The familiar and homy stench of the Brokenveil Marsh assaults your senses first – a pungent stew of decaying vegetation and stagnant water that seems to cling to the air itself. Then comes the muskier counterpoint: the earthy, faintly sweet aroma of hundreds of gargantuan reptiles. You peer down through the gaps in the rickety rope bridges that crisscross above Urzin, the roaming village nestled on the backs of these massive horizonback tortoises.
The scene below is a vibrant tapestry of controlled chaos. Goblin children, their green skin shimmering in the damp sunlight, shriek and chase each other through the maze of ramshackle huts and makeshift workshops clinging precariously to the tortoises' shells. A scrawny hobgoblin hauls a cart piled high with scavenged scrap metal, dodging a lumbering ogre bellowing a song off-key as he polishes his massive axe. The denizens of Urzin, a motley crew of goblinoids and even a few stragglers from other races, barely glance your way as you carefully navigate the swaying bridges.
Finally, you reach the colossal, ramshackle hall of Ogre Lord Buhfal II, where you have been summoned. It's a towering structure compared to the surrounding dwellings, constructed from haphazardly nailed together timber, scrap metal, and whatever else the villagers could claw their hands on. A faded Dwendalian banner hangs listlessly above the entrance, a souvenir (or perhaps a war trophy) from some past encounter. With a deep breath, you step off the bridge and approach the imposing door, the rhythmic thud of your boots echoing through the humid air. A faint murmur of conversation drifts from within, punctuated by the occasional booming laugh. But the usual warmth of these sounds is absent, replaced by a tense undercurrent. The familiar stench of the marsh may be a comfort, but the unease in Urzin hangs heavy, a mystery waiting to be unraveled. The reason for Ogre Lord Buhfal II's summons hangs heavy in the air, and it carries the weight of something far more serious than a routine task.
The coarse leather curtain, heavy with age and damp, lets out a rasping sigh as you push through. The din of the swamp and the worried murmurs of Urzin's residents fade behind a thick wall of hide. Inside, the pungent marsh air gives way to a far more agreeable assault on the senses. The rich aroma of roasted meats hangs heavy, mingling with the enticing sweetness of spiced wine.
Orcish attendants, their tusks glinting in the dim light of flickering torches, stand aside and gesture towards a pile of well-worn furs laid before a massive throne crafted from bones and scavenged timber. This, you know, is the seat of power in Urzin – the domain of Ogre Lord Buhfal II. He sits upon his throne awaiting your arrival, a hulking figure clad in mismatched leather armor that strains at its seams, each piece a testament to some past victory. A mountain of muscle and green scarred flesh, Buhfal II is adorned with trophies that speak of countless battles. A dented Dwendalian helmet hangs from one shoulder, a glinting shard of obsidian from another. A thick black beard, streaked with a contrasting shock of red hair braided into intricate patterns, spills over his chest. A single gold earring, a gaudy contrast to his barbaric regalia, dangles from his left ear.
Lanuturns up, stepping out of the shadows to go up to the curtain. Although she is large, the strength of the orcs is enough to make her feel small. She follows their gestures to the throne. Why have I been chosen, are they just trying to get rid of me? I am not the person I once was. She remains silent, waiting for Ogre Lord Buhfal II to speak first.
(art and description to follow once I find something I like. I am not artistic myself so will be finding something that exists already)
Sosen pulled her cloak about her tighter as she approached the leather tent flaps while taking in her surroundings. She never thought she would be returning to Urzin so soon and definitely not being called upon by Ogre Lord Buhfal II. Despite the warm, humid swamp air, a cold shiver shot up the goblin's spine as she parted the tent flaps and entered.
Taking a moment to let her eyes adjust, Sosen looks about and proceeds to walk forward toward the throne of the Ogre Lord. Making a curtsey as befit a Lord, she then moved over to the gesturing attendants. While much more preferable to the swamp conditions outside the tent, Sosen still felt uncomfortable being ordered to 'attend' this call for help. She jerked upright as a plate of food and a goblet of wine were placed before her. Every 'attendant' looked to be ready to spring into action. Something was putting everyone on edge.
Passive Wisdom (Perception) = 14
All here looked like warriors of experience. Sosen's eyes were drawn to the reflection of dancing flames on bare steel. She considers her own mace and crossbow and and wonders if Xalicas may have made a mistake in sending her here.
Peregrine stalked through the tent, hood over his head, shielding his face from those taller than him, which was every being in the tent. He wasn't aware that the Ogre Lord knew of his existence, let alone why he would need his assistance, but there were whispers in his mind, reminding him:
You must do this. You could get the answers you seek. You could know the truth.
Lord Buhfal II himself sat on his throne, his battle scars reminding Peregrine how little experience he had in comparison, dashing his thoughts of an escape, should this summons go sour.
Ogre Lord Buhfal II leans forward, his gaze sweeps over each of you, a flicker of desperation battling with his gruff demeanor. A rumble, deep as a tremor and laced with a gruff warmth, echoes from his chest, his booming voice fills the hall. "Welcome, eat, drink!" his voice rumbles. "We've been expecting you. Now, enough pleasantries. There's a shadow hanging over Urzin, and whispers fill the air." The air crackles with tension as Buhfal II's gravelly voice echoes through the chamber. His gaze settles on each of you, a question hanging heavy in the air. He leans forward, his massive frame casting a hulking shadow across the furs. "Forty years ago," he begins, his voice dropping to a low growl, "my father, Buhfal I, was defeated in a legendary battle by the Kryn paragon, Sunbreaker Olomon. Since then, we've walked a tightrope, dutifully serving the Kryn Dynasty while keeping our traditions. But whispers stir among my people, a growing discontent." His gaze flickers to each of you in turn. "Three nights past, my most trusted advisor, the goblin witch Bol'bara, vanished. She ventured west into the Brokenveil Bluffs, a place crawling with danger where she regularly forages for ritual components, but she never returned. The Dwendalian patrols have been bolder of late, scouting the area from their accursed Fort Venture." A flicker of anger crosses his face. "Bol'bara is more than just an advisor. She's our chief loremaster, an elder seer who remembers the time before, the reign of the first Buhfal. She's our shield against both the empire's magic and the cruel swamps, and a cunning negotiator who keeps the Kryn Dynasty from tightening their grip. Without her, Urzin is adrift." He leans back, his gaze fixed on the flickering torches. "I need you to find her. Bring her back, alive if possible. If not..." he trails off, the unspoken threat hanging heavy in the air. "For your troubles," he continues, a glint returning to his eye, "I offer a purse of 200 gold and a choice of some of our 'premium weapons.'" He gestures towards a rack of primitively constructed axes and curved swords. "Think long and hard about what best suits your fighting style." A sly smile spreads across his face. "But before you set off blindly, I propose a bit of reconnaissance. Morgid, my finest scout," he calls out, and a wiry hobgoblin steps from the shadows, "will guide you to Fort Venture. See what the Dwendalian dogs are up to, get a lay of the land. Then, with knowledge in hand, you can venture into the Brokenveil Bluffs and find Bol'bara." Buhfal II rises from his throne, his massive form dwarfing you all. "So," he booms, "do we have a deal?" He extends a massive hand towards each of you in turn, a call to action hanging heavy in the air.
Sosen recognizes the 'premium weapons' offered are crude and cheap simple melee weapons of goblinoid designs hastily made from the scarce resources on hand in Urzin.
Lanu looks at those she is with, debates asking a question and then holds her tongue, not wanting to anger Buhfal or seem incompetent. So instead she puts her hand out and shakes. She has a firm grip, but not crushing. Not that she could if she tried. "I think reconnaissance is a great idea. And something that I am good at, though not as good as Morgid so I thank you sir for the guide. When you next see us, it will be with Bol'bara"
Sosen bows to Ogre Lord Buhfal II, "Many thanks to you for offering this grand endeavor to one such as I. While your offer of these premium weapons is most gracious, I would not wish to deny your loyal followers such weapons as they protect Urzin and you."
Turning to her companions, she stage whispers, "If you value your life, do not trust your wellbeing on those weapons. Better you pick up a random stick or rock," as she waves her arms to figuratively encompass the rack of weapons on display.
Facing back to the Ogre Lord, Sosen again genuflects. "The food and drink was most excellent, Lord Buhfal, as is your offer of gold and adventure. I hope we can find and return your trusted advisor so Urzin can be safe and secure again."
"I agree." Peregrine says simply shaking his hand, deciding not waste his time on pleasantries.
It wasn't as if he was entirely unsure of the quest being placed upon the soldiers of he and his companions, who seemed more than willing to complete it, but it was to find an old seer.
Perhaps she could aid your search.
"And thank you for the gold and the reconnaissance."
Buhfal's booming laughter fills the hall as you all agree to his terms. Relief washes over his features, momentarily softening the gruff exterior. He claps Morgid on the back, sending the wiry hobgoblin scurrying a few steps forward. "Excellent decision!" Buhfal exclaims. "Tonight, you are honored guests in Urzin! Rest, strategize, partake in our humble hospitality. Come morning, you and Morgid will be off, ready to face whatever lurks within the shadows of Fort Venture."
Morgid straightens his posture slightly, puffing out his chest in an attempt to appear more imposing. "Indeed," he timidly declares, his voice a nervous counterpoint to Buhfal's booming pronouncements. "Though, before you settle in for the night, perhaps you might have need of some... supplies? Urzin boasts a few enterprising merchants who can outfit you for any endeavor. Let me know what type of gear you seek and I can take you the proper merchant." His gaze flickers over each of you, a hint of something akin to greed lurking in his eyes. It's clear Morgid's loyalty lies primarily in his own self-interest. “I need an hour or two collect my effects, but we can depart for Fort Venture whenever you are ready.”
"What particular merchants do you have in mind, Morgid? Depending on how many days it is between Urzin and this fort, we might need more clean water and rations. Perhaps oiled slickers if it rains?" Sosen looks at her companions. "Weapons? Potions? Healing packs? Arrows?"
The goblin girl sighs, "I supposed it does not much matter. No matter what we try to purchase, chances are it will never be 'enough' to cover our 'expedition' properly."
“Depending on your specific needs, I recommend the following merchants:
Graaf the blacksmith for weapons and armor.
Quartermaster Krekk for tools and adventuring gear.
Vreya Trestilya for bows, crossbows, arrows and bolts, as well as simple hunters’ traps.”
The glint of greed is obvious in Morgid’s eye. “I estimate it will take us three days to reach Fort Venture, provided we do not lose our path. The marsh is constantly changing and difficult to navigate, even for a skilled scout like myself. When you feel equipped for our journey return to me & we can discuss the specifics.”
Peregrine doesn't see the point I'm wasting the little money he has on items he could come across later, or make himself in the future. With the exception of rations, but he's gone longer without those.
Sosen listened to her companions and shrugged. "I guess we are ready to move out as soon as Morgid is prepared." The goblin cleric decided to spend what time remained before moving out to silently meditate and pray to her patron, Xalicas.
A wry smile crossed her lips as she stopped her meditation and prayers. 'I am asking a blind goddess to lead us through this adventure. The god of irony has to be laughing his head off,' she thought as she pulled her belongings together.
The flickering torchlight dances across Morgid's face, highlighting the glint of avarice in his eyes as he returns to Buhfal's lodge with his well-worn equipment. He settles down at a table after greedily piling his plate high with roasted meat and swilling down spiced wine with gusto. With a gesture both inviting and calculated, he motions for the three adventurers to join him. He fishes out a worn and weathered scrap of vellum - a map of the marsh - from his belt pouch, smoothing it out on the rough wooden surface.
"Alright, listen up," he announces, his voice thick with a mixture of food and drink. "We’re here in Urzin (points to white circle) and we’re trying to get here to Fort Venture (points to black circle). I can guide you through the marsh, but be warned, it's difficult terrain and a treacherous place. The marsh loves outlanders like you. Loves to gobble ‘em up, bones and all. Many a fool has met their end in those murky depths. Now, if any of you fancy yourselves some master trackers or wilderness experts," he throws a sly glance around the table, "we may have better odds of avoiding getting lost. I'm happy to share this map and what I know. But remember, time is money, and these swamps don't exactly offer a scenic route."
He leans back, his gaze flickering from one of you to the next, gauging your reactions. "As for the pace," he continues, picking at his teeth with a grimy fingernail, "three days is a fair estimate if we don't get sidetracked. But hey, if you're feeling adventurous, maybe we can push it a bit faster. Just know, the risks increase the quicker we move. Who should navigate and how fast should we travel?”
Peregrine surveyed the map. He'd passed through the marsh once and it had been when he'd first travelled to Urzin. He'd vowed never to step foot in there again. But he'd have to sacrifice his pride for this quest.
"I may not be a master tracker, but I have some experience in the marshes...that is to say I've been there once." He looked over the map again. "I'm not sure how imperative this mission is, but my best advice is to travel slow through the marsh and perhaps pick up the pace when it's behind us."
He looked at his companions, "But I will do what the group decides. If you two have another plan, I'll follow it."
He had never been much of a follower, but they were dangerous marshes.
Sosen looks over the map and sighs. "I am from the swamps and marshes and have travelled in some spot in the north and south. With my armor and shield, I probably have a good chance of surviving 'first contact' with some things in the swamps. However, I am hoping we can all work together and use our talents to the benefit of all."
The goblin turns to Morgid, "Any suggestions on which way might be fastest and safest? And what do these represent?" ** points to the giant ribcage and what looks like a tower **
"Slow is fast and Fast can be deadly - in the Brokenveil Marsh," Sosen recounts as they look the map. "IF we are lucky, we might cross a mile an hour due to the marsh conditions. Less if something decides to jump out to kill us."
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The familiar and homy stench of the Brokenveil Marsh assaults your senses first – a pungent stew of decaying vegetation and stagnant water that seems to cling to the air itself. Then comes the muskier counterpoint: the earthy, faintly sweet aroma of hundreds of gargantuan reptiles. You peer down through the gaps in the rickety rope bridges that crisscross above Urzin, the roaming village nestled on the backs of these massive horizonback tortoises.
The scene below is a vibrant tapestry of controlled chaos. Goblin children, their green skin shimmering in the damp sunlight, shriek and chase each other through the maze of ramshackle huts and makeshift workshops clinging precariously to the tortoises' shells. A scrawny hobgoblin hauls a cart piled high with scavenged scrap metal, dodging a lumbering ogre bellowing a song off-key as he polishes his massive axe. The denizens of Urzin, a motley crew of goblinoids and even a few stragglers from other races, barely glance your way as you carefully navigate the swaying bridges.
Finally, you reach the colossal, ramshackle hall of Ogre Lord Buhfal II, where you have been summoned. It's a towering structure compared to the surrounding dwellings, constructed from haphazardly nailed together timber, scrap metal, and whatever else the villagers could claw their hands on. A faded Dwendalian banner hangs listlessly above the entrance, a souvenir (or perhaps a war trophy) from some past encounter. With a deep breath, you step off the bridge and approach the imposing door, the rhythmic thud of your boots echoing through the humid air. A faint murmur of conversation drifts from within, punctuated by the occasional booming laugh. But the usual warmth of these sounds is absent, replaced by a tense undercurrent. The familiar stench of the marsh may be a comfort, but the unease in Urzin hangs heavy, a mystery waiting to be unraveled. The reason for Ogre Lord Buhfal II's summons hangs heavy in the air, and it carries the weight of something far more serious than a routine task.
The coarse leather curtain, heavy with age and damp, lets out a rasping sigh as you push through. The din of the swamp and the worried murmurs of Urzin's residents fade behind a thick wall of hide. Inside, the pungent marsh air gives way to a far more agreeable assault on the senses. The rich aroma of roasted meats hangs heavy, mingling with the enticing sweetness of spiced wine.
Orcish attendants, their tusks glinting in the dim light of flickering torches, stand aside and gesture towards a pile of well-worn furs laid before a massive throne crafted from bones and scavenged timber. This, you know, is the seat of power in Urzin – the domain of Ogre Lord Buhfal II. He sits upon his throne awaiting your arrival, a hulking figure clad in mismatched leather armor that strains at its seams, each piece a testament to some past victory. A mountain of muscle and green scarred flesh, Buhfal II is adorned with trophies that speak of countless battles. A dented Dwendalian helmet hangs from one shoulder, a glinting shard of obsidian from another. A thick black beard, streaked with a contrasting shock of red hair braided into intricate patterns, spills over his chest. A single gold earring, a gaudy contrast to his barbaric regalia, dangles from his left ear.
Lanu turns up, stepping out of the shadows to go up to the curtain. Although she is large, the strength of the orcs is enough to make her feel small. She follows their gestures to the throne. Why have I been chosen, are they just trying to get rid of me? I am not the person I once was. She remains silent, waiting for Ogre Lord Buhfal II to speak first.
(art and description to follow once I find something I like. I am not artistic myself so will be finding something that exists already)
After joining more my signature got out of hand so I am now a proud member of the extended signature club!! :)
Sosen pulled her cloak about her tighter as she approached the leather tent flaps while taking in her surroundings. She never thought she would be returning to Urzin so soon and definitely not being called upon by Ogre Lord Buhfal II. Despite the warm, humid swamp air, a cold shiver shot up the goblin's spine as she parted the tent flaps and entered.
Taking a moment to let her eyes adjust, Sosen looks about and proceeds to walk forward toward the throne of the Ogre Lord. Making a curtsey as befit a Lord, she then moved over to the gesturing attendants. While much more preferable to the swamp conditions outside the tent, Sosen still felt uncomfortable being ordered to 'attend' this call for help. She jerked upright as a plate of food and a goblet of wine were placed before her. Every 'attendant' looked to be ready to spring into action. Something was putting everyone on edge.
Passive Wisdom (Perception) = 14
All here looked like warriors of experience. Sosen's eyes were drawn to the reflection of dancing flames on bare steel. She considers her own mace and crossbow and and wonders if Xalicas may have made a mistake in sending her here.
Best to keep her eyes and ears open for now.
Peregrine stalked through the tent, hood over his head, shielding his face from those taller than him, which was every being in the tent. He wasn't aware that the Ogre Lord knew of his existence, let alone why he would need his assistance, but there were whispers in his mind, reminding him:
You must do this. You could get the answers you seek. You could know the truth.
Lord Buhfal II himself sat on his throne, his battle scars reminding Peregrine how little experience he had in comparison, dashing his thoughts of an escape, should this summons go sour.
Ogre Lord Buhfal II leans forward, his gaze sweeps over each of you, a flicker of desperation battling with his gruff demeanor. A rumble, deep as a tremor and laced with a gruff warmth, echoes from his chest, his booming voice fills the hall. "Welcome, eat, drink!" his voice rumbles. "We've been expecting you. Now, enough pleasantries. There's a shadow hanging over Urzin, and whispers fill the air." The air crackles with tension as Buhfal II's gravelly voice echoes through the chamber. His gaze settles on each of you, a question hanging heavy in the air. He leans forward, his massive frame casting a hulking shadow across the furs. "Forty years ago," he begins, his voice dropping to a low growl, "my father, Buhfal I, was defeated in a legendary battle by the Kryn paragon, Sunbreaker Olomon. Since then, we've walked a tightrope, dutifully serving the Kryn Dynasty while keeping our traditions. But whispers stir among my people, a growing discontent." His gaze flickers to each of you in turn. "Three nights past, my most trusted advisor, the goblin witch Bol'bara, vanished. She ventured west into the Brokenveil Bluffs, a place crawling with danger where she regularly forages for ritual components, but she never returned. The Dwendalian patrols have been bolder of late, scouting the area from their accursed Fort Venture." A flicker of anger crosses his face. "Bol'bara is more than just an advisor. She's our chief loremaster, an elder seer who remembers the time before, the reign of the first Buhfal. She's our shield against both the empire's magic and the cruel swamps, and a cunning negotiator who keeps the Kryn Dynasty from tightening their grip. Without her, Urzin is adrift." He leans back, his gaze fixed on the flickering torches. "I need you to find her. Bring her back, alive if possible. If not..." he trails off, the unspoken threat hanging heavy in the air. "For your troubles," he continues, a glint returning to his eye, "I offer a purse of 200 gold and a choice of some of our 'premium weapons.'" He gestures towards a rack of primitively constructed axes and curved swords. "Think long and hard about what best suits your fighting style." A sly smile spreads across his face. "But before you set off blindly, I propose a bit of reconnaissance. Morgid, my finest scout," he calls out, and a wiry hobgoblin steps from the shadows, "will guide you to Fort Venture. See what the Dwendalian dogs are up to, get a lay of the land. Then, with knowledge in hand, you can venture into the Brokenveil Bluffs and find Bol'bara." Buhfal II rises from his throne, his massive form dwarfing you all. "So," he booms, "do we have a deal?" He extends a massive hand towards each of you in turn, a call to action hanging heavy in the air.
Sosen recognizes the 'premium weapons' offered are crude and cheap simple melee weapons of goblinoid designs hastily made from the scarce resources on hand in Urzin.
Lanu looks at those she is with, debates asking a question and then holds her tongue, not wanting to anger Buhfal or seem incompetent. So instead she puts her hand out and shakes. She has a firm grip, but not crushing. Not that she could if she tried. "I think reconnaissance is a great idea. And something that I am good at, though not as good as Morgid so I thank you sir for the guide. When you next see us, it will be with Bol'bara"
After joining more my signature got out of hand so I am now a proud member of the extended signature club!! :)
Sosen bows to Ogre Lord Buhfal II, "Many thanks to you for offering this grand endeavor to one such as I. While your offer of these premium weapons is most gracious, I would not wish to deny your loyal followers such weapons as they protect Urzin and you."
Turning to her companions, she stage whispers, "If you value your life, do not trust your wellbeing on those weapons. Better you pick up a random stick or rock," as she waves her arms to figuratively encompass the rack of weapons on display.
Facing back to the Ogre Lord, Sosen again genuflects. "The food and drink was most excellent, Lord Buhfal, as is your offer of gold and adventure. I hope we can find and return your trusted advisor so Urzin can be safe and secure again."
"I agree." Peregrine says simply shaking his hand, deciding not waste his time on pleasantries.
It wasn't as if he was entirely unsure of the quest being placed upon the soldiers of he and his companions, who seemed more than willing to complete it, but it was to find an old seer.
Perhaps she could aid your search.
"And thank you for the gold and the reconnaissance."
Buhfal's booming laughter fills the hall as you all agree to his terms. Relief washes over his features, momentarily softening the gruff exterior. He claps Morgid on the back, sending the wiry hobgoblin scurrying a few steps forward. "Excellent decision!" Buhfal exclaims. "Tonight, you are honored guests in Urzin! Rest, strategize, partake in our humble hospitality. Come morning, you and Morgid will be off, ready to face whatever lurks within the shadows of Fort Venture."
Morgid straightens his posture slightly, puffing out his chest in an attempt to appear more imposing. "Indeed," he timidly declares, his voice a nervous counterpoint to Buhfal's booming pronouncements. "Though, before you settle in for the night, perhaps you might have need of some... supplies? Urzin boasts a few enterprising merchants who can outfit you for any endeavor. Let me know what type of gear you seek and I can take you the proper merchant." His gaze flickers over each of you, a hint of something akin to greed lurking in his eyes. It's clear Morgid's loyalty lies primarily in his own self-interest. “I need an hour or two collect my effects, but we can depart for Fort Venture whenever you are ready.”
"What particular merchants do you have in mind, Morgid? Depending on how many days it is between Urzin and this fort, we might need more clean water and rations. Perhaps oiled slickers if it rains? " Sosen looks at her companions. "Weapons? Potions? Healing packs? Arrows?"
The goblin girl sighs, "I supposed it does not much matter. No matter what we try to purchase, chances are it will never be 'enough' to cover our 'expedition' properly."
“Depending on your specific needs, I recommend the following merchants:
The glint of greed is obvious in Morgid’s eye. “I estimate it will take us three days to reach Fort Venture, provided we do not lose our path. The marsh is constantly changing and difficult to navigate, even for a skilled scout like myself. When you feel equipped for our journey return to me & we can discuss the specifics.”
Lanu goes around the shops, deciding that travelling light is key and she has everything she needs already. She returns and waits for the others
After joining more my signature got out of hand so I am now a proud member of the extended signature club!! :)
Peregrine doesn't see the point I'm wasting the little money he has on items he could come across later, or make himself in the future. With the exception of rations, but he's gone longer without those.
Sosen listened to her companions and shrugged. "I guess we are ready to move out as soon as Morgid is prepared." The goblin cleric decided to spend what time remained before moving out to silently meditate and pray to her patron, Xalicas.
A wry smile crossed her lips as she stopped her meditation and prayers. 'I am asking a blind goddess to lead us through this adventure. The god of irony has to be laughing his head off,' she thought as she pulled her belongings together.
The flickering torchlight dances across Morgid's face, highlighting the glint of avarice in his eyes as he returns to Buhfal's lodge with his well-worn equipment. He settles down at a table after greedily piling his plate high with roasted meat and swilling down spiced wine with gusto. With a gesture both inviting and calculated, he motions for the three adventurers to join him. He fishes out a worn and weathered scrap of vellum - a map of the marsh - from his belt pouch, smoothing it out on the rough wooden surface.
"Alright, listen up," he announces, his voice thick with a mixture of food and drink. "We’re here in Urzin (points to white circle) and we’re trying to get here to Fort Venture (points to black circle). I can guide you through the marsh, but be warned, it's difficult terrain and a treacherous place. The marsh loves outlanders like you. Loves to gobble ‘em up, bones and all. Many a fool has met their end in those murky depths. Now, if any of you fancy yourselves some master trackers or wilderness experts," he throws a sly glance around the table, "we may have better odds of avoiding getting lost. I'm happy to share this map and what I know. But remember, time is money, and these swamps don't exactly offer a scenic route."
He leans back, his gaze flickering from one of you to the next, gauging your reactions. "As for the pace," he continues, picking at his teeth with a grimy fingernail, "three days is a fair estimate if we don't get sidetracked. But hey, if you're feeling adventurous, maybe we can push it a bit faster. Just know, the risks increase the quicker we move. Who should navigate and how fast should we travel?”
Peregrine surveyed the map. He'd passed through the marsh once and it had been when he'd first travelled to Urzin. He'd vowed never to step foot in there again. But he'd have to sacrifice his pride for this quest.
"I may not be a master tracker, but I have some experience in the marshes...that is to say I've been there once." He looked over the map again. "I'm not sure how imperative this mission is, but my best advice is to travel slow through the marsh and perhaps pick up the pace when it's behind us."
He looked at his companions, "But I will do what the group decides. If you two have another plan, I'll follow it."
He had never been much of a follower, but they were dangerous marshes.
Sosen looks over the map and sighs. "I am from the swamps and marshes and have travelled in some spot in the north and south. With my armor and shield, I probably have a good chance of surviving 'first contact' with some things in the swamps. However, I am hoping we can all work together and use our talents to the benefit of all."
The goblin turns to Morgid, "Any suggestions on which way might be fastest and safest? And what do these represent?" ** points to the giant ribcage and what looks like a tower **
"Slow is fast and Fast can be deadly - in the Brokenveil Marsh," Sosen recounts as they look the map. "IF we are lucky, we might cross a mile an hour due to the marsh conditions. Less if something decides to jump out to kill us."