 |
 |
|
|
|
|
Chapter 84 - Seasons Changing
Berdusk 1371 DR, Eleint, 21st day, Autumn Equinox, morning
Various kinds of activities filled the past six days. Between Puddy’s and Kevin’s research and experimenting, they properly identified the collection of items recovered from the ruined mill, and described them to the others. Stashed away in one of the Mumadar’s ‘secret’ rooms, some of the items were stowed away until a proper moment of distributing them – or if needs be sell them to generate some funds aside from the sponsoring of Lord Jalarghar, as individual purses appear to be on the verge of drying up.
Of course, the scrolls and spellbook saw some changing of hands: Kevin, Puddy, Jezbodiah, Tarim and Immerine perusing the documents, adding more variety to their arcane repertoires where possible. Yet, not only matters arcane kept the wizards and sorcerers busy. Tarim spent quite some time at the House of the High Hand; the slender tower a clear landmark, and visible above the other buildings between the Running Stag and the shrine of Azuth.
Immerine’s participation in the studying is almost mechanical; it is as if the witch’s mind is elsewhere while she attends the research and rehearsals of the newfound arcane lore. Ever since returning from the Reaching Wood, the young woman has been more or less spiritually absent, but only now, back in the enclosed environment of Berdusk and the Running Stag is it more and more apparent.
The witch’s withdrawal into her self does not pass unnoticed by Tarim, the Uthgardt mage declines several invitations of the others to go to town. Instead, he stays behind trying to keep company to Immerine for as much as she lets him. Though the young woman converses and participates in the discussions with Tarim, she does not share what seems to be bothering her.
While Tarim stayed behind, Kevin spent some time shopping with Teryn and Jezbodiah, the local warrior knowing some of the better smiths in town to purchase a decent crossbow and a quantity of bolts to go with it. At the request of Jez, the same weapon smith also replaced the hilt on the etched magical sword found at the ruin.
With the Running Stag, being as crowded as it is, Branith, Tuttle and Teryn went to another tavern for drinks and merriment. Mumadar recommended the ‘Flourished Flagon’: a somewhat rowdy place and a favorite spot for residential dwarves, gnomes and halflings, as well as their visiting kin. Though still a little insecure being in a crowded place like Berdusk – a feeling Immerine sympathizes with – Tuttle nevertheless felt a little at home amongst the cavorting folk in the ‘Flagon’.
Two days after returning from the ruined mill, Matteo Ashgale came by to inform that he received a different assignment. He would not say much, but Immerine could tell that Captain Zaina somehow was part of this new ‘assignment’. He did bring some more news though; city officials had made further investigations into the warehouse where Portia and Skeen spent time in captivity. The Cult of the Dragon was behind the operation, covertly using the warehouse for their nefarious ends.
Apparently, another cell of the Cult was uncovered in Iriaebor, prompting the guard to take a more active and open role in the investigation. Matteo’s comments more than hinted at his current assignment being in relation to this. The Sembian also mentioned that Lord Sillisten, Death’s Hand of Kelemvor sent one of the acolytes of the Crystal Mansion to inform him about Portia. The red-haired priestess would have to attend duties at the shrine. Once done with these duties, she would return to join him and the others.
Besides getting to keep the ‘spoils of war’ that the group uncovered, the ruling powers of Berdusk also provide a monetary reward. Matteo brought a strong chest with him; the stout hardwood affair secured with sturdy bands of iron and an intricate lock, which Jezbodiah immediately recognizes as his father’s handiwork. Filled almost to the brim with coins, the chest contains money in the form of a variety of silver, gold and some platinum coins.
Accompanying the money is a small parchment letter:
To the company of the Running Stag,
On behalf of the city of Berdusk, I thank you for your contribution in uncovering a nest of evil in the midst of our city. It once more proves that one can never think oneself free of the taint of evil, no matter how good the cleansing has been. The discoveries have increased our vigilance, and thanks to your timely interventions, greater evil has likely been thwarted.
Please accept the reward that comes with this letter.
Cylyria Dragonbreast
Effectively, the group is now on its own, the letter and the payment a dismissal from government services. However, before leaving, Matteo did mention that in the future the city might request additional services.
After Matteo left, Kevin and Tarim turned themselves business, trying to learn the properties of the other items discovered in the last tenday. Both wizards more or less holed up in Kevin’s room, joined by a curious Puddy. It takes them the better part of a day to identify all the properties of the items, but finally they are able to share the listing with the rest of the team.
On the fourth day back in Berdusk, Branith – in a typical stubborn dwarven way – went into town on his own to purchase equipment. Being unfamiliar with the city other than the areas he had already been in, it took the sturdy dwarven priest of Moradin the better part of the day to find a suitable smithy, make his purchase and return to the Stag.
The next morning Immerine does not join the others for breakfast, and when Tarim goes back upstairs to find her, he discovers that her room is empty! Quickly he makes it downstairs to the stables, dashing trough the common room and out the front door, surprising the others. Teryn, sensing something amiss gets up and follows the Uthgardt mage.
The box with the repaired door in which Qwenta should have been stabled is empty. Somehow, Tarim dreaded this after finding the witch’s room empty. “What is it?” Teryn asks when he joins Tarim in the stables. The frail young mage stands in the doorway to Qwenta’s pen, leaning on his staff heavily. In a small, hollow voice, he answers simply, “She’s gone.”
Looking down at his feet Teryn shakes his head. “I’m sorry to hear that. I take it you don’t think she’s coming back?” Teryn’s words are as much a question as a statement. “Any idea what prompted this? Did she get into it with Matteo again?” After a few seconds of reflection, he adds, “You don’t think there was foul play involved in her disappearance do you?”
In a somber tone the mage replies “I haven’t the faintest idea what her reasons were but I don’t think she’ll be returning, no. The fact that Quenta is gone gives me the feeling that she left of her own accord.” Tarim looks at the empty stall and after a few seconds merely shrugs. “I wish her well, wherever she goes, may Mystra guide and protect her.” With that, he turns and begins walking back into the Running Stag, looking a little more frail and tired than usual.
Teryn shakes his head at the empty stall and sighs deeply, hanging his head for a moment before rushing to catch up to his friend. When he does so, he speaks to Tarim “That’s two women who have disappeared in just a few days and we still don’t know about Luna!” He hesitates for a second, a gut wrenching fear gripping him momentarily. “She better be okay!” He adds, though that last comment not necessarily aimed at Tarim.
* * *
The past days have seen an increase in activity in the cities inns and taverns as travelers and merchants throng for the upcoming Highharvestide festivities. In the Stag’s courtyard, the inn’s stableboys and some others are preparing one of the many parade floats that will participate in the holiday’s harvest parade. Also the interior of the Running Stag – like most other public places – is being decorated with the season’s theme, the smells of mulled wine and dark brown beers prevalent, and in addition to the limited selection of foodstuffs, Mumadar has added gingerbread, baked in a variety of shapes.
It is at breakfast on the morn of the autumn equinox, the fire blazing heartily to expel the chill of the morning, Mumadar has just brought another round of drinks, when the door opens and two people enter. A wood elf maiden and a gray-haired man step in. Teryn is the first to recognize Luna, the warrior almost falling off his chair in surprise.
“LUNA!” He shouts, the young warrior using the momentum of almost falling out of his chair to gain his feet as he makes haste weaving among the tables and chairs to reach Luna, hugging and planting a big kiss on her lips. After a very long kiss he whispers to her, “I was so worried about you, I thought you should have been here much sooner.” Looking serious for a moment he adds “I’m so sorry about Areo but you should be proud, he fought bravely.”
Branith enjoys the drinking and jumps out of his seat once he sees the elf-maiden come in through the door. His short stubby legs close the distance to Luna with a speed that even a fleet-footed elf would envy. But obviously not as fast as Teryn, as the warrior greets Luna the dwarf remains behind him scraping a foot on the floor. With a smile towards Luna he hugs her legs gently, or hard depending on if you are the squeezer or the one being squeezed.
“I am so glad to see you back in health again Luna.” He says with a broader smile and a reddening face once he realizes he is not that dwarven. With a more somber tone and straightened posture he adds, “If we ever find the one responsible behind this I will sure help you put him down, I swear it by my clan and by Moradin.” he looks up at her his eyes filled with resolute conviction.
Turning at Teryn’s exclamation Tarim smiles and rises, he keeps his spot however seeing the attention she has already garnered and merely gives her a happy little wave. “Welcome back, Luna.” He says, just loud enough to be heard once the more vocal members of the group have finished…
Tuttle grins at the reunion, but says nothing. He quietly imitates the tipping of his hat in her direction, welcoming her back. As soon as the excitement dwindles, the halfling steps forward. “It is good to have you back, Luna. But, I suggest that we consider our options before moss grows on our feet.”
Temporarily silenced by the exuberant greeting from her friends and the kiss from Teryn, Luna looks about a little bewildered and reaches briefly for the arm of her escort. Teryn is about to lead Luna to his table when he pauses and asks Luna, “Is this gentleman with you?”
“Yes, he has been taking care of me after I was brought back from Qheldin’s Mask.” The ranger answers, “Please let me introduce you to Tolgar Ondabarl, servant of the Morninglord.” The middle-aged priest inclines his head in greeting, “Well met.”
“I came to see if you were back and how you all are doing.” Luna says as she follows Teryn to the table, Branith and the Lathanderite following behind. “Not that I’m ready to continue with all of you at this time. I have yet to recover my full strength.” As these words sink in, it is suddenly obvious that the young woman has lost weight and indeed is not back to herself. The dappled light of the autumn canopy in the Stag hid it at first glance, but now up close, the pink skin still in the middle of a healing process there where the biting spittle of the green dragon had eaten away at her face.
“I had hoped to see you all back here…” The recovering ranger looks at those of her friends gathered in the Running Stag, the question plain on her face as she now partially leans on Teryn for support, “…but some faces are missing… where is Immerine? Portia, and Goodman Matteo?”
From his favorite spot in the rafters, the little fey looks on, as the elf introduces her companion. A small stack of gingerbread and fruit beside him slowly disappears as he observes the tall folk.
“Well met, Tolgar and thank you for taking care of Luna.” Teryn bows to the older man. As he offers both a seat, sadness replaces the happy expression he had since seeing Luna “There have been a number of things happening in your absence. Immerine seems to have left without a word; Portia and Matteo have other duties right now, though we hope Portia will be able to rejoin us soon; Telsom…” The warrior pauses, “…Telsom went a little too paladin and tried to take on that green dragon alone and lost, and this…” He points to the halfling, “…is Tuttle, a ranger who helped get us and you to safety.”
A flutter of wings sounds over the noise in the taproom, and Kevin’s winged cat appears from his hiding place on an overhead branch. Performing a controlled fall rather than true flight, he lands in front of Luna and gives her a sniff. Sitting back on his hind legs, wings tucked tightly to his back, Kethron looks up at Luna’s face, his head tilted in an almost bird-like manner. He seems curious about something.
The halfling tips his hat at his introduction and plucks a small stone from his belt. “That I did. I am indeed Tuttle. It seems that I will be your traveling companion at least for now and as long as it serves the wood.” He says, while making the stone ‘walk’ across the back of his hand. “It is good to see you alive and awake, Luna.”
The conversation of the assembled group settles quickly around the events in the Reaching Wood, and on what occurred afterward, Luna listening with interest, and asking questions every now and then. Tolgar, the priest of Lathander sits a little back and observes Luna more than taking interest in the conversations. Soon, it becomes apparent that Luna’s strength is not yet fully returned, as she excuses herself, “I’m sorry, I need to head back. The ordeal with the dragon has sapped more of my strength than I thought.”
“It is your body using energy to heal itself Luna.” The elderly priest says as he rises and helps Luna to her feet – immediately assisted by Teryn. “At least your friends know that you’re on the mend and they know that they can find you at the Roseportal House.” Taking her leave of the group, Luna lets Tolgar and Teryn escort her back out, the Berduskan warrior does not let him be dissuaded by either Luna or Tolgar and insists on taking her back to rest.
It is after a short while that Teryn returns and rejoins the others at the table – with the coming and going of patrons, the group saw a chance to pull two tables together. When Mumadar sets another round of drinks on the table, along with a few buttered toasts, the bald innkeeper looks at the group assembled. “I humbly beg your pardons, but I might have some advice.” Seemingly out of nowhere a coin has appeared in Mumadar’s hand, and he idly flips it between his fingers without paying attention to it, “That is if you would like to receive it. By no means do I want to force it upon you.”
A soft voice from behind the innkeeper says, “By all means Mumadar. You have been a good friend to each of us in times of need. Your advice is always welcome.” Immerine steps around Mumadar and looks at the gathering at the tables. She did not come in the main entrance or at least no one saw her enter. She seems more mild and composed than the day she disappeared with no explanation. She looks different too. Her hair pulled up into an intricate design and she is wearing a soft velvet green gown dipped at the bodice and adorned with lace. She also wears a new facemask crafted of a white material and adorned with feathers.
Branith greets the other reappearing shadow from the past with a nod and smile, “It is good to see you back witch. We thought we might have lost you for a while. Might one ask why you were gone?” He asks while he dips into the ale Mumadar had placed before him.
“I am sure more than one will ask. So before they do, I will tell you only this. I have made peace in myself concerning a problem. I have also gotten the items I wished to purchase. And Qwenta and I have reaffirmed the reasons we are here as well as having studied the mysteries set before me. I cannot simply study by rote, it takes a little more for me to become comfortable with the powers I am uncovering. What have you learned in my absence? Or do you even wish to share it; I know I am not the most dependable creature amongst us.” The usual acerbic tone is gone from Immerine’s voice.
At seeing Immerine, Teryn’s first reaction is momentary surprise, quickly replaced by a wide grin. “You are always welcome Immerine. Sit and we will tell you all that has happened, after listening to Mumadar’s proposition.” He stands up and pulls back an empty chair for her, holding it and waiting behind it ready to assist her in true gentlemanly fashion. “You just missed a brief visit from Luna. She is doing well but is still weak.”
Looking up from a sheet of paper he was studying the young mage’s reaction to Immerine’s return is telling. He literally lights up with surprise and delight for a moment, before clamping down on his enthusiasm and nodding to her respectfully. “Ah welcome back.” Tarim stammers somewhat lamely
“We’ve learned that the sword has a dwarven history and it now has a descent hilt. Matteo and Portia have new assignments and other than that…” He shrugs, “…The days goes by… I guess…” Jez, by all accounts, seems unconcerned with Immerine’s return, as if her sudden departure had involved personal matters. Not wishing to pry he continues, “I believe the barkeep has something he wishes to share with us. So let’s not keep him waiting.”
Immerine’s eyes flash dangerously but her voice remains smooth and calm, “Mumadar has been invited to speak and I am sure he will in a moment.” The halfling grins and pulls one of his smooth stones out of his belt. “I am always interested in a bit of advice.” Tuttle eyes Mumadar’s fingers and then twirls his stone in a similar fashion. Then, in an attempt to ‘one-up’ the man, Tuttle tosses the stone against the wall and catches the ricochet backhanded. “What say you?”
A little self-conscious, Mumadar tucks his coin away, his hands for the moment idle. “Young master Wisp actually touched upon the matter that I would bring up, goodwoman from Rashemen. Ever since you arrived here – almost two tendays ago – you had been very busy and active. As of the last couple of days, you have been hanging around, spending the coin on food, drink and merriments… No offense intended, and you are more than welcome to stay, but I could bring you in contact with someone who might be interested in your recently acquired funds. Of course, he would reimburse you for the safekeeping.” The scarred man looks at each at the table, “There are always others in need of money and willing to pay dearly for it at a later point in time. Not a business to my liking, but it might be worth thinking about.”
“I know the caravan season is as good as over and winter has typically not too much in store. However, you might want to check out the pamphlets posted on the trees at ‘Orcslayer Fountain’. These pamphlets are posted by employers and those looking for work; typically the type of work for those who one would term ‘adventurers’.”
As if on its own accord, the innkeeper’s hand slipped back into his pocket, and the coin is once more tumbling idly over the man’s knuckles. “A couple of days ago you might have noticed a mixed group of those ‘adventurers’. Those that wanted to go to the Forest Kingdom, Cormyr, these types of folk typically organize themselves into some loose band or become part of a larger mercenary-like organization. Nearby ‘Blackpost’s Bench’ is catering to these types of individuals, and many a group set out from this Tankard House after forming there. The risks are often high in the adventuring business, but the gains when successful are equally high.”
“Again, it is none of my business and if you are willing to spend the rest of your coin in my place I won’t stop you, but it looks to me as talent wasted.”
Alanna stealthily slips out of her satchel and makes her way onto Jez’s shoulder. She nuzzles her bushy fur across his neck, his cheek, and squeaks and whistles something into his ear. “Okay, I see you found something you couldn’t get your mouth around.” Jez replies a light chuckle. “You’ll get something to eat, but leave my pouch of raisins alone.”
Pulling a bright red apple out of the same satchel, Jez takes his dagger, slices off a thick chunk of the fruit and hands it to his greedy familiar. Alanna, in no time, takes the wedge of sweet fruit and chews it away hungrily. In no time, juicy crumbs and bits fall onto Jez’s shoulder and the floor below, while the ferret is caking her furry paws and chin in sticky apple juice.
Kevin enters the taproom, wearing his bandolier over his shoulder. It looks out of place without his traveling coat on, but at least two of the pockets obviously hold sheets of parchment. Presumably, the wizard has some writing implements with him as well. He stops as he sees the doubled table, then slips in next to Tarim. “Have I missed something?”
The dwarf downs the last of his beverage and says to Kevin. “Ay, you did, Luna was here, all tough she is getting better she isn’t fully recovered yet. As you can see Immerine is back as well, and Mumadar here just told us of some possible work leads.” Turning to the man in question Branith says, “Tell us more about this friend of yours who is interested in some gold barkeep.”
The halfling gives a slight grin as the bartender pockets his coin. He listens carefully to the man before giving a frank response. “The money lending is not for me, I say. I will hold onto my own purse. That is, except for what I give to you, my friend, even if it is ‘talent wasted’.” Tuttle gives another slight grin at the bartender and pockets his stone before turning to the rest of his group.
“While I’ve enjoyed this man’s wares, I already grow weary of the town life. If I am to have a vote, adventure would be my choice.” The halfling starts. “I am still bound to the forest and the druids that protect it. For now my job is to stay with you and I will do that wherever you decide to go. But, if I am to vote, I say that there are other more enticing and worthy things to do than sit on our haunches.”
“Well spoken. I agree with Tuttle. I do not like the idea of funding others with something I can do myself. And sitting here in the shade of this beautiful establishment is not why I left my homeland. There is the continued problem with the undead. It is something I need to aid in correcting.” Immerine replies smoothly.
Tarim puts the sheaf of paper down in front of him and takes a small sip of his wine. Leaning back in his chair he smiles kindly and answers the man in his smooth tenor voice, “Your kindness is appreciated, Mumadar and you are correct. These past few days have been put to excellent use in some cases. Spells have been learned and re-scribed and I have a much clearer understanding of the Lady of Mysteries wishes for me.”
“For my part the last few days have been very productive, but yes, I am now ready to get back to business as they say. I hope Immerine will allow me to assist her in the investigation into the undead presence here. I would like to help in any way I can.” The young mage’s tone is earnest and his voice conveys his sincerity clearly, along with the electric-blue eyes that regard her kindly…
Jezbodiah listens carefully to the others while the ferret has her breakfast on his shoulder, then throws his two or three proverbial coppers into the lot. “This man you speak of Mumadar? Does he have a name and is he a native of Berdusk? I may have heard of him.”
“You might very well have, your parents surely would.” The innkeeper replies. “Aulimann the Patient is his name, and he is a well respected moneylender. His rates are fair and honest, not as cutthroat as some less reputable individuals are. Just some humble advice from my side. But if you will excuse me, I see some refills are in order, for you as well as for some of my other guests.”
Taking the empty mugs from the table, the innkeeper heads for the bar, his advice having set some thoughts in motion. While the days might have been productive for some, an air of anticipation and eagerness seems to hang above the table: Tuttle and Immerine the most vocal and visible representations of this collective feeling.
“Moneylending? Hmm, intriguing idea, I’ll have to think on that.” Teryn looks thoughtful as he rubs his chin. “As for investigating the undead, that sounds like a good place to go from here.”
“I believe, good sir, Mumadar was offering us some subtle hints.” He says as he eyes the barbarian-mage. “I think it may be necessary for us to secure money for supplies and horses if we wish to continue our investigation into the on-coming event that threatens Berdusk. Mayhap a visit to my parents and then Aulimann is in order?”
“Your parents?” The warrior’s interest piqued by the half-elf’s comments, he asks, “Should I know them. I’ve lived here all my life.”
“It shouldn’t be hard to miss either one of them.” Jezbodiah says with an amused smile. “My father is a locksmith and my mother is the caretaker for the shrine for Lliira. She put her own personal touch on every festival, birthday, wake, and wedding in the last ten years.” He beams with pride until he continues. “Lately they’ve had other matters weighting on them.” Teryn notices a tang of concern in his last uttered sentence.
“That’s your mother!” Teryn says incredulously. “I used to run errands between the shrine of Lliira and Twilight Hall all the time. My mother was a priestess of Denier and my father worked at Twilight Hall!”
As Mumadar heads back to the bar a familiar voice calls out somewhat peevishly “There you are, Mumadar. While the bath was a splendid idea, I expected there to be another bottle w…” Nik’s voice trails off as he notices his companions are nearby.
“IMMERINE?!” The bard cries as he scurries over to the table. Never healthy-looking at the best of times, Nik now most resembles a corpse that has not had the sense to stop moving. Although he is freshly scrubbed and shaven, it only accentuates the sallowness of his skin and the deep shadows that hide his eyes. His clothes hang loosely on his rawboned frame, betraying the weight he has lost in the few days he has been absent.
However, a delighted grin crosses his cadaverous face as he looms over the witch. “Immerine!” Nik repeats, bloodshot eyes bright with joy. “It’s wonderful to see you! I thought you had left.” His grin becomes a bit self-conscious as his eyes flicker skittishly across the faces of his other companions. “It’s good to see the rest of you, of course.” He says quickly. Nik clears his throat and tugs anxiously at the scarf around his throat, adding awkwardly “I half-expected you to be off on some other grand adventure.”
Immerine’s eyes flinch at the sight of Nik’s sallow form. She breathes deeply and exhales slowly before greeting her friend. “Nik… no I didn’t leave but trust me the thought did cross our minds and souls several times. I have too much respect for why I am here and the beings who called to me to simply leave.”
Immerine stands up. “Come, Sit, Eat. You look worse for wear and I can assume you have simply been drinking your meals. You need solid food in your body else you are going to be as thin as the shades I am pursuing.” She walks directly to the bard holding her hands out, palms up and reaches to take his hands in her own. Her tone to the bard is commanding, yet comforting. There is no look of pity in her eyes, only happiness in seeing him again.
The gaunt bard’s smile wavers as Immerine mentions his drinking, and fear flickers in the sunken eyes. But as she takes his hands and directs him to sit and eat, Nik raises one eyebrow in mock-offence and looks down his long nose at her. For a moment he looks gravely serious, then he throws back his head and laughs, his humor for once utterly without the bitter edge that normally mars it.
“I can’t hide a thing from you, can I?” he chuckles, ducking his head like a mischievous schoolboy. “I don’t know why I even try. Yes, I spent the last few days at the bottom of a bottle. No, I don’t know when I last ate. And yes, I suppose food should be in order.” He cocks his head and winks at her, a wickedly amused gleam in his bloodshot eyes and the crooked, manic grin on his lips. “Especially if I’m going to be any sort of help at all to you.”
He lets Immerine direct him to a chair, and reaches for a piece of toast. The bard’s bony hand trembles slightly as he raises the bread in salute to the witch, then starts to eat. In spite of his cheerful, oddly-feckless attitude Nik eats slowly but steadily; clearly he has recovered from such drinking binges many times before and knows that the return of food can be quite a shock to the stomach.
“So…” He mumbles to no one in particular, around a mouthful of toast. “What is the plan now, anyway?”
Kevin speaks up. “I have no problem with putting at least some money into a moneylending account. If nothing else, it helps to save it from thieves.” He pauses, then smirks. “Well, except for the moneylender, perhaps. But even if Mumadar was mistaken, at least we would know who the thief was, yes?”
The wizard sobers though, “Meanwhile, I would like to find out more about the undead problems. I did some research on the… creature we faced at the mill, and while it wasn’t in-depth, I did manage to identify it. I didn’t get the impression that it was a common sort of undead – someone created it, with a very specific process. The some one that created that darkenbeast, perhaps – I don’t really know how old the creature was. If it was the same person, though, he’s even more powerful than I feared. The process isn’t something one undertakes on a whim.”
“What, some dang necromancer has begun raising dead all over the country side, or was it made further back in time?” The dwarf says, with obvious distaste in his voice at the mentioning of undead things; or would that be magic in itself. “So what if we hear Mumadar out about this moneylender and then those who are interested in that might go and talk to him and the rest check out these job descriptions.” Teryn nods quietly at Branith’s idea then takes another sip of his drink.
Tears of boredom well up in the eyes of the tiny pixie as what had looked to be an interesting conversation at the table of the tall folk turned to topics of banking and moneylending. The little fey valiantly fights off the onset of ennui, and wings his way from the rafter above the table to the bows of the tree where he had previously encountered another fairy in hopes of acquiring a bit of gossip concerning Aulimann, necromancers, or even other fey.
Kevin frowns. “I told you, I don’t know.” He says with some irritation. “It’s rather hard to tell exactly how old an undead is. Now that I know what it is, I might be able to tell – ‘if’ I had it in front of me. Even then, I don’t know. I didn’t pay a lot of attention to necromantics when I was in Silverymoon.”
Tarim watches and listens, and thinks; so many differences and so many open avenues to pursue. “I, for one…” He begins, “…will be taking Goodman Mumadar’s advice. “I have read, and heard a bit about the principles of moneylending and I believe that a great deal of good can come from the judicious use of funds with certain rules applied.”
The Uthgardt wizard chuckles briefly, “Plus of course that means they will be out of my hands and safe from being spent. Until we can find more information leading to the source of the undead I think we should take a look at the notes at Orcslayer Fountain and keep busy, what do the rest of you say?”
“Kevin?” The warrior asks, “Was there anything at the mill, either in the papers or on the deceased or undead creature that might indicate their age, or what their names were in life? If we can find out who they were that should tell us when they lived. What about the clothing, maybe there was a style about them that can narrow down a time period, anything? Maybe Nik can tell something about what we found. I’ll have him look at that chain shirt.” Looking over toward Nik, who is well into his cups, the warrior looks back at Kevin “Maybe tomorrow.”
“I couldn’t find anything I could pin down.” Kevin admits, “I’m no expert on clothing, and my historical knowledge mainly has to do with arcane magic. It could well be that someone with more knowledge of this area’s history could find something in the papers I can’t. Perhaps even Nik… though, I agree, not today. Kevin looks at Nik again, seeing the bard’s hesitant movement. “And maybe not even tomorrow. I think he’ll be feeling even more miserable in the morning than he is now. I wonder what memories drive him to drink like this?”
The bard seems very absorbed in working his way through the supply of toast, but Teryn’s mention of his name draws his attention. One eyebrow raised in inquiry Nik turns to Teryn and says cheerfully, “I couldn’t begin to guess what relevant fact might be buried in the rubbish-heap I call a mind. But I don’t see why tomorrow will be any better for investigating than today.” He shrugs dismissively and adds, “Unless you all have something important to do today. I’m sure I don’t.”
As he turns back to his toast, his gaze falls on Kevin. For a long moment, there is nothing but haunted pain in the dull hazel eyes, and then he quickly looks away. “As for why I drink, Master Kevin, well, that’s a story I’ve related one time to many these past weeks.” His voice is low and toneless, and he picks restlessly at the piece of toast in his hands, narrow shoulders slumped and a tic under one sunken eye. “You’re from Silverymoon, you said. If you were older, you’d already know. At least you’d know a good bit of it.”
Nik shudders, and visibly forces back the bitter anguish twisting his haggard face. Dropping the mangled piece of toast on the table Nik stands quickly, the crooked grin back on his lips. “If you really want to know, ask Jez.” The bard says with brittle cheer. “He knows, but he doesn’t understand it either.”
“Me?” A puzzled Jez replies, “If it’s about the horse a few days back, it was nothing really. But I don’t quite understand myself.”
Hands thrust into his pockets and cadaverous frame hunched up like a man expecting a beating, Nik walks slowly to the bar. Immerine shakes her head at the negative attention and shoots looks of pity Nik’s way. When the bard heads to the bar she follows, the only noise is the swish of the new fabric of her gown against her skin and the floor.
With his face burning in shame, the wizard looks as though he wishes he had not come downstairs at all; perhaps, even wishing for a portal to suddenly swallow him. He had thought the bard could not hear his undertone, or he never would have said what he did.
“Good ears on that man…” Kevin mutters to no one in particular. He spares a quick glare at the tree above him, where, close to the roof, Kethron sits hidden, the tressym’s amused meows giving away the otherwise invisible creature.
A bright red flush crept up Teryn’s face when Nik acknowledged their conversation and walked away. Shaking his head, he looks at Kevin “I should learn to be more circumspect. I started it, let me go talk to him.” He gets up and sighs, hangs his head for a moment then snaps his head up and looks to where Nik and Immerine moved and heads over.
* * *
When she comes even with Nik she asks, “Why do you even explain? You have nothing to prove, Nik. Those who would judge you based solely on your imperfections do not deserve to know you. You are a complicated man with a terrible past. You deal with it in the only way you know how. There is more knowledge buried in your brain than I am sure even you know. You observe things and you store them away. You are a very sensitive man, and that is why you drink – that and fear.” Immerine quietly sits near the bard waiting for him to either order another bottle or not.
Hunched over, elbows on the bar and his head in his hands, Nik sighs deeply as Immerine speaks. He glances over at her, a bemused, bitter-edged smile pulling at his mouth and resignation in his dull eyes. “Why do I explain?” He says, clearly just repeating the witch’s question back to her. Nik shrugs and sighs again, turning back to stare at the top of the bar between his elbows. “Honestly? Because they ask, I suppose. It’s human nature, you know, to ask the bloody obvious. You fall down a well, and the first person to find you just has to say ‘You’ve fallen down a well! Are you alright?!’ And what do you suppose the answer usually is? ‘Of course I’m not alright, you ass! I’ve just fallen down this well!’”
Nik chuckles ruefully. “So, as further proof of the basic clueless-ness of man, I spend the past few days drunk in my room, come out looking like something the cat dragged in and then hacked up.” Nik glances at Immerine again, a bit of his old wicked humor glinting in his eyes. “And don’t you try to tell me I don’t look like the very picture of hell, ‘cause I’m not so far gone I don’t know what I look like when I drag myself out of the bottle again. But I digress. I reappear, looking, well, like shit, and then I expect everyone to, just take it in stride. I’ve fallen down a bottle, am I alright?”
The bard sighs, and the humor is gone as he returns his stare to the wood of the bar. “It would have been easier to lie from the very beginning.” He mutters, “To make something up, something that doesn’t lead to more questions. Or to so many suggestions for other answers; answers that seem so easy from the outside, but are damn near impossible from where I stand.” Nik shrugs again, a faint, hopeless little gesture, and his voice is flat and bitter as he continues, “But if I had lied to you all from the beginning, well, when the truth came out – which it always does, trust me – where would that leave me? A drunk AND, and a liar… and a … thief.”
Nik lifts his head from his hands and looks at Immerine. The pain in his eyes is duller now, more manageable, and his crooked smile is resigned. “You told me that while I drink to forget, all it does is make the memories sharper. You’re completely right, but while I’m drunk, well, everything is a little fuzzy. And it’s harder to hate the face in the mirror when you can’t see it, you know.” Nik looks away, and says softly “I’m trying, but cheerful and sober don’t go together well for me. I want to help you people, more than you know. But I don’t know how to do it… when I’m sober everything scares me, and an innocently-meant comment is like a barbed hook in my flesh. But when I’ve had enough to drink to make me comfortable, well, no one trusts me to do the slightest thing.”
The bard sighs again, and looks down the bar for Mumadar. “I’m only going to have a little.” He tells Immerine, although he does not look at her as he orders a tankard of beer. “I can’t just stop, not after what I’ve had these few days. Not unless I TRULY want to suffer.” He glances back at her, the humor in his eyes taking some of the sting out of his next words. “And I may hate what I see in the mirror every day, but not that much.”
In between serving other patrons, the bald innkeeper reaches for a bottle that seems placed in a different location compared to the other drinks on stock. Pouring a glass, Mumadar puts it in front of the bard, though the scarred man’s eyes look at Immerine and he gives an almost imperceptible nod.
The nod she returns to Mumadar too is almost imperceptible, “Nik, I do not expect you to change overnight. It will take years of support from people who care for you to even begin to erase the pain you have faced in your past. But there must always be a first step and you have already begun the path. Know that if you stumble, and you will, you do have friends to reach for in support. I will be here for you. I can catch you when you when you stumble.”
Immerine turns at the approaching sound of Teryn. Sitting down next to Nik, Teryn wipes his hand across his mouth and starts “Nik, I didn’t mean anything by what I said, I’m sorry. I just thought you might want to relax now and see if you can learn anything from the stuff we got at the mill tomorrow. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“See Nik, here is another.” Immerine laughs lightly and gently tickles Nik’s ribs.
The bard completely misses the silent communication between Mumadar and Immerine, his whole attention for the glass the innkeeper brings him. Nik gulps his drink like a man dying of thirst, but Immerine’s words distract him before he can finish. Setting the nearly-empty glass on the bar with a sharp rattle betraying the tremor in his hand, Nik turns to the witch. There is a faintly bewildered smile on his lips, and the pathetic gratitude lighting his cadaverous face and gleaming from his eyes says all the thanks he seems unable to put into words.
Teryn’s arrival brings the wariness back into Nik’s eyes, his face carefully blank. As the young warrior apologizes, confusion flickers across Nik’s haggard face and the wariness in his eyes deepens to clear distrust.
Then he jumps as Immerine tickles him; a sharp, involuntary jerk that spills the remnants of his drink across the bartop accompanied by a strangled laugh that is almost a yelp. Nik shoots Immerine a startled glance, arm pressed to his ribs in the automatic defense of the extremely ticklish. For a moment he looks horrified and confused, then the manic grin reappears and Nik chuckles. Wry humor replaces the wariness, and he winks at Immerine before turning back to Teryn.
“No need to apologize, lad.” Nik says; the genial smile on his lips mirrored in his sunken eyes. “If anyone should be apologizing it’s me. I’ve a bit of a drinking problem, as I’m quite sure you’ve noticed.” Nik chuckles, and adds roguishly, “Well, actually I don’t have a drinking problem – until the money or the alcohol runs out. Then I have a problem!”
Nik shrugs dismissively, continuing, “But you didn’t offend me, not really. I’m just, well, a bit of a basket case when I’m sober, or anywhere too close to it.” He smiles at Teryn, and says brightly, “But I’ll make you a deal, lad; something I can keep, not some overly-optimistic promise to stop drinking, or to stop being such a thin-skinned coward.” The humor in his expression takes on a serious note as he says, “I promise not to let my drinking affect whatever job you folks set me at, if you promise not to treat me like an invalid… Or an idiot.” Nik holds one bony, trembling hand out to Teryn. Then snatches it back and clenches it into a tight fist.
The bard scowls, eyes narrowed in concentration as he stares at his right hand, clearly willing the shaking to stop. The tremors slow, then finally cease, and Nik holds his hand out again. The cheery smile is back on his lips, but his eyes hold a silent, desperate plea for understanding. “Deal?”
Teryn nods soberly at Nik’s offer and firmly clasps the bard’s hand “Deal! I have not had any reason to doubt your worth. You are a true asset to this group and we would be diminished without you.” Teryn, still holding Nik’s hand, leans close to his ear and whispers something. “If I can ever help you with the promises you don’t think you can keep, I’d be glad to try.”
Berdusk 1371 DR, Eleint, 21st day, Autumn Equinox, late morning
On her way to the Running Stag to see if her companions would still be there, Portia decided to make a nice morning stroll and forsake the quicker route along Steelsword Street. Instead, the Kelemvorite priestess takes the opportunity to enjoy the cool, but sunny, late summer morning to go via the park on Clearspring Tor and behind the Inner Chamber. While walking close to the temple of Deneir, a bronze-skinned elf suddenly hails her. At first, the red-haired woman does not recognize the wiry elf, but then when he draws closer and approaches her, Portia’s memory aids her: Druth, the sun-elf monk that arrived with Telsom after rescuing the young Lady Jalarghar.
“Druth? Is that you?” Portia pauses and a smile lights up her face, “It’s good to see you again! I’m heading for the Running Stag. Care to join me?”
“Ah, Portia, I thought that was you.” The elf exclaims. “You are looking quite well. Yes, I myself was heading to the inn; I would be pleased to walk with you. How are Telsom and the others, are they still in town?”
“Not everyone.” The redhead says, and proceeds to update the elf on recent events… Once she has finished her short summary of the events, Portia asks, “So, what have you been up to?” She then starts to move in the direction of the tavern, silently inviting the elf to join her…
“Well, I had been working on my research on human activities during the Crown Wars during my stay at the Temple of Deneir, primarily. I was nearly through with my reading, and ready to move on to Candlekeep, when I came across references to a tribe of humans who lived in this area centuries ago known as the Talfir. Perhaps you have heard of them? I found clues to a forgotten city built by the Talfir; I think it lies somewhere in the Reaching Wood, but I don’t know exactly where. I’d like to try to find it if I can.”
Portia looks intrigued at the thought. “Well, from what I understand, things around here have been brought under control by the City. I’m not sure what the others are planning to do, but I might be interested. I need to warn them about the curst though – I don’t know exactly who it might be after. If some come and others don’t, everyone needs to be aware that there might be something after them.”
Portia adjusts her shield – strapped to her back above her blade. “I was taking a more scenic route through the city than I normally do, since I wasn’t really in all that much of a rush. Now, though, maybe we’d better head directly to the Running Stag?”
* * *
Eager to start the next phase of this adventure, Jez grabs his gear and his familiar and proceeds towards the taverns main door. “I’m interested in the moneylender.” Jez says. “What say I catch up with you at Orcslayer fountain in an hour to a half-an-hour and discuss what is to come of us in the next few days? Maybe this moneylender can finance some of our expeditions to come?”
“Even though the ale is good and I don’t mind your company, I just can’t sit around all day waiting for ya all to make up your mind.” The dwarf says putting down his empty tankard with force upon the table to make his point. He rises out of his chair and picks up his belongings as well as his new shield.
“So I guess the moneylender guy can wait for a few hours.” He gives Mumadar a stubborn dwarven stare across the room and adds, “Who will follow me to see if there is some work to be gained for good aspiring folk such as ourselves over at the Orcslayer fountain. I have a goal of sorts to reach, one that is yet not even close to being completed.” With out further grace he stomps of towards previously mentioned location to check out the notes of work posted there.
Tarim sits at the table looking thoughtful and generally indecisive. A few minutes pass with him examining the tiny sip of wine left in his glass before he drains it and looks around. He manages to avoid any eye contact with Immerine well enough and finally sighs and gathers himself up.
Holding his treasured staff he makes for the door. On his way out he turns and looks at Kevin and asks; “Are you coming to have a look at the fountain?”
* * *
It does not take the pair long to reach the Running Stag. As Druth opens the door to let Portia enter, the priestess almost bumps into a sturdy dwarf – Branith. Right behind the priest of Moradin is Jezbodiah. Behind the two Portia can make out several of the others sitting at a table. Only Nik, Immerine and Teryn seem to be missing at first glance.
Branith sees only Portia, his face almost bumping into the priestess’ armored chest, but Jezbodiah sees the sun elf behind the Kelemvorite – the elf’s face is familiar to the Berduskan half-elf, but the name escapes him.
The Uthgardt mage nods smiling slightly to Portia and leans on his staff listening. He realized that he can’t leave now without being rude anyway so he might as well stay and pay attention. Ened’ome glided silently down onto his shoulder, nuzzles his cheek with her small sharp beak, causing Tarim to smile absently. The wizard scratches her behind the head while appraising the new arrival.
“Hello Lady Portia.” Jezbodiah beams. “Hey everyone…” He turns his head and body half-way to the patrons in the Running Stag, “…Our favorite smiter of the restless dead is back!” This he pronounces joyously at the top of his lungs. Alanna, sensing her master happiness, squeals openly with merriment. “Yes Alanna, I’m sure there is a well-deserved title in that last announcement, for Portia at least.” He looks down at Branith and continues, “Well good dwarf, our visit to the moneylender and Orcslayer Fountain is going to wait. I’m sure Portia has something important to say to us.”
Then the sun elf catches Jez’s attention, “Goodman…” Jez says to the sun elf in elvish, “You seem familiar. Have we once met somewhere, uh… sometime ago?”
Immerine turns around to look towards the door, “We should perhaps see if Lady Portia has any news.” She nods politely to Mumadar, Teryn and Nik and returns to the table to wait for Portia. Then she catches sight of the sun elf, there is a pause in her step and she takes an irregular breath before continuing to the table.
“If you have spent any time at the Temple of Deneir and Oghma in the last several weeks, you likely saw me in a hallway or the common room. Or perhaps one of the others has mentioned my name in passing?”
“I am sorry indeed to hear of Telsom’s death. He will be sorely missed.” Looking to Portia, he smiles sadly, saying, “Portia has told me much of the past few weeks… much has happened, I see. Many of the group have gone their own way, but I see you have made new acquaintances. I had thought to ask…” the sun elf trails off for a moment, before flagging down a waitress. “Wine, please, miss.”
“I did meet someone…” Jez replies. “My memory wanders. The last few days were hazy. His name was… ah… it is gone. Maybe it will come back in time.” He snaps his fingers. “I believe the name was Grimm. Does that name sound familiar?”
Portia moves into the room – once she works her way past Branith – and nods to those present. “I’ve been following up on the undead creature we fought at the mill…” She says, “I’m not sure what you’ve discovered on your own, but what I’ve come across is pretty disturbing.”
First waving to Mumadar with a smile and a nod – but not requesting anything – then Portia looks about the room briefly before addressing her comrades. “The creature is called a Curst. It’s an odd undead type, and what makes it really special is that it can’t be killed by normal means. It has to receive a blessing to remove the curse that caused it to rise from the dead in the first place to destroy it. Unfortunately, that means the one we faced is still out there.”
The Kelemvorite priestess frowns. “In addition to that, I can’t seem to escape the feeling that this particular Curst is now hunting us. Either me, or one of you, or maybe one of its possessions that we now hold – it’s coming after us.”
After a moment’s pause, Portia smiles slightly. “That said, I don’t think we should hide away and wait it to come to us. Druth here…” She nods to the elven monk that came in with her, “…for those of you that don’t know him, was in on the early investigations that Matteo and some of the rest of us started. He’s been following up on something that sounds interesting, and he’s looking for help. I’m probably going to go with him, and I thought some of you might be interested too, since the City seems to have wrapped up the troubles here.”
“Druth?”
The half-elf frowns heavily then speaks to Branith, “You may want to stay around and listen. What Portia and Druth are about to say will be important…” He turns and looks to the Kelemvorite. “When the time comes Lady Portia, will you be able to answer some questions for me?”
Kevin, hearing Portia’s tale, covers his eyes with one hand, muttering to himself in elven, “Stupid, stupid, stupid…”
“I did my own research on the creature.” The wizard says after a moment, “But once I found out what it was, I concentrated on its habits, how it was created, and things of that sort. I thought the creature was destroyed, so I never paid attention to how one would go about defeating it.” Kevin frowns suddenly, then looks around. “Who has that sword we found? It was the most special thing we found, yes? Perhaps the curst is after it.”
The halfling ranger continues to twirl his stone, bored and frustrated with the extended conversations. “I’ll be with you, my lass. Tis’ a noble and worthy goal. One where lives may be saved.” he says while moving away from the wall. “Much more so than playing some charlatan’s coin game.” he adds in a frustrated tone.
“That would me.” Jez replies morbidly. “Bugger,” He mutters under his breath.
Immerine chuckles in the back of her throat, “Poor Jez. It appears I will not have to go far for the undead. You desire for the sword has brought you to this and the curst upon us. I trust you will return the sword when he comes calling – or perhaps it was also that shiny shirt. Ah well… Thank you, Lady Portia, for your impressive research. Now where do we go to see if he comes?” Immerine trails off with the question her eyes fairly glitter with anticipation.
The tall bard hangs back at the bar, watching the others discuss as he waits for a refill of the glass he spilled. Sipping idly from his new drink, Nik moves over to join his companions, following Immerine and Teryn.
“Bah, there was no desire involved and Lady Immerine…” He says candidly. “…my curiosity got the better of my wits. This Curst will make life and our intrepid quest a bit more interesting and probably all too soon sometime down the road.” A taunting gleam shines in his eye and he continues, “And my Lady, gloating is so unbecoming of you. Remember, I never took the shiny shirt. It makes wonder who has that item.”
“I do, for now. Remember though that the blade and shirt were on or with the body under the wheel. The curst itself carried the necklace and the wand. My guess is it wants the wand.” Immerine says nothing to Jez, she simply turns away from him and looks towards Druth expectantly. When Teryn brings up his point she murmurs, “There is that as well.”
“Well…” Portia shrugs. “I have no idea. Cursts are generally a bit out of their minds, we all saw that, but they aren’t stupid. I don’t think the thing is just going to walk in here and start killing. I would suggest that we go about our business, and just make sure that we’re aware that this thing is out there, waiting for an opportunity. I’ve been given some lee-way from the Church. Druth here…” The cleric waves her hand at the elf next to her, “…has an idea that sounds interesting, and it will definitely pass the time…”
Jez then ignores Immerine’s comments and turns to Portia and Kevin. “It seems my hour of dire need is in the hands of two fine sages. If you have information about the Curst, mayhaps you can share it with us, or at least with me.”
“And Druth, elven sire…” He says politely, “…before you present your idea, are you familiar with the teachings of Deneir. Maybe you can read these runes on the blade. Maybe Tymora and Deneir can help in matters of memory, history and wisdom?”
“I will certainly take a look at it, although I am no great student of languages, having studied only those needed for my research. I suspect that Master Nik would be more likely to ken the runes. If you think it important, I could possibly persuade one of the Denierath to have a look at it?”
“Nik has given a good stab at it and has revealed some of sword’s history.” He looks at Druth and arches a single eyebrow. “Perhaps we can take a walk to the Temple of Deneir within the day. Since this sword has a deep history and a history linked the dwarven folk. I can not help but wonder if it is linked to any dwarven communities, past and present within the area.”
Looking around the table to include the entire party, the elf goes on, “I had thought to ask the members of this company for some help in my endeavor. As some of you know, I am delving into certain historical aspects of human cultures and their interactions with the elven kingdoms. I had thought that I had exhausted the resources here in Berdusk, when I found reference to a tribe of humans that formerly lived in this area known as the Talfir.”
“One of the tomes I read made mention of a great city the Talfir built, but the description given doesn’t match that of any known ruin or existing city. A small passage I almost overlooked leads me to think that it lies in an area now covered by the Reaching Wood, although I admit I cannot narrow it any further than that.”
“There is, however, a footnote in the histories of the Shoon Empire that made reference to a particular outpost in what is now known as the Greenfields. Supposedly, this outpost made frequent forays into this area roughly during the same period in time. I have reason to believe that a map carved into stone lies within the fort, which would likely denote the position of key landmarks, as well as the city itself.”
“I’m afraid that I have no funds to disburse to support such an endeavor, although such ruins frequently hold relics of value to collectors, and if the city itself could be found… well, its value could well be incalculable due to the knowledge it may house. It would have the added benefit of drawing this curst away from civilized areas, if it does indeed pursue you.”
“Hence the need for a moneylender. My parents, especially my father may have dealings with this gentleman and may be able to sway him in financing our expedition. And I must warn them about this Crust if it indeed comes looking for me.” He sighs deeply and continues, “My mother is expecting soon and can be moved from our home. She is expecting another child within the month, I’m afraid. Her last birth took much out of her health. I worry whether my next sibling may not make it into this world, or worse, my mother who may not live to see it. Curst or not.” Jez’s normal mood turns gloomy and somber with his last spoken words.
“Your plan is one of the better ones I have heard, Master Druth. I will accompany you on your quest.” Immerine says simply. “When do we leave?”
“At the convenience of those who wish to go, wychlaran.” The sun elf says. “Both the outpost and city have stood where they are even before my grandfathers birth; there is no need to rush off without all due preparation.”
“I’m in.” The warrior answers, “I’d still like to see this moneylender first, perhaps Jez and I can do that while everyone gets ready. The sooner we leave town the less likely the curst comes here looking for us. Jez, is this moneylender a reputable fellow or one to break legs of those who are late with a payment?”
“I don’t know…” Jez replies. “…I’m not privy to the family finances, but I would assume my mother or father would use a moneylender only if he had a solid and well-respected reputation.” Jez scratches his chin with his thumb and index finger and ponders some thoughts. “There’s going to be two detours. I suppose a visit to the parents is called, as well as a visit to the temple of Deneir. I’m open to more suggestions if anyone wishes to speak.” Meanwhile, Alanna takes the opportunity to climb up the youthful half-elf and onto his shoulders once more.
The dwarf who after recovering from the near crash into Portia, flops down onto a chair, while the group, again, discusses things. “Count me in as well master Druth. I will follow along as well to the money lender, if you don’t mind.” Regarding the subject of the sword he says, “Sadly I can’t help you with that, long was the time since my ancestors walked the southern lands before the fall.”
Kevin’s eyes brighten at the thought of exploring an ancient city. “Oh, I am indeed interested!” He says, straightening in his seat. “Who knows what forgotten knowledge lies buried there?” With a flutter of wings, Kethron comes down from the overhead branches to land on the table in front of the half-elven wizard. Seeming to feel at least part of Kevin’s excitement, the Tressym familiar dives into Kevin’s lap, turns around, places his front paws on the table, and gives Druth a happy mew.
Nik just stands there, listening, but offering no opinions of his own. His smile is genuinely happy as he looks at Portia, and the calm in his sunken eyes reveals how his mental state seems to have improved even as he has deteriorated physically since last she saw him. Finally, Nik shrugs a narrow shoulder and says quietly “I’ll go where ever you folks want me to go. I’m not exactly well-versed in the practical applications of adventuring.” His crooked grin matched by the humor in his eyes as he adds “But I’ve no need of a visit to the local moneylender. What money I have is more than good enough for what little I need.”
Jezbodiah goes off to check on his parents – both to inquire after the health of his mother and his to-be-born sibling as well as to gather information on moneylenders in general and Aulimann the Patient. Some of the others with interest in the moneylender – or with purchases to make join the half-elf; the rest remain behind in the Stag or go their way to make some purchases at the last moment.
Berdusk to the Greenfields, 1371DR, Eleint, 22nd day
Early in the morning, the group gathers in the courtyard of the Running Stag. Dawn, which every day seems to fight a losing battle against the darkness of the night is only barely providing enough light to make all the preparations. The chill of the early morning air serves as a strong wake-up call, making everyone trying to warm-up by participating actively. Backpacks find their way onto shoulders and horses, buckles and straps secured, and the last arcane phrases memorized before everyone mounts, or in the case of Nik, Tuttle, Branith, Tarim and Kevin climbing onto the sturdy cart loaded with provisions and equipment.
There is not much traffic on the streets, but the first peddlers and street vendors move their way across the city. A few carts roll clattering over the cobblestone streets and the sound of the iron-shod hooves of the group’s horses along with the iron rims of the cart, contributes to the early morning sounds as the city slowly wakes up to a new day.
Jezbodiah and Teryn lead the way across Steelsword Street towards Bellowbar’s Gate, at Orcslayer fountain, the duo halts and dismounts, “While we are on our way out, it doesn’t hurt to check if there is anything else of interest for us.” Jezbodiah says as Teryn is already walking up to one of the three large oaks that surround the fountain.
While the two Berduskans accompanied by Branith and Portia start scanning the notes and pamphlets posted, the others take their time to look at the fountain. A statue of a burly warrior standing atop a pile of vanquished orcs depicts the hero Berdusk Orcslayer. Shivering a little, despite his new warm clothes, Nik recites some of the town’s history. The water from the fountain sprouts froth from the various wounds on the orcs, as well as from the mouth of the severed orc head that the hero holds in his hand – the other holding a sword victoriously up in the air.
“A hundred years or so ago, during one of the orc hordes that made it down from the Spine of the World all the way to here, a local warrior, Berdusk Orcslayer, organized frequent patrols to scour the countryside and attack the orcish camps. His heroics and persistent manner in taking the fight to the orcs despite the overwhelming odds boosted the morale of the local militia, eventually managed to stem the orcish tide in the region and bring some safety back to the city. It was after he died that this place was named after him.” Shrugging as he folds his arms across his chest in an attempt to stay warm, the lanky bard adds, “That’s about all I have been able to pick up in the past tenday or so. Don’t have more details to add.”
“Nothing…” Comes the warrior’s voice from behind the fountain, “…Nothing suitable for us. Then again, the caravan season is as good as done. I’m not too surprised.” Teryn, Jezbodiah, Branith and Portia re-join the others and the journey towards the city’s western-most gate continues past the smithies and related businesses in Ironward.
As behind the group the seven bells ring from the House of the High Hand, the guards at Bellowbar’s Gate admit the group to leave the city. Most traffic at this time of the day is bound for the city, and the crossing of the bridge is easy – most visitors cross the Chionthar via Moondown Isle. Behind the bridge, the road is no longer cobbles, but hard packed earth and crushed stones. It is full of ruts from the many carts and wagons that travel into the city on almost a daily basis, and for those on the cart; this part of the journey is not all too comfortable.
Close to where the group crosses is the city’s cemetery, Portia assures that with the vigilance of her brothers and sisters, there is no threat of walking dead from that direction. The Fields of the Dead are more of a concern, as well as the various necromancers and priests of Velsharoon and the like. The tombstones, shrines, ornamental and plain graves are partially hidden behind a hedgerow of hazel. Beyond the cemetery are only a few fields and simple farms, before giving away to the rolling hills of the Greenfields.
The plains are predominantly seas of grass, occasionally dotted by copses of trees or small forests. Although it appears rather flat, the gentle rolling hills of the plain often obscure gorges or small lakes and rivers; these places markedly surrounded by denser vegetation. As the sun nears its zenith, Berdusk is no longer visible…
In the open, the wind has more room to play, and despite the sun overhead, the ambient temperature has a definite chill to it. Teryn leads the way, trying to find the easiest path for the wagon and its passengers. Where closer to Berdusk there were still paths and trails, now there is only the expanse of green. With the going slow, Tuttle walks beside the Berduskan warrior, the diminutive ranger aiding in blazing a trail for the group. Overhead, Kevin’s winged cat frolics about from time to time, Tarim’s more nocturnal inclined familiar stays perched on the young Uthgardt’s shoulder. Both spellcasters looking trough their tomes from time to time, or discussing the recent events with the other passengers of the cart – Branith holding the reins and Nik, who’s legs dangle from the rear end of the wagon while the bard strums some melodies on his instrument.
Riding beside Immerine and following Teryn, Druth scans from time to time a rudimentary map. The frown on his face a clear indication that he is not all too comfortable with the scant information the drawing provides. Immerine recognizes the flow of the Chionthar – about the only true recognizable feature on the map – the rest drawn out of geographic proportion it seems. Druth points out the supposed location of the Shoon outpost. Four hills – one of them bigger and marked with some symbol – and something that seems to represent a small lake of sorts. None of the others has been able to make much of the map either back when the sun-elf monk showed it for the first time.
Portia sits her mount a bit awkwardly; still not the most comfortable in the saddle, even after the last few weeks. She places most of her concentration to the right of the group, taking it upon herself to watch that direction while suggesting that someone else dedicate themselves to the left. “Tell me Druth, other than finding this enclave, what are you hoping to discover there? Is there anything specific, or is it the thirst for discovery that drives you?”
“What was I hoping to discover?” The young elf muses, “History! Clues as to why those who walked Faerûn before us acted as they did. Magic was prevalent in the time of our forefathers… many arcane feats accomplished in those days cannot be replicated by modern wizards. Why is that, do you think? Has the Weave grown weaker over time, or is it the practitioners who have weakened, unable to pull taut the string on the bow our ancestors wielded with ease?”
“If you thought that I seek mighty magics or powerful artifacts, I’m afraid you will be disappointed. My aspirations are much greater than that!” Then, the sun elf blushes and looks around, embarrassed at being caught up on his soapbox.
The halfling ranger continues to scout ahead, relieved to be in the outdoors again and away from the city. Tuttle looks about the horizon looking for landmarks and hoping to make sense of Druth’s map. “Do you know anything else of this place that might help us get there?” He asks of Druth.
“I’m afraid not. Finding what little I have was merely a fortunate accident. Surely some remnants of the places depicted on the map remain to point us in the right direction.”
Tuttle looks a little disappointed at the response, but then manages to smile. “I had hoped that I might be able to recognize the features, but we are too far from my end of the Reaching Wood. Perhaps luck will be with us?”
“So we’re off into the unknown. I’m glad I bought extra supplies…” Jezbodiah says to Druth. “Is there anything you can tell us about the Shoon? My knowledge of ancient cultures is rather limited. I was wondering if you came across anything about them in your research.”
Immerine remains quiet as she rides across the landscape. She seems to be in a private world with just her and Qwenta. From time to time, they ride away from the group, but never far enough to lose sight; whether to the rear, the front or the sides but they always return within a moment or two.
Conversations during the trek are at a minimum, each seemingly absorbed into their own thoughts, or occupied with blazing the trail or looking out for potential threats – the idea of the undead from the ruined mill being one of the threats that could come to haunt… As the team plods on across the rolling plain, the sun moves further west, and towards the horizon; every once in a while hiding behind the clouds overhead and causing the chilly wind to feel even more colder in the absence of direct sunlight.
With dusk approaching, Tuttle signals for a halt and points at a small copse of trees on a nearby ridge, suggesting it as the campsite for the night. No one disagrees and soon the smell of cooking permeates the air near the wagon. Men and beast taken care for, the group spreads out their bedrolls near the fire, and under the cart, while watches are set to guard the night. Portia and Kevin take first watch, the priestess first attending to her daily routine of prayers at sundown.
A small drizzle falls from the sky, annoying and cold, but not enough to extinguish the low-banked fire or limit vision too much. Huddling in his cloak while scanning the area about the camp, Jezbodiah paces back and forth during his turn, the half-elf sorcerer’s familiar comfortably tucked away and sleeping in her satchel. After putting a little more fuel on the fire, Jez resumes his pacing and suddenly notices the faint flickering of lights in the distance. Tuttle, on the same watch, and who had been checking on the horses, sees Jez suddenly stop and stare.
“Tuttle, I see flickering lights in the distance… there… See them?” He points towards their immediate direction. “Awaken the others. I think we’re about to have visitors.” Jez quickly rummages through his belongings and retrieves a sunrod and his wand. He grabs his crossbow and slings it over his back. “I can’t make anything out.” He says with certainty. “I hope to Lliira it is not bugbears.”
A low sound of motion comes forth from where the dwarf lay. “What you up to?” Branith says his voice void of any signs of sleepiness. “I can’t sleep well any way, can’t seem to find a rock to rest my head on.” He says, though the two cannot really make out if it is a joke or a serious remark.
“Something’s up Branith. I can see flickering lights in the distance and I’m going to investigate. I’ll need you to wake up everybody, especially Portia. Be ready to put the fire out and get your axe ready.” Looking at Tuttle, the half-elf says. “Care to come along?”
“Aye, will do.” With that the dwarf begins the process of waking up the rest of the party, paying special attention to Portia as informing her briefly on the finding, “You are needed for nightly inquires, and without any ale.”
Jez nods. “Thanks Branith.” Jez snaps his fingers and says, “Put the fire out with sand. If it’s nothing serious, I can re-light it with a cantrip when I return.” Jez pulls the hood of his cloak over his head and covers his weapons. Looking at Tuttle, he says. “Let’s make this quick and silent. We find out who and what it is. We do not fight them or if friendly invite them to our camp. Then we return and inform the others.”
Tuttle continues to watch the lights carefully, squinting as he hopes to resolve the lights better. “Could be bugbears, could be many things.” He mutters absently. Tuttle then gathers his weapons and nods to Jez. “Aye.” He says with little emotion. “Aye.”
As Branith draws near Tarim asleep on his bedroll, Ened’ome swoops down from her perch and alights on the young mage’s prone form. Screeching at the dwarf in warning, the noise wakes Tarim anyway and he sits up gathering the perturbed little owl into his arm and caressing her beak reassuringly.
Sleepily he looks at Branith and around the camp. “Trouble?” He asks groggily.
From nearby, Portia starts gathering her gear together before pausing to watch the owl defend her friend. She smiles briefly, and then, looking about the camp at everyone getting up and ready, she asks, “now, Tarim, that’s a good question. What’s going on?” She looks about, and then calls to Jez, “Jez, are you waking us all up just because you saw some lights?” She does not sound happy. “There are some here that need all the rest we can get…”
She makes no move to draw on her armor, but instead moves to the fire. “Anyone want anything hot to drink? Tarim? Branith?” Immerine yawns and stretches when it is her turn to awaken. She makes no complaints and pays little attention to the activity. She stands, retrieves her quarterstaff and looks out toward the lights where Jez and Tuttle are preparing to go investigate. Next to her, the gangly bard tugs his threadbare blanket more tightly around himself and rolls over with an incoherent mumble of protest at the noise the others are making.
“Sorry Portia, but duty beckons.” His voice and manner become more theatrical and Jezbodiah continues, “Like flickering lights in the stillness of the Berdusk night, like a moth to flame, I go forth into the unknown, with Lliira and Tymora as my sole guides. His intentions noble, but curious, what will he find?”
As he proceeds to wrap a long shawl around his neck and lower face, Jez says with a smile, “I’ve always wanted to do something like that.” He looks at Kelemvorite and continues; his demeanor empathic and soft, “Portia, If you could as a favor, watch Alanna for me. She won’t wander anywhere tonight. Her stomach’s full and she’s too exhausted from this evening’s dinner.” He winks at the priestess then leaves with the others.
Aroused from his slumber on a branch sheltered by leaves from the rain, Puddy groggily flies around the campsite to ascertain what has caused the commotion. Deciding that investigation is the better part of valor, the little fey resolves to accompany the hin and half-elf to spy out the source of the lights. Puddy flies high above their heads in order to get a better view.
Tarim rubs his eyes and looks over at Portia and nods, “Yes something hot would be wonderful.” He sees Immerine peering out into the darkness and asks “Immerine? Can you see anything?” Portia nods and sets about whipping up a tea… “No I cannot. The half-elf’s vision is greater than my own.” Immerine takes in the evening air on her nose.
As Immerine puts her nose in the wind – and the drizzle – Branith, Tuttle and Jezbodiah set of on a midnight trek towards the mysterious lights. Overhead, unseen to all, the invisible fairy accompanies the scouts as they make their way underneath the dripping branches and through the wet almost knee-high grass – that is knee height for Jezbodiah.
Not happy to be awakened because of lights so far away, Teryn does not complain but quietly gets up and grabs his twin swords, bow and quiver and moves just beyond the edge of the camp, just past the radius of light emanating from the fire into darkness, nocks an arrow and watches and listens carefully for any sounds.
Back in the camp Portia busies herself with boiling water, adding herbs from a small pouch. Once the tea is ready, Portia takes a cup to Tarim. Settling to the ground near the mage, she says, “You’re from the Silver Marches, right? We haven’t really had a chance to talk before…” She watches the little black owl with interest. The young mage seems slightly taken surprised at her interest, pleasantly so however and answers after gathering his thoughts. “Hmm? Oh yes, I am… though I hadn’t really thought of it like that. I am Uthgardt from the High Forest… well rather I was Uthgardt…” He pauses, thoughtful.
Ened’ome stares back at the red-haired priestess, her abyssal eyes seeming to hold no end of mystery, unreadable and enigmatic. Portia looks from the little owl to the man. “Uthgardt.” She nods thoughtfully. “I’m from Baldur’s Gate myself, though I seem to have found a home in Berdusk at the Crystal Mansion.” Her brow furrows at a thought, and she says, “I wouldn’t have thought there’d be many mages among the Uthgardt?”
The young mage actually laughs our loud, quickly stifling himself and nodding in agreement. “Truer words were never spoken, Portia. I believe I am the only one, and that path has cost me…” As quickly as the laughter came upon him it is gone, replaced by something darker and sobering. Changing subjects somewhat abruptly, he ventures, “Baldur’s Gate… So, you are accustomed to the ways of the city folk then. I find the numbers of people dizzying it’s simply too much to take it all in…”
“I’m willing to bet you’ll get used to the numbers in time. The more you see the more you’ll be able to adapt. Berdusk now…” Portia smiles as she starts to redo her thick braid, “…it’s not quite as big as Baldur’s Gate. I hear Athkatla is a real City. And, then there’s Waterdeep… They just keep getting bigger!” Then she changes the subject and says, “That little fellow…” She points toward the little owl, “…is adorable. You’re a friend of Kevin too, right? How does he…” She nods at the owl again, “…get along with the cat?” Portia smiles at that, and looks around for the winged feline as well…
The Uthgardt mage chuckles and strokes Ened’ome’s feathers behind her head soothingly. “Ened’ome is a girl, be careful she’s sensitive about that… I’ve explained to her on many an occasion that ‘us big dumb naked walking sticks’ can’t really tell by looking, but she’s still a bit peevish about the whole thing.” He smiles and takes the little owl off his shoulder, holding her forward towards Portia. “Go on…” He urges the little owl “Go say hello.”
While Ened’ome makes up her mind, Tarim smiles and answers, “Yes, Kevin is actually my mentor in the Wizardly arts he’s taught me a great deal. Kethron and Ened’ome are actually quite friendly; they make great hunting partners too since they both like mice…” Ened’ome stays put for a moment or two, observing the priestess before hopping over onto her upper arm with a silent flutter of wings. She lets out a low screech, possibly a greeting of some sort.
Immerine shakes her head and looks back at the few people remaining in camp. She smiles at the little owl making new friends and looks over to where Qwenta is rubbing his head on the tree. She sighs deeply and walks over to Portia and Tarim. “May I have a cup as well? I am sorry for intruding on your conversation.”
Waking slowly, the sun elf says nothing as he watches the trio head off toward the lights. Looking around, he says, “Did I miss something? Are we to assume that they are not just travelers like us. I doubt your curst camps for the night and cooks his meal.”
Immerine looks up at the elf, “There is no telling. I think Jez enjoys worrying like an old woman. But it is safer to take precautions when you have made enemies.”
Looking over at the Rashemi witch Tarim arches an eyebrow. “It was hardly private so there can be no intrusion, Immerine. You are welcome to join us of course as well if you wish.” Thoughtfully he takes a sip of tea and nods in approval to Portia.
Portia makes another cup for Immerine, on the way back checking on Jez’s little friend. The entire time, she does her best to balance the little owl on her wrist… “Still…” She says, joining the conversation, after handing Immerine her tea, “…going to look for trouble in the middle of the night is not something they should be doing.” Her disapproval of the scouts’ actions is obvious. “If it were closer, I could understand, but those lights a good ways away. And Druth…” She nods at the elf, “…has a point. The curst isn’t likely to camp at all, one way or the other…”
Taking her seat near Tarim again, she holds out her arm carefully. “She’s beautiful, Tarim.” Then, talking directly to the little owl with a smile, “You can ride on my shoulder any time, little one.” After a moment, she says, “I just think they’re looking for trouble. We can take precautions here without wandering for miles in the dark…”
Ened’ome watches Portia with wide solemn eyes bobbing her head once before hopping onto Tarim’s arm. Smiling Tarim takes Ened’ome back and rubs her beak gently with the back of a finger. The little owl settles nicely onto his knee in a matter of moments.
With his friend settled comfortably he produces the nearly ever-present brush and works the sleep out of his long lustrous black hair distractedly, taking an occasional sip of tea. After having brushed for a breath or two, he says softly. “I’m not sure I like the fact that they decided to go off on their own without checking with the rest of us. That decision should have been made as a group, don’t’ you think?” He is not looking at anyone in particular; in fact, he is scrupulously avoiding eye contact with Immerine, so it is hard to tell whom he is asking, or even if he is indeed asking anyone in particular.
“Nothing Jez does surprises me.” Immerine’s eyes crinkle in frustration and she takes a sip of tea beneath her mask. “This is very good, thank-you Portia.”
The three scouts in the mean time have navigated their way with difficulty down the slope. Protruding roots, occasional slippery rocks and tufts of grass make the trail more of a challenge for the small unit, than ought to be. The half-elf’s and the dwarf’s eyesight – normally superior to the halfling’s and the fairy’s – fails them in accuracy with the fine drops of rain that wash across the landscape almost like mist.
Their own camp has vanished beyond sight, a comforting thought that their comrades are not visible from here, yet disturbing in making it potentially difficult to come back. With as much stealth as possible given the circumstances, Jezbodiah leads the others with Tuttle almost on his heels.
At some point Tuttle pulls Jezbodiah back, “Wrong direction. That way.” The halfling points in a direction several degrees off from where Jezbodiah was heading. “Bah, this rain is hampering our vision, luckily it will do the same for any one at those lights.” The dwarven cleric says as he tries to keep up with the rest.
“Aye, I can’t help but think if they saw our campfire…” Jez says softly. “I hope they’re not as curious as I am, whatever they may be…” Thinking he may have jinxed himself, Jez takes a brief pause, whispers a prayer to Lliira and Tymora then continues, “Anyway, be wary of the ground before you, there could be snares, tripwires or some such.”
The ranger points off the current path. “There. We should change our course. I can feel it. Let us go quickly now! We’re nearing my lands and forest now!” The halfling waves and begins to jog along in the new direction. “Don’t get too far ahead.” Whispers Jez, as he matches Tuttle’s pace.
At a careful jog the three scouts continue their trek onwards – now in the direction where the halfling ranger is going – and despite the hin’s natural agility and familiarity with the outdoors, even he manages to stumble and fall a couple of times; though not as often as Jezbodiah and Branith. The dwarf trying his best to be silent is still as loud as a herd of rothé.
With the grumbling and muttering dwarf a few paces behind them, the Berduskan half-elf and the ranger halt when the lights become visible again through the drizzle and the foliage. Halting behind a weeping willow tree – the structure of the trunk and the position of the branches making identification even at night not too difficult – the trio peer through the branches and leaves.
Up ahead, behind further growth light seems to shimmer and dance across a surface of sorts, which is difficult to identify in the chaotic glimmering light, but is likely to be a house of sorts. The area where the scouts are observing the scene, smells of mud and decomposing vegetable matter and the ground is soggy, not only from the rain.
A shrill voice whispers just loud enough to be heard above the rain, as the still-invisible frightened fey circles the group, pulling beards, hair, and cloaks alike in an effort to get halt the scouts, “Camp! Back you go! Dangerous they are! Will-o-wisps! Turn back, we should!”
Tuttle looks up and around, searching for the voice. As he recognizes the tone, he relaxes slightly. “Sound advice.” He whispers. “Even if it is a house as it appears, we’d be better to return early in the morn: in force.”
“Well I guess it’s nothing more to do here then.” The cleric of Moradin says and turns around to walk back to camp. “Will O’ wisps, aye.” Jez nods. “Back to camp and inform the others.”
* * *
While Teryn is keeping watch just outside the circle of small circle of light thrown by the campfire, he hears something approach from the direction the scouts went. A creature – or maybe more than one – is making its way through the bushes and grasses and across the slippery slope.
Tarim’s little black owl suddenly takes to the air with silent, strong beats of its little wings, leaving the Uthgardt wizard with a feeling of sudden alert. Nearby Kethron – Kevin’s familiar – raises a feline head and even in the flickering light of the campfire, it is obvious that the hairs on the winged cat’s neck are standing up and its tail has doubled in size.
Immerine rises, setting the cup on the ground. “Company coming.” She turns from the fire and places it at her back facing away. She calmly grips her staff, a smile playing about her lips.
From a short distance beyond the light of the campfire, Teryn hears Immerine announce company is coming. He crouches down lower, bow at the ready, checking every direction by turning his head, not his whole body and watching and listening intently for any movement or sound.
Portia watches the owl take off, and nods at Immerine’s statement. “I think we should move away from the fire…” She says to Tarim, taking hold of her sword and heading for the edge of the camp. She settles down into the shadows… “Good idea. Which direction?” The elf inquires, as he scans the perimeter. “I don’t think it matters.” The priestess says, from where she is settling down. “We don’t know where whatever is coming from, do we?”
Groaning softly the Uthgardt mage struggles to his feet and with staff in hand takes cover near Portia. She can hear him whispering softly to himself, “What’s wrong…”
Apparently unable to go back to sleep, the gangly bard sits up, yawning hugely and scratching absently at the day’s growth of scraggly beard shadowing his sharp jaw. Blinking blearily in the firelight and wrapping his threadbare blanket around his narrow shoulders, Nik grumbles irritably “It’s still dark yet. We’re not breaking camp already, are we? Those ruins have waited this long, surely they can wait for daylight.”
As Nik’s sleepy eyes blink around, he sees the sleeping form of Kevin curled up a few feet away, with a feline keeping watch. Kethron seems to have doubled in size and it takes a little before the slowly waking brain of he bard realizes that all the hairs on the winged-cat are standing up. Quickly looking about the camp, he only sees Immerine standing defiantly with her quarterstaff at the ready. Of Portia, Tarim and Teryn there is no sign, also Branith, Tuttle and Jezbodiah are nowhere in sight. The half-elf’s bedroll seems unused save for Jez’s curled up familiar sleeping soundly.
Waiting in the darkness beyond the firelight, Teryn notes with his ears more than his eyes the preparations being made by the others to ‘welcome’ the incoming unknowns. He waits, patiently, for sight or sound of what might be headed his way.
The sound of something moving closer to his position is the reward for the warrior’s patience a moment or so later. The jingle of metal links – likely mail of some sort – heavy boots and a softer footfall. A moment later he sees three shapes appearing through the rain; a small one, a slender taller one and one figure that fall between the two in size, but is much broader of build.
At the same time, Jezbodiah sees Teryn partially hidden in the bushes, arrow poised on his bow. A bit behind the Berduskan warrior, the outline of Immerine, holding her staff at the ready, is visible.
“Jez, it’s Teryn!” Teryn relaxes and lowers his bow as he greets the scouting party just loud enough so the others can hear. Pausing a moment to make sure he is recognized before standing, he gets up from behind the bush to accompany the threesome back to the campfire. “You are back early, come tell us what you found.”
“Hey Teryn. Hey everyone were back from our nightly jog. I take it Alanna’s still asleep and staying out of trouble?” Jez calls out with a tiny hint of relief in his voice.
With a grin at Tarim, the red-haired priestess climbs to her feet. “I figured it was them.” She says softly. Then, with a huge yawn, Portia moves toward her bedroll, “‘Night all, I’m for bed…” As Portia with a tired look of dismay gets into her bedroll, the scouts move into the camp; mud-splattered and with some scratches and tears in clothing that were not there before.
“Bah, by the hammer this trek was worse than the ones I did through the Underdark to even get here” the dwarven cleric sputters as he stumbles into camp. “Well we didn’t found that much. Just some floating lights, will-o-wisps I think the pixie called them. Never saw any of their kind before so… There also seemed to be some kind of structure over there.”
“Covered in rotting vegetation,” huffs Jez. “My father or mother told me about them (will o’ wisps) once as a campfire story. Nasty creatures they are. Said to lure the unwary and the unwise to their doom. Don’t know what that means as I thought I’d never see any, until now, even from this distance.” He pauses then continues. “Anyway, I thought it was wiser to heed the words of caution from our pixie companion. We can check the structure in the morning, if the group thinks it’s necessary.”
Jez looks at his torn cloak; picks at the new hole in it, making it bigger, “Ruined a new cloak for nothing. Sorry for waking everybody…” In his bedroll, the wizard continues sleeping. He shows no sign that he ever stirred at any of the noise, or even his familiar’s own wariness.
As the others come back to the camp, Immerine ignores their return… including the flippant attitude of Jez. She steps outside of the firelight and approaches Qwenta.
“Is it really necessary?” Says the elf as he turns back to his bedroll, “Probably some trappers hut fallen into disrepair.” As he starts to lay his head on his makeshift pillow, he sits upright once more. “What about those will-o-wisps? Were they doing anything, or just milling around? If you think they might follow you back, perhaps we should move the camp, or at least post a guard away from the fire in that direction.”
“Just milling around the old building, I guess. I don’t think it was a trapper’s hut.” The Berduskan half-elf says in reply. “You know, this might be the outpost you were looking for.” He turns his head about, searching but not finding, “Hey Puddy…” Jez asks the invisible pixie. “…What did you see?”
An exasperated voice without an apparent source replies, “Told you, I did! Reason we fled, they were. Short memories tall folk have.” A slight buzz of wings somewhere behind Jez alerts him to the approximate location of the fairy. “I have a funny feeling I missed something. I guess it can wait until the morning.” He says as he shrugs his shoulders. “I’ll finish my watch. Who’s next in line?”
Outside the circle of light and the meager warmth thrown by the small campfire, Immerine busies herself a little with Qwenta, the horse nudging her reassuringly. Some of Qwenta’s lackluster picked-up in the time spent in Berdusk almost gone after a day’s ride in the wide open. While brushing her friend’s moist flank, the young witch peers into the gloomy darkness. Selûne’s light not able to penetrate the low hanging clouds and rain, vision is almost zero; only the shadow’s thrown by the camp at her back provide any distant hints of motion.
When Immerine returns to the camp, most have gone back to sleep. Druth, courtesy of being an elf, does not really need to sleep and sits in a meditative pose gazing towards the small flames. Tarim, Jezbodiah, Nik and Portia have turned in for the remainder of the night. Checking his gear, Branith briefly looks up at the woman returning to camp, and then resumes his inspection. A little further away Teryn paces around the perimeter, the warrior taking his turn in guard duty; hood turned up to keep most of the rain out of his face and hair.
Tarim had returned to his bedroll quickly enough upon the return of the rest of the group but found sleep, or even rest elusive. He lies still for a while, listening and watching his mind awhirl with a thousand things. When Immerine returns it is nearly a relief, to have something to focus on besides one’s inner thoughts, but of course it is better when the object of one’s focus is not the same thing.
Seeing the Rashemi witch returning he sits up and looks on quietly, his deep blue eyes intent and thoughtful from within the confines of his closely wrapped cloak. Immerine looks on the companions resting, each in turn, her eyes revealing little to those who are awake when her gaze falls on them. She carefully steps around the fire and settles back on her bedroll. She closes her eyes, but remains sitting and seemingly meditates.
The dwarf goes through his pack, takes of his scale mail and places his mace and warhammer where his head will rest. Lying down on his bedroll, he soon falls asleep with a “much better.” A heavy sound like an avalanche or a rampaging horde of Rothé soon starts issuing forth from where the snoring dwarf lays, while Teryn takes his turn at watch, paying extra attention throughout to the distant lights, making sure they come no closer. He says nothing to those still moving about as they settle one-by-one into their bedrolls.
Berdusk to the Greenfields, 1371 DR, Eleint, 23rd day
The morning of the 23rd of Eleint is just as dreary as the night has been, if not even more so. In the wan daylight, it is clear that low hanging clouds cover the entire area. Clouds from which the relentless drizzle continues, creating an eerie misty environment. Underneath the makeshift shelter – a piece of canvas attached to the wagon and supported by branches, Tarim, and Kevin are the first to delve into their studies; either to commit new complex arcane mysteries to mind, or to strengthen the existing ones.
Breakfast is chilly, wet and subdued and the small campfire is uncomfortably easily extinguished, leaving wisps of grayish white smoke to mingle with the rain and a sourly smell of ash penetrates the air. With all the hoods pulled up, the camp looks like a collection of bedraggled pilgrims huddling together.
With some of the preparations underway to continue, the discussion turns to where to go, and better yet how… The ‘path’ that the scouts took during the nightly hours is not navigable with the wagon; it seems likely to that get to the building will take the best part of the morning in circumventing the steeper declines and the denser tangles of scrubs and trees.
Immerine looks out at the landscape and frowns when she looks at the wagon. “If we must look at the building I suggest I go with perhaps one other horseman. The wagon will never make it and we really cannot afford to waste a day. Two horsemen should easily be able to investigate and return to those of you with the wagon continuing on the trek to Druth’s lost ruins. What do the rest of you think?”
“Sounds like a good idea to me. I’ll go with you if that’s acceptable.” The Berduskan offers. The halfling stands and gathers his gear. “I too would go. I doubt we will find anything of importance, but I would rather stretch my legs than sit on my ass.”
“It really didn’t look worth the trouble yesterday.” The sturdy dwarf says, while he gnaws on some rations. “But if you can solve what the purpose for all that is…” He says and waves with his left hand in the direction of the strange house, “…I guess it will brighten the day a bit, at least for me.” With that said Branith finishes his breakfast and moves away a little. Mumbling, in dwarven, filters through the drizzle as the dwarf makes his prayers to Moradin.
With a frown, Portia finishes adjusting the straps of her armor and picks up her shield. “I don’t know anything about Will-o’-the-wisps. If you think I should go, I will.” Then she says, “But even so, I don’t really get the feeling that this shack is going to help us find the Shoon outpost. It’s probably only a few decades old.”
“True, unless it were stone, or dwarven-crafted. It might stand for generations, if it were. Perhaps the rest of us should break camp while two or three investigate the building…then, if it turns out to be more than it seems, we will be ready to travel either way.” With a thought, the elf asks, “Aren’t will-o-wisps only active at night? Will the place be safe during the day?”
“I agree, if any one goes just a pair should in that case. There is a difference between being safe at night and foolhardy during the day.” The dwarf says from his prone position. Getting up from his praying he moves over and begins preparing to leave camp.
Portia shrugs. “I don’t know anything about the creatures. They haven’t come up in any of my studies.” Looking about the camp, she adds, “I suppose I can go with the investigation team though, just in case. Will someone look after my mount?”
“No.” Tarim says quietly, “We have to stay together… The last time someone stayed behind to look after the mounts…” He just shakes his head and repeats, “We have to stay together.” There is a previously unheard strength to the young man’s voice, not a command but a conviction and strength of will to make it known.
He quickly begins to pack up his gear; sheaves of parchment tucked lovingly away first and then the rest packed with much less care for their condition.
Portia looks at Tarim with a raised eyebrow, but then nods. “Alright. I say we move on then. The shack isn’t going anywhere. If it turns out that we don’t find some sign in the next couple days, we can always come back, right?”
“True but why backtrack? Why not simply eliminate the uncertainty before we move on? After all it’s not far so it won’t take long to check it out and who knows there might be… I don’t mean to be argumentative…it’s just an idea…” He quickly qualifies a little, not wanting to irritate the priestess.
The half-elf preps himself, his weapons, and his equipment for the day’s journey. For a Lliiran however, he maintains an unusually quiet demeanor saying little to anyone. His body motions and stance show his demeanor as vigorous as he packs away his camp supplies. Yet his ears remain open to the morning’s conversations. Alanna, all the while, darts around the camp and checks upon Jez’s companions, chittering, sniffing and squeaking as she moves back and forth.
“Because the wagon can’t make the journey in a decent amount of time.” Immerine snaps. “Most of us want to examine this building. You do not anyone left behind, yet we do not have enough horses to make the journey quick enough to continue our trek. So we have three choices. The first is the idea I put forth – a couple of people to check it out while the others prepare for the continuation of the journey; second is that we leave it, as Portia suggested; third is what Tarim suggested and we all go check it out. Each has problems and each has merits.”
Immerine finishes packing her camp equipment and stows it away while the others decide. It is painfully obvious she is on the verge of losing her temper and is keeping busy to keep from saying anything nasty. Tarim flushes a deep red and falls silent. Reflexively he finds himself reaching into his pouch for his brush and then stopping short and turning away to pretend to finish getting his gear together.
Moving closer to the mage, Portia gives him an encouraging look. “She’s right. Those are the options. If a couple of us were to go…” She says, looking at the rest of the group, “…I’d think Tuttle, with maybe Jez and Immerine, would make the best time. They don’t even have to go into the place if it turns out to be an old wooden shack – one look and they’d know it had nothing to do with the Shoon. If there is something that’s worth looking into, they could come back and tell us. We’d have to figure out what to do with the wagon then, but only if it’s worth it. Give them an hour, and they’ll be back either way.”
“And then we can move on.” She grips Tarim’s shoulder companionably for a moment. Tarim looks at the priestess, flashes a weak smile and nods in assent. “Sounds good.” He mutters, the young magic-user looks obviously upset, his demeanor rather reminiscent of a kicked puppy. A general lack of understanding, hurt feelings and a healthy dose of intimidation seem to be the forces at play within him.
Huddled morosely under his cloak and sitting slightly apart from the others, Nik seems to have withdrawn into himself again, shrugging off the offer of breakfast and only sipping absently at a cup of tea. The gaunt bard has not even bothered to shave, and the patchy, uneven stubble on his sharp jaw makes him look even more disreputable than usual.
As the discussion grows a bit heated Nik remains silent, but he follows the conversation with the fear-tinged wariness of a rat, peering from a hole as a barn cat goes past. “I don’t care what we do. I’ll be soaked through either way.” Nik mumbles sullenly. With a shudder, he adds “And to think I hoped the weather would be more temperate here. I suppose I didn’t go far enough south….”
Teryn stops his preparations for a moment upon hearing Portia leave him out of the suggested group going to the building after he said he would go with Immerine. Deciding not to take it personally, the warrior finishes his preparations and turns to Immerine “I’m ready. Anyone wanting to join us is welcome.” Not waiting for a response, he heads off in the direction of the shack.
Once Jez finishes his morning chores, he takes his quarterstaff and exercises an imaginary fight between himself and an unseen opponent. “I’ve pretty much made a jackass out of myself last night and disturbed everyone’s good rest…” He says openly, “…so if we are going to check the cabin, then lets do it.” The Berduskan as he swirls his quarterstaff around his back and brings it forward, thrusting as if to intimidate his unseen foe. “If not, let’s continue our trek for Druth’s ruins. Either way, I’ll feel vindicated.”
With a smile, the sun elf says, “I don’t suppose there is any hurry… the old places do not generally get up and walk about like some houses are wont to do in certain Rashemi fireside tale.” From the opposite side of Qwenta comes Immerine’s muffled voice, “Do not be so quick to discount the tales. More of them hold truth than you may be aware.”
“Bah, surface dwellers. Where I come from, peeking at too much gets you killed. If no one minds I will stay behind at the wagon and prepare our departure.” The dwarven cleric says in a grumbling tone and moves towards the wagon. At that time, Teryn finishes packing-up his bedroll sets off for the mysterious shack; much like Immerine, it is obvious he is uncharacteristically out-of-sorts.
Immerine finishes what she was doing on the opposite side of Qwenta and steps around her companion. She is dressed in a nice new set of leathers and swings into the saddle. “Enough of this dallying, those who wish to come and see this mysterious find follow me and those who wish to prepare for the journey, prep the wagon.” With barely a nudge Qwenta leaps into movement, the great stallion’s muscles a vision of beauty as they move under his beautiful white coat. Both he and Immerine are obviously anxious to be on their way and with a blink of an eye – they are. Quickly the Rashemi witch draws even with Teryn as the young warrior moves downhill at a brisk pace.
“Well, since we found it. We might as well explore it.” Jez picks up Alanna, his ferret familiar, and secures her snuggly in his satchel. The Berduskan shrugs his shoulders and follows Immerine and Teryn. The halfling grins and picks up his pack. The small ranger takes off on a jog to catch up with Immerine, Teryn, and Jez. “At last, I was sure we’d spend the rest of the fall sitting on our asses deciding which way to go.”
Portia watches some of the group head off into the woods. Shaking her head, she frowns, wiping back a damp lock of red hair. “I’ll stay here and help get things ready. I don’t imagine they’ll be very long…” As he gets to his feet, Druth comments, “Good idea… I’ll give you a hand. Perhaps we