Each summons was delivered by one of the Royal Guard of Haven. All were written in the flowing hand of the kingdom’s ruler, the Princess Argenta.

Some were urgent requests to powerful leaders, pleas to send the most capable of their number to aid Haven in a matter of great urgency. They were sent to the elves of the Gray Forests, the wilderness that mingled with the realm of the Fae; to the wizard’s guild in the southern city of Ancelas, to the Temple of Amun Tor in the foothills of the Thunder Mountains; and, most boldly, to the leader of Haven’s thieves guild, in her well guarded hideout in the northern moors.

Other summons named the ones sought, adventurers who had aided the Kingdom of Haven in one of its darkest hours, brave souls who had faced terrible foes in order to see the Princess and her subjects freed from the grip of darkness.

One by one, the summons were answered. As each arrived at the white marble palace of Haven’s court, they were given quarters and treated as honored guests. When all of the courageous adventurers had found their way there, Princess Argenta asked that they meet with her, not within the strict formality of her throne room, but in the quiet serenity of the gardens.

Seated alone with a single guard at watch, it is immediately plain that the princess is troubled.

”I am indebted to each of you for your answering my call,” she says, rising from her seat as the adventurers arrive, ”Well met, one and all. I truly wish that our meeting was for a different purpose. A council...or a celebration. But as each of you know, I am in need to your help. And it is no small task that I would ask of you.”

She turns, gesturing to the rolling hills to the north, beyond the walls of the garden. ”Some of you, I am certain, are well traveled, and may have had cause to visit the valley Kingdom of Wendar. When I was still a child, Haven and Wendar formed a trade alliance that still endures. The route that our merchants use is travelled almost every day, and the goods that we exchange have been a boon to both our kingdoms, as well as to several of the realms that lie between us.”

“Gylharen, the wizard king of Wendar, is a just ruler, and a wise man. He has always placed the welfare of his people above all else in the decisions that he makes. He has forsaken commitments that would have brought him great wealth in favor of the well being of those he leads.”

She frowns. ”In recent seasons, trade with Wendar has slowed. Greatly. I had become so concerned that I was preparing to send envoys to Gylharen to inquire about the state of things in his kingdom. Before I could, I received a letter from him.”

She sighs, crossing her arms. ”Gylharen spoke of a great evil that threatens his realm. A power from the north that has managed to strip away some of the magical protection that kept Wendar safe. He does not fully understand the nature of the threat, but he knows that it comes from beyond the peaks that lay north of his lands, from a barren land called Denagoth. Gylharen wrote that he had felt certain that the evil within that place had been vanquished long ago, by himself and the warriors of his garrison. But now, somehow, it has awakened again.”

“He has pled for help, which is why I have asked for each of you to come. I know it is a terrible request, asking you to venture out to discover what evil threatens an ally, and to vanquish it, but I have every reason to believe that if any are capable of doing so, it would be you who are gathered here.”

“I have spoken with other kingdoms that are friendly to Wendar. Glantri, the Ethengar Khanate, the Heldann Freeholds, Drairis. All have been willing to add to the reward that I can offer you for your help. Five thousand gold to each of you who will go to Gylharen’s aid.”

After witnessing the devastation of the red mists, Jayanti had returned to the welcoming verdant embrace of the Elven lands. From there she boarded a ship and joined her crew in exploring the world. She'd rescued a Minrothradi merchant ship from pirates, and she'd unraveled the ancient mysteries of the spiraling towers of the Quagmire.

She'd returned home with better equipment and a thicker spellbook, just in time to be summoned back to Haven again.

"Of course, Your Grace. As before, my blade and magic are at your bidding."

A very tall and powerfully built Elf stepped forward and bowed low to the Princess.  He wore black robes trimmed with crimson and gold over a set of Baroque Plate armor.  His hair was blonde and his eyes sparkled like the amethysts they resembled and upon his back was a large battle blade of ancient make.

He spoke "Long have my people fought Evil, your Highness. Though we seldom venture outside our rightful lands we are always ready to help an Ally at need.  It is the way of House Hawkfire and its sons."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:34, Thu 13 June 2019.

Tall and ram-rod straight, with golden hair now closely cropped, comes Greyband. He strides in bearing a well-shined suit of armor. At his hip is a well-made scabbard in which sits a magnificent sword--Brand, some men called it, though Greyband has other pet names for it. He has slain many a fell beast in the last several years, and his face bears the lines.

He strides forward as he enters, bows deeply and kisses the princess' ring before returning to his normal standing position, smiling warmly at the princess.



Greyband nods appreciatively. "Very generous, your highness," he says with a bow.



Greyband grins at his former companion, bowing deeply at her, before bowing in turn to the princess. "And I and my magic blade are at your bidding," he adds, clearly enjoying the play at words with Jayanti.

As Jarder worked his way toward the palace he wondered if this was some sort of elaborate trap set for him by one of his rivals.  He was after all a cutpurse and a wanted man in some parts.

Thinking back on how he got here he was still in a bit of disbelief.  The Master of 'The Golden Circle' (a Thieves Guild) had summoned him and told him that the Guild has been asked for assistance. In a private sessions with his Master, Jarder was shown the letter from Princess Argenta to a mans name he didn't recognize pleading for help and asking for assistance.  It was explained to Jarder that in his Masters younger days he had 'adventured' with Argenta's father.  He owed a debt to the Princesses father- The Guild master told Jarder that as one his best lockpicks-he would be the assistance requested.

So Jarder found himself approaching the gates of Haven-walking right into the belly of Law Enforcement.  Showing the note he half expected to be arrested but was instead hurriedly brought to the court in front of Princess Argenta.  The wealth and opulence shocked him a bit and he found his eyes wandering the room, but the words of his Guild master came back to him-he was to 'touch' nothing of value from the Palace, the city of Haven and anyone he traveled with on behalf of the Princess.

When it was his turn Jarder bowed low and uttered the words he had been told to say: "I have been sent on behalf of the Golden Circle to answer your call."

This message was last edited by the player at 01:27, Sat 15 June 2019.

Orin tsked beneath his beard as the assembled heroes gathered in the garden, garbed as though the battle was about to begin.  He knew some, though the towering Greyband appeared to carry more lines on his face than the dwarf remembered and even Jayanti appeared more seasoned, if it was even possible to tell with an elf.  His own face was as craggy and bush-covered as ever, leaving him the appearance of one eternally but indeterminately aged.  Maybe that was where the wisdom came from to not sport a heavy metal can as attire for a princess.  Instead he was clad in relatively fine robes, such as a well-off merchant might wear.

"You know the Lords of the Thunder Mountains will honour your call for aid, Princess," Orin said when the opportunity arose, his voice as gruff and fatherly as ever.  "I am proud to be their representative in your court yet again."  A grin split the shaggy beard and a fond twinkle stirred in Orin's blue eyes.

The dwarf had been a regular visitor to Haven's court since the evil of the red gem had been vanquished.  At first it was his sense of duty over the cursed dwarven gift, but later he had come to enjoy the company of the princess and her court, especially the wizard and his 'little' cat.  He'd found a way to become the dwarven emissary to Haven quite some time ago and considered most of the court members as his responsibility to mentor and guide along the path to maturity.  Fortunately for Orin, they humoured him in this gentle delusion.

"I am glad to see stout heroes will join me, both old friends and new," he added to those gathered, favouring each with a smile and nod of greeting.  There would be time after the audience to renew old acquaintances and make new ones.

Neukem Orulto listens politely to the pious responses of his soon-to-be comrades, allowing the smallest, sharpest sliver of amusement to show on his face.  At last, he chimes in, sounding his own discordant note.

“Such noble sentiments... if only my own heart were filled with such poetry!  But alas, my motives are far baser, and I see no point to concealing them.  I am here for the gold, and the promise of spoils, and for the purpose of self-aggrandizement.  And because my people have had enough of me.  For I am a far greater evil than anything which lies in Denagoth.  Nonetheless, you may depend on me to do my utmost in furtherance of this crusade, so long as I may expect a just portion of the reward.  In the meantime, you will also be doing the world a favor by keeping me out of trouble.  They say, to fight fire, send fire.  That is what you are doing by including me in this most excellent venture.”


His nanny had always told him that honesty was the best policy.  Time to find out if she was right!
This message was last edited by the player at 02:05, Sun 16 June 2019.

There came a knock, five simple taps of wood on wood. The door was opened briefly and another person was allowed into the chamber with the Princess at her gesture and nod. Hooded in a cloak of indeterminable color or design, walked a tall figure with steps that seemed deliberate and chosen. The soft tap of a wooden staff upon the stone floor accompanied the slight slapping of worn leather soles as the figure moved to join the rest of the newly forming group.

As the figure came fully into the light, the strange and tattered garment was revealed in further detail. It was as if, perhaps, nothing remained of the original cloak but a few threads, for it was a myriad of colored bits of cloth, pieced together and sewn one atop another in a fashion completely random and seemingly without forethought. Not so much a haphazard layout, but simply one repair after another, after another, after another until it was impossible to see where it all began or ended!

The footfalls stopped as did the movement of an aged white staff, upon which was carved strange runes and tied with dangling talismans. It was a simple thing really, but the gnarled hand which held it did so in a way that conveyed a fondness and familiarity almost bordering on reverence.

On a simple leather cord around the figure's neck was a hand-made symbol crafted from cast-off bits of old harness leather and in the shape of the Great Enigma, marking the wearer as one of the eccentric priests of the God of Mysteries and Riddles...

"What denies the kiss of winter air? Binds and fills and covers and mends? Free but of great worth when placed just so? Both worn and worn?"

The figure reached up and pulled the cloak's colorful hood back to reveal features that were utterly unremarkable save for an amused curl at the corners of his mouth and a twinkle in eyes that laughed at an un-uttered jest.

"A patch." he said in a voice brimming with mirth but tinged with sorrow. "I'm simply called Patch." An odd introduction, but then again, the priesthood of Amun Tor was an odd lot after all...

"Your grace, I come at the behest of my Abbey, your summons was indeed cryptic and the subject of ongoing speculation... my brethren are still discussing it even now. The bones were cast and mine own was to be the honor of pursuing the answer. I suppose this means that I am at, and in, your service until this Question comes to Resolution. May Amun Tor smile upon us? Perhaps... perhaps."

The Princess listens to each response to her request, clearly pleased that the gathered adventurers are willing to lend Wendar aid. ”I am thankful for your brave assistance,” she says, her attention briefly going to the wizard, Orulto, ”whatever your motivations.”

“My soldiers have gathered some of their finest steeds for your use. I have had provisions made for your journey. My guard will see you north, to the border of Haven, and provide you a map for the remainder of your journey to Wendar. You will be traveling through friendly holdings, so I do not anticipate that your journey will be perilous.”

“Make haste to return as soon as you are able. I have every confidence that you will free Gylharen and his people from the danger that besieges them.”

The northward journey lasts several days, the adventurers following the traders’ road from Haven. The trek takes them through the rich grasslands and wide swamps of the Ethengar Khanate, into the rolling hills of the Heldann Freeholds. Those they meet along the path are friendly, most of them merchants, farmers, or trappers moving goods from one township to another. Although precautions are taken in case wild beasts, or the occasional band of roving orcs or goblins, are encountered, the trip is uneventful, mercifully free of danger.

But upon crossing into the valley that is home to Wendar, each of the adventurers can sense a change. Fields are untended, some choked with weeds. Homesteads are neglected, many clearly the victims of poverty. Here and there, a house has been pillaged and, in a few instances, burned to the ground.

Passing through the gates of the capital city, the company can see that conditions are much the same. Several children approach the mounted group as they enter, begging for coin. Although the adventurers can perceive that the capital was once a place of splendor, the squalor that has overtaken it gives it the appearance of a settlement under siege. Disaffected roam the streets and the craftsmen and workers who are fortunate enough to have some manner of livelihood all have dour countenances, their demeanor watchful and afraid.

The citadel, where Gylharen rules from, is easily seen; a stone structure with tall spires that stretch up into the gray sky. As the company carefully make their way toward it, they encounter a pair of soldiers breaking up a fight between two group of angry vegetable merchants. As the hostilities are settled, one of the men at arms notices the adventurers and approaches them, addressing the group politely. ”Afternoon to you. Forgive me for sayin’ so, but we’ve not seen anyone of your like in many moons. What brings you to Wendar?”

As fate would have it, the shortest of the provided mounts was to be the lot of the tall cleric. Though tall, nearly a head taller than the average human, Patch carried little weight upon that frame. His arms seemed overly long, his feet were large, and his neck seemed to have been stretched and punctuated by a very pointed adam's apple. The horse certainly wasn't burdened overly by the man's weight so much as the awkwardness of his length. As it turned out, Patch had only shift his hips a little and stretch his toes to touch the ground and dismount. This he did as he fished into the depths of raggedy patches that was his worn cloak.

"Here children," he said in a quiet voice, holding a few small coins. As they approached him, he placed two or three in each outstretched hand. The priest's face was shadowed by a broad-brimmed hat which had certainly seen better days, so it was difficult to tell if there was an expression of compassion on his face, or one of simple pragmatism. The children would now see him as a friend.

Arising to his feet and raising himself to his full height, Patch ignored the soldiers and took a look around at the scene before them. He paid particular attention to the eyes and mannerisms of the merchants. He walked over to them, positioning himself equally between the groups with those deliberate steps.

"Tell me, what is done with the waste each day, what do you do with the spoils and that which cannot be sold?"

The elf gives a short bow to the men-at-arms.

"Gentlemen...Princess Haven of Argenta has dispatched us this way to come to the aid of your  king."

The Elf had enjoyed the long trip up till now.  He was used to defending his homeland and had not had much time over the last century to travel extensively.  Given the nature of the Princess' call for allies had given him the excuse he had long sought to see the world.

Killian smiled at the guards and bit back his first thought of saying "horses" as his blithe answer.  Seeing that Jayanti had taken the lead in addressing the men-at-arms he instead turned his attention to Patch.

  A free horse?!?  Perhaps his Master was onto something after all.  Finding a nice black stallion, Jarder filled the saddle bag with food from the princess and wineskins...lots of wine skins.  On the way north, he takes in his new travelling companions around him and engages in pleasant conversation getting to know a bit about them.

  Once they reach the capital city he breathes a sigh of relief; not one for roughing it on the ground, he fancies himself a good night in a good inn.  Not really one for talking with guards, he stays toward in the back off to one side keeping an eye on the surrounding areas.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:10, Tue 18 June 2019.

The mage eyes the children disdainfully, then turns his attention to the guards.

“As we are here on royal business, perhaps you should take us to your king at once?  The less said of our business in public, the better.  You never know where spies may be found.”

Greyband was quite lively at the start of the journey, talking freely with his former companions Jayanti and Orin and chatting with the others. As the signs of devastation betrayed themselves, however, he grew more and more reticent. In the city, he, like Patch, made a point of giving silver pieces to the children who asked and speaking kind words to whomever he could.



Greyband nods solemnly in agreement with this, making sure his Argentan seal can be seen on his armor.



Greyband shoots the wizard a look and turns to the guard. "Apologies for my companion's rudeness. As my friend the elf said, we have been sent to provide aid by Princess Argenta. To whom in a position of authority may we speak?"

Orin's grimaced at Neuken's tone and hoped the guards wouldn't be too offended to help them.  From the air about the city, he doubted many were in a mood to go out of their way for anyone but themselves.  Hard times tended to do that to people, make them withdraw from others and jealousy think of themselves ahead of all.

With several of the group already directly engaging the guard in conversation Orin found himself near Jarder and had found him an engaging sort over their travels, making him the perfect one to exchange whispers with.  "Rough lookin' town, eh lad?  You can see where it used ta be nice, but now," the dwarf just shook his head sadly.

One of the merchants shakes his head at Patch’s question, gesturing to the refuse strewn streets. ”Doesn’t take much for us to sell all we have. Food’s gotten scarce of late, what with the drought that’s come upon the valley, and the trade haltin’. Most of what we get comes from locals. We have any left, we pass it to the orphanage near the citadel. Make sure the young un’s have somethin’ to put in their bellies.”

The guardsman’s eyes widen as he grasps where the visitors have come from, swallowing hard at Orulto’s admonition. ”From Haven? Truly? Then you’re an answer to many prayers. The king, Gylharen, I’m certain he’ll want to see you at once.”

He starts off down the street, in the direction of the stronghold at the city’s center, a pair of other soldiers falling in beside him. ”This way, please,” he tells the adventurers, motioning for them to follow.

The adventurers have the sense that the Citadel of Wendar was once a place that was full of life and activity, but now its vaulted halls sit dusty and silent, occupied only by a small garrison of soldiers. The company’s guide inquires after the king’s whereabouts with his fellow guardsmen and is directed to the library.

The citadel’s circular library is impressive, stretching almost three stories in height, virtually all of the wall space covered in shelves laden with tomes and scrolls, stairs and balconies allowing access to the collections above. Many of the holdings are ancient, from the look of them. In the center of the floor is a wide table, upon which are spread a pair of maps and numerous books. Leaning over the table, studying one of the maps intently is a man in a dark blue robe. His gray beard is trimmed neatly and his eyes are marked with dark circles, evidence of sleeplessness that explains his wearied demeanor.

”Sire,” the guardsman announces, ”these are champions sent to aid us from the Kingdom of Haven. The Princess Argenta, she has heeded your call for help.”

The king looks up from his studies, blinking in surprise. ”I cannot believe it. I thought our requests had fallen on deaf ears, or never even reached those neighbors we call friends. Be welcome here, adventurers! To say that I am glad you have come does not adequately express the relief I feel at your arrival.”

Gylharen, King of Wendar, approaches the company. ”Are you truly here to place your talents in the service of our faltering kingdom? If you could somehow return the stone, Elvenstar, to its rightful place among us, we...we would be safe once again. Not forced to live in fear of what darkness lies to the north. I cannot dare imagine that it could be so.”

“That is why we have come, your Highness.  If you can ever get me out of this library, that is.  What a magnificent collection!”

He casts his thirsty gaze on the vast gathering of wizened books and scrolls, wishing he had a few decades to spare.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:50, Fri 21 June 2019.

Greyband nods and follows the man, standing ramrod-straight and nodding to the others.



Greyband bows respectfully as the king approaches before straightening back to his ramrod-straight posture. "As my learned companion states, we are here to be of aid. We can even boast of having good fortune in pursuit of another quest involving a gem, as Jayanti, Orin and I were among those who freed the princess from the ruby curse some years ago.

"Please do tell us more: where is the Elvenstar now? What fell things keep it from you?"

Following the others into the Citadel, Jarder takes in the sights and does his best to control any 'impulse' to acquire something.

Waiting his turn and then bowing he adds to Greybands question; "Aid we shall give you, but please tell us what this Elvenstar is and where we can find it?"

Killian's ears perked up "Elvenstar?"

OOC: Sorry for the short post.  Busy days.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:56, Sat 22 June 2019.

Patch nodded his head as the merchant explained. "That is well. The young ones are needful in times of plenty... even moreso now..." The tall cleric tapped his weathered staff on the street a time or two, a faraway look in his eyes as the lines around them tightened momentarily.

"Times are difficult, but they'll soon change if my companions and I have any degree of success. When that happens, remember what you've done in times of want and double it when the spoils once again fall to the wayside and find homes in the gutters."

He made a strange gesture, made eye contact with each, and then turned to follow his new companions toward their meeting with royalty.

~~~

When they arrived at the library, Patch joined the mage in gaping at the books. He seemed nearly as interested, and of all the things he might have said to a King at first impression, the following was what he asked...

"Do any of them have pictures Your Majesty, perhaps?"

Like the others, Orin found the library very impressive.  He was not especially fond of book learning and such, but he recognized and respected the wealth and knowledge the accumulated tomes and scrolls represented.  And of course from his stature it looked all the more impressive.

He bowed to the mage-king when Greyband introduced he and Jayanti and uttered a polite, "Your majesty" but otherwise kept his mouth hidden behind his whiskers and his ears open wide.  When the king mentioned the stone Elvenstar Orin suddenly shuffled a little nervously.  Another stoneAnother stoneAnother stone, he thought.  Anvil of the Mountain Lord, not a second cursed gift from the dwarves, I hope!

”Elvenstar was a gift of the great sages of the Fae,” Gylharen explains, ”It was given to us in an hour of great need and served as the  source of our victory, and our ongoing protection.”

“Years ago, our kingdom was trying to hold back an invasion from the barren lands to the north, Denagoth. Their highly trained lancers and the savage bands of orcs and goblins that served them had brought our smaller army to the brink of destruction. They were led by a fiend, a necromancer of terrible power called Landryn Teriak, known to his servants as the Shadow Lord.”

“The Fae, who understood our desire to rule Wendar justly, saw our plight and gifted the Elvenstar to us, a sapphire the size of a man’s fist, suffused with silver light. It served to strengthen the magic we used, many, many times over. With the stone at hand, I and the wizards of the realm were able to repel the invasion. When the war had ended, the sapphire served to power the wards we created to guard the valley, workings that have held evil forces at bay for decades now.”

He sighs heavily, leaning on the table with his palms. ”One of the apprentice wizards who came here to learn, a young man named Camla, betrayed us all and stole Elvenstar. It was a year ago, and it is certain that he spirited the stone away to Denagoth. I must presume it lies in the possession of the Shadow Lord, or whoever has succeeded him in leading that terrible land.”

He shakes his head. ”Since that time, droughts have decimated our crops and plague has ravaged our people. Our borders are harassed by raids and my spies report armies amassing just beyond the Mengul Mountains.”

“If we catch up to this Camla, he will pay dearly for his crime.  Those who betray all must fall.”

A light has come on behind his eyes, as though revenge was a more tantalizing prospect than even fighting and plunder... even if it was revenge on another’s behalf.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:45, Tue 25 June 2019.

Jayanti bows.

"Your Majesty...is there reason to believe that the Shadow Lord has mastered the secrets of the Elvenstone to protect his kingdom, as it was used here? If so, how could its magics be used against us as we get closer to the artifact?"

Greyband nodded, waiting for an answer to Jayanti's very good question.

The king shakes his head emphatically. ”No. The stone draws its power from the pure energies of the Fae. They cannot be harnessed by those of corrupt intent. The Shadow Lord cannot turn the Elvenstar against us, only deprive us of its protection by its absence.”

Jayanti nods and glances to Greyband. "That's a relief!"

Killian listened to the King as he explained the power of the Elvenstar.  The Elf shook his head sadly "Warding your realm was not enough, your majesty.  The Elves have used that strategy for untold centuries.  We have thought that keeping what is ours hidden and protected would keep us safe.  My brethren continue to think that, but it is untrue.  Time and again we have been pushed back, defeated and retreat more.

"Safety is not achieved by Elf-like passivity.  My House has finally acknowledged that Truth and we have grown strong by fighting back, by seeking out likely threats and allies both.  It is why I am here as a representative of House Hawkfire."

Greyband nods sagely at this. He then turns back to the king. "Can you give us any insight about how we can track it down? Any magical tips, or a last known location? Or maybe a contact in the kingdom who can give us a lead?"

Patch rubbed a little dust away from the spine of a particularly ancient-looking tome, seemingly disinterested in the conversation going on somewhat away from him.

"... or perhaps something we might use as bait to catch someone - or something - that might be encouraged to share certain information with us?" he asked over his shoulder, betraying the fact that he had indeed been paying close heed.

“Quite so, Master Elf,” Gylhaten says in somber agreement, ”I fear I have become complacent with the state of Wendar’s army, content to only have soldiers stationed at each of our borders, vigilant for raiders, not entire armies. It is a mistake I am seeking to correct even now, but I am doubtful that we would be ready, should invaders from Denagoth arrive in the coming weeks.”

Addressing the other adventurers’ questions, the king replies, ”Myself and a few of my fellow wizards have been able to obtain visions regarding Elvenstar’s location. It is in a tower, on a barren plateau in the northern part of Denagoth. Beyond that, my and others’ sight has been restricted, likely by the efforts of the Shadow Lord.”

“For aid, I mean to lend you the services of one of my finest soldiers, one who has braved parts of the Mengul Mountains before.”

“Also...just beyond the mountain pass in Denagoth is a village called Geron. The Shadow Lord’s forces maintain a barracks there. One of my spies has infiltrated the town and will be waiting there to share what he has learned with you. Even I do not know what he looks like, but he will respond to a password. Should you ask him, ’What is the price of gray breeches?”, he will answer, ’Not much, unless the trim is gold.””
This message was last edited by the player at 01:45, Fri 28 June 2019.

Greyband grins. "A pass-phrase that I can stand by, that's for certain. Grew up in grey breeches, after all."

He looks at his companions. "I've heard all I need to. Anyone else have questions?"

"Agreed.  I am good and would like to get this started.  the faster we get moving the sooner we get this Sapphire back here and fix the problems."

The eccentric cleric's face turned away from the books and toward the king, his eyes seemed to twinkle. "A passphrase! How delicious! But you realize, oh King, that a countersign should be employed on the rare chance that someone actually IS interested in the price of breeches..." He began to suggest several but his companions' urgency brought him up short. "I'll have a word with this agent your Majesty. It is, in fact, something I've a particular, religious, interest in you understand."

"I'm at the disposal of the party, weary and winding roads are no stranger to me,

ever forward, seldom back,
the branches split and merge along the track,
dusty, dry or muddy wet,
hailing passers-by I've not yet met,
a hearth, a humble Inn
found at the day's long, exhausting end...

Yes, let's go find this Shadow fellow and share with him the riddle of steel."

“Why must it be gray breeches?  Gray is such a dull, insidious color.  Why not something more cheerful, such as pink breeches?  I would pay a much higher price for the pink.”

Will they realize he merely jests?  He waits.  The last time he tried a variation on this gag, he nearly received a crossbow bolt to the throat in response.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:36, Sun 30 June 2019.

Orin regarded Neuken with bushy eyebrows tilted high on his craggy brow and glinting blue eyes tinged with surprise.  I hadn't figured an evil greater than anything in Denagoth to favour pink, he thought with a mixture of amusement and alarm.  But it takes all kinds...

"Ahruum, yes...er, pink."  Orin coughed, blinked twice, then turned to their regal host.  "I have a question if I might, your majesty.  I am not familiar with the lands of Denagoth, nor of the people who live there.  Can we expect to be able to move about freely if we do nothing in particular to attract attention?  Are elves and dwarves," he waved a hand at his non-human companions, ending by taping his own breastplate, "common sights?  Or must we slink about to avoid any notice at all?"

The king pauses momentarily, blinking at Orulto as though stymied for a response. When Starshine speaks up, he gives his attention to the dwarven warrior.

”From what our spy has been able to tell me, southern Denagoth is primarily populated by humans and orcs. From what I am given to understand, the further north one travels, the more creatures of a monstrous kind they will encounter.”

“However, it seems Denagoth is willing to open its doors to any that would serve it in a mercenary capacity, regardless of heritage. So, I am inclined to think that should you put on a believable front as a sword for hire, one appropriately devoid of morals, you will encounter little trouble.”

He pauses. ”However, I must tell you that I am uncertain how Denagoth guards its border, but whatever method it uses, it is an effective one. Almost all of the scouts and spies I have tried to send into the realm have never been heard from again. The one spy who reached the barren country, the one you can seek out in Geron, was an outdoorsman of some renown. He traveled through the mountains themselves and the journey took him the better part of a year. We thought him dead, until he was able to send word to us. Time would necessitate that you use the passes to gain entrance to Denagoth. But be cautious. Somehow, they are able to halt those that mean them harm.”

“I will, of course, provide you with fresh mounts, rations, and letters of passage for my forces to the north. Renia, one of my finest scouts, will accompany you as well.”

“You will rest here, in the Citadel, tonight. At first light, all will be ready for your departure.”

Just as Gylharen promised, fresh horses from the king’s stable await the adventurers in the citadel’s courtyard at the break of dawn, their saddlebags filled with all that the company members would require for the journey. Already mounted on one of the steeds is a red haired female warrior, clad in chainmail, a long sword at her belt and a spear strapped to her back. She greets the group with a smile and a nod.

”I am called Renia. I’ve served in the king’s army since I was of age. I’ve ridden the pass to Denagoth many times, setting ambushes for the lancers and orcs that seek to enter the valley. I’m eager to enter that terrible realm. To take back what belongs to Wendar and see those that stole it punished for the evil they’ve visited upon us.”

“Unless any of you desire otherwise, I mean for us to ride at a quick pace. If we do, we should reach the mountain passes by midday.”

Killian frowned at Neuken, but said nothing.

Once the group meets Renia the Elf gave a quick nod to the soldier "Welcome, a brisk ride sounds like the correct course.  Shall we go?"

Greyband shoots Neuken a look that suggests that a crossbow bolt might, in fact, be forthcoming. "Anyhow..." he growls, restraining himself for the moment.



Greyband nods seriously. <goldenrod>"A reasonable caution, thank you." He spends a moment mulling the matter while the king continues his offer of resources.

He then thanks the king warmly, if formally, and retires to enjoy the king's hospitality.



Greyband had drank well but rose early to inspect their new equipment and mounts. He surveys their health and, at Renia's words nods. "That's assuming all of us can ride steeds this tall and stout."

“We should carefully consider our plan well before we arrive,” Neuken suggests.  “If we intend to pose as mercenaries seeming employment, I heartily recommend myself for the position of party leader and speaker.  I’m very fluent in the language of evil.”

Killian shoots a eyebrow up "Perhaps we should have spoken more during our trip?  It seems we do not know each other as well as we should for such a delicate bit of Kingdom saving?"

Greyband looks at Neukan and scowls. "You are not going to be our spokesman. In fact, if you try to speak, I'll be inclined to stop you before you get us killed."

Greyband turns to Killian. "Perhaps so. I would be more comfortable, though, with you doing the talking than Neukan here."

Killian smiled at Greyband "Hearing the way our robed friend speaks I would be more comfortable with me doing the talking as well!" the Elf laughed; "However, I am no spokesman, especially where we are going.  We need someone who is diplomatic, subtle and streetwise for this sort of work.   Steel and Spell are my forte, not words!"

Orin stared up dubiously at the steed awaiting him.  He mistrusted the animal already, seeing it was much taller than he was and carried a satisfied smirk on its face, or so it seemed to the dwarf.  "It's a pleasure ta meet ya," he said to Renia, "but I don't think a quick pace is in the offin'."

While the others talked over leadership and spokespersons Orin busied himself with the task of actually getting onto the horse.  With his bulk and the load of his armour and gear he found the prospect of hauling himself aboard a little daunting.  After two or three false starts he gave up and threw decorum to the wind, instead gripping one of the stirrups tight and using his brawny arms to heave himself high enough to secure a foot.  After that is was a relatively simple affair of more hauling, leg kicking and belly-shimmying to get himself in place in the saddle.  Once there he looked about, breathing hard.

"So this is what you see all the time, lad!" he exclaimed breathlessly, turning a humourous eye to the tall Greyband.  "Rarefied air indeed!"

Killian moved to assist Orin, but stopped as the Dwarf, with grim determination, mounted up.  The Elf laughed "You have done well, Master Dwarf, I fear that I would not have been half as dignified if I was asked to mount up on a Giraffe!"

Neuken climbs his horse and waits.  As his sensible suggestions have been forsaken, he can hardly wait for the proposed alternative.

Greyband grins at Orin's comment. "Don't let it get to your head, son of Starshine." he quips.

He shrugs. "Fine. Unless someone else has a better proposal, I'll be the spokesman. Neuken's right about one thing: we're posing as a band of mercenaries, and that's the tone I'm going to take unless anyone feels otherwise. We need to hide any signs of our association with our homelands and liege lords, if any."

He turns to Neuken. "All right, expert in evil things, what would be a good name for our mercenary group? Something that is believable, looking at us, while giving the impression we're tough customers."

“I would go with something droll.  Most professional evildoers I’ve known have had an understated sense of humor which reflects their complete sense of comfort with the despicable acts they commit for selfish gain.  Perhaps, the Daywreckers?”

He smiles, obviously amused by his own suggestion.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:22, Fri 05 July 2019.

Greyband shrugs and looks at the others. "The Daybreakers, eh? What do you lot think?"

"Better than the Windbreakers..."

He said with a straight face. Almost.

Renia shakes her head at Jayanti’s comment and smiles. “Indeed,” she says.

Wheeling her mount toward the courtyard gate, she adds, ”We’ll keep a pace that’s as brisk as possible, but that allows us to be watchful. The northern road has become uncertain with regard to its safety of late.” She nods to Orin. ”You’ve already done well, Master Dwarf. Don’t worry. We won’t go any faster than what’s reasonable for you and your mount.”

Loosening her sword in her scabbard, the scout leads the way out of the citadel. Soon, the city is behind the band of adventurers, and the rolling terrain of the valley has opened up before them.

The ride through the northern part of the valley is uneventful, through the adventurers can easily see the effects the absence of magical protection has had on Wendar. The fields of many farms lay barren, or lined with with crops that are primarily withered, the stalks of grain and vegetables gray and lifeless. The realm is oddly quiet, the familiar sounds of birds and livestock virtually absent, the only noise to accompany the company’s trek that of a mournful wind.

Soon, the lifeless grasslands give way to forests that carpet the foothills at the base of the towering Mengul Mountains. Many of the trees carry barren branches, as though winter had already visited itself upon Wendar. The road quickly becomes narrow, the thin, overgrown trail a testament to how few travel it.

After an hour beneath the bare canopy, the road curves west around a steep, tree lined rise, then veers north again. Coming around the bend, the company spies a group of six horsemen in Wendarian uniforms, each armed with swords and lances. The soldiers hail the adventurers and their leader, a dark haired man with craggy features rides forward to meet them.

”Good day to you. What brings you up this far into the foothills?” he asks.

The eccentric cleric hadn't really been aloof, rather had instead been absorbed in his preparations of a spiritual nature. The Mysterious One's adherents were a strange lot in general, a myriad of eclectic personalities with varying - and sometimes odd - religious observance. Patch was no exception. He spent an entire hour, early in the morning, just watching a trail of ants carrying bits of his breakfast across the floor, and into a crack in the wall. When he returned to the group, he looked to be somehow rejuvenated, though to guess his true age was a total shot in the dark.

He approached in the middle of the conversation, and simply added as if in a parallel conversation with only himself, "Day Wreckers might be more appropriate." Then looking once more at the motley gathering, "Perhaps the Heart Breakers... or Home Wreckers." The last held some barbs.

At the edge of town, Patch made a smooching sound with his lips and grunted strangely. From of a filthy mire rose a monster with large ears, a huge snout, and long, razor-sharp tusks! The monster made a similar sound though it was more of a bark, low and rumbling.

"There you are J.D., hope you had a nice evening, though I might have expected you to clean up a bit before we continue our journey."

The monster made its way up out of the mire, shaking much of the muck and mud from itself, and began to waddle toward the odd cleric. It became clear that the creature was a huge boar, though it seemed to be, at least somewhat, domesticated. Or just not hungry at the moment.

Patch stepped off his horse and handed the reigns to the gate watch. "Please return this fellow to the stables, His Majesty insisted and I'm not one to turn down a gift. But my old friend here will bear my burden as is his lot to do."

Patch flopped a set of very dilapidated saddlebags across the boar's rump and waved a hand over the broad back. The mud instantly dried, turned to dust and fell to the ground, providing a somewhat cleaner place for the cleric to sit. Patch clutched at his name-sake cloak and swung his leg over. The boar grunted a bit and stood up. So massive was the animal, that the long-legged Patch sat nearly at eye level with his companions who were horseback.

"JD and I, we'll bring up the rear." Patch motioned them to lead on and then laid his bleached white staff across his lap.


~~~

Ignoring, or perhaps oblivious of the party spokesmanship rankings, Patch nodded to the soldier, guiding his boar mount to a halt. "That's hardly a riddle Sir, I mean no offense, but you might wish to sharpen that up a bit. The obvious answer is 'a road', but there's no twist, there's no clever play on words in the way you asked it. Let me see if I can help you..."

Patch thought for a moment and then said by way of suggestion,

After a pause Patch gave the answer, "A Road. The road brought us here, you have your answer and a better way to ask for it. Now then, may we pass?"
This message was last edited by the player at 07:22, Sun 07 July 2019.

“Please excuse our friend,” Neuken interjects.  “He’s a bit... you know...”  He points to his temple and draws three invisible circles with his finger.

Then he waits for somebody else to seize the verbal initiative.

Killian looks to their guide.  He assumes that Renia would either know the guards personally or know how to deal with them best.

Jayanti stares silently at the pack-boar. He's heard of halflings...or was it goblins? riding boars into battle, so she shrugged it off.

And at the very least, if they ever get stranded, they'll have a hamsteak barbeque for the ages before they're rescued.

Looking to Renia, Killian sees that the scout is frowning as she observes the interaction between the party and the soldiers. Speaking quietly, she tells the elf, ”None of these men are known to me. I do not recognize any of them.”

The soldier’s face is a mask as he listens to the curate’s reply, glancing over at Orulto when the mage offers a commentary on the priest’s mental well being. Sighing, the man-at-arms nods and says, ”Quite so. It is the road that has brought you and your companions to the base of the Mengul Mountains. But it is a route that is rarely traveled. Usually only by soldiers like ourselves, or persons of ill intent. Bandits and the like. So, tell me, what business brings your company here this day?”

Greyband nods. "Mercenaries looking for work." he says simply.

When the giant boar first emerged from the mudhole Orin had been delighted.  Here was an animal that would surely better suit his stature and demeanour!  But after the beast had shaken most of the mud from its coarse hide and neared the party for Patch to mount, the dwarf's face fell.  After all, the hog was tall enough at the shoulder to keep the priest's feet clear of the ground.  How was that any better than the horse he was perched upon now?  Was everything in this kingdom built for giants?

He snorted, not a bad approximation of Patch's mount.  "Nice pig," he said with a lopsided grin as he trotted past, trying not to wobble overly much in the saddle.
~~~~~~~~~~~

When they reached the foothills and were accosted by the local guard, Orin noted another strange occurrence.  He found that he actually appreciated Neuken's critique of Patch.  Did that mean he was already getting into character as a cruel, selfish mercenary?  Orin didn't think so, but perhaps some active practice wouldn't be out of order.

So he sat on his horse looking gruff and dour, bushy brows lowered in a half-scowl at the guardsman.  When Greyband provided their reason for being there, he punctuated it by spitting on the ground to the side of his mount and then returned his glower to the guard.

"What's the name of the commander that these men would be under?" Killian asked quietly.

“If you have had bandit troubles, our services would be most useful,” he adds.  “Our rates are reasonable.”
This message was last edited by the player at 12:09, Tue 09 July 2019.

”Remed Vestelin,” Renia replies, ”A tall man. Barrel chested. Olive toned skin. Dark hair and beard. Loves to drink, but an excellent captain.”

The soldier grins, casting a glance at the other uniformed men behind him. ”I think we have any bandits roaming this part of the kingdom well in hand. But, we certainly wouldn’t want to keep you from seeking out gainful work elsewhere. So, by all means...” He gestures to the trail leading northward. ”Safe travel to you.”

"Well, if you've got such burdensome nuisances under control, then our prospects are diminished." Patch shook his head. "I suppose there still might be some rabid wolf or perhaps even an achy-toothed ogre out there somewhere that is in need of dispatch. Something will turn up."

The odd cleric nudged his massive porcine mount forward. "Don't forget the riddle, proper presentation, practice your timing, you may even wish to seek the help of the Great Master of Riddles himself, Amun Tor... I'll put in a good word for you."

Killian smiled at the talkative soldier "It has been a year or two since I was up this way working as a bounty hunter, but I was impressed by the professionalism of the border patrols.  Tell me, is Demer Pestelin still your commander?  He was a teetotaler, but still a good fellow."

Neuken nods appreciatively to the guards, then follows Patch further up the road.  He hopes Killian avoids spilling the beans...

The soldier manages a friendly smile. ”Pestelin! Yes! Of course! He...uh...oversees most of the patrols here. Still won’t touch any strong drink. Gives the lads and me hell anytime we have a cask of ale brought up.” He laughs and glances over his shoulder at the other guardsmen. After a moment, they join in his mirth.

"Hah!  Sounds like the same old Pestelin.  Safe journey, I hope you and the boys come across a wine smuggler to slake your thirst while the boss is not around!  Farewell!"

Killian makes to move on.

Jarders hands remain casually on his hilts while the others do the talking.

The soldiers move to one side of the narrow trail to allow the party passage. Renia keeps her head down, avoiding eye contact with any of the uniformed men as the company rides past.

Once the adventurers are well out of earshot of the patrol, the scout says, ”Those men were Denagothian Lancers. I am certain of it. They must have slain some of our guardsmen and taken their uniforms.” An enraged scowl settles on her features.

A short distance further, the company spies a trio of carrion birds, their wide, black wings outstretched, circling a spot northeast of the road, a brief ride from the party’s position. Wisps of dark smoke rise from the area where the scavenger birds have gathered.

"This does not bode well.

"My condolences for the loss of your brave border men." offered Killian

"Now that we have a moment to speak more freely we should decide if we want to do something about them, or do we let them be?  Our missions lies elsewhere, but I will not give resistance to the idea of exacting justice."   
This message was last edited by the player at 18:32, Fri 12 July 2019.

"Looks as if they're controlling the border now... That's a step towards invasion. Let's complicate their efforts. Perhaps we ambush them tonight and steal back the uniforms?"

“This is a foolish idea.  The quickest way to alert the enemy to our true mission is to act out of character.  I am not opposed to fighting at the appropriate time, but for now our mission should take precedence.”

"Aye, but who's to say we're out of character?" asked Orin archly.  "We met a bunch of guards that fight for a country whose enemy we are tryin' to join, as mercenaries.  How were we to know they weren't actually men from Wendar?"

"Seems like this could be our way to avenge the good men of Wendar, lessen the number of invaders and bring a gift, the uniforms, into Denagoth that shows how strongly we're on their side."

"I'm havin' trouble findin' the down side, to be honest."

“Let me help you, then.  For one thing, mercenaries wouldn’t be wearing those uniforms.  And if they were, they wouldn’t be blood-soaked and riddled with sword slashes and other marks.”

"I never said to wear the uniforms," Orin tsked.  "We take them along with us in a pack or something, and show them off to the enemy we're tryin' to infiltrate as a sign of good faith."

"See here?" the dwarf said, mimicking a future conversation where he was displaying the uniforms.  "We ran across a patrol on our way out of Wendar that wanted to run us into the gaol.  We managed them without much trouble though!  You could use a few of us around here, I'd bet."

He looked to Neukon.  "See what I mean?"

”I think it’s a very sound idea,” Renia volunteers, checking the sharpness of her blade with a gloved hand, her thoughts clearly preoccupied with vengeance.

"That would only be convincing if the uniforms were ripped and bloody..."

"That it does not," growls Greyband as he joins the others in investigating.



Greyband nods his assent. "I like it."



Greyband looks thoughtful and snaps his fingers. "We hunt and use the blood from the game to bloody the uniforms a bit. The tearing should be natural enough. I am liking this!"

"They are wearing the uniforms.  If we kill them, they will be covered in blood." said Killian.

"I observe that many a uniform is bloodied and torn from time to time, for if not, then of what value are the guardsmen upon whom they are clad? The garments should wash up and mend easily enough... but I'm still convinced it should be a mid-night raid, perhaps then they'll not be wearing their uniforms, nor likely their armor!"

Patch let his gaze drift to where the smoke was rising and the carrion-birds were, even now, circling. "In the meantime, perhaps we should investigate yonder mystery...?"

"Let us go investigate these carrion birds and see what clues we might find.  As for my vote, I like the idea of selling ourselves this way, and striking our first blow."

“If we have decided on battle, I urge you to permit me to hit them with a spell before engaging them with axe and sword.  It is often best to soften the butter before cutting it.”

"Sounds wise," nodded Orin to the mage, and then looked to Greyband.  "So, to the carrion birds first, or to take care of the false guards?  I fear if we wait too long we may not find them again."

"The birds tell me that whatever they are looking at will keep.  The guards, however, are riding away." offered Killian.

Patch turned toward the elf and cocked one bushy eyebrow, giving the fullest view of his lined face as, perhaps, any of them had seen to this point. The shade of the wide brim of his dilapidated hat withdrew for that moment and a look of deep interest was manifest.

"The birds, of course... if we extinguish said rogues, then the birds may think we'll be providing them their next meal. Let's trail them at a distance and pick them off tonight... Whatcha think J.D.?" He patted the massive hog on his broad, bristly neck.

The hog simply grunted.

"Not very eloquent my friend. I think you're being upstaged by the birds..."

Greyband shakes his head at Patch's suggestion. "Sorry, no; I think we should just investigate. I'm not much use at sneaking or recon. Like the wizard said, we should let him soften enemies up from a distance first and then move in to finish them off--sound strategy."

"We can't be following them all day.  Strike now, or let them go. And we must decide quickly."  said Killian.

"We should strike now.  I can sneak in and strike the first blow quietly and then in the confusion the rest of you can sweep in and finish the job." Jarder says while playing with his dagger on his finger.

Patch finally relented. "So be it, J.D. is probably hungry anyway, let's get this over with."

The odd cleric pulled his wide-brimmed hat down tightly in preparation for a charge, which might have seemed highly comical to see a tall and spindly, patch covered holy man riding a sharp-tusked, bristle-backed boar, were he not so serious about the matter.

"Someone lead the way. Orulto, at your will, unleash whatever it is you might be contemplating..."

“Let’s get closer.  I have to actually see them first.”

He rolls his shoulders, trying to loosen up.

Orin nodded solemnly at the decision, his face grim but steady.  He blew a breath out and ruffled the whiskers around his mouth, before smoothing them with nervous strokes of his hand.  Somewhat awkwardly guiding his horse around, he waited to take up his position in line behind those more well-versed in tracking and more stealthy, especially upon horseback.

Pulling his hood over his head, Jarder unsheathes his sword and dagger and prepares to sneak into the camp and strike the first blow.

Renia leads the adventurers on a winding route southward, keeping to the cover of the tall trees where possible as the company ventures back the way they came.

Soon, the glow of a campfire is glimpsed within a clearing ahead. Moving closer, the adventurers can see the soldiers they had encountered previously gathered about it. The men are dismounted, their horses hitched nearby. They are talking boisterously, laughing often, passing a bottle of what appears to be wine around the small circle they have formed.

In reply to Dungeon Master (msg # 102):

"I do not think battle calls for complicated tactics?  The magic-user blasts them and then the rest of us rush in and clean up." asked the Elf.

Killian will maneuver around so that he can get between the soldiers and the mounts when the fighting starts.

Greyband nods and turns to Neuken. "On your signal, we go." He lowers his visor, readies his mighty sword  and prepares...

With a fierce grin, Neuken raises his hands and chants quietly.  His fingers seem to dance in and out of existence, until a fiery orb appears.

Nueken casts Fireball at the enemy camp.

10:41, Today: Neuken Orulto rolled 14 using 5d6.  Fireball damage.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:41, Sat 20 July 2019.

The dwarf slid down from his horse well before they approached the clearing, not trusting his ability to do so quietly.  And if the off-balance hop-hop-shuffle complete with windmilling arms was any indication, it was a wise decision.  Smoothing his beard once he'd regained his balance, Orin set off on foot with the others toward the imposters' camp.

Using the trees as cover he spread out in the direction opposite of Killian, planning to present an extra front that the soldiers would have to respect.  Crouched behind shield and pine, his deep set eyes peered at their quarry as he waited for Neuken's magic to take hold.

Patch winced but couldn't help but smile a bit as the sorcerous blast enveloped the camp, for such an impressive feat of summoning a ball of fire into existence and dropping it on one's enemies was always impressive.

"So much for saving the uniforms..." he muttered to the hog standing next to him.

Not wishing to take any of the fun from his more robust companions, the odd traveler launched a stone at one of the burning men with an old, worn leather sling.

Sling Attack: Patch rolled 3 to miss badly.

At his side, the boar grunted, sort of a pleading sound, it's large, floppy ears forward.

"Oh alright, go ahead J.D. ..."

With a wild squeal the boar charged into the fray!

Tusk Attack: J.D. rolled 18 to hit AC-1 for 10 damage! (2x for charge)

Jarder attempts to sneak in the camp from an angle to get a backstab but fails as the Fireball erupts amongst the enemy.  In the light of the fire he finds a target and throws 'Hornet' his magic dagger at a target.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

OOC:  Hit AC 4 for4 DMG

07:04, Today: Jarder Mehro rolled 4 using 1d4+1.
07:04, Today: Jarder Mehro rolled 4 using 1d4+1.  DMG.
07:04, Today: Jarder Mehro rolled 13 using 1d20+4.  Throw Dagger.
07:03, Today: Jarder Mehro rolled 100 using 1d100.  Move Silently.

09:15, Today: Dungeon Master rolled 1 using 1d6.  Surprise.

Their attention on their conversation, and the bottle of wine being shared, the Denagothians remain entirely unaware that they are being observed, a state they remain in until Orulto’s fireball comes streaking out of the trees, exploding fiercely in the center of their camp.

Flames licking their stolen uniforms, the soldiers scramble in different directions. One feels a sling bullet whizz past his ear, only to stumble right into the charge of an angry boar. Another, attempting to loosen his sword from its scabbard, howls as a dagger is suddenly buried between his shoulder blades.

The Denagothians’ leader attempts to croak out a few orders, vainly attempting to impose some manner of order in the midst of panic.

OOC: As the lancers are surprised, the remainder of the party is free to take action before initiative is rolled for. All of the Denagothians are injured. None are dead.

For reference, all of the Denagothians have an AC of 5.

Orin charged into the clearing, hammer raised high and shield held forward like a battering ram.  The problem was he left cover just a little too early.  The blast of light and heat from the fireball didn't harm him per se, but the smell of singed dwarf beard pervaded his nostrils and lights danced before his eyes as he tried to line up his swing.  The result wasn't pretty, leaving the false guardsman no worse for wear and the dwarf feeling mighty foolish.


OOC:

16:05, Today: Orin Starshine rolled 7 using 1d20+2.  Attack false guard.  Miss!

Killian seeks out the guard he spoke to, if possible.  Otherwise he just attacks the nearest guard to the horses.

With battle blade held high Killian cleaves the nearest guard.

16:15, Today: Killian Hawkfire rolled 21 using 1d20+4.  attack.
16:15, Today: Killian Hawkfire rolled 5 using 1d10+4.  damage.

Remaining on the fringe of the battle Jarder pulls out his sling and takes aim at a target catching the shoulder of one of the fake guards.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
OOC:  Hit AC -2 for 1 DMG

19:16, Today: Jarder Mehro rolled 1 using 1d4.  sling attack.
19:16, Today: Jarder Mehro rolled 19 using 1d20+4.  attack.

Jayanti draws and arrow, but a sneeze at the last moment makes the shot go wide.


08:55, Today: Jayanti rolled 7,5 using d20+2,d6.  Bowshot.

Greyband springs in, roaring, but his foes' armor just barely deflects his blow.

Move in, just miss (AC 6).
13:39, Today: Greyband rolled 11 using 1d20+4 with rolls of 7.  Charging a guard.

Renia joins the rest of the company in their charge, bringing her blade down upon the shoulder of the first Denagothian she closes with.

22:15, Today: Renia rolled 21 using 1d20+3.  Attack - Sword.

22:15, Today: Renia rolled 4 using 1d8+3.  Damage.

The charging boar manages to slay the Denagothian it brings to the ground. Killian, likewise, kills the the false guard he faces, the same one that had been struck by Jarder’s well placed dagger. Renia manages to grievously wound another of the lancers, the man snarling in rage at the injury.

22:21, Today: Dungeon Master rolled 1 using 1d6.  Initiative - Party.

22:21, Today: Dungeon Master rolled 6 using 1d6.  Initiative - Guards.

’The mage that called the fire! Find him!” roars the Denagothian’s leader as he presses toward the party in search of Orulto. Finding himself confronting Orin instead, he takes a swipe at the dwarf with his blade, but his attack is deftly blocked by the warrior’s shield.

22:30, Today: Dungeon Master rolled 15 using 1d20.  Attack - Dark Lancer.

Seeing his companion fall, another of the lancers thrusts the point of his blade at Killian. The attack misses the elf’s chest, but manages to tear across his flank.

22:34, Today: Dungeon Master rolled 20 using 1d20.  Attack - Dark Lancer.

22:34, Today: Dungeon Master rolled 3 using 1d8.  Damage - Dark Lancer.

The last of the remaining Denagothians returns Renia’s assault with a sweeping swing of his sword. He lands a solid blow on the scout’s left arm.

22:37, Today: Dungeon Master rolled 16 using 1d20.  Attack - Dark Lancer.

22:38, Today: Dungeon Master rolled 6 using 1d8.  Damage - Dark Lancer.

OOC: It is the party’s turn to act. Three Denagothians remain. All are AC 5.

The elf grumbles as he draws another arrow and aims at the leader, hoping this missile flies true.

08:41, Today: Jayanti rolled 13,2 using d20+2,d6.  Arrow flight.

Be careful what you search for, Neuken thinks.  You might just find it.

He casts Continual Light at the Denagothian leader’s eyes.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:45, Wed 24 July 2019.

"That'll do J.D. Watch yourself, I don't plan on walking if I don't have to... C'mon back here." Patch called to his faithful guard boar and mount.

He placed another stone in the sling pouch and whirled it overhead, loosing it with a bit better accuracy this time.


Sling Attack vs Lancer: Patch rolled 13 to hit AC4 for 3 damage.

Greyband steps up and deals a potent blow to one of the lesser Denagothians, looking to lay the man low. He shouts to the leader, "SURRENDER OR DIE!"

Hit a non-leader (if one is left) easily (AC -5) for 10 damage.

14:26, Today: Greyband rolled 10 using 1d10+4 with rolls of 6.  Damage.
14:26, Today: Greyband rolled 22 using 1d20+4 with rolls of 18.  Attack a Denagothian.

Killian twists away from his attacker and returns the attack with one of his own.

"We are sorry to have to kill you like this Wendarians, but you see we decided that if we brought burnt and bloodied Wendarian tunics to Denegoth they may pay a handsome bounty."


15:07, Today: Killian Hawkfire rolled 14 using 1d20+4.  attack. Hits AC 3
15:07, Today: Killian Hawkfire rolled 8 using 1d10+4.  damage.

Engaged with the leader of the imposters, Orin drew strength from his anger at the killing these men must have done to secure the uniforms.  Brushing aside the man's sword he continued to bull forward and pounded down with his hammer, landing a solid blow to his hip.


OOC:

21:39, Today: Orin Starshine rolled 4 using 1d6+2.  Damage to false guard.
21:39, Today: Orin Starshine rolled 18 using 1d20+2.  Attack false guard.

Jarder finds a target and launches another sling stone with great accuracy.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________
OOC:  Hit AC -4 for 2 DMG.  Rolled a natural20 , for the life of me can't find/remember if/how critical hits work in the original DnD.

06:08, Today: Jarder Mehro rolled 2 using 1d4.  DMG.
06:07, Today: Jarder Mehro rolled 24 using 1d20+4.  sling attack.

13:11, Today: Dungeon Master rolled 5 using 1d20.  Saving Throw - Spells.

Jayanti's arrow thuds into the leader's shoulder. He snarls in pain, but before he can take another step, Neuken completes his incantation, sending blinding light into the man's eyes. He shrieks in panic, reaching for his eyes as Orin's hammer smashes into his flank, and a pair of sling stones crack against his skull in rapid succession. He sways and tumbles lifelessly to the ground, blood trickling from his ears.

With well aimed blows, Greyband and Killian cut down their opponents. Both Denagothians are dead before they strike the ground.

At once, the mountain path is quiet, save for the crackling of the campfire and the wind stirring the trees.

OOC: Combat over.

Greyband cleans his blade and nods to the others. "Well done. Now, first things first."

He does a thorough search of the bodies for valuables, missives and clues as to their intentions.

Jarder goes over to the dead guard and recovers his throwing dagger 'Hornet', whipping it off on the dead mans tunic. Then he assists Greyband with looking for any valuables; "That was almost too easy." he says loud enough for the others to hear.

Neuken takes a quick look around to make sure that nothing has escaped their notice.  In his experience, details were often missed in the heat of battle.

In all, thirty two pieces of silver are collected from the bodies of the fallen Denagothians. Their leader carries five gold pieces and a small ruby worth around fifteen gold pieces in Jarder’s estimation. The leader is also carrying a folded piece of parchment with his valuables, the remains of a broken wax seal still clinging to the paper. It reads:

“Shedrak, Sergeant of Denagoth,

The hour of darkness is at hand. Ride south to the accursed land and observe Wendarian current troop strength and preparations. Report as soon as possible in Geron."

—(signed) Benar, Captain of Denagoth.

Killian stands off a bit and keeps watch.

Greyband looks very pleased that the missive was recovered, showing to the others. He then strokes his chin. "Now, the question: is this related enough to our mission to investigate it? What do you all think?"

Looking at the silver, Neuken thinks, Looks like Judas got a tip.

"I suppose it depends on where Geron is, lad," Orin offered, tromping over on thick legs to stand near the towering Greyband.  "If it's not far out of our way then it may be worth a look, although I'm not sure what we would do about it.  Sounds like a report to a garrison.  We'd hardly pass as this fellow and his soldiers, and they'll not likely trust mercenaries for such a report."

He stroked his beard with one thoughtful hand.  "Maybe we just carry word back of his untimely death, which we discovered by happenstance on our way north?  Thought it only right to report his demise after seein' the letter.  That might work, eh?"

The dwarf turned to call out to Renia.  "Do you know where this Geron lies?"

Applying a bandage to her injured arm, the scout looks up at Orin’s question. Nodding, she says,  ”Geron is our destination, Master Dwarf. It’s a town that lies just north of Wendar’s border with Denagoth. It is where we are to meet the Wendarian spy.”

Greyband grins. "So, we've got a missive to use to pretend that we're representatives of this lot. We could take their uniforms and continue with the planned deception. What do you think?"

"For the humans in this party that may make sense. For the rest of us, however..."

"It may make it difficult to locate our contact if he thinks we are murderous and triumphant Denagothians." advised Killian.

"We must remember that he is probably skittish and paranoid at this point."

"Aye, and the commander may know this man too," noted the dwarf, gesturing with his hammer to the dead leader of the imposters.  "Better to say we found 'em like this and upon seeing the letter thought to advise the good commander of his spies' deaths."

"Since we're goin' to Geron anyway."  He nodded to Renia for clarifying that.  His old mind didn't hold water as tightly as it used to.

"Better that than having the information fall to the enemy, right?" he winked up at Greyband, before starting to shuffle off and find his horse.  He'd need a few minutes head start if he was to be ready to ride with the rest.

Neuken nods, mostly agreeing with what is being said.  And he looks forward to seeing how the old ‘they were like this when we found ‘em’ excuse plays out.

Cinching her bandage tight, Renia points back at the circling vultures. ”So, should we go to investigate what interests the scavengers, or press on for the border?”

Greyband nods in agreement with Orin, but then turns to Renia. "That's a good idea. Let's see what the vultures are up to first, then head for the border."

Off to the vultures!

Neuken wonders if the vultures left anything for him.  Casting fireballs always gave him an appetite.

Placing his weapons in their sheaths-Jarder agrees "off to the vultures then."

Turning their horses northward once more, the adventurers ride for the area encircled by the carrion birds, thin columns of smoke marking their destination. Soon, the dense forest that covers the foothills opens into a clearing. Much of the space is taken up by the remains of a Wendarian camp, Most of the tents have been put to the torch and the bodies of Wendarian soldiers, along with a number of lancers from Denagoth litter the field. The ruins still smolder and the adventurers quickly note that several of the fallen Wendarians have been stripped of their gray and gold uniforms.

Studying the scene for a moment leads the company to suspect that the scouting party from Wendar was ambushed late at night by a larger force of lancers. Judging from the positions of the bodies on the field, it appears that those that stood watch put up the fiercest resistance, trying vainly to keep their comrades from being overrun.

Greyband looks over this grimly. "I would like to lay these heroes to rest," he says simply.

"Have we the tools to dig? Or perhaps rocks for a cairn or wood for a funeral pyre? Or at the minimum, three handfuls of dirt to send them on their way, and coppers over the eyes to pay the Boatman?"

“That might draw attention to us.  I suggest we leave them as they are and move on.”

"I understand your empathy for the dead, but we have responsibilities to the living now."

"Perhaps Patch can say a few words to see their souls on their way?"

OOC: Real busy sorry for short post.

Renia draws a handful of coppers  from one of her belt pouches. ”I can supply the coins,” she says, ”It’s appropriate they come from one of their own.”

She glances over at the fallen Denagothians. ”What of them?” she asks.

Greyband looks grimly at the fallen and sighs. "I fear you are right. Come, let's press on to the fell city. The humans among us should put on the uniforms."

He does so, himself, as the party moves on toward Geron.

"Agreed-the dead should stay as they lay.  Moving them or altering them would draw suspicion."

"Agreed.  If there eyes on us, best we play the part of unconcerned mercenaries." said Killian.

Patch had been very quiet, perhaps distant, his thoughts far away. Hearing his name, he turned his attention back toward the ugly scene. The boar he rode was pawing at the dirt, clearly wanting to root through the carnage.

"I agree, leave them be. I will petition the Great Mystery to assure the souls of these fallen that their remains are no longer of use to them, and that they ought to continue toward that which lies beyond. Go on ahead, J.D. and I will catch up..."

Patch dismounted and began forming a small alter of flat stones before kneeling and muttering the words of some unknown prayer.

Neuken smiles, pleased (although surprised) to have so many agree with him about something.

Orin seemed a little grumpy about it.  He didn't understand what discovery they were worried about, since they were in friendly territory and had dealt with the invaders already.  It seemed disrespectful to the dwarf to leave the valiant defenders as pickings for the crows.  But he couldn't do it all himself, and so grudgingly accepted the decision.

"I don't like leavin' them like this," he grumbled from the top of his horse, scanning the fallen men.  "They deserve better."  He almost slid down to help Patch but in the end refrained, uncertain whether he'd be intruding on the rites and prayers.  So instead he lowered his head in respect and said no more, nudging his mount forward when the rest were ready to ride on.

Renia leads the company away from the clearing, casting a last, regretful look at her fallen comrades before departing. She leads the adventurers down the narrow road at a quick pace, striving to reach the edge of the mountain range by dusk. By sunset, the party finds themselves amidst the first tall spires of the Mengul Mountains, the air having taken on a sharp, cold edge.

---

 The night passes without incident, though the adventurers are awoken on a pair of occasions by distant howls that do not sound as though they belong to wolves.

The party is ready to resume their trek at first light, the cold and the thinning air slowing their mounts progress somewhat. The low land trees have yielded to tall pines and firs, which cast long shadows across the trail in the hours following dawn.

At mid morning, the company reaches a turn in the road. Beyond it, the trail presses through a narrow gap between a pair of tall, jagged rock formations, the stone the color of charcoal and almost entirely bereft of trees and shrubs. As they face the forbidding pass, they see no movement ahead, but some of the horses nicker nervously, pawing restlessly at the ground.

Greyband slows his mount to a stop and looks at the formations. "So, maybe I'm getting older or paranoid, but I say we tie up the horses and investigate those outcroppings by foot before we ride between 'em."

When he was sure the others had indeed ridden on and gotten out of sight, Patch stood and shook his head sadly, speaking to his boar companion. "There will be much more of this sort of nonsense won't there be? Killing instead of debate, carnage rather than scribbles upon parchment... Such a waste of time."

The tall cleric removed his dilapidated hat with a bony hand.


Replacing the hat upon his graying head, he turned from the scene.

"Eat quickly J.D., we've much ground to cover to catch up with the others..."

With a grunt of acknowledgement, the huge boar trotted over among the dead bodies... to dine.

~~~

Patch dismounted and peered toward the pass. "Whether it be a pair or a thrane, or the number of both hands, an ambush is what you believe? Boulders, stones, logs perhaps? Nets, pits, or metal traps?"

"Why don't we wait here J.D. and let these young stalwarts scout the way"

Jayanti raises his right hand at a right angle, clenching to a fist, then points down the trail.

"Trouble ahead." He speaks in hushed tones.

"Glint of weapons deeper among the rocks. Unmistakable."

[Edited per DM description]
This message was last edited by the player at 12:37, Tue 13 Aug 2019.

Greyband grins and nods to Patch. "THAT kind of trouble," he says in a low tone. "Jayanti, how thick is the wood? Can we ride in or should we go in on foot?"

"Glint of light on weapons or armor, perhaps.  Or a message being sent.  Either way it is an ill omen." Killian agreed with Jayanti's assessment.

"Unless we want to try evasive tactics our only other choice is to move forward and remain vigilant.  Perhaps we should ride in a defensive pattern with out more vulnerable folk in the center?"

"Was this one of the scenarios we considered in the discussion about uniforms?" The cleric asked drily. "I'd much rather not have any holes poked in my cloak... I might be required to patch it!"

He chuckled to himself and patted the huge boar.

"I would think that if the advance squad had already dispatched the boarder guards, then these will certainly be adverse to our passage. There is, of course, the prospect of bribery... Perhaps we can buy our way out of this?"

Orin nodded at the comments about the flashes of light, shifting gingerly in the saddle.  His backside hadn't gotten used to such travel just yet.  "Aye, there were two of 'em.  Not sure if it was a signal or not, but I know how to find out!"

He dug into a belt pouch and pulled out the largest, shiniest silver coin he could find.  Glancing up at the sky, he did some quick geometry with only a minimum of smoke appearing from his ears and did his best to catch the sunlight off the coin in an attempt to signal back to whoever was down the trail.

"Clearly the know we're here.  Maybe this is the all clear signal?" he explained to the others.

“Or I could light the woods on fire with them in it.  That’s always worth considering.  Perhaps not the wisest approach, admittedly, but it would probably eliminate the threat.”

Moving to the side and looking for a tree and some shadows Jarder is planning on 'disappearing' into the shadows if things get dicey....

“Alternatively, I could one of you invisible, if one of you would like to do some scouting.” He almost sounds bored.

Killian stays vigilant while strategy is worked out.

As Orin sends the reflected light down the narrow path, a pair of heads appear just above a loose boulder on the western formation. Both are human males wearing rusted chain mail.

”The Hidden Lord’s breeches!” one of the two declares, ”That isn’t Odgof and the scouts!”

Four more brigands, two male, two female, appear from behind the jagged rocks on the eastern formation, their expressions similarly shocked.

15:55, Today: Dungeon Master rolled 2 using 1d6.  Surprise.

The brigands are surprised.

Those that have revealed themselves can be targeted with missile weapons. Anyone seeking to engage them in melee combat will need to climb the slope of one of the two rock formations to reach them. Doing so will take one round.

The brigands are AC 4.

Well played, Orin!

"Poor fools. Let's make this easy for everyone."

Jayanti gestures and casts Sleep at the brigands.

If any of the brigands remain standing, Greyband fires at one of them. He then starts climbing the rock to get at them, shortbow in hand.

Shoot at a conscious bandit, if any; miss.
14:21, Today: Greyband rolled 4 using 1d20+1 with rolls of 3.  Shortbow on bandit.

Killian rushed up to meet the enemy before they had a chance to roll rocks or shoot arrows down upon their position.

Patch laughed, a wheezing sound rich with mirth. "Looks as if they were expecting someone else!"

Seeing his companions charging up the rocks, Patch began climbing the western spire, clutching his staff in one hand and his shield in the other. "Suppose we keep one alive this time?" He called out.

10:09, Today: Dungeon Master rolled 9 using 2d8.  Sleep Spell Effect.

Nine of the brigands are asleep.

Even at a distance, most of the party is able to hear a number of dull thuds as most of the brigands slump to the ground, lost in a deep slumber. A couple of the bandits begin snoring mere moments after Jayanti completes her incantation.

Scanning the rocks, the adventurers can see that only one of the brigands remains awake, a single bandit on the eastern formation, who yelps as Greyband’s arrow slices through the air near his head.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:13, Thu 15 Aug 2019.

Neuken casts his own Sleep spell at the remaining brigands, looking forward to the throat-slitting to come.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:00, Thu 15 Aug 2019.

With a wave of his hand, Neuken sends the last of the bandits, who is panicked by the state of his comrades and the approach of the adventuring company, into a heavy sleep.

"Well that was easy! We should keep one alive to interrogate, at least..."

"Agreed, but which one...." Jarder says with a mischievous smile on his face.  He races forward and begins tying up the Bandits, looking for the one that might be a leader and this have the most information.

Greyband looks annoyed. "Tie them all up, fellows. We're not bandits ourselves killing helpless captives."

He quickly finds any rope on the captives and starts to bind them with it.

"Perhaps Sleep spells were not the wisest choice if we did not plan on taking captives.  Now, it would seem, that some of you object to ending their lives peacefully while they dream."

"I will awaken them one by one and dispatch them in single combat duels if that satisfies your honor, Greyband.  We had no time to bury the dead, we have even less time for prisoners."

Orin rumbled up the slope to help the others restrain the captives.  He understood and agreed with Greyband's approach but did see the conundrum they were in.  Unless these were truly brigands owing fealty to none.  In that case the local warlords might be happy to have them handed over as fresh conscripts.

"What if we marched 'em into the town and handed them over as new 'press-ganged' recruits?  The enemy gets troops, their own roads are safer leading into Wendar, and we have yet another present for our would-be employers?"

Patch sat down upon the rocks, not quite to the top, removing his dilapidated hat and wiping at his balding head with a small handkerchief kept within. "We don't have to kill them. War is a terrible thing. They are the bottom rungs of a tall ladder. Nevertheless, we cannot have them turning right around and getting back into the fray."

Replacing his hat, the old cleric of the God of Mysteries and Riddles got to his feet. For the moment he looked old and tired, but it was not due to the distances traveled, nor the years of trial and toil, it was the weight of what they were about to do. Looking over to his more martial companions, he cleared his throat. "Break their sword-arms at the elbow. I'll use my staff to mis-heal the bone in order that they'll never be able to fight again."

He made his way to the first of the sleeping ambushers and nodded to Killian. "One by one, let's get this over with."


OOC: Patch will use his enchanted staff to heal each broken elbow to fuse the bones so it will never bend again. The intent is to make it so they can never be pressed into military service, but won't be cruelly maimed.

"Unless you plan on cutting out their tongues and mis-healing their fingers in case they can write messages too, Patch, I do not see your idea as practical, nor particularly merciful.  It is not their sword-arms that we need to fear, but their wagging tongues." Killian said to the Cleric.

Patch merely shrugged. "Good point. But they seem to be bandits, not soldiers like the others we encountered. They don't know that we're not just a disagreeable group of mercenaries... who and what are they going to tell?"

 Jayanti holds Patch’s staff before it strikes.

”Breaking a limb and healing it wrong? I’m not even a healer but that sounds...twisted. Your own species no less! I say we strip them of their arms and armor, then send them on their way after we get the information we need.”

“Ordinarily, I would prefer to simply cut their throats.  But I must admit that I find the idea of press-ganging them instead to be not only clever, but downright charming.  I favor it.”
This message was last edited by the player at 17:23, Fri 16 Aug 2019.

Skillfully searching the slumbering brigands, Jarder is able to puzzle out which one is the leader, a dark haired female bearing a sword and crossbow. The thief finds 40 gold pieces in a pouch on her belt, along with a map that marks several potential ambush locations along the road the company is following and notes on effective formations for each spot. Jarder notes that a neatly drawn arrow pointing to the top of the map denotes which direction is north. At the upper edge of the drawing, written in a feminine hand, is a single word: ”Dragon!”

The leader’s pouch also contains a black medallion with the figure of a red wyvern inscribed on it.

Greyband stops Patch "I think the press-gang thing is the smart plan. Let's go with that and not maim 'em."

"But after the press-ganging, let's rest.  I wouldn't want to face down a dragon without having all of my spells ready."

He yawns, emphasizing his point about needing a rest.

"Perspective," was all Patch had to say.

The odd curate returned to his porcine mount, taking only a moment to glance at the map.

"Can we get a copy of this back to our side? It's good information to have, especially if this pass becomes important during troop movements should war erupt in the future..."

Standing up after tying off the last one; he holds up what he has found-"Look some coin for our trouble, but more importantly this map and amulet here that shows some interesting things".  Walking away from the prisoners he unrolls the map and says to the others; "I'm not sure I like what this map says here 'Dragon' could be a ruse or reality..I don't know.  Also the locations for ambushes ahead, that we should be able to avoid...and this amulet may be of use later."

Do any of use recognize this sigil?

From the back of his riding-boar, Patch glanced at the symbol, pursed his lips and considered...


OOC: Need a roll for that DM? Riddles and Mysteries are Patch's strength, but Intelligence certainly is not! ;-)

Neuken reiterates his desire for rest, as his prior remark seems to have gone unnoticed.

”Perhaps we could provide it to the spy in Geron,” Renia suggests, in response to Patch’s question about the map, ”He could see to it that the information reaches Wendar.”

The scout confesses that she has never encountered the symbol on the talisman before.

Although each of the party members take a moment to examine the sigil on the necklace, none find it familiar.

"Aye, they're the experts at passing information such as this."

"That's a good idea Renia," Patch said.

"Let's continue and find a place to camp for the night. Trundling our prisoners is going to slow us down. And we'd best watch our conversations around them. Information they will eventually pass on could be used against us... or... in our favor," he mused, rethinking his previous stance. "We could plant all sorts of disinformation... if we're careful."

"I for one am ready for some rest; lets get to camp and get our watches set." Jarder says placing his weapons away and mounting his horse heading ahead.

Greyband nods. "Agreed with Renia and agreed with Jarder. I'll take middle watch."

This time Neuken memorizes Haste instead of Fireball.  Otherwise, he picks the same spells as before.

Patch prays for CLWx2, Speak w/Animals, and Hold Person

Jayanti will regain her Sleep spell.

Greyband practices his dice and refreshes his incredible Pose of Awesomeness^TM. Well, he thinks it's awe-inspiring, anyway.

Jarder finds a nice rock to prop his head up against and catches some much needed sleep before his watch comes.

When his watch comes he moves away from the fire and the noise of his sleeping comrades.  He try's to find a tree or large rock that he can sit on/in to better observe the surroundings

As always, Neuken sleeps with one eye open.

The night passes uneventfully. Dawn arrives with clouds having gathered to the north, dark with the promise of rain.

Renia leads the company northward, the elevation steadily growing higher through the morning hours, a sharp cold overtaking the air as the adventurers enter the Mengul Mountains. Vegetation becomes sparse, with only a few hardy shrubs and lichens clinging to life amidst the jagged stone. Wind sweeps through the narrow pass as the party presses onward, the horses’ breath steaming as they climb.

Just after midday, the company arrives at a fork in the road. One path continues northward, remaining level as it winds through the tall rocks. The other branch veers to the northwest, the trail sloping upward steadily, a thin mist blanketing the pathway as it grows higher.

Glancing at the map that he collected from the brigands, Jarder feels certain that the northern road is the one that carries the warning about the dragon.

Path dismounted while his companions looked over the map and allowed his boar mount to forage a bit on the lichen and hardy brush. It wasn't the sort of fare which the animal preferred, but until they got to lower elevations - or found themselves the victors of another skirmish, the foraging would have to be enough.

"I know, I know, you'd rather be chewing something squishy and raw... be patient J.D. soon enough. I'd rather not see you become the supper of a dragon, but who listens to the wishes of a splndley old wise-man like me?"

Facing away from the direction which their map had indicated 'Here be Dragons', Patch hoped this silent signal would be interpreted correctly.

"But, if we were sneaky..." the hat brim raised just a bit toward the north.

“Dragons are high risk, high reward,” Neuken says without need.  “If we take one on, some of us probably won’t be returning home.

“However,” he adds, “If we do battle this creature, I can improve our chances by Hasting the party.”

"Our mission is not to slay dragons, or to risk failure by engaging in slaying dragons."

"My people have suffered from the depredations of Wryms over the millennia, but Wendar should be our priority."

Killian paused "Once we are finished, then a reckoning might be in order."

He paused again "Assuming that the dragon symbol indicates a literal dragon and not more symbolic of some other thing.  For instance, the sigil we found is a dragon or wyvern.  Perhaps they are related?"

Patch touched the end of his nose in a curious way and then pointed at the elf. "That's very clever of you Killian. Perhaps there's no Dragon at all, maybe that was written upon the map as a deterrent should it fall into the hands of... opposition."

He turned his back to the dragon-ward path and continued to wait.

“That could be, but we should assume the worst.  Unless you want your ass turned into bottom roast, you can’t afford to get caught with your pants down around a dragon.”

"ooo boy" Jarder says.  Looking at the map and then up the trail in the direction marked dragon.  "While I would like to get my hands on some dragon treasure, my gut tells me we don't know each other enough for the type of challenge.  Let us continue on the original quest."

Orin shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, which to his thinking spread his legs much wider than was either natural or desirable and acted on his rump as a sort of continual paddling the likes of which he hadn't felt since he was a wayward youth.  No matter how he repositioned himself, he still felt achy and sore.  To his credit, he tried to keep most of that out of his tone.

"Renia, which way to the encampment with our contact?  That should be our guide, and if it means passing the 'dragon', whatever that ends up being, then we will deal with it." The last left a sour expression on Orin's face, for despite the brave words the dwarf held no illusions about tackling a fabled wyrm.

Renia's eyes drift across the two forks in the road. "The spy had previously written that two roads led into Geron from the Mengul Mountains, one that led to the southern gate of the township, the other that intersected the western entrance."

"He mentioned that the northern road, the shortest route, was heavily guarded, but he never spoke specifically of a dragon. He spoke little of the other trail."

“Maybe there isn’t a dragon.  We may have jumped to a false conclusion.”

Greyband shrugs. "Though I would love to slay a dragon sometime, I don't think this is that time. We should take the road without the warning, whether it's real or not."

“Consider this, however: would we want to leave a live dragon in our rear?  One breath attack while we’re camping could wipe us out.  Isn’t it wiser to first determine if there is such a threat before moving on?”

Patch tugged at one of the... patches on his cloak, back still turned toward the direction of the alleged dragon. He whistled a bit of haunting melody in a minor key as he waited for the others to come around to his way of thinking.

"A little extra gold would be nice J.D.," he said to the hog, "I fear I'm a bit behind in my charitable donations..."

“So am I,” the sorcerer says, and laughs.

Greyband sighs. "All say aye who want to avoid the dragon route. Aye!"