Elias listens in silence, his expression sharpening at the mention of Nedda Whitewhool and the murder of Fodel. The story is unexpected—brutal and sudden, the kind of disruption that suggests something unnatural lurking behind it.
He steps closer again, the tone of his voice dropping slightly, more intimate and serious, but never accusing.
"No... no, Brother Malark. That’s not irrelevant at all."
He exchanges a glance with Ardana, as if silently asking are you hearing what I’m hearing? before continuing.
"A trusted young woman suddenly, inexplicably, murders someone she was close to... and then vanishes without a trace." His fingers drum lightly against the top of his staff as he speaks. "You’re right that the cases aren’t similar on the surface, but both center around sudden, unexplainable changes in behavior. Disappearances. Violence. Secrets."
He pauses for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly.
"You said Nedda was well-liked. A friend to many. So was Mival. Is it possible that whatever darkness touched her... has touched him, too? That something—or someone—is moving through this town beneath our notice, changing those who are vulnerable?"
He softens, seeing the unease on Malark's face.
"I don't expect answers, Brother. Only the truth as you know it. And you've given us more than you think."
Then, gentler still:
"If anything else comes to mind—stories, rumors, even strange dreams—seek me out at the inn. You may not see the pattern yet. But sometimes, it only takes one final thread to see the whole tapestry."
"You're welcome esteemed Elias Cerwyn. Sadly, I can't think of anything else, at the moment" Brother Malark returns the respectful nod. "And I am glad I have given you more than I thought - for I thought I had given you very little indeed. I will certainly seek you at the inn, if I think of anything else," he sighs, "though I do not think it likely. As I have said, I have not been here long... what has struck me, I have already revealed to you."
Elias gives Brother Malark one final, solemn nod, genuinely grateful despite the limitations the young priest has expressed.
"You've done your part, Brother Malark," he says. "Sometimes clarity doesn’t come from a single lantern—but from the glimmer of many candles."
Then he steps back, turning slightly to glance at Ardana and Tarysaa, his expression thoughtful, but not rushed.
"Anything either of you wish to ask before we go?" he asks, his voice lowered but carrying the cadence of someone ready to move on—unless something else stirs.
As he waits for their reply, his mind quietly spins with possibilities. The story of Nedda and her sudden change in behavior nagged at him like a thread in a frayed sleeve. The resemblance to Mival’s odd departure wasn’t perfect—but it was too strange to be dismissed outright.
He mutters quietly, half to himself, half to his companions: "Two disappearances. One wrapped in violence... the other in silence. If something dark is creeping into this town, it's not starting with Mival."
His eyes lift again, a spark of resolution flaring behind them.
"I think it’s time we speak to Kara Flower directly," he says to Ardana and Tarysaa. "We’ve only seen her as the grieving mother so far—but I’d like to know more about her. About her son. And whether anything seemed... wrong... in the days leading up to his disappearance."
He begins walking toward the exit, adding lightly over his shoulder:
"Let’s go ask the one person who might know what Mival was looking for."
Elias steps forward with a measured pace, his tone gentle and reassuring, though the truth he carries holds no comfort—yet.
"Not yet, Mistress Flower," he says with a respectful incline of his head. "But we’re pursuing every lead. I promise you that."
His eyes briefly follow Woodrow, offering him a silent nod of acknowledgment as their paths cross. Then he turns his full attention back to Kara, the weight of her worry written plainly in the lines of her face.
"We hoped to ask a few more questions, if you’ll allow it," he continues softly. "Not to reopen wounds, but to better understand Mival—what he may have been thinking, feeling, planning before he vanished."
He pauses just enough to ensure she’s willing, then adds with sincere empathy:
"We believe something larger is at work, and we’re trying to piece it together. Any detail, no matter how small, could help us bring him home."
Then, with a flicker of resolve behind his kind expression:
"Did he say anything unusual? Ask questions about the Keep? Speak of strange dreams, or people you didn’t recognize? Even a change in behavior—subtle or sudden—could be meaningful."
He doesn’t press her—but Elias is watching closely, ready to listen not only to her words, but to the hesitations and emotions that might accompany them.
((Nat 1 insight check...perfect time for that. I should have heroic inspiration as a human right? Can I use that to help with this?))
Woodrow nods toward Elias as the pass, I'm heading toward the tavern, if you don't yet have a room then I've got an extra bed at my place.
Woodrow pulls up to the bar, orders a whiskey. He engages the barkeep, say, have noticed a few regulars acting odd lately, or any that you haven't seen in a while?
((Nat 1 insight check...perfect time for that. I should have heroic inspiration as a human right? Can I use that to help with this?))
[[ OOC: Unfortunately, you're referring to the more up-to-date 2024 rules here too... It's in those rules that humans have Heroic Inspiration when they finish a Long Rest. In the older 2014 rules we're using in this campaign, humans have other advantages, but not this one. So Elias doesn't notice any particular duplicity in Kara... her feelings seem completely genuine. ]]
The woman's concern is evident on her face and in the tone of her voice: "What do you mean, something 'larger'? What happened to my Mival?"
She wrings her hands in frustration as she tries to think things through: "Perhaps in the last few days he might have become sometimes a little more... worried, sometimes lost in his thoughts... But he's always been the sweet Mival he always was! The one time I asked him if something was worrying him, he smiled at me as always, told it was nothing important and calmed down... Nothing unusual, for a boy who has just become a man... I had thought he was just starting to have the worries of a man... you know, finding a woman, starting a job, starting a family... Nothing that would have prepared me for... for what happened."
Looking for a stool to temporarily sit on, as if drained of energy, the cartwright ruminates: "I've always been there for him... And he never hid anything from me... Surely he knew he could always talk to me about anything, any concern. I've already told you and I'll say it again: I can't explain his behavior... his decision to leave was completely unexpected by me. No, no mention of the Keep, no dreams and no new people I didn't know... This is a little hamlet, we all know each other. You..." her tear-filled eyes search for those of the interlocutor "you'll find him anyway, right? I mean... it's your job... it's what you do... You'll find him, right? Even if there's 'something larger' underneath, whatever it is?"
Meanwhile, Woodrow at the tavern talks to Yondral, the shield dwarf owner who even today has collected the impressive volume of hair in a ponytail behind his head.
"Acting odd, you say?" he raises an eyebrow half-seriously, while with one hand he plays with the buttons of his elegant leather doublet. "They're lounging around the village... They drink like sponges... They laugh raucously at the silliest jokes... No, I'd say they're behaving in the most normal way for them!" he laughs for a moment, then continues. "Why, have you noticed anything in particular? Have you seen any of them do something strange? If you tell me a name or a specific episode, maybe I'll try to focus better... But jokes aside, my friend, they seem like the same old layabouts to me. Explain better your concerns to old Yondral," he slaps his broad dwarf chest "if you like".
Elias listens with the stillness of a man bearing witness to grief. He doesn’t interrupt—not when her voice breaks, not when her eyes search his face for hope, and not even when she reaches for a belief that everything must still be right beneath the surface.
He waits until she finishes, and only then does he move, kneeling carefully in front of her stool so that his eyes are level with hers. When he speaks, it is with that same calm, steady strength she once said Mival showed her.
“Mistress Flower… Kara.” His voice is low but clear. “You did everything right. Your son knew love, knew safety, and knew he was not alone. There is no failing in what you gave him.”
He lets that rest with her for a moment before continuing.
“When I say something larger, I don’t mean something he brought on himself. I mean… there are forces at work—strange, deceptive forces—that may be changing people, or replacing them. We've seen it with our own eyes.”
“But we’ve also seen resistance. Signs that not all who vanish are gone forever. That’s why we’re still searching. That’s why we won’t stop.”
He reaches into his coat and draws out a handkerchief—embroidered, folded neatly—and gently offers it to her.
“We don’t know what’s become of Mival. Not yet. But I promise you this: we will follow every trail. We will turn over every stone. And we will not stop just because the path gets dark.”
His blue eyes meet hers, full of unwavering resolve.
“It’s not just our job, Kara—it’s our choice. We choose to keep fighting for him.”
Then, after a breath, softer still:
“And we’ll carry your hope with us, every step of the way.”
"You really are a hero..." Kara 'Tarsakh Flower' Sashar looks on in admiration, enchanted by the feeling that the bard's words exude "You remind me so much of Galar, Mival's father... Galar was also a hero... I wonder why he had to leave... and who knows if he will ever return one day..." she sighs "In fact, maybe you are even better than Galar - since you did not leave! I... thank you for giving me hope. I trust in you".
After a last meaningful look, the cartwright begins to dedicate herself to her work again...
Elias watches Kara with a softened gaze, letting her words settle. There’s something fragile and sacred in that moment—a quiet, almost wistful admiration, touched with the ghost of old love and the pain of abandonment.
But it’s that name—Galar—that catches in Elias’s mind like a thorn on a thread.
As Kara begins to turn back to her work, he rises slowly, smoothing out the front of his coat. He doesn’t speak immediately, allowing her the grace of a moment's quiet return to normalcy. Then—gently—he breaks the silence.
"Kara…” His tone is gentle, respectful, as though he were picking up a thread she hadn't meant to drop.
“You mentioned Mival’s father—Galar. You said he was a hero. I don't mean to pry, but… would you be willing to tell me more about him?”
He glances toward the shopfront, ensuring the moment remains private.
“Where he came from, what he did… why he left, if you know. Anything you can remember. I ask only because sometimes the past casts long shadows… and I’ve found those shadows often point the way forward.”
There’s no pressure in his voice—just the steady presence of someone willing to listen. And beneath it, that keen scholar’s curiosity flickers, sensing the possibility of a deeper connection to the puzzle they’ve all been drawn into.
"Galar?" Kara's eyes become dreamy "If it can help you bring back my Mival, I will gladly dream of Galar once again..."
"When I first met him, he had passed through here on his way back from Wonfort, after having put an end to the Whispering Curse" she starts her tale. "The peasants in Womford were being driven mad by a sound, a constant whisper that promised riches but led only to despair. The local guards were useless. Galar, he went there alone, armed with nothing but his father's old warhammer and a pouch of blessed salt. He was gone for three days, and when he came back, he reported he'd found a nest of shadow mastiffs, their howls echoing through the cornfields and twisting minds. He'd cornered their alpha in a neraby deep cavern and… well, let's just say the whispering stopped".
“Then there was the business with the Cult of the Serpent's Kiss in Kheldell,” the cartwright continues, smiling. "They were poisoning the water supply with some vile concoction, turning good folk into mindless fanatics. The local lord was too afraid to act. Galar infiltrated their hidden temple – a feat in itself, I tell you, the place was guarded by all manner of unsavory creatures. He discovered their ritual, a sacrifice to some ancient snake god. He didn't hesitate. He disrupted the ceremony, fired their high priest – a nasty piece of work with venomous daggers – and shattered their unholy idol. He returned with a vial of the poison and the antidote, saving the entire region from their wicked plot. He always did have a knack for charging headfirst into danger".
“And finally… oh, this one still makes my heart ache with pride and fear” Tarsakh Flower continues. "It was during the Siege of Neverwinter. The city was under attack by a horde of demons from the Abyss" (to be honest, Elias does not remember this 'historical fact'...). "The walls were breached, and hope was dwindling. Galar, he didn't stay behind the barricades. He rallied a small band of desperate defenders and led a charge right into the thickest of the fighting, aiming straight for the demonic commander. They say his war cry echoed across the battlefield. He fought like a cornered lion, his blade a blur of righteous fury. He didn't defeat the commander single-handedly, mind you, but his bravery, his sheer audacity, broke their lines and bought the city's defenders the time they needed to push back the invasion. Neverwinter owes him a debt it can never repay".
"He was a hero, my Galar. A true hero of the Realms, almost like Rassalantar" the woman concludes. "And I… I was lucky enough to call him mine. I don't know why he left, after I got pregnant... He must have heard of some other place where his worth was in demand... I never knew... He, like Mival, simply left, disappeared from one day to the next. He will return... maybe... one day... I've always waited for him... even if... Even if, since I had Mival, maybe I've thought less and less about Galar. If Galar returns, it will make me dream again... But Mival... Mival is my reason for living. Mival must return - or at least I must know that he is safe."
As Kara speaks, her eyes lit with the flame of old memories, Elias keeps his expression warm, respectful, and attentive. He offers the small nods, the soft smiles, the knowing silences that a woman like her deserves in a moment like this - a woman who has waited far too long for answers and clings to hope spun from memory.
But behind his eyes, the bard's mind is turning.
Shadow mastiffs whispering in cornfields… an entire siege of Neverwinter no historian remembers… a lone man destroying snake cults with salt and bravado? It all smells like the kind of tale a man crafts, not for the sake of truth, but for seduction.
Elias has heard too many songs, too many boastful lies whispered between tavern walls, not to recognize the rhythm of flattery designed to win a heart - and then vanish with it.
Still, his face shows none of that. He leans forward when she sighs, offers a soft, sincere “You were lucky to love him—and Mival is lucky to have you.” He never lets the flicker of pity behind his eyes reach the surface.
Because Elias knows - this isn't about Galar. It’s about Kara, and the son she loves more than the dream of a vanished hero. And Elias? He's not here to unravel her illusions. He's here to bring her boy home.
So he listens to her until the very last word, and when he finally rises to go, he carries her trust with a quiet grace - even if, deep down, he suspects that Mival was born not from destiny... but from a bedtime story told with a smile and a quick escape plan.
As the door to Kara's shop swings shut behind them with a muted click, Elias finds himself walking in silence—a silence that feels heavier than before.
He had caught the glance from Tarysaa, the flicker of doubt or maybe suspicion in her eyes. And though she said nothing, her silence spoke volumes. Elias does not chase it. He’s spent a lifetime reading people, and he knows when someone needs time to sort their thoughts—just as he needs time to sort his own.
Because now, in the quiet lull between heartache and purpose, Thetis's words echo in his mind like a haunting refrain.
“They have deceived me well. I must obey them.” “It was the one of them called Bytwoeff.” “Mival… now he calls himself Blossom.”
At the time, he had measured her voice carefully, weighed her tone, even considered the faint tremble of her hand when she had reached for his. He had told himself he was studying her, but the truth is, part of him believed her—more than he wanted to admit.
Now, with the myth of Galar behind him and the pain of Kara’s waiting heart still fresh, the picture begins to shift into place.
“What if she wasn’t lying?” The thought blooms in his mind like a spark catching tinder. “What if Mival isn’t gone—but fading? And what if the time to act is shorter than we feared?”
He slows slightly as they reach the edge of the lane, the inn just ahead, its lantern light flickering like the last defiance of day against encroaching night.
They’ve been cautious. Wise. Measured. But sometimes, wisdom means knowing when to stop measuring. Sometimes the path forward isn’t the one with the fewest risks—it’s the one with the clearest purpose.
He turns slightly toward the others and says, more to himself than anyone else:
"If Blossom truly is Mival... and he's been twisted rather than born that way..."
He meets Ardana’s and Tarysaa’s eyes.
"Then we can’t circle this forever. The answer may have always been waiting behind Thetis’s sorrow—and behind her fear."
A pause. Then, with the weight of decision behind it:
"We take the direct path. We go through Thetis’s passage. And we confront the Lords from Below."
As the group returned to the village, and the personable old man went to talk with the distraught mother, Koran felt less than useful. Social interactions aren’t really his strong suit, having spent so many years in a formal, rigid structure where he was supposed to listen, not speak. So he held back as some of the others went with Elias.
Not really wanting anything from the shop, he failed to follow that path as well.
Uncertain about what to do, he started by settling into a quiet meditation, thinking back over the problems posed by the flooded ruin, the question of the boy, and the shapeshifters. "The traditional teachings say to be where the opposition does not expect you, to refuse to face the opposition’s strength head-on, to refuse to allow your opposition to pick the terms of the competition. The four paths which remain before us are to provide our strength directly to their strength, to trust what could be their agent to not give them access to each of us one at a time, splitting ourselves up on our own in order to attempt finding a path to swim from the second stairwell, trying to dig down through the remainders of the foundation, or leaving. Okay, five paths. Which is the least bad? The last two are obviously out.
"One of the points of wisdom is knowing when you need to violate traditions, when you should dare something in order to make progress. We need to go directly to them. Warning and all. The risk is great, but more predictable than the risks of the other options, if we want to return the boy to his mother."
Having come to a conclusion he must now try to convince the others to accept, Koran rises from his meditation, finding a child sitting nearby, apparently having been watching him meditate.
"Hello, Little One. I was just thinking through my problems. Trying to make a decision I’ve been avoiding. Sitting quietly like this, without distractions, and clearing my mind before I consider the issue simplifies things. Makes it easier to consider the problem without emotion or other expectations." Koran’s voice fades as he finishes his explanation, as the child wasn’t really that interested and started to leave, apparently bored by the elf’s manner.
[ooc} Mechanical note: Koran takes a Short Rest Character sheetshort reast with 1 Hit Die recovered 4 HP (out of 9 possible) of the 6 damage received..[/ooc]
Ardana is following all these stories, and she has an insight. She is all too familiar with the difficulties of a complicated lineage. A painful expression crosses her face.
I am loath to make unfounded accusations, but it seems like Mival has uncertain parentage, and a change of behavior when coming to age. And this Hedda, the same. I wonder if we would find Hedda at the ruin as well. Woodrow, can you tell us more of Hedda? Are her parents still here in the village? What do you know of them?
This is what Woodrow knows about Nedda Whitewhool (I'll leave it up to him to decide what to reveal and how - he can of course just do a simple copy/paste if he doesn't want to 'personalize' the exposition)
The Whitewhools had been a quiet halfling family dedicated to sheep farming - they raised sheep and sold their wool, in the production of which they specialized, and, to a lesser extent, cheese.
Nedda was in fact a cheerful, carefree halfling, and a friend to all. She often sought out Woodrow and listened to stories of his past, inundating him in exchange with joyful gossip about everything that had happened in the hamlet.
Her relationship with Fodel, a boy like many others from a family of farmers, much less lively and more reserved than her, but who had started to always be by her side, had not changed her in the slightest - and the two, despite their differences, seemed happy with each other's company.
The tragedy had had no warning signs and had left everyone stunned - so much so that the Whitewhool, perhaps overwhelmed by grief, had then abandoned Rassalantar, migrating together with their flocks, never to return.
((I want to keep this moving since it kinda ground to a halt. I'm just going to go along with Ardana's recent RP and continue from there))
As Ardana speaks, Elias turns his head toward her, watching the emotion flicker across her face—a subtle, pained expression, not born of theory, but of personal familiarity. Something in her voice touches something in him—not just as a bard or a scholar, but as someone who’s seen the tangle of blood and legacy twist lives into knots.
And then Woodrow answers, and the threads begin to braid themselves tighter.
No warning signs. A cheerful girl turned killer overnight. A boy—Mival—changing as he came of age. A father shrouded in glory and mystery, vanished without explanation.
Elias folds his arms across his chest, stepping to the side, gazing off toward the distant line of trees beyond the village—as if hoping a gust of wind might carry answers from the shadows below.
"No warning signs," he murmurs aloud, mostly to himself. "But that’s the pattern, isn’t it? Sudden changes. Tragedy without precedent. As if something dormant was... awakened."
His voice gains a thoughtful weight, laced with a touch of dread.
"What if these disappearances aren’t simply about misfortune or misadventure? What if they’re transformations?" He looks back to the others, his voice calm but urgent. "What if Mival and Nedda... weren’t taken, but became what they are?"
His eyes settle on Ardana.
"You said it—a shift when coming of age. That would align. A bloodline that lies hidden, unnoticed, until something calls it forward. A trigger. A rite. Or perhaps just the turning of years."
He closes his eyes briefly, and Thetis’s words return again, louder this time:
“They have deceived me well.” “Bytwoeff... Blossom.” “They can transform at will.”
Elias opens his eyes.
"If Mival’s father was more than just a cad with a silver tongue—if he was something else entirely—then we may be dealing with a bloodline tied to the Lords from Below themselves."
He looks back at Ardana, eyes sharp.
"Your insight might be the key. If what happened to Nedda was part of this same pattern... then Mival isn’t the only one who’s in danger of being lost. He might already be lost."
But as the words leave his mouth, Elias’s gaze drifts downward, and his brow furrows in thought. Something about the pattern… it scratches at the edge of his mind. It’s familiar...
((Elias is trying to think if he knows of any creature that changes its form and is known to seduce women...Arcana 13 and a help action would be great because I have a feeling this is important))
"A cyclical occurrence? Not unlike the pervasive cicadia. Every 15-20 solar cycles, they come out in enormous numbers and can be so loud it can drive people to extremes. Perhaps this is something similar; minus the noise. Cyclical events which match some cyclical behavior or drive from the Lords Below?"
"Mival may be the current result of a perpetual cycle of incidences."
Elias comes up with names of mysterious creatures that are supposed to be able to change shape... He has heard of Doppelgangers... Of Changelings... But he doesn't remember whether members of these mysterious species seduce women - nor what the eventual outcome of such unions is (or perhaps he has simply never heard such details mentioned).
He doesn't remember much more than these simple names - and the fact that these creatures are able to change shape.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
To post a comment, please login or register a new account.
Elias listens in silence, his expression sharpening at the mention of Nedda Whitewhool and the murder of Fodel. The story is unexpected—brutal and sudden, the kind of disruption that suggests something unnatural lurking behind it.
He steps closer again, the tone of his voice dropping slightly, more intimate and serious, but never accusing.
"No... no, Brother Malark. That’s not irrelevant at all."
He exchanges a glance with Ardana, as if silently asking are you hearing what I’m hearing? before continuing.
"A trusted young woman suddenly, inexplicably, murders someone she was close to... and then vanishes without a trace." His fingers drum lightly against the top of his staff as he speaks. "You’re right that the cases aren’t similar on the surface, but both center around sudden, unexplainable changes in behavior. Disappearances. Violence. Secrets."
He pauses for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly.
"You said Nedda was well-liked. A friend to many. So was Mival. Is it possible that whatever darkness touched her... has touched him, too? That something—or someone—is moving through this town beneath our notice, changing those who are vulnerable?"
He softens, seeing the unease on Malark's face.
"I don't expect answers, Brother. Only the truth as you know it. And you've given us more than you think."
Then, gentler still:
"If anything else comes to mind—stories, rumors, even strange dreams—seek me out at the inn. You may not see the pattern yet. But sometimes, it only takes one final thread to see the whole tapestry."
He offers a final, respectful nod.
"Thank you... truly."
"You're welcome esteemed Elias Cerwyn. Sadly, I can't think of anything else, at the moment" Brother Malark returns the respectful nod. "And I am glad I have given you more than I thought - for I thought I had given you very little indeed. I will certainly seek you at the inn, if I think of anything else," he sighs, "though I do not think it likely. As I have said, I have not been here long... what has struck me, I have already revealed to you."
Elias gives Brother Malark one final, solemn nod, genuinely grateful despite the limitations the young priest has expressed.
"You've done your part, Brother Malark," he says. "Sometimes clarity doesn’t come from a single lantern—but from the glimmer of many candles."
Then he steps back, turning slightly to glance at Ardana and Tarysaa, his expression thoughtful, but not rushed.
"Anything either of you wish to ask before we go?" he asks, his voice lowered but carrying the cadence of someone ready to move on—unless something else stirs.
As he waits for their reply, his mind quietly spins with possibilities. The story of Nedda and her sudden change in behavior nagged at him like a thread in a frayed sleeve. The resemblance to Mival’s odd departure wasn’t perfect—but it was too strange to be dismissed outright.
He mutters quietly, half to himself, half to his companions:
"Two disappearances. One wrapped in violence... the other in silence. If something dark is creeping into this town, it's not starting with Mival."
His eyes lift again, a spark of resolution flaring behind them.
"I think it’s time we speak to Kara Flower directly," he says to Ardana and Tarysaa. "We’ve only seen her as the grieving mother so far—but I’d like to know more about her. About her son. And whether anything seemed... wrong... in the days leading up to his disappearance."
He begins walking toward the exit, adding lightly over his shoulder:
"Let’s go ask the one person who might know what Mival was looking for."
The group led by Elias reaches Kara in her shop as Woodrow was saying goodbye...
The woman turns her eyes hopefully to the newcomers: "Do you have any news?"
Elias steps forward with a measured pace, his tone gentle and reassuring, though the truth he carries holds no comfort—yet.
"Not yet, Mistress Flower," he says with a respectful incline of his head. "But we’re pursuing every lead. I promise you that."
His eyes briefly follow Woodrow, offering him a silent nod of acknowledgment as their paths cross. Then he turns his full attention back to Kara, the weight of her worry written plainly in the lines of her face.
"We hoped to ask a few more questions, if you’ll allow it," he continues softly. "Not to reopen wounds, but to better understand Mival—what he may have been thinking, feeling, planning before he vanished."
He pauses just enough to ensure she’s willing, then adds with sincere empathy:
"We believe something larger is at work, and we’re trying to piece it together. Any detail, no matter how small, could help us bring him home."
Then, with a flicker of resolve behind his kind expression:
"Did he say anything unusual? Ask questions about the Keep? Speak of strange dreams, or people you didn’t recognize? Even a change in behavior—subtle or sudden—could be meaningful."
He doesn’t press her—but Elias is watching closely, ready to listen not only to her words, but to the hesitations and emotions that might accompany them.
((Nat 1 insight check...perfect time for that. I should have heroic inspiration as a human right? Can I use that to help with this?))
Woodrow nods toward Elias as the pass, I'm heading toward the tavern, if you don't yet have a room then I've got an extra bed at my place.
Woodrow pulls up to the bar, orders a whiskey. He engages the barkeep, say, have noticed a few regulars acting odd lately, or any that you haven't seen in a while?
[[ OOC: Unfortunately, you're referring to the more up-to-date 2024 rules here too... It's in those rules that humans have Heroic Inspiration when they finish a Long Rest. In the older 2014 rules we're using in this campaign, humans have other advantages, but not this one. So Elias doesn't notice any particular duplicity in Kara... her feelings seem completely genuine. ]]
The woman's concern is evident on her face and in the tone of her voice: "What do you mean, something 'larger'? What happened to my Mival?"
She wrings her hands in frustration as she tries to think things through: "Perhaps in the last few days he might have become sometimes a little more... worried, sometimes lost in his thoughts... But he's always been the sweet Mival he always was! The one time I asked him if something was worrying him, he smiled at me as always, told it was nothing important and calmed down... Nothing unusual, for a boy who has just become a man... I had thought he was just starting to have the worries of a man... you know, finding a woman, starting a job, starting a family... Nothing that would have prepared me for... for what happened."
Looking for a stool to temporarily sit on, as if drained of energy, the cartwright ruminates: "I've always been there for him... And he never hid anything from me... Surely he knew he could always talk to me about anything, any concern. I've already told you and I'll say it again: I can't explain his behavior... his decision to leave was completely unexpected by me. No, no mention of the Keep, no dreams and no new people I didn't know... This is a little hamlet, we all know each other. You..." her tear-filled eyes search for those of the interlocutor "you'll find him anyway, right? I mean... it's your job... it's what you do... You'll find him, right? Even if there's 'something larger' underneath, whatever it is?"
Meanwhile, Woodrow at the tavern talks to Yondral, the shield dwarf owner who even today has collected the impressive volume of hair in a ponytail behind his head.
"Acting odd, you say?" he raises an eyebrow half-seriously, while with one hand he plays with the buttons of his elegant leather doublet. "They're lounging around the village... They drink like sponges... They laugh raucously at the silliest jokes... No, I'd say they're behaving in the most normal way for them!" he laughs for a moment, then continues. "Why, have you noticed anything in particular? Have you seen any of them do something strange? If you tell me a name or a specific episode, maybe I'll try to focus better... But jokes aside, my friend, they seem like the same old layabouts to me. Explain better your concerns to old Yondral," he slaps his broad dwarf chest "if you like".
Elias listens with the stillness of a man bearing witness to grief. He doesn’t interrupt—not when her voice breaks, not when her eyes search his face for hope, and not even when she reaches for a belief that everything must still be right beneath the surface.
He waits until she finishes, and only then does he move, kneeling carefully in front of her stool so that his eyes are level with hers. When he speaks, it is with that same calm, steady strength she once said Mival showed her.
“Mistress Flower… Kara.” His voice is low but clear. “You did everything right. Your son knew love, knew safety, and knew he was not alone. There is no failing in what you gave him.”
He lets that rest with her for a moment before continuing.
“When I say something larger, I don’t mean something he brought on himself. I mean… there are forces at work—strange, deceptive forces—that may be changing people, or replacing them. We've seen it with our own eyes.”
“But we’ve also seen resistance. Signs that not all who vanish are gone forever. That’s why we’re still searching. That’s why we won’t stop.”
He reaches into his coat and draws out a handkerchief—embroidered, folded neatly—and gently offers it to her.
“We don’t know what’s become of Mival. Not yet. But I promise you this: we will follow every trail. We will turn over every stone. And we will not stop just because the path gets dark.”
His blue eyes meet hers, full of unwavering resolve.
“It’s not just our job, Kara—it’s our choice. We choose to keep fighting for him.”
Then, after a breath, softer still:
“And we’ll carry your hope with us, every step of the way.”
"You really are a hero..." Kara 'Tarsakh Flower' Sashar looks on in admiration, enchanted by the feeling that the bard's words exude "You remind me so much of Galar, Mival's father... Galar was also a hero... I wonder why he had to leave... and who knows if he will ever return one day..." she sighs "In fact, maybe you are even better than Galar - since you did not leave! I... thank you for giving me hope. I trust in you".
After a last meaningful look, the cartwright begins to dedicate herself to her work again...
Elias watches Kara with a softened gaze, letting her words settle. There’s something fragile and sacred in that moment—a quiet, almost wistful admiration, touched with the ghost of old love and the pain of abandonment.
But it’s that name—Galar—that catches in Elias’s mind like a thorn on a thread.
As Kara begins to turn back to her work, he rises slowly, smoothing out the front of his coat. He doesn’t speak immediately, allowing her the grace of a moment's quiet return to normalcy. Then—gently—he breaks the silence.
"Kara…” His tone is gentle, respectful, as though he were picking up a thread she hadn't meant to drop.
“You mentioned Mival’s father—Galar. You said he was a hero. I don't mean to pry, but… would you be willing to tell me more about him?”
He glances toward the shopfront, ensuring the moment remains private.
“Where he came from, what he did… why he left, if you know. Anything you can remember. I ask only because sometimes the past casts long shadows… and I’ve found those shadows often point the way forward.”
There’s no pressure in his voice—just the steady presence of someone willing to listen. And beneath it, that keen scholar’s curiosity flickers, sensing the possibility of a deeper connection to the puzzle they’ve all been drawn into.
"Galar?" Kara's eyes become dreamy "If it can help you bring back my Mival, I will gladly dream of Galar once again..."
"When I first met him, he had passed through here on his way back from Wonfort, after having put an end to the Whispering Curse" she starts her tale. "The peasants in Womford were being driven mad by a sound, a constant whisper that promised riches but led only to despair. The local guards were useless. Galar, he went there alone, armed with nothing but his father's old warhammer and a pouch of blessed salt. He was gone for three days, and when he came back, he reported he'd found a nest of shadow mastiffs, their howls echoing through the cornfields and twisting minds. He'd cornered their alpha in a neraby deep cavern and… well, let's just say the whispering stopped".
“Then there was the business with the Cult of the Serpent's Kiss in Kheldell,” the cartwright continues, smiling. "They were poisoning the water supply with some vile concoction, turning good folk into mindless fanatics. The local lord was too afraid to act. Galar infiltrated their hidden temple – a feat in itself, I tell you, the place was guarded by all manner of unsavory creatures. He discovered their ritual, a sacrifice to some ancient snake god. He didn't hesitate. He disrupted the ceremony, fired their high priest – a nasty piece of work with venomous daggers – and shattered their unholy idol. He returned with a vial of the poison and the antidote, saving the entire region from their wicked plot. He always did have a knack for charging headfirst into danger".
“And finally… oh, this one still makes my heart ache with pride and fear” Tarsakh Flower continues. "It was during the Siege of Neverwinter. The city was under attack by a horde of demons from the Abyss" (to be honest, Elias does not remember this 'historical fact'...). "The walls were breached, and hope was dwindling. Galar, he didn't stay behind the barricades. He rallied a small band of desperate defenders and led a charge right into the thickest of the fighting, aiming straight for the demonic commander. They say his war cry echoed across the battlefield. He fought like a cornered lion, his blade a blur of righteous fury. He didn't defeat the commander single-handedly, mind you, but his bravery, his sheer audacity, broke their lines and bought the city's defenders the time they needed to push back the invasion. Neverwinter owes him a debt it can never repay".
"He was a hero, my Galar. A true hero of the Realms, almost like Rassalantar" the woman concludes. "And I… I was lucky enough to call him mine. I don't know why he left, after I got pregnant... He must have heard of some other place where his worth was in demand... I never knew... He, like Mival, simply left, disappeared from one day to the next. He will return... maybe... one day... I've always waited for him... even if... Even if, since I had Mival, maybe I've thought less and less about Galar. If Galar returns, it will make me dream again... But Mival... Mival is my reason for living. Mival must return - or at least I must know that he is safe."
As Kara speaks, her eyes lit with the flame of old memories, Elias keeps his expression warm, respectful, and attentive. He offers the small nods, the soft smiles, the knowing silences that a woman like her deserves in a moment like this - a woman who has waited far too long for answers and clings to hope spun from memory.
But behind his eyes, the bard's mind is turning.
Shadow mastiffs whispering in cornfields… an entire siege of Neverwinter no historian remembers… a lone man destroying snake cults with salt and bravado? It all smells like the kind of tale a man crafts, not for the sake of truth, but for seduction.
Elias has heard too many songs, too many boastful lies whispered between tavern walls, not to recognize the rhythm of flattery designed to win a heart - and then vanish with it.
Still, his face shows none of that. He leans forward when she sighs, offers a soft, sincere “You were lucky to love him—and Mival is lucky to have you.” He never lets the flicker of pity behind his eyes reach the surface.
Because Elias knows - this isn't about Galar.
It’s about Kara, and the son she loves more than the dream of a vanished hero.
And Elias? He's not here to unravel her illusions. He's here to bring her boy home.
So he listens to her until the very last word, and when he finally rises to go, he carries her trust with a quiet grace - even if, deep down, he suspects that Mival was born not from destiny... but from a bedtime story told with a smile and a quick escape plan.
Tarysaa turns to look at Elias with concern on her brow. She almost says somthing and then clamps her jaw shut and silently glides toward the door.
As the door to Kara's shop swings shut behind them with a muted click, Elias finds himself walking in silence—a silence that feels heavier than before.
He had caught the glance from Tarysaa, the flicker of doubt or maybe suspicion in her eyes. And though she said nothing, her silence spoke volumes. Elias does not chase it. He’s spent a lifetime reading people, and he knows when someone needs time to sort their thoughts—just as he needs time to sort his own.
Because now, in the quiet lull between heartache and purpose, Thetis's words echo in his mind like a haunting refrain.
At the time, he had measured her voice carefully, weighed her tone, even considered the faint tremble of her hand when she had reached for his. He had told himself he was studying her, but the truth is, part of him believed her—more than he wanted to admit.
Now, with the myth of Galar behind him and the pain of Kara’s waiting heart still fresh, the picture begins to shift into place.
“What if she wasn’t lying?”
The thought blooms in his mind like a spark catching tinder.
“What if Mival isn’t gone—but fading? And what if the time to act is shorter than we feared?”
He slows slightly as they reach the edge of the lane, the inn just ahead, its lantern light flickering like the last defiance of day against encroaching night.
They’ve been cautious. Wise. Measured. But sometimes, wisdom means knowing when to stop measuring. Sometimes the path forward isn’t the one with the fewest risks—it’s the one with the clearest purpose.
He turns slightly toward the others and says, more to himself than anyone else:
"If Blossom truly is Mival... and he's been twisted rather than born that way..."
He meets Ardana’s and Tarysaa’s eyes.
"Then we can’t circle this forever. The answer may have always been waiting behind Thetis’s sorrow—and behind her fear."
A pause. Then, with the weight of decision behind it:
"We take the direct path. We go through Thetis’s passage. And we confront the Lords from Below."
As the group returned to the village, and the personable old man went to talk with the distraught mother, Koran felt less than useful. Social interactions aren’t really his strong suit, having spent so many years in a formal, rigid structure where he was supposed to listen, not speak. So he held back as some of the others went with Elias.
Not really wanting anything from the shop, he failed to follow that path as well.
Uncertain about what to do, he started by settling into a quiet meditation, thinking back over the problems posed by the flooded ruin, the question of the boy, and the shapeshifters. "The traditional teachings say to be where the opposition does not expect you, to refuse to face the opposition’s strength head-on, to refuse to allow your opposition to pick the terms of the competition. The four paths which remain before us are to provide our strength directly to their strength, to trust what could be their agent to not give them access to each of us one at a time, splitting ourselves up on our own in order to attempt finding a path to swim from the second stairwell, trying to dig down through the remainders of the foundation, or leaving. Okay, five paths. Which is the least bad? The last two are obviously out.
"One of the points of wisdom is knowing when you need to violate traditions, when you should dare something in order to make progress. We need to go directly to them. Warning and all. The risk is great, but more predictable than the risks of the other options, if we want to return the boy to his mother."
Having come to a conclusion he must now try to convince the others to accept, Koran rises from his meditation, finding a child sitting nearby, apparently having been watching him meditate.
"Hello, Little One. I was just thinking through my problems. Trying to make a decision I’ve been avoiding. Sitting quietly like this, without distractions, and clearing my mind before I consider the issue simplifies things. Makes it easier to consider the problem without emotion or other expectations." Koran’s voice fades as he finishes his explanation, as the child wasn’t really that interested and started to leave, apparently bored by the elf’s manner.
[ooc} Mechanical note: Koran takes a Short Rest Character sheetshort reast with 1 Hit Die recovered 4 HP (out of 9 possible) of the 6 damage received..[/ooc]
Ardana is following all these stories, and she has an insight. She is all too familiar with the difficulties of a complicated lineage. A painful expression crosses her face.
I am loath to make unfounded accusations, but it seems like Mival has uncertain parentage, and a change of behavior when coming to age. And this Hedda, the same. I wonder if we would find Hedda at the ruin as well. Woodrow, can you tell us more of Hedda? Are her parents still here in the village? What do you know of them?
This is what Woodrow knows about Nedda Whitewhool (I'll leave it up to him to decide what to reveal and how - he can of course just do a simple copy/paste if he doesn't want to 'personalize' the exposition)
The Whitewhools had been a quiet halfling family dedicated to sheep farming - they raised sheep and sold their wool, in the production of which they specialized, and, to a lesser extent, cheese.
Nedda was in fact a cheerful, carefree halfling, and a friend to all. She often sought out Woodrow and listened to stories of his past, inundating him in exchange with joyful gossip about everything that had happened in the hamlet.
Her relationship with Fodel, a boy like many others from a family of farmers, much less lively and more reserved than her, but who had started to always be by her side, had not changed her in the slightest - and the two, despite their differences, seemed happy with each other's company.
The tragedy had had no warning signs and had left everyone stunned - so much so that the Whitewhool, perhaps overwhelmed by grief, had then abandoned Rassalantar, migrating together with their flocks, never to return.
((I want to keep this moving since it kinda ground to a halt. I'm just going to go along with Ardana's recent RP and continue from there))
As Ardana speaks, Elias turns his head toward her, watching the emotion flicker across her face—a subtle, pained expression, not born of theory, but of personal familiarity. Something in her voice touches something in him—not just as a bard or a scholar, but as someone who’s seen the tangle of blood and legacy twist lives into knots.
And then Woodrow answers, and the threads begin to braid themselves tighter.
Elias folds his arms across his chest, stepping to the side, gazing off toward the distant line of trees beyond the village—as if hoping a gust of wind might carry answers from the shadows below.
"No warning signs," he murmurs aloud, mostly to himself. "But that’s the pattern, isn’t it? Sudden changes. Tragedy without precedent. As if something dormant was... awakened."
His voice gains a thoughtful weight, laced with a touch of dread.
"What if these disappearances aren’t simply about misfortune or misadventure? What if they’re transformations?" He looks back to the others, his voice calm but urgent. "What if Mival and Nedda... weren’t taken, but became what they are?"
His eyes settle on Ardana.
"You said it—a shift when coming of age. That would align. A bloodline that lies hidden, unnoticed, until something calls it forward. A trigger. A rite. Or perhaps just the turning of years."
He closes his eyes briefly, and Thetis’s words return again, louder this time:
Elias opens his eyes.
"If Mival’s father was more than just a cad with a silver tongue—if he was something else entirely—then we may be dealing with a bloodline tied to the Lords from Below themselves."
He looks back at Ardana, eyes sharp.
"Your insight might be the key. If what happened to Nedda was part of this same pattern... then Mival isn’t the only one who’s in danger of being lost. He might already be lost."
But as the words leave his mouth, Elias’s gaze drifts downward, and his brow furrows in thought. Something about the pattern… it scratches at the edge of his mind. It’s familiar...
((Elias is trying to think if he knows of any creature that changes its form and is known to seduce women...Arcana 13 and a help action would be great because I have a feeling this is important))
Tarysaa takes in all that is being said.
"A cyclical occurrence? Not unlike the pervasive cicadia. Every 15-20 solar cycles, they come out in enormous numbers and can be so loud it can drive people to extremes. Perhaps this is something similar; minus the noise. Cyclical events which match some cyclical behavior or drive from the Lords Below?"
"Mival may be the current result of a perpetual cycle of incidences."
Elias comes up with names of mysterious creatures that are supposed to be able to change shape... He has heard of Doppelgangers... Of Changelings... But he doesn't remember whether members of these mysterious species seduce women - nor what the eventual outcome of such unions is (or perhaps he has simply never heard such details mentioned).
He doesn't remember much more than these simple names - and the fact that these creatures are able to change shape.