than most with an axe in his hands.

When Eoni promised equal shares for everyone, the dwarf grumbled. The sound much like a growl deep within his throat. Finally, he shrugged and sighed.

"Equal shares Dame Daflin wishes n' equal shares it shall be. So speak up! Wot will it be? Aye or nay? Ye'll nay get ah better offer than that. So Fire-hair? Can we count upon yer blade?" Ovo eyed the woman. "We dwarfs have ah say'n... those who fear death invite it to visit. If this threat nay be dealt with, it shall find ye. Just like it did the good folk here in Drellin’s Ferry... in Dauth... in Prosser... e'en in Brindol. Face it now or it shall seek ye later. At least this way ye can earn ah coin or three."
This message was last edited by the player at 04:42, Sat 25 July 2020.

The pronouncement of providing equal shares for all and supplies eventually wins over four prospective retainers, including the red-haired woman.

The first, the brawny woman with short, frizzy fiery red hair, introduces herself as Laurenbeth. She is close to six feet tall and has the look and demeanor of an experienced sell-sword. As soon as she steps forward, three others immediately follow suit.

The second, is a wiry, leathery-skinned man whose ears are pierced with numerous earrings that jingle and jangle as he approaches. "Name's Lakshmi, but most folk call just call me Shmee," he says.

The third is a powerfuly built man with a pronounced scar that begins near his temple and ends at his lower lip. "Rogar," the man says in a deep baritone.

Thr fourth, a man reeking of alcohol and wearing ragged, dirty clothes presents himself with an exaggerated flourish. As he smiles, the party counts maybe three teeth in his mouth. He whispers something unintelligible and bows.

Laurenbeth cuts in, "That would be Grub. Don't let his dashing appearance fool you. That one is truly a diamond in the rough and you'd be lucky to have him in your company."

To this, Grub smiles, and Shmee and Rogar nod vigorously in approval.

Laurenbeth continues. "75 gold pieces, each, up front, to cover personal expenses. That, and equal shares and you have yourself a deal."
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:10, Sat 25 July 2020.

"The seventy-five gold will be an advance on your equal share," Dame Daflin countered.  She wasn't the best at haggling, but she knew she shouldn't accept their first offer.

"And anyone that joins us will have the same deal," she added, laying a hand on the dwarf's shoulder and nodding to Elam.

She really didn't know how many coins she had.  It had been a while since she'd dumped out her haversack to see what was in there.

Laurenbeth purses her lips and nods. "That's fair. We accept," she says while striding forward to shake Eoni's hand.

Once complete, she says with a bit of mirth, "Now, let's go hunt us a Wyrmlord..."

Rogar shakes his head in disbelief, but says nothing otherwise.

The Sister shook the larger woman's hand.  The fire haired woman reminded her of Marklin for some reason.

Having added four more to their number, Eoni wondered if more would have joined if this deal had been offered earlier.  This was something she wasn't good at.

Ovo listened to the proceedings with a frown. The dwarf was happy enough to have the mercenaries joining them but the price seemed high. That, and what would keep these sell-swords from taking the money and disappearing once their pouch was filled. Dame Daflin's hand upon his shoulder caused the frown to retreat a tad but not disappear altogether. As the deal was struck Ovo shook his head but said nothing at first.

"Well met, Laurenbeth is it?" the dwarf queried. "I be Ovo Goldenshield. These men seem to be take'n ah shine to ye. Ye be their captain mayhaps?"

Ovo gave the redhead a wink "If so congrats to you! Yet, ye n' they should know Dame Daflin and Master Vaxfar be in charge. So ye n' they will be take'n orders from them."

Ovo hitched a thumb back to Dergan and nodded toward the mage "That lanky man who's beard be just passable, be Dergan and that mage-n-arms be Elam. We be happy to have ye!"

Turning to Eoni, the dwarf gave a bow "Ye can keep ah hold o' me seventy-five Dame Daflin. The supplies will be o'nugh fer me. Wot say ye now n' when do we leave?"
This message was last edited by the player at 16:13, Sat 25 July 2020.

Dergan can't resist a deep laugh when Ovo mentioned his beard.  Then again, Ovo made him laugh often, the grumpier that dwarf got, the funnier the things that came out of his mouth.  Still, he fed off the excitement in the room, he didn't really take all of it in, what was being negotiated.

"Honored to meet you, Mister Goldenshield," she says with a smile and a twinkle in her eyes.

"We are all free men and women, free to choose our own path, isn't that right my comrades?" she asks. This elicits verbal and physical gestures of agreement from her compatriots. "Just so happens, we like the path Dame Eoni has laid out and think we'll hitch our wagon to a star."

She blinks, slowly, after hearing the Dwarf's next statement and then flashes a smile for the benefit of her companions. "Thanks for the reminder, Mister Goldenshield."


The mercenary band exchanges pleasantries with one and all.

Though most of the mercenaries had lost interest after decimating the dessert table, Mayor Wiston, Lord Guidry, and the majority of locals looking for excitement were still about.

Walking up to the Brindol Lord, the Sister of Avandra bowed her head and tried to allay any guilt the man might have over abandoning them.

"It's not a hundred men, but we'll do what we can," she confided to him.  "I know your hands were tied the moment you left Brindol with your orders, but I did appreciate your support in gathering what we could."

Elam fidgeted impatiently while Eoni finished her negotiations. "Now that that's done with and we've some bodies, perhaps we should gather somewhere private and Sister Eoni can fill us in on everything she knows about our target?"</Aqua< He looked directly at Eoni. <Aqua>"Best to share everything so we can prepare properly."

Lord Guidry takes an awkward step backward as Eoni approaches and fumbles with a handful of dried figs he had been absent-mindedly nibbling.

He regards her with a curious look as he tries to puzzle out her angle and, not being able to quickly sort it out, fumbles a response. "Yes, well, yes. Of course." He regains some of his composure and resumes a more lordly demeanor.

"Lord Jarmaath and the Council send their warmest regards and were delighted to receive your correspondence. But with affairs being what they are of late, the Council simply cannot spare blood or treasure on, shall we say, pursuits of folly."

He then leans in and says in a conspiratorial tone, "I know you believe what you are doing is all to the good, and may the Gods bless your days for it." He makes a final suggestion that perhaps its time to come home, perhaps administer to the needy, or somesuch. Presumably, his counsel falls on deaf ears, but he wishes her well nonetheless.

Lastly, he delivers news that he is to escort the remnants of Lieutenant Untracht's detachment home.

Giving Lord Guidry a final nod of her head, the Dame collected her meager troop and headed back to the inn as the tattered one suggested.

"C'mon boys," Laurenbeth says to her companions. "Let's hear all about what we just signed up for..."

Laurenbeth

Rogar

Shmee

Grub

Ovo nodded to his own companions "We'd best be go'n as well lads. Tis all but done here. All save one thing."

Ovo walked up to the lord of Brindol with a baleful look "Me Laird Guidry? We'll be see'n one another again mark me words. Until that time remember these... the dark be too honest fer ah guilty man."

Ovo chuckled as he turned about to follow Dame Daflin out "If we should fail... ye might be know'n this word o' hobgoblin... isvaug... means I'm hungry."
This message was last edited by the player at 02:51, Sun 26 July 2020.

Following their meeting at The Old Tollhouse, the adventurers adjourn to the Old Bridge Inn to secure lodging and begin making preparations for their expedition to The Fane of Tiamat.

The party sets up temporary headquarters in a private room and begins compiling lists, counting figures, sending runners, negotiating (and renegotiating) prices, and other mundane sundries associated with such an endeavor. The total cost proves to be quite a sum, but a bit of good fortune for the merchants of Drellin's Ferry. 850 gold in total!

The town is soon envigorated with talk of the adventurers' quest. Wagers are soon made on their prospects, with odds being about split either way. In any event, this bit of news is the most excitement the town has seen in some time.

OOC: We can assume it takes a couple of days to nail down all the logistics, during which you are free to do as you wish to pass the time. We can roleplay out as much or little as you like. I just need to know when you're ready to hit the road.

"It will take a week's hard march to reach our destination," Dame Daflin explained as she leaned over a weather stained map, mostly hand drawn.  "More than half over broken trails so we won't be able to use horses.  We'll use mules or donkeys to carry our supplies, whichever we can get.

"We'll need to avoid patrols as well as the denizens of the mountains themselves.  If the Wyrmlords discover our approach, our odds of success will plummet.

"If we encounter any of these patrols, none must be allowed to report back."

Elam studied the map closely. He was very studied man and hadn't survived as long as he had by relying on Lady Luck. Dangerous tasks required careful planning.

"I will be indebted to no man, or woman, Dame. I require no retainer and will pay for my own supplies." His words came out in harsh tones, but that was not his intent. He cleared his throat and continued in a more light-hearted, but still matter-of-fact tone. "In fact, I offer to purchase one of mules and provide for it myself. My book of arcane studies is quite heavy and the less burden on my weak frame, the better."

The warlock listened intently as Dame Daflin explained what she knew of the journey. He nodded in agreement with her as she laid out a general strategy for keeping their target unaware of their approach. "I appreciate you sharing what you know, but one as frail as myself cannot rely on the luck of Avandra to see me through such a dangerous journey. I have many spells at my disposal, but can only use so many each day. Knowing as much in advance will help me to use them when they would be most useful to our success."

He paused, lifted his goblet to his lips with a shaky hand. After a moment, he managed a sip of the wine and continued. "For example I can create us light in the darkness, but if a more stealthy approach is needed, lanterns are far more useful. And if ultimate stealth is necessary, I can cast a spell to make us invisible to most men. Likewise, I will keep some spells on hand that can prevent a quick retreat or escape of a patrols."  He took another shaky sip of wine and took a seat. "What can you tell us of the Wyrmlords themselves?" Elam breathed a large sigh of exhaustion and held his goblet while he listened to whatever intel the good Lady had to share.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:01, Sun 26 July 2020.

Ovo listened to both Priestess and mage. As he studied the map, he frowned shaking his head "So, ah week just to arrive I see. Rough ground n' such to slow us all the more. Now then Dame Daflin, ye been there afore now I'm guess'n. Just wot sort o' patrols might we run into? How large n' how often might ye guess? We'll also need ah fallback position... be it a cave or ruin but some such as is defensible n' where we can rest. As Elam said, he'll need ah refuge mayhaps and we all may need ah place to heal. We be too far away to come back here to do so n' we may not make it too far being weak or wounded."

Ovo then turned to Eoni "I be sorry Dame for I be too poor to help ye with the supplies but I nay need much meself. If I can help ye in another way I will."

Ovo turned to Elam "Yer spells saved me arse more then once. If that book e'er gets too heavy just let me take for ye. I'll keep it safe I will."

"We know of two Wyrmlords that yet may live," Dame Daflin replied to the tattered man with a glance at her elven companion.  "One a goblin and the other I think was a female hobgoblin.  We saw the one riding a small dragon bigger than a horse.  The hobgoblin was versed in the arcane and we were nearly undone by it.

"There was another we met in the final Battle of Brindol, but we were able to finish that one.  There may be more we have not encountered.

"As to terrain," she continued, now addressing the dwarf, "there are some landmarks we can use to rally, but we'll have to point them out as we pass.  The mountains are like a maze and any map is close to useless at pointing them out.

"Their patrols are organized, but seem random.  Mostly hobgoblins, but they often have other creatures working with them.  The closer we get, the more patrols we may see."

Dergan has been enjoying what food is served, and a few drinks, not overmuch but enough to put him in  good spirits.

His helmet is sitting in front of him, and he's been rolling a set of dice up against it while everyone talks plans, and maps, and equipment.  He seems happily amused by the numbers on the dice.  Something in the conversation makes him stop, he stows his dice, takes up his drink and helm and walks around and pulls up a chair right next to Eoni.  He leans over and smiles at her.  Strong women are always attractive to the easterner.   He takes a sip of ale, and says,

"If we are trying not be noticed going to a worm's hole, why not look like worms?"

"What do you mean?" the Sister asked, curious as to what he'd meant.

Vaxfar welcomed the new members of the party.  He was glad that more had come forward as he knew they needed all the help they could get.  While he had made a name for himself (and that was important to him) he was realistic of the challenges ahead.  He was content to let Eoni take the lead with this group.  She was an able leader and assertive.  He was eager to set out on this new adventure.

Turning to Eoni “Sister Eoni, we should depart as soon as possible and delay no longer. It seems we have all the help we can reasonably muster and the supplies we need. Is there need of anything else?”  He also has a few private words with her ...[Private to Eoni Daflin: Do you have the funds we need to pay for the supplies and mercinaries?  ]

Dergan seems to panic a moment at the question.  But steadies himself after a few deep breathes, and a sip of ale.

"Well, if we look like a patrol of hobgobbers, and the like, who would notice our coming? Dumb idea,huh?"

The dwarf listened as all the others spoke, taking down the details in his head. Finally, he cleared his throat.

"So two Wrymlords but I would wager they now have three. Tis been three years I doubt they would leave that open. So most like this Hobgob mage be the leader. As it would be him most like to fill the top. If that be the case ye have faced him afore now. We best be find'n ah way to take him down methinks." The dwarf paused to think a bit. "If we be underground to find this Fane, then I proposed ah lead rope for us all. Wot I be mean'n is a piece long enough so the whole group can take hold. We'll have me in front n' Master Varfax in the back. That way we nay need light to travel. It would be slow going n' we may nay use it all the time but ah light source can be seen ah ways off. If these Hobgobs nay needs it. So they see us afore we see them. Ye said we will need to be stealthy."

He nodded at Varfax "I agree wi' him. No need to hang about if we be ready. I suggest just one more day. We'll be need'n healing magic methinks. We have Dame Daflin but I'd save her magic for more useful things. I have two potions o' heal'n meself. Does anybody have any? I say we pool them together, mayhaps under the Dame's control, n' the needy get them first. I be new to Drellin’s Ferry but ye others may know of someone local who deals in such. I have little gold meself but I'll wave me advance n' so said Elam. That be ah hundred n' fifty gold. Dergan? Ye fought for this place dur'n the war aye? Maybe they'd give ye ah discount for such. Aboot yer idea Dergan... I think it be ah grand one me lad. Mayhap we lure ah patrol to us... dwarfs make good bait aye? Then we waylay them n' take their armor. It their armor fits a few o' us well enough... we be Hobgobs!"
This message was last edited by the player at 05:05, Mon 27 July 2020.

"Let's not get too far ahead of ourselves," Dame Daflin pointed out.  "We have a long way to go before we encounter our first patrol.  Then we can see whether enough of us could pass for hobgoblins to make a go of it.

"And I think we did get some rope with today's supplies, so we'll have that if a dark cave needs delving," she added thoughtfully, trying to remember what they'd packed up.

"There was someone in town that made healing draughts, if he's still around.  In the past, we've tried to spread them around the group to take charge when they're needed.  We can pick up a few more and I do have some already.

"THowever, my staff does allow me to extend my healing well beyond normal constraints every day," she amended.  "So the draughts should be used sparingly."

She'd never been keen on relying on those alchemical liqueurs.  Maybe she'd just get one more.

[Private to Vaxfar: OOC: The majority of her haversack's capacity is loose coins.  She'll be able to cover the supply bill.]