"Speaking of information," Jheric waves to Tamalin over his breakfast, "I was told by a smith and carpenter that there was a giant sighted nearby. Would you know where we should look for it? Trolls are a very distant cousin, but that would make three of their kind. I wouldn't want you to get surprised by a growing problem."
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Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Eventually he realizes that the battle's over, though he gets a good scent off the trolls and then tries to follow the trail for a bit using his keen smell, to try to get a sense of where the trolls came from, and if they dropped anything along the way or interacted with anyone/anything on their way in. Perception: 23
Mola-as-a-bear tracks the trolls' path northward but discovers nothing of interest.
"Speaking of information," Jheric waves to Tamalin over his breakfast, "I was told by a smith and carpenter that there was a giant sighted nearby. Would you know where we should look for it? Trolls are a very distant cousin, but that would make three of their kind. I wouldn't want you to get surprised by a growing problem."
"True. A hill giant was spotted not too far from the Horns, and not too long ago," Tamalin replies. "All through the Evermoors...that's where they seem to be. Coming near the Evermoor Way now and then, looking to nab livestock. It's been over a year since we've had any trouble from one, however. One hill giant and two trolls in the past month...you're right. The time's come for a nightwatchmen or two."
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Renna, pleased to be of some service to the group, leads the four of you in a northeasterly direction toward the Evermoors. She leads the way, zigzagging back and forth in the form of a rabbit, over terrain that is comprised mostly of tall, coarse grass, that is broken up now and then by scraggly trees. After an hour or so, she returns to her human form and points. "Just over this hill."
Eleven days have passed since the night of the skirmish, but ample evidence of the carnage remains, including the following:
The corpses of three Uthgardt male barbarians, as revealed by their black hair and the ceremonial scarring on their bodies. They have been stripped of all clothing and weapons and have been placed face down. All corpses are marked by a variety of slashing and piercing wounds. Each one is missing a right hand, seemingly cut off sometime after the battle.
The charred remains--bones mostly--of several orcs. Sometime after the battle, they were placed in a pile and burned together. You can tell they were cremated while yet wearing their hide armor, but there is no sign of any weapons.
A total of eight arrows, all of them broken in some way
A shattered spear
Roughly eighty feet to the north of the barbarian corpses, Gwin finds a Harper pin in a clump of grass. Mola determines the most recent foot traffic in the area came from the east. He cannot discern, however, who or what trampled the grass and left evidence of its passing.
"Hmm..." Rixton says, spending most of his time examining the peculiar way the barbarians are laid and the ceremonial disposal of the orcs. The rogue looks at the sky for a while, wheels turning as he considers many possibilities. At length, he mounts Knickerboxer and readies to leave, saying nothing.
"So I'm guessing it wouldn't be helpful to bring these bodies back to the Tree Ghosts? I can't remember much about what I've heard -- maybe this is sacrilege to them, and returning them would be nice. Then again, their shaman probably would handle it. Do we want to head straight to the Hand and try to retrieve the Pikes, or head to the Tree Ghosts first to talk to the shaman, the survivor? How long is it to the Tree Ghosts on foot, Renna, compared to the Hand?"
"I'd be happy to inform them of their deceased," Rixton says, "but I think waltzing into Tree Ghost territory carrying their dead might set us off on the wrong foot. Diplomatically, I mean."
"Consider also that there are strange behaviors and unprovoked attacks. I think it's best we find the Pikes first, then deal with the Tree Ghosts." Jheric kicks at a few bodies and looks over the crematory mound. "The Pikes probably led the attack, so best to start with the brains."
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
With each passing day, the Evermoor Way becomes more rugged as you head eastward. To the north, the fog shrouded hills of the Evermoors draw closer. To the south, the imposing edge of the High Forest lies within just a few miles of the road. The weather poses no trouble; the days are warm, but the nights are cool and welcoming after each day's long ride. On the first day, you encounter a lone minstrel in a horse-drawn wagon, relocating to a safer settlement in the west. On the third day, you spy a copper dragon high overhead, silhouetted against the afternoon sky. Nothing else of note takes place, and just before sunset on the fourth day you pass through the gates of Olostin's Hold, a fortified keep that stands on the northern side of the Evermoor Way. Enclosed within the high walls of the hold is a small village with a market, a smithy, a caravan supplier, an inn called the Headless Troll, and a tavern known as the Flaming Flagon.
Based on Renna's directions, the Tribe of the Hand is located a day's journey to the north. You also remember that Hadrus mentioned the Harpers have someone named Elrik in Olostin's Hold.
Rixtonsees his horse to the stables. "Rouse me when you make contact," he says as he breezes past everyone on the way to his room. He thinks to draw a bath but instead falls asleep in the arm chair waiting for the communal bath to become available.
Gwin nods at Rixton as he heads to his room. More hungry than tired, and wishing for a bit of ale, she asks the innkeeper where she can grab a bite to eat. He directs her to the only tavern in town, the Flaming Flagon. She turns to Mola and Jheric, Well, lads? Will you join me? And with a quick wink and slight clearing of the throat she continues, Perhaps they have a wee dram of the Moonshae Stout?
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‘The hardest thing in this world is to live in it.’ - Buffy Summers
Each day along the path, Mola leaves his redoubtable mule in the capable hands of the other horses (also with the person he leaves the dwindling bag of apples and sugar beets with), and shifts into Molatiger form and bounds into the grassy scrub and low forest near the road. He is ostensibly hunting down small game for the nightly meal, and scaring the shit out of squirrels, and scouting for any sign of trolls, giants, or human pursuers, but he is also just getting some "me-time" in the wilds. Returning to the group just as the minstrel's about to pass the party, Molatiger accidentally scares the shit out of the player as well. Later, when he sees the copper dragon, he watches the entire time, longing to be able to fly himself.
He's happy but also melancholy to return to civilization in Olostin's Hold, and follows the group to the Headless Troll. He again does not stable Tarnie, preferring to let the mule roam free, though eventually someone has to nudge him to observe proprieties and guide him to the stable.
"Gwin! Music to my ears,"Mola says to his companion's suggestion, grinning and running his hand over his beard. "A moonshae stout would really net the old thistle now, wouldn't it?"
He heads to the Flaming Flagon with her and potentially Jheric, ready to listen for any mention of Elrik and deferring to Gwin to make contact.
Minstrels were all well and good in taverns, but that one was humming a song as it passed that stuck with Jheric for the next two days. Just as he was going insane, the distant form overhead was passing. It took a moment to focus above, but when he realized the form he immediately grew ecstatic. Whooping and cheering from his horse, everyone may have thought him insane, but seeing a dragon, let alone a metallic breed, was an incredible thing in life. Sadly, it passed too far overhead, unaware of the travelers below.
On arrival to Olostin's Hold, the offer of drinks sounds too good to pass up and he happily joins Mola and Gwin. "We need to plan our next move anyway."
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Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Upon entering the Flaming Flagon, the source of the establishment's name is immediately apparent: an ordinary flagon floats and sheds light in the middle of the taproom. The locals, who are happy to share the tale behind this curiosity, explain that the flagon was accidentally enchanted during a wizards’ duel long ago. It has faithfully illuminated the place for decades. The patrons of the Flagon, on this particular evening anyway, are both welcoming and talkative. A rather boisterous game of darts is taking place on one side of the room.
You inquire of Elrik's whereabouts and learn that he's currently not in the Hold; he left for Everlund two days ago and will likely return in another day or two. "Visiting his sister," explains a wrinkled old dwarf. "If you're headin' that way, there's a fair chance you'll meet 'im on the road then. May I ask what business you have with Elrik?"
One of the main topics of discussion in the tavern is a recent attack on a caravan group. Seven days ago, a few merchants and their hired guards were murdered by some Uthgardts in the night. They were camped half-way between Everlund and Olostin's Hold.
"Not all of 'em killed," remarks the bartender. "Some were taken captive, I hear."
"Worse than being killed, I say," remarks the wrinkled old dwarf, whose name you eventually learn is Burrik.
"Raiding a caravan ain't normal for barbarians. Unheard of around here," comments a young human who seems to be the resident champion of the dartboard.
"I dare 'em to try such a thing on the Hold," boasts Burrik. "It'd be their last venture outta the High Forest."
To which the bartender replies, "You can lead the charge, Burrik. Walking stick in one hand and a pint in the other."
"Things are getting even more suspicious of the Uthgardt. Best we make our peace with the Tribe of the Hand, get the Pike brothers, and move on."
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Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Mola's enraptured by the floating flagon. He loves the friendly banter and mostly watches, but offers his own additions, offers to join the darts game, and takes kindly to Burrik's approach to threats.
"Barbarians wouldn't stand a chance!" He tells about the Shieldmeet competitions in Yartar. "It was very strange. They gave me stones. Asked me to throw them. I did. People cheered! Then they lost this poor pig. Asked me to catch it. I asked the pig to stop. It did. They cheered again! Friend of mine threw axes really well and they cheered him too. Gwin hit bullseyes with a bow, and I cheered. Anyhow, and I wonder if you could help us out. Someone else we met there said Elrik would be really good for us to talk to about a little project of ours. What's he like? Haven't had a chance to meet him yet. We're also curious about the Hand. Do they take people?"
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"Speaking of information," Jheric waves to Tamalin over his breakfast, "I was told by a smith and carpenter that there was a giant sighted nearby. Would you know where we should look for it? Trolls are a very distant cousin, but that would make three of their kind. I wouldn't want you to get surprised by a growing problem."
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Mola-as-a-bear tracks the trolls' path northward but discovers nothing of interest.
"True. A hill giant was spotted not too far from the Horns, and not too long ago," Tamalin replies. "All through the Evermoors...that's where they seem to be. Coming near the Evermoor Way now and then, looking to nab livestock. It's been over a year since we've had any trouble from one, however. One hill giant and two trolls in the past month...you're right. The time's come for a nightwatchmen or two."
(Did Renna react positively at all to Mola's suggestion she show them where the ambush too place?)
She did indeed. Preparing to put that course of action into play very soon.
Renna, pleased to be of some service to the group, leads the four of you in a northeasterly direction toward the Evermoors. She leads the way, zigzagging back and forth in the form of a rabbit, over terrain that is comprised mostly of tall, coarse grass, that is broken up now and then by scraggly trees. After an hour or so, she returns to her human form and points. "Just over this hill."
Eleven days have passed since the night of the skirmish, but ample evidence of the carnage remains, including the following:
Roughly eighty feet to the north of the barbarian corpses, Gwin finds a Harper pin in a clump of grass. Mola determines the most recent foot traffic in the area came from the east. He cannot discern, however, who or what trampled the grass and left evidence of its passing.
"Hmm..." Rixton says, spending most of his time examining the peculiar way the barbarians are laid and the ceremonial disposal of the orcs. The rogue looks at the sky for a while, wheels turning as he considers many possibilities. At length, he mounts Knickerboxer and readies to leave, saying nothing.
"Farewell to you," says Renna as you prepare to leave. "Rest assured you've won Tamalin's favor for good if ever you have need of it."
Assuming the form of a rabbit once again, the druidess scampers through the grass in the direction of Calling Horns.
"So I'm guessing it wouldn't be helpful to bring these bodies back to the Tree Ghosts? I can't remember much about what I've heard -- maybe this is sacrilege to them, and returning them would be nice. Then again, their shaman probably would handle it. Do we want to head straight to the Hand and try to retrieve the Pikes, or head to the Tree Ghosts first to talk to the shaman, the survivor? How long is it to the Tree Ghosts on foot, Renna, compared to the Hand?"
"I'd be happy to inform them of their deceased," Rixton says, "but I think waltzing into Tree Ghost territory carrying their dead might set us off on the wrong foot. Diplomatically, I mean."
"Consider also that there are strange behaviors and unprovoked attacks. I think it's best we find the Pikes first, then deal with the Tree Ghosts." Jheric kicks at a few bodies and looks over the crematory mound. "The Pikes probably led the attack, so best to start with the brains."
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Mola nods at Rixton and Jheric’s responses with a nod, ready to move along back to the road toward the Hand.
With each passing day, the Evermoor Way becomes more rugged as you head eastward. To the north, the fog shrouded hills of the Evermoors draw closer. To the south, the imposing edge of the High Forest lies within just a few miles of the road. The weather poses no trouble; the days are warm, but the nights are cool and welcoming after each day's long ride. On the first day, you encounter a lone minstrel in a horse-drawn wagon, relocating to a safer settlement in the west. On the third day, you spy a copper dragon high overhead, silhouetted against the afternoon sky. Nothing else of note takes place, and just before sunset on the fourth day you pass through the gates of Olostin's Hold, a fortified keep that stands on the northern side of the Evermoor Way. Enclosed within the high walls of the hold is a small village with a market, a smithy, a caravan supplier, an inn called the Headless Troll, and a tavern known as the Flaming Flagon.
Based on Renna's directions, the Tribe of the Hand is located a day's journey to the north. You also remember that Hadrus mentioned the Harpers have someone named Elrik in Olostin's Hold.
Rixton sees his horse to the stables. "Rouse me when you make contact," he says as he breezes past everyone on the way to his room. He thinks to draw a bath but instead falls asleep in the arm chair waiting for the communal bath to become available.
Gwin nods at Rixton as he heads to his room. More hungry than tired, and wishing for a bit of ale, she asks the innkeeper where she can grab a bite to eat. He directs her to the only tavern in town, the Flaming Flagon. She turns to Mola and Jheric, Well, lads? Will you join me? And with a quick wink and slight clearing of the throat she continues, Perhaps they have a wee dram of the Moonshae Stout?
‘The hardest thing in this world is to live in it.’ - Buffy Summers
Each day along the path, Mola leaves his redoubtable mule in the capable hands of the other horses (also with the person he leaves the dwindling bag of apples and sugar beets with), and shifts into Molatiger form and bounds into the grassy scrub and low forest near the road. He is ostensibly hunting down small game for the nightly meal, and scaring the shit out of squirrels, and scouting for any sign of trolls, giants, or human pursuers, but he is also just getting some "me-time" in the wilds. Returning to the group just as the minstrel's about to pass the party, Molatiger accidentally scares the shit out of the player as well. Later, when he sees the copper dragon, he watches the entire time, longing to be able to fly himself.
He's happy but also melancholy to return to civilization in Olostin's Hold, and follows the group to the Headless Troll. He again does not stable Tarnie, preferring to let the mule roam free, though eventually someone has to nudge him to observe proprieties and guide him to the stable.
"Gwin! Music to my ears," Mola says to his companion's suggestion, grinning and running his hand over his beard. "A moonshae stout would really net the old thistle now, wouldn't it?"
He heads to the Flaming Flagon with her and potentially Jheric, ready to listen for any mention of Elrik and deferring to Gwin to make contact.
Minstrels were all well and good in taverns, but that one was humming a song as it passed that stuck with Jheric for the next two days. Just as he was going insane, the distant form overhead was passing. It took a moment to focus above, but when he realized the form he immediately grew ecstatic. Whooping and cheering from his horse, everyone may have thought him insane, but seeing a dragon, let alone a metallic breed, was an incredible thing in life. Sadly, it passed too far overhead, unaware of the travelers below.
On arrival to Olostin's Hold, the offer of drinks sounds too good to pass up and he happily joins Mola and Gwin. "We need to plan our next move anyway."
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Upon entering the Flaming Flagon, the source of the establishment's name is immediately apparent: an ordinary flagon floats and sheds light in the middle of the taproom. The locals, who are happy to share the tale behind this curiosity, explain that the flagon was accidentally enchanted during a wizards’ duel long ago. It has faithfully illuminated the place for decades. The patrons of the Flagon, on this particular evening anyway, are both welcoming and talkative. A rather boisterous game of darts is taking place on one side of the room.
You inquire of Elrik's whereabouts and learn that he's currently not in the Hold; he left for Everlund two days ago and will likely return in another day or two. "Visiting his sister," explains a wrinkled old dwarf. "If you're headin' that way, there's a fair chance you'll meet 'im on the road then. May I ask what business you have with Elrik?"
One of the main topics of discussion in the tavern is a recent attack on a caravan group. Seven days ago, a few merchants and their hired guards were murdered by some Uthgardts in the night. They were camped half-way between Everlund and Olostin's Hold.
"Not all of 'em killed," remarks the bartender. "Some were taken captive, I hear."
"Worse than being killed, I say," remarks the wrinkled old dwarf, whose name you eventually learn is Burrik.
"Raiding a caravan ain't normal for barbarians. Unheard of around here," comments a young human who seems to be the resident champion of the dartboard.
"I dare 'em to try such a thing on the Hold," boasts Burrik. "It'd be their last venture outta the High Forest."
To which the bartender replies, "You can lead the charge, Burrik. Walking stick in one hand and a pint in the other."
"Things are getting even more suspicious of the Uthgardt. Best we make our peace with the Tribe of the Hand, get the Pike brothers, and move on."
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Mola's enraptured by the floating flagon. He loves the friendly banter and mostly watches, but offers his own additions, offers to join the darts game, and takes kindly to Burrik's approach to threats.
"Barbarians wouldn't stand a chance!" He tells about the Shieldmeet competitions in Yartar. "It was very strange. They gave me stones. Asked me to throw them. I did. People cheered! Then they lost this poor pig. Asked me to catch it. I asked the pig to stop. It did. They cheered again! Friend of mine threw axes really well and they cheered him too. Gwin hit bullseyes with a bow, and I cheered. Anyhow, and I wonder if you could help us out. Someone else we met there said Elrik would be really good for us to talk to about a little project of ours. What's he like? Haven't had a chance to meet him yet. We're also curious about the Hand. Do they take people?"