Dawn, 'ere the cock's crow, and you stand gathered just outside your village of Rillford, looking out on the communal fields under the pinking sky. The West Field lies fallow; the East Field ruined. Where a tall crop of golden wheat should be shivering in the cool springtime breeze, bent and broken stalks lie flattened to the earth. All stripped clean. The gleaners left nothing edible for the crows and mice.
Ten days ago, hail the size of sling stones fell from the sky, destroying your village's winter crop. An army of giants tramping through could hardly have done worse to the wheat. Things look grim, but by tightening belts and drawing in apron strings, the village should be able to survive until autumn. Life after that will rely on the autumn harvest, the second of the year, which of course relies on the spring planting.
Only, after paying your Lord's tithes, hardly enough grain remains to the folk of Rillford for making bread and small beer, never mind planting. And so Werthan the Miller, went up the old fairy-built High Road to the market-town of Monkshall to purchase seed grain for the spring planting, using some of his own money and contributions from the villagers.
He was due to return a week ago.
Some whisper that Werthan absconded with the money, but his family and friends swear he's no thief. And would he have left his wife and children behind? It seems unbelievable to those who know the miller, for though he was ever tight-fisted, he doted on Ella and their three young ones. The moon was full soon after he departed and his route ran along the verge of the Darkling Wood, a forest near the village which you were all sternly warned against ever entering as children. Rillford's older residents mutter grimly of garulfs and the Dockalfar...
Searches over the last few days haven't turned up anything, but nobody ventured far or looked exhaustively, because the whole village has been engaged in salvaging what could be gathered from the hail struck crop.
The village's hopes rest on your party. Your family and friends have scoured their attics and cellars, gathered old heirloom weapons, scraped together travelling supplies, and set you up as best as could be managed for a journey in search of the missing miller, the money, and the seed grain. If you succeed, Rillford can survive. If you fail...
Looking out towards the village they were leaving behind, Shayne could help but be indifferent. He wanted to care. Knew he should care. But... Meh.
He hadn't exactly grown up in Rillford. Had visited a few times as a youth with his parents but even as a kid the place was too small, too quiet for him. He much preferred the noise and the action and the bustle of an actual city. Was so much easier to be distracted, to be entertained, to get away with things. Though he hadn't gotten away with everything, and that is what got him sent here. Mom and pops had finally had enough of his antics, decided he'd be better off in a quiet, countryside setting where it wouldn't matter if his head was in the clouds with his music and his stories... And though they hadn't said it, they likely figured nobody out here had anything worth him stealing either.
Shayne sighed.
It was quiet here. And he had gotten a good amount of writing done, both musical and prose. And he most definitely was THE star of the tavern. The one, singular, perpetually half empty tavern. Which he had to help clean and serve at. And, when slow (which it always was) even got "lent out" to help the customers when they needed it in the fields or such.
It wasn't that Shayne was glad of the village's bad luck. He wasn't at all. They were good people, nothing but kind to him... But he also wasn't sad about having a chance to escape it. Even if for just a few days and on a fools errand of a search. Anything had to be better than having to walk Symon home to make sure he made it into the right house, then having to go back to the tavern and clean up the mess he had made.
"And if this isn't a grand adventure, I'll just turn it into one when I tell the story afterwards. Isn't that right, Fammy?" Shayne knelt down, gave his calico cat a scratch behind the ears and waited for her answer. After a moment Shayne grinned, bopped Fammy the cat on the nose with his finger, then picked her up and plopped her into a sack he wore dangling off his belt.
"What do you all think?" Shayne then asked, turning to look over his companions. "Grand adventure or a wild goose chase?"
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We're doing one small murder-y thing for a bigger, better reason. The ends justify the means.
"A wild goose chase would at least bring you a feed. I fear this will amount to naught"the grim faced woodsman grumbles, taking the Bards words literally.
He walks at a brisk pace, that of someone used to covering a lot of ground in as little time as possible. Dressed in hand me down leathers he strides forward.To look at he was a well tanned man. Infact if you were to see him from the right angle you wouldn't be able to tell where his leathers ended and his skin began. His cloak however, was a magnificent shade of green with grey wolf fur around the edges - obviously a garment of his own making. A short sword swings by his side as he walks, curiously making no sound as it chafes against his armour. Beyond that his bow is slung across his back along with the quiver.
"Have any of you been into the Darkling wood?" He asks, more out of courtesy than anything.
"Only ever entered those woods in stories," Shayne answered. "Of which there are many. Though they're children's fare full of warning and dark fare." Shayne then quickly launches into a popular little rhyming song that kids tended to learn early but which stuck with them forever.
"Into the woods the kids did run,
The farmers daughter and baker's son,
Just running off for a bit of fun,
Off into the Darkling Wood!
She laughed at that and this,
He boldly stole a kiss,
Neither saw things were amiss,
Deep in the Darkling Wood..."
Shayne smirked and gave a little laugh. "Silly tale to scare kids into staying close to home and not doing the type of things all kids do eventually. Nothing with any real information though..."
Shayne looked over Eric, not being too familiar with him. He'd seen him maybe a handful of time but the man seemed to prefer living in the woods than the comforts of civilization. A truth that could be seen just comparing the two. Where Eric's leather armor looked as old as Shayne's own, it was also obviously much used but much cared for and tended. Shayne hadn't been able to even get all the dust out of the cracks of his own. Where Erics sword was worn comfortably and easily, Shayne's rapier hun uneasy at his side. Shayne suspected Eric had far more than just practice with his weapon, and perhaps more than just the lessons and sparring that Shayne has had. And of course the clothing really told the difference. Eric wore clothing suited for the outdoors, stuff that would keep him warm and dry and which more or less blended in to the scenery, Shayne never wanted to blend in. The bard a wore loose, colorful, showy shirt under his armor, a sedate but still colorful vest full of pockets and patches. The woodsman was obviously going to be comfortable living under the open skies, Shayne was already missing the tavern and the fire and the stories and jests...
"How 'bout you two," Shayne asks, turning his attention to his two other companions. "And knowledge of what's ahead?"
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We're doing one small murder-y thing for a bigger, better reason. The ends justify the means.
"A rescue mission," answered Alyna first rhetorical question of that strange conversation. In a strange situation. With strangers. Well, not exactly strangers - like in any small village, the moment someone stepped into Rillford that someone become known to everyone. "Fully accepted" - that would be a different story, but definitely known.
She fixed a buckle on the side of the armor, dropping the old wooden shield for it, then picking it up again and now staring at the thing trying to remember how you supposed to keep it - always on your hand or somehow fixed on the back? At this hour she usually was opening doors to the small temple, already cleaned up and well prepared for the visitors (these days many tried to stop at least once a day and pray for the good year). Now instead she was trudging (or was about to) along the road in the company of a city-boy (not much of a city, she heard, but in his stories it sounded like the capital no less), the broody village hunter and a guy, that rumors labeled "touched by sorcery". She was not the one to judge - not with her own ... other life, but the company was quite exotic.
"I think we all were at the borders of the forest. Never went deep, though." She kept polite conversation more to break the awkward silence than in hope to get anything useful out of it. "But you know it, right? Any truth to what they say? Gareth rarely told anything."
Xylys catches himself humming along with Shayne's little ditty and chuckles. "Indeed the woods are said to be a place haunted with fierce beasts and other nasty things, but that was only what I was told."
As is well know to the folk in the village, Xylys was orphaned when he was young, around 5 or 6, nobody was really sure, and had come to live in the village with his Uncle, the village blacksmith. He did try to help as much as possible around the forge, hauling coal, working the bellows, all the mundane and dirty jobs typical of a country blacksmith's helper was expected to do. One could not really say Xylys was blacksmith material by any stretch of the imagination. He was tall and skinny, and no matter how hard he worked, his muscles refused to 'develop' into the brawny mass a good blacksmith needed to be successful. In point of fact, this 'adventure' was eagerly anticipated by him, if for no other reason than he was freed of the forge and all the hard work attached to it.
He wore stout leather boot, homespun breeches of dark grey wool, as similarly dye tunic over which was a heavy leather vest, covered with burn spots from the forge work. His mud colored hair looked as though he kept it shorn with a dull knife, but his blue eyes were clear and sharply piercing. Hung on a broad belt were a pouch and two simple, but finely forged daggers. A well cared for crossbow was slung over his shoulders, along with a bolt case full of bolts. On his back was a serviceable pack with an attached rope; and in his left hand he carried a stout quarterstaff of fire-hardened ash, topped and footed with forged iron caps.
"You know, I don't think the Miller ran off with the coin folks entrusted to him, doesn't seem to be that kinda fellow." he paused for a moment. "More'n likely he was waylaid by robbers and they got him tied up to some tree tryin' to torture the location of the village treasure, not that there is one, . . . is there? Anyway, I am sure something dire happened. Have any of you heard anything different? Like what are these garulfs and the Dockalfar things everyone talks about? I tried to get strait answers, but everyone just brushed me off."
To most folk of the village Xylys was not only still a stranger but rather strange as well; he was always going on about strange things, too, things like spells and magic and whatnot. The sort of stuff no self-respecting, hard working person would have any truck with.
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Panic is a mechanism that strengthens the gene pool.
To determine what your characters know of such legendary monsters, beyond fearbabe tales, you may check any of the following skills:
History 18
Arcana 4
Nature 7
"They brushed you off because they're scared themselves," Shayne replies with a smile and a wink. "Oh sure, fun enough to scare the kids with stories of boogey men and garulfs, evil hags who eat children and Dockalfar who hide in the woods. But these are children stories they've not grown out of even as adults. Sure, there are dangers out in the world... Believe you me, I have seen a thing or two. But as you say, the miller most likely got the wrong way with bandits or even just broke a leg when he stepped off the road to relieve himself. As good a chance he is dying of embarrassment as anything else."
"But indeed, there is truth to all the wildest stories. Even if just a nugget so small as to be totally unrecognizable anymore... Garulfs and Dockalfar now, there's plenty of stories about them..." And with that, Shayne dredges through his memories for whatever scraps and tales he can remember of the things. Specially any bits above the common children's tale. He conveys the facts he has with as much flair and drama as he can, but with a wink and a nudge to any of his companions who seems to be taking it too seriously. Cannot have the audience too scared, it ruins their taste for more.
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We're doing one small murder-y thing for a bigger, better reason. The ends justify the means.
"Werthan most definitely did not leave with the monies. More than half was his anyways."Eric's voice was stern, as if he was berating a child. The Miller had always been fair to him, trading floor for fur and the likes. If there was someone that the woodsman might call friend, it was Werthan.
Nature 18
He relays what he has learnt of the monsters from his years spent hunting.
"You are wrong - there is more to the woods than it looks,"Alyna spoke in a matter-of-fact way. "May be not as much as they say" (she glanced again at the woodsman, may be still expecting a story) "but should you come there at night, even at the borders you can see and hear the strangest things." The girl did not elaborate right away, though.
"And no one truly believes, of course, that Werthan could run away. Even Maggy says it only because she always hated his wife. No. Something had to happen. What are we going to do, by the way? Just walk his path and hope to find Werthan? We do not even know if he got to Monkshall."
"There is ALWAYS more in the woods than what can be seen. That's the nature of the wild." He instinctively grips the pommel of his sword as he scoffs at the young woman. His social etiquette held a lot to be desired. What he did not say was that she was right. Even Gareth had told him not to enter these woods. A thought he carried with him as they continued their search. He shivers ever so slightly.
a travelling schoolman teach in a market town inn's common room (for the price of a flagon and a trencher of stew) how the Elves of olden times built many architectural wonders, fair cities and tall towers connected by white stone roads, remnants of which may be seen here and there across the land today. Civil war destroyed the Elfin Realm and the losers fled. Or else the victors retired Beyond the Fields we Know to nurse their wounds. In truth, scholars debate the cause, course, and outcome of the 'Faerie Wars', which occurred centuries before humanity had very thickly settled these lands.
Xylys
believes the Dockalfar, a host of evil fairies who haunted the realm ages ago, possessed many strange and wonderful magical secrets and treasures. So did their enemies, the more-or-less benign sort of elves or fays. If a mortal man could obtain such magic, he might become powerful indeed...
It's best to take precautions dealing with anything of Faerie. Put an iron nail on a loop and wear it round your neck, as some fairies cannot abide cold iron. Puts your clothes on backwards when entering a fairy grove. Be cautious about accepting food and drink from fairies. Keep an eye out for toadstools. And always use good manners.
Eric knows
of the Dockalfar as wicked fairies of old nursery rhymes and fables. Thank the Earth Mother he hasn't met any! Not that he can be sure of, at any rate. He's seen and heard his share of hard-to-explain things while hunting in the woods and fields; queerly spiraling rock paintings unlike any limner's work, fiddle music drifting out of what seemed an empty glade, a silver fox that seemed to vanish into a solid boulder, and more besides.
He never ventured far into the Darkling Wood as a boy, so he can't say for sure what could live in that place....
Garulfs he knows from hunters tales as evil witch-men who don wolf skins and do a magic dance under the full moon to transform into wolves. Savage and ravenous, they prey not only on deer and sheep but on human beings. To slay a garulf, one should use a silvered blade or a silver sling stone blessed by a priest. Never look a garulf straight in the eyes, lest the Fear seize you and freeze your limbs!
Alyna recalls
from temple lessons that the Fairy Folk divided long ago into two mutually hostile factions: Liosalfar and the Dockalfar. The Liosalfar may prove friendly to Mortals, but their ways are alien to human thought and habit. Mother Katerina says that elves and fairies of all sorts ought to be avoided by anyone with sense. The Dockalfar, by all accounts, are wicked and will harm mortals for sport or spite.
It's hard to believe the kindly, mischievous playmates in Alyna's dreams could be of the latter ilk, but if they were such, then she wouldn't be the first mortal deceived by fairy creatures.
The party knows for certain that Werthan left Rillford ten days ago with a wagon and team and the money to buy seed grain, taking the High Way (sometimes also called the High Road) northward toward Monkshall.
The High Way runs hard by the east side of Rillford, north-south. A sunken section southeast of where you stand now passes under the River Rill, but the rest of the High Way, on either side of the water, stands a good yard above the surrounding fields and woods, looking higher still for the drainage ditches running alongside the elevated road surface. Nobody knows for sure who built it or when, although some of you have heard stories it was the cunning work of giants or fairies. It's old and not in good repair, but remains passable for wagons and horses and men afoot. Over the years, folk in Rillford have carted off chunks of white stone from the ancient road, and today these masses of masonry make up sections of walls and chimneys in the village.
If you look eastward, now that the sun is rising, you can see the morning light on the pale upper pavement of the High Way, beyond the desolation of the East Field.
"Well, we are not going in the woods now, are we? Just to Monkshall. May be something kept him there?"She did not sound convincing at all even to herself. But there was no point in standing around - the village sent them (Alyna wanted to believe as the most adventurous and capable, not the most expendable) to find the Miller, so, they had to go somewhere.
Too bad fairies never answered direct questions or at least she never remembered the answers. Would be nice to just know where to search. "And if we do have to get into the woods... Some Fairy Folk can be friendly, you know? They even have a name - Liosalfar." She jumped over a crack on the road filled with dirty water and looked ahead - the day promised to be a long one.
If the party is going north along the High Way (as Alyna has begun doing), following Werthan's route, please describe your intended pace--hard or easy--and any actions you plan to take besides simply walking along the road top.
You don't have to give me a marching order, but if you want to do so, you may. The road is about eight feet wide, straight and level despite cracks and missing cobbles.
Shayne suggests that they head out and follow the path they believe Werthan took - Bounding off blindly in another directions does not seem helpful. As we follow the same path it would be wise for all to keep a lookout for anything odd on the road, or the sides of it, that may indicate the miller and his team pulled off the road for some reason. Anyone we pass, traveller or farmer or whatever we would ask after our missing villager. "Oh sure, he was just running a few errands and likely got tied up haggling over prices,' Shayne would explain, "But it's his misses who is worried as she's with child on the way and frets to do it alone."
"We don't want to just be telling strangers our miller is out for walkabout with all the village's wealth," Shayne will explain if/when his little deception is questioned or used.
The plan, as Shayne sees it, will be to ask about the miller and hopefully find people who definitively did see him and people who should have who definitively didn't. Then the window between the two would be our search area... But Shayne is most definitely open to other suggestions as he is really just talking out of the wrong end of his flute, so to speak.
A hard pace to begin with, I would think... speed being of the essence. But not being hardened adventurers, I imagine the pace would trail off as the day wore on. "They really should have given us a few of the plough horses to ride if nothing else," Shayne would think aloud at one point. "Not like they can be much use in the village right now..."
As they walked, Shayne would tell stories, play his flute, and generally not let it be too quiet for too long. He would also talk to each in turn, feeling them out for why they were chosen for this task, why they agreed to it, and what they thought may come of it. He would use his way with words to be everyone's best friend - Prodding at topics he senses they want to talk about but are reluctant to, respecting privacy when he senses they really did not want to talk. Being a barfly one picks up how to read peoples personalities and tells, how to get even the most sour of drunks to open up and tell their stories. It's a handy skill, it means no matter how empty your coin purse there will always be someone willing to buy you a drink.
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We're doing one small murder-y thing for a bigger, better reason. The ends justify the means.
"May be you should not use his wife's imaginary pregnancy? It's a bad omen to use someone's health for deceiving reasons". But in general Alyna was agree with suggestions - the city-boy turned out to be creative. Good for him (and for them all if that was truly the case). By this time Alyna realised, that walking along the good road does not require that much effort. Her armor finally settled down too (creation of that so unusual to her "garment" was quite a story), boots were comfortable, cloak light enough - in short, she could simply follow while daydreaming uninterrupted.
She would not mind to be in a second pair or walk alone and only tried to keep up with whoever led the way (not that much leading was needed here) absentmindedly looking around ((on Passive Perception)).
When Shayne's questioning fully returned her to reality she fixed the flower in her red hair (hair were camped for a change, but flower kept falling off) and just shrugged. "Mother Katerina is sure Chauntea is angry with us for something. Or may be we missed the sign that was sent and now paying for it. Anyway, she is involved one way or another and someone from the temple had to be present. She and sister Lorena are too busy this time of the year, so they sent me". Alyna was pretty open about that part at least - Shayne could tell. If she did not talk about fey (actually, why would she?) it's because she did not really knew him. He was every bit as girls were saying - very different from village boys, flashy, chatty and whatnot, and he could sing (she would grant him that) but feyworld was too personal.
"Oh, I'm sure you have heard the rumors,' Shayne answers with a smirk and a wink. "They're all true, partially."
After a beat or two, Shayne continues. He seems to drop a mental weight for a moment, as if no longer putting on an act. Though that in itself could have been an act...
"Truth be told, I can, on occasion, be stupid... Shocking, I know. But sometimes I allow my, well let's call it curiosity, get the better of me. I start to wonder just how far I can push things. How much I can get away with. How big a hole I can dig for myself," Shayne said with a bit of chagrin favoring his voice. "And whether I can talk myself out of the hole or not."
"Things came to a head at The Pig's Whistle," Shayne explained, and then told the tale. The story told of the backroom in the bar where a table was set up and there was a nightly card game. Shayne was a bit of a regular, mainly for entertainment purposes. The regulars all knew each other and nobody was looking to create hard feelings over the game. But on this night a fanciful traveller found his was into the game... And the traveller was quite good. "I got curious... Was I better?"
As the night, and the game, wore on many drinks were had. Some of the players busted out and left the game, others just grew wise and left with what coin they had left. The game dwindled down to Shayne and the traveller. Shayne had made a nice pile of coin during the game, more than he usually allowed himself to make of the regulars but it was the traveller he took the coins from. The traveller who had a much bigger pile of coins in front of him. But when it got down to heads up Shayne found himself making no more progress in the game...
"I got determined. I was going to win back the coin of the regulars, no matter what it took..." Shayne explained. Soon enough, Shayne's pile of coin started growing and growing. His luck had inexplicably turned and he seemingly knew without fail when he had the better of the hand or not, betting and folding appropriately each time. Well, inexplicably to those who didn't notice that Fammy, Shayne's calico friend, had perched herself up on a counter behind the traveller where she could see their cards when they lifted them from the table.
"The final hand was a big one... All the coins were bet and the traveller couldn't cover it. But he had a hand he believed couldn't lose and didn't know I knew exactly what he had." The traveller pulled a fanciful gold and silver pin off his cloak and held it up for all to see. It was in the shape of a thorny rose and was truly a masterpiece of artistry and craftsmanship. He declared that it was an heirloom that had been in his family for over a thousand and one years and had been their symbol for all that time. Never in all that time has anyone else possessed this pin... And never shall they for the next thousand and one years. Then the traveller placed it in the middle of the table with the rest of the bet.
"When the hands were turned over a roar went up through the tavern and the traveller... Well truth be told, in my rush to gather the coin and return them to my friends and neighbors, I didn't give him much mind. Until the next morning when the guards arrived at my home," Shayne explained.
"Nothing could be proven, of course... But it turned out the traveller had the ear of all the right people and I had..." Shayne shrugged. "Well I had the thorny rose. For one night at least. The jewel was confiscated by the guards and recompense was demanded for the coin the traveller lost the night before. I no longer had the coin and so... My parents... And so..."
The story trailed off, the rest being of course pretty obvious.
"I had just been curious if I could beat him," Shayne said in summary.
If Shayne is later walking alone with the others and asked how he came to Rillford he told much the same story but each tale was tailored for the audience. For Eric the traveller was instead putting a magnificent bow into the pot that he said had been in his family for generations and which always shot true... For Xylys the traveler wagered a dark stone brooch which had an eerie glow about it that could not be explained. Most other details remained the same but some details may or may not have been emphasized for each, depending on what details they seemed most interested in.
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We're doing one small murder-y thing for a bigger, better reason. The ends justify the means.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
The boys tales seemed tall. Perhaps too tall, but his constant banter seemed to keep the others in a good mood. Travel was usually quicker when people weren't thinking too much of what they were doing. The only problem with that was that they were meant to be looking for something. Someone.
While the others engaged Shayne in chit chat, Eric would take the opportunity to scout ahead. Leaving the group to meander, he would increase his pace and check the roadway for signs of Werthan's misfortune.
Survival 5
Always returning to the group or allowing them to catch up, he would inform them of his findings, but only if they were relevant to the task at hand.
If Shayne were to attempt to prod him, Eric would give the most simple of answers, or maybe none at all depending on the personal nature of the inquiry. "You ask a lot of questions" was a common response.
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Dawn, 'ere the cock's crow, and you stand gathered just outside your village of Rillford, looking out on the communal fields under the pinking sky. The West Field lies fallow; the East Field ruined. Where a tall crop of golden wheat should be shivering in the cool springtime breeze, bent and broken stalks lie flattened to the earth. All stripped clean. The gleaners left nothing edible for the crows and mice.
Ten days ago, hail the size of sling stones fell from the sky, destroying your village's winter crop. An army of giants tramping through could hardly have done worse to the wheat. Things look grim, but by tightening belts and drawing in apron strings, the village should be able to survive until autumn. Life after that will rely on the autumn harvest, the second of the year, which of course relies on the spring planting.
Only, after paying your Lord's tithes, hardly enough grain remains to the folk of Rillford for making bread and small beer, never mind planting. And so Werthan the Miller, went up the old fairy-built High Road to the market-town of Monkshall to purchase seed grain for the spring planting, using some of his own money and contributions from the villagers.
He was due to return a week ago.
Some whisper that Werthan absconded with the money, but his family and friends swear he's no thief. And would he have left his wife and children behind? It seems unbelievable to those who know the miller, for though he was ever tight-fisted, he doted on Ella and their three young ones. The moon was full soon after he departed and his route ran along the verge of the Darkling Wood, a forest near the village which you were all sternly warned against ever entering as children. Rillford's older residents mutter grimly of garulfs and the Dockalfar...
Searches over the last few days haven't turned up anything, but nobody ventured far or looked exhaustively, because the whole village has been engaged in salvaging what could be gathered from the hail struck crop.
The village's hopes rest on your party. Your family and friends have scoured their attics and cellars, gathered old heirloom weapons, scraped together travelling supplies, and set you up as best as could be managed for a journey in search of the missing miller, the money, and the seed grain. If you succeed, Rillford can survive. If you fail...
Looking out towards the village they were leaving behind, Shayne could help but be indifferent. He wanted to care. Knew he should care. But... Meh.
He hadn't exactly grown up in Rillford. Had visited a few times as a youth with his parents but even as a kid the place was too small, too quiet for him. He much preferred the noise and the action and the bustle of an actual city. Was so much easier to be distracted, to be entertained, to get away with things. Though he hadn't gotten away with everything, and that is what got him sent here. Mom and pops had finally had enough of his antics, decided he'd be better off in a quiet, countryside setting where it wouldn't matter if his head was in the clouds with his music and his stories... And though they hadn't said it, they likely figured nobody out here had anything worth him stealing either.
Shayne sighed.
It was quiet here. And he had gotten a good amount of writing done, both musical and prose. And he most definitely was THE star of the tavern. The one, singular, perpetually half empty tavern. Which he had to help clean and serve at. And, when slow (which it always was) even got "lent out" to help the customers when they needed it in the fields or such.
It wasn't that Shayne was glad of the village's bad luck. He wasn't at all. They were good people, nothing but kind to him... But he also wasn't sad about having a chance to escape it. Even if for just a few days and on a fools errand of a search. Anything had to be better than having to walk Symon home to make sure he made it into the right house, then having to go back to the tavern and clean up the mess he had made.
"And if this isn't a grand adventure, I'll just turn it into one when I tell the story afterwards. Isn't that right, Fammy?" Shayne knelt down, gave his calico cat a scratch behind the ears and waited for her answer. After a moment Shayne grinned, bopped Fammy the cat on the nose with his finger, then picked her up and plopped her into a sack he wore dangling off his belt.
"What do you all think?" Shayne then asked, turning to look over his companions. "Grand adventure or a wild goose chase?"
We're doing one small murder-y thing for a bigger, better reason. The ends justify the means.
-- Eleanor Shellstrop
Eric
"A wild goose chase would at least bring you a feed. I fear this will amount to naught" the grim faced woodsman grumbles, taking the Bards words literally.
He walks at a brisk pace, that of someone used to covering a lot of ground in as little time as possible. Dressed in hand me down leathers he strides forward.To look at he was a well tanned man. Infact if you were to see him from the right angle you wouldn't be able to tell where his leathers ended and his skin began. His cloak however, was a magnificent shade of green with grey wolf fur around the edges - obviously a garment of his own making. A short sword swings by his side as he walks, curiously making no sound as it chafes against his armour. Beyond that his bow is slung across his back along with the quiver.
"Have any of you been into the Darkling wood?" He asks, more out of courtesy than anything.
"Only ever entered those woods in stories," Shayne answered. "Of which there are many. Though they're children's fare full of warning and dark fare." Shayne then quickly launches into a popular little rhyming song that kids tended to learn early but which stuck with them forever.
"Into the woods the kids did run,
The farmers daughter and baker's son,
Just running off for a bit of fun,
Off into the Darkling Wood!
She laughed at that and this,
He boldly stole a kiss,
Neither saw things were amiss,
Deep in the Darkling Wood..."
Shayne smirked and gave a little laugh. "Silly tale to scare kids into staying close to home and not doing the type of things all kids do eventually. Nothing with any real information though..."
Shayne looked over Eric, not being too familiar with him. He'd seen him maybe a handful of time but the man seemed to prefer living in the woods than the comforts of civilization. A truth that could be seen just comparing the two. Where Eric's leather armor looked as old as Shayne's own, it was also obviously much used but much cared for and tended. Shayne hadn't been able to even get all the dust out of the cracks of his own. Where Erics sword was worn comfortably and easily, Shayne's rapier hun uneasy at his side. Shayne suspected Eric had far more than just practice with his weapon, and perhaps more than just the lessons and sparring that Shayne has had. And of course the clothing really told the difference. Eric wore clothing suited for the outdoors, stuff that would keep him warm and dry and which more or less blended in to the scenery, Shayne never wanted to blend in. The bard a wore loose, colorful, showy shirt under his armor, a sedate but still colorful vest full of pockets and patches. The woodsman was obviously going to be comfortable living under the open skies, Shayne was already missing the tavern and the fire and the stories and jests...
"How 'bout you two," Shayne asks, turning his attention to his two other companions. "And knowledge of what's ahead?"
We're doing one small murder-y thing for a bigger, better reason. The ends justify the means.
-- Eleanor Shellstrop
"A rescue mission," answered Alyna first rhetorical question of that strange conversation. In a strange situation. With strangers. Well, not exactly strangers - like in any small village, the moment someone stepped into Rillford that someone become known to everyone. "Fully accepted" - that would be a different story, but definitely known.
She fixed a buckle on the side of the armor, dropping the old wooden shield for it, then picking it up again and now staring at the thing trying to remember how you supposed to keep it - always on your hand or somehow fixed on the back? At this hour she usually was opening doors to the small temple, already cleaned up and well prepared for the visitors (these days many tried to stop at least once a day and pray for the good year). Now instead she was trudging (or was about to) along the road in the company of a city-boy (not much of a city, she heard, but in his stories it sounded like the capital no less), the broody village hunter and a guy, that rumors labeled "touched by sorcery". She was not the one to judge - not with her own ... other life, but the company was quite exotic.
"I think we all were at the borders of the forest. Never went deep, though." She kept polite conversation more to break the awkward silence than in hope to get anything useful out of it. "But you know it, right? Any truth to what they say? Gareth rarely told anything."
Meili Liang Lvl 5 Monk
Dice
Xylys catches himself humming along with Shayne's little ditty and chuckles. "Indeed the woods are said to be a place haunted with fierce beasts and other nasty things, but that was only what I was told."
As is well know to the folk in the village, Xylys was orphaned when he was young, around 5 or 6, nobody was really sure, and had come to live in the village with his Uncle, the village blacksmith. He did try to help as much as possible around the forge, hauling coal, working the bellows, all the mundane and dirty jobs typical of a country blacksmith's helper was expected to do. One could not really say Xylys was blacksmith material by any stretch of the imagination. He was tall and skinny, and no matter how hard he worked, his muscles refused to 'develop' into the brawny mass a good blacksmith needed to be successful. In point of fact, this 'adventure' was eagerly anticipated by him, if for no other reason than he was freed of the forge and all the hard work attached to it.
He wore stout leather boot, homespun breeches of dark grey wool, as similarly dye tunic over which was a heavy leather vest, covered with burn spots from the forge work. His mud colored hair looked as though he kept it shorn with a dull knife, but his blue eyes were clear and sharply piercing. Hung on a broad belt were a pouch and two simple, but finely forged daggers. A well cared for crossbow was slung over his shoulders, along with a bolt case full of bolts. On his back was a serviceable pack with an attached rope; and in his left hand he carried a stout quarterstaff of fire-hardened ash, topped and footed with forged iron caps.
"You know, I don't think the Miller ran off with the coin folks entrusted to him, doesn't seem to be that kinda fellow." he paused for a moment. "More'n likely he was waylaid by robbers and they got him tied up to some tree tryin' to torture the location of the village treasure, not that there is one, . . . is there? Anyway, I am sure something dire happened. Have any of you heard anything different? Like what are these garulfs and the Dockalfar things everyone talks about? I tried to get strait answers, but everyone just brushed me off."
To most folk of the village Xylys was not only still a stranger but rather strange as well; he was always going on about strange things, too, things like spells and magic and whatnot. The sort of stuff no self-respecting, hard working person would have any truck with.
Panic is a mechanism that strengthens the gene pool.
OOC
To determine what your characters know of such legendary monsters, beyond fearbabe tales, you may check any of the following skills:
History
Arcana
Nature
Alyna gains advantage.
Shayne will certainly have heard stories, some no doubt false or misleading and others maybe all too true...
Xylys Arcana check. 18
Panic is a mechanism that strengthens the gene pool.
"They brushed you off because they're scared themselves," Shayne replies with a smile and a wink. "Oh sure, fun enough to scare the kids with stories of boogey men and garulfs, evil hags who eat children and Dockalfar who hide in the woods. But these are children stories they've not grown out of even as adults. Sure, there are dangers out in the world... Believe you me, I have seen a thing or two. But as you say, the miller most likely got the wrong way with bandits or even just broke a leg when he stepped off the road to relieve himself. As good a chance he is dying of embarrassment as anything else."
"But indeed, there is truth to all the wildest stories. Even if just a nugget so small as to be totally unrecognizable anymore... Garulfs and Dockalfar now, there's plenty of stories about them..." And with that, Shayne dredges through his memories for whatever scraps and tales he can remember of the things. Specially any bits above the common children's tale. He conveys the facts he has with as much flair and drama as he can, but with a wink and a nudge to any of his companions who seems to be taking it too seriously. Cannot have the audience too scared, it ruins their taste for more.
We're doing one small murder-y thing for a bigger, better reason. The ends justify the means.
-- Eleanor Shellstrop
"Werthan most definitely did not leave with the monies. More than half was his anyways." Eric's voice was stern, as if he was berating a child. The Miller had always been fair to him, trading floor for fur and the likes. If there was someone that the woodsman might call friend, it was Werthan.
Nature 18
He relays what he has learnt of the monsters from his years spent hunting.
History 19
Arcana 14
Nature 14
"You are wrong - there is more to the woods than it looks," Alyna spoke in a matter-of-fact way. "May be not as much as they say" (she glanced again at the woodsman, may be still expecting a story) "but should you come there at night, even at the borders you can see and hear the strangest things." The girl did not elaborate right away, though.
"And no one truly believes, of course, that Werthan could run away. Even Maggy says it only because she always hated his wife. No. Something had to happen. What are we going to do, by the way? Just walk his path and hope to find Werthan? We do not even know if he got to Monkshall."
Meili Liang Lvl 5 Monk
Dice
"There is ALWAYS more in the woods than what can be seen. That's the nature of the wild." He instinctively grips the pommel of his sword as he scoffs at the young woman. His social etiquette held a lot to be desired. What he did not say was that she was right. Even Gareth had told him not to enter these woods. A thought he carried with him as they continued their search. He shivers ever so slightly.
Shayne once heard
a travelling schoolman teach in a market town inn's common room (for the price of a flagon and a trencher of stew) how the Elves of olden times built many architectural wonders, fair cities and tall towers connected by white stone roads, remnants of which may be seen here and there across the land today. Civil war destroyed the Elfin Realm and the losers fled. Or else the victors retired Beyond the Fields we Know to nurse their wounds. In truth, scholars debate the cause, course, and outcome of the 'Faerie Wars', which occurred centuries before humanity had very thickly settled these lands.
Xylys
believes the Dockalfar, a host of evil fairies who haunted the realm ages ago, possessed many strange and wonderful magical secrets and treasures. So did their enemies, the more-or-less benign sort of elves or fays. If a mortal man could obtain such magic, he might become powerful indeed...
It's best to take precautions dealing with anything of Faerie. Put an iron nail on a loop and wear it round your neck, as some fairies cannot abide cold iron. Puts your clothes on backwards when entering a fairy grove. Be cautious about accepting food and drink from fairies. Keep an eye out for toadstools. And always use good manners.
Eric knows
of the Dockalfar as wicked fairies of old nursery rhymes and fables. Thank the Earth Mother he hasn't met any! Not that he can be sure of, at any rate. He's seen and heard his share of hard-to-explain things while hunting in the woods and fields; queerly spiraling rock paintings unlike any limner's work, fiddle music drifting out of what seemed an empty glade, a silver fox that seemed to vanish into a solid boulder, and more besides.
He never ventured far into the Darkling Wood as a boy, so he can't say for sure what could live in that place....
Garulfs he knows from hunters tales as evil witch-men who don wolf skins and do a magic dance under the full moon to transform into wolves. Savage and ravenous, they prey not only on deer and sheep but on human beings. To slay a garulf, one should use a silvered blade or a silver sling stone blessed by a priest. Never look a garulf straight in the eyes, lest the Fear seize you and freeze your limbs!
Alyna recalls
from temple lessons that the Fairy Folk divided long ago into two mutually hostile factions: Liosalfar and the Dockalfar. The Liosalfar may prove friendly to Mortals, but their ways are alien to human thought and habit. Mother Katerina says that elves and fairies of all sorts ought to be avoided by anyone with sense. The Dockalfar, by all accounts, are wicked and will harm mortals for sport or spite.
It's hard to believe the kindly, mischievous playmates in Alyna's dreams could be of the latter ilk, but if they were such, then she wouldn't be the first mortal deceived by fairy creatures.
The party knows for certain that Werthan left Rillford ten days ago with a wagon and team and the money to buy seed grain, taking the High Way (sometimes also called the High Road) northward toward Monkshall.
The High Way runs hard by the east side of Rillford, north-south. A sunken section southeast of where you stand now passes under the River Rill, but the rest of the High Way, on either side of the water, stands a good yard above the surrounding fields and woods, looking higher still for the drainage ditches running alongside the elevated road surface. Nobody knows for sure who built it or when, although some of you have heard stories it was the cunning work of giants or fairies. It's old and not in good repair, but remains passable for wagons and horses and men afoot. Over the years, folk in Rillford have carted off chunks of white stone from the ancient road, and today these masses of masonry make up sections of walls and chimneys in the village.
If you look eastward, now that the sun is rising, you can see the morning light on the pale upper pavement of the High Way, beyond the desolation of the East Field.
"Well, we are not going in the woods now, are we? Just to Monkshall. May be something kept him there?" She did not sound convincing at all even to herself. But there was no point in standing around - the village sent them (Alyna wanted to believe as the most adventurous and capable, not the most expendable) to find the Miller, so, they had to go somewhere.
Too bad fairies never answered direct questions or at least she never remembered the answers. Would be nice to just know where to search. "And if we do have to get into the woods... Some Fairy Folk can be friendly, you know? They even have a name - Liosalfar." She jumped over a crack on the road filled with dirty water and looked ahead - the day promised to be a long one.
Meili Liang Lvl 5 Monk
Dice
OOC
If the party is going north along the High Way (as Alyna has begun doing), following Werthan's route, please describe your intended pace--hard or easy--and any actions you plan to take besides simply walking along the road top.
You don't have to give me a marching order, but if you want to do so, you may. The road is about eight feet wide, straight and level despite cracks and missing cobbles.
Shayne suggests that they head out and follow the path they believe Werthan took - Bounding off blindly in another directions does not seem helpful. As we follow the same path it would be wise for all to keep a lookout for anything odd on the road, or the sides of it, that may indicate the miller and his team pulled off the road for some reason. Anyone we pass, traveller or farmer or whatever we would ask after our missing villager. "Oh sure, he was just running a few errands and likely got tied up haggling over prices,' Shayne would explain, "But it's his misses who is worried as she's with child on the way and frets to do it alone."
"We don't want to just be telling strangers our miller is out for walkabout with all the village's wealth," Shayne will explain if/when his little deception is questioned or used.
The plan, as Shayne sees it, will be to ask about the miller and hopefully find people who definitively did see him and people who should have who definitively didn't. Then the window between the two would be our search area... But Shayne is most definitely open to other suggestions as he is really just talking out of the wrong end of his flute, so to speak.
A hard pace to begin with, I would think... speed being of the essence. But not being hardened adventurers, I imagine the pace would trail off as the day wore on. "They really should have given us a few of the plough horses to ride if nothing else," Shayne would think aloud at one point. "Not like they can be much use in the village right now..."
As they walked, Shayne would tell stories, play his flute, and generally not let it be too quiet for too long. He would also talk to each in turn, feeling them out for why they were chosen for this task, why they agreed to it, and what they thought may come of it. He would use his way with words to be everyone's best friend - Prodding at topics he senses they want to talk about but are reluctant to, respecting privacy when he senses they really did not want to talk. Being a barfly one picks up how to read peoples personalities and tells, how to get even the most sour of drunks to open up and tell their stories. It's a handy skill, it means no matter how empty your coin purse there will always be someone willing to buy you a drink.
We're doing one small murder-y thing for a bigger, better reason. The ends justify the means.
-- Eleanor Shellstrop
"May be you should not use his wife's imaginary pregnancy? It's a bad omen to use someone's health for deceiving reasons". But in general Alyna was agree with suggestions - the city-boy turned out to be creative. Good for him (and for them all if that was truly the case). By this time Alyna realised, that walking along the good road does not require that much effort. Her armor finally settled down too (creation of that so unusual to her "garment" was quite a story), boots were comfortable, cloak light enough - in short, she could simply follow while daydreaming uninterrupted.
She would not mind to be in a second pair or walk alone and only tried to keep up with whoever led the way (not that much leading was needed here) absentmindedly looking around ((on Passive Perception)).
When Shayne's questioning fully returned her to reality she fixed the flower in her red hair (hair were camped for a change, but flower kept falling off) and just shrugged. "Mother Katerina is sure Chauntea is angry with us for something. Or may be we missed the sign that was sent and now paying for it. Anyway, she is involved one way or another and someone from the temple had to be present. She and sister Lorena are too busy this time of the year, so they sent me". Alyna was pretty open about that part at least - Shayne could tell. If she did not talk about fey (actually, why would she?) it's because she did not really knew him. He was every bit as girls were saying - very different from village boys, flashy, chatty and whatnot, and he could sing (she would grant him that) but feyworld was too personal.
"How did you end up here?"
Meili Liang Lvl 5 Monk
Dice
"Oh, I'm sure you have heard the rumors,' Shayne answers with a smirk and a wink. "They're all true, partially."
After a beat or two, Shayne continues. He seems to drop a mental weight for a moment, as if no longer putting on an act. Though that in itself could have been an act...
"Truth be told, I can, on occasion, be stupid... Shocking, I know. But sometimes I allow my, well let's call it curiosity, get the better of me. I start to wonder just how far I can push things. How much I can get away with. How big a hole I can dig for myself," Shayne said with a bit of chagrin favoring his voice. "And whether I can talk myself out of the hole or not."
"Things came to a head at The Pig's Whistle," Shayne explained, and then told the tale. The story told of the backroom in the bar where a table was set up and there was a nightly card game. Shayne was a bit of a regular, mainly for entertainment purposes. The regulars all knew each other and nobody was looking to create hard feelings over the game. But on this night a fanciful traveller found his was into the game... And the traveller was quite good. "I got curious... Was I better?"
As the night, and the game, wore on many drinks were had. Some of the players busted out and left the game, others just grew wise and left with what coin they had left. The game dwindled down to Shayne and the traveller. Shayne had made a nice pile of coin during the game, more than he usually allowed himself to make of the regulars but it was the traveller he took the coins from. The traveller who had a much bigger pile of coins in front of him. But when it got down to heads up Shayne found himself making no more progress in the game...
"I got determined. I was going to win back the coin of the regulars, no matter what it took..." Shayne explained. Soon enough, Shayne's pile of coin started growing and growing. His luck had inexplicably turned and he seemingly knew without fail when he had the better of the hand or not, betting and folding appropriately each time. Well, inexplicably to those who didn't notice that Fammy, Shayne's calico friend, had perched herself up on a counter behind the traveller where she could see their cards when they lifted them from the table.
"The final hand was a big one... All the coins were bet and the traveller couldn't cover it. But he had a hand he believed couldn't lose and didn't know I knew exactly what he had." The traveller pulled a fanciful gold and silver pin off his cloak and held it up for all to see. It was in the shape of a thorny rose and was truly a masterpiece of artistry and craftsmanship. He declared that it was an heirloom that had been in his family for over a thousand and one years and had been their symbol for all that time. Never in all that time has anyone else possessed this pin... And never shall they for the next thousand and one years. Then the traveller placed it in the middle of the table with the rest of the bet.
"When the hands were turned over a roar went up through the tavern and the traveller... Well truth be told, in my rush to gather the coin and return them to my friends and neighbors, I didn't give him much mind. Until the next morning when the guards arrived at my home," Shayne explained.
"Nothing could be proven, of course... But it turned out the traveller had the ear of all the right people and I had..." Shayne shrugged. "Well I had the thorny rose. For one night at least. The jewel was confiscated by the guards and recompense was demanded for the coin the traveller lost the night before. I no longer had the coin and so... My parents... And so..."
The story trailed off, the rest being of course pretty obvious.
"I had just been curious if I could beat him," Shayne said in summary.
If Shayne is later walking alone with the others and asked how he came to Rillford he told much the same story but each tale was tailored for the audience. For Eric the traveller was instead putting a magnificent bow into the pot that he said had been in his family for generations and which always shot true... For Xylys the traveler wagered a dark stone brooch which had an eerie glow about it that could not be explained. Most other details remained the same but some details may or may not have been emphasized for each, depending on what details they seemed most interested in.
We're doing one small murder-y thing for a bigger, better reason. The ends justify the means.
-- Eleanor Shellstrop
The boys tales seemed tall. Perhaps too tall, but his constant banter seemed to keep the others in a good mood. Travel was usually quicker when people weren't thinking too much of what they were doing. The only problem with that was that they were meant to be looking for something. Someone.
While the others engaged Shayne in chit chat, Eric would take the opportunity to scout ahead. Leaving the group to meander, he would increase his pace and check the roadway for signs of Werthan's misfortune.
Survival 5
Always returning to the group or allowing them to catch up, he would inform them of his findings, but only if they were relevant to the task at hand.
If Shayne were to attempt to prod him, Eric would give the most simple of answers, or maybe none at all depending on the personal nature of the inquiry. "You ask a lot of questions" was a common response.