Bowshot

This hamlet stands on the western side of the Trade Way, a day’s and a half’s ride south of Liam’s Hold, and two day’s ride north of the Way Inn. Named because it was just a bowshot away from the Misty Forest, it has been a logging center for a hundred years—and it has been so successful that the forest is now miles away to the east.

Bowshot consists of the Bowshot Inn, a sawmill, six farms (two run by men who shoe horses as well as any smith), and almost a dozen home woodcarvers who turn out yokes, coffers, wheel spokes, tool handles, and whimsical carvings. The place deserves mention because of recently discovered caves beneath its western fringes. They are entered from the horse-well behind the inn, and by at least one cave mouth in the stands of trees north and west of the hamlet.



Heluvianal

Your apprenticeship to Delfen Yellowknife has always been strange.  For one, he's never recognized you as his apprentice--not that you need his recognition, of course, just his knowledge. For another, none of his other apprentices pay for their education with sweat.  More than once you've felt like an oddity or an exhibit.  As if part of your payment were to be 'seen,' if only by his other apprentices and guests.  Moreover, you are the only of his apprentices that is male.  While they watched you with sidelong glances, eyes drawn to inhumanly powerful musculature and ethereally fine features, they seemed largely unaware that the oddly ageless but clearly old Delfen watched them with equal interest.

For years you've served--scrubbing and sweeping floors, studying under private tutelage at night, but never before has Delfen called you to service.

Until this night.

The moon and stars gleamed through the window lighting the pages under study.  Delfen always lit torches, candles, or spells when there were humans with him in the dark, but never with you.  Neither of you really needed it.  Whether Delfen was being secretive toward the humans or merely courteous he never said. There bent over the pages of your book transcribing the spidery writing of  Xoonthamar's 66th formulation ofVisual and Auditory Phenomena Manipulation in Variance and Caprice which Delfen has subtitled Improved Phantasmal Force, Delfen broke the silence.

"Edrie headed South some time ago with that young dwarf and his band.  She's falling behind.  My eyes miss the sight of her."

And that is how you found yourself in Bowshot sitting on a wooden stool in a mediocre inn serving considerably less than mediocre squirrel stew.  But then, could any human hand prepare squirrel stew like that simmered over the cookfires of your tribe in the Laughing Hollow?

Tol

With the priests dead the denizen's formerly bizarre harmony dissipated fully.  The sounds of battle could be heard ringing from the mouths of caves, no longer held at bay by the evil peace that had brought the unearthly tranquility.  But that was not the only thing that left--the fighting spirit of many of your followers (could they be called aught else) dimmed in their eyes.  Most had sworn to follow you until the business was done.  The priest's shattered skull on the black altar had a sense of finality to it.  With few words exchanged, the party returned to Bowshot with only a long silence to keep them company under the shadow-filled branches of the tree canopy above. Bits of the drow chain, so strong over so many days of fighting was finally starting to lose its luster.  Even the dim star light seemed to eat away at it.  As bits of vaporized steel seemed to drift from the mail tunics of your men, so too did their cares and worries and hard memories of the cave seem to go with them.  By the time they reached the highly questionable inn in Bowshot, they were lightly armored but also in light spirits though the grit and grime of battle and travel still coated them.

Gonzalo and Alfonse, brave Amnian men-at-arms saunter arm-in-arm through the doors.  Their spears they leave propped on the wall and their white teeth split their dark oiled beards in merriment.

The ethereal Celadhel and her dark warder who follows her like a shadow noticeably brighten as they are lit by the fire light.

Garth's blustering begins on the front porch, "...with my share I'll buy this Inn.  I'll double the revenues of my father's!  My sword will go... WINE!"

Olaf, makes a sign with his hands giving his thanks to his god for returning him safely and concurs with a more reverend tone. "Yes, wine.  But a bath too!" The thick-limbed priest began stripping off his armor as soon as he came in the door.

Demure Edrie, always watchful simply smiled and let down her brown hair.

Tol, Heluvianal--now's a good time to give a description of your character since you're seeing each other for the first time.
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:50, Fri 03 Apr 2020.

In reply to Dungeon Master (msg # 2):

Shorter than the usual Elven male, slim yet still chiselled like fine porcelain were the features of his face.  He stood there, stirring the stew in that large pot, not breaking a sweat even though he was near the fire.

Stepping out, you notice in the light of the tavern, the dark colours, greens and brown, blending in to the background like a snake in the woods or a mountain lion in the brush covered hills.

He brings bowls over for each of you, not that he had too, but he was there and had been doing it for so long, it came naturally to him.  Full length Brown and Dark Green Cannon, yet the contrast of the Pale Green Chemise did little to hide the Sharp lines of toned muscled beneath, top this off with Medium light Brown Leather Jerkin and High Boots depicted him as someone from the woods.  Easy to imagine his disappearing within 5 paces of a trek through the trees, only to reappear moments later with the Gold Sash around his waist showing up well.

His short cropped hair and piercing green eyes showed a studied and regimented intellect.  No armour to see, no, that isn't a plate he is holding, it appears to be a wooden buckler attached to his left arm.  After placing the bowls, he uses the Buckler as a serving tray with goblets and a bottle of wine on it.

His eyes only now taking in the members of the group that had just arrived and taken a seat at the table.

Reacting only now the table was filled to the undressing man and the stout Dwarf.  He notices the smile of the demure lady.  Edrie, you are a sight for sore eyes, well, they aren't sore really but they are glad to see you are still smiling.  Master Ondabarl sends his greetings and said he was missing you, really he said my eyes miss the sight of her, but that was too long winded.  He stopped and noticed the eyes of everyone looking at him, why were they looking at him, then he realised, his voice had been getting higher and higher.

Clearing his throat and putting on his best 'gruff' voice on Nice to see you are still alive  Then he went back tp the pot and started stirring the contents again, looking down, his eyes glancing up once to catch Edrie's with the look of "Sorry".

Edrie gazed at Heluvianal agape.  Never had she seen him so attired.  Was this the master's serving boy always silently scrubbing floors and walls, his rippling muscles... Ahem, let's mind our thoughts! "Heluvianal?  I told the master I'd be taking a hiatus from my studies.  Opportunities arose that had to be investigated, and friends required support."  Realizing that she had forgotten herself, she turned to the party members.  "My friends, this is an elf with whom I've been long acquainted.  He labors for Master Yellowknife in his tower.  Heluvianal Oakseer."  She leaves them to make their own introductions, though.

"A few of our party have completed their business here, but I think that others of us may wish to probe further. Master Yellowknife cannot compel me to return.  That isn't the nature of my apprenticeship." She stops and realizes that she is likely being rude by speaking over the head of a common scullery--even if he is uncommonly attired.  "I can write it down though so that you can carry it back. I believe we'll be feasting soon, though.  I would be happy for you to join us and tell us what has transpired in Daggerford in our absence.  It is good to see you."

Her honest smile and large brown eyes let you know that it is true.  Edrie always had a common and earthy goodness to her that the other two apprentices never illustrated.

Celadhel has a pale an ethereal quality to her.  It is obvious to any observer that she is high born and possesses every ounce of grace that Corellon's children are heir to. Her clothes are finely woven and perfectly cut to both accentuate the slim lines of her fey figure and to allow for the widest movement.  Her blonde hair is thin and fine and falls in a sheet--it's yellow somewhat hollow like the sun in the early morning of a misty spring day.  The blade on her hip is equally slender and finely wrought.  A lioness is tattooed down the length of her right forearm in a strange golden ink that reveals her to be a Bladesinger of House Floshin

((OOC: Heluvianal should probably feel fairly conflicted about Celadhel.  As a Grey/Sun/High Elf she gets a -3 to reaction adjustments among other elves because of her haughtiness and air of superiority.))

Celadhel regards Heluvianal remotely and does not interrupt his interaction with Edrie.  She cannot disguise her curiosity though at a Sy'Tel Quessir abandoning the Laughing Hollow to play scullery for a human wizard.

In reply to Edrie Graf (msg # 5):

Noting the almost flirtatious look and head shake of his fellow apprentice, Heluvianal smiled. To be fair, the master didn't say you had to return, something about making sure you were ok and learning a thing or two about the world from you and those you travel with. Besides, you were always nicer than the others. He shot her an equally genuinely playful smile.

He got the judge of the finely dressed Elf within Edrie's party, "Stuck Up" I think the Elder used to call High Elves like her, all the traits, I wonder if her personality is equally as self-important, this will be fun he thought to himself.

"Oh.  Okay then.  Do join us then!"

The broad shouldered priest with rich golden hair and beard and bright blue eyes walks up, his armor half stripped off. His steps are heavy and he has the affect of a farmer, albeit one that has taken up arms in defense of his home.  His gait reminds you of a plow-horse you once saw furrowing the earth.  He offers a thick calloused hand. "Olaf am I, and happy to meet a friend of Edrie's. I'm a servant of the Grain Goddess, and am happy to see to your cultivation and perseverance  as long as you are near. Yonder is Tol, the captain of our company and stout shield behind which we find shelter. " 
This message was last edited by the player at 18:38, Sat 04 Apr 2020.

Garth, Alfonse, and Gonzalo head off to the bar where the farm wives of Bowshot (who collectively run the inn as a sort of community kitchen or longhouse with rooms) again are driven from their sloth to tend to the needs of lusty men driven by thirst and hungry for coin.

"You're right to run, wench! Your house will soon be mine, and forever you'll be shamed in my shadow!"  Garth laughed as he ordered drinks.

Gonzalo and Alfonse were not always fond fo Garth's manners, but the Amnians appreciated his passion.  These southrons frequently found Northerners to be cold and remote.  They were happy to be in the company of one that seized life with both hands.  Together they started a happy song in their native tongue, which, though Garth had no mastery of Amnian he tried to catch the tune to anyways.

In reply to Olaf Stoutsheaf (msg # 9):

Taking the proffered hand to shake, he was getting used to these customs, he gripped the larger hand with equal measure, released and rubbed his hand as though the grip was too hard.  No sign of harm had indeed come to him, he just liked playing this game. Nice to meet you too Olaf, servant of the Grain Goddess, which one please?  Sounds interesting.  Waves over at Tol Hello Captain Tol

"Ah, fair Chauntea, the Lady of the Golden Waves.  She has taught men to till the soil and tame the wild and so build themselves up as sterner stuff from the blessings of her bounty."  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out several golden grains. "Such a fair gift, which any fool may eat, but for which our lady intended a higher purpose. Let us give praise to the lady together by drinking beer!"

Garth laughs mockingly at the priest, "A fine drink for a farmer or laborer, but here we feast in victory.  Let the wine flow!"

In reply to Olaf Stoutsheaf (msg # 12):

Listening to the Priest reminded Heluvianal why he didn't want to become one, too flowery and fixed. You tame the wild, I live with the wild, in the wild, would you tame me and make me less than I am?  That was all he could muster, he may have been clever by normal towns folk standards but he wasn't clever at all compared to back home.

His eyes seem distant for a moment as he remembers the wild of Laughing Hollow and the beauty of it all.  Yes, wine thank you
This message was last edited by the player at 22:27, Sat 04 Apr 2020.

"Lost in thought, kinsman?"  Balarba nudged Tol.

Tolantra shook herself. "Aye. Sorry. Just thinking back on those caves, and the glorious fight. And what might have happened if those priests had had the winter to strengthen and prepare." She pushed herself to her feet and bowed to Celadhel. "Tol Hardhammer, at your service."

Tolantra actively worked to appear the exact image that came to a human's mind when they thought 'dwarf.' A solid four feet of thick muscle, with long black hair and a black beard that fell halfway down her chest. Small stones engraved with runes of strength and toughness were braided in the beard, and clicked softly against the plate mail that encased her from neck to boots. The plate was a bit scuffed, with a few dents and punctures from their recent campaign, but nothing a bit of time under Tolantra's hammer in a forge couldn't set to rights.

It had been a good month. They had struck hard against the forces of evil, bringing glory to Haela and a bit of peace to the region. And best of all, none of her companions had even the slightest hint that she was actually Tolantra, a daughter and not a son of the mountains.

Truly, life had never been better.

In reply to Tol (msg # 16):

Nice to meet you Tol. Here, have some wine  (Edited because DM said so).
This message was last edited by the player at 19:28, Sat 11 Apr 2020.

((ooc: You don't know Tolantra is a woman. She's disguised and traveling as a man.))

The evening at the Bowshot Inn unfolds like many others you've experienced before.  Comrades take turns in the copper tub scraping muck and grime from sore bodies.  They take their turns sitting for stitching skins, clothes, and armor alike while sipping wine (watered or not) and beer (a bit too foamy and simultaneously stale?) and eating trenchers of the much maligned stew.  Hunger, of course, is the best sauce and even Garth holds his criticism tonight.

The locals take their meals on the porch to give you a wide berth.  The common room of the inn has the look of an infirmary.  Doubtless Rewis will be by after awhile to see to the more grievous wounds, but for now it is just you and the goodwives of Bowshot.

Alfonse looks up and around, and says loud enough to be heard, "We want to thank you again for our rescue.  You're good friends, and true.  That final fight... I wasn't sure if we were going to make it." He gives a low laugh and slaps Gonzalo's thigh. "Whatever evil was there that drew in the beasts that captured us.  I think it is gone now."

Gonzalo nodded and added, "We've avenged ourselves, and made an accounting of our manhood."

Alfonse continued, "...but we're no crazed 'venturers to wander through dark caverns and lost tombs.  We think it's time we moved on.  To sell our spears in service to some lord and earn fame and fortune on the field of battle."

Gonzalo muttered, "...or standing against a wall."

Alfonse continued, "How can shield-friends best be parted without grievance?  How shall we take our leave of the company of Tol Hardhammer?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:13, Sat 11 Apr 2020.

Heluvianal sees the winces as these brave aventurers, rescuers tuck into their food, so decides to make it take a little better using a trick her learnt with Cantrips.

(ooc: Use a Cantrip to give a nice flavour to the food to hopefully hide the bad for a while at least.  Standard usage.  If need to pass Prof check to cast, it didn't work)

Celadhel's warder steps forward from the shadow he had been standing in.  "Well said, Southron."  Casting back his cowl, he reveals the angular features and tanned skin of the wild elves of the Laughing Hollow.  Dhalcun, Heluvianal recognizes him as, of the house of Melandrach the King of the Woods.  Long ago he had been sent to the manor of Elorfindar Floshin to safeguard relations between the the remnants of the high-elves and their woodland kin. "We too shall take our leave.  How does the warband divide its spoils among your people?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:28, Sat 11 Apr 2020.

Garth Delimbyr, more sodden with drink than the rest, chimes in.  "We've our skins and treasures a plenty.  Enough for me to buy this blasted rat hole and hang my blade over that door!" He gestures for emphasis.  "I care not for what other death may await in the remainder of those caves.  If it stays there, I'll stay here.  And if it strays too close..." he slams his hand on the table rattling many drinks. "Let us divide what we've claimed and be done."
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:34, Sat 11 Apr 2020.

Celadhel raises an eyebrow quizzically at this proclamation where her companion could not see, but did not interrupt him.

In reply to Dungeon Master (msg # 21):

As the warder steps out of the shadows, Heluvianal's jaw drops, his mouth opens and closes a few times and his eyes seem to sparkle.  Then his hand rises... "B-b-b-b. But you went away ages ago, people thought you may have perished.  You're Alive, really, you are alive and well.

It's very nice to meet you, I always said to dad that you would return, I told them all you would.  He speaks as though one of his hero's had just walked up to him and said "Hi" directly to his face.

He then looks at the faces around him, realises that he is hogging his hero's time and steps backwards, bowing his head some.

Dhalcun, seeming perturbed, either by the situation or by the recognition--or both--nods curtly. "The People thrive no matter their circumstance, Heluvianal Oakseer." He regards Tol again and reiterates his request.  "Well?"

Tol--According to the module, none of the NPCs you rescued necessarily want or demand any kind of compensation for their assistance. How you decide to end your association with these NPCs now could influence how they interact with you in the future.

The members of the party lay out their winnings on a long table. Gems, gold, silver, and swords shine and skitter along the wood planks.  Two other tables are pushed together to lend more space for the division. Gonzalo and Alfonse immediately begin to get nervous and start intimidating the other patrons out of the questionable inn.

In a ritual as old as wealth, Tol begins the division before the eyes of all those that had placed their lives of the hands of one another.  Piles start small, but swell as the division goes on.  Tol dutifully consults the notes she's made over each day's activities, and adjusts the shares in some cases by length of tenure.

Some eyes brighten, and others dim.

Adorellan--as he presented himself to the party, but Dhalcun as known by Heluvianal--spits on the floor and utters a curse.  "Now we see why the old treaties were broken.  The esteem of the dwarves for us is as low as their stature! Keep your coins, dirt-child.  Come Celadhel!  We leave for your father's house."

The elegant heiress of the Floshin manor rolls her eyes derisively at Adorellan's outburst.  "Please go to my father's house.  Tell him how rude you have been tonight.  Do not return until you are called for."  Her eyes now cut to him, "Perhaps I'll whistle as for a dog and you can come panting.  A dog would show better gratitude for rescue and camaraderie. I should not like to insult them by confusing you for one.  Go forest-child.  Pout in my father's house."

Celadhel returns her attention to the division.  Acting as if Adorellaln had already left.

Adorellan fumes, slaps his pile back into the center, and grits his teeth. Regarding Heluvianal he invokes, "So suffer I by my father's will.  You will speak nothing of this among the fires for the sake of the King of the Forest."

Wary of insulting his liege lady further though, he storms out of the room and disappears into the night and the division continues.

Alfonse and Gonzalo are awed by their share, "With this, we won't have to hire out.  We can make our own company!  They hug each other fiercely and then the Tol as well.  "Sweet Tol! If ever you have need of our shield again--call and we shall come!"

Cork stands, regards his pile, and holds up his shield.  Looking at it, and then at the Amnian pair, he lifts it towards them.  "An axe I can use. A good tool.  But these shields, they're matched, like you're matched.  You should have it."  He regards the pile of coin before him.  "I wouldn't have to farm with all this.  But farming is what I know.  Sheep.  Fields. Hills."

Alfonse flings his hand at his pile, "Do you own your own hill?  You could now, silly sheep-herder!"

"My own..."  Cork begins to understand more fully the possibilities.

"Tol--you've changed my family's life.  I'm glad I trusted you."

Cork, Alfonse, and Gonzalo start talking over future plans.

In reply to Dungeon Master (msg # 28):

Not knowing what to make of the outburst of one of his childhood hero's, he now felt slightly cheated, he was young and inexperienced but that was just rude. "You will speak nothing of this"..., just for uttering these words had Heluvianal wondering if he should do just that, but he held his tongue, watched the piles rise then dwindle once more, he kept filling the goblets and tankards of those at the combined tables, not once was he tempted to help himself.  These people must have earned what they have been given and to say such words to this Tol, honourable words by the sounds of it, took his mind away from the antics from the hero of his youth.

Garth Delimbyr, the wine-soaked scion of one of the oldest non-noble human families in the region looks at his share and grimaces.  "Yeah.  Okay."    But his eyes don't really seem 'okay'.   "I'll catch the rooms.  My parting gift." He flips a coin, catches it, and looks eye to eye with the head emblazoned thereon.  "When you comeback should I give you a discount because you're my friends, or should you spend more because I'm yours?"

He ties his share up in a cloth, forming a bag and abandons the tables to talk to the proprietresses.

Tolantra grins at Garth. "Depends entirely on how well we've done in the meantime. With even a little of Tymora's luck, I'll be happy to rent out your best room."

She glanced at the door where Adorellan had stormed off, shaking her head. She supposed it was good to know that self-destructive arrogance was not the sole province of dwarven longbeards, but it was still painful to encounter. She wondered whether there was any possible set of circumstances where he didn't flounce off in a huff, but she was fairly certain she wasn't interested in feeding his ego enough to make that happen.

((ooc: Did he leave his share behind?))

Balarba smiled as she stowed her portion of the loot in a number of hidden pockets and pouches, and filled her pack with the remainder. "Well, cousin, it was a good adventure. Worthy foes, a few nice traps, and a pile of coin to lay by at the end. But now I'm afraid I need to say farewell. Some friends of mine are planning an expedition up in Waterdeep, and if I don't set out soon I'm likely to miss them." She grins. "And I wouldn't give them much chance to survive without my steady hand on the rudder."

Tolantra sighed, and bowed in her seat to her cousin. "I'm sorry to see you go. I had hoped we might travel together for at least a season or two. It's been too long since we fought together. But I thank Moradin and Marthammor for the time we had, and wish you Vergadain's luck on your next adventure."

Gonzalo and Alfonse are making plans to return to Daggerford to raise an armed host and train them in spear formations to be hired either as auxiliaries for Daggerford or hire themselves out as caravan guards as before.  Cork will head back to his fields north of Daggerford. The wild elf prince, Adorellan, will theoretically return to Floshin manor, but none can say for certain. Garth intends to remain in Bowshot to make something of this waystop.  Rewis feels an obligation to help the drow females thrive but is uncertain of his ability to remain and sets about writing a formal request to pass on to Olaf so that he can remain and cultivate this community.  Though they've not yet left, there is created some distance between the former companions. Their time in the company of Tol Hardhammer has drawn to a close, and those that remain gather together and take counsel with one another.

There are many paths branching out before the informal company, but their feet can walk but one at a time.

For one their coin and assets have grown beyond the ability to carry with them and will soon require deposit or investment. Either Daggerford or the Way Inn ought to suffice for such a task.

Then there is the issue of Meldar's map to Illefarn--though what is meant by that name is unclear.  The map alludes to dwarf custodianship of that place, but more traditionally that name belongs to a fallen kingdom of the elves. What could it be?

Then too there is the issue of the cavernous box canyon.  There were rooms left unexplored, some bearing treasure, and a cavern yet left unexplored.  What of the rumors of silver from that canyon?

Other, more personal matters, press as well.  Olaf has an official missive to bear to the masters of his faith on behalf of Rewis, and the clear cutting of the forest here in Bowshot sits ill with the Chauntean.

Edie's master seems interested in her return, though to what end, no one knows.

And what of Celadhel?  She has made no suggestion to her personal business, nor her further concern with the company.  Will the aloof Bladesinger remain?

Heluvianal too seems to abide and yet his intents remain unstated.  It could be that the informality of the company requires the introduction of some degree of formality.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:02, Wed 06 May 2020.

Yes.

Heluvianal enjoys the tales being told and the joyous banter, he listens, standing just enough out of the way to be separate but just close enough to be included and seen to be present.

With knowing Edrie from before she left the 'comforts' of the tower in Daggerford, the Wood Elf look to her as she had invited him into this select group but with it being a mix of peoples, he wasn't overly confident in getting closer, this was unusual for him with his forwardness.

Edrie, if you and this group go out again, Master Ondabarl said I should ask that I go with you to learn, will you teach me some things before we go out though?  You know I'm a good listener even if I don't always grasp spell work.

I'll be useful, I promise.  He was sure that he sounded as genuine as he felt, yet he had a niggle, one that started at the finger tips and went down to his feet.  He was excited.

Tolantra stared down at the share Adorellan had left behind and sighed. "More for the rest of us, I suppose. Though I would propose that we give half of his share to Rewis, to help the refugees get on their feet."

When Heluvianal spoke, she turned and gave her full attention to the elf. To this point, she had thought he was just another of the tavern's staff, and had been wondering how long he would last before the horrible food drove him to find a better place to work. But if he was an acquaintance of Edie's...

She looked around at the group. "Alright. We've come to a branch of the tunnel. There are still things to do back in the caves. We haven't answered the question of whether there is silver to be mined, for one. But this is a decent time to pause. We need to sell off these treasures. Both Olaf and Edie have business in Daggerford, and if we wish to remain in the town's good graces we have militia duty. I would suggest therefore that we go back to Daggerford. Once our days of militia work are over, we can return here and finish exploring."

She bowed to Celadhel. "We would be honored if you would continue to adventure with us. I saw your bladework in the caverns; very impressive. I think we'll be able to find some good causes for your blade to champion." She twisted around to look at Heluvianal. "And you are welcome to come with us as well. Edie has been a valuable and skilled member of this group. I'm sure another of Master Ondabarl's students will do well as well."

In reply to Tol (msg # 37):

He heard the Captains words but wasn't sure he had for a moment, the it dawned on him, he'd been asked to join them, not just tag along with Edrie.
Errm, thank you Captain Tol, this is an erm, thank you I mean.  Edrie, did you hear, oh of course you did, here have some stew   He handed out more stew to hide his awkwardness, meeting new people and then being invited to join them, he was a bit overcome.

Edrie starts a bit at being addressed.  She is frequently lost in thought, and calling her name ever seems to summon her from another world.

"Ah. Um, no thank you. I think I've had my fill." Her stomach turns audibly at the suggestion. "So we're to head back to Daggerford then? I admit, I don't think I'll be continuing in the service of the Yellowknife.  I've learned so much on the road, and I may be able to afford my own laboratory now.  But we should return if only to make a proper end to things.  He may have something further to offer."  She brushes a brunette lock behind her ear and takes up a clay cup of wine. "Heluvianal, I don't think in all the years I've seen you combined that I've heard so many words as this night.  Does the master swear you to silent service in the tower?"

The porcelain goddess inclines her head in acceptance of the invitation.  "Books cannot teach the lessons of life.  Endless sword forms and theorems did not shelter me from captivity.  I embrace the invitation, Tol."

The robust priest laughs with a deep and rumbling voice.  "What will the militia make of us now!  Standing a watch on the walls will seem a quiet respite.  But there is much that needs doing, and people that need tending."  His rich bass voice and thick golden beard give him a lordly aspect, but he always maintains the humility and ethic of a farmer.  Where Rewis ruminates on the many theories and philosophies of the cosmos, the meaning of and nature of life, Olaf remains ever grounded.  Whether a flock of the faithful or his companions Olaf cares for those around him, and takes pleasure in their care.

Okay--this is where I'm going to try out some of my new location oriented threading to help keep campaign notes in tighter order.  So each 'place' you pass through is going to have its own thread, and things you do in that place will happen in that thread.  In this case there are several way stops between Bowshot and Daggerford, so I'll be opening a few new threads.  If we hit a random encounter on the road, I'll start a road thread.  I'll include a campaign date for each entry as we go. Narration incoming as soon as I can ascertain the current date and travel times involved..


Uktar 01, 1357

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Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
Temperature:
Low: 15
High: 40

Winds: From Arctic at 40 mph.

Precipitation: Moderate snow becoming rain or sleet

Relative Humidity:
Morning: Moderate
Evening: High

Dawn is at: 7:00

Number of daylight hours: 10.00

Selûne: 3rd Qtr

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The newly minted party of adventurers are greeted in the pre-dawn hours by Olaf Stoutsheaf.  "The sun will soon rise, and we who must work the day through must rise earlier to meet it.  With tools and skills and hearty appetites filled, we must rise to meet the day of labor."  Edrie groans--her academic life and artificial sources of light cause her studies to be seldom bound by celestial phenomena.  Her snarled brunette locks are in stark contrast with her roomate's seeming immaculate awakening. Celadhel thanks the agrarian priest for his care, but her gratitude is formal rather than authentic.

The North wind fairly roars against the rafters as the goodwives of Bowshot prepare tasteless pottage for the workmen and their guests.  Your mild hopes of Garth having already claimed ownership are revised the serving board appropriately are dashed as you pass the familiar deep snores rumbling from his room rivaling the howling wind. Ever deep in his cups, the evenings' celebration clearly has bested the brash warrior.  The highlight of the morning is hot tea, which not even the goodwives of Bowshot can botch too badly.

The tea is all the more valuable as you pass the line of workmen and exit the door to find that the howling wind has borne snow to the doors of Bowshot.  Olaf ruminates a moment and after testing the wind declares that the snow will give out by mid morning yielding sleet, or perhaps merely a light rain.

Celadhel appears unperturbed, Edrie as if she would rather be back in the caves, and Olaf merely accepting the circumstance.  To him, this is merely the day's work, and there's no use having an opinion about it.

Your boots and horses face North.
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:47, Sat 09 May 2020.