"All I know is a rumor that he and his band were sheltered by the Zhentarim as they passed north over the Evermoors," says the CO. "That was before they hit Mirabar. So at least on the face, seems like he has some contacts in the Black Network."

The poster has a likeness sketeched of "the Weevil," who appears to be a dwarf. (I'll figure out how to post it later)

The Lord of the hold looks to have an Iluskan heritage, and wears a large winter fur—perhaps a wolf pelt—adorned with gold chains. Under the fur is a thick silk tunic and pants, and he is wearing fine fur-lined boots. His retinue are clad in similar furs, but are wearing leathers underneath.

Ink returns to the group disseminates what he has learned and agrees that the barbarian graveyard would be make for a perhaps informative detour on their way to Everlund. 

You can either choose to aim for searching the area for dead barbarians at night (in the dark), or in the morning after getting a good sleep in a local inn along the Way. Or you could try pushing it, keeping a very fast pace with Constitution checks all around, to try and get there with some daylight to spare. Let me know how you'd like to handle it!

Crownsguard waves as Ink returns back to the group, “Welcome back, Ink. I was just discussing the benefits of my maintenance to Flint and Marav. As I was saying, my essence distribution system is far more efficient now. I no longer suffer entropic exhaustion from operating without rest, therefore, I can effectively stay active forever. Additionally, my physical strength has returned to what it once was as well. My operating strength has effectively doubled. Finally, my modular defensive systems have come back online as well.” Crownsguard flexes an arm as plate and wood bend and reconfigure, “I believe that this should prove to be a valuable asset in further ventures.”

Ink suggests, "If the nobleman is healthy enough, I say we hurry our pace to get there before nightfall - the longer we wait, the more the scene will be harder to decipher."

//  Ink will go along with what the group decides, but I'm pre-rolling his CON CHECK given the latency of my responses as of late - CON Check 5   //

"And yes - I've noticed that you seem to have several upgrades. You are an interesting combination of machine, magic and divinity - I wish we hadn't lost the knowledge that led to you. Perhaps you'll rediscover it one day."

Crownsguard’s body seems to lock up at that. However, after a moment, he seems to come back to his senses, “I appreciate the sentiment, Ink. Thank you...”

// Marav, Flint, Rip—you guys wanna push ahead? Let me know if you are good for CON checks and try and investigate tonight, or are going to be taking it at a normal pace and do your investigation in the morning. //

 Con 8

I am good with going forward

//sorry got busy over the weekend. I'm game for pushing ahead//

Con: 14

// Okay sounds like the group is in a hurry—just need some CON checks from Crownsguard and Rip then! //

Engaging Long-Term Exploration Protocols: 11

Crownsguard is still growing used to his new abilities. He is trying to sort out his new gear to prevent wear and tear.

con 22

The early morning weather as you set out from Olostin’s Hold is gray, with low clouds and hardly any wind. Your pace is quick, and the wagon groans and creaks as its wooden wheels pound into the uphill gravel road. Soon the fog envelopes you, permitting only a dozen yards or so of visibility.

As the morning wears on, your travels north shortly bring you through miles of clearcut hillside. The road winds around thick tree stumps, hewn clean and sun-dried. Decades ago this was wooded, but the logging industry has deforested this entire swath surrounding the Evermoor Way. It’s not possible to tell how far the clear-cutting goes, due to the presence of the obscuring fog. A few small spurs lead off the road here and there, and after a while, a way-sign indicates  distances to the north—“Everlund - 30 miles,” and “Horse's Mouth Inn - 10 miles.” Despite the fog, you seem to be making good time!

A while later, just past lunch, the fog breaks and you are able to see the quaint Horse's Mouth Inn in the distance, nestled against a hillock and surrounded by a couple farms. The Evermoor Way continues north, and a couple miles to the northwest you see the destination mentioned by the soldier yesterday—a lake fed by a stream from the Rauvin, surrounded by tree-topped hills. 

The way has been hard and a few of you have aches and pains from the uneven, poorly-kept road. 

// If you didn’t succeed against the DC of 15 for the Constitution check, you suffer one level of exhaustion upon arriving at the lake. //

Please narrate your general manner as you finish the hike to the lake, and feel free to backfill the narrative from today’s journey.

As Crownsguard finishes the hike, it is clear that he did not have an easy time. He is completely covered in mud, twigs, various animal droppings, and possibly a bird’s empty nest. His movements are slow and there is the distinct sound of twigs snapping in his joint. Crownsguard’s voice echoes through the debris, “Nature... is... truly... majestic... could... someone... get... this... rodent... off... of me...” There is a raccoon firmly attached to Crownsguard’s back.

"We told you not to wander into that thicket, Crownsguard," replies Ink with a few breaths in between, catching them. 

He stretches his arms skyward before placing his hands on his head keeping his chest and lungs stretched out.  "Too much time in the cart, not enough walking and running about. I didn't expect to be this out of sorts."

He then snaps a finger and Quill reappears, a feint smell of brimstone stretching through the air. He whirls his finger in the air, and between breaths says, "Patrol." Breath.  "Observe."

"Aaaah, what a lovely day!" Rip takes a deep breath and sighs "that was quite the enjoyable little jaunt, now lets not dally-OHMYGODS!!! oh, it's just you crownsquard. Why, you're a mess!" Rip is annoyingly in good spirits and maximum energy as he begins de-cluttering the robot using liberal applications of prestidigitation. 17 for the Raccoon, using minor illusion to get it off Crownsgaurd.

Quote from jr_el_leon >>

"We told you not to wander into that thicket, Crownsguard," replies Ink with a few breaths in between, catching them. 

He stretches his arms skyward before placing his hands on his head keeping his chest and lungs stretched out.  "Too much time in the cart, not enough walking and running about. I didn't expect to be this out of sorts."

He then snaps a finger and Quill reappears, a feint smell of brimstone stretching through the air. He whirls his finger in the air, and between breaths says, "Patrol." Breath.  "Observe."

 “I blame the fog... and the low branches. Your thickets are not designed for large constructs. You should see about fixing that.”

Quote from Gimpster >>

"Aaaah, what a lovely day!" Rip takes a deep breath and sighs "that was quite the enjoyable little jaunt, now lets not dally-OHMYGODS!!! oh, it's just you crownsquard. Why, you're a mess!" Rip is annoyingly in good spirits and maximum energy as he begins de-cluttering the robot using liberal applications of prestidigitation. 12 for the Raccoon, using minor illusion to get it off Crownsgaurd.

 The raccoon hisses and runs off between Rip’s legs, meanwhile Crownsguard is clean as a whistle once more, “Thank you, Rip. I should be able to clear any other debris during my nightly watch. I imagine my systems will be fully operational once more in the morning.” Crownsguard feels his face, notices that the smiling face isn’t there anymore, and walks over to the lake. He dips his finger in some wet soil and draws it on once more, “There we go. Image preserved.”

"I could paint that on for you Crownsguard, it would be more permanent."

“That would be acceptable, thank you.” Crownsguard sits down.