Waymeet:  Home again

Having eaten and drinken their fill, the group is exhausted after so much travel and revelry.  The fire continues to glow into the hours past midnight, with only Belkar and the two halfling musicians aside from a few remaining sundry guests.

In the far corner a single human male dressed in bright colors;  and blue and red patchcoat atop a fur vest to keep out the cold.  A bright golden hoop reflects the firelight from underneath shoulder length black hair.  Tall black boots appear to have the handle of a long dagger in each.  The man appears youthful, but road weary and keeps to himself nursing a glass of wine with a pitcher.

“Vistani.” Belkar spits. “Unlucky, and unsafe.”

“Your best chances of finding Bosmos will be to the west, between here, the holdfast he is refurnishing, and the old Ampner estate west along the road.”

“Or we could wait until he arrives here.”  DonBrapp offers.

“I’m eager to see an end to this charlatan dwarf and his endless appetites.”  Kailute states, taking a long pull on a flagon of mead.

Two men at arms are almost unsensibly drunk across the way, continuing to nurse a shared pitcher but spilling incessantly.  Clips of their conversation mention dark things in the hills;  and whenever I find out who clipped my horse, “I will geld them like Nilly!”

Quilro hoists a pitcher of ale and walks over.

“Welcome, elf!”

They discuss the horse theft, stolen without trace nor tracks in the vicinity of a gypsy camp north and west along the bowshaft way.

Barla shivers “Mum used to scare me by tellin’ me if ya didn’t do your chores, Ampner’d take ya and you’d walk the night eternal.”

“Hinton Ampner was a rare specimen.  Half-elven wizard known for his delving into the creation and mastery of the undead.  The less spoken about him, the better.”

Kailute paws a fresh decanter of red wine and troops over to the lone gypsy.

“Mind if I have seat?”  The Vistani signals to have a seat.

“Mostly here for the wine;  a much better vintage than we keep on the vardo.  You’re a stout fellow for a tavern.  No doubt you have many a tale to spin.”  The dark haired human says.

“Darkness is falling across this land.  Are you leaving with the others?”

“When the darkness comes, it will arrive from both below and above.  Those from below and the other planes are at work here.  The sight of Vistani is deep and farseeing.”

The man states the Vistani are headed south, and he advises the group to do so as well lest they suffer.  He then gives a long lookover and compliments Barla.

Kailute inquires about scrying to locate Belox’ stone form, and the gypsy offers than some within the caravan may have that skill.

Pushing a silver coin across the table, the traveler states “Kailute, take this.  With this token you shall be welcome in Vartok’s vardo.”

The two spend the remainder of the night collegially gambling over minor amounts of silver coin.

The word in the Fist & Flagon varies;  reports of an important marriage in Mulmaster to a Thayvian noble, and a recent extreme shortage of Bloodstone out of the northeast.

Having decided to repair back to their farm Barla and Quilro make their way back south.  Along the road, they notice a strange woven structure not much larger than a birdnest hanging from a tree branch.  Triangular in form, some red crusted liquid is dried across the bottom.

Quilro attempts to discern it’s identity but can only find weak magical energy emanating from it.  The two scurry down the road to the farm and the two men-at-arms guarding the approaches.

Kailute, DonBrapp and Fyrnlocke take advantage of the rooms on retainer at the Flagon.

The next morning at the flagon is busy, with patrons afill to get their last hot meal and break their fast before hitting the road.  Although the sun is rising in a clear sky a chill wind is blowing off the north and everyone is wrapped in extra layers.

The heroes gather in what is now their typical table adjacent the fireplace with a direct view of the small elevated stage.  At Quilro’s suggestion the group waits until the early rush has passed prior to making their orders.

The dwarf and half-orc have business with the wheelwright, and so the group decides to make it more of a brunch and trundles to the western part of town to the low slung group of workbuildings that comprise Melbin’s enterprise.  About eight wagons are currently being served.

The tall and gaunt proprietor observes wryly “Well, if it isn’t our heroes.  I suppose you’ll be asking for more gold?”  He nods to his apartment along the side, and pours the group coffee and fortifies it with whiskey.

They discuss Bosmos and his negative impact on Waymeet and his constant requisition of monies and workers.  Several local craftsmen have been gone almost two weeks assisting in the refurbishment of Bosmos’ abode.

“Give this man some gold, DonBrapp.”  Quilro states in a patrician tone, to the tune of a thousand gold.

DonBrapp requisitions a trailer to the wagon that will protect a mobile field laboratory with a turreted ballista.

Melbin estimates 2500gp final price and requests some technical assistance with the crossbow portion.
The crowd has thinned at the Flagon, and Belkar has laid a meal at the groups table.  The party discusses a variety of means for defeating the corrupt druid.

The party moves quickly over the rolling grassy hills.  A chill wind blows from the north nipping at exposed skin with a bite, but nothing enough to cause serious threat of hypothermia.

Ahead on the road, six humanoids approach in two columns of three.  The first two appear to don scale mail under dark green shawls trimmed in red.  They are uncovered and bear bald heads.

The group steps aside, and their symbols denote their affiliation with Ilmater.

Quilro casts a scrying spell and is rewarded with the knowledge that the party leader is mostly hungry and tired but the mission of cleansing the undead is never ending.

In several miles the party comes upon the rotund shape and smells of their least favorite dwarf.  Kailute steps forward with a hearty “Bosmos!”

Walking upon the stout dwarf, his brown and green robes are mussed with dirt and filth, and his beard is full of grass and mud.

“FRIENDS!  HEROES!  LOYAL SPONSORS!  The winds rejoice at your return from the depths of the elven crypts!  What powerful artifacts have you rendered to enable the balance returned to its rightful center?”  Bosmos coughs, and approaches.  He has several apparently empty coinpurses strung to his thick leather belt, and he appears to lean upon his oaken staff with a minor limp.  His knobby fingers each are festooned with wrings of silver, gold, and honed blackwood.

“What has befallen the Convacle of the West that you see so less than before?” Kailute asks earnestly.
“FALLEN?  I was resting here to commune with nature.  Look around you at the glory!  Tis’ what I seek.  Do you have any food?”  He asks with a cough.

“My abode still lacks the glory befitting the convacle.  I have another thought…  come closer…”

Kailute leans in, smelling the disturbing rankness of the dwarf and his breath.

“Ere’s another group;  filthy with hidden silver day’s ride west.  Rumor has it they steal children in the darkness, too.  Let’s pay their camp a visit and see if we can’t find the proper balance of accounts.”

“This Vistani?”  Kailute asks.

“YES!  Scum!”

Kailute presses to travel to the holdfast;  but Bosmos continues to demur mentioning an interim location where he is working to restore the balance.

“Can we interest you with the finest vintage of ancient Myth Drannor?” DonBrapp steps forward, patting a wineskin on his hip.

“Certainly!  Much better than the jerked rabbit this half-orc is offering!”

“Nethkarg.”  Quilro states flatly, putting his hand to his blade and moving to restrain the dwarven druid.

“What’s going on here?  What are you about?”  Bosmos asks, stepping back as the group argues about how to detain the dwarf.

DonBrapp releases a hold spell at the dwarf, who is magically mortified.

Kailute puts his hand on Bosmos’ shoulder in a fatherly way.  “Bosmos, something is clearly not right.  Something has happened, and you need to tell us the truth about what is transpiring.”  Steely defensiveness is seen in his eyes, his only emotion.

Kailute bops Bosmos on the shoulder, absorbing his latent spells while Quilro grabs the magic rope from DonBrapp’s backpack begins to fasten the druid’s arms behind him with a vindictive tightness.  Once tied Quilro body slams the held and bound dwarf to the ground.

“Hey now!  Cool off!  Relax!” Kailute cries attempting to assuage Quilro’s passion.

DonBrapp guffaws at the scuffle unfolding south of the Bowshaft Way.

“Ignore the elf, Bosmos.  You need to come clean with us and tell us what is going on.  We want to help you.” Kailute attempts again, and rage grows behind his eyes.

Finally when the spell expires Bosmos spits grass and blood from his mouth.

“Fools.  The North is a hard land.  It demands hard actions, not the filigreed actions of outsiders.”
“What balance is it you are bringing?” Kailute enjoins.

“Balance requires as much darkness as it requires light.  The damned Harpers want their fingers in everything.  Best not to put one’s finger too close to the chopping block lest it be lost.”

“So, things are going to well here and you want to make them worse?” The half-orc asks, incredulous.
“What do you know of balance?” Bosmos spits.

“This druid is despised by man and animal. Every person hates you in the region.  Whatever your purpose is, you have lost the way.  If you maintain that this is your genius, you put us in a dangerous position.”  Kailute continues, as Quirlo guffaws not quite under his breath.

“Companions.  Heroes.  I tire of this nonsense.”  Bosmos shimmies his shoulders, and the dwarf disappears from view and the rope drops to the ground behind him.

Quilro puts the crown of truesight on, and it appears Bosmos used some sort of planar travel ability to escape the party.
“Remember that time the leaf-licker forgot to engage the anti-magic cube…” DonBrapp mutters.

Quilro takes a look around the area with the truesight, and he discovers another one of the triangularly weaved twig structure nearby.  Kailute has observed similar totems constructed by Kobold shamans for surreptitious pathfinding, although these are different.

Seeking to capitalize on Kailute’s spell absorption, the group moves out quickly in the reported direction of the Ampner estate to the south.

After a few miles, the party comes upon brightly lit train of wagons, not unlike the vundak gundar moved in a circle.  Lanterns on poles hang from around six large high-wheeled wagons drawn up on a hillock.  A curious mist rises from the ground, and the Vistani camp is directly ahead.

The camp has about 10-12 individuals moving through the camp, and a youth approaches in a dyed blue lambswool vest with ornamental rings sewn into the garment.

“Travelers!  What brings you to our humble encampment?”

“I am Kailute.  We have met Vartok, and he offered us this as an extension of hospitality.  There is a rogue druid in the region, and we seek information as to his whereabouts.”  Kailute steps forward, presenting the silver coin.
“I’ve never known a druid who wasn’t a rogue!” The youth chuckles back, taking the coin from Kailute.  “Ahh! Vartok!  A good man, knows where the wine and the women are to be found!”

A large brown bear is lumbering around the wagons, wearing a bright blue vest.  He approaches the party, sniffing lazily.

“How much would it cost for a seer to locate our friend?”  Quilro asks impatiently.

“My sister Denara has the sight.  50 gold is customary.”

“How much does it cost to get an actual reading?”  The elf asks.

After a minor deliberation of the cost versus accuracy, Quilro throws his purse to the lad while DonBrapp mutters “In all of my years studying deal making in Waterdeep, I have never met an elf so determined to piss away treasure.”
“I want the real deal.” Quilro again states.

The lad brings the group over to a gilded wagon and pounds on the door. “Denara!  Wake up!  We have customers!”

A beautiful alluring human female in her 20’s emerges.  “Who do you bring to me, Rostos?”  She invites the party inside, arranging space for enough to sit and offers refreshments.

Rostos dumps half the gold on the table, and then quickly departs.

“Who is it that wants to peer into the darkness and see the fates?”  She asks with her piercingly beautiful eyes.
Kailute leans in.  “We seek the Convacle of the west, a danger to the region, and hated by most.”

Denara looks into the half-orc’s eyes.  “You are far from your lands, aren’t you greenskin?  Yet strangely resigned.”  She grabs Kailute’s forearm and locks in.

“The one you seek has been making foul pacts with the dark ones.  He claims he is restoring the balance, but in truth he is sating his appetites.  He has lost something very important and powerful, and is now an empty soul.”
“Has what he has lost make him what he is?  He seems fallen.”

“His pride and weak character made him easily marked for baubles and compliments.”

“Is this area forever cursed?  Can a druid even hope to address it?”

“While your question is broad, many futures exist within the weave.”

“Those who harp mean well, but their power is limited here.  Your acquaintance is fallen, and darkness is on the march.”

“WHERE THE FUCK IS BOSMOS!”  Quilro yells in frustration.

“The dwarf is in a ruined mansion to the southwest, about six miles.”  The seer bids you farewell, and you move out into the sun and the mists persist at ankle level not burning through from under the sun.

The group continues southwest until they encounter six dark mailed riders atop warhorses, helmed and in a loose line about 200 yards from the party.

“Elf, prepare yourself.”  The half-orc states quietly, and then yells:  “Well met, warriors!”

The horsemen remain stonily silent, and Quilro transmutes into a harpy and takes to the sky.

Kailute puts a hand up in non-attack, but also one to his axe and begins to move toward them.

Preternaturally fast the horsemen fan out in a battle line, assuming a defensive posture from the harpy above.
Half the horseman appear to recoil from Quilro’s fireball attack, and DonBrapp buffs the group with a prayer to Vergadain.

Faster than seems possible the horsemen begin to charge closing fifty yards in the blink of an eye.  The dwarf invokes a protection.

Quilro releases a lightning bolt along the line of horsemen, and one of the mounted warriors explodes.
Kailute heaves an axe at one of the riders, knicking them in the shoulder.

The remaining three horsemen fall upon the half-orc swinging their swords, and the destriers bite and stomp against the barbarian.

The harpy-elf unleashes a magic missile, but there is no apparent effect.  DonBrapp unleashes two back to back blows with his hammer making two deliberate blows to the unearthly beings, and chips of armor fall from the unholy swordsman.

From behind, Quilro-harpy attempts to stab one of the creatures in the back and finds his blade bent backwards as he becomes visible.

One of the warriors attempts to bring his warhorse to attack to no avail.  With his longsword he brings his blade down against DonBrapp for a glancing blow to the shoulder.

Attempting to distract the warrior from the harpy behind him, DonBrapp lands another swing with Buzzkiller to the midsection of the mounted warrior.

Quilro stabs again to no avail;  Kailute slices deeply into one of the mounted warriors cleaving his leg from his hip as he falls from his saddle.  The half-orc stomps on his helmet, observing something off about these humanoids with desiccated, yellowish skin.

Harpy Quilro finally stabs the dagger into the back of a warrior, pushing the dagger straight into its neck.  The final abomination is felled and the warhorses gallop off to the southwest as the party gathers its thoughts.

Kailute rips the helmet from one, revealing a taut humanoid that suggests dark necromancy at work within these warriors, enhanced with negative planar powers.

Recovering the petty coin from the corpses, the group moves southwest toward the Ampner estate.  DonBrapp slurps a potion of healing in the midday sun as the group marches.