The knight bows his head to Aarnr too, and he sounds positively cheerful as he replies to the priest.

"That is good news indeed.  My troop has seen much fighting to the east of Derindin, defending against incursions from the accursed Dungeon of Graves, and attacks upon outlying farmsteads and hamlets.  A simple errand to fetch the Mayor's bride will give my men a chance to recuperate before riding out to do battle again."

"My thanks to you."

"Well, then," Eilieen chirps, pleased at the clear road ahead.  At least, assuming some new evil hasn't yet moved in to make further trouble.  Perhaps they might actually manage to arrive at Rappan Athuk at some point in the near future!  "The world owes you and your men a debt of gratitude, Sir Knight!  And I pray your mission is successful, for both the stability it promises and the union of two hearts."

Standing -- somewhat uncertainly on the cart -- Eilieen bows.  "Zadathsa grant you save travels and a fine rest at their end!"

"A blessing from Zadastha should augur well for matters of love and marriage." the knight declares.  "I wish you well on your journey.  Should you find yourself in need when you reach Derindin, then my name, Khalarin, should stand you in good stead when speaking to those who hold official positions in the city."

He bows his head and makes a complex gesture in the air with his right hand, before turning his horse and galloping away in pursuit of the troop.

"Froggin' luck !" Aarnr recognises the gesture the Knight makes, though scoffs at such simple superstition, raising his scowling gaze to the heavens above in warning for whichever god was listening not to try it on him.

The priest does not believe in luck.  Rather he believes in a good sharp edge applied to the problem and repeated as necessary.

Still, he's not above using the man's name in order to secure advantage.  He trusts one of his companions will remember it ...

"Let's go see if the puttocks missed any of the puny, pigeon-livered mumble-news," he suggests hopefully, enticing the oxen with a flick of the reins to start their forward plod.

Aarnr stirs the oxen into motion, and Arkan does likewise with the horse.  The two carts set off east, along a road in markedly better condition than any stretch of highway the group had seen since entering the Forest Kingdoms.  People in these parts apparently recognise the value of a well-maintained trade route.

Adventurers, meanwhile, recognise the value of a more comfortable ride.  Draft animals recognise the value of easier cart movement on a smoother road.

All in all, the reduced number of ruts and pot-holes makes for faster travel, in spite of the continuing muddiness of the road...

By mid-morning the land to each side is starting to rise, bringing an end to the marshes, and before long there are rows of low hills to north and south of the highway.  To the north the hills climb higher, the further away from the road they are, until the fade into the thinning mist.  To the south the hills seem fairly uniform in height, at least as far as the eye can see.

With the day lacking an hour of noon, a large pile of stones comes into view at the northern side of the road.  There appear to be some small trees, or perhaps posts, standing atop the mound.  Colwyn sits up straight as he notices the mound, a look of apprehension upon his features.

As the carts move closer, it becomes apparent that the cairn stands some twenty feet high, and his crowned by three swords.  The spaces between the stones are well filled with dirt, moss, and coarse yellowish grass, and the three blades are ancient and rusted, wedged point down between the stones of the summit.

Eilieen dozes, taking advantage of the semi-smooth ride as long as she can.  It's a pleasure to be out of the rain, though the mist ensures she keeps her cloak tight, to hold in the warmth; damp air can leech away a body's heat in short order.  In all, it's one of the better days...until Colwyn starts signalling alarm with his movements.

Blearily rousing herself, the priestess glances about, noting the cairn.  "Old," she murmurs, stating the obvious, before turning her attention to their resident locksmith.  "Colwyn.  What ails you?"  Eilieen waves a languid hand toward the cairn.  "Do you know of this?"

"Me an' Arnr was 'earin' 'bout this place when we was lookin' fer supplies in that there camp.  There was bein' a battle near 'ere 'unreds of years since, an' ghouls was comin' ter eat the bodies.  We was 'earin' as 'ow some of them's still bein' 'bout."

Colwyn nods towards the cairn.  "That's bein' there ter let folk know as 'ow they shouldn't be stoppin' 'ere at night.  Oh, an' the swords is bein' cursed or summat.  No bugger should be touchin' them."

Though Aarnr is certain this is the first time he's heard this tale, he allows that such conversations often occur around him when he's not listening ...

... yet it seems he might have to make the effort in future to pay some modicum of attention to such prattling, for the threat of ghouls and dire curses upon rusty blades are as the cries of malmsey-nosed, mewling laggards to his ears.

Of course, the merest trace of rust upon a weapon would garner the feckless oaf responsible curses as would strip flesh from bone, a good clean blade being perhaps the only clean thing about those who dwell in The Vastness.

But ghouls, on the other foot ...

"Better we send the froggin' bunch-backed, fusty maggot-pies back to their filthy milk-livered master !" the priest avows, hauling back on the reins to suggest a stop to the oxen as he peers out, looking for any sign of the promised undead.  "That any more of their cullionly, half-faced kind learn not to gleepin' stop here !"

Aaaaand Colwyn makes his mistake.

Something glitters in Eilieen's eyes at the story, and she slowly nods her head as Aarnr bursts out in fine form.  "Well indeed," the priestess murmurs.  "Such fallen souls must be liberated, to grant safety upon travellers.  Is that not why we march to Rappan Athuk?"

Her gaze falls on Colwyn; after a moment, she gives a helpless shrug.  "Well, most of us, in any case.  And perhaps the vile creatures might conceal some ancient valuables."  Bluntly put, Eilieen cares not about whatever reason Colwyn chooses to do good; the fact that he assists in the destruction of Orcus's minions is sufficient for her, and worthy of reward.

"We do not need to touch the swords to destroy what lies beneath them," she muses.  "Shall we stop here for the night?  Or attempt something a touch more proactive?"

A look of desperation fills Colwyn's eyes.  "There's not bein' nothin' under that pile.  The battle were bein' over that way somewhere's, as we was bein' telled."  The rogue waves a hand in the general direction of the rugged hills a short distance to the north of the road.

"Only they was buildin' that 'eap 'ere ter warn folk as 'ow there's maybe bein' ghouls over in the 'ills.  An' ter 'member them 'bout the battle, an' 'ow lots of coves was dyin' in it.  Nobody was sayin' as 'ow there's ghouls still bein' 'bout" fer certain - it's just bein' a story."

Arkan listens in on the discussion, his gaze fixed on the hills, before adding his own opinion.  "It's a lot of territory to search for something whose continued existence might be no more than an old wives' tale."

"Yes !"  Aarnr agrees.  It's certainly not why he's going to Rappan Athuk.  He's going to slay the undead and any other creatures he can find there, not for any fat-kidneyed travellers who are too pukin' guts-gripin' to look out for themselves.

And that a priestess of Zadastha might wish to attempt something proactive doesn't surprise him ... though in the context he does wonder if the slave who provided him with that particular translation might have been somewhat mistaken, as he can't see how that would help them find the ghouls they seek.

Both Colwyn and Arkan make good points, though.  The priest has no wish to wander around aimlessly, just hoping for ghouls to appear before him.  No, Eilieen had the right of it to begin with.

"If the dankish, vile-standin' malt-worms come to this spot at night, then we should be froggin' waitin' for them !"

Ugh.  Both Arkan and Colwyn have a point...Eilieen squints toward the sun.  It's high.  Not even at its zenith, yet.  "Well..." she begins after Aarnr's suggestion.  "We would lose over a half-day of travelling toward Rappan Athuk.  Again.  And possibly for naught, as Colwyn and Arkan justly point out."

A heavy sigh follows.  "I fear I will have to vote with these two in this case.  Barring true knowledge that ghouls prowl these lands, and we will have a chance at eradicating their nest, I think we should not lose time here.  Our journey to Rappan Athuk has become ponderous; I fear we will never arrive if we hurry hither and fro.  It seems best to move on."

Disappointing, sadly, but what can one do?

The priest grinds his teeth.  Caught between a choice of pressing on to Rappan Athuk or waiting here to slay ghouls, he of course wishes to do both ... but even with his rather tenuous grasp of logic, he realises that's not possible.

The Dungeon of Graves ... well, they know that's there, or at least it seems likely to be or there's a lot of people in on a mammoth jest that he'll be returning to have pointed words with.  Whereas here there is naught but the hope of ghouls.

With a grudging sigh and a last lingering look around, hoping to maybe spot one of the scurvy, warp-necked scuts, Aarnr nods reluctantly, urging the oxen to get going once more.

"P'raps we'll find a moldy corpse before nightfall," he suggests hopefully.  A dead body on hand would certainly increase the likelihood of ghouls sniffing them out.

Arkan urges the horse forward too, and the two carts pass the roadside cairn.  Close up it can be seen that many of the stones have been scratched with a myriad runes, sigils, letters, numbers, and assorted symbols, in a great many scripts.  Colwyn turns to examine the stones as they pass.

"It's bein' lots of names, fer the biggest part, an' some of them's 'avin' dates with them.  An' some of them's 'avin' the same name in diff'rent places, with diff'rent dates.

The priest nods.  While the whole matter of writing is problematical, he sees what's going on here.

"The hedgepigs wouldn't stay dead an' whoever slayed them each time marked down froggin' who and when."

He's not sure he'd bother himself, but it does provide useful information ... though it assumes a knowledge of letters that encompasses reading which seems rather optimistic.

Colwyn scratches at his cheek, and looks doubtful as Aarnr explains his theory.

Arkan leans closer without leaving the cart.  "These three... " he points to three inscriptions in three separate locations on the stones, "They are in the old runes of my home.  They spell out the name Shem Ironsmith, and the three dates are spread over four years.  Shem is a common name in my homeland, and it seems unlikely that a smith would have been killed three times, so far from home, and each time by somebody from the same land that he came from.  I think it more likely that he travelled this highway a number of times, and marked each time he came past this place on his journeys."

Colwyn snaps his fingers, "Oh, I's knowin' what yer's sayin'.  There's bein' a wall jus' by the South Gate in Tsar, where every bugger an' 'is dog's scratchin' their names in the stones, mostly jus' ter say they was bein' there, or 'ow they's lovin' someone, or 'atin' them.  Or 'ow they's 'avin' a bigger man'ood an' ev'ry other bugger.  Or somethin'."

"Some of them's not bein' too clever though.  Like my cousin Dorin, what was scratchin' as 'ow 'e were 'atin' the Gran' Duke, an' 'ow the ol' man wasn't 'avin' no man'ood ter be speakin' of.  The Duke's guards was comin' round ter 'rest Dorin a day or two after, an' we was never seein' 'im again.  Well... 'part from 'is 'ead, that is, what they stuck on a spike over the South Gate fer the crows ter be peckin' at.  We was bein' a bit cut up 'bout that, me an' my other cousins... Dorin were owin' some of us coin."

"At the inn in Lokshyr, all three guest rooms have a book for people to sign.  Sometimes they'll say something nice about their stay, or tell a little bit about themselves, too," Erista contributes.  "I think it's a fun tradition.  Can we pause just a moment?" she asks.  "I'd like to."

Climbing down from the wagon, she spends a few minutes looking about for a good stone, and then takes out her dagger to scratch her name on it with the point.    After a moment, she brings out one of her own sling stones and adds another single symbol to it.    When she's done, she places them together on the cairn, near the bottom because the pile is somewhat taller than she can reach.

"Well done," Eilieen states, clapping enthusiastically as the explanations pour forth.  "Yes, it all makes sense now, and by all means, Erista - you don't need to ask permission."  Her face grows more somber as she turns to Colwyn.  "Colwyn...my condolences at the loss of your cousin."

I think.

The priestess waits and watches, finally firing a question Erista's way.  "That last symbol -- was that the date, Erista?"  The woman's written language is a bizarre series of runes that Eilieen has never been able to figure out.

"Nah... it's bein a'right." Colwyn says with a shake of his head, "Dorin weren't bein' liked much.  Weren't poplar, as they's sayin'."

Erista's inscriptions bring a smile to the rogue's face.  "I's likin' that.  's'nice thing ter be doin'.  'ere... it's bein' a good thing as Bilfro ain't bein' with us no more.  'e'd 'ave ter be buildin' another pile of rocks fer all the animals what 'e were lookin' fer, an' fer all the names what 'e were givin' them."

Erista shakes her head, poking the stone back into place as it starts to slip out briefly.  She watches it carefully for a second, and then turns to climb back into the wagon once she's sure it's not going anywhere.  "That's for Astral," she tells Eilieen, smiling.  "It's not even the word, exactly, more like the concept."  She shrugs.  "Which is really what words are, I guess, but... Arkan could probably explain it better.  But in Common or Halfling, the word Astral would have been too big to fit, so I used the arcane symbol.  Since she's my familiar, that seemed more appropriate anyway."

She nods her agreement with Colwyn's comment, but looks a bit wistfully back down the road, her smile fading.

The priest is impressed that Erista chooses to add her mark, after Colwyn's cautionary tale, but then he looks forwards to meeting any toad-knockin' guardsmen who front up to arrest any of his friends.  Over their dead bodies !

"Crow-fodder," seems to be Aarnr's considered opinion on the matter ...

... till he raises an arm to point a calloused finger at hill to the north where a number of large crows are circling.

"Where there's crows there's a froggin' battle, he clarifies, realising that these city-folk might not understand.  "They feast upon the dying an' recently dead."

Arkan studies the circling crows for a moment, before saying, "You could be right Aarnr.  And if there are dead or wounded people or animals there, they might also attract ghouls."

"The only problem I can see is that, because of the lay of the land, we may need to leave the carts here while we go to investigate.  And they might not be here when we return."

"I'll be stayin' 'ere an' keepin' a eye on them." Colwyn interjects quickly, having seen an opportunity too good to miss.  "I'll be seein' as no buggers is makin' off with them."

Impressed at Colwyn's literacy in Erista's language, Eilieen drops a hand on Erista's shoulder.  "I like that, doing so for a companion.  I should write something for all of you...if I had the time."

But Aarnr's assessment of the local murder -- potentially both crows and of people -- snaps her head up, and she stares into the distance, seeking the crows.  When Colwyn again speaks, she pats his hand.  "Well done, then; thank you, Colwyn, for freeing us."

Then the priestess is off the cart and hurrying from the road.  Not a second to waste; wounded wait for no-one.

Erista smiles at Colwyn.  "Thank you," she says.  "I don't think I'd want to be left all alone like that, on the road or off.  It's very brave of you."  With a quick wink and a wave, she follows after Eilieen.

Eilieen and Erista soon find that they are in terrible danger... terrible danger of getting their beatiful clean clothes dirty again.  The ground, while for the most part clear of pools of standing water, is a little soft and prone to patches of sucking mud.

It isn't long before the lower parts of their robes are black and, after one misplaced foot, Eilieen's right boot makes a dreadful squelching sound with every pace.

Arkan, who follows behind them, fares no better due to his armour.  Before too long he finds that he is lagging a little behind the two women, due to having to choose his path carefully, stepping from tussock to tussock and using his sword to probe the ground ahaead.

Aarnr, as a life-long inhabitant of bogs, fens, and reeking marshlands, seems to have less difficulty traversing the ground than the others.

Colwyn, meanwhile, lays back in the cart and listens for the screaming that seems most likely to ensue...

Fortunately for the rescue party, after about a hundred yards, the ground starts to rise to become the first row of hills.  As it does so, it provides more solid footing.  Here, on the slope, it can be seen that the birds seem to have an interest in a point that lays just beyond the crest of the low hill...