I'll have to teach them how to talk more quietly.  Brother Wikshaw would have had some harsh words for me if I'd spoken half as loud as their whispers back in the dark halls.

Eight large black birds - ravens, the party members all realize - fly down from the trees at the edge of the clearing. As they alight, each one flutters its wings, spraying water around it, and transforms into a human-looking man or woman. All wear long, dark cloaks and cowls, and they approach the party slowly. Not with menace, but with fear and hesitation.

Most of them appear younger, but one of them throws back his hood and you see an old man. You are not monsters of the forest, then. He has already come quite close, and leans in further. He turns his head a bit. It's a perfectly natural, quizzical gesture, but the party members can't help but notice that it's a bit birdlike, too. What brings such a, he hesitates, interesting group of travelers to the edge of the vineyard?

Well hello! We have come on a simple errand to pick up some wine for the burgomaster’s festival. We’ll just pick up a few cases and be on our way. 

What about you fellas... simple farmers, out for a pleasure stroll in beast infested woodlands?

Persuaded as to the benevolent (or at least not malevolent) nature of the others, Lucento breathes a sigh of relief.   

No no, Barnaby, we should see how they do it.  Addressing the raven people, Is this your vineyard?  Do you give tours, offer tastings?  I'd love to see your process.  I was on my way to a vineyard before the fog took me here.

Don’t be daft Chubs. The vineyard’s owners don’t hang out outside the gate. 

And how many vineyards do you own, Barnaby?

The old man watches the banter for a moment and draws a heavy sigh.

It is, in fact, my vineyard. I am Davian Martikov, and this is my winery and my vineyard. He sighs again. 

We do, indeed have wine that you may take to one of the taverns of the valley. If that is where you will take it. But, sadly, we cannot give it to you ourselves. 

You see, two days ago we were chased from the winery by evil druids, and their blight companions. We tried to fight them off but . . . his eyes grow sad, for a moment, there were too many of them. 

If you will drive them out of the winery, we will speak again. And you may have the wine you seek. 

Master Martikov, I'm not familiar with the term blights.  What would those be? and how many druids and blights might be at the winery?

Brother Martikov, please share with us as many details of your story as possible, so that we may be best prepared to assist you.

Ok, Chubs and Kif make Persuasion checks. I'll take whichever is higher.

One of my fortes   1

Hah hah. Chubs will roll tonight. But I can give you part of his answer now:

Interesting. Where are you from, strangers?

Blights are small creatures. They are made from twigs, or little branches. Evil, nasty things. The druids summon them or control them somehow, I do not know. At least 50, maybe more. I believe there were three druids, escorting or maybe controlling them.

Hoping Chubs gets a better roll (because I suck at this game)

seems like we might need a scythe

Persuasion:12

Edit:  I rolled wrong.  It should be -1, not +1 so it comes out to 19.

We have fought them before. They are formidable opponents, in large numbers. He points you down the path to the winery. It's late afternoon.

Good luck.

I'm not quite ready for the walking down the road part yet, as much as I'm excited to see the winery.

We're happy to help you against evil foes, but I don't know if that means we're ready to solve you're problems for you.  You'd be much more likely to get your vineyard back, and we to not die, if we can count on your experience and skills in battle, working together with us.

Also, I can't help wondering why they attack?  Perhaps there can be a peaceful resolution to your dispute.  I don't speak for my companions, but I'm not quite ready to start the killing without knowing friendlier stuff hasn't been tried first.

Barnaby nods appreciatively at Chubs and then looks expectantly at the people.

He grimaces.

It is my vineyard, and my winery. The wine we make, we do not sell. I give it freely to the taverns of the valley, because I know how the people suffer.

You say you want to see the winery? Well, I want to show it to you. I promise you will never anywhere else orchards such as these, which have been powered by magic for many years to keep the grapes coming in this wretched place. 

A week ago, these druids stole one of the magic stones that powers the orchards. Without it, the grapes will stop growing. So, we went to get it back. We are, he looks around him, few in number and not great fighters. We were defeated, and as punishment, two days ago they came back and ran us out of the winery.

You would talk to them first? Even a moment's delay could spell your doom. You will find they are not much interested in talking. 

But I want to show you the winery, and I want to supply the taverns with wine once again. So please, do not die. 

Thank you good sir. You understand of course, it only makes sense to ask these questions. No offense intended.

Come on boys, let's go liberate some wine.

Barnaby turns and heads for the gate.