Burik reaches the top of the hill, and looks out over the darkness. He can make out the silhouettes of trees as the hill slopes back down toward another part of the forest. As his eyes adjust to the night, he can even make out the southernmost peaks of the White Wind Mountains, but they're days and days of travel to the east. Nothing appears suspicious or at all connected to the creatures that just attacked the caravan.
Rigg joins him on the hill. "I think we should pack up and ride through the night," he starts. "We should only be a few hours from the village, and by then I think it'll be light out. These people should be safer there."
"Agreed, although I think that we should take turns watching and resting. One at the front, one at the rear on watch, and the others resting wherever there's space. I don't want to be surprised in the night, nor be too tired to react during the day. I'm not sure about yourselves, but my sight is good during the night and I'll happily take the first stint."
After things are sorted you can hear Burik almost mumble the words, "This place... It just feels wrong, off." He also maintains the light on his shield, almost using it to defend against the very darkness of the night itself.
Burik takes the lead as the caravan heads out once again, tired and worn down. Rigg brings up the rear as everyone else attempts to at least rest their eyes while they ride on. The next few hours pass without incident, and Lucina takes Burik's spot at the head of the group. Percival relieves Rigg, and everyone pushes on. Lucina's darkvision is only needed for an hour or two, as the distant horizon to the east starts to light up as sunrise approaches.
The ridge of the hill you've been riding on slowly starts to level out as the eastern sky turns orange and the sun makes its appearance. Ahead, another mile or so, you see the silhouettes of some buildings. Maybe thirty or forty, mostly single-story, clumped together haphazardly. This must be the village of Southwort that you had been told about. As you get even closer, the buildings come into view - and much further beyond, you can see the outline of the great city of Lovilra. It still looks to be about a day's ride to the north, but it's towering cathedrals and the spires of the castle can be seen off in the distance.
Southwort is much more modest. The center of town, if you can call it that, looks to have an all-purpose general store, a small church, and a tavern called The Proud Wort. Attached to the tavern is a two-story building with a rusted sign that reads The Sleepy Fox. Surrounding that seem to be private residences - mostly modest wooden structures with (what you're guessing are) a few rooms inside. Two or three have two stories, but still aren't anything fancy. It's early, so things are mostly quiet, but there are a few folks milling about in the center of town. Some middle-aged halflings are heading north with sickles - they look to be farmers judging by their wide-brimmed hats and dusty clothes. A large half-orc woman sits on a chair out in front of one of the houses. A human walks through town holding some chickens by their feet, and a group of very old half-elves and another half-orc sit around a table at the edge of town with crude mugs, laughing and rolling dice.
The caravan starts to break up. "We'll be heading up to Lovilra tomorrow morning about an hour after sun up," says the gnome to no one in particular. A family heads down one of the streets and into one of the houses, seemingly knowing one of the residents here. The gnome pulls his wagon behind the general store, Fenfer, Breni, and Rigg head toward the front of the general store, and everyone else generally disperses. Lucina, Burik, and Percival are now on the edge of town, watching the small community start their day.
The others agree, and the group enters the dimly lit tavern. A long bar lines the back of the room. Behind it, a half-orc is slumped in a chair, snoring. There are scattered tables and chairs, and it smells a bit musty, although the place is otherwise reassuringly clean. A pair of old half-elves sit at one table chatting, drinking, and eating what appears to be some kind of sausage. At the other end of the room, in a dark corner, is a hulking figure sitting alone at a table. It has a vaguely humanoid silhouette, but the long horns and giant, fur-covered head tip everyone off that this is actually a minotaur. An enormous maul leans up on the chair next to him, as he studies what appears to be a dirty map of some kind.
A low, rumbling growl comes from the minotaur, as he looks at the map with obvious dissatisfaction. This map-maker was drunk, he mutters to himself, though it's easy enough to overhear what he's saying in the tavern room. Even I can see that those hills are not aligned correctly, and I've only seen them from the town walls. Bah! He thumps his fist on the table, then reaches for his drink and downs it.
On lowering the tankard, he spots the party entering the tavern. Oh, great, he says looking directly at them. More peasants in this worthless town? Or are you good for something more than chasing down errant chickens?
Brask is a tall, dark-brown male minotaur, fairly young and rather imposing, especially if you've not seen a minotaur before. He's wearing dull-coloured chain and a brown cloak. His large horns angle out from the side of his head before pointing forwards. He wears no jewellery or other adornments that you can see, other than a scowl that is probably genuine.
Burik, an average sized dwarf with dark skin and scruffy, short hair, ignores the minotaur at first. He heads straight to the bar, grabbing two pints and downing the first before heading towards the minotaur.
"Very few are truly worthless, but if you seek help in matters beyond the norm, perhaps I can be of assistance? The name's Burik by the way." He takes a seat opposite him and takes a sip of the second drink.
Hah. Spend a few days in this town, and you might change your mind. The minotaur leans back and looks over Burik, considering him for a moment, weighing up his skills. Finally he speaks: Bandits. Call themselves the White Moon. I'm looking for someone to help me take something from them, maybe some property, maybe a few heads. I'm Brask, by the way. He offers Burik his hand to shake. You want in?
"We'll see. Bandits you say, I'm definitely not against making the roads safer to travel that's for sure." He takes the offered and hand shakes it firmly. "So what information have you gathered so far?"
I have learned very little of the bandits. There are six, or ten, or possibly twenty-five of them, depending on which peasant you ask and how many times they were dropped on the head as a babe. I have a badly-written map, he pushes the thing over for Burik to inspect, and points to the spot that supposedly marks the bandit's camp, but sufficient to find their hole. And I have a large maul, good for caving in the heads of fools. He smiles. As I say, this might be a raid, might be a slaughter, depends what it looks like on the ground.
The half-orc slumps back in a chair after serving Burik his drinks and starts to nod off again. A fly buzzes around and lands on the bottom lip of his slightly open mouth.
From across the room, one of the half-elves calls out "Wouldn't go into those forests by myself." Clearly eavesdropping, he nods as you look over. His companion waves a hand at the air, brushing away his concern. "Oh, now don't you start that again, Petyr." He doesn't even look up, but goes back to cutting up the final piece of sausage.
Just then a younger man comes into the tavern, throws a bag of freshly baked bread up on the bar, and turns to leave. "Morning, fellas," he smiles at the half-elves, then turns to you and gives a nod before heading back out.
Now Petyr, I think you should tell us what you know about those forests.
Oi, he shouts at the dozing half-orc, an ale for my friend Petyr over there, to keep his throat lubricated as he tells us his fine story. And an ale for his friend of course, to make sure he keeps his sodding mouth shut. Brask gives a warning glare at the friend, to discourage him from interrupting Petyr (Intimidation10), and settles down to hear the man's tale.
The bartender begrudgingly gets up and starts pouring more ale. Eyes half closed, he brings them over to the table of half-elves. The friend raises his glass toward Brask and seems to be amused by his threat. "Thanks, friend. You don't know what you've started. Ha!"
Petyr raises his glass as well before taking a long, deep drink of the beer. "It's less of a story," he starts. "And more a lesson in history. And hell, it's not just those forests out there...it's this whole forsaken world we're living on." He gets up slowly, and with a slightly arched back, makes his way over to the bar. He pulls out one of the loaves of bread and tears a piece off. He chews it on the way back to his table, washing it down with another swig of ale. "Back when this material world was getting started, there was an awful war between the gods and the devils. And the only way to end it was to have a common enemy. And so those gods and devils worked together to tear apart Satan - him being the first devil and all, and resistant to giving up the throne of hell to newcomers - and spread his remains out across every conceivable and inconceivable reality so he could never return. Well, guess where one of those pieces end up? As the damn heart of this rock we're all living and dying on."
"Ah, bullshit, Petyr." The bartender is finally awake and alert now, eating some of the bread as he tidies up behind the bar. "Just an old elves' tale."
"Oh, the old elves know this history, that's true." Petyr continues. "But it's because they've seen the evil that pulses...that comes to life...that is only growing, all the time. I don't know what it wants, or when it's going to take it, but it can't be good for anyone still living and breathing. My poppa is a wood elf who's been around for a good, long time, and he's seen terrible things. Shadows come to life. Dark things in the night taking away babes. It ain't no tale. And it's happening more and more. Hell, we just had a girl and her momma go missing not two weeks ago. No trace. Just...gone. And there was a sailor come through town 'bout...a year ago, was it?" He looks quickly over at the bartender but doesn't give him time to respond. "Said his ship crashed up on the Carrion Coast out east. Whole crew was attacked and eaten by some monstrous things. He was real skittish. Only one that made it out. Anyway, all I'm saying is you best be careful traveling around in the dark, away from civilization."
The bartender brings a few pieces of bread over to the table and places them down. "Damn sailor was a drunk," he whispers. "Came in here talking about all kinds of crazy shit can't be true. Reeked of rum." He stands up and looks over at the half-elves, making sure they didn't hear, and then heads back behind the bar.
What did I tell you? Brask mutters to Burik. Worthless peasants wherever you look. He raises his voice so that the half-elves can hear. Thank you for the tale, friend. Enjoy your drink. He turns back to Burik. What a bunch of horseshit. Come on if you're coming. I'm off to do my job. He picks up his maul, drops some coin in front of the snoozing half-orc, and heads out.
"They're not crazy." Burik says softly, "There are things that lurk in the darkness between life and death. I was saved from that place by something that now grants me strength, it's not impossible that it can be done for the things that live there..." Burik is visibly shaken.
He rises slowly to follow Brask, "Just watch the shadows while we're out there alright?"
Percival and Lucinda, who have been standing quietly near the bar listening, move to join Burik and Brask. As they step outside the door, though, Lucinda pauses and waits for the group to notice she isn't following them. "My personal business in Lovilra cannot be put off any longer. But I thank you for your companionship on the road. Perhaps our paths will meet again." She gives a gentle bow and turns, walking down the main street of Southwort heading north.
The three remaining men set out in search of the bandit camp. Burik and Percival wonder if this group is connected to the men who abducted Breni and robbed the merchant back on the road into town. They exchange some brief conversation on the way out of Southwort, but everyone takes on a more serious tone once the wooden structures of the town fade away through the trees and things become more and more dense.
Brask lets out a few audible snorts of frustration while looking at the crudely drawn map, but it's clear he has some experience navigating through the wilds. It isn't long before the forest begins to open up again. The trees mostly give way to brush and meadows as you begin to hear the faint sound of rushing water. Eventually a faint sand road comes into view - beyond it, you can see a moderately sized river flowing to the west. Just before the banks, though, you see some piles of logs, a few small wagons, and you then hear the sound of voices coming from the other side of a small embankment next to the river.
You are the three red stars near the top of the image. Anything in black is obscured.
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DM - Above & Below
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Casting light on his shield, Burik heads to the crest of the hill to see what lies beyond, maybe where these creatures of darkness came from.
Roll an investigation check.
DM - Above & Below
9
Burik reaches the top of the hill, and looks out over the darkness. He can make out the silhouettes of trees as the hill slopes back down toward another part of the forest. As his eyes adjust to the night, he can even make out the southernmost peaks of the White Wind Mountains, but they're days and days of travel to the east. Nothing appears suspicious or at all connected to the creatures that just attacked the caravan.
Rigg joins him on the hill. "I think we should pack up and ride through the night," he starts. "We should only be a few hours from the village, and by then I think it'll be light out. These people should be safer there."
DM - Above & Below
"Very well. Let's head on."
Xenophon: Topaz Dragonborn Fighter (ixi's Dragon of Icespire Peak)
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"Agreed, although I think that we should take turns watching and resting. One at the front, one at the rear on watch, and the others resting wherever there's space. I don't want to be surprised in the night, nor be too tired to react during the day. I'm not sure about yourselves, but my sight is good during the night and I'll happily take the first stint."
After things are sorted you can hear Burik almost mumble the words, "This place... It just feels wrong, off." He also maintains the light on his shield, almost using it to defend against the very darkness of the night itself.
Burik takes the lead as the caravan heads out once again, tired and worn down. Rigg brings up the rear as everyone else attempts to at least rest their eyes while they ride on. The next few hours pass without incident, and Lucina takes Burik's spot at the head of the group. Percival relieves Rigg, and everyone pushes on. Lucina's darkvision is only needed for an hour or two, as the distant horizon to the east starts to light up as sunrise approaches.
The ridge of the hill you've been riding on slowly starts to level out as the eastern sky turns orange and the sun makes its appearance. Ahead, another mile or so, you see the silhouettes of some buildings. Maybe thirty or forty, mostly single-story, clumped together haphazardly. This must be the village of Southwort that you had been told about. As you get even closer, the buildings come into view - and much further beyond, you can see the outline of the great city of Lovilra. It still looks to be about a day's ride to the north, but it's towering cathedrals and the spires of the castle can be seen off in the distance.
Southwort is much more modest. The center of town, if you can call it that, looks to have an all-purpose general store, a small church, and a tavern called The Proud Wort. Attached to the tavern is a two-story building with a rusted sign that reads The Sleepy Fox. Surrounding that seem to be private residences - mostly modest wooden structures with (what you're guessing are) a few rooms inside. Two or three have two stories, but still aren't anything fancy. It's early, so things are mostly quiet, but there are a few folks milling about in the center of town. Some middle-aged halflings are heading north with sickles - they look to be farmers judging by their wide-brimmed hats and dusty clothes. A large half-orc woman sits on a chair out in front of one of the houses. A human walks through town holding some chickens by their feet, and a group of very old half-elves and another half-orc sit around a table at the edge of town with crude mugs, laughing and rolling dice.
The caravan starts to break up. "We'll be heading up to Lovilra tomorrow morning about an hour after sun up," says the gnome to no one in particular. A family heads down one of the streets and into one of the houses, seemingly knowing one of the residents here. The gnome pulls his wagon behind the general store, Fenfer, Breni, and Rigg head toward the front of the general store, and everyone else generally disperses. Lucina, Burik, and Percival are now on the edge of town, watching the small community start their day.
DM - Above & Below
"I don't know about the rest of you, but I could do with a drink after all that!"
The others agree, and the group enters the dimly lit tavern. A long bar lines the back of the room. Behind it, a half-orc is slumped in a chair, snoring. There are scattered tables and chairs, and it smells a bit musty, although the place is otherwise reassuringly clean. A pair of old half-elves sit at one table chatting, drinking, and eating what appears to be some kind of sausage. At the other end of the room, in a dark corner, is a hulking figure sitting alone at a table. It has a vaguely humanoid silhouette, but the long horns and giant, fur-covered head tip everyone off that this is actually a minotaur. An enormous maul leans up on the chair next to him, as he studies what appears to be a dirty map of some kind.
DM - Above & Below
A low, rumbling growl comes from the minotaur, as he looks at the map with obvious dissatisfaction. This map-maker was drunk, he mutters to himself, though it's easy enough to overhear what he's saying in the tavern room. Even I can see that those hills are not aligned correctly, and I've only seen them from the town walls. Bah! He thumps his fist on the table, then reaches for his drink and downs it.
On lowering the tankard, he spots the party entering the tavern. Oh, great, he says looking directly at them. More peasants in this worthless town? Or are you good for something more than chasing down errant chickens?
Brask is a tall, dark-brown male minotaur, fairly young and rather imposing, especially if you've not seen a minotaur before. He's wearing dull-coloured chain and a brown cloak. His large horns angle out from the side of his head before pointing forwards. He wears no jewellery or other adornments that you can see, other than a scowl that is probably genuine.
Burik, an average sized dwarf with dark skin and scruffy, short hair, ignores the minotaur at first. He heads straight to the bar, grabbing two pints and downing the first before heading towards the minotaur.
"Very few are truly worthless, but if you seek help in matters beyond the norm, perhaps I can be of assistance? The name's Burik by the way." He takes a seat opposite him and takes a sip of the second drink.
Hah. Spend a few days in this town, and you might change your mind. The minotaur leans back and looks over Burik, considering him for a moment, weighing up his skills. Finally he speaks: Bandits. Call themselves the White Moon. I'm looking for someone to help me take something from them, maybe some property, maybe a few heads. I'm Brask, by the way. He offers Burik his hand to shake. You want in?
"We'll see. Bandits you say, I'm definitely not against making the roads safer to travel that's for sure." He takes the offered and hand shakes it firmly. "So what information have you gathered so far?"
I have learned very little of the bandits. There are six, or ten, or possibly twenty-five of them, depending on which peasant you ask and how many times they were dropped on the head as a babe. I have a badly-written map, he pushes the thing over for Burik to inspect, and points to the spot that supposedly marks the bandit's camp, but sufficient to find their hole. And I have a large maul, good for caving in the heads of fools. He smiles. As I say, this might be a raid, might be a slaughter, depends what it looks like on the ground.
The half-orc slumps back in a chair after serving Burik his drinks and starts to nod off again. A fly buzzes around and lands on the bottom lip of his slightly open mouth.
From across the room, one of the half-elves calls out "Wouldn't go into those forests by myself." Clearly eavesdropping, he nods as you look over. His companion waves a hand at the air, brushing away his concern. "Oh, now don't you start that again, Petyr." He doesn't even look up, but goes back to cutting up the final piece of sausage.
Just then a younger man comes into the tavern, throws a bag of freshly baked bread up on the bar, and turns to leave. "Morning, fellas," he smiles at the half-elves, then turns to you and gives a nod before heading back out.
DM - Above & Below
Now Petyr, I think you should tell us what you know about those forests.
Oi, he shouts at the dozing half-orc, an ale for my friend Petyr over there, to keep his throat lubricated as he tells us his fine story. And an ale for his friend of course, to make sure he keeps his sodding mouth shut. Brask gives a warning glare at the friend, to discourage him from interrupting Petyr (Intimidation 10), and settles down to hear the man's tale.
The bartender begrudgingly gets up and starts pouring more ale. Eyes half closed, he brings them over to the table of half-elves. The friend raises his glass toward Brask and seems to be amused by his threat. "Thanks, friend. You don't know what you've started. Ha!"
Petyr raises his glass as well before taking a long, deep drink of the beer. "It's less of a story," he starts. "And more a lesson in history. And hell, it's not just those forests out there...it's this whole forsaken world we're living on." He gets up slowly, and with a slightly arched back, makes his way over to the bar. He pulls out one of the loaves of bread and tears a piece off. He chews it on the way back to his table, washing it down with another swig of ale. "Back when this material world was getting started, there was an awful war between the gods and the devils. And the only way to end it was to have a common enemy. And so those gods and devils worked together to tear apart Satan - him being the first devil and all, and resistant to giving up the throne of hell to newcomers - and spread his remains out across every conceivable and inconceivable reality so he could never return. Well, guess where one of those pieces end up? As the damn heart of this rock we're all living and dying on."
"Ah, bullshit, Petyr." The bartender is finally awake and alert now, eating some of the bread as he tidies up behind the bar. "Just an old elves' tale."
"Oh, the old elves know this history, that's true." Petyr continues. "But it's because they've seen the evil that pulses...that comes to life...that is only growing, all the time. I don't know what it wants, or when it's going to take it, but it can't be good for anyone still living and breathing. My poppa is a wood elf who's been around for a good, long time, and he's seen terrible things. Shadows come to life. Dark things in the night taking away babes. It ain't no tale. And it's happening more and more. Hell, we just had a girl and her momma go missing not two weeks ago. No trace. Just...gone. And there was a sailor come through town 'bout...a year ago, was it?" He looks quickly over at the bartender but doesn't give him time to respond. "Said his ship crashed up on the Carrion Coast out east. Whole crew was attacked and eaten by some monstrous things. He was real skittish. Only one that made it out. Anyway, all I'm saying is you best be careful traveling around in the dark, away from civilization."
The bartender brings a few pieces of bread over to the table and places them down. "Damn sailor was a drunk," he whispers. "Came in here talking about all kinds of crazy shit can't be true. Reeked of rum." He stands up and looks over at the half-elves, making sure they didn't hear, and then heads back behind the bar.
DM - Above & Below
What did I tell you? Brask mutters to Burik. Worthless peasants wherever you look. He raises his voice so that the half-elves can hear. Thank you for the tale, friend. Enjoy your drink. He turns back to Burik. What a bunch of horseshit. Come on if you're coming. I'm off to do my job. He picks up his maul, drops some coin in front of the snoozing half-orc, and heads out.
"They're not crazy." Burik says softly, "There are things that lurk in the darkness between life and death. I was saved from that place by something that now grants me strength, it's not impossible that it can be done for the things that live there..." Burik is visibly shaken.
He rises slowly to follow Brask, "Just watch the shadows while we're out there alright?"
Percival and Lucinda, who have been standing quietly near the bar listening, move to join Burik and Brask. As they step outside the door, though, Lucinda pauses and waits for the group to notice she isn't following them. "My personal business in Lovilra cannot be put off any longer. But I thank you for your companionship on the road. Perhaps our paths will meet again." She gives a gentle bow and turns, walking down the main street of Southwort heading north.
The three remaining men set out in search of the bandit camp. Burik and Percival wonder if this group is connected to the men who abducted Breni and robbed the merchant back on the road into town. They exchange some brief conversation on the way out of Southwort, but everyone takes on a more serious tone once the wooden structures of the town fade away through the trees and things become more and more dense.
Brask lets out a few audible snorts of frustration while looking at the crudely drawn map, but it's clear he has some experience navigating through the wilds. It isn't long before the forest begins to open up again. The trees mostly give way to brush and meadows as you begin to hear the faint sound of rushing water. Eventually a faint sand road comes into view - beyond it, you can see a moderately sized river flowing to the west. Just before the banks, though, you see some piles of logs, a few small wagons, and you then hear the sound of voices coming from the other side of a small embankment next to the river.
You are the three red stars near the top of the image. Anything in black is obscured.
DM - Above & Below