Gus - stands at the table, addressing the others, particularly the elder mages, I have an idea, not really sure if it's a good one and would like your input. As you know or may have guessed, madame Cleo is my familiar, a celestial that has taken the form of a cat. By casting the summoning spell again, Cleo and I can change her form, say into that of a swamp lizard or even an owl. One of the benefits of a familiar is that the mage can view through it's eyes and hear what it hears. If our main goal for Mr. V is scouting then, theoretically, once we get within range, we could sent Cleo in with me scouting the area through her. I report what I see and we never have to get too close. Theoretically speaking that is. He looks to the elder mages for input.
Delfen and Kelson exchange glances. "Indeed - any advantage you can gain to see them without being seen, seize it. And especially since they can change shape to suit the environment. Be forewarned that sneaking up on Redeye in this manner will probably not work. He'll likely sense he's being watched. He has developed protective magics against scrying, and is able to see things as they truly are up to a considerable distance. Even invisibility may not work if he spots you from too close. So - when in doubt - stay far clear from any lizardman with red scales."
Delfen adds. "Unless of course you have his phylactery. Then the threat of using it as fuel to make a Non-Magical Jar may make him more compliant to your demands. But it would be preferable to grab it and bring it unnoticed to someplace safe enough to perform the ritual of Non-Magical Jar creation - it only takes a minute, but it requires fully voiced vocals - you cannot whisper the scoll's words, you must speak them with authority, you see. Observe." He clears his throat. "This is the level of tone I use when making Non-Magical Jars," he states, his voice suddenly projecting much further than you'd expect him capable. It's not a yell, but it would be clearly heard from a few hundred feet away, without anything to muffle the sound in between.
Dawn asks Gus, "if madame Cleo is taking the form of a small lizard, what would keep things that hunt small lizards from eating her? We need to care about her life as well."
Kelson hands Dawn the rope to a Dapple Gray horse (not that she knows the color). "This is Dusk - may he see you through your trials ahead."
While Dawn notices the bulging saddlebags, she's mostly overwhelmed by the horse itself. She's seen horses before, but that was at a distance, usually pulling a cart or a coach. This horse seemed unusually large (as do all the other horses being presented). It's rather intimidating up close.
Dawn stammered, "Umm, how does one ride a horse?"
Kelson explains that he had picked Dusk for her, since Dusk is more complacent than the others, less likely to give her trouble. He then gives her a brief description of how to get on and off a horse, and how to let the horse know what you want it to do.
Kelson signals for Hnefa to approach, handing her the reigns the largest horse any of you have ever seen. "This is Tiny, as she is known," he says, handing her the reigns with a slight smile. "The name is, eh..."
"Ironic," Reyna adds, helpfully, seeing the Ranger struggling for the correct word.
"Yes! Yes, that. Humans and elves have different senses of humor. Frankly, I don't get it. She was named by one of the stableboys that cares for her. Though she is quite large, she is also aging, so she is no faster than the rest of your steeds. In her prime though," he shakes his head, as if recalling a memory of watching the large horse gallop at a full tilt. He needn't finish the sentence, as his expression did so for him.'
"Thanks," Hnefa says simply, and despite the horses height, swings her leg easily over, landing in the saddle. The horse, though huge, buckles for just a moment, then seems to adjust to the new load and appears to be unbothered.
Kelson hands Bree the reins of a majestic black warhorse and with unflappable dignity says "This is Bobbolisticus del Morganshire Neapolitan Cream Sanchez von Humperdinck III, or Bob for short. I'm sure he will serve you well."
Bree blinks. "Bob... Th-thank you. I'll be sure to treat him well"
(OOC: go ahead and add a similar roleplay when you're able to if you want Eltra, we'll assume something like the other's has happened)
Feydon is the last to be gestured to. Without delay he shuffles over to his horse, and without listening to anything Kelson says regarding its name or what-have-you, expertly throws a leg over its side after stepping the other foot into the stirrup nearest him, settling into its military style saddle with ease. He takes the reigns, and with the evident skill of a practiced horseman, does a quick jot around the group before coming to a halt at your sides. He makes no eye contact with anyone and is expressing no readable emotions. If there's anything to detect about his posture, its wariness, tinged with mild irritation.
To those that were listening to Kelson, he named the horse 'Mousey', though stopped talking before he had a chance to say why when he saw Feydon's total lack of interest.
The group is finally ready to depart.
Reyna, having disappeared for a moment during all this, returns on a horse of her own - a black stallion of a warhorse with a regal bearing that almost beats Morwen's. "And this is Whisper," she says, as her horse comes close enough to interact with the horses of the group. "A gift from the Baron of Ironspear Keep," she explains. Morwen and Kelson look mildly uncomfortable but say nothing - Amn has never been a member of the Lord's Alliance, and has frequently been a potential enemy to its members in the past, though admittedly before Daggerford was a part of the Alliance. Still, their loyalties to the Alliance being what they are - obvious and strong - the fact that a natve to one of its key member states had left her home to serve in an army that may very well have put her into conflict with her homeland, is something almost bordering on treason to their minds. Not quite, clearly, but Morwen's disapproval of Reyna's life choices reminds you of the first impressions you got of the pair - the surrogate mother sense of mutual respect, yet along with it the ever so common tension that exists between children and parents of the same gender.
Reyna, however, is entirely unashamed of her past decisions - whatever glory she was after in Amn, she clearly found it and returned satisfied that she'd been reforged in the fires of battle only to emerge stronger than ever, and now finally capable of existing comfortably outside her mother's shadow. This much is surmisable from what you've heard of her mother, what you've heard her say, and by the fact that the well-polished breastplate of her half-plate armor is literally covered in scratches, burn markings, and other signs of having been struck by what appears to have been just about every type of weapon known to man, multiple times despite evidence that, like her glaive, which is now sheathed at an angle across her back, has been reforged entirely at least once and still it bears as much damage as it does. What kind of place this Ironspear Keep must have been, it was obviously a violent one.
In lieu of her glaive, her sword-arm is now guiding a beautiful heavy lance, silver and gold colored in the Amnian style, couched into the saddle so that she need not bear its weight, just direct it towards her target, and with her other arm she is bearing a shield with the symbol of an iron spear emboldened onto its front. As she comes in close enough that her lance might accidentally strike someone, she expertly shifts its position into a perpendicular angle to the saddle, still couched, but now aiming directly upwards where it can hurt no one. She may not have been offered knighthood in any official manner, but she is every bit the knight that anyone present has ever seen, if not more.
"I will accompany you as far as the split in the road to Crom's Hold," she states, matter-of-factly.
Morwen nods to her, and to the group. "Good luck, may Lathander, Tyr, and Helm watch over you," she calls out as you follow Reyna in single file through the castle gates, which are immediately swung open by the guards as you approach. To each of you, you hear the guards on both sides of the gate offer their well wishes. Word, it seems, has spread of your journey. Indeed, it seems to have spread even beyond the castle courtyard, as your single-file line of heavily equipped, armed, and armored warhorses make way through the town, the townsfolk you encounter immediately move to the side well ahead of your approach, and they too, almost to the last of them, call out their well-wishes on your journey. Each of you can't help but feel a sense of pride and importance the likes of which you've yet to know - almost as if you're already heroes, even though nothing but conversation has transpired - so-far. That you've bravely accepted this undertaking, an undertaking not at all understood by the townsfolk, but guessed at or rumored to be perilous and important to the town's security - makes you a hero in their eyes already, it seems. It's a funny, and foreign feeling that each of you contend with in your own way. For some, it fits like a glove, as if long overdue. For others, it feels incorrect somehow. Misplaced. And there's a longing for a return to anonymity that comes along with it. It's safe to say, however, that regardless of how this journey unfolds, your names will never be as anonymous as they once were - at least not to the town of Daggerford. Should you perish in the attempt, you feel almost certain that your names would be memorialized in this town, if nowhere else. The image of Sir Isteval, visiting such a memorial, and shedding a tear for each of you, flickers across Dawn's mind. Bree, preferring not to let her thoughts wander in such morbid directions, is imagining something entirely - instead of a place of peril, the Lizard Marsh, and certainly Crom's Hold, represent new experiences that, despite the danger, she can't wait to see. Geren as well does not let his mind trend in such morbid ways either - not because he hasn't considered the outcome, but because it simply cannot be the end of his story, and he will do everything in his power to make sure that is not - to him, this is the first major step toward his ultimate goals, and he'd trade places with Levistus before he'd let it end in death in some backwater swamp next to a backwater town, regardless of how nice a castle it might have. Eltra can't help but smile a little as he pictures Jekk visiting a memorial to the group, unbuttoning the top of his trousers and urinating on the part that bears his name. Maybe stomping up and down on it a few times at least. With any luck, he'd get arrested for it, he muses. Then he can spend his time sleeping in a jail cell instead of rudely at a dinner table. Finally, for Gus, he imagines the sorrowful look on Delfen's face if such a fate were to befall him. That Delfen favors him, he feels more certain than ever when he noticed the huge stack of Scrolls of Non-Magical Jar Creation Mark II in his pack, whereas the others only each got one. Even if they're effectively worthless, it must be the closest thing to affection Delfen is capable of showing a young wizard like himself. But then the image of a weeping Inness flickers across his mind and his heart skips a beat. As if on cue to that thought, a woman's voice calls out to the group... or to someone in the group at least. Being closest to the voice, Gus turns to see Inness standing in the streets as they approach the River Gate. She waves to Gus as he passes, briefly squeezing his leg. "Come back in one piece," she pleads, unable to hide her concern. Before you can respond, she looks away and disappears into the growing crowd by the gate, there to watch the group depart.
Again, the gates swing open, and again the last of the city's guards that they'll encounter until they return bid them each a fond farewell and safe return. After the group is finally free from the city and its crowds, Reyna picks up the pace into a quick trot, and you all follow suit, coming abreast of each other in two or three lines depending on the width of the road, and on the presence or absence of other travelers. There aren't many, and when some are encountered, they are quick to move aside, well off the road. They do not shower the group with well-wishes, however, instead just look at the eclectic group in wonder until it seems safe for them to return to the road. Reyna seems entirely unbothered and accustomed to such reactions, almost as if she simply just doesn't see them at all.
Feydon the Cold, riding near the rear of the group, keeps his head low, his once-brash demeanor replaced by a haunted, almost meek silence. His gaunt face and sunken eyes speak volumes of his ordeal, and he obeys every command without question.
Less than half an hour into the journey, the party crosses the ancient, moss-covered bridge spanning a narrow tributary of the Delimbiyr - the same one that Morwen mentioned served as the end point past which ships coming in from the coast can go no further, save for small rowboats able to clear the low-hanging bridge. The stonework is weathered but sturdy, and Feydon mutters something about smugglers using it as a meeting point in years past, given that it was as far inland as you could go but was past where most ‘legit’ cargo ships dock, another mile or two up the river in a direction they are not heading today.
The road turns south after the bridge, and is well-trodden but flanked by wild beauty. The River Delimbiyr glitters to the west, its surface catching the rising sun in shimmering ripples. To the east, rolling hills dotted with clusters of trees rise and fall like the back of a slumbering giant. The occasional farmhouse or shepherd's hut appears in the distance, smoke curling lazily from chimneys.
Before long, there is a fork int the road, and a simple set of road signs to indicate that continuing on due south is Baldur's Gate, while taking the smaller offshoot from the main road leads to Crom's Hold. The number of miles by Baldur's Gate reads 135; to Crom's Hold it reads 26.
Noting the distance, you can't help but wonder why she's bothering going back at all, when she'll just have to return again as soon as they're done. When this question is voiced, she responds by smiling; "Oh, don't worry. I'll be back in Baldur's Gate before you even lay eyes upon Crom's Hold," she laughs. "If things work out, you'll understand how," she adds. "One last thing - I've given each of you a sending stone, of my employer's design. Any message you send with it will come to me in mere moments. When you are on your way back to Daggerford, let me know. If you've become separated and need assistance, they are attuned to each other as well. This will give your group the ability to communicate with each other even if you split up. Be wary of using these too close to Redeye, however. These items look small and seem innocuous, but they induce powerful ripples in the weave that surely, he will feel, if used within several hundred feet of him. If you can see him, you're too close to use these. And with that, I must now bid you farewell for now. May Tymora watch over you, as she always has for me. And if not Tymora," she pauses, letting her horse come about once more before continuing. "Then Tempus be thy guide", she adds, lowering her lance as to put emphasis to the point she means. She spins her horse one last time and seems about to take off in a gallop but instead slows to a trot as she passes by Feydon at the edge of the group, then briefly stops. Out of earshot now, you can hear some words exchange - from her anyway. Though it's hard to say exactly what, Bree is able to hear what sounded like 'forgive me.' Before he can respond, however, she tugs on her reign and shouts 'Hyah!' and with a flash, Whisper bolts into a full gallop down the road toward Baldur's Gate at speeds hard to fathom from a horse - easily two or maybe even three times faster than any of you have seen a horse go. If her horse can maintain a speed like that, and given the far better condition of that road, compared to the relative dirt path you're about to embark on, she's probably right that she'll be in Baldur's Gate before you get to Crom's Hold.
A crow call breaks the silence after she is gone from view, and only then does Feydon turn to the group to see that your eyes are upon him. "What?" he spits. "Are we going to do this thing or what? You're 'the boss' now. I follow you. You don't need me to tell you how to get to Crom's Hold, do you?" The group exchanges glances with each other. This is it. Just you, and a notorious pirate, against who knows what kinds of dangers, or excitement as the case may be, in the spans of mossy fields ahead of you through which the path to Crom's Hold cuts.
Dawn is actually relieved to see som animation from Feydon. She had been concerned that he was too broken to even care for himself. She'll still keep an eye on him, but she's not quite as worried about him any more.
Fortunately, Dusk had been as easy to guide as she had been told. For most of the trip she didn't have to guide him at all, he simply followed the horse in front of him. Still, she was getting a bit sore from using muscles she had never really used before.
Dawn is actually relieved to see som animation from Feydon. She had been concerned that he was too broken to even care for himself. She'll still keep an eye on him, but she's not quite as worried about him any more.
Fortunately, Dusk had been as easy to guide as she had been told. For most of the trip she didn't have to guide him at all, he simply followed the horse in front of him. Still, she was getting a bit sore from using muscles she had never really used before.
Indeed, he does seem to have a spark or two of defiance left within him. He is proving to be much harder to read than Reyna even was, however.
This is Reyna's map of the 4 locations with respect to Crom's Hold, known paths leading from it to the ridge that borders the Lizard Marsh, etc. You can decide to approach them in any order you choose, in any direction. As you learn more about the region, the map will change to reflect that. The entire map is about 50 miles by 50 miles for scale. It seems clear that the horses will either have to be left at the Hold, or somewhere at the top of the ridge before climbing down, though the later would necessitate someone staying behind with them, or leading them back (something you can intuit form just looking at the map, as crude as it may be - there's no clear way to get a horse down the ridge; then even if you did, with the marsh being wat it is - a marsh, it may be more of a hindrance to have a horse with you).
The Beige squares represent known or suspected ruin locations (areas 1 and 4 are suspected to be, there are some already known), and the black areas (2 and 3) in the ridge represent suspected caves, though there may be others. The location of the major waterways are more or less know, and are as shown. Crude though it may be, its fare more detailed than anything you got from Morwen or Kelson, which just show a much more general overview of the area, like as follows:
Maps at this level of detail are much more common, and generally the most detailed any of you've seen. So Reyna's map, though incomplete, is a massive increase in 'resolution' so to speak.
Eltra watches everyone get a warhorse except him....Of course he was forgotten typical of these mouth breathers "Hey Doofen...where's my horse?" Delfen leads Eltra over to a warhorse like none other....It's old, haggard and huge. Delfen has forgot this warhorse's name as it hasn't been used in years. He explains they've kept it around because the children around town liked to feed him. The kids refer to the horse as old timer..... "Of course I get the horse with no name." He looks around at everyone on top of their horses and groans "How am I supposed to get up there? You've given the oldest and largest horse to the oldest and shortest member of the group....how nice." Eltra grumbles under his breath cursing several times over as he tries to climb up the saddle....Once up there he gets old timer clopping along with the other horses
Eltra hears Feydon give them sass "Oh this will be a delightful experience....A horse older than me and a guide with a mouth. No oh wise, not captured and discarded by his own men Feydon, we don't need you to show us Crom's Hold." Eltra rides Old Timer along the path to Crom's Hold.
(OOC: LOL - well I did point out there you saw 7 horses loaded and ready for you - but I get it, you like to play the aggrieved one with Eltra, b/c it excuses your grumpiness lol; okay fine, you get the janky old horse, but as far as speed and stats go, its the same as the others =P Else it'd slow everyone down. For everyone else: if you wanted to roleplay anything from getting on your horse until now go for it - as per usual, but I'm going to assume that you just go to the Hold.).
Saying what he did, Eltra then leads the way. The group quickly follows after, to make sure there isn't too much distance between any of you.
As the morning wears on, the mist dissipates, revealing the verdant expanse of the Delimbiyr Vale. Birds call from the trees, and the occasional squirrel or deer darts across the path, startled by the sound of hooves. Midday brings the adventurers past a cluster of standing stones set in a circle atop a low hill. From a distance, the hilltop seemed like it could serve as a good location to break for lunch, as it would provide a reasonable view of their surroundings and make ambushing them impossible. As they approach, however, they are filled with a sense of foreboding, and a faint hum fills the air around them, a sound that seems to come from the stones themselves. Feydon shivers and mutters, “Bad luck, those stones. Best keep moving.”
As much as some of you are curious to see them up close (Bree), all of you can't deny there is a strange and palpable aura of wrongness coming from the hilltop. Feydon, now in the lead, took the choice away from you to explore them - perhaps because he knows that doing so may lead you to harm. It's uncharacteristic of him to otherwise be taking such an active role, so that's the only thing you can conclude. The danger may not have been real, but he BELIEVED it to be so. All of you have heard tell of the extreme superstitious nature of sailors and can't help but think it probably applies to pirates too. His assessment of danger may need a grain of salt with it sometimes. That said, it was hard to deny that the stones felt... incorrect, somehow.
Just as the group is beginning to recover from that strange experience, and are beginning to look for a place to stop for a break - both to feed the horses and yourselves, you come around a bend to see a group of 5 or 6 figures in the distance, mostly huddled around a wagon that seems to have careened off the road somehow. They are almost all dressed in heavy robes, and are wearing holy symbols that are hard to make out from where you first spot them. One of them, having seen you, has already broken from the others, and is heading your way. It becomes apparent that it's a human woman, the only one of the group not in robes - rather, she appears to be a peasant woman in her early 40's. She appears wary at first but then relaxes suddenly and starts to wave you over to her. "Strangers, please - we are in need of aid!" she calls out.
Feydon, no longer leading the way, sighs. "I don't like this," he says. "If it were my choice, I'd make like we're trotting over to help, then bolt past them in a full gallop. Let someone else fix their stupid wagon. They deserve what fate they get if they can't manage to drive a wagon down this road without it tumbling over."
Dawn asks Gus, "if madame Cleo is taking the form of a small lizard, what would keep things that hunt small lizards from eating her? We need to care about her life as well."
Gus - indeed, a lizard if some size might invite a hungry lizard man, but hopefully a small would be overlooked. Now an owl has wonderful night sight and flight. looking back to the wise wizard, I'll need to purchase some components, particularly incense, would one of the shops in town have some?
Dawn asks Gus, "if madame Cleo is taking the form of a small lizard, what would keep things that hunt small lizards from eating her? We need to care about her life as well."
Gus - indeed, a lizard if some size might invite a hungry lizard man, but hopefully a small would be overlooked. Now an owl has wonderful night sight and flight. looking back to the wise wizard, I'll need to purchase some components, particularly incense, would one of the shops in town have some?
Delfen Onbarl is happy to provide you with any spell components you need - for spells in your spellbook anyway. Enough to cast them each a dozen times. That's all he's got on him. There are places in town to get more, sure, but they may not have everything you want, their supplies are generally limited, and they charge about twice as much as bigger towns, he warns Gus.
Gus stands with his new friends, watching as each is introduced to one of the mighty warhorses in turn. Kelson finally approaches him leading a rather plain looking horse with light barding somewhat uncharacteristic of a warhorse and unlike the others. He notices how the saddlebags bulge and the chest strapped over it's rear end, oh my. Keldon almost reluctantly holds the reigns out to him, young wizard sir, this is Whimper, she's from my personal stock. She's not much of a warhorse, guess you could call her a runt, but she's good natured and loyal to a worthy rider. She's not a leader, so she'll follow the others without a care. You'll not find a horse of better temperament between here and the Dalelands I can promise, treat her well friend. he releases the reigns, strokes Whimpers neck and moves along.
Gus rubs her long face, hello Whimper, let's see if we can lighten your load a little. Gus starts going through the backs and small chest, moving items to the shoulder bag he carries. There you go, that should help. Ready for an adventure girl? He introduces Whimper to Cleo, and the two of them mount up.
“I’ve not heard of these parts to be plagued by bandits but perhaps things have changed Feydon?”
Feydon looks at Eltra. "If you're implying that I'd know something about run-of-the-mill highwaymen then I've got one thing to say. **** you. I'm no bandit. If you're doubting that there's a risk, ask yourself - how cold are you? It's Summertide, past noon - I'm sweating just looking at those robes. Now, maybe they worship Loviatar and just like to suffer, but that seems less likely than they're hiding something under those robes. Plus, just... look around. I see at least two or three places bandits could be hiding, not including the damned wagon itself... which, admittedly, does look pretty messed up, and too small to hold more than maybe two people. So maybe there aren't any in the wagon. But break it down into risk versus reward: what benefit do we get for helping them? Nothing. What do we stand to lose if it's a trap? Everything." He feigns weighing his hands as if he were a human scale, back and forth, as if saying 'which one do you think is heavier?' "But it's not up to me. I said my peace. It couldn't have been more clear that I have to do what you say. So, make a call, and lets just get it over with."
The woman is frowning now, clearly flustered. "What's wrong? Why are you just standing there??"
Gus speaks to Cleo with a thought, Cleo would you mind having a look, let me know what you see please. Cleo hops down and wanders over to the wagon, taking note of the others there.
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Each of you is likewise met with your new horse (Feel free to roleplay how that goes for you, with the name you'd prefer them to have).
Delfen and Kelson exchange glances. "Indeed - any advantage you can gain to see them without being seen, seize it. And especially since they can change shape to suit the environment. Be forewarned that sneaking up on Redeye in this manner will probably not work. He'll likely sense he's being watched. He has developed protective magics against scrying, and is able to see things as they truly are up to a considerable distance. Even invisibility may not work if he spots you from too close. So - when in doubt - stay far clear from any lizardman with red scales."
Delfen adds. "Unless of course you have his phylactery. Then the threat of using it as fuel to make a Non-Magical Jar may make him more compliant to your demands. But it would be preferable to grab it and bring it unnoticed to someplace safe enough to perform the ritual of Non-Magical Jar creation - it only takes a minute, but it requires fully voiced vocals - you cannot whisper the scoll's words, you must speak them with authority, you see. Observe." He clears his throat. "This is the level of tone I use when making Non-Magical Jars," he states, his voice suddenly projecting much further than you'd expect him capable. It's not a yell, but it would be clearly heard from a few hundred feet away, without anything to muffle the sound in between.
Dawn asks Gus, "if madame Cleo is taking the form of a small lizard, what would keep things that hunt small lizards from eating her? We need to care about her life as well."
Kelson hands Dawn the rope to a Dapple Gray horse (not that she knows the color). "This is Dusk - may he see you through your trials ahead."
While Dawn notices the bulging saddlebags, she's mostly overwhelmed by the horse itself. She's seen horses before, but that was at a distance, usually pulling a cart or a coach. This horse seemed unusually large (as do all the other horses being presented). It's rather intimidating up close.
Dawn stammered, "Umm, how does one ride a horse?"
Kelson explains that he had picked Dusk for her, since Dusk is more complacent than the others, less likely to give her trouble. He then gives her a brief description of how to get on and off a horse, and how to let the horse know what you want it to do.
Kelson signals for Hnefa to approach, handing her the reigns the largest horse any of you have ever seen. "This is Tiny, as she is known," he says, handing her the reigns with a slight smile. "The name is, eh..."
"Ironic," Reyna adds, helpfully, seeing the Ranger struggling for the correct word.
"Yes! Yes, that. Humans and elves have different senses of humor. Frankly, I don't get it. She was named by one of the stableboys that cares for her. Though she is quite large, she is also aging, so she is no faster than the rest of your steeds. In her prime though," he shakes his head, as if recalling a memory of watching the large horse gallop at a full tilt. He needn't finish the sentence, as his expression did so for him.'
"Thanks," Hnefa says simply, and despite the horses height, swings her leg easily over, landing in the saddle. The horse, though huge, buckles for just a moment, then seems to adjust to the new load and appears to be unbothered.
Geren chuckles when he hears his horse's name.
"Appropriate."
He swings himself into the saddle and prepares to ride off.
"Adventure awaits."
Kelson hands Bree the reins of a majestic black warhorse and with unflappable dignity says "This is Bobbolisticus del Morganshire Neapolitan Cream Sanchez von Humperdinck III, or Bob for short. I'm sure he will serve you well."
Bree blinks. "Bob... Th-thank you. I'll be sure to treat him well"
(OOC: go ahead and add a similar roleplay when you're able to if you want Eltra, we'll assume something like the other's has happened)
Feydon is the last to be gestured to. Without delay he shuffles over to his horse, and without listening to anything Kelson says regarding its name or what-have-you, expertly throws a leg over its side after stepping the other foot into the stirrup nearest him, settling into its military style saddle with ease. He takes the reigns, and with the evident skill of a practiced horseman, does a quick jot around the group before coming to a halt at your sides. He makes no eye contact with anyone and is expressing no readable emotions. If there's anything to detect about his posture, its wariness, tinged with mild irritation.
To those that were listening to Kelson, he named the horse 'Mousey', though stopped talking before he had a chance to say why when he saw Feydon's total lack of interest.
The group is finally ready to depart.
Reyna, having disappeared for a moment during all this, returns on a horse of her own - a black stallion of a warhorse with a regal bearing that almost beats Morwen's. "And this is Whisper," she says, as her horse comes close enough to interact with the horses of the group. "A gift from the Baron of Ironspear Keep," she explains. Morwen and Kelson look mildly uncomfortable but say nothing - Amn has never been a member of the Lord's Alliance, and has frequently been a potential enemy to its members in the past, though admittedly before Daggerford was a part of the Alliance. Still, their loyalties to the Alliance being what they are - obvious and strong - the fact that a natve to one of its key member states had left her home to serve in an army that may very well have put her into conflict with her homeland, is something almost bordering on treason to their minds. Not quite, clearly, but Morwen's disapproval of Reyna's life choices reminds you of the first impressions you got of the pair - the surrogate mother sense of mutual respect, yet along with it the ever so common tension that exists between children and parents of the same gender.
Reyna, however, is entirely unashamed of her past decisions - whatever glory she was after in Amn, she clearly found it and returned satisfied that she'd been reforged in the fires of battle only to emerge stronger than ever, and now finally capable of existing comfortably outside her mother's shadow. This much is surmisable from what you've heard of her mother, what you've heard her say, and by the fact that the well-polished breastplate of her half-plate armor is literally covered in scratches, burn markings, and other signs of having been struck by what appears to have been just about every type of weapon known to man, multiple times despite evidence that, like her glaive, which is now sheathed at an angle across her back, has been reforged entirely at least once and still it bears as much damage as it does. What kind of place this Ironspear Keep must have been, it was obviously a violent one.
In lieu of her glaive, her sword-arm is now guiding a beautiful heavy lance, silver and gold colored in the Amnian style, couched into the saddle so that she need not bear its weight, just direct it towards her target, and with her other arm she is bearing a shield with the symbol of an iron spear emboldened onto its front. As she comes in close enough that her lance might accidentally strike someone, she expertly shifts its position into a perpendicular angle to the saddle, still couched, but now aiming directly upwards where it can hurt no one. She may not have been offered knighthood in any official manner, but she is every bit the knight that anyone present has ever seen, if not more.
"I will accompany you as far as the split in the road to Crom's Hold," she states, matter-of-factly.
Morwen nods to her, and to the group. "Good luck, may Lathander, Tyr, and Helm watch over you," she calls out as you follow Reyna in single file through the castle gates, which are immediately swung open by the guards as you approach. To each of you, you hear the guards on both sides of the gate offer their well wishes. Word, it seems, has spread of your journey. Indeed, it seems to have spread even beyond the castle courtyard, as your single-file line of heavily equipped, armed, and armored warhorses make way through the town, the townsfolk you encounter immediately move to the side well ahead of your approach, and they too, almost to the last of them, call out their well-wishes on your journey. Each of you can't help but feel a sense of pride and importance the likes of which you've yet to know - almost as if you're already heroes, even though nothing but conversation has transpired - so-far. That you've bravely accepted this undertaking, an undertaking not at all understood by the townsfolk, but guessed at or rumored to be perilous and important to the town's security - makes you a hero in their eyes already, it seems. It's a funny, and foreign feeling that each of you contend with in your own way. For some, it fits like a glove, as if long overdue. For others, it feels incorrect somehow. Misplaced. And there's a longing for a return to anonymity that comes along with it. It's safe to say, however, that regardless of how this journey unfolds, your names will never be as anonymous as they once were - at least not to the town of Daggerford. Should you perish in the attempt, you feel almost certain that your names would be memorialized in this town, if nowhere else. The image of Sir Isteval, visiting such a memorial, and shedding a tear for each of you, flickers across Dawn's mind. Bree, preferring not to let her thoughts wander in such morbid directions, is imagining something entirely - instead of a place of peril, the Lizard Marsh, and certainly Crom's Hold, represent new experiences that, despite the danger, she can't wait to see. Geren as well does not let his mind trend in such morbid ways either - not because he hasn't considered the outcome, but because it simply cannot be the end of his story, and he will do everything in his power to make sure that is not - to him, this is the first major step toward his ultimate goals, and he'd trade places with Levistus before he'd let it end in death in some backwater swamp next to a backwater town, regardless of how nice a castle it might have. Eltra can't help but smile a little as he pictures Jekk visiting a memorial to the group, unbuttoning the top of his trousers and urinating on the part that bears his name. Maybe stomping up and down on it a few times at least. With any luck, he'd get arrested for it, he muses. Then he can spend his time sleeping in a jail cell instead of rudely at a dinner table. Finally, for Gus, he imagines the sorrowful look on Delfen's face if such a fate were to befall him. That Delfen favors him, he feels more certain than ever when he noticed the huge stack of Scrolls of Non-Magical Jar Creation Mark II in his pack, whereas the others only each got one. Even if they're effectively worthless, it must be the closest thing to affection Delfen is capable of showing a young wizard like himself. But then the image of a weeping Inness flickers across his mind and his heart skips a beat. As if on cue to that thought, a woman's voice calls out to the group... or to someone in the group at least. Being closest to the voice, Gus turns to see Inness standing in the streets as they approach the River Gate. She waves to Gus as he passes, briefly squeezing his leg. "Come back in one piece," she pleads, unable to hide her concern. Before you can respond, she looks away and disappears into the growing crowd by the gate, there to watch the group depart.
Again, the gates swing open, and again the last of the city's guards that they'll encounter until they return bid them each a fond farewell and safe return. After the group is finally free from the city and its crowds, Reyna picks up the pace into a quick trot, and you all follow suit, coming abreast of each other in two or three lines depending on the width of the road, and on the presence or absence of other travelers. There aren't many, and when some are encountered, they are quick to move aside, well off the road. They do not shower the group with well-wishes, however, instead just look at the eclectic group in wonder until it seems safe for them to return to the road. Reyna seems entirely unbothered and accustomed to such reactions, almost as if she simply just doesn't see them at all.
Feydon the Cold, riding near the rear of the group, keeps his head low, his once-brash demeanor replaced by a haunted, almost meek silence. His gaunt face and sunken eyes speak volumes of his ordeal, and he obeys every command without question.
Less than half an hour into the journey, the party crosses the ancient, moss-covered bridge spanning a narrow tributary of the Delimbiyr - the same one that Morwen mentioned served as the end point past which ships coming in from the coast can go no further, save for small rowboats able to clear the low-hanging bridge. The stonework is weathered but sturdy, and Feydon mutters something about smugglers using it as a meeting point in years past, given that it was as far inland as you could go but was past where most ‘legit’ cargo ships dock, another mile or two up the river in a direction they are not heading today.
The road turns south after the bridge, and is well-trodden but flanked by wild beauty. The River Delimbiyr glitters to the west, its surface catching the rising sun in shimmering ripples. To the east, rolling hills dotted with clusters of trees rise and fall like the back of a slumbering giant. The occasional farmhouse or shepherd's hut appears in the distance, smoke curling lazily from chimneys.
Before long, there is a fork int the road, and a simple set of road signs to indicate that continuing on due south is Baldur's Gate, while taking the smaller offshoot from the main road leads to Crom's Hold. The number of miles by Baldur's Gate reads 135; to Crom's Hold it reads 26.
Noting the distance, you can't help but wonder why she's bothering going back at all, when she'll just have to return again as soon as they're done. When this question is voiced, she responds by smiling; "Oh, don't worry. I'll be back in Baldur's Gate before you even lay eyes upon Crom's Hold," she laughs. "If things work out, you'll understand how," she adds. "One last thing - I've given each of you a sending stone, of my employer's design. Any message you send with it will come to me in mere moments. When you are on your way back to Daggerford, let me know. If you've become separated and need assistance, they are attuned to each other as well. This will give your group the ability to communicate with each other even if you split up. Be wary of using these too close to Redeye, however. These items look small and seem innocuous, but they induce powerful ripples in the weave that surely, he will feel, if used within several hundred feet of him. If you can see him, you're too close to use these. And with that, I must now bid you farewell for now. May Tymora watch over you, as she always has for me. And if not Tymora," she pauses, letting her horse come about once more before continuing. "Then Tempus be thy guide", she adds, lowering her lance as to put emphasis to the point she means. She spins her horse one last time and seems about to take off in a gallop but instead slows to a trot as she passes by Feydon at the edge of the group, then briefly stops. Out of earshot now, you can hear some words exchange - from her anyway. Though it's hard to say exactly what, Bree is able to hear what sounded like 'forgive me.' Before he can respond, however, she tugs on her reign and shouts 'Hyah!' and with a flash, Whisper bolts into a full gallop down the road toward Baldur's Gate at speeds hard to fathom from a horse - easily two or maybe even three times faster than any of you have seen a horse go. If her horse can maintain a speed like that, and given the far better condition of that road, compared to the relative dirt path you're about to embark on, she's probably right that she'll be in Baldur's Gate before you get to Crom's Hold.
A crow call breaks the silence after she is gone from view, and only then does Feydon turn to the group to see that your eyes are upon him. "What?" he spits. "Are we going to do this thing or what? You're 'the boss' now. I follow you. You don't need me to tell you how to get to Crom's Hold, do you?" The group exchanges glances with each other. This is it. Just you, and a notorious pirate, against who knows what kinds of dangers, or excitement as the case may be, in the spans of mossy fields ahead of you through which the path to Crom's Hold cuts.
Dawn is actually relieved to see som animation from Feydon. She had been concerned that he was too broken to even care for himself. She'll still keep an eye on him, but she's not quite as worried about him any more.
Fortunately, Dusk had been as easy to guide as she had been told. For most of the trip she didn't have to guide him at all, he simply followed the horse in front of him. Still, she was getting a bit sore from using muscles she had never really used before.
Indeed, he does seem to have a spark or two of defiance left within him. He is proving to be much harder to read than Reyna even was, however.
This is Reyna's map of the 4 locations with respect to Crom's Hold, known paths leading from it to the ridge that borders the Lizard Marsh, etc. You can decide to approach them in any order you choose, in any direction. As you learn more about the region, the map will change to reflect that. The entire map is about 50 miles by 50 miles for scale. It seems clear that the horses will either have to be left at the Hold, or somewhere at the top of the ridge before climbing down, though the later would necessitate someone staying behind with them, or leading them back (something you can intuit form just looking at the map, as crude as it may be - there's no clear way to get a horse down the ridge; then even if you did, with the marsh being wat it is - a marsh, it may be more of a hindrance to have a horse with you).
Maps at this level of detail are much more common, and generally the most detailed any of you've seen. So Reyna's map, though incomplete, is a massive increase in 'resolution' so to speak.
Eltra watches everyone get a warhorse except him....Of course he was forgotten typical of these mouth breathers "Hey Doofen...where's my horse?" Delfen leads Eltra over to a warhorse like none other....It's old, haggard and huge. Delfen has forgot this warhorse's name as it hasn't been used in years. He explains they've kept it around because the children around town liked to feed him. The kids refer to the horse as old timer..... "Of course I get the horse with no name." He looks around at everyone on top of their horses and groans "How am I supposed to get up there? You've given the oldest and largest horse to the oldest and shortest member of the group....how nice." Eltra grumbles under his breath cursing several times over as he tries to climb up the saddle....Once up there he gets old timer clopping along with the other horses
Eltra hears Feydon give them sass "Oh this will be a delightful experience....A horse older than me and a guide with a mouth. No oh wise, not captured and discarded by his own men Feydon, we don't need you to show us Crom's Hold." Eltra rides Old Timer along the path to Crom's Hold.
(OOC: LOL - well I did point out there you saw 7 horses loaded and ready for you - but I get it, you like to play the aggrieved one with Eltra, b/c it excuses your grumpiness lol; okay fine, you get the janky old horse, but as far as speed and stats go, its the same as the others =P Else it'd slow everyone down. For everyone else: if you wanted to roleplay anything from getting on your horse until now go for it - as per usual, but I'm going to assume that you just go to the Hold.).
Saying what he did, Eltra then leads the way. The group quickly follows after, to make sure there isn't too much distance between any of you.
As the morning wears on, the mist dissipates, revealing the verdant expanse of the Delimbiyr Vale. Birds call from the trees, and the occasional squirrel or deer darts across the path, startled by the sound of hooves. Midday brings the adventurers past a cluster of standing stones set in a circle atop a low hill. From a distance, the hilltop seemed like it could serve as a good location to break for lunch, as it would provide a reasonable view of their surroundings and make ambushing them impossible. As they approach, however, they are filled with a sense of foreboding, and a faint hum fills the air around them, a sound that seems to come from the stones themselves. Feydon shivers and mutters, “Bad luck, those stones. Best keep moving.”
As much as some of you are curious to see them up close (Bree), all of you can't deny there is a strange and palpable aura of wrongness coming from the hilltop. Feydon, now in the lead, took the choice away from you to explore them - perhaps because he knows that doing so may lead you to harm. It's uncharacteristic of him to otherwise be taking such an active role, so that's the only thing you can conclude. The danger may not have been real, but he BELIEVED it to be so. All of you have heard tell of the extreme superstitious nature of sailors and can't help but think it probably applies to pirates too. His assessment of danger may need a grain of salt with it sometimes. That said, it was hard to deny that the stones felt... incorrect, somehow.
Just as the group is beginning to recover from that strange experience, and are beginning to look for a place to stop for a break - both to feed the horses and yourselves, you come around a bend to see a group of 5 or 6 figures in the distance, mostly huddled around a wagon that seems to have careened off the road somehow. They are almost all dressed in heavy robes, and are wearing holy symbols that are hard to make out from where you first spot them. One of them, having seen you, has already broken from the others, and is heading your way. It becomes apparent that it's a human woman, the only one of the group not in robes - rather, she appears to be a peasant woman in her early 40's. She appears wary at first but then relaxes suddenly and starts to wave you over to her. "Strangers, please - we are in need of aid!" she calls out.
Feydon, no longer leading the way, sighs. "I don't like this," he says. "If it were my choice, I'd make like we're trotting over to help, then bolt past them in a full gallop. Let someone else fix their stupid wagon. They deserve what fate they get if they can't manage to drive a wagon down this road without it tumbling over."
Eltra scowls at the woman and then asks Feydon
“I’ve not heard of these parts to be plagued by bandits but perhaps things have changed Feydon?”
Gus - indeed, a lizard if some size might invite a hungry lizard man, but hopefully a small would be overlooked. Now an owl has wonderful night sight and flight. looking back to the wise wizard, I'll need to purchase some components, particularly incense, would one of the shops in town have some?
Delfen Onbarl is happy to provide you with any spell components you need - for spells in your spellbook anyway. Enough to cast them each a dozen times. That's all he's got on him. There are places in town to get more, sure, but they may not have everything you want, their supplies are generally limited, and they charge about twice as much as bigger towns, he warns Gus.
Gus stands with his new friends, watching as each is introduced to one of the mighty warhorses in turn. Kelson finally approaches him leading a rather plain looking horse with light barding somewhat uncharacteristic of a warhorse and unlike the others. He notices how the saddlebags bulge and the chest strapped over it's rear end, oh my. Keldon almost reluctantly holds the reigns out to him, young wizard sir, this is Whimper, she's from my personal stock. She's not much of a warhorse, guess you could call her a runt, but she's good natured and loyal to a worthy rider. She's not a leader, so she'll follow the others without a care. You'll not find a horse of better temperament between here and the Dalelands I can promise, treat her well friend. he releases the reigns, strokes Whimpers neck and moves along.
Gus rubs her long face, hello Whimper, let's see if we can lighten your load a little. Gus starts going through the backs and small chest, moving items to the shoulder bag he carries. There you go, that should help. Ready for an adventure girl? He introduces Whimper to Cleo, and the two of them mount up.
Feydon looks at Eltra. "If you're implying that I'd know something about run-of-the-mill highwaymen then I've got one thing to say. **** you. I'm no bandit. If you're doubting that there's a risk, ask yourself - how cold are you? It's Summertide, past noon - I'm sweating just looking at those robes. Now, maybe they worship Loviatar and just like to suffer, but that seems less likely than they're hiding something under those robes. Plus, just... look around. I see at least two or three places bandits could be hiding, not including the damned wagon itself... which, admittedly, does look pretty messed up, and too small to hold more than maybe two people. So maybe there aren't any in the wagon. But break it down into risk versus reward: what benefit do we get for helping them? Nothing. What do we stand to lose if it's a trap? Everything." He feigns weighing his hands as if he were a human scale, back and forth, as if saying 'which one do you think is heavier?' "But it's not up to me. I said my peace. It couldn't have been more clear that I have to do what you say. So, make a call, and lets just get it over with."
The woman is frowning now, clearly flustered. "What's wrong? Why are you just standing there??"
Feydon sighs. "So, she's a good actor. Or she's real. Still doesn't make the math work in our favor."
Gus speaks to Cleo with a thought, Cleo would you mind having a look, let me know what you see please. Cleo hops down and wanders over to the wagon, taking note of the others there.