Uthecar lets his pack drop from his shoulders, with a sigh of pleasure as a break is taken.  He quickly sits down and balances upon the pack his short pudgy legs up off the ground.  Sweat is upon his brow.

He enjoys the jerky, giving the fruit a miss.  He continues to munch away absentmindedly as the others discuss the map, only voicing an opinion when Myrrick mentions a camp.

"It is a wise idea, some look as if they need to keep their strength up."  It is probably obvious to all he is most at fault for the slow pace, but that's not how he is expressing it as he nods concern.  He takes out a water skin and takes a deep swig, gasping and making a face as he tastes the water inside.  "Aaarrghhh.  Water," he splutters resigned.

Zan couldn't help but crack a grin at Uthecar.

"I can help on either the first or last watch, that should still give me enough time to recover spells"

Back at the Full Pint, Kullonar accepts the silver sling bullets with a chuckle and a slight bow of his head. "Lady Selene. You are full of surprises."
He tucks the bullets in his belt, bows again to the elves, and moves off.

On the trail...
The break comes at just the right time. Kullonar drops his pack and wipes the sweat from his face and head with a pocket rag. The jerky tastes good and so does the water that washes it down. He chuckles at Uthecar and says, "When we next find a decent watering hole, the first round is on me."

He looks at the crudely drawn map and grunts in appreciation at the elven runes. "Such beautiful script. Wish I had the gift to read them."

"I'll take watch with Zan > either first or last, makes no difference."

"Middle is fine with me. Spell casters can rest at the beginning or end."

Fast forward:

You travel for several hours after lunch until dusk's slow creep warns you that the time is nigh to seek a worthy site to sleep.  You debate the merits of a fire - in the end decide it isn't worth the risk.

The evening is quiet, outside the occasional nocturnal calls of owls or growl of a hunting cat.  It is neither cold nor hot, actually a very pretty night, all things considered.  Still, by false dawn the air does feel of autumn, and the sun's eventual peek over the horizon is welcome.

The next day's travels are again uneventful.  By midday you finally come to the area marked by the elfin runes.  Myrrick recognized the area immediately - it was where Rennar had pushed him from the thicket, urging him good speed back to the inn while he led the merry chase.  You are not far from the keep now, perhaps another two hours.

ooc: actions, questions, thoughts?

Bruno asks Myrrick what he and Renner had seen here that made his mentor send him back to towards the inn, "Was it that you stumbled upon a patrol? A camp?"

Myrrick shook his head, "There were many gobblers, more than I've ever seen at once. Rennar must've felled a few dozen himself before returning to town. We found the trail, followed it to the ruins, when we entered the ruins... there was a voice, deep, and commanding. It was enough for Rennar to command a retreat. When we left the gobblers persued, if they came from the ruins or not, I cannot say for certain. This is where Rennar sent me off to town so he could lead the gobblers on a merry chase as he put it."

Running a hand through his beard to shake out the dust of the road Bruno responds, "Do you recall or were you able to even conceive of how well the gobblers were organized? From what you say what stopped you from within the ruins was some sort of protective 'Command' sort of spell. (Do you recall what the voice actually said?)

"But did it seem as if the gobblers were a fortifying force (were there any recognizable flags, or anything) or they had simply taken up residence in the past years?"

Myrrick paused, briefly as if trying to recall.


The voice said,

"WHO DARES ENTER THIS PLACE AND INTRUDE UPON THE SANCTUARY OF IT'S INHABITANTS?"  But moments later a second voice answered, "ONLY A GROUP OF FOOLHARDY ADVENTURERS DOOMED TO CERTAIN DEATH!"  The breathless silence lasted but moments before it was broken by both voices, "WOE TO ANY WHO PASS THIS PLACE - THE WRATH OF ZELLIGAR AND ROGAHN WILL FALL UPON THEM!"

"I did not see any flags or banners I recall, but I wasn't really looking. I didn't recognize the names immediately, it was enough to scare Rennar, and that scared me more than it should've."

"I do hope Rennar didn't go and get all the gobblers lost, they aren't too smart you know." He taps his great helm with his short chubby index finger of his right hand, as he makes what he thinks is the face of a simpleton, and quite capable of getting lost just to spoil all his fun.

"I wonder what tribe they were from, even the slain bodies appear to have been removed." he casually though knowledgeably observes as he looks about suspiciously with shifty eyes.

"Can you pick up a trail ranger?  So many should have left their mark, they care little for the wilds, and perhaps now they have been discovered an ambush is planned.  They aren't smart, but they are cunning little bastards." he says peering up at Myrrick, covering his eyes from the sun.

The message of the of the magic warning hollow to his concern, and simply safer to let those who might know speculate its meaning.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:06, Thu 29 Sept 2016.

Weasel had been unnaturally quiet in the ensuing hours.  He'd seen death before, but this was the first time someone who was kind to him - to whom he's had a bit of hero worship, truth be told - died.  He shed no tears, just walked along stolidly.  He could walk all day.  Run all day?  No, but he was young, lithe, and fit.

He had slept fitfully, ding his share of the work and standing his watch... though he was a bit vague as to what he was supposed to do other than yell, scream, and then spit whatever was attacking them upon his sword.

When he heard the magical voices, his flesh crawled a bit.  He knew little of magic and was only a bit heartened by the fact that he now traveled with people who did.

Weasel listened carefully.  "Are we foolhardy adventurers?  Or are we.... dedicated servants of the Lady of Ratik bound to do her bidding?  If we're the first, I say let's turn back.  If we're the second, we should have no problems, right?

"Cook used to say 'if you say something, say what you mean.'"  He grinned.  "Might be that the advocate kept me outta gaol a few times by using the words right, too."

Zan quietly listened to most of the conversations not having a whole lot to offer as the group traveled.  He rested and regained his spent spells.

Upon the group's arrival close to the ruins, his interest and concerns were a lot more on alert.  "Might be a good time to find a defendable spot and setup some sort of base camp.  Figure that we could do a bit of scouting to help figure out what we are up against."

"Uthecar and Bruno, think you can find a suitable spot for us.  Weasel you think you can setup a few traps and snares to help with defending the location, I can lend a hand as well, know a tricks myslef."  He gave Weasel a knowing wink.

"Myrrick, since we are close do you recall the general area that you in.  They would likely have scouts and we need to figure out where they are before they figure out where we are."

"Uthecar, figured you could help with any fortification or help make some of the traps a bit more lethal"

Uthecar nods that finding a defend-able spot for a camp was well within the dwarves means, and grins at the word lethal.  "I like your thinking elf-mage, I like it a lot.  Are you going to get precious if a few twigs get cut?"  He holds up his ax.  Given the size of the blade, and his bulging biceps, it is questionable how thin he considers a twig to be.

"You'll get no quarrel from me, unless you're considering chopping down a large portion of the forest."

Uthecar laughs a deep belly rumble, "Ha ha ha, Naaa just trying to give you the shits mage, to see how much of a tree hugger you are.  It's best we travel as lightly as we can through this area, there's no knowing who might be following our own trail, and there's no need to make it easy for them either."

Myrrick nodded, "I recall the area well enough, though it was night, and I was being chased by an army. I can scout to see if any are near. It wouldn't do to get ambushed on our second day out, now would it?"

Having prayed for spells, Kullonar travels along with the group, keeping quiet unless spoken to. He enjoys the wilderness scenery and often his thoughts stray to the tenets of the Cudgel.
Once the group stops, Kullonar likes the idea of a base camp to work out of. "A high, protected spot might work best. Would be nice if we set up camp with our backs to a cliff."

Kullonar then asks Myrrick, "Do you want some company as you scout around? None of us should go off alone out here."

"Kullonar, not trying to hurt your feeling, but with the shoes your wearing,  Well there not exactly built for being quite.  I'm sure that Weasle could use your help, with setting up some traps. "

Zan reached into he belt pouch, and brought out a small clove of ginger, he made a light clicking noise and held up the clove to the side.  He stepped away from the others a few paces.  "Ginger, where are you, come out come out"
This message was last edited by the player at 15:45, Fri 30 Sept 2016.

Myrrick nodded, "Another time Kullonar, I won't go far, do not worry over me. Maybe I can teach you to move quietly, when time permits."

When they set out again, Bruno has prayed for spells and is ready to go. He carries his crossbow ready for whatever will come next.

Kullonar looks at his boots and chuckles. "Ah, I see your point. I was never one for moving around too quietly. But I would like to learn, so maybe when all of this is over, Myrrick, you can teach me some things. Now, where's Weasel gotten off to?"

"I can set some snares and noise makers... I'm a little... small for be setting deadfalls and pits and stakes... well... I'm just glad I don't own a shovel.

"And let's not set up camp anywhere we can't skee-daddle out of.  I might be able to climb a cliff like I'm walking down the road... but Sir Dwarf might have a bit of a problem... Or maybe he could just tighten up all that brawn and he could bounce hither an' yon like an acorn on flagstone for a bit."

----------------------------

Once they're off, Weasel is wandering a bit, never having seen all that much of the world and he was getting tired of looking at the backs of the people he's tossed in with.  When he hears the half-orc's question, he pops over.  "Right here, Sir Cleric.  How may I be of service?  You need a dwarf beard shaved?  An elfin earlobe pinched?  Or just some zippy conversation because the rest of them are so boring?"

Uthecar had fallen silent, concentrating on the surrounds and looking for tracks in the ground as he moved ahead.  Though they were still some distance from the keep, it was time for greater caution to be taken, he didn't want to be caught unaware.

It took a little while before Ginger came fluttering in.  A miniutre crimson red dragon (or a lizard with wings) came and landed on Zan extended arm, coiling its tail around his arm.  "Took you long enough and no they are not dangerous they are good folk. Yes we are on a mission to figure out where those nasty orcs came from.  We could use your help." Zan gave the pseudodragon the ginger to eat.

"Everyone this is Ginger"

Asking of the miniutre dragon, "You think you could give Myrrick some help with scouting ahead, He could use some help looking around, we need to figure out what we are up against"

"Er...no, no shaving or pinching needed. Just wondered if you needed help laying some traps?"