Grymar finishes stuffing his last egg into his mouth and says “Vianvfbane. Yeah!” Chew, chew, *swallow*. “Where are we headed Lehmani? Do you know how to get there?” In his left hand he’s fingering the medallion, thumb tracing out the dwarven rune on it. He gives a big stretch and looks like he’s ready to tackle the day.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Zubien holds his medallion, and nods in thanks. "I am honored though not necessary. It was my honor to serve and save your town. But I shall cherish it," He bows again.
During breakfast, Berkarak takes the opportunity to ask Lehmani what a Seeker Postulate is. He asks Grymar and Zubien, too, where they're from and what their specialties are in battle. He listens with obvious interest, eager to learn more about his new compatriots.
Before Pello arrives, Lehmani answers Berkarak'squestion. "It means I am still in training to be a fully confirmed priest of Gond, The Wonderbringer, Patron of the Forge, The Lord of All Smiths. Before I can be fully vested I must complete my pilgrimage, to walk the lands so I might view the world's constructed wonders, and meditate upon the inspiration and ingenuity of all the mortal races."
She continues with her morning meal, when Pello arrives. She accepts the gift of the medallions with deep appreciation. "My deepest thanks to you, Pello. You know, I came to this place hoping to see but gimpse of your local crafted wonders. I never expected to leave with one... imbued with such treasured significance. May the Blessing of the Gearsmith guide your rebuilding efforts so that Frickley may continue to grow and thrive."
Finally, she answers Grymar matter of factly. "Northwest, friend Grymar, to the very edge of the world, in search of the lost stronghold of Durgeddin and the powerful weapons hidden there..." She motions toward his warhammer. "But first, if I may, before we leave I'd like to grant you a blessing.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
DM - Classic Adventures Reborn
Rylan - L1 Human Paladin - Barty's "Princes of the Apocalypse"
Grymar offers up his warhammer to Lehmani, setting it on the table. “Please! I’ve seen what your Gearsmith can do, channeled through you. You saved my life out there with those crabbies! If you can imbue this warhammer with some o that.. well, please, go ahead! After that, let’s head on to Durgeddin!”
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Lehmani grants Grymar's warhammer with the "Blessing of the Forge" granting it +1 to attack and damage rolls. Unfortunately, that also removes the blessing on Zubien's bow. (Just spreadin' the love around a bit)
She spends the rest of the morning saying farewell to Jahia and the people of Frickley while preparing for the journey ahead, using her newly acquired gold to purchase:
A Crossbow 25 GP
A Crossbow bolt case 1 GP
20 Crossbow Bolts 1 GP
A Healer’s Kit 5 GP
A 10-day’s worth of rations 5 GP
(Also, DM question... How long is the journey to The Spine of the World from Frickley?)
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
DM - Classic Adventures Reborn
Rylan - L1 Human Paladin - Barty's "Princes of the Apocalypse"
Lehmani grants Grymar's warhammer with the "Blessing of the Forge" granting it +1 to attack and damage rolls. Unfortunately, that also removes the blessing on Zubien's bow. (Just spreadin' the love around a bit)
She spends the rest of the morning saying farewell to Jahia and the people of Frickley while preparing for the journey ahead, using her newly acquired gold to purchase:
A Crossbow 25 GP
A Crossbow bolt case 1 GP
20 Crossbow Bolts 1 GP
A Healer’s Kit 5 GP
A 10-day’s worth of rations 5 GP
(Also, DM question... How long is the journey to The Spine of the World from Frickley?)
Zubien bows in acceptance. This is a great gift; I am honored to receive it from you. Perhaps my aim will improve. Though it is not nor will be my weapons of choice when it's time to become a Kensei, it will do."
Grymar can feel the power infused into his warhammer, and his eyes go wide. “Thankee kindly, Lehmani. I’ll use it well.” Grymar thinks she has a good idea and purchases a healer’s kit and some rations as well. He fingers a breastplate on a stand in the store, but the price is too rich for him. “I’m ready to go. She would use a horse for the long road? Or mule?”
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
All - Durgeddin was a master smith who forged blades of surpassing quality and power. Centuries ago, his home was sacked by orcs. Durgeddin led the remnants of his clan to the mountains north of the town of Blasingdell and established a small, secret stronghold somewhere in the trackless wilderness.
From his hidden redoubt, he waged a decades-long vendetta against all orc-kind, until his enemies discovered his fortress and attacked it after a long siege. Durgeddin and his followers perished, and much wealth was carried away by the conquering hordes. But it’s said that the deepest and best-hidden vaults and armories escaped the looting, and that some of Durgeddin’s extraordinary blades still wait in the darkness for a hand bold enough to claim one.
You’ve come to Blasingdell, a small mining town on the northern frontier, to see if there’s anything to these stories. Your map shows that the old dwarf-hold lies about three days’ march to the north of the town. Dark, deeply forested hills rise beyond the town’s outskirts. The journey to Blasingdell gradually leads you all out of the dense forest, revealing a wide clearing as you draw closer to the town. The sudden openness provides a stark contrast to the tightly packed trees you've been traveling through.
The first glimpse of Blasingdell is marked by a cluster of buildings and structures set against a backdrop of rocky hills and cliffs. The town appears nestled within a natural bowl-like depression, with its buildings made of wood and stone, blending harmoniously with the rugged environment. As you draw nearer, the sounds of the town come alive. The distant clang of metal against metal from the mines and the cheerful chatter of townsfolk going about their daily routines can be heard. The rhythmic hammering of blacksmiths and the occasional whinny of horses add to the symphony of activity.
Eventually you find yourselves on the main road leading into Blasingdell. The path is well-trodden and flanked by wooden signposts bearing the town's name. The road is wide enough to accommodate carts and horses, indicating that trade and commerce are essential aspects of life here. As you pass through the town gates, you are greeted by a pair of guards who nod in acknowledgment but don't seem overly suspicious. The guards are clad in well-maintained armor and carry spears, signifying the town's commitment to security.
On the road...Lehmani often asks Zubien to honor them with some of his flute playing. She'll make a point to learn some of the names of Grymar's bug friends, and she'll search for private moments to allow space for Berkarak to share anything he feels comfortable to share about Calico and the events that set his feet upon the open road.
Also, at some point (or various points) along the journey, she'd very much like to investigate this mysterious sword hilt... Between her proficiency with smith's tools and Berkarak's proficiency in Arcana, she hopes to learn whether the hilt is a part of a magical blade... and if it would be safe to attempt to reforge it using her Artisan's Blessing ability.
As the party reaches the gates of Blasingdale... Lehmani closes her eyes and lets the sounds of the blacksmiths' hammers wash over her with a slight grin. It's the sound of her Lord. The sound of home. They've arrived. She opens her eyes and looks to the others.
"I suspect the first order of business would be to secure some lodging.... unless anyone has a better idea. A hot meal wouldn't trouble me either. Once we're settled, I'd love to see if there's a temple to My Lord, somewhere in town."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
DM - Classic Adventures Reborn
Rylan - L1 Human Paladin - Barty's "Princes of the Apocalypse"
On the road...Lehmani often asks Zubien to honor them with some of his flute playing. She'll make a point to learn some of the names of Grymar's bug friends, and she'll search for private moments to allow space for Berkarak to share anything he feels comfortable to share about Calico and the events that set his feet upon the open road.
Also, at some point (or various points) along the journey, she'd very much like to investigate this mysterious sword hilt... Between her proficiency with smith's tools and Berkarak's proficiency in Arcana, she hopes to learn whether the hilt is a part of a magical blade... and if it would be safe to attempt to reforge it using her Artisan's Blessing ability.
As the party reaches the gates of Blasingdale... Lehmani closes her eyes and lets the sounds of the blacksmiths' hammers wash over her with a slight grin. It's the sound of her Lord. The sound of home. They've arrived. She opens her eyes and looks to the others.
"I suspect the first order of business would be to secure some lodging.... unless anyone has a better idea. A hot meal wouldn't trouble me either. Once we're settled, I'd love to see if there's a temple to My Lord, somewhere in town."
Zubien plays music on his flute to help pass the miles away. During their nights in camp. Zubien meditates, practices his weapons and martial arts forms, helps with cooking and taken his turn watching the camp at night while the others sleep. Along with playing his flute, he tells the party of his order, the Silver Crescent, considered a militant order to protect the innocents, and to serve the people. Many a senior monk have served as advisors and bodyguards to nobles and princes, enlightening them as they guarded them. When the walls are before them, Zubien lets out a sigh of relief, even for a monk it's nice to get off a long journey from time to time.
On the road...Lehmani [will] search for private moments to allow space for Berkarak to share anything he feels comfortable to share about Calico and the events that set his feet upon the open road.
Berkarak is open about his late wife—a fiery, gregarious, smart, and talented gnome. They were together for two decades. They used his earning from adventuring as a young man—he was a talented fighter, those skills long atrophied—to build and maintain a simple library for his village to help the less fortunate rise above their station. Three years ago, Calico became unwell—here he gets cagey and less detailed in his recounting—the library took a backseat to his caring for his wife, trying to protect her. When she finally succumbed, Berkarak spent many months in isolated mourning. Until he turned back to their library and reading. He found in a particular book—he claims not to remember the name of the tome or the specific advice (Deception 5 (nat 1!))—some sage advice that helped him step foot back into the world. Along with the advice, he started feeling powers in the arcane he had never felt before. He spent time honing those skills. But the library had become a shadow of itself, and Berkarak's funds were nearly dried up. He needed to put his new skills to use and to earn more gold to restore and perhaps improve their library—now named the Calico Memorial Library.
Lehmani - The moment you touch the broken blade you feel a faint thrum of magic stir within. There is not enough left within to produce an effect of any kind nor call the blade magical in its current state, but you can tell that when it was whole it was indeed magical (longsword, +1). You feel that you could reforge the blade and make it whole, but the blade would remain a mundane longsword. Later that same night, while you sleep, you experience another vision. Though not as intense as the first, it is just as visceral. In it you find yourself placing the reforged blade on an anvil that you know (though you aren't sure how you know) belonged to Durgeddin. You feel the weight of a hammer in your hand and inspecting it you get that same sense of knowing, that it too belonged to Durgeddin. You strike the blade and blue sparks erupt from the point of impact. You strike again and again, sending a shower of sparks and crackling energy across the anvil. Finally, with an aching arm you hold the blade close and inspect it. The heron mark glows a steady blue and you sense the magic now contained within. The blade is truly restored and Gond is pleased.
On the road...Lehmani often asks Zubien to honor them with some of his flute playing. She'll make a point to learn some of the names of Grymar's bug friends, and she'll search for private moments to allow space for Berkarak to share anything he feels comfortable to share about Calico and the events that set his feet upon the open road.
Also, at some point (or various points) along the journey, she'd very much like to investigate this mysterious sword hilt... Between her proficiency with smith's tools and Berkarak's proficiency in Arcana, she hopes to learn whether the hilt is a part of a magical blade... and if it would be safe to attempt to reforge it using her Artisan's Blessing ability.
As the party reaches the gates of Blasingdale... Lehmani closes her eyes and lets the sounds of the blacksmiths' hammers wash over her with a slight grin. It's the sound of her Lord. The sound of home. They've arrived. She opens her eyes and looks to the others.
"I suspect the first order of business would be to secure some lodging.... unless anyone has a better idea. A hot meal wouldn't trouble me either. Once we're settled, I'd love to see if there's a temple to My Lord, somewhere in town."
On the road, Grymar seems to be happy and pleased that they are traveling to Blasingdale. After the evening of celebration and open discussion while the alcohol was flowing, Grymar becomes a little more guarded in sharing details, waiting and watching how things are received. He seems almost fearful of sharing his inner thoughts and experiences, as if by sharing he would scare off his new found friends, or make them think that he was crazy. Finally, when you ask for the third time and no one has fled from him yet, he would answer the question of Lehmani. “Wells, they seem to call each other buzzzz, hah! I can see little patterns when they are signaling each other, I don’t know their true names yet. I call that pudgy one Rollo, that one Pollo, and that one Zollo. But that is the thing see, they don’t have names I don’t think like youze an me. Hive mind see? All workin together. They think more collectively than we do. That’s their strength…”. His eyes fade and stare into the distance, losing focus for a moment as he is recalling something. “And it’s our weakness….”’
Later in the trip he recounts stories of his friend Drogan, a fellow dwarf ranger who taught him the use of a long bow, how to hold and swing a war hammer, and how to track things through the woods. “Drogan always felt I was a little daft about learnin about insects and all, my thing with the bees, but he put up with me and didn’t give up. Didn’t turn me away or beat the crap out of me. Lookie here. I’m just glad that you all agree to have me, perhaps likewise we can all learn from each other…”. He leans down and looks in his pouch “And you can accept my frenz too, thas right yeah?” He looks pleased and all the more excited as they finally arrive in Blasigndale.
“Ah yes, some food and a bed would be nice, then let’s learn more about that sword I gave ya Lehmani, even though its in pieces. Lemme know how I can help…”
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
All - It is around 6pm when you enter Blasingdell and after hearing you mention lodging, one of the guards points you in the direction of the Griffin's Nest inn and tavern. The Griffon's Nest is a two-story timber-framed building with a warmly lit, inviting facade. Its exterior is adorned with wooden carvings of griffons in flight, giving the inn its distinctive name. A well-kept sign depicting a majestic griffon with outstretched wings hangs over the entrance, gently creaking in the breeze. As you approach, you begin to hear the sounds of merriment emanating from within. Laughter, jovial conversation, and the occasional clinking of tankards create an inviting ambiance that beckons you inside. The windows of the Griffon's Nest glow with warm light, casting a welcoming golden hue onto the street. It's a stark contrast to the dimming daylight outside, drawing you towards the promise of comfort and companionship within.
Stepping through the door, you are immediately enveloped in a wave of warmth and coziness. The interior is decorated with rich, deep-toned wooden furnishings, including sturdy tables and comfortable chairs, all well-crafted but showing signs of years of use. Animal skin rugs cover the floor, muffling the sounds of footsteps. The heart of the tavern is a large, roaring hearthfire at one end of the room. The flames crackle and dance, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The hearth not only provides warmth but also serves as a central gathering point for patrons, who sit around it in groups, enjoying drinks and stories. The tavern is filled with the hum of conversation, with patrons of various races and backgrounds engaged in lively discussions. The sound of clinking tankards and the occasional cheer or applause punctuate the background noise. The air is rich with the aromas of hearty food and fine drinks. You can smell the tantalizing scents of freshly baked bread, sizzling meats, and savory stews wafting from the kitchen. The scent of various ales and wines mingles with the food, creating an enticing blend. In one corner of the tavern, a minstrel with a lute strums and sings a lively tune. The music adds to the jovial atmosphere, providing a soundtrack to the evening's festivities. The tavern's patrons and staff wear smiles, and many nod in acknowledgment as you enter. The serving staff, dressed in simple yet clean attire, bustle about, taking orders and delivering trays of food and drinks to eager customers.
Lehmani secures a room and pays for the entire party's evening meal, a gesture of gratitude for following her out on this mad journey.
As they share drinks, she'll want to ask around to see what folks know about the legend of Durgeddin. She'd also like to know if there's a temple of Gond in town.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
DM - Classic Adventures Reborn
Rylan - L1 Human Paladin - Barty's "Princes of the Apocalypse"
Lehmani - The proprietor is a half-elven woman named Sarel Bankdown. You find Sarel engaged in friendly banter with a patron as she hands them a mug with a thick head of foam sloshing down its side. The man she handed it too chuckles to himself before taking a sip as he walks back to his table. Sarel sees you and smiles, "Hail, welcome to the Griffon's Nest. What can I get you?" Before you can answer, a male gnome sitting to your left pipes up, "Griffon's Nest? Shoulda called it the Turkey's Nest! Didja see that gobbler scrawled on the sign out front?" Sarel rolls her eyes in a good natured way as the man continues, "Whoever painted that for ya should go back to washin' mugs and turning out bedsheets! I seen't a real Griffon 'afore and that ain't no Griffon!" Sarel throws a rag at the man and says, "Griffons shit bigger'n you Klempsie. I reckon you saw a chicken. Now if you're done insulting my artistry, I've got customers to attend to!" Klempsie tosses the rag back at Sarel and she playfully snaps it at him before returning to you, "Room and board is one gold piece a night, or if you just want one or the other they're each five silver a night. Board includes three meals a day." After your lodging is secured and your drinks ordered, Sarel heads off to fill your order. Most of the folks you talk to seem to believe the legends of Durgeddin, but think that any treasure has long since been plundered. You do get a tip about a potential job that aligns with your quest to recover Durgeddin's lost weapons. Apparently, orc raiders have been pillaging isolated farmsteads and camps in the hills north of the town. The local militia captured an orc warrior left for dead by its comrades and brought it back for questioning. Under the influence of a charm person spell, the orc divulged the location of the monsters’ lair, a lonely hill called the Stone Tooth. The mayor offers a bounty of 25 gp per orc, dead or alive, and the gratitude of the townsfolk to any who can permanently end the threat.
Grymar, Berkarak, and Zubien - As you sit and await the round Lehmani bought, you notice a particularly raucous table next to you. The men seated at it are all dressed in filthy coveralls that mark them as miners. They've been loud and obnoxious since you entered and unfortunately the only free table was unsurprisingly the one next to them. They eye you disdainfully as you take your seat, particularly Grymar. You see them leaning in and half-whispering to each other, snickering and chuckling at whatever was said. After a few minutes a red-skinned Tiefling man stands, stumbling slightly before approaching your table, "You need ta find a differn't table friend." His glassy eyes work hard to focus on Grymar, "Your stink is throwin' off my appetite." The man crosses his arms over his chest and flexes, you see that despite the fat covering them, the man is still well-muscled from his work in the mines. One of Grymar's bees buzz free of their pouch and circle lazily around his head. The man snorts and looks back at his friends, "See? He's drawin' flies!" The other two, a male deep gnome with missing teeth and a male dwarf with round spectacles, laugh stupidly. The bee lands on the table and the man attempts to squash it, but just manages to knock over Grymar's drink as he smacks his meaty hand on the table with a THWACK, missing the bee entirely. The drink spills on the man's boots and he growls in anger, "Now look what you made me do!" The deep gnome and dwarf smile and shake their heads, clearly enjoying the show. The man angrily shouts at Grymar, "Get a rag and clean my boots! NOW!"
Grymar sits and smiles a big toothy smile at the table next to them. When the Tiefling shouts at him Grymar stands and gives a sniff to his armpits, honestly trying to detect any odor and shrugs his shoulders, taking a sip from his mug of beer. Then when he asks him to clean his boots with a rag, Grymar says “Bee glad to, Mister Hothead. Ceptin your mama shoulda shown you how to use some manners around the table when she was a feedin you with a sling shot!” At that, Grymar forms a mage hand that is not usual in appearance, it is a cluster of bees, formed in the shape of a hand. The bee spirits grab up a rag and indeed wipe the beer off the man’s boots, gets ‘em nice and tidy, but instead of finishing there, Grymar says “You still thirsty after spillin your beer, we’ll here ya go, sonny!” And the bee hand shoves the damp beer-soaked rag into the Tiefling man’s shouting mouth, Grymar smiling all the while.
Berkarak notices the rowdy table when they sit and, knowing how these things can go from his younger days, casts mage armor on himself.
When the drunk tiefling offends Grymar, Berkarak tries to hold his tongue to allow Grymar to take the lead. Just when it's about too much for him, Grymar speaks, so Berkarak remains quiet. When Grymar stands, Berkarak stands, too, taking a step back as space allows, not trying to spark a fight but ready for what comes next.
As the tension builds between the two tables in the Griffon's Nest, the front door opens wide and a large minotaur fills the frame. Surveying the place, his mouth dry from the road, he is about to head to the bar but is drawn to the commotion coming from the two tables. Brushing some of the dust from the road off of himself, he walks into the place.
Kalhala is large, even for a minotaur with his sable brown coat and long slightly curled, pierced horns. His long black hair he wears consistently in a manbun between his horns and his black beard hangs in little braids adorned with red beads. He wears brown robes a few shades darker than his coat, with chain mail peaking out on his chest. A longsword is strapped to his belt, but a greataxe and shield are also strapped to his pack as he heads in and makes a beeline towards the two groups.
Seeing the tiefling has had well past what should be his limit, he addresses them first, "Excuse me sir, might be a good time to sit down. Seems your boots are good and clean and hey! not only are you drinking from a mug, you are even drinking from a rag, now that takes talent!"
Grymar finishes stuffing his last egg into his mouth and says “Vianvfbane. Yeah!” Chew, chew, *swallow*. “Where are we headed Lehmani? Do you know how to get there?” In his left hand he’s fingering the medallion, thumb tracing out the dwarven rune on it. He gives a big stretch and looks like he’s ready to tackle the day.
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Zubien holds his medallion, and nods in thanks. "I am honored though not necessary. It was my honor to serve and save your town. But I shall cherish it," He bows again.
During breakfast, Berkarak takes the opportunity to ask Lehmani what a Seeker Postulate is. He asks Grymar and Zubien, too, where they're from and what their specialties are in battle. He listens with obvious interest, eager to learn more about his new compatriots.
Before Pello arrives, Lehmani answers Berkarak's question. "It means I am still in training to be a fully confirmed priest of Gond, The Wonderbringer, Patron of the Forge, The Lord of All Smiths. Before I can be fully vested I must complete my pilgrimage, to walk the lands so I might view the world's constructed wonders, and meditate upon the inspiration and ingenuity of all the mortal races."
She continues with her morning meal, when Pello arrives. She accepts the gift of the medallions with deep appreciation. "My deepest thanks to you, Pello. You know, I came to this place hoping to see but gimpse of your local crafted wonders. I never expected to leave with one... imbued with such treasured significance. May the Blessing of the Gearsmith guide your rebuilding efforts so that Frickley may continue to grow and thrive."
Finally, she answers Grymar matter of factly. "Northwest, friend Grymar, to the very edge of the world, in search of the lost stronghold of Durgeddin and the powerful weapons hidden there..." She motions toward his warhammer. "But first, if I may, before we leave I'd like to grant you a blessing.
DM - Classic Adventures Reborn
Rylan - L1 Human Paladin - Barty's "Princes of the Apocalypse"
Grymar offers up his warhammer to Lehmani, setting it on the table. “Please! I’ve seen what your Gearsmith can do, channeled through you. You saved my life out there with those crabbies! If you can imbue this warhammer with some o that.. well, please, go ahead! After that, let’s head on to Durgeddin!”
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Lehmani grants Grymar's warhammer with the "Blessing of the Forge" granting it +1 to attack and damage rolls. Unfortunately, that also removes the blessing on Zubien's bow. (Just spreadin' the love around a bit)
She spends the rest of the morning saying farewell to Jahia and the people of Frickley while preparing for the journey ahead, using her newly acquired gold to purchase:
A Crossbow 25 GP
A Crossbow bolt case 1 GP
20 Crossbow Bolts 1 GP
A Healer’s Kit 5 GP
A 10-day’s worth of rations 5 GP
(Also, DM question... How long is the journey to The Spine of the World from Frickley?)
DM - Classic Adventures Reborn
Rylan - L1 Human Paladin - Barty's "Princes of the Apocalypse"
Zubien bows in acceptance. This is a great gift; I am honored to receive it from you. Perhaps my aim will improve. Though it is not nor will be my weapons of choice when it's time to become a Kensei, it will do."
Grymar can feel the power infused into his warhammer, and his eyes go wide. “Thankee kindly, Lehmani. I’ll use it well.” Grymar thinks she has a good idea and purchases a healer’s kit and some rations as well. He fingers a breastplate on a stand in the store, but the price is too rich for him. “I’m ready to go. She would use a horse for the long road? Or mule?”
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
All - Durgeddin was a master smith who forged blades of surpassing quality and power. Centuries ago, his home was sacked by orcs. Durgeddin led the remnants of his clan to the mountains north of the town of Blasingdell and established a small, secret stronghold somewhere in the trackless wilderness.
From his hidden redoubt, he waged a decades-long vendetta against all orc-kind, until his enemies discovered his fortress and attacked it after a long siege. Durgeddin and his followers perished, and much wealth was carried away by the conquering hordes. But it’s said that the deepest and best-hidden vaults and armories escaped the looting, and that some of Durgeddin’s extraordinary blades still wait in the darkness for a hand bold enough to claim one.
You’ve come to Blasingdell, a small mining town on the northern frontier, to see if there’s anything to these stories. Your map shows that the old dwarf-hold lies about three days’ march to the north of the town. Dark, deeply forested hills rise beyond the town’s outskirts. The journey to Blasingdell gradually leads you all out of the dense forest, revealing a wide clearing as you draw closer to the town. The sudden openness provides a stark contrast to the tightly packed trees you've been traveling through.
The first glimpse of Blasingdell is marked by a cluster of buildings and structures set against a backdrop of rocky hills and cliffs. The town appears nestled within a natural bowl-like depression, with its buildings made of wood and stone, blending harmoniously with the rugged environment. As you draw nearer, the sounds of the town come alive. The distant clang of metal against metal from the mines and the cheerful chatter of townsfolk going about their daily routines can be heard. The rhythmic hammering of blacksmiths and the occasional whinny of horses add to the symphony of activity.
Eventually you find yourselves on the main road leading into Blasingdell. The path is well-trodden and flanked by wooden signposts bearing the town's name. The road is wide enough to accommodate carts and horses, indicating that trade and commerce are essential aspects of life here. As you pass through the town gates, you are greeted by a pair of guards who nod in acknowledgment but don't seem overly suspicious. The guards are clad in well-maintained armor and carry spears, signifying the town's commitment to security.
On the road... Lehmani often asks Zubien to honor them with some of his flute playing. She'll make a point to learn some of the names of Grymar's bug friends, and she'll search for private moments to allow space for Berkarak to share anything he feels comfortable to share about Calico and the events that set his feet upon the open road.
Also, at some point (or various points) along the journey, she'd very much like to investigate this mysterious sword hilt... Between her proficiency with smith's tools and Berkarak's proficiency in Arcana, she hopes to learn whether the hilt is a part of a magical blade... and if it would be safe to attempt to reforge it using her Artisan's Blessing ability.
As the party reaches the gates of Blasingdale... Lehmani closes her eyes and lets the sounds of the blacksmiths' hammers wash over her with a slight grin. It's the sound of her Lord. The sound of home. They've arrived. She opens her eyes and looks to the others.
"I suspect the first order of business would be to secure some lodging.... unless anyone has a better idea. A hot meal wouldn't trouble me either. Once we're settled, I'd love to see if there's a temple to My Lord, somewhere in town."
DM - Classic Adventures Reborn
Rylan - L1 Human Paladin - Barty's "Princes of the Apocalypse"
Zubien plays music on his flute to help pass the miles away. During their nights in camp. Zubien meditates, practices his weapons and martial arts forms, helps with cooking and taken his turn watching the camp at night while the others sleep. Along with playing his flute, he tells the party of his order, the Silver Crescent, considered a militant order to protect the innocents, and to serve the people. Many a senior monk have served as advisors and bodyguards to nobles and princes, enlightening them as they guarded them. When the walls are before them, Zubien lets out a sigh of relief, even for a monk it's nice to get off a long journey from time to time.
Berkarak is open about his late wife—a fiery, gregarious, smart, and talented gnome. They were together for two decades. They used his earning from adventuring as a young man—he was a talented fighter, those skills long atrophied—to build and maintain a simple library for his village to help the less fortunate rise above their station. Three years ago, Calico became unwell—here he gets cagey and less detailed in his recounting—the library took a backseat to his caring for his wife, trying to protect her. When she finally succumbed, Berkarak spent many months in isolated mourning. Until he turned back to their library and reading. He found in a particular book—he claims not to remember the name of the tome or the specific advice (Deception 5 (nat 1!))—some sage advice that helped him step foot back into the world. Along with the advice, he started feeling powers in the arcane he had never felt before. He spent time honing those skills. But the library had become a shadow of itself, and Berkarak's funds were nearly dried up. He needed to put his new skills to use and to earn more gold to restore and perhaps improve their library—now named the Calico Memorial Library.
Lehmani - The moment you touch the broken blade you feel a faint thrum of magic stir within. There is not enough left within to produce an effect of any kind nor call the blade magical in its current state, but you can tell that when it was whole it was indeed magical (longsword, +1). You feel that you could reforge the blade and make it whole, but the blade would remain a mundane longsword. Later that same night, while you sleep, you experience another vision. Though not as intense as the first, it is just as visceral. In it you find yourself placing the reforged blade on an anvil that you know (though you aren't sure how you know) belonged to Durgeddin. You feel the weight of a hammer in your hand and inspecting it you get that same sense of knowing, that it too belonged to Durgeddin. You strike the blade and blue sparks erupt from the point of impact. You strike again and again, sending a shower of sparks and crackling energy across the anvil. Finally, with an aching arm you hold the blade close and inspect it. The heron mark glows a steady blue and you sense the magic now contained within. The blade is truly restored and Gond is pleased.
On the road, Grymar seems to be happy and pleased that they are traveling to Blasingdale. After the evening of celebration and open discussion while the alcohol was flowing, Grymar becomes a little more guarded in sharing details, waiting and watching how things are received. He seems almost fearful of sharing his inner thoughts and experiences, as if by sharing he would scare off his new found friends, or make them think that he was crazy. Finally, when you ask for the third time and no one has fled from him yet, he would answer the question of Lehmani. “Wells, they seem to call each other buzzzz, hah! I can see little patterns when they are signaling each other, I don’t know their true names yet. I call that pudgy one Rollo, that one Pollo, and that one Zollo. But that is the thing see, they don’t have names I don’t think like youze an me. Hive mind see? All workin together. They think more collectively than we do. That’s their strength…”. His eyes fade and stare into the distance, losing focus for a moment as he is recalling something. “And it’s our weakness….”’
Later in the trip he recounts stories of his friend Drogan, a fellow dwarf ranger who taught him the use of a long bow, how to hold and swing a war hammer, and how to track things through the woods. “Drogan always felt I was a little daft about learnin about insects and all, my thing with the bees, but he put up with me and didn’t give up. Didn’t turn me away or beat the crap out of me. Lookie here. I’m just glad that you all agree to have me, perhaps likewise we can all learn from each other…”. He leans down and looks in his pouch “And you can accept my frenz too, thas right yeah?” He looks pleased and all the more excited as they finally arrive in Blasigndale.
“Ah yes, some food and a bed would be nice, then let’s learn more about that sword I gave ya Lehmani, even though its in pieces. Lemme know how I can help…”
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
All - It is around 6pm when you enter Blasingdell and after hearing you mention lodging, one of the guards points you in the direction of the Griffin's Nest inn and tavern. The Griffon's Nest is a two-story timber-framed building with a warmly lit, inviting facade. Its exterior is adorned with wooden carvings of griffons in flight, giving the inn its distinctive name. A well-kept sign depicting a majestic griffon with outstretched wings hangs over the entrance, gently creaking in the breeze. As you approach, you begin to hear the sounds of merriment emanating from within. Laughter, jovial conversation, and the occasional clinking of tankards create an inviting ambiance that beckons you inside. The windows of the Griffon's Nest glow with warm light, casting a welcoming golden hue onto the street. It's a stark contrast to the dimming daylight outside, drawing you towards the promise of comfort and companionship within.
Stepping through the door, you are immediately enveloped in a wave of warmth and coziness. The interior is decorated with rich, deep-toned wooden furnishings, including sturdy tables and comfortable chairs, all well-crafted but showing signs of years of use. Animal skin rugs cover the floor, muffling the sounds of footsteps. The heart of the tavern is a large, roaring hearthfire at one end of the room. The flames crackle and dance, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The hearth not only provides warmth but also serves as a central gathering point for patrons, who sit around it in groups, enjoying drinks and stories. The tavern is filled with the hum of conversation, with patrons of various races and backgrounds engaged in lively discussions. The sound of clinking tankards and the occasional cheer or applause punctuate the background noise. The air is rich with the aromas of hearty food and fine drinks. You can smell the tantalizing scents of freshly baked bread, sizzling meats, and savory stews wafting from the kitchen. The scent of various ales and wines mingles with the food, creating an enticing blend. In one corner of the tavern, a minstrel with a lute strums and sings a lively tune. The music adds to the jovial atmosphere, providing a soundtrack to the evening's festivities. The tavern's patrons and staff wear smiles, and many nod in acknowledgment as you enter. The serving staff, dressed in simple yet clean attire, bustle about, taking orders and delivering trays of food and drinks to eager customers.
Lehmani secures a room and pays for the entire party's evening meal, a gesture of gratitude for following her out on this mad journey.
As they share drinks, she'll want to ask around to see what folks know about the legend of Durgeddin. She'd also like to know if there's a temple of Gond in town.
DM - Classic Adventures Reborn
Rylan - L1 Human Paladin - Barty's "Princes of the Apocalypse"
Lehmani - The proprietor is a half-elven woman named Sarel Bankdown. You find Sarel engaged in friendly banter with a patron as she hands them a mug with a thick head of foam sloshing down its side. The man she handed it too chuckles to himself before taking a sip as he walks back to his table. Sarel sees you and smiles, "Hail, welcome to the Griffon's Nest. What can I get you?" Before you can answer, a male gnome sitting to your left pipes up, "Griffon's Nest? Shoulda called it the Turkey's Nest! Didja see that gobbler scrawled on the sign out front?" Sarel rolls her eyes in a good natured way as the man continues, "Whoever painted that for ya should go back to washin' mugs and turning out bedsheets! I seen't a real Griffon 'afore and that ain't no Griffon!" Sarel throws a rag at the man and says, "Griffons shit bigger'n you Klempsie. I reckon you saw a chicken. Now if you're done insulting my artistry, I've got customers to attend to!" Klempsie tosses the rag back at Sarel and she playfully snaps it at him before returning to you, "Room and board is one gold piece a night, or if you just want one or the other they're each five silver a night. Board includes three meals a day." After your lodging is secured and your drinks ordered, Sarel heads off to fill your order. Most of the folks you talk to seem to believe the legends of Durgeddin, but think that any treasure has long since been plundered. You do get a tip about a potential job that aligns with your quest to recover Durgeddin's lost weapons. Apparently, orc raiders have been pillaging isolated farmsteads and camps in the hills north of the town. The local militia captured an orc warrior left for dead by its comrades and brought it back for questioning. Under the influence of a charm person spell, the orc divulged the location of the monsters’ lair, a lonely hill called the Stone Tooth. The mayor offers a bounty of 25 gp per orc, dead or alive, and the gratitude of the townsfolk to any who can permanently end the threat.
Grymar, Berkarak, and Zubien - As you sit and await the round Lehmani bought, you notice a particularly raucous table next to you. The men seated at it are all dressed in filthy coveralls that mark them as miners. They've been loud and obnoxious since you entered and unfortunately the only free table was unsurprisingly the one next to them. They eye you disdainfully as you take your seat, particularly Grymar. You see them leaning in and half-whispering to each other, snickering and chuckling at whatever was said. After a few minutes a red-skinned Tiefling man stands, stumbling slightly before approaching your table, "You need ta find a differn't table friend." His glassy eyes work hard to focus on Grymar, "Your stink is throwin' off my appetite." The man crosses his arms over his chest and flexes, you see that despite the fat covering them, the man is still well-muscled from his work in the mines. One of Grymar's bees buzz free of their pouch and circle lazily around his head. The man snorts and looks back at his friends, "See? He's drawin' flies!" The other two, a male deep gnome with missing teeth and a male dwarf with round spectacles, laugh stupidly. The bee lands on the table and the man attempts to squash it, but just manages to knock over Grymar's drink as he smacks his meaty hand on the table with a THWACK, missing the bee entirely. The drink spills on the man's boots and he growls in anger, "Now look what you made me do!" The deep gnome and dwarf smile and shake their heads, clearly enjoying the show. The man angrily shouts at Grymar, "Get a rag and clean my boots! NOW!"
Grymar sits and smiles a big toothy smile at the table next to them. When the Tiefling shouts at him Grymar stands and gives a sniff to his armpits, honestly trying to detect any odor and shrugs his shoulders, taking a sip from his mug of beer. Then when he asks him to clean his boots with a rag, Grymar says “Bee glad to, Mister Hothead. Ceptin your mama shoulda shown you how to use some manners around the table when she was a feedin you with a sling shot!” At that, Grymar forms a mage hand that is not usual in appearance, it is a cluster of bees, formed in the shape of a hand. The bee spirits grab up a rag and indeed wipe the beer off the man’s boots, gets ‘em nice and tidy, but instead of finishing there, Grymar says “You still thirsty after spillin your beer, we’ll here ya go, sonny!” And the bee hand shoves the damp beer-soaked rag into the Tiefling man’s shouting mouth, Grymar smiling all the while.
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Berkarak notices the rowdy table when they sit and, knowing how these things can go from his younger days, casts mage armor on himself.
When the drunk tiefling offends Grymar, Berkarak tries to hold his tongue to allow Grymar to take the lead. Just when it's about too much for him, Grymar speaks, so Berkarak remains quiet. When Grymar stands, Berkarak stands, too, taking a step back as space allows, not trying to spark a fight but ready for what comes next.
As the tension builds between the two tables in the Griffon's Nest, the front door opens wide and a large minotaur fills the frame. Surveying the place, his mouth dry from the road, he is about to head to the bar but is drawn to the commotion coming from the two tables. Brushing some of the dust from the road off of himself, he walks into the place.
Kalhala is large, even for a minotaur with his sable brown coat and long slightly curled, pierced horns. His long black hair he wears consistently in a manbun between his horns and his black beard hangs in little braids adorned with red beads. He wears brown robes a few shades darker than his coat, with chain mail peaking out on his chest. A longsword is strapped to his belt, but a greataxe and shield are also strapped to his pack as he heads in and makes a beeline towards the two groups.
Seeing the tiefling has had well past what should be his limit, he addresses them first, "Excuse me sir, might be a good time to sit down. Seems your boots are good and clean and hey! not only are you drinking from a mug, you are even drinking from a rag, now that takes talent!"