Each of you has heard a few rumors about the town, or the surrounding area.
Spoiler: Shaena Dogear
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Your trip across the great plains, glimpsing the scouts of the halfling tribes peering at you from the distance, not to mention those who served as escorts and guides to the caravan itself, had you worried, and nearly believing what you had been told about the Hamstringers. Their severe expressions, wiry frames and uncouth hairstyles made it easy to credit a tale of a warrior society of halfling assassins. The Hamstringers supposedly are served by all the halflings in the Crucible, either as their informants, or as killers. But seeing the stout, satisfied, homely fisherfolk on the river bank sets your mind at ease. Surely these are simply tall tales, or the result of a cultural misunderstanding.
Spoiler: Iselshera Elkian
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Your thirst for knowledge led you to speak with anyone you could about your destination, including any guards or drivers in your caravan who had made the trip before, and even the savage halflings that served as escorts and guides. You've learned many things on the voyage, some of which are hard to credit. You hear that there are giants who have a stronghold to the north, near the source of the Stag, and a great gem at its heart turns any blade it touches into a wicked weapon of great power, but at great cost to the bearer. You hear that should you tramp into the Slog - the vast swamp that covers the land west of Hardholm-by-the-Mere, one must bury at least 10 gold crowns in the muck or be cursed, but the Slog is also said to be home to an oracle of mysterious wonder. Finally, you hear that Hardholm itself rests on a burial mound of a clan of giants.
Spoiler: Atas Ebonbark
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Having sort of fallen into this job, and interested in more esoteric, rather than commercial or arcane, concerns, you haven't done much to seek out knowledge of your destination. But people talk, and you absorb most of what happens around you. As you gaze at the burgeoning town before you, some of these tales spring to your mind. One caravan guard mentioned in passing that, when he left the boom town last autumn, it seemed that the local whores were actually gathering power in town, many of them objecting to conditions in the camp and negotiating directly with the commander of the garrison regarding making laws about how they could be treated, their right to say no to a client, and other unheard-of stipulations. Another told a tale of the dead in the swamps around Hardholm rising at night and plaguing anyone unfortunate enough to lay outside of the palisade. Your instinct tells you this tale may have been exaggerated, or made up whole cloth, the better to get a laugh at the expense of newcomers.
Spoiler: Kyra Ambershield
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Tengar Ambershield didn't raise his daughter to mess around with books and scrolls. Your fact-gathering for this mission has been more pragmatic. Here's what you know about the tactical situation around Hardholm-by-the-Mere. Some early settlers have been trying to take advantage of the fertile, loamy soil of the grassland to the northeast of the settlement, but they've been harried by a number of problems, chief among them occasional raids by goblins and kobolds, who seem to emerge from the dense forest you passed on your way to town. They also speak of "scaly chickens" that have caused a ruckus, and even a casualty or two, when they show up to scratch at the newly-planted seeds. Moreover, you've heard that the swamp to the west, known as The Slog, is the home of several tribes of lizardfolk. They are not friendly toward each other, and some could be fairweather allies. Though you doubt you'll ever utter the phrase, you did hear that "Skeewisss" is lizardspeak for "We seek no conflict."
Spoiler: Mohander Caladresh
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Atrius tried to share his grand scheme with you, but he found poor soil on which to grow his intellectual dreams. So he contented himself with drumming into you by rote a few key points he wanted you to make sure to remember. Spouting some gibberish about elemental confluences and some other words you hadn't heard before, he settled down to mark some coordinates on a map. These included a mountain, thrusting up alone from the surrounding hills and covered in dead, blasted trees; a sprawling badland, home to dervishes and dust devils; an idyllic pool, clear and unspoiled in the midst of the rank swamp; and a broken land, blasted with vents the spout noxious, heated gasses into the air. On a more practical note, he mentioned that although some of the tribes of halflings were hospitable enough to the newcomers, offering to escort and guide them in exchange for their weapons of hard steel and their magic items, many other tribes are hostile to trade, and would take little provocation to begin preying on the trade routes, or to spoil any attempts at building up waystations or other protections. He imparted that, though each tribe speaks their own, slightly different dialect, their language is not unlike that spoken by rustic halflings in their holes in your own lands.