Scattered gods

"I have been things that are more horrid then you can imagine. Dragons and demons are things of a similar ilk when it comes to power so I see no need to let them know my feelings just being on their presence. My thoughts of staying out of conflicts that will get us killed have not been heeded either so for now I shall keep my thoughts to myself." Tennezaz explains simply.

"Very well, but I hope you know you can count on us, after all we've been through. At the very least, this is a battle we chose instead of one finding us hungry and asleep in a dilapidated basement."

Arell nods, "And the people here seem happy. Happier than we were in the city. Happier than anyone in the city. If we can help spread that to others, I am for it. I have been guided to this path, it seems, and while I can only see myself as just a simple jeweler looking for a new place in this world, I will stand by Cembessa."

He looks ahead, though not really seeing what is in front of his eyes. Memories fill his mind, sorrow of a world lost, and now a spark of hope has appeared. A different world, far from the comforts of his old life, but one without the constant terror that has plagued him since the Sundering. At least, as one can be without fear, given the fact that an Angel and a Dragon were fighting over the piece of land he wishes to rebuild.

You venture out into the camp.  Though there are no vendors, you can see people leatherworking, a man clanging on a small anvil near an open fire of red coals, women gathered in circles with mortars and pestle smashing herbs, etc.  near the outskirts of the village you see a small group of young men gathering with spears, a hunting party it seems.

Any interactions you would like to investigate?  

Fouder walks over to the women, trying to figure out if he recognises any of the herbs they are grinding, or if they seem specific to the feywild, and indeed what they might be making. He ushers Lior behind him, hoping the young bear will not draw too much unwanted attention.

"Morning," he says, and introduces himself.

Solomon keeps to himself during the rest of the morning, grumbling about 'maintaining standards' to Fouder as he passes him.  He attends to his beard - noting more grey in it than he wished to see - clipping it back to its former glory, looking less like a bird's nest.  He then sets about cleaning and polishing his armour, shield and sword, all of which look worse for wear.  Surviving in the cellar of the shop, he had not the time or inclination to keep his gear well-maintained, but the peace and quiet of this place allowed him time to do such frivolous things.

Fingolin wanted to fashion some kind of strap for his lute so he could carry it more easily. Seeing the leatherworkers, he heads over to watch them work and get on their good side.

"I'm Fingolin, a newcomer. Would you like to hear some music while you work?" He plays a short progression as a demonstration as he's saying this.

Fouder comes to the group of women that smile as they work.  They all say hello, some others further away in the circle giggle as they say things quietly in a language he doesn’t understand.  He sees some plants commonly used in medical manners, however he knows it requires more processing and work to make use of it.  He is unable to discern by looking what exactly they are making.

The small group of leatherworkers smile and accept the song.  As Fingolin plays the laugh and cheer as they work.  Eventually sing some songs to the tunes.  They are willing to fashion a strap as a thank you.

Tennezaz will look for someone that can make him more bolts for his crossbow and perhaps someone that is still not to trade either ball bearings or if possible caltrops. Even in the peaceful place he seems to be looking for things to give him an advantage in a fight.

Leaving the leatherworkers, Fingolin looks for a quiet place to study the bound book he found and unlock its secrets.

Tennanaz is able to find a young boy, brown hair and skin, making arrows for the hunting parties.  He is able to receive ten bolts from the boy.  He says he wishes they could do more business, but he has to make sure they others have enough.

Looking far more presentable than before, Solomon walks through the camp, watching the usual patterns of life play out around him.  He wished that this was his Faerun, and not temporary respite from a much harder life.  He happens upon Fingolin studying a book, and approaches him.  "It seems we both had the same idea, mind if I join you?", he says, holding his own worn spellbook aloft, as he sits near the bard.  "Where did you get that?"

"Please do. Oh, I found this in the tower. What do you think?" Fingolin passes the book to Solomon.

"The mage's tower we spoke of previously?  I would be careful handling this, my friend.  It may be worth having someone more skilled in the arcane arts than I examine it."

Despite his warning, Solomon removes the leather band holding the book shut and flicks through a few pages.

Investigation: 18

Fingoling flips through the first couple of pages, seeing elegant hand writing, someone’s hypothesis that harvesting a tyrric root and consuming with potions could make them hyperactive and thus improving the effects greatly.  But the rest of the pages are blank.  As he reads the words more carefully while looking at the book.  The quill floats out of his pack and levitates over to the book.  The quill places itself on the blank page as if it’s ready to write.

Solomon spending his time researching the spells.  It’s takes a long time as he deciphers and commits them to near memory.  He learns detect magic and false life

"I don't think it's dangerous", Fingolin chuckles, as the quill floats above the page, ready to write. He tries a command: "Write: Today we take it slow."

He then settles into reading the tome on planar travel.

Intelligence: 19

His mind keeps wandering at the day's events and can't focus on the book. Suddenly he says to Solomon: "Oh, I also found some ink and paper, looks high grade. It's probably too expensive to write music on it, so you can have it."

The studying continues into the evening as do the others wander around and gather the supplies they were looking for.

(forgot to add that Tennanaz was able to secure seedlings from a nearby bush, sharp barbs stick out in all directions.  He’s able to get a handful (one use of a 5 foot area) of caltrop equivalent.)

The hunting party comes back with some wild boar and the community eats well.  You find yourselves in the same cabin as before as the light smoke wafts around the open windows.  You rest for another night comfortably in the warm and dry treetops.  You arise early almost in unison and begin to gather your belongings.  Getting ready to trek Northward to your destination.  

(marching order needed - lead person,  roll a perception or survival roll)

Meditating was more difficult this night, as the good feelings he felt today fought with the reality he lived in recent times. The people around him seemed happy and hopeful and it touched his heart. He would do all he can to help them, even if it was detrimental to himself.

As be opens his eyes in the morning, Fingolin feels lighter, younger and alive with purpose and hope. This inner shift was matched by his physical appearance. His eyes were no longer cold steel, but deep gold. His hair was shorter, curly and auburn and appeared to move in a slight breeze even indoors. It created an illusion of swaying autumn leaves when seem with the corner of one's eye. His skin was darker with a brown tan you would expect after a hot summer.

His companions still asleep, he silently rummages through his pack to find the clothing at the bottom of the sack to replace the ugly gray he was wearing.

Fouder has enjoyed resting among the camp, eating decent food and not constantly listening for signs of danger. He unwinds, for the first time in a long time, and the ache in his bones as he moves feels less like a screech, more like a sigh.

He prepares himself in the morning, buffing his battleaxe and shield, pulling on his scale mail and, buoyed with enthusiasm and feeling rejuvenated, braids some sections of his beard so as to keep the sudden excessive growth under control. He used to do this before, used to braid it ornately for special occasions, working multiple strands into uniquely dwarven patterns that would draw attention to him. Today, he creates a few simple three-strand braids.

He gathers everything he needs before heading towards the common areas. He stops short as he sees Fingolin, not recognising him initially.

"Have you- have your changed your hair? You look different today."