Valley of the Dead Campaign Thread

As the Western shore comes into view, you see a single wharf large enough to accommodate a vessel the size of the one you’re on. It looks a little worn and old, but as you get closer you realize it's quite well taken care of and ready for work. Behind the wharf is a wooden watchtower with a sentry standing guard. You can see a powerful longbow standing at his side, and a brilliant lantern sitting just beside him. He waves at the ship’s navigator, who seems to issue a message to them in sign language. They exchange some sort of code, and the gangplank is lowered.

On the dock are many barrels, coils of rope and various nets. There is a stronger smell of fish wafting over the breeze now, probably coming from the cleaning area just off to the left. While it doesn’t look big enough to support a fishing colony or fleet, the nearby harbor town seems as though it should be well supplied with the sea's bounty. It's not too far away, but the high palisade wall surrounding it and thick wooden gate prevent much of a view from here.

The ship’s captain stands at the head, directing the movements of the crew as you all begin to disembark. The first is having Rhoc's horse carefully lowered on a systems of pulleys and ropes, followed by having to shoo a couple of shipmates away from trying to get Prince Lirander's signature on various bottles of alcohol again. He sort of shrugs as he notices that Vyrrak doesn't seem to need much assistance and then he takes special care to address Kimryn, the Ship's medical officer who joined the group, directly,   

“No no no, I’m glad that you decided to go with them! We’ll be fine here. We’re just going to check a few things off, maybe grab a couple drinks at the tavern afterwards and then we’ll be anchored in the Bay till you’re done. Once you’re all finished with getting that message, just come back here and the Watchtower guard can signal us. If anything should change, we’ll leave a message with Urtskeck, the Dwarf who owns the tavern.”

With that, the crew get back to the various tasks they have, unloading crates filled with trading goods and scraping debris from the hull, leaving you to your own devices.

Kimryn smiles at the captain and nods her thanks while shaking his hand. She turns to walk down the gangplank then calls over her shoulder, "Hey Salty Sam! Don't fall off the main mast again! I'm not going to be there to hear your whining!"

This should be interesting. 

A burly man with a large curly beard and a black cap waves at Kimryn's words with a laugh from the Crow's nest. Some of the other sailors join in, taking more well mannered jabs at Salty Sam and then each other before the Captain nudges them back to work. 

Prince Lirander drew in a slow breath as the harbor wind tugged at his cloak, his gaze drifting from the watchtower to the palisade beyond. There was something satisfying about the shape of the mission, something that sat well in his chest: a crown’s message carried inland by a son of the crown, delivered not with threat, but with intent. He let that thought settle before he spoke, his voice bright enough to carry across the deck.

“Interesting,” he said, thinking out loud with the faint smile of someone who has already begun turning a problem over in his mind. “A man like Harkowitz is never quite as simple as the nobility makes him sound, is he? Common birth, battlefield brilliance, deeds so repeated and so undeniable that even the crown had to stop pretending he was not fit to rule. That kind of rise always makes the polished set uncomfortable. I’ve heard the murmurs, of course. The little poisoned remarks nobles pass around at tables when they think the servants aren’t listening. Perhaps even my own family, in quieter moments, has said things they should not have said.”

His expression sharpened then, not in disdain, but in recognition.

“But if a man earns his station through heroism, then he has more honor in one scar than many of those critics manage in a lifetime of silk and ceremony. Harkowitz is not merely a lord. He is, in his own way, a people’s champion. The sort of man who forces the world to admit he belongs in the room. I find that… admirable.”

Lirander turned toward the others, resting one hand lightly on the hilt of his sword as though making a vow without needing to announce it as such. He lifted his chin slightly, the posture of a royal messenger who knew exactly what he represented.

“We are here as the crown’s voice, and I intend to wear that honor properly. Head held high. Clear words. No needless blood if the matter can be mended with courage and discipline. If there is a bridge to be rebuilt between Harkowitz and the royals, then let it be built here, in this valley, by someone willing to speak plainly and listen carefully.”

His smile returned, confident and rallying.

“If the Druids are guilty, then we will uncover it. If they are merely frightened, then we will prove them wrong. And if Harkowitz has been pushed too far by noble suspicion and provincial pride, then perhaps we will not only settle this dispute, but begin the work of bringing kingdom and valley closer together.”

He looked from face to face among his companions, as though counting them in.

Rhoc watches as the western shore comes into view with earnest anticipation. The lump in his heart hasn’t been soothed since it was birthed in his chest. As the gangplank is lowered, Rhoc searches the wharf and his heart falls. It was foolish of him, he knows, but he hoped his son would be there, somehow, to greet him. There would be no way for his son to know he was coming even if he would have been willing or able to be present. Still, the hopes and fears of a parent are sometimes irrational in nature and Rhoc frowns.

Rhoc quickly disembarks and comforts Wind Dancer and helps removes her from the ship’s tackle. She digs at the planks with her front hoof nervously. Wind Dancer may be raised from war horse stock, but she has never seen a world outside the comfort of quiet pastures and serene forests. Rhoc pets her neck and reassures her with orc whispers of calm. He hopes she will not have to see danger, but he chose her because she has the most heart, is a fairly young mare, and is strong enough to bear the weight of Rhoc’s massive form and maintain speed if needed.

He leads her off and nods back up to the Captain, unsure if it is even noticed.

Rhoc’s face carries many cares, with deep lines that, when combined with the dozen or so ancient scars on his face, make his face look like a snarl of old rope. He is an orc’s orc, standing at 6’8”, bent with age, but still heavily muscled. His hair is a bit more limp than in his heyday, but still holds the black color. His hands are heavy, clumsy looking things and the joints of his fingers are beginning to swell from a hard life of work. Still, he is imposing even when he tries to avoid being so.

He quickly catches up with the others, having gotten to know them some on the journey over. He doesn’t ride here; it’s not the best to ride on a wharf and he quickly came to realize that none of this other companions brought horses of their own. Had he known this before leaving, he would have supplied this group with some of his own, on loan.

He listens intently as Lirander speaks confidently of their mission. He isn’t as sure as Lirander seems, but he nods along simply in approval, satisfied to have someone in this group that is sure of what they are to do. All Rhoc cares about is making sure his son is safe and all other things are secondary in his mind, even his sworn obligations to the crown. He has elected to keep this much to himself at least, fearing a lack of understanding from the others. Besides, Rhoc did share with the group that he worries for his son (those who cared to hear of it anyway), and he does hope to succeed in his mission.

It is well that someone like Liramder is here; one who is comfortable and capable of thinking of clever solutions. Old soldiers like Rhoc are too stuck in soldiering ways, which, he believes, may not serve them well in the political arena. With any luck, Rhoc’s expertise won’t be needed at all and he can ensure the safety of his son and return home to his horses.

“Yes. Very good.” Rhoc grunts. “Are any of you in need of anything here before we go?” He asks in as friendly a voice as he can muster.

"Directions. Do you kids know where you're going?"

Vyrrak gives the ship captain a slight salute and thanks him for the safe trip before stepping off the boat. He sighs with relief as his feet finally plant on solid ground as he stretches his limbs. Inhaling the strong scent of salt and fish in the air he feels his stomach slightly grumble in anticipation, not just hunger but for the thrill of another expedition. Vyrrak does a quick once over of his belongings and tightening straps for the long haul as he listens to Lirander.

Vyrrak finally looks up to Lirander and finally responds, "If it is honor that fuels you, than you may have mine. Two have gone missing, and our peace with the druids seems on the brink. I am merely concerned with bringing those responsible to justice."

Vyrrak then turns to look up at the massive orc, Rhoc, "I suppose a quick bite to eat before heading off could be beneficial. What say you all? 

Getting a bit of relief from looking up to the orc, Vyrrak looks to Kimryn, "Not presently, but information is always easy to come by. We could also try looking for the group of druids he was doing dealings with."

Rhoc blows out air through his nose and smothers his restlessness. “Our destination is 20 miles inland from here. On foot, that will take us 7 hours, assuming nothing goes wrong. We are here because something has gone wrong, so we may not want to tarry long.” He looks around this unfamiliar area and gestures to the harbor town behind the high walls. “We could stop by that harbor town first, I suppose.”

Rhoc begins to factor swollen bellies into his travel time and his frown deepens. He wants to go now, but he cannot deny that he the town might have good information that the silver tongued ones might be able to discover, and if nothing else, Rhoc needs a heading for their journey since he has never been out to visit his son in all the years Adalin has been here. Regret needles at his mind and he sweeps it away by trying to distract himself with checking his supplies in Wind Dancer's pack.

Lirander nods. “It is agreed, then! Let us stop by town, confirm our directions, and get a quick bite to eat. I agree with Rhoc that we should not delay too long.”

Their path decided, the Prince doesn’t hesitate to move toward the town. 

[what time of day is it?]

At the end of the wharf is the bottom of the guard tower with a small spiral staircase swirling around it to the top where the archer stands ready. The sentinel nods at your passing in approval as you make your way between him and the town the palisade. His attention seems to be preoccupied with something in the distance in the hills just beyond the town.

The wood of the sharp tipped walls surrounding the town is immensely dense, and you can see a few scars from past attempted invasions all across the old growth logs. Towards the middle, there is a small iron gate large enough for a person to go through open wide, as well as a much larger wooden gate beside it that’s currently closed. There seems to be slots for two additional archers standing on each side of the larger gate, but the spaces are currently empty. Looking beyond the iron gate, you can see a small town of fairly active people. Most of them look to be young adults or at most middle ages.

That is to say, there do not appear to be any children or elderly in this settlement from first glance…

Rhoc’s brow furrows in confusion as they approach the town. The main gate being closed would suggest that no one is allowed entry, but the wide-open side door challenges that assumption. Not having archers manning the arrow loops concerns Rhoc.

He holds his magical shield in his hand and strains his senses to see and hear whatever he might at this distance. The sounds of commerce, laughter, any of the normal sounds of a town at peace.

OOC: Perception Check 14.

Rhoc...

"What is that guy looking at?" Kimryn wonders out loud seeing that the guard is distracted. She looks in the direction he is staring.

Perception check 21

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Lirander says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “They were expecting us, and while I’m disappointed they didn’t send anyone from town to greet us, there’s no reason to suspect that means we’re not welcome.” 

Who the prince is trying to convince is not immediately obvious, but he strides confidently towards the town. 

As Vyrrak walks with the group after passing through the metal doorway he says to the others, "Hmm, an okay place it seems. And I agree Lirander, disappointing, but perhaps we will just have to seek them out. Seems everyone is rather busy anyways. Strange though, I would expect even a couple children playing in the middle of the day. Not even an urchin or street rat."

At that thought Vyrrak also scans the town as they walk with a keen eye, taking in all the sights and sounds of this little harbor town.

Perception: 11

Kimryn...

 Lirander...

Vyrrak...

The bells on the end of Lirander's cape seem extra ridiculous in this shanty town, but he wears them with pride anyway. Seeing "civilization" in the direction of the tavern, he steers the group that way.

"Looks like there are people over here," he says. "Let's see if we can whet our whistles before heading out of town." He looks around casually. "I wonder what all the activity is and what they are stockpiling. Curious." The prince seems nonplussed by the situation, looking for an official from the town to announce their arrival to.

He walks towards the tavern, calling out in Dwarvish

"The guard is keeping an eye on some wildlife...maybe. Druids, I tell ya."

The people are acting in an odd manner, the wildlife is also behaving in an unusual manner...Kimryn stays alert for shenanigans. She touches her club and a glowing green, vine-like pattern surrounds it ( Shillelagh)

When Lirander calls out, two dwarves by the tavern stop what they're doing and look back at him, and then at the rest of the group. The one that was pointing around at the various people moving asking for Merdath to back him up speaks first, 

"Ah!! Finally!! Reinforcements!!! Do you have any more ammuniti-" 

The other stands from the kneeling position she was in, and cuts the other off loudly, "-OF COURSE YOU CAN!"

She lowers her voice afterwards, but continues, "Welcome to our humble harbor, Prince Lirander and company. I am Merdath as you've overheard and this is Urtskeck."

She bows, and nudges Urtskeck to do the same. The goblins they were overseeing who were loading fish into the tavern for them see them bow, and they stop in their tracks and do the same. One of the large fish they were carrying smacks onto the dirt floor with a slap. 

"DAMMIT!" Urtskeck spins and shouts at them, but waves you all inside without looking at you, "Yes, right, a drink." 

He heads towards the tavern, the goblins resume their loading of fish, without wiping it off, and Merdath just short of shakes her head at everything going on. 

"Please forgive him, its been a stressful time. People have been going missing in the hills beyond town on the way to the Keep and we're all on edge. He's been barricading himself in the back of the tavern most nights, stacking the wall high with supplies, and I don't blame him for the fear..." 

She trails off, and for a moment looks...ashamed?