After breakfast, you can gather your gear and head outside.  A few torches burn here and there to dispel the very early-morning gloom, but dawn is not quite arrived.  Sir Aberlayne leads a sturdy little pony out of the stables attached to the Guildhall and has him saddled in a trice.  Slinging her backpack over the pony's rump and securing his saddlebags, she swings up into the complicated-looking saddle without any seeming effort.  Dellas doesn't quite stumble out of the stables after her, looking marginally more alert in the cooler morning air, leading a little donkey.  He saddles it up quickly and pulls himself onto the beast's back.

"Else we'd never keep up with you long-legged folk," Dellas says.  "Hey Drogo, Honeybee can carry two for a bit, if you want."

Once everyone is ready, you can strike out north.  The guards let you through, looking mildly surprised at the industriousness of the group in leaving this early.  Outside Redhaven's stone walls, the road stretches east and west in a wide, broad, even swath, easy for caravans to traverse.  So of course you turn north, to a road barely half that width, good for a wagon, but not a whole fleet of them.  The road is half-dried mud in between packed gravel, and puddles still gleam in depressions and the wheel ruts.  A few foolish birds are chirping already, and insects are still singing their songs.  You see a few bits of light, fireflies, flickering in the grass and dancing upon the breeze.

As you carry on, the sun slowly rises, dispelling the gloom and bringing more warmth.  Trees are slightly back from the path, the effort of the local Baron to keep the roads from having too-convenient ambush spots, and grasses wave in the breeze.  You haven't seen anyone else along the road yet, but Boltharrow is a small place.  Nevertheless, you know the danger of road and how seemingly quiet places can turn into very dangerous ones.

OOC:  Could I get a rough marching order?  The road's big enough for two across easily.  Sir Aberlayne will stay near Dellas, who would prefer the middle if at all possible.  Also, if you have any SAPs (Standard Adventuring Procedures) you'd like me to take note of, please do so.  Like, "Thunder always scouts ahead, Mystique is always flying above me, Averdante always has his bow out, Drogo always travels wearing a wererat mask, etc."

Farian will be near the front, either in front, or in the second row.

"There should be fighter types in front, and maybe one at the rear too. Safer traveling that way"
This message was last edited by the player at 01:00, Mon 16 June 2014.

Narthian smiled as the group began it's travel for the day.  It was nice to be on the move again and with a real purpose, no less.  He adjusted his pack and fell in line.

OOC: Narthian would prefer to be near the front but will leave the front for the fighters and barbarian if they so desire.  Thunder will stay near Narthian but will occasionally travel off on his own, not too far away, about 100 feet or so.

Averdante carries his bow, and is happy to be near but not at the front. His powers of observation should alert the group to any dangers ahead, and he can be lethal, but he is not the one you want to be behind and trust that his presence will slow an onrushing enemy.

He's also more than willing to go ahead and scout, as he can move more quietly than many of the others in the party - like the riding animals.

Bruenor was slightly disgruntled by the rude awakening, but he was used to early rises for weapons drills, and so accepted breakfast with little objection.

After the party sets out, Bruenor marches along diligently, keeping toward the front of the group.

OOC: Bruenor will take the lead of the group, but will cede that line to the barbarian and Drogo, instead taking the second row. Regardless of row, he walks with neither weapon drawn, but rests his right hand on his rapier should he be in the front row.

"Oi woman..." the barbarian grumbles, grasping his head, until realizing it is warm tack that has brought him to this wakeful morn. He catches eyes with Valia as he rises nude from his cot, "Thanks darlin'" he calls at her with a wry grin and a large chomp taken from the loaf.

Volsh, now prepared for the road, travels in his studded leathers and a carefree gait. Although his stride is normally long and fast, this morning brings about a bizarre undertaking. He hangs back to the rear to watch the others and their backs. Volsh is not accustomed to traveling with others much.

Haazheell is used to walk long distances. He uses his quaterstaff as a walking stick. Refreshed by a good night sleep. Mystique and Haazheel joined the group outside the guildhall, Haazheel greeted the different members of the company. To Averdante and Nathaniel, he said: "May I have the pleasure to travel with you my elvish companions?"

OOC: Haazheel will enjoy the company of Avery and Nathaniel for the road, staying also close to the fire wizard. Mystique will fly above the group to look for any trouble ahead.

Farian takes to the lead, with his armor shining with a fresh coat of oil when the sun crests the horizon to ward off rust from all of the rain and damp. His breakfast down, his waterskin freshly topped, his morning prayers and constitutional finished. He preferred praying at sunrise, but with the days travel ahead, he felt The Sun Father would not mind him being a little early today.

The road gets lighter and the day warmer as the sun climbs, more birds joining their songs as the new day begins to warm up.  The road dries out a little as you travel on, occasionally seeing a farm in the distance, once or twice someone passing by with a cart of apples or a donkey loaded up with bundles.  If asked, they say the road has been quietly recently, more so than usual.

"Not much coming out of Boltharrow these days.  Maybe they've got a commission up north by the Sea," one old man says with a shrug.  None of these folk have heard of goblin attacks, at least not nearby.

You can pause a time or two for a break or a meal, but between the halflings on their mounts and steady walking from the others, you're making excellent time.  The sun is starting to go down when you come across something that catches your attention.  Mystique brings it to Haazheel's attention that there's something over to the east of the road, and Thunder gives Narthian the impression of "old fire" off in the same direction.

Squinting through the trees, Averdante and Narthian see it first, but once the others' attention is drawn to it, the rest can see what appears to be a burned-out farm through the trees.  There's no scent of smoke in the air, and there's no smoke rising from the house and barn, but the doors have been burned away, the windows smashed, and a horse lies on the ground outside the barn, its blue roan coat streaked with blood from many cuts.

The place is silent, and not even birds are singing nearby.  Slanting sunbeams illuminate the place, giving stark clarity to the destruction.

You estimate you're roughly an hour away from Boltharrow, and night will be here soon.

Averdante listens, but holds his thoughts until the passersby are well out of earshot...

"It may be that the farmers are fearful to travel, or that the traffic and news is simply not making it this far..."



Once the scene becomes clear, Averdante knocks a grey-feathered arrow.

"Then again, it is not impossible that things have changed of late, and there are fewer to travel in the first place..."

He turns an appraising glance toward the sun turning orange as it sinks toward the horizon.

"We have a moment to spare - I'll take a quick look - keep a sharp eye out in all directions, but especially deeper into the woods, where a sneak might hide..."

He shoulders his bow and draws his longsword, and steps carefully, one cautious step at a time, into the burnt-out husk of a building.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:05, Wed 18 June 2014.

Farian unhitches his shield from his back and puts it properly on his arm and pulls his mace out, ready for action.

Dellas swings down from Honeybee and quickly ties her reins to a convenient tree.  Going in slowly (once Sir Aberlayne clears her throat at him in a reminder), he stays behind Farian and Averdante, squinting carefully at the scorched wood..

"I don't believe this was done with a spell," he says finally.  "It's too random to be from burning hands, and not big enough to be from a fireball.  There's no scorch marks on the ground from a flaming sphere, and look over there, at that blackened piece of wood near the burned wall?  It's a torch stub.  If the burns had come from a spell like produce flame, they wouldn't need that."
This message was last edited by the player at 10:35, Wed 18 June 2014.

Farian moves toward the farmstead with Averdante, looking and listening for signs of others, and keeping his eyes out for the bodies of the fallen.

"As it is already getting dark, we might think of making camp here and going on in the morning. Make some shelter, bury any dead we find, and rest for tomorrow."

Sir Aberlayne rides in carefully, looking around from her superior height in the saddle.  She uncovers the axe at her side and twirls it from one hand, her pony steady beneath her.  When she sees the horse, she looks quite sad, and shakes her head.  "Goblins hate horses," she says quietly.  "We should look for survivors."

Narthian looked around at the burnt out farm.  "Thunder, stay with me.  I agree Sir Aberlayne and Farian.  Let's have a look around."  The Druid moved carefully towards the house, drawing his club and shield.

As Narthian draws closer to the house with the others, Thunder sniffs the air and turns towards the horse.  And the horse moves, lifting its head a little and making a small whinny of alarm at a predator being near.  Sir Aberlayne gasps and dismounts.

"Gods, it's still alive!" she says, and runs over to the beast. She bends over it, making soothing noises, petting its head, and a few of the worse cuts start to close.

As this is happening, Farian and Averdante look into the burned-out windows of the farmhouse to a sad sight of a home utterly destroyed by fire.  There's what appears to be the body of a man near the back door (visible through the windows), burned very badly, what clothing that can be seen cut with ragged slices.  The place is a shambles, things tossed all over the room as if a malicious whirlwind had gone through the room.

There are a lot of round rocks near the outside of the house, and a few inside as well.  They look like rounded river stones.  After a moment, Averdante recognizes them as slingstones, because they certainly didn't come out of the land around here.  The house had been slung at with stones before torches were hurled at it.

The front door is broken, primarily the bottom half, and there are gouge marks on the door that look like teeth, perhaps from some canine of some sort.

There's also what seems to be a shattered scythe just inside the door.

"If you need help with the horse Lady Aberlayne, let me know. I'll be over to help in a few minutes in any case, as it looks like the horse may be the only survivor. I'm going to check the house and perimeter first though."

Farian checks for tracks to and from the house and the way they look. He also checks the body of the man.

10:32, Today: Farian Raymellie rolled 14 using 1d20+7. Heal Check.
10:31, Today: Farian Raymellie rolled 13 using 1d20+3. Survival.
10:31, Today: Farian Raymellie rolled 9 using 1d20+3. Spot.

Haazheel asked Mystique to scout the surroundings for any danger. If Mystique informs him of no danger, he walks around the house to investigate what happened. He looks at the marks on the door and footprints around the house to identify who or what attacked the house.
11:32, Today: Haazheel Thorn rolled 10 using 1d20+1. spot check.
11:35, Today: Haazheel Thorn rolled 15 using 1d20+4. Nature.

When Bruenor arrives at the farm, he unslings his longbow from his shoulder, holding it at the ready before taking in the area.

When Farian suggests they stay for the night, Bruenor responds, "I must disagree; this place is too open to defend against superior numbers. It's obvious that there are many goblins, and we have no idea when they could return."

While the rest of the group tends to the horse, Bruenor re-shoulders his bow, draws his rapier, and carefully enters the house.

15:53, Today: Bruenor Sedricson rolled 14 using 1d20-1. Spot Check.
15:52, Today: Bruenor Sedricson rolled 12 using 1d20-1. Listen Check.

"Think you can find a suitable place nearby? I wonder how far it is to the inn. Can you ask your bird friend how far it is master wizard? It may be better and safer to hurry there before full darkness sets in."

""I will ask Mystique as soon as she comes back from her scouting of the surroundings Master Farian" answered Haazheel still looking for clues while waiting for Mystique.

The Druid continued to poke around the outside remains of the house.  "If we are going to move on, we need to do it soon.  The night is coming quickly.  If you asked me a minute ago, I would have said stay.  I did not take into account that they would return in mass, so soon. Narthain said sheepishly.

Sir Aberlayne checks the beast over carefully, making quiet noises at it.  "I healed him a bit, enough to stop the bleeding and the worst of the pain.  I think he'll be all right.  I'll get him up and be along soon," she says.

Farian walks tentatively into the burned-out house.  In the debris, he can see the occasional little footprint, usually bare, no bigger than a halfling or a child, with long nails.  More than likely they're goblin prints.  And they're everywhere.

The man is quite dead, and did not have an easy death.  He defended himself against some slicing blades, perhaps with a fireplace poker, but was caught in the flames of his home before he could escape.  There is a little dark blood off in one corner, and your nose leads you to the body of a goblin, like a grotesque doll, lying broken against a wall.  Even in death, it still wears the insane goblin grin.



Haazheel, you see much the same.  Goblin footprints inside the house, and some outside, though it seems there were other disturbances outside that disrupted most of the tracks out there.

Mystique doesn't see anyone lurking in the trees nearby, though you get the impression there is more carnage in the barn.  He also sees a well out back of the house.



Bruenor, you join Farian in the sad ruins of the farmhouse.  Aside from the dead man and the dead goblin, you don't find any more bodies, though there is evidence, in the form of broken toys, that there was at least one child, and quite possibly a woman in the household, to judge by the remains of the embroidered curtains.

--

Dellas sets Visk loose to examine the barn as he lurks close to his sister.  A moment later, Visk comes running back out, and Dellas pokes his head in tentatively, after a quick word of, "Visk says nothing's moving inside."  Dellas is gone just a moment, then staggers back out again, barely makes it to a convenient bush, and loses his lunch, breakfast, and possibly the previous night's dinner.

"Dellas?" Sir Aberlayne asks quietly.

"Horses dead in their stalls.  Dog dead on the barn floor.  Dead goblin or two by the scorch marks on the walls," Dellas gasps out.

--

As you are investigating, Thunder, Narthian, and Averdante hear a faint cry from out back of the house.

---

OOC:  You estimate you are about an hour away from Boltharrow at your current striding pace.  If you wanted to force-march, you could cut that down some, almost in half.

"Well, it doesn't look very good here. Perhaps we should think about getting on to Boltharrow as quickly as we can. It would not be good to get caught out in the open with no shelter."

"We should leave immediately. On the road, at least, we'll be moving, and we can break for town if the curs find us," Bruenor adds, leaving the house to return to the group.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:55, Thu 19 June 2014.

Narthian holds up a hand, signalling for silence. He points towards the back of the house where he heard the sound. Thunder takes several steps in front of the Druid and they both move towards the sound to investigate.

Haazheel, noticing Nathian asking for silence, comes closer to his position. He looks around to find out what Nathian is looking for.
13:33, Today: Haazheel Thorn rolled 16 using 1d20+3. Search
This message was last edited by the player at 18:34, Thu 19 June 2014.

At Narthian's signal, Bruenor immediately halts. When he sees where the druid and wizard are going to investigate, Bruenor joins the effort from around the opposite side of the house

As he exits the building to get back on the road, Farian sees the others reacting and attempts to assess what is going on, then follows after them.

14:07, Today: Farian Raymellie rolled 17 using 1d20+3. Spot.
14:07, Today: Farian Raymellie rolled 14 using 1d20+3. Listen.

Drogo in the background snooping around a bit here and there with his crossbow ready. He noticed Narthian's signal and that Bruenor followed. He then decided to follow along not wanting his good friend to be in any danger without enough help. "Hold on Bruennor, wait for me."

Narthian and the others start to circle around towards the back of the house, Farian and any who wish following them.  Sir Aberlayne stays near the front of the house for now, but Dellas seems to master his stomach and trots after the others.

"I'll keep for watch out here, just in case," she says.

In the back of the house, there's a chicken coop, burned and broken open, scorched feathers everywhere and no sign of any living chickens.  There's a small vegetable garden, trampled flat and produced squashed into the ground.  And there's a well.

The sound, shouting, is coming from the well!

"Hello?  Rath?  Hello?  Can anyone hear me?  We're down here!  Rath?"

If you look down in the well, cautiously or otherwise, you can dimly see a woman standing up to her shoulders in water, a little girl in her arms, their faces smudged with soot, both of them shivering.

Farian immediately gets his rope off his pack and makes a loop, and lowers that end down the well.

"Put the loop over your head and under your arms! Use your feet and a free hand if you must to protect yourselves from the sides of the well. We'll pull you up!"

Narthian moves over to Farian and grabs the end of the rop to help pull the woman and child up. "Thunder, Guard. he said sternly to the wolf.

As the party of adventurers conduct their investigation, the barbarian patrols and scours the front area and keeps an eye out on the approach leading up from the road. He opts to stand ready at the front with the lady paladin.

At The Well



"Mia, hang on to Mama's neck," the woman says to the child.  The little girl clings like a limpet with arms around the woman's neck and legs around her waist.  Then the woman turns her face up, and it looks battered and bruised.  "I'll do what I can, sir, but I think I broke my arm when I jumped in here," she says with a gasp.  Wincing, she takes the loop with her left hand, and works it down around her body, actually passing under her thighs, and sort of sits in the loop, hanging on with her good arm.  "We're going for a ride, little songbird.  Hang on tight and don't let go.  This nice man is going to get us out of the well.  We're ready!" she raises her voice on the last.



Thunder looks around, pacing slightly as he begins a short patrol around the well.

Narthian lends his strength to the rope, and Dellas (and Bruenor, Drogo, and Haazheel if they wish) also join in, pulling steadily with Farian.  There are a few gasps of pain, and one childish whimper, but eventually a sopping wet arm reaches over the top of the well to clutch at the stones.  With people lending a hand, they can bring the woman over the edge and to solid ground.  She looks like a sturdy farmwife, blonde and blue-eyed, her hair in braids under a kerchief, now sopping and starting to slip, her clothing the sturdy, practical britches, long shirt, and smock for a working mother.  Her right arm between elbow and wrist is obviously bent in a way not intended by nature, though no blood mars her sleeve.  The girl is maybe four years old, a little copy of her mother.  Both are covered with soot where the well water hasn't washed it away, and the mother's face is bruised.  Both are shivering and wet.

"Gods bless all of you for hearing us.  We've been down there a whole day.  My husband, have you seen him?  Rath, he was in the house, did he bring you from town?" she asks desperately.  The little girl just whimpers and hugs her mother closer.

---

At the Front of the House

Sir Aberlayne and Volsh keep their senses alert for any return of the raiders who laid this place to waste.  Sir Aberlayne gets the horse on his feet and makes a makeshift halter from what wasn't wrecked in the barn.

Volsh listens keenly and watches carefully, but doesn't catch any glimpse of foes.

"We found your husband inside, I'm afraid he did not make it. This is going to hurt..." Farian takes the child from her and hands her to Bruenor, he takes her broken arm and pulls it into place, then casts CLW on her.

09:30, Today: Farian Raymellie rolled 9 using 1d8+2. cure light wounds.

Bruenor moves into position and sheaths his rapier in one motion; gripping the rope tightly, he throws all of his strength and weight against that of the waterlogged innocents.

Bruenor accepts the child without hesitation, turning so as to put himself between her and the sight of her mother's arm being set back into place, trying to calm her as best he can.

10:05, Today: Bruenor Sedricson rolled 10 using 1d20+2. Charisma check.

Narthian did not have much experience with children so he took the chance to roll up the rope.  He did know that Thunder had an effect on kids and decided to move the wolf out of the area of the little girl.

When not in ear shot of the woman and little girl, he said softly, "Now it is more important that we get to town before dark.  We cannot risk these two.  I know it will be difficult but we must get them to move now."

"That should feel much better now. We need to get you and your daughter away from here and into town quickly before nightfall, Take my cloak to keep warm. Tomorrow, you and some of the town folk can see to your husband. Let us get moving quickly, we'll carry your daughter." Farian takes the little girl back from Bruenor.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:11, Sat 21 June 2014.

Bruenor returns the child to the Cleric's care, returning to the front of the house. He approaches the paladin and barbarian and relays the other group's findings.

"Is the horse in any shape to ride? We need to leave without delay, or we could be stuck on the road in the dark, and now we have this pair to keep watch over," He urges, mostly to the paladin.

"You're right, let's move and bring them as fast as possible into a safe place. I send Mystique to scout the area between us and the town." On these words, Haazheel calls Mystique with a faint whistle and after a couple of gesture, Mystique flies away in the direction of the town.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 00:11, Sun 22 June 2014.

Sir Aberlayne's eyes get wide at the sight of the mother and child.  "He can be," she says in response to Bruenor's question.  She places her hand on the horse's side, and its wounds close up almost all the way.  She dashes back into the barn, and comes out under the weight of a blanket, saddle, and halter.  With a bit of help from a tall person, she can get the saddle on the horse, and the beast calmed down enough to ride.

The farmwife gasps in the relief of pain as Farian heals her arm with a single surge of Pelor's healing power, warmth enveloping both of them and leaving her hale and whole.

"Thank you, kind sirs," she says, and hides her face when told her husband didn't make it through the goblin attack.  "Rath pushed us outside, told us to get into the well and he'd try to hold them off..."  She holds back a sob as the rest of the group urgently gets them moving, helping her on the horse with her child.

Mystique comes back, shaking his head when asked about danger.  It seems there is nothing the owl's eyes spied on the last leg of the journey to Boltharrow.

Everyone else gathers themselves and heads back out, marching quickly down the road, hoping to outpace the sunset.  The last of the light is fading when the road finally opens up.  A heavy wooden palisade surrounds the village, several places scorched and blackened, spots on the ground outside burnt bare.  Villagers with bows and boar-spears can be seen just above the wall, patrolling and guarding.  Two stand on either side of the gate, their heads just visible above the wall.

A faint smell of old smoke permeates the air, and the place is very quiet, the noise of the town muffled.

"Who goes?" a voice rings out over the palisade.

 Breunor responds forcefully, using his most commanding tone, "We are agents of the Adventurer's guild, sent in response to your plea for aid against the goblins. We are also escorting with us survivors from a goblin attack. Open these gates, NOW!"
This message was last edited by the player at 02:55, Mon 23 June 2014.

As the band halts before the gates of the village, Volsh pivots to completely face the rear. He peers into the near darkness alert for any danger which may creep from behind.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:16, Mon 23 June 2014.

"Hail and well met! Can you open for travelers to get inside to safety from these wild times? We have women and children!"

While the others were discovering and rescuing the pair from the bottom of the well, Averdante had been scouting a bit inside the edge of the forest, to see if anything could be seen.  He then stood watch on the far side of the house, so nothing could approach from the blind side.

On the matter of leaving versus staying, he matter of factly stated that pushing toward Boltharrow was the only option, that anything less was risking disaster, and nodded in satisfaction that the majority of the party agreed.

At the town gates, the gloom of evening pressing in around them, he keeps an eye on the edge of the forest, his elven eyes hoping to see what might wish to stay hidden.

The guards squint down at the group, then their eyes widen as they catch sight of the woman and the child.

"Elaina Bray?" one of them says.

"Get the gate open!  We've been waiting on these folk for weeks!" another says, his voice sounding more authoritative.

Two of the guards disappear from up top.  There's a long pause, some scraping sounds, and finally the gate is opened inwards.  The guards wave the party in quickly, and you hear a hollow log being beaten vigorously above your heads.  That seems to be the equivalent of a bell, because soon after the guards close and bar the gate again, several people arrive on the streets.  One wears the leathers of a smith, another the workday clothes of a craftsman, and the third is an old man a finer version of the second, along with a silver chain of office.  A young man near him bears a torch to dispel the twilight gloom, and you can see the lines of care on the third man's face.

"You're Guild members all?" he asks.  Assuming people show him their badges, he heaves a sigh of relief.  "Thaddius Harrow, I'm the mayor.  That's more people than I dared hope for.  Sometimes people look at goblins as a joke if they've never had to face them-  Elena Bray?" he breaks off suddenly, spying the woman on the horse.

The farmwife you rescued bursts into tears.  "Last night, they came out of the dark.  A whole filthy mob of them, flinging torches at the house and barn and slinging stones so Rath couldn't fire off a single arrow.  They went to break down the door, and Rath told me to hide in the well with Mia so he could try to drive them off.  And then all I heard was the most awful noises from them yelling and singing, and I never heard Rath again..."  Elena had been speaking through sobs, but at this last she can scarcely be understood from her tears, and the mayor coaxes her off the horse and gives her a shoulder to cry on, her child clinging to her skirts, before she's able to speak again.  "Then these folk rescued me, and Mia, and fixed my arm, and saved Blue," Elena finishes, tears still running down her face.

The mayor pats her about the shoulders in a fatherly manner.  "I'm so sorry, Elena.  You and Mia go with Will to Goodwife Hann's and get some rest now.  We'll be making sure you're safe."  The man in the craftsman's clothes takes Elena's elbow and leads her gently off into the village.  The mayor sighs heavily and turns to the rest of you.  "Not even agreed on a fee and you're already saving my people.  Sometimes the gods work in signs even an old man like me can understand.  Please, come with me."

The mayor only goes as far as the town square, and from there to a building marked with a quiver of arrows burned into the wood above the door.  "The crafthall, city hall, archives, and my home," he says in explanation, letting you in.  Sir Aberlayne and Dellas take a quick moment to dismount and tie their mounts to the hitching post before going in.

The main room is a large one, filled with craft benches, tools and half-finished arrows stacked neatly off to one side.  He waves for you to take a seat, as he and the smith find seats of their own.  The young torchbearer lights several lamps, illuminating the place warmly, before going to sit next to the mayor.  He pulls a book of loose foolscap out of bag slung about his body, and also uncorks a bottle of ink and fishes out a quill with some haste.

"My thanks to you, adventurers.  Redhaven's the only Guildhall we've had time to post our need at so far, so you must have come from there, and lucky that you spied the Bray farm.  Rath wouldn't hear of taking his family within the walls, determined and stubborn as he was to make things on his own.  Gods rest his soul."  The mayor sighs heavily.  "We've been having a goblin problem for a few weeks.  Little raids at first, then a few days ago, a concentrated attack on the village.  I'd sent a messenger south for adventurers just before that, first to Redhaven, then further west.  And I wasn't sure if we'd just get a few people looking to make a quick spot of gold against a goblin band when we've got a worse problem on our hands.  But with all of you, I believe you'll be able to beat them.  My folk aren't bad archers, but they can't see in darkness like goblins, and that's when they've been attacking, and I don't have enough trained folk to send them to the ruins.  What do you need to know to help us?" Mayor Harrow asks.

"Does anyone have a map of the ruins themselves?" Farian asks hopefully.

"Eh... a sketchy one.  I know it's around here somewhere.  Harris, when we're done here, go dig that up," Mayor Harrow says, nodding to the young man who's acting as a scribe.  "I can give you a bit of a description until we get that thing found.  We think it was some big temple long ago, with outbuildings.  There's lot of broken bits of walls and columns on the outskirts, a big expanse of paved stone with a fair bit of rubble towards the middle, and a place where part of the roof is still standing, maybe where the sanctuary was.  Part of the place glows on odd nights, blue light, and we've gotten an uncanny feeling from the place, so we try not to wake anything up.  There may be something buried there, but no one's tried to dig for it in my memory.  It's older than an elf's grandmother, if you'll pardon the expression, old enough that what few scholars have clapped eyes on it can't rightly place its history from what they could see.  Not that you get the cream of academy out here in the middle of the woods, truth to tell."
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:01, Sun 06 July 2014.

"Thank you very much for these informations, Lord Mayor" says Haazheel "I am Haazheel Thorn, wandering wizard. May I ask you whether you can recall any legends or stories about this place? During my journeys on these lands, I discovered that legends, tales, bedtime stories are usually very informative. I think in order to take care of the goblins we might need to discover first the reason of these recent attacks and the source of their interest in the old ruins." Haazheel gives a gentle pat on his owl perched on his shoulder.

"Aye, and forgive my manners, I am Brother Farian Raymellie, priest of Saint Bane and Pelor, the Sun Father."

"Bruenor Sedricson," Bruenor adds, nodding respectfully to the mayor.

The Druid raised an eyebrow at the Mayor's choice of phrase but then smiled. "I am Narthian Goldleaf."  He reached down and patted Thunder, signaling the wolf to lie down.

"Drogo Underbough at your service. I would just like to say I would like to give up a fourth of what I receive to go to the woman and her child. I know it's hard for a mother without a father's earnings." Drogo says without trying to make it sound like a big deal.

"How far to the ruins from here?"

Volsh enters the building last. Large as he was, he found himself stooping to clear the frame of the door. He closes it behind him and casually leans against it on his left shoulder. This came subconsciously and without thought. The barbarian was ambushed in his youth when marauders entered after him and it had not happened again since he had perfected this simple adjustment. His eyes scan the room for a possible exit and he listens patiently to everyone.

Aver'e raisers one eyebrow and one corner of his mouth, gives a slow glance to Narthian, and nods "a pardon" to the speaker without further interruption.

Once he is done, he asks...

"Forgive, you seem amply knowledgeable and I'm sure have more to share, but two thoughts, one pressing and one less so.

"First, did I hear correctly that the goblins have been attacking the town at night?  The last light is fading as we speak - could there be an attack soon, or would that be later, or have the attacks been less common than a quiet night?

"Then, while it crosses my mind, once we are done here is there perhaps another in town who might have additional insights, a retired adventurer, a local cleric, the tavern storyteller, or perhaps just some town elder, who might have done or seen or heard aught in addition to what you can share?"

As the others introduce themselves, the Mayor takes a moment to quickly introduce the quiet man in the smith's leathers sitting next to him.

"Bragun Smith, one of our village elders and best arrowhead maker around these parts."



Mayor Harrow strokes his beard thoughtfully.  "Stories being stories, there's more than one.  I remember a ghost story as a sprout about the place being dangerous in the time of the full moon, that some door would appear and snatch naughty children up if they went looking when they were supposed to be in bed.  Another said it was some great temple, and that there was a small god somewhere in the ruins.  And no one wants to offend a god, so that's why some won't go near the place.  Others say its a tomb, and the protections put on it are wearing out, and some day something horrible will come from there..."  He shrugs.  "And the only documented case of badness is a couple times goats have gotten lost or missing in there, and that could be laid down to the stubbornness of goats.  But the place still makes me uneasy."




"That's quite kindly of you, and I know they'll be needing it," Mayor Harrow says sincerely.  "And speaking of that, I suppose I must speak of money.  If you will stop the goblin attacks, by killing them, driving them away, persuading them to worship a stuffed rabbit of peace, whichever way you can, we're offering eight quivers of our finest arrows.  They're worth a very pretty penny to any good archer, and can be traded easily.  And also, minus what things have been stolen from my people, anything the goblins have on them or in or around their camp you can keep for yourself."

OOC:  This is the cash equivalent to 1,120gp for 160 masterwork arrows.



"A half-hour's brisk walk, on a clear day for a healthy man," he says.



"Aye, we had an attack two nights ago, near midnight.  Have people manning the walls...  I hate to say it, but with the little horrors having killed Rath and ruined his farm, that might have been enough destruction for a little while.  We'll have people watching all night.  If any of you wish to join them, I'd consider it a kindness to have extra eyes watching."

When asked about someone else in town, he hmms and haws, looks over at Smith, who grunts in some meaningful fashion.  Mayor Harrow nods in agreement.  "Varick Forrester.  He's our best hunter, though getting a bit long in the tooth.  He's fearless against wildcats, but the idea of goblins sneaking up on him in the dark gives him the screaming horrors.  But if there's aught else to learn, Varick will know it.  He's over at the Pickled Pig.  We can put you up there for the night, and you can speak with him there."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 10:28, Thu 26 June 2014.

"Thank you, Sir. You have been most amicable," Bruenor responds to the mayor, before addressing the rest of the party, "I would like to have words with the hunter, as well as to mull over the current situation. As such, I will make for the inn."

"After we deal with the urgent problem at hand, I would speak to the widow if I may," Farian says to the mayor. "As to the goblins, do you have any clue of their numbers? One more question, do you have a temple in this town?"

“Bruenor my lad,” Volsh retorts with a large grin behind his beard, “A fine plan. I’ll accompany you to this place of the Pig. There we can sup and raise mugs and decide on a plan for the morrow.”

He stands upright from his lean and addresses the Mayor, “Part of my plan before the sun rises will be lending my skills to the wall lookout; my eyes at the very least.” He adjusts his pack and shifts to open the door. A last minute thought manifests. “Also, mayor, is there record of the townsfolk’ missing items? If we had a list, we might retrieve some of them from the ruins. There's fair chance that the valuables do not serve their intended purpose to the goblin bastards. Likely they have preserved much of it.”
This message was last edited by the player at 01:53, Thu 26 June 2014.

"That sounds like a fair deal to me. Thanks. And I'll also join in on the watch." He then faces Bruenor and says. "I'll also tag along with you, Bruenor, to see that hunter."

"Me and Thunder will follow you to the inn.  I think we will turn in early and then take the second watch at the walls."  The druid was already thinking of what they needed to do to solve this problem.  The arrows were nice but he definitely wanted to help these folks for their own good.

"Then I'll take the first half of the night - between us, we can lend a pair of elf-eyes to the wall until light.

"I don't think we need to start too early on the morrow - we've put in more than a full day today, and a little daylight might work to our advantage to sneak out of town, in case the goblins are clever enough to keep watch.

"Then if there's nothing else to add (and if so, we should be easy to find in the morning), I guess we should all to the 'Pig, and meet your man Forrester and get generally settled for the night, then I'll to the wall."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:57, Thu 26 June 2014.

"Fully agree with Master Averdante" says the Wizard. "Me and Mystique will also take the first half of the night after discussing with Forester and a good meal at the inn. I will study my spells while Mystique will keep an eye around the wall, she is pretty good to spot creatures at night."

"And thank you all as well, for coming," Mayor Harrow says warmly.



"Best as we know, maybe thirty of the little devils.  Though the attack was at night, and I wouldn't swear that we didn't miscount," the mayor says.  "As for a temple, we have a little temple to Pelor, Father, in the town square.  Brother Darius is our local priest and healer."



"We'll take any extra eyes you can lend, with our thanks," Mayor Harrow says gratefully.  "Harris has a list of what people have said has gone missing, though we'll have to ask Goodwife Bray- No, gods, it's Widow Bray now, isn't it?  Aye, once we can coax her to let us know what's not there, we'll give you the list.  Though if she can't rightly recall, I'll just give you what we do know about and see if anyone recognizes anything you bring back."

"A quick question, Mayor," Dellas pipes up.  "Did anyone see any of the goblins doing magic when they attacked the town?"

Harris, the young man who's been writing down notes, shudders visibly.

"Tell them what you saw, son," Mayor Harrow says encouragingly.

"The torches on the north side of the village all went out at once, but there was no wind.  We didn't see them coming before the walls started burning scorching" Harris says.

"They might have a shaman in their band," Dellas says reluctantly.

Sir Aberlayne shakes her head and rises as the rest decide to retire to the Pickled Pig for the night.

"You're to have a meal and room for free," the mayor adds, as you all head out.  "'Tis the least we can do for you rescuing the Brays and keeping watch."

--

The Pickled Pig is a sturdy little building, not overly fancy but solidly-built.  One story with a stable attached to the side. the halflings quickly get their beasts bedded down for the night as the rest of you head in.  The sign, what can be seen the by torch near the door, is carved to look like... well... like what a plump happy pig would look like if it had the warty green skin of a pickle.

Inside the place is worn and comfortable, with a half-dozen tables scattered about the room, sturdy chairs, and a line of stools at an exquisitely carved wooden bar.  A fine bow that has seen hard use is hung up over the door, along with a quiver of arrows, and the back bar is lined with a dozen jars filled with pickles and (at a guess) pickled pig's feet.  A large fireplace is on one wall, with only a small fire in it now.  A sheep is roasting over one part of the coals, and a pot bubbles on a hook over the rest of it.  There's a half-dozen men in the inn, four at the bar, two at tables near the fire.  Most look like craftsmen, though a couple are sporting clean bandages wrapped around their hands or arms.  One man near the fire wears worn hunting leathers, an older human man with iron gray hair and a messy beard.

The bartender is a thin half-elf with long-fingered hands, his pale hair tied back tightly.  He's refilling the mug of the man at the end of the bar when he catches sight of you coming in.  He nods to you and gestures at the tables for you to seat yourselves.  Once you're situated, he comes over with several mugs and a few pitchers of ale.

"Alerik Feykin, I'll be, and you'll be the adventurers, come to save us," he says, filling empty mugs quickly and efficiently.  "Small town," he says in explanation.  "Roasted mutton tonight, and mushroom soup.  You can be laying your heads in the two rooms down there," he jerks his thumb down a corridor to one side of the bar.  "Beds enough to sleep a dozen should it be needful.  And luck on your talent, kind ones."

"Thank you Master Feykin. I'm sure all will be fine!" Farian withdraws a gold coin and hands it to the half-elf in payment. "If it is too much, donate the rest to the widows and orphans."

Narthian takes a seat and motions Thunder to lie down beneath him.  "I will take the soup for myself and the mutton for my friend here." the Druid says softly.

Volsh settles into a seat after he drops his pack at his side. "A bit of both for me if you would." His nose leads his eyes toward the fire. Short, deep sniffs fill his senses with the roasted goodness of the sheep.

A smile parts his maw and shows his stained teeth as he eyes the frothy mugs of ale. When they are set on the table, he grips one and chugs; a few long gulps are all that is needed to drain the mug of its contents. "Aaaah...," he exhales, "That was great... RUuRhP! Thank you mightily for the ale." He says to the barkeep with a nod of his head. "That was much needed after a day on the road." His giant paw reaches for the pitcher intent on a refill.

"Being as you are the ones who are to be saving the village, it is over-much, but acts of kindness never go unrewarded.  I thank you," Feykin says, putting the coin into his apron pocket for now.

Dellas and Sir Aberlayne return from bedding down their beasts, Dellas taking refuge in a bowl of soup and a mug of ale.  He looks rather pale, and Sir Aberlayne pats his shoulder firmly, murmuring quietly in Halfling.  ""

Dellas nods, smiling wanly up at her before reapplying himself to his meal, and Sir Aberlayne looks around.  She jerks her chin at the man in the hunting leathers as Alerik Feykin comes by the table.

"Is that Varick Forrester, Mister Feykin?" she asks.

"It is.  Our best hunter and no mistake, though only one man against the goblins, and no one ever called him a fool," Feykin says.

"Nor should anyone.  Excuse me."  Sir Aberlayne goes over to his table.  "Mister Forrester?  I'm Sir Aberlayne Nump, from the Adventurer's Guild.  We have some questions for you, if you'd be so kind as to join us."

She raises her hand to signal Alerik Feykin to bring another ale for the man.  The grizzled forester looks over at the party and sighs in relief.  He heaves himself up, showing that although he may be getting old, his big frame still carries the muscle of his youth.

"What answers can I give ye?" he asks, pulling up a chair and sitting down heavily, taking a long pull of his ale when Feykin brings it.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:30, Tue 01 July 2014.

"To start, how many goblins are there, where in the ruins are they 'roosting', and how good is their guard? I am Farian Raymellie."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 11:45, Tue 01 July 2014.

Upon arriving at the inn, Bruenor scans the room before seating, deliberately sitting himself so as to have a good view of the old man at the fire, and ordering the stew.

As the old hunter walks over, Bruenor sizes him up, seemingly agreeing with himself.

After the Farian's words, Bruenor introduces himself, "And I am Bruenor Sedricson," before adding, "We have been warned that there might by a magic user amoungst the goblins, can you confirm this?"

The old hunter grunts, and puts his ale down, reaching over to trace a crude map on the table with his finger.

"I sees them once while I'm out hunting, 'bout two weeks ago, just before the attacks started.  I got a blind set up by the ruins, and I get deer through there sometimes.  I went to check the blind...  Gods, and I saw them.  Lucky it was morning, because they were mostly hiding, but they had their garbage strewn about all over the place.  Mostly they'd set up in the courtyard of the one ruin that's mostly got a roof, that old temple near the middle, though some had set up shelters against some of the pillars and broken walls of the collapsed bits further out.  Maybe thirty or so, guessing by the tracks, plus a couple of maddened wolves they're keeping on chains.  And a cage of their young.  Awful, they keep them all crammed together like chickens, just poke food in and beat the walls of it to hear them yowl.

"They weren't mounting much of a guard, because they're not fond of bright sunlight, but their wolves were no slouches.  If I hadn't been downwind, they would have smelled me and set up a yammer, and I couldn't stomach the thought of being swarmed by the wretches.  Goblins don't care for the sun, but that doesn't mean it'll stop them if they get roused enough.  I don't fancy being caught out there at night; I can't see in the dark like they do," he says with a small shudder.

"Better you good lot of strong youngsters than one old hunter."



"Couldn't swear to it, but they took the temple, and if they ain't scared off by that blue glow that comes out of it some nights, I reckon they must have something or someone that makes them feel safe.  Shaman, sorcerer, some totem, something that gives those cowards enough bravery to risk the place."
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:21, Tue 01 July 2014.

"Hmmm, good to know. We'll approach them from down wind then so their wolves don't smell us. Try to get a few of them quiet like to even the odds a bit, then surprise the rest if we can. Sound good to the rest of you?"

Narthian nodded. Goblins were bad enough but corrupting poor animals to do their bidding... The druid shuddered once but kep quiet.

When first meeting the hunter, Aver'e introduced the entire party with a simple,

"We are from the Guild, redbadges mostly, except for Sir Aberlayne, in response to the call for help against goblins..."


"We may not even know what questions to ask - what are we facing, what might we be facing, how best to deal with goblins, what powers might this temple and the blue glow have, and - perhaps most importantly - what ignorant mistakes are most predictable and easily avoided?"

He listens in patient silence as many of those questions are answered, and waits in case there is more to come.  When it seems that most of the questions and answers have reached their end, he asks one more question -

"Would you be willing to guide is some part near the ruins on the morrow? Your experience getting us there might give us the edge we need..."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:15, Tue 01 July 2014.

"What mistakes?  Letting them swarm ye.  Goblins are bullies in a group, and fight like a rabid wolf pack if they think they have ye outnumbered.  They're scared to death of horses and dogs, so having one or the other might make them run, unless they're sure they can kill it.  If they have a true shaman, I be thinking some of ye know magic better than me.  But a magic goblin would be doing what they do in the old stories - make things better for them and worse for you.  Making it dark so you can't see them; if they're caught without daylight, it's a fair bet they might try to bring night.  If they don't have magic, they'll try ambush in close quarters.

"The old temple...  I don't know what powers it might have.  It's always made me uneasy, and I've never seen game shelter there, so why trespass where there might be old dead resting?  I'm not a man to tempt fate."

He listens in patient silence as many of those questions are answered, and waits in case there is more to come.  When it seems that most of the questions and answers have reached their end, he asks one more question -



Varick hesitates a long, long moment, and sighs.  "For what happened to the Brays, aye, I'll guide ye there on the morrow."

Aver'e gives one firm nod in approval and gratitude.

"That would be most appreciated, master Forrester, our thanks. We will not ask you to come further than you are comfortable doing. And you can carry word back if we have any at that point to share."

He turns in his chair to look 'round to the others...

"We may think of more questions, but I think that may be it for the nonce. Let us sport you to another ale, or a meal if you will, and you can sup while we have some planning and discussion to do."

"I say we get our rest, move in early and scout them out. If they have guards away from the main group, eliminate them as quietly as possible then attack from down wind so their 'pets' don't smell us. We have a couple on the other side to hit them from the rear and to block their escape, then crush them. You say five clear paths radiate from the temple? Perhaps two of us come up each path, except the one we'll only have one for, and converge on them at the same time. They'll be caught in the middle, and, if we can get another horse or dog or two, they'll be in a panic waiting to be slaughtered!"

Sir Aberlayne steeples her fingers, thinking.  "I have Valiant, my warpony, and Dellas has Honeybee, his mule.  Honeybee is fairly steady, but I wouldn't count on her if things get ugly.  Valiant, on the other hand, is battle-trained and tested, and won't run as long as I'm with him.  A horse without battle training could be as much a danger to us as the goblins if it turns and bolts back through us.  Keep that in mind; I wouldn't care to see any beast slaughtered either by goblin fear or our own desperation."

"Very true. I would leave the mule where it is safe. Is there a good dog or two about that we could use to panic them Master Forrester?"

"And who then will volunteer for the position of approaching alone? Surely, surrounding the rats is an attractive maneuver on paper, but in dong so, we isolate ourselves from one another; if the goblins are looking for a weakness in our line to exploit, even they would notice a thin flank. If anyone does take this position, I would say it should be Sir Aberlayne or Narthian, as their beasts would at least make them more intimidating, but that could just as easily draw further ire to that group. Also, I've heard that a priest needs to be able to lay hands upon those he heals." At the last line, Bruenor makes a pointed glance at Farian, taking a long drink from his mug before continuing.

"No, I think we would be better served concentrating our forces into three groups at most; force the enemy to split their focus, but keep close enough together to provide support. This way, we can stay down wind, and avoid the wolves from spoiling our attack."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:24, Thu 03 July 2014.

"Valid points. But do we want any to get away? They need to all die. Perhaps we can block their egress from a few of the 'roads' and force them to fight. Master Forrester, can any of the outlet roads be blocked easily, or not?"

Haazheel was listening to the conversation from the back of the room, enjoying his hot meal and an ale. Before joining the party at the inn, He sent Mystique to patrol, have a look to the old ruins area to check for activity and enjoy her favorite night hunt.
When the hunter finished to speak, Haazheel comes to join the table with the others. "Thank you very much for your information and to be our guide Master Forrester. I'm a Wizard, Haazheel Thron at your service. Companions, Mystique is currently spotting the area to see whether there is activity. Tomorrow I could ask her to make a quick scouting of the old ruins from above, it might give us some tactical information. Since Me and Master Dellas are wizards, we might want to stay at the back, shall we, wizards, stay together of be in different goups? I will study some spells tonight to summon creatures or blind these goblins for example."

I agree that we should spilt, but only into two or three groups.  No offence, but there is some of the group that should not be left alone to possiblely face a large group of goblins head on. The Druid look around at the othersPerhaps me, Thunder, Averdante, and Haazheel as one group.  Bruenor, Dellas, and Sir Aberlayne as the second.  Farian, Drogo, and Volsh for the third.

"Speaking of Drogo, he was here a few minutes ago, where did he run off to?"

"Drogo? I'm surprised he isn't here eating..."

"One ace in the hole for many of us is the ability to simply outrun the goblins, if it comes to that. Perhaps any who cannot do so should be in a larger group; also, any caster with area spells will want a thicker grouping of targets, and I believe that includes our sorcerer.

"I am having concerns about an initial 'distraction' - I have both the stealth to get close and a long-ranged weapon, but altho' they must charge to engage, they might chase me and they might not - but either way, we lose any element of surprise at that moment, so any further action must follow fast on the heels of their initial response. We should only count on any "diversion" to only cause initial confusion, not to draw off too many - if it does, all well and good, but we should not count on that.

"As such, I worry that my bow will be running with me, and not targeting the shaman, and that is what need to decide how best to address. Altho' a goblin, they are most likely craftier than most, and so will not move forward where we can lay steel on them. That means we need to have some ranged attacks both in position, and supported so they can concentrate on the Shaman and not concern themselves with defense - or hope to push in from 2 sides, and press the shaman through any goblins defending.

"I would guess the shaman will be within the Temple, and not immediately visible - if he is, so much the better, but we should not plan on that.  He'll be behind as many defenses as he can muster, and perhaps some a surprise to us.

"So if someone is to lead some off and risk being chased, it should be someone who is fast and can return to the main group quickly - or, perhaps better, have a group in support to meet any pursuit and then plan to push in from that direction as a second prong of the attack.

"That way, chase or no, that group will be in the mix quickly enough, and will either pull the majority of goblins away from the other group, or will rejoin that much faster, and from a then-undefended direction.  And it will still succeed in the main idea, to draw initial response from the main group's direction of attack.

"How many other bows could we count on our side?"
This message was last edited by the player at 19:59, Thu 03 July 2014.

" Though it is not my preferred weapon, I am an able bowman."

Drogo piped up. "I'm back, sorry I had to go. Just got that last bit you said. I use a light crossbow myself." He then gets himself some grub and a drink and get caught up in the plan.

Narthian dropped his head slightly, "I prefer my sling to a bow.  I think me and Thunder should be part of the bait team, anyways.

"I have no ranged weapons. I'm not very good with them, so I engage as quickly as I can."

Volsh clears his throat and speaks, "We should use the mule as bait... Draw the bastards from their warrens and catch 'em off guard. A volley of arrows and the lot, then a well timed charge from two or three points. We'd drop many before they could gain their wits, what little they have." He swivels his head among those gathered near, trying to gauge their responses.

"Also, however we decide this, you'd all do wise to give me a wide berth once we begin. My blood burns hot as the forges when I fight. My senses dull and my instincts take the reigns for a while. And though never have I hurt one of my companions, I do not often travel with many. I'd not like to cleave into one of you amid the fury."

Farian rolls his eyes, "you're a berserker? At least we know who to put in the road by himself if we come from every direction."

The wildman stands abruptly and scoops his empty mug off the wooden table, his chair screeching against the floor, his stare firmly set on the holy man. He wipes the inside of his mug with the first two fingers of his left hand and places the tips of them to his nostrils. After a short, hard sniff, he bears his teeth in an animalistic grin.

"Works for me." He snorts as he turns to get a refill from the half-elf.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:16, Fri 04 July 2014.

"Another brilliant performance, Volsh," Bruenor adds quietly, deliberately loud enough for the table to hear, but no louder.

Aver'e only raises one elvish eyebrow in response.

"We could lead a mule near them, and leave it to draw their attention - but we'd have to hide, possibly for hours, until that happens, without knowing where they will come from nor exactly how they would react - and if they spot us before we spot them, it'd be us they'd ambush, not the other way around. And that assumes the thing doesn't bray and give us away to scouts before we get even get close.

"Even then, if it were to work perfectly, the thing might well be maimed before it's killed as the goblins gather - I would rather not be party to torturing a dumb beast needlessly.

"No, I think we have our plan.

"And as for your blind fury, I have not seen you fight, but I've heard that some berserkers suffer a great fatigue after such efforts - if that is such in your case, I'd hope you try to control it, to save it for when we are close to the shaman and his guards, and not waste it crushing the first few goblins we encounter."

He turns to Forrester, and outlines the plan they have come up with so far.

"Any thoughts or suggestions from a veteran?"
This message was last edited by the player at 19:54, Fri 04 July 2014.

"I, too, would have a problem with using an animal as bait.  It is not as if they have a choice in the matter.  I would give myself before then.  Narthian shifted in his seat.

"I would call you fool then. I do not care for sacrificing a poor dumb animal, but, if it is between them and me, I'd say we can always roast them over a fire if they get killed.

"I think blocking an exit or two and then hitting them from multiple sides would be best. With the good Lady on her horse, a fair number will try to flee and be cut down by us."

"If they are forest paths, there is no blocking them, not with the limited manpower we have. If they are something more defined, such as a doorway in a wall, that's possible, but we'd have to get close, and assumes no sentries or patrols - I might be willing to try, but that risks discovery.

"I fear that our best hope is to kill the shaman and as many of his followers as we can, chase down who we might, take the will out of this tribe, let them fall back into chaos and disperse."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:53, Fri 04 July 2014.

"I agree with Averdante; even among creatures such as these, a commander is a powerful force. A leader is the mind of his people, and if he is destroyed the tribe will dissolve. At that point, they will pose little further threat to the people of Boltharrow."

Bruenor pauses for a moment, seemingly to consider his words, before turning to Forrester, "Master Varrick, I would assume that a town of this sort is often assaulted by the dangers of the wild, often enough at least for its citizens to be prepared. These goblins are only worthy of a guild job because they are organized in such large numbers, correct? Are there usually goblinoids in these areas?"
This message was last edited by the player at 21:48, Fri 04 July 2014.

At the mention of using a mule (or donkey) as bait, Dellas looks horrified.  "I can't let Honeybee be killed!  She's been with me for years; she's a good and faithful girl!"  He swallows and tried to explain more rationally.  "And if we have to run, it'd be better for me to run and then ride on her; I'm not as fast as you tall folk."

"The problem with bait is that it can only be used once.  If we send the animal into the midst of camp to attract the maximum number of goblins, then the animal will almost certainly be killed, and will definitely be hurt.  If we stake out the animal to attract a smaller number, we run the risk, as was said, of being ambushed in return.  Not to mention we have no mounts but my Valiant and Dellas' Honeybee, and we would need them to get to the ruins, or away from them, in good time.

"I don't know if there are any horses or dogs for sale here, and if so, if people would be willing to part with them.  Most importantly, sending a creature to their death or maiming just to gain a tactical advantage is cruel.  We are better people than that.

"Perhaps..." Sir Aberlayne pauses to think.  "We could play to their greed, rather than their fear.  Remember at the Bray farm the chicken coop was empty?  We could lure goblins with apparent sound or sight of something to eat, and pick off guards or warriors that way to thin their ranks before committing to a large-scale fight."
This message was last edited by the player at 14:20, Tue 08 July 2014.

When asked about dogs for sale, Varick ruminates.

"I see what you're getting at, but we don't have much in the way of battle-hounds here.  I've got a deerhound, Varsa, who helps me track, and there's about two dozen mutts in town as pets and guard dogs, of a sort. The Elkson's dog whelped about six moons ago, and they've been desperate to get rid of the pups.  They're big enough now, and the family would probably give them to you for free.  No guarantee that the dogs wouldn't just run around barking their heads off, but there's some you could get, if you plan to keep them."

When people start talking about horses and mules, he gets a little graver.  "The village is prosperous enough, but you've seen we're not exactly on the main road.  Most of the beasts of burden here work, and while someone might have the gold to purchase another beast if theirs dies, it's still a might long way to go for someone while they're supposed to be working.  I'm not saying you couldn't convince someone to part with an old nag to in order to be rid of the goblins, but it'd take some convincing."



"We don't get them as often, not really.  We're more likely to get mischievous fey, or bandits.  Goblins usually like smaller villages than ours, and that's a fact."

Drogo jumps in with an idea. Gesturing with his hands wildly to get his idea across the best he can. "Why use an animal that might give us away before we can even implement the plan. Don't any of you spell casters have any summoning spells or better yet an illusion of some kind?  That would work even better than a live animal."

"If someone can do an illusion or glamor of some kind it would be better. I'm not in favor of using an animal as bait either, but I would sacrifice one if it were necessary for the survival of people. This I don't believe qualifies for such. No one is in immediate danger. No animal, dog, mule, or horse, deserves to be injured in such a manner.

"Master Forrester, can any of the paths out be blocked, or not? It could be difficult, if not impossible to do, but it should be considered."

"Aye, you could block one of the paths with a goodly-sized log or fair bit of bracken, but all you'd need to do is scramble over the ruins to go around.  All blocking the path would do would be to cut off one easy route.  If yer wanting to do that, y'can, I suppose," he says with a shrug.

Volsh returns to his seat with a frothy new mug of ale in time to catch the shortsightedness boiling over. He didn't think his suggestion meant certain death for the critter if used as bait. Perhaps he worded it wrong when he spoke.

After a long swig that drains half his mug and leaves foam once again atop his lip, he speaks in a low manner, "It is clear to me once again why I live along the fringe and consort with very few." He picks his head up to see if he has gained the group's attention. "I may be seen as a monster, at times, by civilized folk, but it was not my intention to let the bait be slaughtered. That is my fault for not making myself clear."

Another small pull from the mug and he continues, "To solve this, allow me to present myself as bait and there will be no worries about a beloved creature meeting its demise at the hands of those devilish fiends. If in fact we decide that is the best course to take when the time comes."

"Ahh, I didn't realize that the 'walls' were rubble and could be so easily climbed over. I guess Volsh's idea would be best then, with others nearby for immediate support, and the second group to come in behind them to break them. The shaman should be trapped in the middle then."

"Bait, by definition, lives under the risk of slaughter - sometimes the hook is set, sometimes the bait gets swallowed. That's how bait works, and why it works. And no summoned animal or illusion would last for the hours we might need for a proper ambush outside. Inside, perhaps a minute would be enough, if we had such - but I don't believe we do.

"But the problem with your offer, the question, Volsh, is - how would you present yourself?

"We cannot, as a group, stay hidden and wait outside their walls - we risk too much on chance, and do not have the skills to guard against counter-ploy.

"So where would you go? Down a main trail, and then keep walking forward until you're attacked? You don't strike me as a man to sneak, so perhaps calling a battle challenge?

"So the goblins are alerted to danger early, they throw as many at you from all sides as they care to, melee and missile, and our attack first must be a rescue mission.  Unless they have some trap waiting, a pit or a snare, and then it only gets worse.

"Now, if you wish to precede the 2nd group, or split off from them slightly and enter separately (in advance or just after), that could add more confusion to the goblins' perception of what is happening, and perhaps give you a path to rush the shaman himself."

"I think you have it Averdante. Group one gets in position on the far side of the temple. Group two on the near side. Volsh leads group two by perhaps 200 feet in from the near side, issues a challenge loud enough for all to hear. When the goblins attack, group two comes up from behind him in support, and group one moves in from the far side to hit them from the rear a minute later. The confusion will most likely break them and slaughter ensues. Goblins are not known for bravery and the surprise will even the odds quickly. Perhaps a volley of arrows from each direction right before we engage, or an area of effect type attack on a group of them."

"Excellent. This seeming complete, I motion we each retire for the night, save for those whose inclination is to join the first watch. When shall we take leave tomorrow?"

"Before first light if we can. That way we can get there right after sunrise. That might help us too, bright light in their faces."

"Ah, with respect - it had been suggested that we wait until after sunrise to sneak out for our march. If goblins are watching the town, it will be less likely for them to notice us, and the closer toward noon we arrive, the brighter the day in general, and the deeper into their own sleeping time they will be.

"We don't know yet which direction we'll be attacking from - for all we know, the sun could be in our eyes, or not yet above the trees and the ruins still deep in shadow.

"They could even be planning their own attack just before dawn, and we'd walk blindly right into it, in the dark, when they have the most advantage and see us coming from a long way off.

"We pushed hard today exactly so we wouldn't have to risk meeting goblins in the dark - let all get a good night's rest, and we'll start with the first sun on our shoulders.  Besides, some had talked about caltrops - and we'll have time to get some then."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:57, Sat 05 July 2014.

"Good point, we should get some sleep ourselves then and set out, what, an hour or two after first light?"

"Let us say an hour after sunrise. If we ask the blacksmith about caltrops this evening, that should allow enough time to acquire them."

"I agree with the timing after sunrise.  I will retire soon.  Please send someone to wake me before the second watch.

"I am as well. Wake me for the third watch, then. Good planning everyone. Hope it work out well."

Sir Aberlayne pauses long enough to speak with Bragun Smith about caltrops, and the man nods and says he can have six bags of them ready by morning.  He and his two apprentices retire to their shop as those taking first shift head to the wall.

The village guard on the wall is grateful to have additional sets of eyes and weapons with them as they patrol the walltops.  During the first watch, you hear wolf howls, and see the reflected eyes of a predator from the tree line at least once.

During the second watch, on edge because of the wolf sounds, everyone keeps their eyes peeled.  There are some sounds of night birds, but then around midnight, they go quiet.  Out in the distance north of town, you see a faint blue glow just under the trees.  When the wind is right, you hear the faint sound of singing.

When the third watch comes on, everyone is quite tense, expecting something to happen.  One of the villagers actually fires at something in his nervousness, but a very frightened fox just dashes away, limping from the wound he took.  The villager looks sheepish, but doesn't slack in his watching.

It's only when the sun crests the horizon that everyone is finally able to relax.

--

Alerik Feykin sets out a breakfast of oatmeal and honey and fresh bread at the Pickled Pig, and Bragun Smith is there not long after the third watch dismisses, setting a half-dozen bags of caltrops on the table for the party.

"Good iron nails, twisted so one point always adds up.  Enough to even stick in goblin feet.  Best of luck you," he says, his eyes red from staying up most of the night, working.

Varick Forrester is down quite early, stoking his furnace by shoveling down food at a prodigious rate.  He has a large bow, unstrung, at the side of his chair, and a full quiver of exceptionally fine-looking arrows hooked on the back.

"Well, we're not dead yet, so that's a good start to the day.  Let's see if we can keep it up," he says in greeting.

Narthian finished his meal after preparing his spells for the day.  They might no be as powerful as the cleric or the 2 mages but he suspected that the ragtag group would need every advantage they could get in the coming battle.

OOC: I have updated my spells to for the new day.

As not much occurs while on the first watch, Volsh retires to the sleeping quarters at the Pickled Pig. He has a little trouble getting comfortable in an actual cot. His life for the past ten years has been spent on the road living and sleeping amid the waste and ruin of man. It was safer that way. It took him a while to begin to trust any living thing aside from his sister. He thought of all this as he lay in a state of sleepiness and restlessness all at the same time. I should have just made rack out behind the inn, He thought to himself just before sleep overtook him.

Volsh found his sleep restful despite not completely fitting in the bed. He awoke to the smell of bread and decided his gut needed abating. After a hearty, long breakfast, complete with all the fixings, he ambled out in full view of the rising sun. He practiced a bit with his blades, one at a time, drawing and discarding each in turn as if lost in battle. Swings and thrusts accompanied by unusually light footwork showed his readiness for the days' work to come. After his workout, he set upon caring for his gear, sharpening blades and greasing his leathers with a bit of the congealed fat of last nights' sup.

Haazheel listened with great interest to the discussions about the strategy to attack the goblins. These debates around the table in the hall of the inn was very instructive for him. Evenif Haazheel traveled a bit and explored some abandonned temples, he never ended to take part in a battle. Most of his knowledge coming from books, he is a novice coming to real action. Hearing that his companions were considering the use of dog or horse as baits to distract the goblins, when retreated in his room, Haazheel prepared spells able to mimic the barking of a dog or the neighing of any horse as well as spells to stun or blind them expecting giving a strategic advantage to his comrades.
In the morning, Haazheel welcomed his Owl who was sleeping at his window after hunting in the night. Coming to the main hall, Haazheel sees Nathian having lunch and Forrester having breakfast. Bringing to the table his own meal "Good Morning Master Forester, Master Goodleaf, I hope you had a agreable night of sleep and rest. Oh, I see the blacksmith brought the caltrops, I will take a bag with your permission." says the Wizard before adding a bag of caltrops to his backpack. "I prepared some spells during the night to lure the goblins with barking sounds or to stun them. Hope it will help the party in the coming battle. Master Forester, i can sen Mystique, my owl, to scout the area if you find it useful to approach the goblins' lair".
OOC: Haazheel prepared spells are also updated

Drogo almost disappointed that he didn't see any goblins during his watch. That would have meant they could have taken care of a good batch of the right away. After his watch he retired to his room to get his sleep. When morning came he readied himself as fast as he could and went to join the others for a full breakfast. "Morning, everyone. Good luck and all that. Hope this plan pans out. If it does I'd have to say we should keep this group up for future jobs. We could build up to be the best group in the guild if we work hard at it."

Farian comes into the dining room and nods at all then sits and quietly breaks his fast now that his morning routine of prayer and ablutions were finished.

Aver'e had roused from his trance early, despite being on the first half of the watch, and walked the aging pallisade in the pre-dawn gloom to ensure that nothing untoward had befallen during the night, waiting with patient understanding for those who needed sleep to gather around the table to break their fast.


"Take more than one if you care to - they are not light, but each bag covers but a small area. Same with someone else - I'll take 2 for our group, and that still leaves a couple bags for the main body.

"Is everyone clear on the plan?"

Bruenor, having not taken a watch, was up at roughly the same time as the elves that morning. After breaking his fast, the swordsman completed his morning training in preparation for the battle ahead.

When Averdante inspects the party's readiness, Bruenor responds, counting off points on his fingers. "One, there will be two flanks in this assault, one containing Nathanial, Haazheel, and yourself, and the other composed of myself, Farian, and Dellas, as well as a rear guard of Sir Aberlayne and Drogo. Two, at scouting distance, Volsh will be creating a distraction to rile the goblins and lure them out of their holes. Three, our group will move to assists Volsh, with our rear guard charging and flanking opponents in a bid to create further chaos. Four, your group will offer one last charge shortly there-after. Five, our primary target in this offensive is to slay the goblins' shaman, with secondary objectives to eliminate as many golbins as we can."

Finishing his recap of the current plan, Bruenor turns to Averdante and asks, "Is that not accurate?"

"That sounds about right. Kill the shaman number one, kill as many others as we can two."

Dellas raises his hand.  "I might not mind a bag of caltrops.  Most of my spells are kind of close, and the caltrops would keep the goblins from charging at me," he says with a nervous little smile.  And he reaches for a bag, making a small oof! noise as he hangs it on his belt.  It pulls tight against the leather, making him look a bit lopsided.

"As humans say, that is it, in a nutshell"

Aver'e looks the fire sorcerer

"We are not taking much on this assault - no need for everything we own. We can take our packs most of the way, but not into combat. Take two bags of caltrops, as you may be moving during the combat. Just be sure to call out where you're scattering them, so none others run over them."

Haazheel takes a second bag of caltrop he hangs at his belt then takes a thrid one he puts next to the fire wizard.

Drogo avoids taking a bag of caltrops as it would be too heavy for him to carry. "I won't be taking a bag of caltrops. It will really slow me down."

Everyone finishes their meals and rounds up their gear for their trek.  Before they leave, Harris, the young man who had been taking notes at the mayor's last night, runs up with a scrollcase.

"Sirs and Sir, these are the things you wanted last night," he says, opening up the case and drawing out two papers.  One is a fairly new roll of paper, the lines crisp and dark.  "This is all what's been taken from people who've been raided.  Widow Bray didn't know, not having gone back to her home, but there's been enough folks who've seen their house to probably tell what's hers, if you find anything.  There's been a fair bit of food taken, but that's not likely to return."



The second one is a older piece of parchment, which Harris smooths out for you.  "This is the map of the ruins, done by one of our scholarly types a while back.  There's the temple-structure in the middle, and the roads.  The V-shapes are the crumbling walls, and the long single lines are the fallen pillars.  The double lines are the paths."

OOC:  Please check the map for Group 0 to see this map.

"Good luck," he says, handing them to you with a brief bow.

Varick Forrester shoulders his bow and arrows after glancing at the map, waiting until Sir Aberlayne and Dellas saddle up their mounts, and then leads the whole group into the wild.  The group is wary, eyes casting about, ears perked for danger.  Haazheel sends Mystique ahead to take as close a look as he can at the goblins, and before the group is halfway there, the owl has returned, hooting softly.  Dancing on Haazheel's shoulder, he understands that Mystique has more to show them.

Pausing, Mystique flies to the ground and begins to awkwardly scratch a map into the path with his talons.  Owls are not exactly suited for fine detailed drawings in that way, and his bond with his master is not enough to speak clear words, but after a minute it becomes clear Mystique is drawing the map of the goblins' encampment - it matches the map they've been given in the gross details.

Mystique also adds a few new features.  One is a small square near the temple.  Mystique goes into a pantomime of cheeping like a chick, then pointing to the square.  With Varick nodding in understanding, you realize this is the hutch where the goblins keep their young.  In a few places, Mystique has also drawn circles.  To explain them, he points to Dellas' burned fingers.

These, you gather, are fireplaces.

Finally, he pointes at a jagged line to the west of the temple, and clacks his beak together in a predatory manner.

This must be where the wolves are.

When asked about the goblins, Mystique hesitates, and taps the map in a few places, mostly near the fires, and sits up straight emphasizing there are awake goblins there.  But then he spreads his wings in wide swaths over the rest of the map and makes a distinct sound like a snore.

It seems most of them are asleep, though not all.

OOC:  See the map for Group 1 to see Mystique's map.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:22, Thu 10 July 2014.

"They have young here?" Bruenor asks incredulously. "If they have young, then there are presumably mothers...there may be more goblins here than we first thought. Even if they aren't warriors, those mothers will fight with infinite resolve to protect their young..."

OOC: What direction, relative to the map, is the wind blowing, and am I correct in assuming that the top of the  map is due north?

"They're still goblins, and they'll die just as easy as the males. Their young in cages makes it easier to slay them, they can't run away," Farian says grimly.

"'Tis what I said in the Pig, youngster!  I said they had their young in a cage.  The owl saw true," Varick says, scratching his beard.  "They treat them like animals, truth be told."

OOC:  Top of the map is north, yes, and the wind is currently blowing from the west.

"Yes...Well, at least the wind favors us; the wolves are on the far side of the ruins, according to the wizards's bird, and we will be facing minimal resistance," Bruenor says, almost waving off his mistake.

Bruenor points to the fire to the north-east,"Volsh should perhaps use this opportunity to charge the guards at the first fire, bring the fight to them, take the initiative, and these walls give our initial engagement some cover."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:52, Thu 10 July 2014.

If inquired, between Varick and Mystique, they can tell you the crumbling walls range from a foot to three feet high.

"If we get a little bit closer, we can leave off Honeybee so she's within easy reach."  Sir Aberlayne looks over at her brother and Drogo and nods.  "Should we have to retreat, for any reason, Valiant can only carry two.  I doubt it not that one of you strong men could carry one of us halflings, but Honeybee is made to carry burdens as swift or swifter than you tall folk.  And if we are victorious, Honeybee could help cart stolen goods back."

She looks down at the map and presses her lips together a bit.  "Valiant can jump, but when I come in it will probably be on the road.  Which way does the temple open, east?"

Varick nods.

"Then perhaps our second group could come from the direction of one of the southerly roads."

"I disagree," Bruenor responds, pointing back to the map, "The southern road is the most well protected. It would be less important if we can assure that the guards will abandon those positions, but if we don't group two would be walking into heavy resistance..."

"Which direction will your group come from then if we are to arrive from the East with the wind blowing at us?" Volsh inquires of Bruenor from the rear of the huddle. Being a head above his companions allowed him to see the map clearly enough from where his stood.

"My instincts tell me the South would serve the best approach though. Those little bastards will charge my position. And coming from the South or the even the Southwest might allow your group to get the jump on the shaman or even their hounds if they have not released them yet."

"I will reconsider the southern option, but going too far West risks the group being sniffed out by the hounds, and separates us more than I would like. We'll just have to insure that the goblins have no wits with which to mind the other group."

"That's okay, I'll tag along with one of these big folk." He said with a smile then turned his head to the others about the plan. "I think Volsh had a good point. I think we should do that. Either way I think the trick is to move fast before they get our scent."

Narthian shifted through his belongings, trying to bide his time.  He was ready to follow the plan.  Ready to go!

"Let us be off then. We'll decide how to proceed exactly once we see it first hand."

"Farian spoke with wisdom" says the wizard. "Mystique and Master Forrester are here giving us great intelligence but let's move on closer to our target and decide depending of the situation."

The group can close the door carefully, and do as much as they can to conceal how to open it.  Loading the rest of the stuff in the wagon, Sir Aberlyane will cluck to Valiant.  Lead by Mystique, they wend their way back on the path to Boltharrow.  Part of the way there, Varick Forrester meets them with a look of relief on his face, a smile lighting his craggy features.

"Ehlonna favors you!  And everyone alive?  Gods be praised!" he says.  Walking back with them with a great spring in his step, he ask the group their tale, it is later in the afternoon when the wooden walls of Boltharrow loom.  Varick gives a victory yell, and the visible silhouettes of the guards on the walls cheer back.  The gates are thrown open as the group walks and drives the wagon into the town square.  There are many of the townfolk there in what seems to be the daily market, and they set up a cheer of their own.  Pandemonium reigns for a few minutes until Mayor Harrow finally waves his hands and calls out for silence.

"You're a sight for sore eyes, Guildsmen," Mayor Harrow says.  "Tell us what happened, or the lot of you won't get a wink of rest and barely a bite to eat from all the questions you'll be getting at the feast tonight!"

Seeing no need to convey more information than the townspeople need to know, Narthian addresses the gatherered throng simply, but not in an unfriendly tone, "We located the goblin's camp. You will see no further threat from them, they have been returned to nature. As you requested, we have recovered much of the stolen property. I, for one, am looking forward to a good meal, a hot bath, and a good night's rest."

"Of course, of course!" Mayor Harrow says.  "I'll have Harris return people's things to them, and you go right on ahead to the Pickled Pig.  Alerik was feeling confident you'd come back safe, and he's got the bathhouse fired up.  If you're in need of tending, Brother Darius can help patch you up.  We'll be back in a while after you've had a chance to eat, so we can hear this tale of yours."

With that, you can all go to the Pickled Pig if you like.  Alerik Feykin, the half-elf bartender, welcomes you with an odd little half-smile, like he's been expecting you for hours, and waves towards the bathhouse.  "Fire hot and ready for those who've freed us.  Be only four tubs within, so those who not be cleaning first can have their fill of food, then a switch."  There's a scent of roasting pork in the air from a spitted pig in the fireplace, along with a great pan of vegetables roasting over the coals.

With that, you're all left in peace for a while, to eat, bathe, and put down your things.  Harris, Mayor Harrow's assistant, comes back part of the way through with everything you gathered that wasn't part of the items stolen from Boltharrow and puts the less bulky items in a corner of your rooms.  The larger things, he'll tell you he put in an empty stall in the stables.

As you clean off the muck and debris and blood from your battle, Sir Aberlayne goes to speak to Drogo and anyone else near.  "What are we going to do about this little goblin youth?  She's still alive in that little barrel, but we have to let her out soon.  But I'm afraid the townsfolk would take it amiss if they saw her."

With a bright grin, Dellas followed and tried two things at the same time, not to stand in the spotlight but also not to be overseen. But as soon as he heard food, his mind was made up, he quickly occupied a bathtub and went down to eat his fill. Only after another 2 servings he felt good enough to talk and to look around at his companions who probably noticed that he had stuffed his cheeks as if he starved for days.
He was looking at other when he heard his sister's voice, barrel goblin? Did he forget something? Dellas looked at his sister: "Couldn't we just take the barrel with us and let the goblin out when we are out of town?"

"No doubt that would be easiest, but I don't know how long she's been in there or when she was last fed.  I think she was in the barrel so her siblings wouldn't eat her," Abby says with a grimace.

In reply to Sir Aberlayne Nump (msg # 151):

After an extremely enjoyable soak and scrub, Narthian too makes his wY to the table. Giving thanks to the spirit if the pig for the sustenance it was destined to provide, he tucks in enthusiastically. Overhearing the exchange between the siblings, he chimes in,"While there no Druid encampments nearby, perhaps you can discuss the matter with the local priest. Perhaps there is a monastery or an paladin enclave nearby where she can learn useful skills.  "

Farian smiled gratefully at Alerik and headed straight to the bath house to scrub the dirt and grime of the road from his body. He stripped his arms and armour from him and piled them beside the nearest tub, humming a hymn to Pelor whilst doing so. Undressed at last he eased himself into the tub with a sigh, the scalding water invigorating his tired muscles.

As he lay back his mind wandering onto the captured...or rescued...goblin child. The matter still concerned him, within the Church matters were simpler; good and evil, black and white, not this dirty grey of moral ambiguity.

Pelor teaches us compassion, it is a prime tenant of His faith. Yet He is also the vanquisher of Evil. So can one be born evil? Is our nature predetermined or is it a result of the way we are nurtured? he thought, a frown creasing his brow.

He finished his bath in silence and dressed once again in his travel stained clothes, as he heads back in to join his companions for a meal he vows to pray long and hard on the subject of the goblin whelp.
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:54, Tue 27 Jan 2015.

Drogo looks like he's been thinking for a while, and finally pipes up.  "I have an idea.  Look, it was my idea in the first place to capture the little goblins, and I found little Fleabite here," he taps the barrel gently.  "With Sir Aberlyane's help, of course.  But I was the one who wanted to save one of them, and I speak goblin, and I think I could find a place that could help raise her right.  Only problem is it's a bit far away.  There's a cousin of mine who has a place in Clam, north of here on the Sea of Song.  He's a priestly type, more compassion than sense sometimes, but he has the patience of a saint.  Well, he'd have to, growing up with me."  Drogo grins.  "I want to take her up there and get her settled.  And the faster she gets out of this town, the better, I say."
This message was last edited by the player at 07:10, Tue 27 Jan 2015.

In reply to Drogo O'Logo Underbough (msg # 154):

More patience than sense, sounds like most clerics I know. Most don't have the brains to serve their gods like the Druids do...thinks Narthian. Out loud he says, "Sounds like an excellent idea. Perhaps we can do that after investigating the hidden rooms beneath the goblin camp."

Volsh is unceremonious in his retreat from the group. His bathing is quite the opposite however. He lingers in the volcanic heat of the water, both as muscle relaxant and spiritual awakening. It has been since the heavy rains in Redhaven since his last cleansing. After a long soak, the barbarous man returns to civility and dons his attire; dried blood, the hue of midnight, stains his cloth and armor.

The smell of flame-touched swine reinvigorates him as he finds his way to the tables. With plate piled high and the appetite of a ravenous beast, he listens to the ramblings of his companions. "Someone should feed that thing." he blurts between mouthfuls of roast pig and gulps of ale.

"Sounds like a fair plan." He plies, directing his speech at the Halfling. "I do think the matter of the leftover goods should be tended to before leaving though. I've no interest in them, but if there is something that should strike the fancy of the rest of you, have at it. Otherwise, it should be given as tribute to the townsfolk or the guild."

During lulls in the conversation, Volsh can be observed slurping, chewing, and gulping of his much earned fare. He retires be the fire and the half-cut pig. There he doffs his boots and sets his feet upon the rim of the hearth.

Drogo looks uncertain.  "Hmm... That place intrigues me, no doubt.  And I would like to explore it...  But what to do with a baby goblin while we explore a possibly-trapped tomb?  Leave her in town?  Definitely not.  Take her with us?  Where would she go that was safe while we explored?  I don't want to leave you in the lurch, but I've just taken responsibility for this one."  Drogo looks about, sees the door is still shut tight, and cracks the opening on the barrel.  A little whimper comes from inside.  Drogo holds a piece of meat in his hands near the opening, and with a few coaxing noises, a little green hand reaches out and grabs it.  Sounds of chewing are heard from within, and then a delicate belch.  Very slowly, a comically oversized head with big floppy ears, long dark hair, and an enormous mouth full of teeth peer with piggy little eyes over the rim of the barrel.  Fleabite looks about at the party, shaking visibly, eyes wide.  Then Drogo gives her another piece of meat, and she ducks back in the barrel to eat in hiding.

"I can't just leave her in a barrel all day," he says.  "I may just need to go to my cousin as soon as possible..."

The door to the room opens on the heel of a knock, and Alerik Feykin walks in on the end of Drogo's statement.  He carries a fresh pitcher of ale and a warm loaf of bread, which he places on the table.

"I am not meaning to be overhearing, but it seems you have family business that needs to take you away?" he says with deference.

Drogo nods warily, and slowly nudges the barrel containing Fleabite back behind his chair.

"I did not say this before, as your arrival had no need to say, but I have a niece of a sort, who should be here any day now.  My brother is a full elf, and so is his wife, and their daughter, who is even older than I! has heard of the troubles of Boltharrow and was coming to our aid.  She is a clever-handed adventurer, new in her profession, but well-trained, skilled with devices and fiendish machines.  If you have found aught in the ruins that needs a clever eye to cast over it, and your own must tend to family matters, perhaps you could consider Lantamori.  I would have warned her away from going up against the goblins on her own, or even to dare the secrets of the ruins with no aid, but with skilled comrades, I believe she could do well," Alerik says, cocking his head to invite the group's reply.

Drogo's eyebrows go up and he looks at the others with pleased surprise.
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:10, Wed 28 Jan 2015.

Dellas listened and thought about it for a moment. "Well, I would like to go over the talisman or amulet of the shaman at least. I prepared a spell that could help to discover it's secrets if you don't mind." He mostly looks at his sister but talks to everyone "Well we could talk to this Elven friend of yours, I guess that we really need someone who can take a look at traps"

Farian took a seat opposite Volsh and quietly said a blessing to Pelor before beginning his meal. The warrior ate his meal like a wild animal, tearing flesh with his teeth between gulps of ale. In contrast Farian ensured each morsel was neatly sliced before placing it in his mouth, washing it down with watered wine. His hunger sated he pushed his plate away and sat back, listening to his companions.
"Everything said thus far has merit; if Drogo is willing to accept the responsibility of this child then may Pelor guide your path. You will be missed my friend, mayhap we will see you in the future" he smiled warmly, happy that the fate of the goblin had been taken out of his hands.
"We should divide whatever treasure we have now, taking only what would be of use to us and a modest amount of wealth for our hardship. The rest should be given to the townsfolk. A day of rest and recuperation, Dellas can try and decipher the mystery of this amulut he so coverts, and we can be back on the road by the morrow to investigate these secret rooms. With luck Alerik's cousin can be convinced to aid us"

Dellas looks from Farian to the others and nods. "I'll take it then, if you don't mind, I'll need a bit space and I will do it around the other stuff, maybe there is a hidden magical item in a pocket or something" Dellas adds the last part with a wry smile.
After getting a bit space, he calls upon the magical flow in and surrounding him. Trying to focus it towards the amulet or talisman and after determine if it's magical he turns his gaze to other items in the "treasure hord". Only after he tries to control the magic he notices how exhausted he actually is, how his mind is slipping and sleep seems like the greatest reward of all.


(ooc: I'm not sure what is still left and where it is etc. I'll assume that everything is piled up inside the building)

Cast: Detect Magic

16:06, Today: Dellas Nump rolled 16 using 1d20+7. Spell Identification.

16:01, Today: Dellas Nump rolled 11 using 1d20+6. determine school of magic.

The group can pile all the treasure they brought (that wasn't too bulky to bring inside, and didn't belong to the townsfolk) on the table for a good, old-fashioned loot-dividing, as is a tradition in the Adventurer's Guild.

From the temple, you had found: couple of metal vials full of some liquid, the bottles delicately etched with flowers, assorted coin (roughly four hundred and fifty gold in assorted coin, scattered across many belt pouches and what not), the shaman's crystal sword (a longsword of exceptional craftsmanship), a vial of alchemist's fire, two tanglefoot bags, a bundle of a dozen torches, three sets of flint and steel, and finely-carved set of oars.

There were also two slim vials tucked away in the shaman's hat.  They glow slightly blue through their thin glass walls.

From outside the temple, in the camp, you found the following:

388 pieces of gold, tucked into odd corners, in pieces of looted furniture, in boots, belt pouches, lightly buried under bundles of cloth that serve as beds, etc.

A fox fur talisman set with hematite beads (found in the shaman's house) - the workmanship is exquisite. 

A breastplate for a human-sized person, plain and of decent workmanship, that was serving one goblin as a rain shelter.

A magnifying glass, that one goblin had strapped to his head as a monocle. 

A very well-made bastard sword for a human-sized creature, the hilt wrapped in red-dyed leather, that was acting as a flag pole.

A very fine light steel shield embossed with a green dove, that was serving as a frying pan. 

A bench, the sort one might see on a town street, solidly made, set on end to serve as a lookout post.

Nine bolts of fine linen in differing colors, all piled together to make the shaman's bed. 

A portable cabinet about three feet high, two feet wide, and one foot deep, carved with leaves and vines.

The entire contents of someone's wig shop, twenty-seven of them all together, ranging from small men's wigs to longer women's wigs, in several colors.  They are of serviceable quality, the kind bought by commoners to cover a balding pate or by actors for a role.  One goblin had the collection stacked up in his bolt hole. 

Twenty-four lengths of rope, fifty feet each, that one goblin had arranged in a little fort-like formation for himself. 

A velvet and silk noble's outfit in blue and deep green, meant to be worn by a man, that had been being used as wall art by one goblin. 

Six pairs of oars, set up as a crude fence. 

A weapon rack, being used to hold a collection of sticks. 

---

And either outside or still at the goblin camp:


A winter sled, used for transporting goods in ice and snow, meant to be pulled by one horse.  How it got here, you're not entirely sure. 

Two plain farm carts that one horse would pull, being used as shelters for higher-ranking goblins. 

A carriage, tilted over on its side behind the temple and buried beneath a pile of brush.  It was serving as the shaman's private quarters, and it's still in decent shape.  It's plain, but serviceable, and would seat four, plus a driver and footman, and would need two horses to pull it. 

---

Dellas casts his eyes over the goods on the table as he forms his spells, particularly looking at the talisman with fox fur and hematite beads.  He discovers, to his annoyance, the talisman is not magical, though it is very finely made and would fetch a good price.  He does discover, however, that the two vials that were in the shaman's hat, as well as the two found in the temple, are magical.  Also magical is the crystal longsword.

Dellas sits down with a heavy sigh. "I don't know about you but I'm ready for bed." He lifts his head towards Haazheel "The sword and these potions are all magical, I'm not sure what enchantments were worked on these but maybe you can determine it, or does anyone in the area know something about magic?" Looking at the others he adds "Does anyone know where we can sell these things?" he turns his head towards his sister "Where do you normally make this into money"

(OOC: Thanks for the list)
This message was last edited by the player at 14:12, Wed 28 Jan 2015.

"I have no interest in the arms or armor. Things made of metal are anathema to me. Any who can make use of them should do so, however. The potions should be identified and divided. After everyone is done trading up, the old gear and the unwanted booty needs to be liquidated. I doubt Boltharrow has a merchant who can provide fair value for such disparate goods. Perhaps we can trade some of the items for a pair of draft horses and use the carriage as a portable treasury until we can get to a larger city. In fact, that may come in handy when investigating the mysterious tunnels beneath the goblin's encampment."

HA! Post 1000!

"Well it seems to me that the easiest way to decipher how a potion works is to drink one. Otherwise I can attempt to decipher the magical aura of them and the sword, I am no master in this field however"
Farian pulls out his simple holy symbol and kisses it reverently, murmuring a prayer to Pelor as he waves it towards the potions and sword. They glow a soft blue light as the cleric studies them, brow furrowed in concentration for many minutes.
"If no wishes to claim it I would like the breastplate, it would provide better protection than my current armour."

Farian casts Detect Magi
rolled 21 using 1d20+5. Discern magical aura of sword.
rolled 9 using 1d20+5. Identify Potion.

Haazheel felt pretty tired by the battle and the day of exploration. When their host mentioned that some hot bath were ready. He immediately took the opportunity to spend some time in a relaxing bath. Mystique left to go hunting in the woods while its Master was slowly cooking in the hot water.
Relaxed, he stepped back into the main hall to sit with the others and enjoy the food which was served. At the sound of Drogo's plans to leave and take care of the remaining goblin, following Farian farewell greetings he said: "I wish you luck also in your task my friend, this is a very generous mission you are assigning to yourself and I admire you for that. I hope to meet you again in the future."
After the others started to discuss what to do with the current treasure and Farian casted his spell, Haazheel said: "I'm not an alchemist I could prepare a detect magic spell for tomorrow but perhaps someone in this town might help us to identify these vials, perhaps Master Feykin might know who we may ask? I have no particular claims on the different objects found except the potions which magic intrigues me and the talisman as a curiosity. Like others said, let's sell all this and share the money. I would love to use it to prepare new scrolls."
15:55, Today: Haazheel Thorn rolled 5 using 1d20+4. History check on the talisman. Trying to find out more information relevant to it but might not obtain much...

Farian concentrates his magical sight upon the sword, and considers its aura.  It seems to be a minor transmutation effect, which is typical of swords reinforced with magic to be able to penetrate the hides of those creatures whose flesh was resistant to ordinary steel and wood.

The breastplate, once cleaned of debris and goblin stench, proves to be a superior example of its kind, a masterwork of an armorer's art.  It is plain, but very finely crafted, and, upon holding it up to himself, would seem to fit Farian fairly well.

Upon taking a small drop of the potion to try to identify its properties, Farian doesn't immediately recognize the odd taste of blueberries and wind.

Haazheel considers the amulet, turning it over in his hands and flogging his memory.  The beading is small and elegant, showing the shape of a small flying bird soaring amongst clouds, the effect done by having differently faceted beads laid at different angles.  The fox fur around the edges seems to make the bird fly through the soft orange light of a setting sun.  While a gorgeous object, it doesn't bring any immediate historical connections to mind.  But it likely is worth quite a great deal, and if one had the skill, would be able to be enchanted.

Sir Aberlayne takes a look over the rest of the items, turning over some of the armor and weapons.

"This small shield with the falcon on it, it is also of finest quality.  This bastard sword with the red leather grip as well.  They'd fetch a good price, if no one else wants to wield them.  And I would guess the alchemist's fire, tanglefoot bags, torches, and flint and steel we're all going to keep, along with the gold?  There's eight hundred thirty eight gold pieces all together."

"As for the potions, I remember them saying that Brother Darius, their local priest of Pelor, was their healer.  Maybe he can identify these potions for us.

"Remember, we have eight quivers of masterwork arrows coming as our payment from the town too," Sir Aberlayne says.

Drogo casts an eye over the rest of the things, puts up his hand in a signal to wait, goes outside, and comes back in again.  "All right.  I know a thing or three about the value of things, and I think, all together, not counting weapons or that amulet or the potions, we could wrangle about two hundred and ten gold pieces for the rest of it.  Even if we take a few rolls of rope for ourselves.  Most of the rest of this is simple furniture, and I would bet it could be sold easily enough in a town.  Or... hmm... we could trade one of the carts for a loan of a draft horse to pull the carriage loaded with the rest of it into town, because I doubt Sir Aberlayne is going to want to have Valiant pulling a cart."

"Quite," Sir Aberlayne murmurs.


OOC: Sword is a +1 longsword.  Breastplate is masterwork.  Bastard sword and light steel shield are masterwork.  The arrows equal 1,120gp for 160 masterwork arrows.
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:36, Mon 02 Feb 2015.

"Come to think of it, I could make use of 1 or 2 of those quivers full of fancy arrows. Other than that, I don't have any pressing needs." The matters of the booty decided, or mostly so, Narthian moves to the public part of the Pickled Pig to enjoy the festivities--in his own way. He acquires a tankard of ale and a plate of meat & sweetmeats then watches the crowd from a table near a back wall. Some of the townsfolk give Thunder odd looks, but none dare to ask Narthian to remove him. As they sit, Narthian feeds Thunder from his plate of the items most likely to please his canine companion. Thunder eats happily, though he would prefer the meat far less cooked.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:51, Mon 02 Feb 2015.

Dellas jumps up from his chair and talks to everyone in a rather sleepy voice "If I understand this right then we have 838 gold pieces plus the probably 210 from selling the rest... each of us should get around 116 gold pieces. I believe Master Haazheel and I will be busy resting and creating a scroll or two. Someone else should sell the goods and early tomorrow morning we should go back as soon as possible. I guess that we'll keep the sword and if someone needs then they could keep the breastplate and shield"

His face managed to form a grin before talking to whoever will sell the goods "If you find a nice light crossbow and some bolts, I would be grateful if you could tell me about it... Back in the temple, I noticed that without my magic I'm not good for much else." He knew that he would probably not need it in the temple, if something "lives" there it must have lost most of its meat already. But bandits and goblins are another question. "A light crossbow should be around 25gp if my memory serve me right."


If there is nothing else to say, Dellas will take his part of the loot, look after Honeybee and purchase enough material to make 3x burning hands scrolls and 1x disrupt undead. 4xp/50gp
After that, he will see his big sister "Thanks for everything, will you stay a bit longer in our little group? And maybe you can help your local community by helping your local wizard?" He added with a big grin petting Vish who made himself comfortable around Della's neck.



(OOC: I totally forgot that I still have Honeybee... and yes he forgot about the arrows, and I should probably change my speech color... sorry)
This message was last edited by the player at 03:11, Tue 03 Feb 2015.

In the private dining room of the Pickled Pig

Drogo will stroke his chin before turning to Alerik Feykin.  "Well, good sir, I don't suppose you would know if anyone in town had use for these goods?  And perhaps, if Brother Darius is about, if he could figure out what these potions do?"

Alerik smiles a bit.  "You ask in good time.  The town is boisterous, and in a mood to be generous.  I shall speak with those who could make use of your goods, and to Brother Darius as well."

Alerik leaves for a short while, returns with a couple very slightly tipsy younger men, an older man with a potbelly and pale yellow robes, and a small chest.  The young men bundle off the rest of the disposable goods with some mumblings of thanks, and the chest Alerik opens briefly to show the gleam of gold coin.

"We do not have any wizards here to make magical scrolls, though I'm certain Redhaven's Adventurer's Guild would have such things," Alerik says, and waves to the man in the yellow robes.  "Brother Darius."

The brother has a slightly untidy beard and moustache, a holy symbol made of pale wood, and a broad smile on his face.  "Our thanks to you for freeing us from the goblin menace.  I think after much longer, we would have lost more than just Farmer Brey.  Elena and her child are doing as well as they can.  They weren't badly injured, but..." he sighs, "Scared.  Very, very scared.  Here, let me see if I can figure out what these potions you found are good for."

He studies them carefully, tastes them, lights a drop in a candle in the table to look at the smoke and flame, and finally nods.  "The two glowing ones here, they will heal injury in an instant.  They are not terribly powerful, but very useful.  These two here in the metal containers, they are potions of barkskin.  They'll give one the tough hide like a tree for a short while, and make swords blunt against your skin."  He hands them back to the group and pushes himself away from the table.  "Best of luck to you, Guildsfolk.  Blessings upon you, and sun's rays favor you."  Brother Darius raises his hand in a benediction and leaves, along with Alerik.

"And with that," Drogo says, tucking up Fleabite's barrel under his arm.  "I'm going to slip out under the cover of celebration, so no one sees this little one.  My thanks to you for this adventure, and who knows?  You might meet me and my little protégé again someday!"  Drogo grins, sweeps his portion of coin into his pack, along with some food, and slips out after Alerik.

--

In the common room of the Pickled Pig



The common room of the Pickled Pig is a little quieter than what is evidently going on outside, as it seems a local fiddler has started a set out there, and the villagers are dancing out there.  Those drifting inside to get more food or drink grin and raise their tankards to Narthian and Thunder, though people seem understanding enough to not press themselves upon them.

Narthian does notice Varrik Forrester talking about the group, praising their cleverness and thoroughness in a somewhat drunken manner, exaggerating their exploits a bit as he gestures extravagantly.  Considering how little he actually saw of their exploits, he's mostly making things up, but the villagers, having been deprived of the group explaining their story, will listen to anyone who wants to tell them one apparently!

In the midst of the revelry, he notices someone who stands out like a lily amongst the reeds.  A young elf woman enters the Pickled Pig, and in a town of nearly all humans, that is an unusual sight indeed.  She wears old and well-worn leather armor, a shortbow, pack, quiver, and a few daggers, one of which she nimbly plays through her fingers.

When she notices Alerik Feykin coming out of the private dining room (after the exit of a few young men with their arms full of the group's spoils and a man in Pelorian robes, so apparently Drogo was able to make the sale of goods immediately), she crosses the tavern to meet me.

Alerik pauses, a pitcher of ale in his hand, his eyes going wide.

"Lantamori!  Ehlonna bless, I didn't expect you this soon!"  He draws her into a brief embrace and kisses her lightly on the cheeks.

Having been made aware of the impending arrival of Alerik's kin, Narthian has been on the lookout. Seeing the well armed young woman approach him, Narthian stood and moved to the couple to introduce himself. "You must be the brave Lantamori, your uncle has been singing your praises! I am Narthian Goldleaf, at your service. "

Lantamori rapidly returned the unique dagger to it's sheath and embraces her half uncle with a huge smile on her face. She had only met him once before and he had snuck her so much candy that he received a stern talking to from her father. She replies to him: "It is good to see you as well. The weather was clear the entire way and that allowed me to make pretty good time. My father sends his best wishes." This was all she got out before Narthian approached them.She repsoned politely to his greeting. "Well met Narthian. I am sure that my uncle has exaggerated me in every way possible, so please reserve your judgment until you have gotten to know me a bit better." she pauses and then an idea pops into her head. "Were you one of the heroes that helped free the town from the goblins?" she asks.

Narthian grins sheepishly, "While I consider myself a decent person, it is the citizenry of Boltharrow who have affixes the label 'hero'. My compatriots and I saw an injustice and we worked to rectify it, for which we were compensated. We possess some skills that others do not have and we use them. Is a baker a hero for providing bread?" Narthian indicates Alerik's, "A hostelier a hero for providing comfort?"

"Well spoken. That mentality is exactly like what my parents had when they were adventurers, and one that I also subscribe to as well. I do believe congratulations are in order. Judging by the town's reception, the goblins must have been quite a hassle on them. You and your friends should be proud at the least." She pauses briefly, considering something then continuing.
"I do not know exactly what you have been told about me from my uncle here, so I suppose I should explain why I am here. That will require drinks, and I if I know my uncle he will have something very sweet for me." she says as she looks at Alerik hopefully.
This message was lightly edited by the player at 19:53, Tue 03 Feb 2015.

"Thank you Brother Darius, we shall put them to good use. Before you go, please take this for your flock and ensure the family of Farmer Brey are looked after" Farian takes a small purse of coinage and presses it into the priests hands.
Looking over the busy taproom he sees Narthian talking to a beautiful elf maid, nudging his companions he gestures towards the pair.
"It seem our druid has struck lucky...that or our new sneak has arrived. It seems we can be back on the road again on the morrow"

OOC
Farian donates 1/4 of his treasure to Brother Darius

In reply to Lantamori (msg # 174):

Narthian's grin turns into a full-fledged smile. "I do not consider myself to be a foolish man, and one would HAVE to be a fool to pass up on drinking with such a lovely lady. Let us tell tales and consume copious quantities of your uncle's best! And sweets for the sweet, of course." Narthian chuckles.

In the Pickled Pig



Brother Darius smiles at Farian and raises his hand in a benediction.  "Thank you, my son.  Your gift will be put to good use, for we have had many suffer in the wake of the goblin attacks."  With a smile and a hand raised with fingers outstretched in a Pelorian blessing, Brother Darius makes his way out of the inn.



"Of course, my dear.  Raspberry cordial, which I remember being your favorite.  Come, sit, and talk with Narthian and the others.  Though they've dispatched the goblins, I gather there still may be more to do," Alerik says.  He smiles fondly and goes to get a bottle of something red and fragrant of summer afternoons, pouring Lantamori a glass before having to bustle away to tend to his other customers.

Sir Aberlayne drifts over when Farian points out it seems their new sneak has arrived.  A Halfling woman with obvious strength in her arms, she wears a simple tunic, but a few scars can be seen on her arms as she heaves herself up on a bench, her tankard preceding her.

"Lantamori?  Aberlayne Nump, paladin of Yondalla.  My brother Dellas is the fire-happy wizard of this little group.  He's around somewhere, probably at the bonfire outside watching things burn.  Tell me, do you know much about room traps?  Because we found a thing at the ruins which may have been deviously protected."

A large smile crosses her face as the Raspberry flavored drink is procured for her. She was very eager to drink it, but does so quite slowly, savoring every bit of the flavor. "Delicious as always. Thank you, Uncle." she says to Alerik. Turning to the Narthian she says "Oh now you are just trying too hard. Enjoy the night, for it is quite young." She is about to continue when approached by one of the little folk. After the introduction, she responds with "Well met. I am skilled with getting into places that people do not necessarily want others getting into. My specialty is locks, but many more devious devices and traps use similar mechanisms. I am capable of dealing with most of those as well as the simple magical variety."

The party at the Pickled Pig eventually winds down.  A few last-minute purchases are made, most notably Dellas parting with a goodly bit of gold to find a crossbow suited to his stature.  It's actually a child's weapon, made for Varrick Forrester's boy once upon a time, and the old hunter hadn't believed that just because it was small that it had to be weak.  He'll also sell Dellas two quivers of bolts to round out the package.

"Just use it well.  M'boy's long gone and on his own, and things be meant to be used," he tells Dellas.

The group can retire to plain but reasonably comfortable beds at a late hour, and rise to find a breakfast of fresh bread, butter, honey, and sausage laid out for them.

Alerik takes Lantamori aside as the others start to gear up.  "Be safe, niece.  Be steady.  The goblins are gone, but what they found under the ruins could be even worse.  See clearly, Ehlonna bless you."  He presses a small quartz crystal into her palm, the stone woven into thin black leather plaits to hold it in a necklace.  "For luck."  He kisses her on the head and steps back as the rest of the group is ready.

Outside the Pickled Pig, Sir Aberlayne swings up on Valiant, her rugged warpony, and the group is off, back to the ruins, back to whatever lies beneath...

OOC: Please go to the Ruins thread.

In late afternoon the group can return from the tomb.  This time the gates are flung open for them, and the Mayor waiting.

"Our thanks to you, brave ones, for taking on a danger none of us had foreseen.  We have little else to reward you but our hospitality, and our wives have laid out a young feast for you.  Come, unburden yourselves and rest for the night," he says, and waves them into the market square.  Instead of the Pickled Pig hosting the dinner, this time it seems the village wives had contributed their favorite dishes to a large, communal dinner of woodland favorites.  Game birds and woodland salads and fish baked with herbs, berry tarts and pies, cheeses and fresh bread, with sweet spring water, cordials, and ale to wash it all down.

Alerik Feykin is more eager to see his young niece than anything, and rushes to Lantamori's side.  Farian had made her comfortable, but he hadn't seen any improvement in her condition.  It had only been less than a half-day though, and such things could take time to heal naturally, or just the right spell to cure.  Brother Darius said he'd put her in the back of his shop, which doubled as the village temple, so she could rest quietly under his care.

The rest of the group is plied for their story, food and drink shoved into their hands, the people of Boltharrow hungry to hear about the danger that had slept so close to their doorstep, unknown, for time out of mind...

Bruenor sits at the table revelling in the attention and the fine food and drink.  Before setting off on this adventure, he might have found himself sitting here at the table directing snide comments at others, perhaps drawing a laugh or two at others’ expense.  However, as he puts down one tankard of ale after another, he becomes a bit more gregarious and easily suppresses the ingrained behaviour…finally dropping (at least temporarily) what’s left of his snarky façade.  He can’t recall being this relaxed…even content?...in some time.

As the companions recount the tale of reclaiming the tomb, he leaps (almost literally) at the opportunity to stand on his bench, drawing the prince’s longsword with a flourish, and giving an overly dramatic account of his duel with the prince.

The food and company is good, the evening pleasant, and it's almost indecently luxurious to be able to relax out of armor and in clean clothes. Averdante worries a bit about Lantamori still paralyzed and missing the festivities -- but he's more than a little grateful it wasn't him trapped under such a curse.

While he, himself, has nothing to say about what happened in the tomb, watching Bruenor's precarious antics atop a bench make an amusing diversion; if the villagers want to hear tales of heroics, Dante's more than pleased to point them to the group's warriors. They, Farian, and the mages did all of the exciting things, after all.

Besides... if they're busy telling tales, he's free to find the best wine at the table, and sit back to properly enjoy it.

Farian sits quietly watching all the excitement around. He chuckles at the telling of the Prince's duel. He tells the story of the beautiful daughter of the Sun and her sorrowful entrapment in eternal torment until finally being released to her eternal resting place. He talked about the crazed King, how grief and madness always go hand in hand. Using it as a lesson to all the young children. He told of the battles with the skeletal beings, how the power of his Deity caused them to flee in terror from the holy light.

All in all, the tales are good, the food is better, and the company of his friends is heavenly.

Volsh joined the feast, eating and drinking with gusty.   Like Bruenor he  shared stories of their battles.  A group of children had surrounded him as he retold the battle with the Sun King.  They gasped in fright as he roared his warrior's cry, showing how he slashed the undead king with his blade.  Some laughed as he stumbled, but then realized this wss part of the story, and became expectantly silent.  "I thought for sure I was a goner! Then from behind the king..."  He paused to insure he had their attention, "Rooaar!  Dellas' hound finished the king with mighty bite and saved Volsh's life!!!"  The children erupted in laughter and cheers and Volsh raised his tankard, as bellowed, "TO THE HOUND OF DELLAS!!"

Dellas had spend most of the time rather quiet. With the treasure in town and his new found friends celebrating their victory he thought about what happened to Lantamori and hoped that they can help her here.
Nonetheless he quickly joined the party and was too busy eating than to retell his side of the story... anyway his friends seem to be quite good at it.
He only looked up when Volsh started to mention his name specifically, crumbs of bread hung on his cheek and are stretched to their limit with the delicious meal the villagers prepared for them. "Hmpf PF hrung" was all they could make out and some morsels even flew over the table, which some of the men and children found funny and started to laugh even louder.
Embarrassed he started to chew more and take smaller bites to talk to one or two of the more inquisitive children.

The group can pass their night in triumph and story and good feasting.  The people are fascinated to hear their tale, gasping and cheering at the right moments, plying everyone with food and drink until the wee hours of the morning.

When everyone finally wakes up (probably getting on towards noon for some), they can congregate in the common room of the Pickled Pig.  Narthian shows up, Thunder at his side, his boots still slightly damp with morning dew.

"Good morrow, my friends.  I was talking with Brother Darius last night, and Farian, and it may be a while before Lantamori can move again.  With her uncle to care for her, she will live, but it will take a powerful spell to remove her curse.  I might know of a particular flower that could help cure her, but its location is a guarded secret of the Moonspeakers, the High Druids.  I want to petition them to let me seek out the flower, Thunder and me, and bring it back here for her.  I know Lantamori was only with us for a short while, but she was brave.  And I... I can show the Moonspeakers what I learned here, so that they know about the Tomb and whatever it may have done to the land.  I hope it is nothing, but someone should know," he says.

Dellas' (again eating and reading at the same  time) looks up from his book and smiles. "I enjoyed our little trip together would gladly do so again. But it also showed me that I will slow you down on the way. Also isn't it that many  of these druid circles are a bit weary  of outsiders? if you need anything, don't hesitate  to ask. I'll wish you best  of luck and hope to see  you again soon."

Bruenor makes his way to the common room, his head pounding after a long evening and many a drink.  He groans, saying, "What foul magic was slipped into the ale last night??"

He makes an effort to focus on Narthian, and nods as he speaks to the companions.  Bruenor thinks about his home, and his father, and knows without a doubt he's not ready to return there yet.

His thoughts then turn to Lantamori, and the state she's in..."Should you need my assistance, you need only ask...I can imagine no worse fate then paralysis.  But as our friend Dellas suggested, if you must do this alone, I wish you a speedy return."

Head aching mildly -- he'd not stopped drinking quite early enough last night; that last cup of wine had been just too savory to neglect -- Averdante looks up from the food he's been idly rearranging on his plate to listen to Narthian. An unexpected pang of regret touches Dante, hearing the druid's plans.

While he's glad to learn someone is pursuing further aid for Lantamori, he's going to miss Narthian. The two of them had more in common than Dante did with any of the others. That's enough to get him on his feet for a more formal farewell, regardless of how the movement offends his head.

 he tells the other elf. "I hope the Moonspeakers grant your request quickly, for Lantamori's sake."

Haazheel comes down to the common room. Still a bit sore from the last exploration in the temple. Even if the wizard remained pretty silent during the feast, he enjoyed the hospitality, the wine and dishes the townsfolk generously offered.
Mystic on his right shoulder, the wizard sits at the table with the others. At the announce of Narthian, he answers: "while I wish to keep adventuring with you my friend. Your decision is admirable and the quest on which you are embarking honorable. I will proudly say that I met you. May the eternal wisdom of Boccob suggest you the right path, the Moonspeakers grant you your request and Lantamori be cured thanks to your noble heart."

Volsh had little to say, as the parting of comrades was uncomfortable for him.  So he simply said, "Good fortune!" and gave a friendly pat on the back.

Farian walks into the common room and nods towards his companions. "Greetings Narthian. Although like the rest I am sorry to see you go, your task is as important as the rest of ours. I wish Pelor's blessing on your path. Let our Morning Lord protect you in your travels and speed your blessed return with good news. Please do keep us updated on Lantamori's status. I will keep both of you in my prayers."

Farian gives him a hearty hug and then turns away. "I feel a good portion of our monetary treasure should go with him to assist in what needs might be required for our elven friend."

"Then thank you my friends.  I shall go make preparations for my departure.  For my share of what we recovered, I would favor the Ring of Pearly Pines - the plants have much to teach us.  I'll be back soon, we can divide what we have, and then fare you well," Narthian says.

He leaves, but returns in less than half an hour, looking both sheepish and happy.  The reason for this is evident, as he is supporting a walking (a walking!) Lantamori on one side, her uncle Alerik on the other, with Brother Darius walking behind, looking triumphant.

"The Sun!" Brother Darius says, waving his arms and pointing out the doorway to the lovely morning sunlight.  "This was Lantamori's first dawn since leaving that foul tomb, the first dawn since the evil had fled!  The true Sun has banished the curse of the Sun King's rage!  If I were a scholar, I might have known it from the first," he says, grinning.

Lantamori is a little wobbly on her feet, but that is an enormous improvement from the total immobility of the day before!

"Then it seems I need not undertake any quest, but can continue with you, my friends," Narthian says.

Bruenor jumps to his feet as the others walk in supporting Lantamori, his eyes wide in surprise and a smile on his face...before quickly sliding back to form, still smiling as he sits down again, saying "Lantamori! So glad you decided to join us for breakfast."

Not being the gushy type, some time later, he pats Narthian on the shoulder with a nod and leaves it at that.

If he's honest with himself, he must admit to being glad they've got the whole party back together once more.  After finishing his meal, he returns to his room to pack up his belongings and prepare for the ride to Redhaven.

Smiling at Lantamori, Farian opens his arms wide, "See my Lord answers prayers. I told you that I would continue to pray for your salvation and my Lord provided. All glory goes to the Morning Lord. Welcome back to the land of the moving my friend. Welcome indeed."

With that Farian greets Brother Darius warmly and nodding towards Alerik.

Lantamori tried to smile, but some of the muscles on her face were a bit stiff. Even through the odd face, she was clearly elated to be mobile again. A loud rumble comes from the small elf's stomach. "It seems that breakfast is exactly what I need. Thank you all for everything you did to get me back here. I am glad to have met kind people as well."

It's a decidedly pleasant surprise to see Narthian return with a mobile Lantamori. And to hear the druid is going to continue traveling with them.

"It's good to see you free again," Averdante tells Lantamori honestly. "Welcome back."

He turns and grins at Narthian. "You, too. A short quest, but a successful one!"


Once it's decided that it's time to return to Redhaven, Dante takes a few minutes to be certain his pack is balanced and secured, and his waterskin full. Really though, now that his earlier headache has faded, there's nothing to do but wait until the others are ready.

Dellas gets up and walks towards Lantamori "Praise Pelor, his sun and your good luck. I am truly glad to see you up... and walking" he quickly added, while being on his legs he stretches himself and  makes a mental note of the paralyzing trap. He turns towards everyone and grins wide "Now after our good Lantamori had something to eat, I believe that we can return to the guild. I am itching to get my hands on something new."

Volsh gave Lantamori a wide smile and rough sort of pat on the back.  It was always good to see a companion recover from illness and injury.  He was in no way surprised that she awakened with an appetite, as it seemed that he always did after being ill.

Volsh packed his things and made ready to leave.

Haazheel stands up at the sight of Lantamori cured from the evil curse, Mystic still perched on his shoulder."Good grief Narthian, this was the fastest accomplished quest I ever heard of." Approaching Lantamori, the wizard says "I'm glad to have you back with us companion as certainly our next adventure is going to start".
Haazheel then packs his belongings and gets ready for the travel back to Redhaven.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:03, Thu 13 Aug 2015.

"Before we depart I would like to discuss the Kings items." Looking at Volsh, "I know that you would wish the armor and spear" looking at the others, "although I have no issues with him using them, I would request that they are not touched until after we discover whether or not that they might have some negative effects on them from being on an Undead being as long as they have been."

Lantamori thanks everyone again and inhales some food before getting her gear in order. Things felt heavier, but that was no surprise after what she just went through. She is just as eager to hit the road as everyone else, ready to start their next adventure.

The thought of someone with Volsh's strength and ferocity becoming as madly evil the undead king is enough to make Dante pale. He looks at Farian. "I would favor that. It is not worth the risk of becoming cursed when a few days wait can establish the safety or hazard of those things."

He glances at Volsh, adding, "We can take the expense of having those things examined out of the treasure we've gained. Whether the armor and spear prove safe or cursed, we will all benefit from discovering this before anything goes awry."

If the king's effects are cursed, they won't have to fight their friend; if safe, having their strongest warrior equipped with it will help them win future battles.

Volsh was not altogether pleased with the idea, but he could not argue that it would be best to know if the items were cursed or not before he donned them.  Still, he did not want to wait forever for this to occur.  He grumble a bit, and his tone was a bit sharp given his irritation, but it would do no good to argue against good sense.  "What needs to be done to verify this?  Will it take long?"

OOC: Okay 3rd time is a charm...what kind of armor is teh blackened Armor...Light, medioum, heavy?  Leather, Chain??  Etc.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:56, Fri 14 Aug 2015.

In reply to Volsh son of Vor (msg # 204):

"Hopefully it won't be too long. Once we get to Redhaven we can see about either a Priest or Priestess in the Temple District or a Guild Magus to look over the items and verify no lingering effects will befall on you upon donning the items."

[OOC: unknown on my end. the DM will have to make a ruling on the size, etc.]

Volsh groaned, but tried to cover it up by clearing his throat.  "Well, if that is what must be done, then that is what we shall do."  He hoped something like this would not cost too much.  If this priest or priestess tried to swindle them, then they had best hope their god would protect them against his blade.