The morning of the 18th of Bloomingtide brings a welcome cool northwesterly breeze after several days of oppressively hot weather that ushered in summer in central Ferelden. Four souls approach the North Fork, a split in the well-worn path a little more than a day north of Lothering.

The west side will begin to track westward several miles on, linking to a string of villages before eventually meeting the old imperial highway now called the North Road on the shores of Lake Calenhad. The east side continues its generally northerly direction for several days, passing through Bewick before several eastward branches take travelers to the many villages that dot the fertile landscape.

For the quartet that now looks upon it, however, their destination is much closer to the divergence of the two paths.

Fost, the veteran mercenary, has been in Lothering for some months giving occasional service to Arl Eamon of Redcliffe. An acclaimed “arl’s man,” he quickly found respect from the locals in his new home, and they have turned to him to help resolve the odd dispute or outside trouble.

Erin, born and raised on a farm on the northeastern side of the village, has parlayed her natural affinity for soldiering into a reliable job on the village watch. Since the arrival of Fost and the scout Wendoll, she has come into greater renown after helping scatter a group of bandits who were plaguing the road south to Ostagar.

Wendoll, for his part, is an elf from Edgehall, the son of a hero of the rebellion. He served in the guard of the Teyrn of Highever before taking his skills as a guide and scout on the road, helping travelers cross sometimes dangerous territory. He’s been in Lothering for the better part of a year, and has formed a close acquaintance with the two popular warriors, which has afforded him a slight buffer against any local prejudices.

Tyrus, the relative newcomer of the group, is a Tevinter mage adventurer who traveled to Ferelden in search of a “grand treasure.” His expedition stalled about a month ago, and he’s been stuck in Lothering since. The guide he was to hire, Wendoll, introduced him to Fost and Erin, and he has slowly gained acceptance into their confidence.

Reverend Mother Ilannea entreated them to locate Ser Andra, who has not returned from investigating a possible apostate sighting near the North Fork nearly a week ago. They all know Andra (Erin best of all), one of a pair of templars who has served Lothering chantry for more than a decade (Erin believes she’s “forty-ish”); she’s known as a stern, but kind woman who delights in children and often laments that she will have none of her own. She and her fellow templar Ser Ragnall heavily scrutinized Tyrus upon his arrival, but apparently deemed him “acceptable,” as long as he kept his magic to himself during his visit. (The pair has also checked in on him regularly during his stay.)

The initial report was given by a dwarf merchant named Brogan, who has since continued on his travels down to Ostagar. Brogan reportedly stayed the night at farmer Dainen’s house - Dainen often entertains guests on their way to or from Lothering; his place is about a day’s travel from the village, so it’s perfectly situated as a wayside.

The farmer told them what he told Ser Andra: The dwarf had arrived two days before her visit, reeking of his people’s spirits. In his inebriated state, Brogan said he encountered a “harrowing” sight along the road, at an eerie copse of trees just north of the fork. He described it as some thin, hooded figure seeming to be draining the blood from a female form - the long shadows of the afternoon obscured any further detail, he said - which seemed to sizzle when it hit the ground. He heard “the shrieks of demons” from just past the scene, and believed the figure to be summoning horrors from beyond “your Fade.”

He also felt a strange stalking presence nearby, and, fearing the “blood mage” would turn on him, hightailed it as quickly as his legs could carry him. Brogan admitted to dipping heavily into his reserves afterwards to calm his nerves.

The rest of the templar’s visit was just small talk before she retreated to her room for devotions and sleep; the next morning, he said, she told him she would investigate the site of the encounter and the surrounding area, then, perhaps visit some of the farms to the southwest and southeast if she found nothing there. That was the last he saw of her.

Dainen added that, prior to the party’s arrival, he assumed that the dwarf had dipped heavily into his reserves long before he saw what he saw, and that the truth was clouded by intoxication; he said he told this to Ser Andra, and she hoped that was the case. The farmer thought no more of it ‘til the quartet's arrival, and admitted his concern for the templar’s well-being.

Back to the moment, the four heroes gaze at the twin tines of the fork, and the signpost at their meeting that marks the nearest destinations along each. Beyond, low grasses fill the area between the paths for a few dozen yards or so, where the land begins to dip down and give way to an area of rising brush, thickets and trees.

Almost simultaneously, they each notice something on the ground at the base of the signpost…

OOC: I paused here to allow you folks a little extemporaneous RP. But, you're also welcome to get straight to business.

Of course, Tyrus has read up upon Ferelden customs and traditions but this mostly open distrust to magic still surprised him. Trying to keep everything legal he remembers the first day he went to the chantry trying to ask about magic but was met with hostility and a barrage of questions that lasted longer than expected. From that day on Tyrus became cautious and distrustful himself of the Chantry.
Still, even more surprised was he when he arrived in Lothering. He had to stay a little longer here and once again, he went to the chantry... better to lose a day than to be sent to their circle of mages... Once more he was surprised to experience someone more reasonable. He still found them to be distrustful but he could live with daily check-ins.
It took him a while to find a guide yet before they could leave Ser Andra suddenly disappeared. One of the Templars that just loved to visit him. As a sign of goodwill and to show the Fereldens that magic is a tool just like any other he volunteered to look for her with his guide and Wendoll's friends.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:06, Sat 30 July 2022.

The whole thing was rather dreadful, bandits and wild beasts causing trouble was one thing but blood mages demons and other spooky things from the fade were on a league of their own, one few expected to ever cross paths with, let alone wanted to. Erin was twice as worried for Andra after hearing the tale about the copse of trees and summoning of impossible creatures. She was rather fond of the Templar and she didn't even want to contemplate the possibility that something terrible and irreversible had happened to her.

Likely for the better, such thoughts kept her mind too occupied to hound and pester Tyrus to what amounted to a barrage of stupid questions about magic and those who practiced it. Curiosity was such a strong force that her own natural and Chantry ingrained wariness of mages could do little to contain it, particularly when presented with a living and sanctioned sample of the thing. Then again, this reprieve was at best temporary and somewhere in his future, the mage would have to suffer her.

Fost's mother had turned to the Faith and became devout to the Chantry when Fost had still been a toddler. Exceedingly so, which is why Fost - in order to get the attention and care of his mother - tried his best to be as devout as she was.
Today he cannot really tell if he is truly a devout believer or not.

As such he still felt a bit awkward when dealing with any members of the Chantry. And he had also never truly understood the relations between that ominous Circle of Mages, the Chantry and the Templars. Clearly there was no representative of the former group in Lothering which seemed to indicate that the latter were part of the Ferelden faith and religion.

Fost still resented authority in the form of institutions, it was a fault in his personality that had caused trouble time and again. He preferred personal relations and connections and he had respected Arl Redcliffe because of that one's personality and charisma and not because of his birth.

The same attitude seemed to work for him in Lothering. He had come to get to know and like its people in the last couple of weeks and even though he often claimed to only care for the coin in exchange of mercenary service it was simple truth that he dud care for the people. Only catching him at admitting as much would prove a worthy task for the most charming person. He considered it a weakness to, well, have a weak spot for someone. It did not fit with his past life, which was not one of leisurely indulgance. Then again, it was not as if he was a middle-aged, disillusioned veteran. Far from it. It might be a rare occurence but it did happen every now and then: truly heartfelt laughter. Like that of a young adult that he still was. Much to his annoyance even worse were those moments of awkward blushes and blurted babbling. Which seemed to catch him at the most unopportune moments and caused no end to frustration. So very much at odds with his confidence in all matters of physical and martial prowess. Not that he liked to show off. But he was quite aware of what he was capable of. And of what not.
And this matter of the templar's disappearance, unlike the fairly simple chasing away of bandits, was casting a deep frown on his brow, one of concern.

While one could debate the theological merits as to whether the elf’s ever present companion had a soul, no self-respecting Ferelden would ever argue that their Mabari are anything but Maker sent. Wendoll had brought Arnie with him to Lothering, and the dog could easily be credited with some of the goodwill the folks of the village paid the scout despite his ancestral heritage.

For his part, though, his needs were simple. Food, sleep, and a desire to serve his master. Arnie sits on his haunches and sniffs the air, picking up on something sickly sweet ahead. He looks up at his master, waiting to catch his eye, then turns his head forward again as an indication that “something is there.”

“Good boy. I see it, too,” Wendoll says, prompting Arnie to happily sweep his tail along the ground.

The group closes in on the items, finding a closed sack and a scrip leaning against the base of the signpost. A faint sweet odor of spoiled fruit hangs in the air here.

Tyrus looks up and down the roads this crossroad, making sure that no one else is on the road or nearby should anything happen. His eyes meet the strange sack and his feet bring him closer, only his nose stops him from opening it. "Well, what do we have here?" Kneeling down he reaches for the sack to open it. "Why would anyone leave this here?"

As Tyrus begins to manipulate the sack, the sickly sweet odor the group noticed on arrival intensifies. It doesn’t take much of a glance within to notice the molding bread and two rotting persimmons are probably a week or so old. His motions topple the scrip on its side, and he sees the corner of a cloth peeking out from under the flap.

OOC: I performed a secret Cunning (Natural Lore) test for Tyrus. He succeeded and scored stunt points, which will give him access to the Natural Lore focus for the remainder of the scene.

Recoiling from the smell as it intentifies he pinches his nose. "UGH, it's probably been here for a week." Before he could stand up again his eyes spy a piece of cloth. "Oh, what's..." He reaches for the piece of cloth to pull it out.

Special: Natural Lore focus, crossroad


Awesome! I'll write this down or else it's going to slip my mind.

"Yugh, just who leaves this just like that? If you are going to abandon food at least throw it away so that vermin can consume it." The way things were left there, Erin could only conclude someone forgot it rather than it falling off some cart. She was fond fo the Mabari but unless this was Andra's trash, the good dog had totally missed the 'target'.

"Hmph. It's as if someone expected to come back for it. Maybe they were interrupted?" Wendoll offers as Tyrus gently pulls the cloth from the scrip. Unfolding it, he finds a Chantry prayer cloth with Templar heraldry on it.

Erin notices the scrip looks like one she's seen Ser Andra carry before.

Standing up again he holds up the piece of cloth. "This seems to indicate Ser Andra as the culprit. Or someone else is traveling with a Templar's prayer cloth."
Without moving he looks around "Anyone good at tracking?"



Action: Perception 12 Searching immediate area for footprints/broken twigs...


Special: Natural Lore focus, crossroad

Tyrus Morven rolled 12 using 3d6+1 with the AGE System with rolls of {1}, 6, 4.  Perception.