Lost Lands: Grimmsgate IC

[DarkOne-Rob]

Phil readily returns his arrow to its quiver and looks abashed when the enchantress addresses the party. With a gulp he quietly says, "Um...back that way about five days, milady..." as he jerks a thumb back in the direction from which the caravan has come.

[DrK]

Elethielle Elethielle looks at the gaudy veiled woman with a faint blush. Before switching to soft elven "Your appearance and traveling companions surprise me so elder one. What have you to learn from the human mages? Their "school" lies 5 days down the road in the town of Troye." Then switching back to common she asks, "Have you seen much danger further up the road? We heard rumours of bandits?"

Spoiler: OOC

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Elethielle (Ellie)
M LG Half Elf Summoner (Wild caller) [VMC Druid], Level 1, Init 2, HP 8/8, Speed
AC 15, Touch 12, Flat-footed 13, CMD 13, Fort 1, Ref 2, Will 3, CMB +1, Base Attack Bonus 0
Shortbow (20) +2 (1d6, x3)
Reach Longspear (-) +1 (1d8+1, x3)
Longsword (Cold Iron) +1 (1d8+1, 19-20)
Studded Leather (+3 Armor, +2 Dex)
Abilities Str 12, Dex 14, Con 13, Int 13, Wis 12, Cha 16
Condition Half Elf: Immune sleep, +2 vs Mind Affecting
Trait: +1 saves vs Fey

Summon Animal I: 6/6 remaining

Biped Eidolon - Looks like cross between a wolf and a large cat
HD 1d10 HPs 11 BAB +1 Saves 3/4/0 Init +2 Speed 40ft
AC 16 ( +4 natural, +2 dex)
Bite +3 (1d6+3), 2 x Claws +3 (1d4+3) +1d6 bleed
Str 14 Dex 14 Con 13 Int 7 Wis 10 Cha 11
Skills (4): Perception (1) +4, Stealth (1) +6, Survival (1) +4, Acrobatics (1) +6
Feats (1): Power attack
Evol Pool (4): Limbs, Bite, Claws (1), Bleed (claws) (1), Imp Natural armour (1), Pounce (1)
SQ: Darkvision, link, Share spells

[RCgothic]

Eponine hangs back. It's not just that her father's warnings not to meddle with wizards, or Lucius's distinct discomfort about the enquiries not being directed to him, but also she's been raised that it's not polite to crowd round when answering questions.

[Farmerbink]

Artaith lowers her arms, but makes no effort to put away either axe or shield. She puts on her very best (not very good) polite face, and stands silently a pace or two behind Elethielle.

Her eyes register the scantily-clad woman as undoubtedly a figure of power- or perhaps a distraction on the behalf of one and dismiss her as somewhere between unimportant and certainly the focus of everyone else. As the rest of the caravan ogles the apparent wizard, Artaith turns her gaze to the rest of the unreasonably glamorous wagons.

Spoiler: OOC

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I'll need to find a way to get perception in class or something.... In the meantime: (1d20+3)[17]

[Cephor]

At first taken aback by Vaeleous' particularchoice in attire, Riaghan too decides to not add to the crowd in this moment, eager to hear her response to Elethielle's question.

[Ghostfoot]

The elven sorceress smirks somewhat haughtily at Elethielle's comments regarding her and her companions appearance. "Sweet child, it suits my purposes" she says in elven, a sly look on her face she reaches out and caresses Elle's cheek strangely as she speaks, "I seek an ancient relic of great power. Many ages ago a forgotten god of the eastern humans sacrificed himself to halt the hordes of the demon frog Tsathogga. Elements of his divine being yet persist in physical form, I believe, and I intend to be the one to obtain them. The record rooms of this university are my next stop in my quest."

She relaxes back down into her pillows, serpent coiling slowly about her, and switches back to the common tongue to answer the next question "Danger?" she ponders "No nothing too dangerous. There might have been bandits I suppose. I don't think that there are bandits any more."

[DarkOne-Rob]

Philemon gulps audibly at the idea that there were bandits but that now they're gone. With a tip of his head he excuses himself from the enchantress' presence and returns to his guard duties, deliberately avoiding looking at the lovely elven woman.

[DrK]

Elethielle Elethielle blushes at the touch from the sorceress. A sense of trepidation as she realises that her powers are dwarfed by this woman. "What do these relics look like? Or what powers do they have? We are heading into the deep wilderness and if fates are cruel or kind we may encounter such things?" After getting her answer she offers a respectful curtsy, "I hope your research goes well elder Sister, may the Gods keep you safe," And then she backs away heads back to the edge of the convoy, reaching out to the comforting presence of her eidolon to calm her after the unsettling meeting

Spoiler: OOC

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Elethielle (Ellie)
M LG Half Elf Summoner (Wild caller) [VMC Druid], Level 1, Init 2, HP 8/8, Speed
AC 15, Touch 12, Flat-footed 13, CMD 13, Fort 1, Ref 2, Will 3, CMB +1, Base Attack Bonus 0
Shortbow (20) +2 (1d6, x3)
Reach Longspear (-) +1 (1d8+1, x3)
Longsword (Cold Iron) +1 (1d8+1, 19-20)
Studded Leather (+3 Armor, +2 Dex)
Abilities Str 12, Dex 14, Con 13, Int 13, Wis 12, Cha 16
Condition Half Elf: Immune sleep, +2 vs Mind Affecting
Trait: +1 saves vs Fey

Summon Animal I: 6/6 remaining

Biped Eidolon - Looks like cross between a wolf and a large cat
HD 1d10 HPs 11 BAB +1 Saves 3/4/0 Init +2 Speed 40ft
AC 16 ( +4 natural, +2 dex)
Bite +3 (1d6+3), 2 x Claws +3 (1d4+3) +1d6 bleed
Str 14 Dex 14 Con 13 Int 7 Wis 10 Cha 11
Skills (4): Perception (1) +4, Stealth (1) +6, Survival (1) +4, Acrobatics (1) +6
Feats (1): Power attack
Evol Pool (4): Limbs, Bite, Claws (1), Bleed (claws) (1), Imp Natural armour (1), Pounce (1)
SQ: Darkvision, link, Share spells

[Farmerbink]

Artaith snorts in amusement at the wizardess' cavalier response to bandits. For better or worse, she breaks her peace. "Heh. I like your style, Elf-woman. Braid in that pretty hair of yours and you'd be the sweetest-looking slayer of bandits I ever laid eyes on! Your hunting back towards Troye might be a tad more sparse, though."

[Cephor]

Riaghan heard the sorceress recount her goal and after hearing the others' questions, he couldn't help but glean one himself.

"I am no stranger to drawing power from a particular, ancient source. That yearning for understanding its mysteries are always a chase to know more. For the sake of holding back evils on the horizon, I will pray that Quell can lend aid when that time comes," he stated with a slight head bow while shifting his weight forward against the staff in his hands, taking in the momentary rest from their travel.

[Ghostfoot]

The sorceress nods to herself as if pondering something beyond you all. "Yes..." she mutters to herself, "Now that would be telling". She looks vaguely across at Elethielle and Riaghan as they comment and then deliberately snubs Artaith's attempt to socialize. With a wave of her hand her wagon and guardsmen depart, heading back along the road towards the university at Troye. Everyone stands and watches them go, somewhat transfixed until she is long gone and you all look about, each wondering if perhaps you might have been ensorcelled or bewitched by the unusual elf, the other mounted guardsmen accompanying you looking similarly uncomfortable.

Snapping back into the now, your caravan heads off once more, everyone else clearly glad to be done with the strange sorceress. The rest of the day passes uneventfully and your caravan makes good time, arriving at a well fortified inn whose hanging sign names as The Horse & Tinker. A stone curtain-wall encompasses a large compound with an inn, a small guard tower, and several service buildings. The smell of roast mutton wafts from the inn and entices you in even as Palejohn starts the process of re-equipping everyone, taking advantage of the blacksmith, leatherworker and stables to ensure all are fit to continue.

The inn itself is very quiet, a reddish haired halfling behind the bar starting to take order from your caravan companions. Already you can hear him grumbling away.

Spoiler: next steps

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Up to you the extent that you with to engage with 'inn activities'

[DarkOne-Rob]

Philemon shakes himself free of the enchanting elf woman a bit earlier than most (+1 Wisdom modifier) and sighs audibly. "The natural world is a lovely place. I'm not sure elves exactly count, but they're close and some - like her - are really quite beautiful," he says happily. While many of the caravan are glad the sorceress is gone, Phil clearly feels some regret for her parting.

At the inn Phil excuses himself to eat his vegetarian meal. Seeing the grumpy bartender muttering to himself, the outdoorsman deliberately makes himself scarce and largely disappears for the night. He's nearby, if anyone needs him, but otherwise fades into the background, avoiding attention.

[Farmerbink]

Artaith snorts at the woman's impolite dismissal. "Pretty typical, that." She finds herself wandering later in the afternoon, in an annoying sort of mental fog. Still, in due time the caravan arrives at their evening's destination.

"Smells fabulous!" Artaith commends, all-but openly drooling at the overwhelming aroma of cooking meat. She offers Philemon only a wan shrug of apology as the man pointedly stays outside with an utterly different expression.

After a time, she finds herself wandering past/through the blacksmith's stall, enjoying the familiar sounds and sensations of heat and rhythmic hammering. She pauses long enough to take stock of her own gear, appreciate some of the pieces on display, and (at least) nod politely to any workers present.

[Cephor]

Approaching The Horse & Tinker, Riaghan's desire to fill his stomach hit a fever pitch. From the uplifted looks of his fellow party members' expressions at the smells emanating from the kitchen, Philemon notwithstanding, Riaghan was eager to utilize some of his day's wages to partake in some well-cooked mutton and a brim-fill tankard full of mead. In fact he approached the bar and ordered just that from the bartender. Seeing the halfling seemingly having a rough go, he took it upon himself to find a lull in the orders to inquire if there was something to it.

"Thanks for serving us, good sir. Business keeping you on your toes these days?"

[Ghostfoot]

The stay at the Horse and Tinker is pleasant enough, if a little unsettling at the lack of other patrons. The bartender mutters about bandits on the roads preying on lone travelers, and few enough knights and guardsmen to keep them in check.

Nevertheless the next few days prove remarkably uneventful. There is a common story of roving bandits and robber knights harassing vulnerable travelers but whether by luck or due to the size of your group you are not accosted by any ne'er-do-wells. The occasional famer or herder with pigs on their way to a local market, one or two armed caravans of merchants (none as large or well-guarded as yours), a small group of travelling dwarven crafters, and periodically the howling of wolves in the forests reminding you that nature encroaches on civilization (or vice versa) and that the lands out here remain only partly tamed.

About the most alarming situation is when, one day, several large winged shapes can be seen circling in the distance several miles ahead. Your mounted guards ride cautiously ahead, and return to tell of signs of battle ahead. By the time that you get near the flying shapes are long gone, and you come across a scene of recent violence. A log barricade lies smashed to one side of the old paved road and a couple of broken swords lie among splashes of blood on the stones. A makeshift campsite on a small rise overlooking the road similarly destroyed with great gouges in the earth and several arrows peppering the area. Whatever happened you missed it, and very possibly it was to your benefit! In any case there are no signs of anyone or anything remaining in the vicinity.

It is only much later that day, when you encounter a group of elves traveling from village to hidden village, that you learn a flight of wyverns had been sighted in the area. Dragon-like beasts but with the aggressive temperament of a cave bear and limited intellectual capacity of an ogre, the creatures are known to often come down from the northern Cretian Mountains in groups this time of year to hunt for easy prey in the lowlands. In this instance the elves inform you a group of brigands had been waylaying passers-by but seem to have had the unfortunate situation of choosing an elevated place to base themselves to observe the road. And so it seems the ambushers found themselves horribly exposed to attack from the air!

Counting yourselves lucky to have avoided both brigands and wyverns, your caravan continues onward towards its destination, and several days later reaches the small city of Mirquinoc, known as an odd, fey-infested place as it cohabits the site of an ancient crossroad where the borders to the fey realm are weak and permeable.

The Free City of Mirquinoc stands at the tip of a range of hills that mark the geographical edge of the Gaelon watershed, locally known as the Keelstones, which run 15 miles wide and roughly 50 miles in length. The King’s Road skirts around the edge of the hill line to the south, at a mile’s distance.

The walled city comes upon travelers unexpectedly since it is not marked by any of the milestones along the road. The walls are uneven and the towers are crooked, but it is obviously quite a busy place, with peasants bustling about.

Spoiler: Map - Free City of Mirquinoc

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Map Key:
1. City Gate.
2. Druidic Enclosure.
3. Druid Spire. A 100-foot-tall sharp, conical tower grown from the living bedrock of the city. Precipitous stairs spiral up around it to the top, where there is a small academy of druids. The academy hauls supplies up to the top using cranes and winches.
4. Old Crossroad Market
5. Great Fane of Narrah
6. Grimalkin Square
7. Mummer’s Meade
8. Fortnight Square
9. Citadel (the “Freehold”)
10. Temple of Telophus
11. Temple of Oghma
12. King’s Road Inn
13. Tower of Iolphezar
14. Thieves’ Guild
15. Greentwine Inn
16. Ryhan’s Jewelry
17. Armorers and Smiths

The uneven walls and crooked towers of the town bewitched with unearthly and uninvited guests grows steadily larger until its gate appears ahead. A guardsman stands on either side, leaning enough on their pikes to almost conceal their apathy, but their bored eyes giving them away completely. A momentary glance at the travel-weary wagons and guards was all that duty required before the guards quickly looked away — nothing to see here.

You spy the telltale flicker of a sprite between the men, a creature fancying herself the gate’s true guard. The fey were always just beyond sight. Whether it was some spell they cast on themselves or if the winged mites could leap so fast a man’s eye just couldn’t follow, like a fly darting about.

Nearby, two wooden signs dangle on thin iron chains so the fey won’t knock them down (as you've heard they did with just about anything from time to time). One sign read, “Drawing steel or iron weapons in the city is forbidden.” The other advised, “Ignore the Sprites.”

A female watch captain stands just beyond the gate. Her stance firm, her hand on her sword hilt and her head held high as she watches the morning stream of wagons roll into town loaded down with local produce or trade goods brought up by horses weary from their journey on the King’s Road. Her gaze danced from one wagon to the next.



Your caravan makes its way inside the gates of the small city and pulls up at the King's Road Inn. Here your duties end. The merchants set about with their wagons preparing to ascend to Old Crossroad Market to trade their wares. Lucius Palejohn gathers yourselves and the other guards about to distribute the payroll, everyone happy to be well remunerated for a thankfully incident-free journey. The other guards quickly disperse to the taverns and markets of the town to relax and spend their pay before no doubt looking for their next gig on the roads of the region.

With your own pouches bulging with coin you consider your next move. Your ultimate destination, the backwater village of Grimmsgate, still lies some 3 weeks travel to the northeast, in the wilderness well off the main thoroughfare of the King's Road.

The markets of Mirquinoc are here should you wish to equip yourselves with anything for the next stage of your journey, Old Crossroad Market being located on the rise in the center of the city with the defensive citadel rising to the east. Bordering to the west of the market are the Temple of Telophus (Lord of Crops) and the Great Fane of Narrah, The Lady of the Moon.

Spoiler: payroll

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Everyone gets +19gp pay for playing at being caravan guards.

If you want to do anything specific, please do, otherwise next post I'll move us on again as you travel alone for the next part of your journey.

[RCgothic]

"How prole!" Eponine giggles as she collects her wages.

She's fascinated by the flickering fey, trying hard to follow them with her eyes, ultimately without much success. Seeing the signs, she has a question. "Does this mean you can draw weapons that aren't steel or iron? Like, wooden ones? Or mithral ones? Or, I dunno, ones made from lead?"

She turns thoughtful at the thought of the path ahead.

"Three weeks more... The journey here was long enough, and that wasn't even in the wilderness. We'll each need, like, at least twenty one days' rations, possibly more like thirty in case something goes wrong," she ponders, counting on her fingers. "We should probably take more than just trail rations as well, because a month on nothing but... yeah... wow. Even the food at the inns was better than that! I'd like at least a little fresh food and preserved meat while it lasts. And two waterskins a day each... thats... uh... more than I can carry. And... um... all of my money," she tails off, dismayed.

[DarkOne-Rob]

Phil nods as he learns about the wyverns and their bandit-victims. "We aren't the top-predators around here - it's wise to be hidden from all sides when camping out in the wilderness," he says as he remembers some of his times camping in the woods. "And wyverns are nasty business - probably serves the bandits right, but it was certainly an unpleasant way to go..."

At Eponine's questions Philemon speaks up. "Most folks prefer you don't draw any weapons in town. Not much reason for it unless you mean violence or are defending yourself. As for iron...well the fey don't like it, so probably best to just keep it out of sight."

When she starts making plans for food and water as they travel the outdoorsman smiles broadly. "You could break your back and the bank if you like, but unless you're traveling with a bigger group than ours, most people have to do some living-off-the-land to get to Grimmsgate from here. I will help you with that, though I won't help you hunt, as I've mentioned before. We will be alright for water as long as you don't mind filling up your skins at the streams we find."

Spoiler: Mechanics

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Philemon's Survival modifier is +5. He should easily be able to keep us going with DC 10 checks:

DC 10 - Get along in the wild. Move up to half your overland speed while hunting and foraging (no food or water supplies needed). You can provide food and water for one other person for every 2 points by which your check result exceeds 10.

If anyone else can pass similar checks or assist, I think we will be alright.

[Farmerbink]

Approaching the gates, Artaith grunts unhappily at the signage. She takes a moment to ensure her weapons are stowed (as if she could possibly have shirked their care before), and won't come loose unintentionally. She then all-but gapes at the watch captain, her low-key annoyance leaning dangerously close to outright irritation. "Funny, ya look awful ready to draw that steel here in town," she grumbles, eyeing the woman with what many would consider uncomfortable straight-forwardness. "Is this a 'do as I say' kinda place, or is ya hand just resting there for looks?" She stops and waits with Eponine, likewise curious about the watch captain's explanation.

Spoiler: OOC

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In this case, Artaith isn't trying to be rude or start a fight, but you know. She's good at being rude. Perhaps a soldier would take her straight-forwardness well. In either case, I'm gonna roll diplomacy, as Artaith is legitimately trying to get information, not irritate. (1d20-2)[4]

A few moments later, she finds herself scowling again, gaping at Eponine. "How wot?" she mutters, clearly utterly confused. She watches the back-and-forth as Eponine calculates their needs and Philemon mentions his own ability to live off the land with a growing sense of amusement.

"Neither o' ya ever traveled with a cleric before?" she asks, brusquely. "And guess ya never watched my morning preparations, either." Artaith sniffs, betraying her own odd brand of elitism. "Sweetheart," she places a rough, broad hand on Eponine's gleaming armor. "By the grace o' the Mother of Accord, I can conjure pure, clean water any old time ya like."

She smiles, the expression seeming horribly out of place and more than a little unnerving. "I'll carry a good bit o' gear if ya need it, but ain't gonna waste my effort on water. Sheesh."

[DarkOne-Rob]

Philemon nods in agreement. "I hadn't thought of that - you're right, I never have traveled with a cleric before. That makes things even simpler! No worries - we will be fine," the young man says, perhaps dooming the party with his naivete, but smiling as he does so...

[Cephor]

"Quite an interesting town here," Riaghan remarks, observing the sprites darting here and there and taking in the surroundings. He nodded to Artaith's solution regarding her water conjuration. "I too can assist in a pinch," he said, implying his own water affinity. "I am also thankful we have the expertise in subsistence in this venture. It certainly keeps our costs down."

Spoiler: Shopping

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Aside from gathering the necessary rations, I'll be on the lookout for a waterproof lantern in the market or in one of the shops.

[DrK]

Elethielle The inn had been unsavoury when they had stayed there and the appearance of the camp ripped apart from wyvrens had amused her. The sense of profound natural justice something that she had enjoyed the irony of. As they approach the fey town she watches with interest, "Its a strange place this, the barrier with the feywild runs thin here" her sharp eyes try and track the sprites as she see's if she can recognise their type. Taking her pay with a grateful nod and a smile to the wagon team she bids them a farewell and looks to her new companions, blowing hair out of her eyes her gaze drifts up the druidic spire before listening to the others, "As you say, I'm sure we can get by, I have grown used to foraging for myself and my companion can aid me in the hunt of we want more than roots and berries." At the smell of the town she glances back to the gate. I can think if nothing I require here, shall we rest a night or begin the long walk to Grimmsgate? We are still many days travel."

Spoiler: OOC

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Know [natue) (1d20+6)[23]

Elethielle (Ellie)
M LG Half Elf Summoner (Wild caller) [VMC Druid], Level 1, Init 2, HP 8/8, Speed
AC 15, Touch 12, Flat-footed 13, CMD 13, Fort 1, Ref 2, Will 3, CMB +1, Base Attack Bonus 0
Shortbow (20) +2 (1d6, x3)
Reach Longspear (-) +1 (1d8+1, x3)
Longsword (Cold Iron) +1 (1d8+1, 19-20)
Studded Leather (+3 Armor, +2 Dex)
Abilities Str 12, Dex 14, Con 13, Int 13, Wis 12, Cha 16
Condition Half Elf: Immune sleep, +2 vs Mind Affecting
Trait: +1 saves vs Fey

Summon Animal I: 6/6 remaining

Biped Eidolon - Looks like cross between a wolf and a large cat
HD 1d10 HPs 11 BAB +1 Saves 3/4/0 Init +2 Speed 40ft
AC 16 ( +4 natural, +2 dex)
Bite +3 (1d6+3), 2 x Claws +3 (1d4+3) +1d6 bleed
Str 14 Dex 14 Con 13 Int 7 Wis 10 Cha 11
Skills (4): Perception (1) +4, Stealth (1) +6, Survival (1) +4, Acrobatics (1) +6
Feats (1): Power attack
Evol Pool (4): Limbs, Bite, Claws (1), Bleed (claws) (1), Imp Natural armour (1), Pounce (1)
SQ: Darkvision, link, Share spells

[DarkOne-Rob]

"I am probably more comfortable sleeping outside than in a town, even one with so much nature as the fey bring into town here. But if anyone wants one last night in a bed, this will be it for several days at least, probably a week or more. It's up to you all," Philemon responds with a smile, looking to the more pampered members of the party expectantly.

[Ghostfoot]

"You choose to draw a weapon in here, you'll have me to contend with," responds the watch captain, "draw an iron weapon and you'll have both me and the fae folk after you. And I don't police their actions. Let's just say we'd prefer our visitors had a peaceful and uncomplicated time in our city."

Her expression darkens somewhat as Artaith presses the matter "I'm watching you, dwarf. Keep out of trouble. And by the gods don't come grumbling to me if the pixies turn all your mead to mudwater. I'll know you brought it on yourself."

...................

Having collected your pay and fare welling the other members of Palejohn's caravan you hit the markets to prepare yourselves for the next leg of your journey. You have no problem sourcing travelers rations for the road, and Riaghan purchases a sturdily crafted wind- and water-proof lantern from an equipment store.

Elethielle keeps alert her eyes open for signs of the local fey. Every so often she spies tell-tale flickerings of movement at the corner of her vision, and occasionally sees two or three slight elfin sprites with gossamer wings hiding behind chimneys or sitting on rooftops and windowsills. The wee fey seem content enough in their own activities and as neither yourselves nor any others bother them you don't run afoul of any strange retributions for perceived slights.

In fact the small city seems to operate around and alongside the fey but not integrate at all, both separate groups of inhabitants deliberately ignoring the other in a very strange sort of communal willful denial (except perhaps the mysterious druids atop their spire who you gather act as go-betweens with the fey court). The markets are remarkably relaxed with only a few guards present and merchants seemingly little concerned by thievery with many wares on open display.

Once your provisioning is completed you find yourselves a meal at a travelers tavern named the Hart's Head and rooms at the serviceable Noble Hound. The timing proves fortunate as a thunderstorm hits that eve with high winds and torrential rain lashing against the windowpanes as you slumber. You are thankful to not be caught out in this weather, and equally thankful the storm eases by morning leaving you free to travel on.

.............

Gathering yourselves and your travelling gear you set off once more along the King's Road highway. Three day's walk, foraging as you go, broken only by occasional encounters with mounted guard patrols, brings you to a signposted intersection where the Watershed Road branches north towards Old Lawson Town and beyond, Grimmsgate.

Turning onto this northbound road you quickly find the 'road' is really no more than a muddy trail that constantly fords small streams as it soon plunges into heavily forested wilderness. With no inns or homesteads on this trail you camp under the stars, again thankful that the rains hold and that all you have to deal with from nature is muddy boots from the frequent fords.

You pass several old campsites no doubt used by the infrequent travelers along this trail, and find them useful to assist as you prepare each evening. The fauna of the forests seems relatively benign, the wild animals more afraid and wary of a group of humanoid travelers that you are of them. In fact the worst that you come across is on several nights having to drive off small flocks (swarms?) of disgusting mosquito-like bat-winged stirges attracted to your warm bodies. This is more a hindrance than a real danger, and while you lose a few hours sleep staying vigilant you soon pass through the area they seem to inhabit.

As you travel further north the great boles of ancient trees give the strange impression that the relative safety of the trail is maintained only at their sufferance, that this little strip of road could be blotted out in moments, if the trees ever so chose — crushed between their trunks to vanish forever, as if the trail and all who travel upon it had never been.

After two weeks of travel through the old growth forests you eventually come to the village of Old Lawson Town, jarringly normal and civilized after so many days in the wilderness. Here you are able to re-provision, hearing from the superstitious folk that Grimmsgate lies only three days hence. Despite the locals constant fretting over every perceived omen imaginable, you find the place welcoming enough and certainly note the well-established brewing industry that it supports, the delicious Black Wizard Stout being relatively notable and packing quite a kick.

The locals seem happy enough to talk about nearby Grimmsgate, "Seems like things have been going downhill for years, over there in Grimmsgate. There is an old temple out there somewhere nearby. It’s called the Elder Temple because it was before they had a temple in the village. Something bad happened there a long time ago.”

None of this is new news to Philemon of course, who extends the conversation a little with his own views "Seems like we lost a fur trapper or a farmer every month for a while, and now there aren’t hardly enough people to keep things going. I mean, no one would tell me anything but we've gotta get there to help somehow!”

Spoiler: info

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Please deduct 2gp each for two night's accommodation & purchased food (5sp lodging, 3 sp meal, 2 sp drinks - 1 night in Mirquinoc, 1 in Old Lawson Town).

Total rations used = 17 days each, less any foraging done along the way.

Much as I would normally like to run some encounters 'on the road', for the sake of all our sanity I do want to get you to your destination so am skipping through these for now as scene-setting only.

"I mean, no one would tell me anything but we gotta get there to help somehow!” - working on the basis that Philemon has (less than) zero social skills and so hasn't been entrusted with any special knowledge by any other inhabitants of Grimmsgate.

Next stop - Grimmsgate!

[DarkOne-Rob]

Philemon stay out of any arguments that might develop over the rules in Mirquinoc, instead enjoying the occasional pixie-siting and trying to not show his excitement too much at getting back out into the wilds. "See, even here it can be a bit noisy for me...you wouldn't believe how quiet it is a couple of days out from a town. It's really nice...let's a person think their thoughts and not be interrupted by all the chatter."

---

The rain doesn't bother Phil any, and he spends much of the evening in quiet contemplation of the storm's furies. "Man, if I didn't love the Morninglight so much, I could totally get onboard with worship of storms...someone like Oon or even Lusph. It's so wild and powerful..."

Spoiler: Mechanics

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Survival DC 10 - Get along in the wild. Move up to half your overland speed while hunting and foraging (no food or water supplies needed). You can provide food and water for one other person for every 2 points by which your check result exceeds 10.

Is there any reason Philemon cannot take 10 (for a 15) on this, providing food for himself and two others? If there is no problem here, then that is what he will do while traveling.

Philemon doesn't seem to be in much of a hurry, happily foraging as the party travels and gathering enough food for himself and two others (all of it veggies/fruits). At night he happily points out constellations and during the day landmarks and "interesting" plants or animals they encounter. "Those stirges are really much more dangerous if you don't see them and they get to draining you. A whole swarm can terrorize an area if you don't know what to watch for or get caught unawares...hey, look at this! You don't see too many of these around anymore..."

In the old woods he shows more deference, quietly traveling and doing what he can to guide the others' steps. Pointing out pitfalls, tripping roots, and other minor hazards, he also tries to minimize the party's impact as they travel, as if to soften any negative response from the deep forest to their presence. "I haven't ever met one, but I've heard of some of the oldest trees around here pulling up their roots and actively protecting the younger trees from woodcutters and such. Best to be safe and just keep moving through - they've been here longer than all of us and will be here long after we're all worm-food."

While in Old Lawson Town Philemon seems nervous again, as if he's anxious to be home. "See what I mean? That's why we need you folks there in Grimmsgate. THe word of our troubles has even reached here! We're only three days away...hope everyone is alright since I've been gone..."

[Farmerbink]

Artaith smirks, offering reassurance in her own brusque way. "Just sayin'. Seems odd ta have yer hand on the blade is all." Having made no actionable offense, she moves on her business, confused at the watch captain's apparent rudeness. She stops by the market to buy a few weeks' rations, not quite content to rely upon Philemon's aid. Her purchases are notably heavy on the "salted mutton" side of things, but there's a few handfuls of dry-packed cheese, nuts, and fresh bread (to be re-packed for longevity later) among her pack.

---

The next morning, Artaith rises in a good mood, having partaken some moderate amount of the local brews the night before. Like some kind of inverse hangover, the gentle ales seem to have bolstered her body as well as spirits. She has to hurry to maintain the taller folks' pace, as they set off down the King's Road, but she makes no complaints and if it's more than nominal effort, she hides it well. The sight of occasional mounted patrols only leaves her more comfortable, confident that only an absolute fool would molest a party such as theirs on an often-surveilled road.

---

Which makes her attitude as their journey takes them into the wilds a stark contrast. After the first fire, the stout woman begins to grumble over the hassles of wet and muddy mail and greaves. When it quickly becomes apparent that the fords are more the rule than exception, she amazes her companions by demonstrating a notably fouler attitude. Though it mostly remains under her breath, the air becomes abuzz with both the wings of insects and a steady stream of ever-more-colorful curses. The encroaching woods seem to threaten her into silence, but the tension continues to mount further and further, leaving everyone wondering if the stout woman is going make it to Grimmsgate before she snaps.

Finally, they seem to stumble upon a village (at least it seems that way to her, having long since lost any sense of distance or time), and the pervasive pressure of irritation and frustration evaporates like a bubble on the surface of a pond. Artaith quickly makes her way to the tavern and is 3 tankards deep on the local brew before she comes up for air long enough to complain about the name. "In a world with Dwarves and Gnomes, who names a stout on a stodgy, skinny old miser like a wizard?" She snorts, chuckles, and takes another long draught before ordering a fourth. She smiles widely- a bizarre and discomfiting sight. "Well, whoever he is, he makes a fine brew! Can't name it worth horses' p**s, but nobody's perfect."

[Ghostfoot]

The stopover in Old Lawson Town is a welcome respite for most of you, most notably the indulgence in the local brew which proves to be extraordinarily potent. This plays out about you over the evening as Artaith stoically demolishes all drinks placed in front of her even as the bouncers periodically are forced to restrain many other patrons as they lose complete control of their faculties.

Spoiler: Black Wiz drunkeness?

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Black Wizard Stout vs Artaith

Fort save DC13 or very mild confused state (1d20+5)[15]
After the primary effects pass, the drinker continues to be affected in a much milder version (no mechanical effect — roleplay only) for 1d6 days

After the unexpectedly boisterous evening you gather your belongings the next morning and prepare to set out again, spirits high in the knowledge that your destination is but a couple of days away.

After three more days of traveling, you and your companions are at last approaching the small village of Grimmsgate. The narrow road that leads for miles through this forest is overgrown with weeds, beginning to blend and disappear entirely back into the wilderness. Indeed, everything you have seen since the last real signs of civilization has had the same feeling of slow retreat and disintegration. More than once, you have passed by strange signs and indications — bones arranged in a circle around a human skull; a small, red-stained wicker basket by the side of the road, an unmarked grave in the dappled shade of the trees.

Through occasional gaps in the trees you spy a small hill not far to the east of the trail. Your path meanders about some distance from the base of the hill and on the distant crest you can just make out several large obelisks or columns jutting through the foliage.

Spoiler: Map - environs

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Finally, though, you see ahead of you the distinctive hill upon which the village of Grimmsgate is built. At the top, there is a small cluster of buildings — you can just barely see the half-collapsed roof of the old Temple of Law that was once said to be the pride of the village. Even at this distance, the place looks run down. Although the village is not fortified, the hill is very steep and only one path leads up to the top.

The village sits atop a steep hill, with a single pathway leading around the hill’s natural curve and up to a gatehouse that protects the buildings at the summit. There are three farmhouse-type buildings along the path, but the rest of the village appears to be located behind the gatehouse, so that any attackers would have to take the gates before they could reach the regular buildings.

Three stone farmhouses were once built beside the pathway that leads up to the top of Grimmsgate Hill, but they appear to be abandoned now. One of them has a wooden shutter that bangs open and closed in the wind. A cat sits in one of the dark windows, watching you as you pass by.

The trail up to the hilltop is blocked by a half-ruined gatehouse. The gates have fallen off and have been pushed to the side to keep them from blocking the entrance. However, the rusting iron portcullis has been lowered, and there is a guard standing atop the building with his crossbow leveled at you. "Halt! Who goes there?!" squeaks the young lad guarding the way. "Philemon? Is that you?".

Spoiler: Map - Grimmsgate Village

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[DarkOne-Rob]

"Ho, there! Yeah, it's me, Philemon! I'm back with some folks willing to help out around, push back against the baddies, you know? What's happened since I've been gone? And why is the portcullis down? Afraid of an attack? Has it gotten that bad?" responds Philemon, his voice betraying some worry even as he tries to be cheerful.

[Farmerbink]

At first glance of their destination, Artaith blinks several times. "Hells, are there still people out here? Looks like ol' Mother Nature already reclaimed her ground, if you ask me." Of course, no one had asked her. That didn't much matter to Artaith. Her expression remains thoroughly skeptical as they climb the winding pathway up the hill, passing a trio of clearly uninhabited farmhouses.

By the time the gatehouse is in view, its gates cast aside like trash, Artaith is beginning to understand the depths of her political exile. "Stars and stones, lad," she mutters, turning to Philemon. "At this point, isn't it easier to move down the road Old Lawson? I'd bet both arms at the elbow nobody here brews like that 'Dark Wizard' stuff."

As introductions are made, Artaith dutifully (and perhaps wisely) waits for Philemon to announce her and the others. It wouldn't do to offend them before they even know your name.

[Cephor]

That night in the Noble Hound after Riaghan had found his lantern sold as having special properties, he noticed the winds picking up as the evening drew the curtain of light ever further away and rainclouds filled the skies. "Looks like this is a perfect chance," he said, once inside his room.

Lighting the oiled wick inside the lantern, he brought it to the oak table by the small window overlooking the now quiet street below. Carefully unlatching the shutter so as not to swing wildly open, he definitely felt the winds pushing hard as the rain now began to hammer against the outer walls. Watching the fire dance yet not extinguish, Riaghan was quite impressed. The lantern was now soaking and the wind slapping its one side hard as it rattled atop the table. The candle should of blown out after a mere second of exposure, but there it was.

"Money well spent. This'll do nicely."

---

While on the road to Grimmsgate, Riaghan appreciated Philemon's foreknowledge of the terrain and obstacles they encountered. This past month had proven quite helpful building comradery, getting to know each other's expertise, strengths and weaknesses.

---

As they finally came to the hill of which their destination sat upon, he thought that the trust they had built would finally face its test. They may of had a native with them, but even his uneasiness of what lay ahead them was not so reassuring. And from the look on the young crossbowman's face, the uncertainty was not unfounded.

Cordially, he too would wait to introduce himself until warranted.

[RCgothic]

"I can't believe we still own property round here," Eponine comments, looking around with a distinct look of aversion. "I can see immediately the problem with daddy's rabbit farm. It's trying to farm rabbits here!"

Pouting, she turns to Philemon. "Hey, Phil! You're from around here. Which way's the Caron Rabbit Ranch? I should check in at least, and perhaps pen a letter home to let daddy know I've arrived."