A few days in Stormhaven has a way of turning into several more, the very city seeming to take on a life of its own as a living, breathing being, intent upon waylaying a person with one event after another: some fortuitous, others not so much.
Such was the case for the heroes over the past week, or so. Was it really a week since they returned from Rush Hollow? Quite possibly, though it is hard to tell for certain, for each member was ensnared in their own little world upon returning to the City of Adventure.
The party spent no small amount of effort planning for their next trek, north of the Witchlight Marsh to find and slay whatever beast haunts the Demonstone.
Desmonstone is found somewhere within the Forlorn Hills, a low roll of upland country framing the western banks of the Elsir River, a broad serpentine waterway which carries the majority of the foodstuff consumed within Stormhaven.
The Forlorn Hills are a forgotten, haunted place that have long been uninhabited by the Good People of the World. Nothing friendly dwells in that realm now, though some are tempted to go there to seek out the buried treasures of civilizations lost to time. Most do not return.
The group passes through a handful of small thorps, hamlets and villages while traveling along the Elsir Way, a trade route running along side the river of the same name. Aside from perhaps passing familiarity with a name or two, these settlements are all but unknown to most of the heroes.
When one lives in the city, there is little reason to go elsewhere.
One thing is for certain, traveling by foot is no joke! This lesson is made painfully clear to Inas, Norion and Rath, all of whom wear heavy armor. Likewise, Monvo makes his displeasure known about halfway through the first day's travel:
"Blasted stars! Would it have been that hard to arrange for a wagon, or something?" he mutters under his breath, but this sentiment is perhaps heard by some.
Whatever the case, the heroes find room and board at The Fat Falconer Inn, a recommended haunt in a rather large walled village by the name of Windham. There, they enjoy a mostly restful night of sleep, for in the morning, the Forlorn Hills await.
***
Several hours after crossing the river, the heroes are now climbing into the upland country of the Forlorn Hill, a heather-strewn landscape of very few stunted, barren trees which rises into several lines of low-slung rocky-capped ridges leading away to the north. The remnants of an ancient civilization can be seen here or there, mostly in the form of a few bricks hinting at a wall, though nearly all have been reclaimed by the land.
The party travels for several hours, the air growing more dense with each passing step as plumes of warm steam begin to filter out of orifices in the rocky soil here or there. Pools of steam gather at the heroes footsteps and ooze slowly up slope toward higher heights.
Then, the party hears what sounds like howling somewhere in the mist ahead: hounds...or perhaps, wolves!
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:16, Tue 17 Sept 2013.
