When everyone is ready, they gather just before sunrise. Lukas was given a copy of the map leading from the old Redfoot Camp to Muzzrink's village, Three-claw Point. On your way north, the woods are quiet. There is a new watchtower on a hill overlooking the path, above some goblin corpses that some of you may remember from a few days ago. There are no signs of scavengers. In fact, it seems the local wildlife haven't recovered from the commotion of the last few days, as you all make it to the abandoned camp in peace. Brom's skill in the woods means it only takes two hours to get there.

Verbannt was up an hour before first light, taking the time to tend to his supplies and gear.  Those of his Clan were well versed in such things, the Huntmaster drilling the cubs under her charge until they knew how to sharpen a knife and check the fur lining on their boots in their sleep.  Even a Bugbear could catch frostbite and lose a foot, especially if the range kept them out past sundown.  He cut a few strips from the deer he had brought down two days before, putting the rest back in his ice cellar.  Normally he'd smoke the meat, rather than chill it, but he had plans for it.  Securing both his heavy pelts about his shoulders, the ram's head on the left and the boar's on the right, he opened out the front door and made his way towards Tidelan's camp.

Thus it was that the first fires of dawn were just touching the Eastern horizon when the hulking Bugbear made it to the camp.

"Are you prepared, Tidelan Skinwalker?"

He called out, his hand resting on his shortbow.  It was not that he feared his companion, he had bled for the Genasi, and the Genasi had bled for him. There would be no words of anger between them that could not be settled with drink and a good fire. The Dwarves he was less sure of, but they had given him no gruff the night before.  He had treated them with respect, and they had met him with the same.

Tidelan was not present in his own camp that night, though he was not far.

In fact, he was fully visible, and could be seen further south on the beach that bordered the Triton Sea... Interestingly, he had no cover whatsoever. Be it from the flat, open terrain that allowed ambush from all sides, or his own lack of preparation, construction, nor camoflauge.

Lukas called out to the genasi, who was sitting cross-legged, facing the ocean, as the light salty breeze of the ocean's coast tossed his silver hair one way, and then the next.

Though he was not lying down, Tidelan was in fact asleep... this was a position that was decently comfortable for him, and it had always been easier him to fall asleep with a bit of meditation, which was harder for him to accomplish while laying down and suffocated by his own bedrolls.

Deep in Tidelan's unconsciousness, a voice pierced through, and dragged him back from the muddy depths of mortal rest. As he came to, his mind struggled to process the words that had been spoken to him... it had been his name that had grabbed his attention... the voice... it was coarse, and fleeting from his mind already as his brain rapidly tried to orient itself to his surroundings and recent activities...

Tidelan blinked once, and the memories had already faded... except one... the voice... it had been familiar... it was... Lukas' voice?

The genasi glanced over his shoulder, straining the fresh muscles and tendons in the soft places above his collarbone.

The dreariness vanished from his eyes, and they cleared up from any moisture... leaving an aggravating dryness. His vision clarified on a dark, hulking form by the treeline.

He spoke out as he stood up, "Greeting, Lukas.". The druid's face was still stiff from a long rest, so any emotions that could be drawn from it would reflect how his rest had been, rather than how he felt in the moment.

He seemed to think for a moment, before adding, "This is a good morning. Are you well?" perhaps his reference to the good morning was a statement on his own current emotional status, or to confirm that he indeed enjoyed the weather on the beach.

After Tidelan stood up, he grabbed his satchel, packed a few things he may need and walked towards Lukas, leaving behind the untouched remains of his second campsite.

"The sort of knife that only a long journey over the mountains can bring, when the sun cannot set on your lodge and your eyes."

Verbannt answered, before realizing that the words might not share the same meaning to the Water Genasi.  He was not used to these sort of social interactions.  It was not that his Clan had not shared their emotions, quite the opposite.  They were far more open about their feelings than this hodgepodge assortment of humanoids.  He straightened and corrected himself.

"Where are the others?"

Tidelan pointed to the north, "They are at my more early camp"

He quickly finished packing and began to head towards that direction, but not before he glanced over his shoulder one last time and took a deep breath of ocean air that ended with a sigh.

The wistful genasi steeled himself as he walked with Verbannt to gather the rest of their party for the initiation of their quest.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:08, Thu 24 Sept 2020.

In the early morning light, Santio sat in a nearby clearing, reading.
His book rested comfortably, by habit, in his hand, as he munched on an apple with the other.

The Mage’s hat* that had been delivered from the mayor yesterday, sat not far off with his travelling pack ... and he was simply waiting for his two dwarven companions to be ready.
Then they’d head for Tidelan’s camp in preparation for the quest they had all accepted.


* assuming that Erret Smith had followed through on his suggestion
This message was last edited by the player at 04:23, Thu 24 Sept 2020.

Smith's outfitter had loaned Santio a hat that contrasted nicely with the color of his clothes, feeling it gave a greater sense of power than a hat that matched them closely. It was tall, with a stiff, pointed top with a star shaped patch sewn on, and a flexible, but not floppy, brim. It fit comfortably. While not extravagant, it probably cost more than the clothes Santio was wearing, but Smith only asked that he try to bring it back in one piece, and made no attempt to extract a promise or price for it.

Verbannt and Tidelan approached from the South, trudging through the crisp outer layer of snow.  He spotted Santio as he drew within sight, and let out a noise that sounded like"Harruph!" to signal his presence.

At the noise, Santio looked up.
And with an innocent looking smile, and a wave, he began to close his book (which is stashed lovingly in his pack) ... rising with his stuff to join those who'd arrived.
"Good Morning", he said, cheerfully.

"It is." Tidelan agreed, before twitching his neck to look back and up at the southern skyline. He swallowed.

"I guess the dwarves are near?" Tidelan questioned. Any bad blood he may have had with Santio seemed to have resolved itself over last night's festivities, and his own reflection on the matter. It appeared he had a freshly opened mind to the new arrival.

"We will go... soon" Tidelan said, unsure if the last word was the appropriate one. Nevertheless, he seemed excited, and almost a bit hasty... as if he had a thirst that needed to be quenched. Quite different from his previous demeanor of worry and trepidation!

Brohm arrives, coming down from the direction of the town.  Dressed for conflict, and packed for a long trek.  His gear meticulously clean, and well cared for.  Over all this is a beautiful bkeack bear skin cloak, the bears head hood flipped back.  "Mornin'". He rumbles in a non commital tone.


The bearskin cloak is the "trophy" he has from his background equipment.
It functions just like a cloak.  If he pulls the hood over his head, it looks like the bears head.

Solva tromps into the clearing with her great-axe slung over their shoulder and declares, "Aye 'spose that I am the last one 'ere. Lets get on with this then. The sun's high and we will be wanting to get somewhere nice to sleep tonight."

When everyone is ready, you move along. Lukas was given a copy of the map leading from the old Redfoot Camp to Muzzrink's village, Three-claw Point. On your way north, the woods are quiet. There is a new watchtower on a hill overlooking the path, above some goblin corpses that some of you may remember from a few days ago. There are no signs of scavengers. In fact, it seems the local wildlife haven't recovered from the commotion of the last few days, as you all make it to the abandoned camp in peace. Brom's skill in the woods means it only takes two hours to get there.

(Is everyone leaving without Boneclaw ..?)

(Boneclaw could have come along with Lukas from town... Otherwise, maybe we should just skip the part where we come and get you from Smith's Gambit... Gathering the party has already taken three days)

After arriving in the abandoned Redfoot Camp, Tidelan doesn't take very much time to look around and inspect his work from the previous day. Soon after their arrival in the familiar ghost-town, he asks Lukas to bring them forward to Muzzrink's village, not caring to linger in this uneventful place.

Throughout their journey, Brohm had diligently been mapping the route.  The details on the map he kept were precise and clear.  As he came into the ghost-town, Brohm carefully surveyed the area, searching for track, traps, and potential ambushes.  Signalling the others forward only when he was certain that it was safe.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:47, Mon 28 Sept 2020.

"Hobgoblins are vain and proud."

Verbannt explained as they walked, nodding appreciatively as Brohm pointed out the best paths for them to take.

"You would be a fool to think them cowards though, they are warriors to their very core.  I am hoping that they are shaken by their strongest not returning, and that they can be cowed into returning with us.  It will be important that they see me clearly first, wearing the armor of their chieftain.  I wish we could bear some of their shields as well, but we took those with us."

He paused in his monologue as Brohm again pointed out some short cut he had not noticed before.

"You are a skilled Tracker, Brohm of Clan Stoneheim.  My own Woodslore does not compare, and the Matriarchs always considered me passable."

Brohm nods in acknowledgement of the compliment, but remains silent.  His senses alert to what the forest was telling him.  He would not forget the way back, that was certain.  No Wayfinder got lost on a journey they once travelled.  The others were too noisy for scouting, which was why he ventured far ahead, and fell back to them at regular intervals.    He paused once, as he listened to Lukas speak to reply in his gravelly, deep voice.  "I will scout the perimeter of their encampment before you initiate contact.". His words gruff, and short, but not disrespectful.

Santio travelled with this company, but never really seemed to fit in.
The others were gruff, and appeared strong and capable.  Santio ... well, just seemed to blend in, unassuming and reserved.
His eyes darted casually about their locale, his ears alert for other signs of threat.