The adventurers make their way past outlying farms and arrive at the village of Fairhill shortly before dusk. They pass a guardhouse along the way and receive a few questioning looks, but are otherwise unhindered and allowed to continue on into the village proper. After passing the guardhouse, the first building of note they come upon is The Drunken Cockatrice Inn, a pleasant-looking and bustling establishment positioned at the south end of the central market. A short distance away, they spot a smaller rundown inn, The Cask and Flagon.

Though his eventual goal is to find lodging at The Drunken Cockatrice, per the suggestion of the goodly Knight, Folly heads first to the area covered with small shrines, showing respect to all, but looking for any that might be dedicated to his own Ioun. Should he find one, he will pay extra respect to his own patron deity.

He will then head to the temple to Pelor.

"Korr, a might edifice indeed," he will say at the sight of it, dominating the town, except for the central guard tower, as it does.

If it is open, he will enter and ask after Shandril.

"That's a mighty highfalutin place you're wanting to go to.  Are you sure the Cask and Flagon isn't more our speed?  And more fun?"

Folly continues past both inns and proceeds directly up a path leading to a small hilltop at the village's northern end, where the Temple of Pelor and other smaller shrines are located.

The temple is a wooden building with a peaked roof, its windows illuminated with the warm glow of a fire within. Stepping inside, the temple consists of a large one-room shrine with a stone altar at the north wall. The altar is decorated with a carving of a shaft of wheat within a radiant stylized sun. A silver crucible rests on the altar.

An elven priestess of Pelor, Shandril, stands before the altar singing a common hymn His Fruitful Harvest.

OOC: Not sure if others would have accompanied Folly or checked into an inn. Up to you.

"Personally not interested in paying my respects to the Gods at this precise moment.  A drink or two or three might put me in the mood.  And the Cask and Flagon looks more like my type of place.  Anyone else interested?"

Ullie attempts to guide his companions passed the brightly-lit windows of the Drunken Cockatrice, right at the heart of the village, toward an inn tucked behind a general store, the Cask and Flagon.

If first impressions count for anything, the exterior of this inn leaves a lot to be desired. Put simply, the place looks old and rundown. Glancing through a soot-covered window near the front door, the adventurers see a handful of patrons inside.

If the adventurers enter, they find the inn's interior is of similar quality to its exterior and consists of a large common room with a fireplace, four booths along one wall with curtains that can be drawn for privacy (two are presently occupied), and a set of railed stairs leading to private rooms above. There are about a dozen people in the common room, none of which seem concerned about anything other than nursing their drinks.

Four shaggy dogs lounge about on the common room's straw-covered floor, one fussing with a bone, another chewing its tail, another sleeping, and the last intently watching a nearby table for the possibility of any table scraps hitting the floor. The elderly innkeeper, Tarnen, is seated in a rocking chair by the fireplace, slowly puffing on a pipe filled with foul-smelling weed.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:20, Fri 19 Nov 2021.

Ullian may be the only person in the establishment smiling.

It's a brave front that he puts up; this is hardly the place he expected it to be.  To the contrary, it is rather  . . . dull.  Boring.  Listless.

But having entered on his suggestion, he isn't about to propose turning around and leaving.  He claps his hands together once, broadens his smile, and heads toward an empty table.

A few moments after the party has seated themselves at a private booth, a pasty, ginger-haired serving girl, Emma, emerges from the kitchen and asks if the adventurers will be taking supper (mutton stew, hard cheese, and bread: 1 silver piece), drink (beer: 5 copper pieces per pint), and/or require lodging (1 gold piece per night, five rooms presently available).

Emma takes orders and will return with the items a short time later. For his part, the innkeeper just continues to puff his pipe, seemingly lost in his own world.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:38, Fri 19 Nov 2021.

When Emma is present, Ullian cheerfully engages in conversation:

"And good evening to you, Emma.  You have a trio of thirsty gentlemen here and I for one crave beer and supper.  But tell me: it seems painfully quiet in here.  Unusually quiet; not like normal.  What has got everyone in such a stupor?"

____________

And while Emma is attending to the order, Ullian says to his companions:

"I know Sir Rodegar advised us not to stay the night here, and I'm not suggestin' that we do.  But I've often found that the less glamorous places often have the best and most useful information."

____________________

And through it all, Ullian surreptitiously evaluates the others in the tavern.

Emma shuffles nervously before responding, "Local folk have been nervous for a while now, what with all the orc sightings in the area. That was bad enough, but when they," her voice lowers to a whisper, "did what they did to the Bessemer's, well, folk have been scared to be out at night if they don't have to."

She relates the fact the Bessemer's were a local family who lived about 4 miles east of Fairhill, along a stream just west of what she refers to as "that haunted keep where The Vampire lives." Apparently the family was found massacred in their home, the culprits presumed to be orcs.

She also says Ullie and his party are not the first out-of-towners to come through in past days and she gestures to a nearby table, where a young woman with dark hair and eyes is seated with a talkative halfling. Both are drinking pints.

Then Emma gestures vaguely to the rest of the room, "everyone else, well, these are the regulars."

A surreptitious evaluation of the room reveals Emma's assessment to likely be true. Most of the patrons appear to be common folk, farmers, ranchers, and the like, with the two notable exceptions being the dark haired woman and the chatty halfling.

"Thank you, love," Ullian says in response to the information and the meal/libations, and he tips her an extra silver.

When she's away again, he says to the others: "I appear to have misapprehended the nature of the place.  Not what I expected at all.  But given what it is, I'm wondering about that woman and the 'alflin'.  Apparently, they made the same mistake I did in evaluatin' this place -- any objection to finding out?"

Ullian really hopes there's something noteworthy about the pair, so that his steering the party to this dive was not a total waste of time.

Sharn follows Ullian, liking the sound of the rougher inn.  Like him, she's found them more interesting and less, well, likely to refuse service to her kind.   She kinda turns more green at the ladies comments of "orcs" killing the families, but orders an ale just the same.

"... an exaggeration at best," the dark haired woman said to the halfling in a half heard conversation.  Though she's not wearing armor, she does have a sword slung from her belt.  It looks incongruous with the simple straw colored dress that she's wearing.  The hard worn leather boots, however, do seem more a match for the sword and battered scabbard.

The halfling laughs in response to Rigya's comment and then not-so-nonchalantly swings his attention back to the newly arrived adventurers seated a booth away. Then, turning back to the woman he says, "Maybe so. But might be worth the squeeze nonetheless."

Ullian picks up his mug and walks to the table occupied by the woman and halfling.  "I must say," he says, taking a swig from his mug "you seem to be the only others in this place who have a pulse!  Which makes me think that, like us, you're not from around here and didn't know better?"

"So what does it mean when an elf, an orc, and a gnome walk into a bar?" she asked speculatively without malice as she tilted back her chair to size up the rest of their table.

"All you'd need is a dwarf and a halfling to make a full set."

She looked around the room to see if there were any dwarves available to round out their diversity demographic and smiled at her own jest.

"We were just passing the time with a drink," she replied to the elf standing before them.  "Maybe thinking of doing something about all this talk about the orc problem hereabouts."

She refrained from looking directly at the orc sitting not a stones throw from where she sat.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:50, Sat 20 Nov 2021.

Ullian senses that the woman is purposely avoiding glancing at Sharn. "If you're referring specifically to the current problem that may or may not be perpetrated by orcs, I don't think Sharn'll quarrel with you too much.  If you're thinking is that orcs are inherently problems, then I'd be best moving on.  Can't speak for her, but I think she's bothered by problems regardless of who's causing 'em.

Name's Ullian, by the way."

Clatsi parted ways briefly to ensure that Corian’s remains were passed on to a suitable temple for the appropriate rites, and he spoke with Folly briefly to point out that the party should re-unify even while in town, as it was not safe while any one of them carried the amulet.

Cue the revelation that Folly doesn’t have the amulet, if that’s the case.

Regardless, when or if the little gnome eventually reached the tavern, he was loathe to stay there. A meal and drinks he would accept, but he didn’t feel safe in this place.

Outside the Cask and Flagon, Folly pulls Clatsi aside. The dwarven bard kneels down on one knee and fishes around inside his oversized boot.

A few moments later, Folly retrieves the amulet from his boot and thrusts it into Clatsi's hands.

"Here. This thing's been nothing but a curse since it came to us. I want no part of it anymore and am of mind to toss it into a river and be done with it. But, I know you have had your eyes on it, so you can have it."

He stands back up and visually assesses the gnome for a few moments, shakes his head, and begins to briskly walk toward the Drunken Cockatrice. He only gets a few steps away before he turns around and offers a brief farewell.

"Take care of yourself and may the Gods be with you!"

With that, he continues on to the Drunken Cockatrice.

"Rigya," the woman replied with a nod to Ullie's introduction.

"And this is Lannet," she added with a hand in the halfling's direction.

"I suppose that not all orcs need to be dealt with permanently," she conceded, finally looking in Sharn's direction.

"What brings your lot into town?" she asked, taking a sip of her pint.

Lannet pops up over the adjoining booth and favors the party with a toothy smile. "Nice to meet you fine folks. As the lady says, Lannet's the name, but you can call me Lanny."

The jovial halfling seems quite interested to hear the party's response to Rigya's query.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:44, Sat 20 Nov 2021.

"Looking for our next venture.  Something with the promise of pay, reward, discovery of lost treasure hoards, or the like.  And you?"

"All those sound good to me!" Lanny eagerly replies while nodding his head in agreement to each of Ullie's points. His toothy grin grows to almost comical proportions as he thinks about the possibility of each.

Ullie nods at the table from whence he came. "Then why don't you join us?  We only just arrived, and made a beeline for here; anything you've ferreted out about this place is more'n we know."

Assuming they accede, Ullie makes introductions all around.

"Really!?" Lannie's eyes expression brightens even further. "By and by, My lucky Handkerchiefs and Knickers! I accept!"

Lannet takes another swig of his beer and comments, "Well, it's cheap, at least it's got that going for it." The beer here certainly isn't anything to write home about. The adventurers will learn the food and rooms are of similar quality.

Lannie says he only recently arrived himself. He has gathered there have been orc sightings recently. There is supposed to be a vampire's lair in an old keep in the woods to the east. Finally, the beer at Three Kegs is the best in the village and also the reason Lannie is now without much coin and on the lookout for business opportunities.

"So you're both freelancing a bit, with no definitive plan in mind . . . like us?"

Lannet seems to have said as much, or at least nearly so; he looks to Rigya for clarification.

The adventurers will also readily hear variations of the following rumors:

Another band of adventurers went missing recently, one of which was the blacksmith's daughter, Arialle, who fancied herself as such. They struck out to the north and never returned.

Merchants have been talking about the destroyed Tradeway station in the Stirge Wood (the local  name for the Stoneheart Forest and that it may cause trade disruptions.

A few patrons have mentioned the fact the people of the village Crimmor are having trouble with stirges, but that's what they get for living so close to the Stirge Wood.

"My plan was to try my hand at bounty hunting," Rigya replied to Ullie.  "But I'm flexible if the 5 of us want to go see the blacksmith about where his daughter might have gone.

"A blacksmith's reward might be worth something, even if we only bring back a body."

It was a little like bounty hunting in that regard.  Bringing back a body.

"I'm game for that," Ullian says.  "Anything, really, that adds to my personal wealth.  Of course, 'north' can mean a long way; we could be pursuing forever.  But maybe the blacksmith has an idea as to where they were heading?

Besides, might help us pin down the reward situation."

Sharn orders a second ale and looks over the two who have joined the table.

"What talents do you bring with you if we join up?"

"I am small and able to move about without being noticed when I have a mind to remain unseen," Lannie replies matter-of-factly. "I also something of an amateur gemologist!" he proudly adds.

He waits to see what effect, if any, his statements will have on the party members.

Ullian says nothing as he contemplates how he feels about a little competition . . .

"I may not look it at the moment," Rigya said of her own profession, "but I used to be a soldier.  I have mail and shield in my room.

"It's not like I'm going to wear it everywhere," she added.  Though it did seem like a lot of adventuring folk did wear their armor everywhere and have everything they owned packed on their back at all times.

She'd even seen some imbecile with a 10' pole strapped to his pack trying to get through a doorway once.  He just couldn't figure out what the problem was.

Sharn rolls her eyes, "Great, a female soldier, just what we need".

Though not terribly attractive, Sharn is clearly female, and does, by and by, have on her armor and an 7 foot bardiche leaning against the table.  However, she gives a shy smile to indicate a rather dry jest.

Rigya was at first nonplussed by the orc's comment, but more surprised by the fact that it seemed to have been in jest.  Granted, she had little dealings with the race, or rather none to be completely truthful, but this was an interesting discovery.

Though, obviously, it wouldn't stop her from skewering any orcs found in the wild.  She doubted swinging one's club or axe around was their own interpretation of a jest.

"As we have a working plan for tomorrow -- as it seems too late to politely call on the blacksmith -- the next order of business is lodgings.  And perhaps entertainment.  We've been told there are better places than this for the former, and I can't imagine the same isn't true for the latter.  Shall we excuse ourselves to the Drunken Cockatrice?"

Lannie sucks in air between his teeth and comments, "I like to take my meals at the Cockatrice, coin well spent, but if you ask me two gold is a bit steep for a single night's stay. I don't care how soft the beds might be!"

With that, he swishes around the last of the thin beer and finishes it in a single gulp. He then gestures to the serving girl for another.

For his part, Lannie says he already has a room at the Cask and Flagon.

Ullian looks around at the morgue-like atmosphere.

"And where do you go for fun?  Cards, dice, darts, and the like at least."

"Cockatrice or Three Kegs are nice for that sort of thing," Lannie says.

The halfling looks around the room and sadly comments, "Local folk just don't seem to be in the mood for revelry and fun-making, with what happened to one of their own, and all."

"I suppose you're right," Ullian says, conceding the point.  Turning to the others, he says:

"Well, what'll it be?  I prefer the most luxury I can afford, but if Lannet here has already gotten a room . . . well, I doubt they'll refund his money."

Ullian's disfavor for the extraneous thief grows a little, mollified a little by the hope that there may not be enough rooms for everyone.  Although, I don't imagine a slew of people 'r clamoring to get in here, he cautions himself.

"Stay where you will," Rigya said, "but I have a room here as well.  We can meet here in the morning to go see the Blacksmith for information on where his daughter might have been headed."

The place was a sight better than some of the bivouacs she'd slept in.

Sharn smiles, "Luxury sounds good to me, first the best drinks, then the finest rooms and dinner.  Let's try the local ale at the Kegs and then get a room and dinner at the Cockatrice, that is, if they'll serve me.   All this orc trouble might lead them to not appreciate my looks.  But I'll risk it if you will Ullian, my gold is real enough..."

"Tomorrow, I'd like to visit the captain of the guard and Shandril as well as the blacksmith, no since putting all our eggs in one basket".

"Sure thing," Ullian says eagerly.  He'd pretty much decided that if anyone was going to the more luxurious lodgings, he was going too.

Plus, Sharn had a point: probably best if she wasn't alone.

"I'll make sure no one bother you," Clatsi piped up, indicating that he would follow along with Sharn and Ullian. Whether he was joking or deluded remained to be seen.

The little gnome was dying for some luxury after the ugly time on the road.

Clatsi, Sharn, and Ullie finish their meal and drink before taking their leave of the Cask and Flagon, and Lannie and Rigya. Their next stop is The Tavern of Three Kegs of the west end of the village. Three Kegs, much livelier place than the Cask and Flagon, is a cheerful halfling-owned and operated tavern with excellent brew and no shortage of games of chance, skill, and the like.

Lannie was spot-on. The ale here is much more expensive (1 silver per pint), but worth the extra price if one has the coin to spare. Any inquiries about rooms to let are met with flat refusals by the tavern’s proprietor, Perik, who visibly wrinkles his nose in disgust if questioned on the matter, almost as though the prospect of letting out rooms is akin to finding dog feces on the bottom of one’s boots. Fortunately, his serving girl, Delia, more than makes up for the owner’s lack of charm is quick with the refills and even quicker with witty banter. At one point, unbidden, she comments, “If you fancy yourselves adventurers, I imagine you will soon be pressed upon by Lannet. When you see him, tell him he owes me for those beers! You can also tell him I am of a mind to drum his head if he doesn’t pay, and soon!” She says this in a playful tone, but there is also an edge of seriousness in her voice. “Mind that one, you should…” she cautions before moving off to attend to another patron.

Sharn notices more than a few second glances cast her way, to include a few hushed conversations here or there, but nobody goes out of their way to openly confront her. Understandably, people are nervous given recent events, but perhaps the locals are open-minded enough to recognize the fact not all half-orcs are bloodthirsty savages and some few contain enough human blood to temper their bloodlust. Maybe the locals are just too scared to give voice to the thoughts that may be running through their mind? In any event, Sharn is not harassed.

After they have had their fill of drink, the party finds their way to the Drunken Cockatrice Inn. Stepping inside they find it to be much more pleasant than the Cask and Flagon. The common room is well furnished, clean, and the air is filled with the smell of delicious food. Here rooms let for 2 gold pieces per night and the evening meal is 2 silver pieces.

Shortly after the adventurers arrive at the Drunken Cockatrice, a very drunk local farmer, Fendrin, stumbles over to their table and proceeds to slur a barely coherent tale involving a winged monster, his wife, and his son, before collapsing onto the floor into drunken unconsciousness. Several locals rush to Fendrin’s aid and carry him off, presumably to sleep off his drunk elsewhere. The inn’s regulars shake their head with pity before eventually resuming their evening activities.

If the adventurers raise any questions about Fendrin, a local will relate the following sad tale:

Fendrin’s wife and son were captured by a manticore six months ago while working in their fields. Fendrin armed himself with a longbow and shot at the manticore as it flew off with his family. Fendrin’s arrow struck his wife and slayed her with a single shot. The manticore dropped Fendrin’s son and he fell to his death. Fendrin blames himself for what happened and has turned to the bottle to drown his sorrows.

After hearing the tale, Clatsi shared his thoughts with Ullian and Sharn. "The drunk is really not to blame. If he hadn't killed his family, the manticore surely would've." He took a drink. "The region is fraught with dangers. Gnolls, orcs, manticore. Vampire. Of course these folk couldn't tell a vampire from a lich if they met one in a mirrored alley, and of course there's no lich anyway. The real dangers are inducing figments in the brains of these folks, I say."

He ate the meal with deliberation, enjoying being inside with well prepared food, and he enjoyed his room -- after ensuring the windows were shuttered and secure and the door properly locked and clambering around with his arms outstretched waving around to ensure there were no invisible devils lurking in the chamber. In secret, he checked repeatedly on the amulet -- it was still here, thank the gods -- and he was slow to sleep, but the comfort of the bed was something to enjoy even awake.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:40, Sat 27 Nov 2021.

The adventurers eventually find their way to their rooms and settle in for the night..

***

First light comes all too early and with it, the noise of waking employees and patrons throughout the inn, to say nothing of the sounds of the village coming to life. The adventurers have a busy day planned and seem uninterested in enjoying the leisure and luxury their bounty money can provide. Such is the way of adventurers...

First order of business is a meeting with the captain of the town guard. To this end, the party is directed to the Tower of the Guard, a stone watchtower atop the village's highest hill. Approaching the tower, the party sees three town guards atop the tower and two lounging outside the tower's sturdy, iron-reinforced front door. After announcing their business to one of the guards, the party is admitted inside, where they find a handful of guards finishing their morning meal in the mess hall, among them, Baran.

"My men tell me you have brought more ill news from the Tradeway." His tone, like his general demeanor is stern. A few moments after introductions, the adventurers notice Baran has no right hand. His right arms ends in a grisly stump of scar tissue.

"I would hear whatever you have to say..." he brusquely says.

Presumably, the party relates information about the burned waystation, Hallas' family, the half-orc brigands, the skeletons, the imp/raven, Vortigern the Necromancer, Sir Rodegar, the gnolls, missing pilgrims, Ga-awoo-tarr. It is much for Baran to process and the mood within the room darkens as each grim fact is laid bare.

"Ill news indeed," Baran growls. The mess hall is filled with awkward silence for a short time before posing a question:

"Why were you bound to Fairhill?"

"Nearest point of civilization, really.  Also, heard tell of trouble, and thought we'd strike out this way and, erm, see if we could help."

Baran tugs at his well-trimmed beard while considering Ullie's response. The man is visibly suspicious of the elf's response, or, perhaps this is just how he always is. "Yes. I suppose so. Goodly adventurers passing through, seeking to help where they may," he replies, his tone brusque and curt.

Off to the side, his lieutenant, a fair-skinned woman carefully watches the proceedings, her attention primarily directed at Baran. She remains silent throughout, but her demeanor suggests something is amiss.

She looks at each adventurer in turn, her countenance less hard-edged than her captain's

Baran continues, "Well, welcome to Fairhill, where trouble indeed brews..." He proceeds to tell the adventurers if they wish to help, the village could use their aid scouring the countryside in search of the warcamp. Baran says he will pay 1 gold piece per orc head and a bonus of 100 gold pieces if the party brings the head of their chieftain, Nagrod. Finally, he suggests the party solicit the aid of the Dwarves of the Shattered Axe, a trio of dwarves who are presently staying at the Cask and Flagon.

"Now, if you would, I have business to attend," he says, cutting the meeting short.

OOC: Please feel free to ask any questions, etc. otherwise, we will proceed to blacksmith next.

Rigya was nonplussed that they had not gone first to the Blacksmith as was their agreement the previous night.  It seemed these new three would do what they will.  She would have to consider that in the future if plans were made where her life might be in danger.

Nonetheless, they would soon be headed to the blacksmith and what she believed the easier job of tracking down a wayward daughter, dead or alive.

Ullian approaches the lieutenant.

"Good morning, m'lady; I had an additional question that you might be able to help me with.

We'd heard that the blacksmith's daughter, Arialle, left with a band of adventurers but has not been heard from.  We'd thought to perhaps help look for her, and I was wondering: did this band of adventurers stop by here, as we did, before heading out of town?"

"They did not," she replies. "But, Arialle did not strike out hunting orcs. Against her father's wishes, she joined a small group of adventurers who had their eyes set on delving an ancient ruined tower in the foothills of the Stoneheart Mountains."

"I have seen the tower in the distance on patrols, but have never ventured close. It lies atop a saddle overlooking a broad valley east of Coldfell's headwaters."

She pauses a moment before adding, "That valley is a sacred place to the Loreclans. The site of a great battle between giants and men, long ago. Rumored to be haunted by the ghosts of both."

OOC: The Loreclans are the horse-riding people of the great grassland region immediately west of Fairhill. Fareme is the eastern extent of their lands.

Clatsi Clatterstones trailed along with Ullian and the others, distracted by a litany of his own thoughts and concerns and adding to the list of troubles that might distract the small company of adventurers from the task at hand -- exploring the wizard's ruined keep.

He only spoke to mutter to himself, and no one who did not speak gnomish would understand his words, even if they heard them.

"Are we done here, now?" Rigya asked of the elf.  She was anxious to speak with someone that might actually pay them more than pocket change for their services.

How many orc heads could you feasibly fit in a large sack, anyway?  What a hassle.

"How many days travel is it to this tower?"

"About two days by foot. A day by horse," Lauriel replies.

"Are the Loreclans known to be hostile to those who get close to the tower?  Or to anyone?

If we're going to track her down, I'd like to know what we might be in for."

"The land is not held by the Loreclannic peoples, but they have been known to ride through the region to honor their ancestors," Lauriel explains.

She then goes on to claim she has no fear of Loreclannic people attacking her, but ogres, giants, and other monstrous things are known to inhabit the lower reaches of the Stoneheart Mountains.

"Then, of course, there are the rumors of ghosts..." She then touches a silver brooch with the holy symbol of Pelor, a radiant disk, that she wears clasped to her cloak. "By Pelor's Light, I Trust," she says.

Ullian hadn't failed to take note of the prior warning of ghosts; he just thought it best to get as much information about their destination as possible, as it was not information the blacksmith was likely to possess.

"I thank you for your time," he says; then turns; but before actually walking away he turns back and asks (in a lowered voice):

"I couldn't help notice, while I was talking with Baran, that perhaps there was something you wanted to tell us.  Was I wrong?"

Lauriel looks briefly in Baran's direction to ensure he is otherwise occupied (he is) and speaks in an equally low voice, "Please don't mistake Captain Baran's cool reception as anything other than the stress of duty. The past few days have been trying for all."

With that, Lauriel thanks the adventurers for providing news from beyond and encourages them to pay a visit to the Temple of Pelor, "to pay homage, as is expected of all."
This message was lightly edited by the GM at 02:46, Tue 30 Nov 2021.

As they take their leave of Lauriel, Clatsi looked up at Ullian, eyes wide behind thick lenses. "All these questions and walking around looking for work! It's alll a distraction, I say. Corian might be beyond caring, gods rest him, but we still have the ... the item and we know where we need to go."

The adventurers depart the Tower of the Guard armed with perhaps a bit more information than before they arrived. It is a short walk back down the hill into the central market, which is now occupied by various farmers and merchants hawking their wares. The smithy lies just north of the market, on the way to the temple, and is the party's next stop.

The sound of a hammer ringing out on a forge is normal for such an establishment, but not so for this smithy. A ruddy, dark-haired, bearded man wearing a stained leather smock absent-mindedly putters about in an exterior workshop. The workshop is littered with various odds, ends, and tools, of the trade, none of which look like they have seen any recent use.

The village smith, Voril, looks up from whatever occupied his attention when the adventurers enter the workshop.

"Morning, folks," he says in a distant tone while holding a heavy pair of forge tongs. "You be needing piece work?" he asks, looking over the party and making assumptions.

"We're actually here about your daughter," Rigya said without preamble.  "Is there a reward to go look for her?"

It was blunt and to the point.  She didn't see a need to go tiptoeing around.  He'd either make an offer or send them packing.

A hopeful look and shot of vitality comes over the smith.

"I haven't much to my name, but if you fine folk could find her, I would channel the skill of Moradin himself to craft you as fine a suit of armor as could be found!" he says with conviction.

Voril does not have much coin to his name, but he is a competent smith and wishes to offer his skill crafting what he says would be a "suit of armor for the ages" in exchange.

"True, but if we are to track down the blacksmith's daughter, I wanted to find out what we might be in for.  Seemed to me that the blacksmith was less likely to know what dangers we'd face than Lauriel and Baran."

"Do you have any information on where they might have gone?" she asked, satisfied with the reward proposed.  It was only a single suit, but they could haggle out the details between themselves once those that survived returned.

She knew were the guard captain thought they'd gone, but perhaps the girl's father heard something more.

Sharn, as promised, is as quiet and invisible as a large woman her size can be, but listens.

Concerning his daughter's whereabouts, Voril relays similar information the party previously gleaned from Baran and Lauriel. Additionally, he tells Rigya his daughter is an extraordinarily talented musician and was enlisted by a band of adventurers to accompany them on their journey and to later recount their exploits through song.

"How many of them were there?"

"Four, well, five including my girl," Voril says.

"Two warriors, by the looks of them, an elven wizard, and priestess of Avandra," he says.

"And how many days since they left?" she asked.

"Eleven days ago," he replies, his eyes beginning to limn with tears as he fights away dark thoughts.

Clatsi removed his spectacles and wiped them, as if to give the smith some semblance of privacy as his emotions welled up. A musical daughter was a terrible thing to lose. It was a shame.

"Lastly, how will we recognize her?" Rigya asked probably the most pertinent question.  It wouldn't do to bring back the wrong body.

The blacksmith nods in understand, asks for a moment, and enters his attached residence. A few moments later he returns with a small framed painting, a portrait of his daughter, Arialle. He shows the portrait to the party and allows each to take a long look.



"Please. Help. I promise you I will craft a suit of armor worthy of the ages!" he says with conviction.

"Any other questions?" she asked of the others.  She was satisfied with what they had and ready to go.

Ullian smirks a bit as he says, "Oh no, if you're satisfied, then I am as well.

Although, I should think that the services of a healer would be most useful."

"Do you know of any healers that might be interested in coming with us?" Rigya asked of the blacksmith.

“Let’s visit Shandril,  get her advice and blessings,  if a healer is to found she’ll probably know’

Voril shakes his head in the negative to Rigya's query, "Can't say that I do. But, your friend here is right. If anybody would know, it would be Shandril."

The smith then relates the fact Shandril has been busy with Midsummer preparations to help ensure the the village fields yield great quantities of grain, the cattle produce milk and calves in abundance, and married couples live in joyous harmony with numerous children. This last point he delivers in a poignant tone.

Voril then bids the adventurers farewell and says he will eagerly await their return, "with Arialle, Pelor willing."

***

Their conversation with the smith concluded, the party proceeds to the Temple of Pelor. The temple, like the Tower of the Watch, is visible throughout the village. A small gathering of villagers are gathered outside and within the temple, which consists of a large one-room shrine with a stone altar at the north wall. The altar is decorated with a carving of a shaft of wheat within a radiant stylized sun. A silver crucible rests on the altar. Shandril, an elven priestess of Pelor, is ministering the villagers as the adventurers make their entrance. In particular, she is concluding a conversation with a local farmer about best agricultural practices.


She bids farewell to the farmer and attends to the adventurers.

"Well met and welcome to Fairhill and our temple," she gestures with open hands and a slight nod. "I had heard of your arrival and wondered when you would come to pay homage to Pelor, as all should."

"Though there has been darkness of late, know Pelor's Light will soon be in full radiance."

"See there," she gestures toward the altar, "The Radiant Crucible of Dawn stands ready to receive your offering." Looking, the party sees various offerings and sacrifices placed around the silver crucible.
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:41, Fri 03 Dec 2021.

Rigya stepped forward and dropped a silver coin into the crucible.  Perhaps if they did well, she would return with a more sizeable donation.

Ullian also drops in a silver piece.

And smiles at the priestess.

Clatsi scuttled forward and fished a coin from his purse. He held it tight in hone hand and stretched his arm to drop it into the receptacle. It was gold. It would not do to shortchange Pelor when he had dropped gold at Avandra's shrine.

"That darkness, Priestess. We've seen it."

"We're about to set off on a journey to find the blacksmith's daughter and hoped we might find a healer to come with us," Rigya explained.  "She joined a group looking to investigate the Old Stoneheart Tower.  They've been gone 11 days."

Thinking of how long they'd been gone, they should probably stock up on extra supplies to feed any survivors on the journey back.  Look at her, she was becoming quite the optimist bathed in the light of Pelor.

Sharn was impressed with the temple and the beautiful priestess.  When the offering was mentioned, as expected of them, she had a moment of panic.  What did have to offer, how was it done, should she even do it, would Pelor be offender by an offering from someone who was not a follower, would he even care, or know.  Luckily, the others led the way and she relaxed that coin seemed acceptable, that she had.  But still, it seemed bad faith on her part, and she hesitated, but then and idea struck her and she went forward.

She knelt and prayed a moment, before dropping some coins in the offering.

Shandril nods in recognition of Clatsi's statement and offers a brief assurance, "trust in the Light, may it guide you."



"Then perhaps I might give bounty to your hopes. A Meloran acolyte passed through town a few days ago, inquiring about a woodland shrine located north of the village. You may well find him along the way, sanctifying that sacred place," she says.

Shandril says there is a ring of stones atop a wooded hill, about 6 miles north of Fairhill. She provides general directions to the site and suggests it quite likely they will find the acolyte there.

"Thank you for the advice," Rigya replied to the priestess with a nod.  "We'll try to catch up with him."

Achieving what she'd thought was their goal, she turned to lead the others out.  She just had to stop off at the inn to retrieve the rest of her gear and they would be off.

"I need to get the rest of my gear back at the inn, but the rest of you could grab extra supplies for the trip back.  If there are survivors, they'll be hungry.

"We'll meet outside the inn and head out from there."

Ullian nods.  "I'll get some extra provisions."

"As will I," Clatsi echoed dubiously. On the way to the provisioner, he looked up at Ullian with a sour pinched look on his face. "What of the mage's keep? I understand that this blacksmith's daughter is missing, but ... but we came here for a purpose. Talon and Vortigern are still out there."

Clatsi was agitated but his voice was low. He couldn't seek out the wizard's secrets alone, though, so if he couldn't get others on board, his plans were sunk.

PM

Sharn speaks quietly to Clatsi.

"The secrets of that keep will still be there whenever we wish to explore.  I think Vortigern might stake that ruin out thinking we'd go there next.  If we help with the rescue mission, Vortigern might realize we don't have the item any longer, get bored, and return to his home."

Retunring to the downtrodden inn, Rigya went to collect up her backpack and bow.  She hadn't seen a need to drag it all around town on a sightseeing trip.

She also kept an eye out for the halfling that hadn't shown up that morning.  He'd gone out drinking with the others, but she hadn't seen him since he'd left.  If he didn't turn up soon, they'd just have to leave without him.

To Ullian, Clatsi answered: "It's just that ... it's just that I've come so far and walked through rain and suffered and the secrets in the keep must be so very interesting." He looked up at Ullian and added transparently, "And valuable." He practically waggled his eyesbrows.</Blue>"And I don't want that horrible Vortigern to commit any more atrocities. It's the reason we've come here at all, and I know we need all the help we can get, Folly and Zeric running off and Corian dead."
</Blue>

He wasn't bold enough to challenge Sharn's assertions, but he knew when he was beaten. "I certainly hope Vortigern doesn't get bored. I have a bad feeling that one like him does nasty things when he's bored. And the minstril is certainly in need of rescuing -- I won't argue that point."

PM

PM

Upon reuniting with Rigya, Ullian says:

"We are ready.  But, we have a proposition.

Before we got to Fairhill, we had designs on checking out a wizard's tower.  Clatsi in particular is anxious to do so; it's a matter of professional curiosity for him.

What do you say, after we rescue the blacksmith's daughter, that check out the tower?"

"A wizard's tower sounds profitable," Rigya admitted.  "I wouldn't mind looking into that after our search."

Their best chance of claiming a reward would be to bring the daughter back alive.  Anything after that was fine with her.

"But if we're ready to go, let's get on with it," she said, looking around.  "Though I still haven't seen the halfling this morning.

"Did he say anything last night about changing his plans?"

"He did not.  And I doubt that he would have changed is plans without at least letting me know; we go a ways back if you didn't know.  Let's give him a moment or two more; if he doesn't show, there could be something wrong."

Rigya was surprised the elf and halfling had known each other.  A strange coincidence.

"Let me go in and ask if they've seen him or heard word," she replied to Ullian as she turned to follow through on the statement.

It wouldn't do for them to sit waiting while a message was held by the innkeeper or the halfling had already left.

It takes little effort to pinpoint Lannet's location--the Drunken Cockatrice.

Sure enough, the portly halfling has settled in to sate his appetite and has an impressive spread of dishes and mugs laid out on the table. Surely more food than could fit inside the little fellow's stomach...right?

In any event, the talkative halfling waves the adventurers over as he pops a few grapes into his mouth, which he chews noisily.

"Ah. Good there you are!" he says in greeting. "Just finishing up here. Go ahead. Pull up a chair. Make sure to take your fill before we strike out. Might be a long road ahead!"

For his part, Lannet says he got a late start this morning, "setting affairs in order", as he describes it, but is ready to depart just as soon as he finishes his breakfast.

"Delia wants you to pay her for the beers," Clatsi told Lannet without prelude. He took a seat across the table from the halfling, keeping his distance.

"I will be leaving in 20 minutes with or without you," she said brusquely to the halfling before she turned and stalked back out the door.

She was already regretting having bothered to search for the halfling.

Lannet tosses another grape into his mouth and chomps down with zeal. "Oh, yes, that," he says dismissively. "Umm. You see. I happen to be a little short on funds now, which I hope to rectify, Avandra willing, shortly."

He looks at the gathered mess, picks at a little meat left on a bone, and quickly changes the subject. "So...it looks like you folks aren't going to sit for a late breakfast?" He favors Clatsi with a winning smile.

"If not, I suppose I could pack up the rest of this for later..."

Lannet says he can be ready to go in a few moments. He just needs to collect his things from the Cask and Flagon.

Lannet folds out a cloth napkin, places a few select items within, cinches it off, and makes for the Cask and Flagon to get his gear. True to his word, he returns with haste, quite eager to head from Fairhill at once.

The halfling is already sweating, perhaps from the exertion of being forced to act so quickly. "Warm morning, isn't it?" he says, glancing around with a nervous smile, as he wipes his sweaty brow with a handkerchief.

***

Assuming everyone has concluded their business in Fairhill, the party sets out by mid-morning on a course that leads them along a winding path north of the village...

OOC: Starting a new thread...