Bel's RHoD: Chapter 1 [IC]

[BelGareth]

RHσD: Cԋαρƚҽɾ 1

As the first light of dawn breaks, it casts long shadows on the worn path known as the Dawnway. The morning sun, with its golden rays, heralds the beginning of an adventure that could shape the fate of the Elsir Vale. Our heroes, bound by a shared destiny, walk down the Dawnway towards Drellin’s Ferry. The soft murmur of the Elsir River, that flows alongside the path, is a subtle but constant companion. The sky overhead is an expansive canvas of soft blues and pinks as birds sing the morning into being.

The journey so far has been uneventful but the camaraderie among the party has grown with each step. They are not just a band of adventurers anymore; they are a fellowship with a common purpose. They share laughter and tales of their past as they march on, the rhythm of their steps a steady drumbeat on the road.

Novalis, the harbinger, rides ahead, his mind a cauldron of thoughts. The whispers of the young maiden and the old crone ring through his mind as he approaches Drellin’s Ferry, the winds carrying with them the scent of an impending storm. His veins thrum with the essence of violence, a gift and a curse that fate has bestowed upon him.

Ringel, the courier, moves with a pace born of familiarity with the land. Her heart beats in rhythm with the cadence of the Vale, her bond with the soil and the people as unyielding as the hills she has roamed. She carries messages, yes, but today she carries the hope of the Vale within her.

Michael, the cleric and envoy, rides with a purpose. His allegiance to Lord Kerden Jarmaath is as firm as his resolve to unveil the mysteries that now shroud the Vale. Each stride his mount takes is a step towards unveiling a fate that hangs precariously over the land he calls home.

Sharess, the Ur-Priest, with her heart seething for retribution, joins this fellowship with a will of steel. Her path, albeit filled with personal vendetta, now aligns with a cause greater than any individual. Her eyes, that have seen the grim dance of death, now seek to pierce through the veil of uncertainty that looms ahead.

As they approach Drellin’s Ferry, the quaint little hamlet appears to be awakening slowly with the morning. The distant sound of a blacksmith’s hammer meeting metal, the gentle clang of the anvil, cuts through the morning serenity. It is a song of normalcy, a stark contrast to the storm they know is brewing on the horizon.

As the adventurers make their way closer to the hamlet, the quaint simplicity of Drellin’s Ferry unfolds before them. Nestled by the Elsir River, the settlement is a humble collection of rustic homes, modest trade establishments, and a scattering of sturdy watchtowers. The watchtowers stand like silent sentinels, their wooden frames weathered but resolute against the test of time.

The central landmark of the town, the old but sturdy wooden ferry, waits patiently by the river, ready to bear travelers across the gentle waters. The ferry, a symbol of the town’s namesake, stands as a humble testament to the enduring spirit of the community that calls this place home.

Surrounded by the lush greenery of the Elsir Vale, the hamlet exudes a sense of tranquility. The land around it is fertile and the farmers have tilled it with care, the fields are a patchwork of different crops swaying gently with the morning breeze.

But beneath the peaceful facade, a thread of tension runs through the town. The faces of the townsfolk carry a quiet apprehension. They go about their morning chores with a hurried intent, casting wary glances towards the horizon as if expecting an unseen storm.

The adventurers can feel the pulse of the town, the rhythm of normalcy trying to beat against the drum of dread. The town guards are a part of this rhythm, their vigilant presence a reminder of the unseen threats that loom beyond the tranquil veil of Drellin’s Ferry.

As the party steps within the bounds of the settlement, the watchful gaze of the town guards falls upon them. The guards, dressed in humble but sturdy armor, stand at the ready at the town's entrance, a blend of curiosity and caution painted across their faces.

The lead guard, a stern but fair man named Sergeant Hersk, steps forward, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, yet he does not draw it. His eyes scan over the party, gauging the potential threat or aid they might offer.

"Hail travelers," he says, his voice firm yet not unfriendly. "I am Sergeant Hersk, the leader of this humble guard force. We’ve not had many travelers on the Dawnway of late, for rumors of war spread faster than wildfire. What brings you to Drellin’s Ferry?

Spoiler

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We skipped the first encounter, which was a doozy. Feel free to do whatever with this info. (but you may need a cart to carry all that loot)
You got ambushed by a Hobgoblin patrol made up of:
A hobgoblin Doom Cleric
A hobgoblin Bladebearer
2x Hell Hounds
12x Hobgoblins

Loot:
Cleric - +1 Banded Mail, light steel shield, 2 potions of cure light wounds, scroll of spiritual weapon, scroll of summon monster III (CL 6th), and a holy symbol (a DC 15 Knowledge (religion) check identifies it as a symbol of Tiamat)
Bladebearer - 2x +1 shortswords, Masterwork Studded leather
Hobgoblins - 9x chainmail, 9x heavy steel shield, 9x masterwork longswords, 9x composite (+1) longbows, 9x 1 (20) quiver of arrows, 9x potions of cure light wounds

Further investigation found they had murdered a traveler and his guards, you found their bodies on the side of the road, with some extras:
355 gp
2x studded leather, 2x longswords, 2x light crossbows, 2x 1(10) quiver (human guards)

[u-b]

"The rumors do. Michael Burne, a special envoy of Lord Kerden Jarmaath of Brindol, here to investigate the rumors... which so far seem to be substantiated enough. You'll have to send people to bury some people and dispose of some dead hobgoblins. Some distance that way." Michael points, also specifying the distance. "I want the one with the check mark on his forehead to be brought here for possible questioning. He's dead like the rest, but that is not an obstacle." With that matter handed over, Michael proceeds with what he came here for. "We'll need to talk: you, the mayor, the head cleric and any scouts and witnesses you would see fit to invite, together with this small team here. Preferably today."

Spoiler

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The whole team have had Elation since the morning and it will persist until the morning tomorrow: +2 STR (morale), +2 DEX (morale), +5 speed (untyped).

I'm also marking some other spells and charges as spent, as appropriate for having been in an encounter.

I will make and manage editable loot tables starting some time this week. Fow now, just write OOC if you are taking anything for yourself. I assume we haul the rest for a possible sale.

[Auranghzeb]

After the fateful encounter with the hobgoblins and the clerics of Tiamat Novalis recited verses to himself to drown the voice of Manheim. But as the party approached Delin's Ferry, the voice became a vision of barren land, and the final verses of the poem rung true in his head.

And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail:
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown

He directed a smirk to the rest of the party, hiding the knowledge of what he imagined. Tiamat was a threat, Istus had warned in omens and visions. Some of these competent adventurers he had come to appreciate, and who where undoubtfully good warriors, would fall in the field of battle, perhaps Novalis himself. So was Fate.

*****

As sergeant Hersk approached them, wary and trying to project authority, Novalis let the others do the introductions and lets his gaze wanders around while they did, reading the town with the knowledge of many battles.


Then he spoke softly.

Maese Hersk, we humbly come to the vale carried by the winds of war. For one reason or another, we seek to find whether there's cause of greater concern. I see that your competent leadership has this town prepared
with sturdy walls and rising towers. I offer you my sword.

[Alhallor]

The elf known as Telrayel had some feather bound in his hair, that he probably had found on the way towards Drellins Ferry. He kept an erratic scouting pattern around the group, mingling know and again with them but being too erratic to stay at they're side for too long.

The previous encounter had worried him, and even when his arrows proved to be more accurate than the Hobgoblins this time, they were a lot and it seemed more could be on the way.

When Michael and Novalis talk to the guards he only nods towards they're words, possibly giving them more weight. Then he flashes a letter that was on his person for awhile.

I would also like to inquire the whereabouts of a Sorannah Anitah? She should live here, yes?

[Metastachydium]

That was quite the crowd. I don't think I've ever seen so many Hobgoblins my darn life, and that's before the weird dogs. Ringel interjects between Michael and Novalis, the latter biding his time, silently looming in the background. So… What's rumours for Lord Burne here, is more like luck for me. Because, gods, I wouldn't have made that one alone. for her part, the Eneko is content with lingering a step behind Michael herself, but she does look the sergeant in the eye, her gaze curious, scanning that of the man for the faintest hint of familiarity. Hersk… She knows several Hersks. Does she know this Hersk? She should come this way more often. I mean, didn't this stretch of road use to be a lot safer? This will eat business whole. she scratches her left ear idly. Hersk… Hersk… When was she last at the Ferry, anyhow? Bloody Terrelton. Everything would be so much better if that place weren't on the same road. Hersk… Should she introduce herself?

I would also like to inquire the whereabouts of a Sorannah Anitah? She should live here, yes?

Having let the odd knight speak his part, it is the Elf's words that shakes her out of her musings. Right. That, too. she taps a spot on her armour. I also have one of those. How weird. Busy person, this Soranna, it appears. or Katal is right and this is for the other Soranna in Hillwatch. Again. Maybe it's important?

Spoiler: OOC

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And because I can't bear not rolling anything,
Diplomacy: (1d20+12)[19]

[BelGareth]

"Aye, Lord Burne," Sergeant Hersk nodded with a firm resolve. "We'll attend to the scene you've described and ensure that the marked one is brought here for questioning. Captain Soranna Anitah, our guard captain, will undoubtedly want to be part of this investigation. I'll arrange for a council meeting at the town hall come evening. Your insights, along with those of your companions, will be invaluable in these perilous times."

He turned towards Novalis, acknowledging his offer with a respectful nod. "Your offer of aid is a beacon of hope, sir. In such dark times, the strength of honorable warriors like yourself is what we need to fortify our town against the looming threats."

Addressing Telrayel's inquiry, Hersk continued, "Captain Soranna Anitah resides near the eastern edge of town, close to the barracks."

Hersk looked towards Ringel, her reminiscing words resonating with the sergeant's own longing for the safety that once cradled Drellin's Ferry. "The peace of the road has been shattered, but with your presence, there might just be a chance to restore some semblance of security. The letters you carry seem to hold significance, and delivering them to Captain Soranna Anitah might unveil vital clues to our current predicament."

He then addressed the group as a whole, "I’ll ensure that Mayor Wiston, Captain Soranna Anitah, and the rest of the Town Council are informed and present at the meeting this evening. Until then, feel free to acquaint yourselves with the town and gather any additional insights that may aid us. Our town's folk, especially the likes of Delora Zann with her keen observational skills, and Kellin Shadowbanks with his well-informed nature, could prove to be resourceful allies. We’ll convene at the town hall come evening to discuss our course of action against the threats that loom over the Elsir Vale.”

With a final salute, Hersk turned to dispatch a group to the scene Michael had described, the weight of the task at hand pressing heavily on his shoulders. Yet, the resolve in the eyes of the newly arrived group sparked a glimmer of hope amidst the encroaching darkness that threatened to engulf Drellin’s Ferry and the entire Vale.

[u-b]

Michael first goes to Old Bridge Inn to book a stay for everyone (though he does not pay for that yet) while the driver heads to the stables and pays there. At the inn, Michael orders something to drink after the day of travel, like a pitcher of a reasonably good watered-down wine or mead or berry juice or what not, then asks Kellin if he is available for a chat. If so, Michael starts with telling the news and roughly the rumors he has, then tries to get some in return. Topics of interest:
1. Bandits, goblins, other threats, especially recent or those that have changed.
2. Business, especially the recent traffic and interruptions thereof and the business sentiment here in town.
3. Accidents, incidents, etc. that have not been routinely explained, if any.
4. Anything else that Kellin would like to tell Michael or pass to Brindol military.

Spoiler

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Know (local): (1d20+5)[10]
Gather info: take 10 + 5 = 15

[Auranghzeb]

Novalis dismounted, patted his steed twice and send it back to the plane of shadows. The steed dissolved like a shadow under the midday sun.

Your words are appreciated, maese Hersk. I shall visit Sir. Shadowbanks, since the affinities are obvious. -He chuckled- And then I'll visit the local churches, may the have a place to spare for me where I can spend the night. Shall anyone come with me to visit Sir. Shadowbanks?

Novalies gestured with his hand and then politely waved.

Spoiler: OoC

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Knowledge local (1d20+11)[20] Moslty about the local churches that may need illustrations on their prayerbooks.
Knowledge Nobility (1d20+11)[15] whose jurisdiction is Dellin's Ferry on?

[Alhallor]

While the others make they're plans and look around, He gestures no towards Novalis, weaving his message for emphasis and goes over towards Ringel.

We should probably bring both our messages to Captain Soranna Anitah, if it holds major significance to the current situation it would probably be better if she get's the messages as soon as possible.

Ringel was still a bit weird for Telrayel, she did look like an orc after all but neither smelled like one nor did she behave like one. The elf was still a bit weary in her presence but every day she seemed less like an ancestral nemesis.

Spoiler: OOC

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Just trying to get towards Captain Anitah first, if the messages are important she probably would like to think about they're contents a bit before getting thrown in a meeting.

[Cygnia]

Tanna-Mai looked up from cleaning her new short sword. "I'll join ya, Novalis!" It would give her a chance to stretch her legs and maybe distract herself from the fact that Ringel and Telrayel were given Very Important Letters to deliver -- and she wasn't.

[Metastachydium]

Ringel is about to open her mouth and take up Novalis on his offer (she feels like he's probably best not left unattended), but Tanna-Mai is quicker in seeing to having that covered, which is good; she enjoys her full trust. Too bad she'll miss out on the knight's poetry herself, though. He has a way with words. But the Eneko must likewise acknowledge that much as the scuffle on the road has shaken her, she still has her own duties. The twitchy Elf, Telrayel, gets a radiant smile for reminding her of that much. Work comes first! Good thinking! she tells him, almost too cheerily given what they'd just endured, grabbing his arm more gently than her hands seem capable of grabbing things, to start, essentially, dragging him along as she begins to stride straight for the barracks. It's not even far away or anything. she adds, lifting a few fingers of the haft of her spear to wave the others a clumsy goodbye. See the rest of you around! We won't be long. although this seems like a good evening for a good walk. She'll see. Ever been to the Ferry? she asks the Elf, half her mind already rifling through local sights and folks, and, a more businesslike third, places to sell the Goblins' salvaged junk. It's a quaint little place.

Spoiler: OOC

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Knowledge (local): (1d20+7)[19] Anyone buying weapons and the like? Any friendlies that might hang out hereabouts now that she could look up?

[BelGareth]

In the quaint setting of the Old Bridge Inn, Michael finds himself seated across from Kellin Shadowbanks, the congenial halfling innkeeper. The old wooden tables and rustic charm of the place providing a comforting backdrop to their conversation.

Kellin, with a genuine concern in his eyes, leans in closer to share his thoughts, but now in a soft country accent. "Well, I tell ya, Michael, these goblin and bandit skirmishes have truly ruffled some feathers 'round here, they have. They've been plaguing the Dawn Way like a persistent cough, so they have. Trade caravans are now thinkin’ twice 'fore headin' this way, and it's puttin' a right ol’ dent in the business, 'specially here at the inn. Folks are as jittery as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockin' chairs, I tell ya."

He takes a small sip from his cup before continuing, "Now, speakin’ of unusual, some travellers been whisperin' 'bout seein' strange lights out in the Witchwood. Now, I reckon it might be that local druid, Avarthel, doin' his nightly rounds, but folks are spooked nonetheless."

His eyes wander off for a moment as if reminiscing about quieter days, before he returns his attention to Michael, ready to delve further into the local happenings.

---

Novalis and Tanna-Mai find themselves welcomed warmly at the local church of Pelor, where the stout-hearted Brother Derny receives them. His lilted accent adds a comforting cadence to his words, "Ah, ye’re more than welcome to find refuge here for the night. The house of Pelor is always open to those seekin' sanctuary," he says, his face a blend of warmth and worry.

As Novalis inquires about the local jurisdiction, Brother Derny shares, "Ah, Drellin’s Ferry, it falls under the watchful eyes of Town Speaker Norro Wiston and our brave Captain Soranna Anitah, it does. Though we've some local lords and minor nobility 'round the outskirts, they’ve been good 'bout respectin' the town's autonomy, they have."

He sighs, "The marauder attacks have cast a long shadow 'cross these lands. The faithful have been fillin’ the pews, prayin’ for protection from the shadows lurkin’ 'round the bend."

---

As Telrayel and Ringel approach the barracks, they find Captain Soranna Anitah reviewing the guard rotations for the evening. She's a tall, strong-boned woman with an air of discipline about her. When she speaks, her voice carries a crisp, distinctive lilt.

Upon seeing the duo, she sets aside her papers, her face hardening with a subtle air of urgency as she addresses them. "Alright, what's this I 'ear about messages of importance? Let's 'ave it then," she says, extending a hand for the letters.

As Telrayel hands over the letters, she quickly scans through them, her face growing a shade grimmer with each line she reads. "Bloody 'ell... This ain't good, not good at all," she mutters under her breath, though loud enough for the duo to hear.

She looks up, locking eyes with Ringel and Telrayel. "I appreciate you bringin' this to me attention swiftly. Seems we've got a storm brewin' on the horizon, and it ain’t just any drizzle. I’ll need to get the council together, discuss our next steps. In the meantime, feel free to get yourselves settled in town. And... thank you," she adds, her tone firm yet appreciative as she nods towards the two.

On Ringel’s inquiry about weapons, Captain Anitah mentions, "Morlin Coalhewer might be your man. He’s the local swordsmith and armorer. Given the dire straits, he might be lookin' to stock up."

With a swift motion, she gathers her papers and heads towards the town hall, her mind seemingly racing with the implications of the news she just received.

Spoiler

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You all rolled quite well, responses are above, just so you know im not ignoring your checks,

[Alhallor]

When Ringel grabs Telrayel's arm he has no probelm getting dragged and instead of fighting it keeps pace. He let's her talk at first, the younger races were always so full of life and vibrancy, which was always fascinating. He waits, perhaps a bit longer than usual, till he answers. I'm not sure to be honest? You know... Telrayel shuts himself up, of course she didn't know.

I have problems remembering towns and villages. If I walk in a forest and see a certain tree or a boulder that works as a marker I can see the change time has wrought upon it and realize that it's the same thing that I have seen 10 years ago. I can't do the same with buildings, and most non-elves change too rapidly to keep up with properly.

------------At Soranna Anitah----------

We'll be at the meeting. After Soranna Anitah took her leave Telrayel says to Ringel. It seems there is a lot to do. I'll try to make myself acquainted with the surroundings. He takes his leave, but then adds. I hope the poor 'Ell doesn't get too bloodied. It sounds like we may need basically everyone.

Spoiler: OOC

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Survival: (1d20+10)[14]Telrayel making himself more acquainted with the surroundings. Plantlife that may be usable and stuff. Especially I'm thinking thorny things like gooseberry's or blackberry that may be usable for defense. He'll be back when it get's dark for the meeting but would also like to find a place to sleep outside because he doesn't like most inns.

[Metastachydium]

You're most welcome, as always, Captain! Ringel replies to Soranna within the instant herself, her quick bow trying to imitate a military grade level of respect as she shifts out of the way. I hoped she'd be happier to see those. Ill news, it'd seem. I wouldn't say I love that sort of charge, exactly, not any more than those that receive them. she muses, keeping her voice low as she begins idly ambling back towards the Green. But such is… she appends to that, an absent hand reaching out to establish a hold on the Elf's arm once more, only for Telrayel to speak up, prompting the Eneko to look up and realise he's drifted out of reach in the meantime. Huh. Quite the slippery one, this Elf is. Mention of the poor 'Ell draws a last chuckle from Ringel, but before she could comment, Telrayel is already on his way, seemingly fine enough not to have her company. Alright. I'll be… Somewhere. Doing something. she tells his departing back, somewhat confused. That was weird. But it's not like she can't find business to occupy herself with. If nothing else, she can always catch up on Lord Burne or knight Novalis and Tanna. Not that hitting Morlin's shouldn't be worth the time she wouldn't spend on anything else anyhow.

At a pace leisurely enough to surprise even herself, Ringel sets out for where she remembers the forge must have been when she last felt the Ferry's dirt under her feet, if such telltale signs as the chimney and the noise that came from within were anything to go by. She couldn't quite recall ever working for the smith before, so whether he is ready to buy or not, she'd likely meet someone new and get to know another face – a boon in and of itself.

[Cygnia]

"They may very well need such prayers, Brother..." began Tanna-Mai in a quiet tone so as not to alarm any nearby snoopsparishioners. "The hobgoblins we faced summoned bloody hellhounds! That's usually not normal for your average brigand waylaying travelers..."

She paused, then nodded to Novalis. "Ya got that holy necklace one of their priesties was wearin'? Mebbe the Brother here can tell us who they were followin'...

[Bphill561]

Sharess listened to Michael address the good Sergeant with just enough interest to know what was expected of her. Her mind was still on the scrimmage with the Hobgoblins. She had nearly forgotten the silence from her divine patron as she ran them through with her crystalline blade. There was purity of thought and form as she moved the blade through a series of parry's and ripostes, but she must not let violence become her refuge. She has seen too many warriors become addicted to war until there was little left of them in normal society.

Sitting in the Inn, Sharess toy's with the recovered holy symbol.

Spoiler: Knowledge Religion Check

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(1d20+9)[29] vs. DC 15

This symbol of Tiamat is not the most useful holy symbol to display given our current location. "It may come in use none the less." Sharess pockets the object for later use. One advantage of not having your patron deity watching your actions, she can present herself as whatever herald that maybe advantageous. She almost loses herself in her thoughts again, but Whirl, her air elemental familiar, stirs her hair and gestures towards the inn keeper.

Winking at the exasperated Whirl,"Your right, I can certainly use some hearty ale." She moves closer to hear about the local happenings.

[u-b]

Michael nods. "Say, Kellin, are there any individuals or caravans or what not staying here with you or over there at the Apple that have came here in the recent days and plan to move on maybe as soon as tomorrow? And is there a ranger here who could backtrack that dozen of hobgoblins to where they came from? You know, they were armed awfully uniformly for a group of some random brigands." Backtracking the hobgoblins was plan B, but since plan A had to wait until the morning and was not guaranteed to work, Michael decided it would not be a bad thing if he asks right away.

Spoiler

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Know (religion) (1d20+8)[17] - so, Michael aslo recognizes the symbol (but does not yet quite know what to make out of it)

[Auranghzeb]

Novalis




As he listen to Brother Derny, Exhaustion mumbled in his head, the long walk and the battle were taking his toll, and Novaris seemed lost in his thoughts, absent mindedly looking at the church: The architecture of Pelor's temple was not as spectacular as those he had seen across Oerth. Novalis found Pelorites and St. Cuthbertines a bit excessive in their boast and preference for elaborated decorations, they seemed too rich for what their religions stood for.

Humble walls are a better home to a god of light and healing. Here is a temple fit of Pelor, and not the high cathedrals of yonder... Shush Exhaustion, soon I'll let you take over.

He let Tanna-Mai lead the conversation, then, at the mention of the amulet, he reminds Sharess was more interested in the thing:

Oh, it was a trinket of Tiamat, I'm sure Brother Derny has seen it before. Tiamat, Tiamat, mother of the chromatic dragons. I find her Iconography rather inelegant, lacking of a certain subtlety I must say. But one one considers her followers are usually savage and rancorous creatures, then I'd guess is appropriate. He looked up at Brother Derny and Tanna-Mai Excuse me, I digress. Brother Derny, I'm a servant of Istus, and her cryptic intentions, a dark cloud lords over the Vale, and I'm here to see through it. He said.

Whether that means we are here to help or to see everything burns, remains a mystery.
He thought, and Mainhem and Sorrow laughed in his head.

Brother, I beg of you for a warm corner to spend the night, in exchange I can illuminate any manuscrpits you have, my art adorns books all across Oerth.

[Cygnia]

"She's the one with the five heads, right? Clearly overcompensating for something..." said Tanna-Mai with the hint of a grin. "Still, thought most hobs were followers of Maggigloobit or whateverhisnameis?" Religion was not Tanna-Mai's strong suit.

[BelGareth]

At the Barracks with Soranna Anitah

Soranna Anitah, Captain of the Drellin's Ferry Town Guard, watches Telrayel's departure with a practiced eye. "You're right, Telrayel," she responds in her crisp Brindol accent, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards ever so slightly. "Knowing the lay of the land could be as crucial as the steel we bear. Make yourself familiar with the town; every alley and byway could tell its own tale in the days to come."

She then turns to Ringel with a nod of acknowledgment, her expression firm yet not unkind. "Ill news often travels faster than the wind, lass. And it's our duty to face it head-on, no matter how dire. Keep your wits about you and your armor close; we'll need to be ready for whatever the morrow brings."

---

Ringel's Reflection

Ringel observes as Telrayel's silhouette merges with the bustle of Drellin's Ferry, his elven grace contrasting with the busy surroundings. A smirk plays briefly on her lips, reflecting a shared understanding of the elf's views on the transient nature of towns and their inhabitants.

Her attention shifts from the barracks to Morlin's forge. The consistent sounds of the blacksmith at work grow nearer, and the air becomes thick with the smells of coal and toil. Without hesitation, Ringel moves towards the forge. Her steps are sure and steady; a new face and the prospect of negotiation lie ahead. With a quiet confidence, she approaches the entrance, ready to engage with whatever the forge, and its keeper, have in store.

---

In the Church with Brother Derny and Tanna-Mai

Brother Derny, with his Irish lilt, looks at Tanna-Mai with a furrow of concern creasing his forehead. "Hellhounds, ye say? That's dark magic, that is. Not the sort of thing ye'd find in any mundane scuffle. We'll be needin' more than just the light of Pelor to cleanse that blight."

He takes the holy symbol from Tanna-Mai, turning it over in his hands. "Aye, this is the mark of Tiamat, sure as the dawn. 'Tis a dark omen to find her followers in these parts. We'll be needin' to keep a sharp eye out; the presence of such creatures could be heraldin' somethin' far worse than a band of roguish hobgoblins."

---

Novalis's Musings and Plea for Shelter

Novalis's words drift through the temple, his voice carrying the weight of fatigue and foreboding. Brother Derny nods, his expression softening at the mention of Istus. "The Lady of Fate's ways are mysterious indeed, Novalis. And 'tis no small thing to stand in the shadow of such portents."

At Novalis's request for shelter, Brother Derny gestures to the modest accommodations within the temple's annex. "We have little in the way of luxury, but what we have we offer freely. Your offer to illuminate our texts is a generous one, and we'll be glad for the beauty you'll bring to our humble scriptures."

His eyes, though warm, carry the weight of unspoken concerns, shared by both Tanna-Mai and Novalis. The signs are ominous, and the church of Pelor will need all the help it can get in the days to come.

---

In the Inn with Sharess and Michael

Sharess, with her sharp insights into the religious aspects of their encounters, recognizes the gravity of carrying a symbol of Tiamat. The inn, filled with the low murmur of conversation and the clink of mugs, seems almost too mundane a backdrop for such contemplation. She pockets the symbol, her mind already turning over the tactical uses such a disguise could provide. Whirl's nudge is a welcome interruption, grounding her in the present. With a knowing smile, she moves through the throng, her senses tuned to pick up any useful tidbits from the conversations around her.

Meanwhile, Michael's query prompts Kellin, the innkeeper, to stroke his chin thoughtfully. His Brindolian country accent gives his words a comforting, grounded feel. "Well now, we've had a few pass through, but none lingerin' with plans to move on come mornin'. 'Tis a bit unusual, given the fair weather we've had," he muses. "As for a ranger, there's Jor, he's got a keen eye for tracks and the wilds. Lives just on the edge of town. If anyone can find where those hobgoblins came from, it'd be him."

Kellin leans in, lowering his voice a touch. "That uniformity in their gear... it's disquieting. If ye'd like, I can send word to Jor to meet with ye come the mornin'." Michael's recognition of the symbol, while not complete, adds another layer to their growing list of concerns. The pattern of events is beginning to form a more sinister shape, and each piece of the puzzle is critical.

[u-b]

"Yes, please get Jor over here the first thing in the morning. I am not sure we will be ready to leave, but I sure will be ready to discuss concrete plans." Michael pauses for a moment. "I think I'll check on Delora..." He looks at Sharess, as if inquiring whether she wants co come along. "It's the next door from here."

Assuming Delora Zann is currently at her Livery Stable, Michael starts with telling the news, including his role of investigator of the news, then asks if Delora wants to have him informed about anything of potential relevance, including on the topics of traffic, goblins, bandits, strange lights or what not. He also asks what animals and/or vehicles she has in stock at the moment, saying he might or might not want to buy a pair of light warhorses, but wants the whole list, just in case. He does not inspect or in any way check any of that, trusting Delora's word about the quality of the stock at this preliminary stage.

Spoiler

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Gather info: take 10 + 5 = 15

[Metastachydium]

Safely arrived at her destination (no big miracle in itself, granted, but at least she didn't get lost – still having the feel of a place she hasn't been to in a while is always a pleasing realization!), Ringel sticks a politely curious, green head through the door to look around. Master Morlin? Morlin Coalhewer, apparently. Is that a Dwergar name? It's probabbly a Dwergar name. Ringel's not sure she's ever really met a Dwergar, but the armed shaft supervisor up in Red Rock said the Coalhewer's round there are all Dwergar. Now, does that mean that Morlin's going to be the gruff sort? Dwergar are also said to be the gruff sort. But then, Ogres are said to eat babies, and she's never eaten a baby before. Nor does she intend to do that, ew. May I have a word? Or two? she goes on, her voice treading the fine line between "not loud enough to be heard properly through the forge-noise" and "loud enough to be possibly rude". Hopefully Morlin really isn't the gruff sort.

Spoiler: OOC

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Diplomacy: (1d20+12)[14]

[Auranghzeb]

Novalis

The tired knight now had a place to lay his weary head.

Thank you Brother he nodded humbled I shall come later when the dusk settles, now we need to meet our allies. There's a fleeting feeling in the air, it usually precedes war. I have too much experience with it.

He motioned outside.


Tanna-Mai, My Lady, shall we find the others and learn what they have found out?


He walked outside with his long bended strides towards the barracks. Mainhem reared its ugly head with a deadly grin

I smell War! Soon your arm will serve my purposes, haunted knight, soon Novalis will kill again.

[BelGareth]

As Michael approaches Delora Zann's Livery Stable, the sounds of bustling activity and the occasional whinny of horses fill the air. Delora, a woman with a broad smile and an even broader British country accent, greets him with a wave and a cheerful, "Well, 'ello there! What can I do for ya on this fine day?"

Michael begins to relay his news and inquiries, but Delora seems more focused on the pleasantries of conversation than the details of his requests. "Oh, goblins and bandits, you say? That does sound like a right proper pickle, doesn't it? But don't you worry none, I've got all sorts o' creatures here that could outrun any nasty old goblin!"

As Michael asks about the animals and vehicles in stock, Delora's enthusiasm only grows. "Oh, we've got all sorts! Light warhorses, you say? I've got a pair that'll make your heart sing, they're so spry and lively! But if it's the whole list you're wanting, I can gab about that all day. There's Dandy, the fastest pony this side of the Vale, and then there's Bessie, not as quick, but strong as an ox, she is!"

Her descriptions are filled with colorful anecdotes about each animal, painting vivid pictures of their personalities and quirks, though perhaps not always the most practical information for someone looking to make a purchase.

As the conversation continues, Delora's bubbly demeanor and thick accent provide a lighthearted and entertaining interaction, even if the practical details Michael seeks are sometimes lost in her enthusiastic storytelling.


~~~


As Ringel calls out, the figure at the anvil pauses and turns. The dwarf, a stout figure with a face weathered by heat and soot, wipes his brow with a thick forearm. His eyes, sharp and keen beneath bushy brows, fix on Ringel.

"Aye, lass? What can I do for ye?" he asks in a thick Scottish brogue. The warmth of the forge doesn't seem to soften the gruffness of his demeanor, but there's a hint of curiosity in his gaze as he appraises Ringel. The sounds of the forge briefly dim as he sets aside his hammer, giving Ringel his full attention.

"Morlin Coalhewer at yer service. Speak up, lass. Time's precious, and so's the iron." His arms cross over a leather apron, streaked with the marks of his trade. Despite his brusque tone, there's a twinkle of interest in his eyes, perhaps intrigued by what business an Eneko might have in a smithy like his.


~~~

As Novalis stepped outside, the dusky light of the setting sun painted the world in hues of orange and red, casting long shadows that seemed to dance with the hint of oncoming darkness. His strides, purposeful and steady, carried him towards the barracks, where the others were likely gathering information and forming plans.

Tanna-Mai, keeping pace, seemed equally resolute. The air around them felt charged, as if the very ether of the world braced for the tumult of conflict. The sense of impending war was not lost on either of them, and Novalis's experience in such matters lent a gravity to his demeanor.

Mainhem's voice, sinister and eager, whispered temptations of violence and battle, but Novalis, ever the disciplined warrior, kept such urges at bay. His focus remained on the task at hand – gathering the group, sharing information, and preparing for what might lie ahead.

As they approached the barracks, the sounds of the town in the evening - the clatter of dinnerware, the murmur of conversations, the occasional bark of a dog - all seemed to fade into the background, overshadowed by the gravity of their mission. There was a sense that every step brought them closer not just to their companions, but to the unfolding destiny that awaited them all.

[Metastachydium]

Oh. You're… not a Dwergar? What kind of question would that be? …exactly who I'm looking for! Well met, Master Morlin, I'm Ringel. Ringel Vosglad. From the Gap. I… she glances back over her shoulder, hunched now, ever so slightly, so as not to tower too much over the Dwarf. Won't be a burden for very long. We just hit town, with a bunch of others. Got hit ourselves on the road, by the bigger kind of Goblinfolk, a lot of them, they even had some… Helldogs with. she inhales and raises a hand defensively. She really is rambling. Now, the thing is, we lived and they, well, didn't. We claimed their things – arms, armour… Some look well made; we are having all of it lugged up here to the Ferry as we speak. Thought you'd take a look? We'd be pleased to sell much of the stuff. She glances over her shoulder once more; Morlin is right: time just flies. Anyway, you don't have to say yes or no or anything right now. We… Have a Lord person along, name's… Burne, I think? Michael Burne. From Brindol. He's called a meeting with the Speaker and… Wait, is she supposed to tell Morlin that? Well, too bad if she isn't. It's out. … Captain Soranna; probably others too. Maybe he already knows? The Dwarf looks important. Well, town-level important. I'm supposed to attend, and it's coming up. I just wanted to drop by first. Let you know. she nods to herself. What do you say?

Spoiler: OOC

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Imaginary OOC Ringel: And what's this Scott-Land you're talking about?

[Alhallor]

If Telrayel found some brambley plants he could have dragged along he just places it somewhere near the town to maybe use as an improvised defense later.

He get's towards the barracks and the change in atmosphere is not lost on him, when he enters the building.

Have you're talks been succesful? Something we should be aware of perhaps?

[u-b]

Unfortunately, having a good time with Delora could not be extended beyond what was reasonable in the circumstances, so Michael excuses himself quoting that much. He then goes to town hall to chat with people that get there before the meeting officially begins. If no one of importance is there, he'll just find himself an unoccupied table to write down today's events in the log.

[Auranghzeb]

Novalis

The other adventurers had made their way to the barracks too, wherein Novalis related what Brother Derny had told them

The symbol of Tiamat is not a common sight in these lands. Nor is the viciousness and organization of the marauders we fought. It seems we arrived as the tides are turning.

[BelGareth]

Master Morlin Coalhewer, dwarf of notable stature and unmistakable Scottish accent, listened intently to Ringel's spiel. He leaned back slightly, his arms crossed, a look of keen interest etched across his rugged face. The mention of goblinfolk and helldogs raised his bushy eyebrows, and the prospect of arms and armor piqued his curiosity.

"Aye, lass, ye’ve got yerself quite the tale there," he began, his voice a deep rumble. "Not a Dwergar, mind ye, but a dwarf through and through." He chuckled heartily, the sound echoing slightly in the confines of his forge.

He stroked his thick beard thoughtfully as she mentioned the arms and armor. "Well made, ye say? I'd be keen to have a gander at what ye’ve claimed. Quality metalwork's always a sight for sore eyes, especially if it's seen battle."

At the mention of Lord Burne and the meeting, Morlin nodded, his expression turning more serious. "Aye, I've heard whispers 'bout some meeting. Not much for politics, but if it involves the safety of the town, then it's good to be informed. Ye say this Michael Burne’s from Brindol, eh? Must be important matters to discuss if he's involved."

He gave Ringel a reassuring nod. "Ye did right by coming here first, lass. I appreciate the heads up. Go to yer meeting, and we’ll sort out the matter of the arms and armor later. Bring 'em by when ye can, and we'll see what's what."

With a final nod, Morlin turned back to his work, the glow of the forge casting dancing shadows across his face. "Good luck at yer meeting, Ringel Vosglad. And remember, if ye ever need good steel, Morlin Coalhewer’s your dwarf." His voice carried a hint of pride and confidence, a testament to his skill and reputation as a master smith.


~~~


In the barracks of Drellin's Ferry, the atmosphere is thick with anticipation. The room hosts a blend of the town's key figures and the adventurers, all focused on the dire situation at hand. As Noro Wiston, the Town Speaker, a balding man in his fifties with a demeanor that commands respect, begins to address the group, there's a sudden commotion at the door.

"Thank you all for coming, I am Noro Wi—" Wiston starts, only to be interrupted as the door bursts open.

Clumsily stumbling in, Ringel makes a rather ungraceful entrance, panting slightly. "Sorry, sorry! Didn't mean to... am I late?" she blurts out, trying to regain her composure, her haphazard arrival juxtaposing sharply with the seriousness of the meeting.

Wiston, visibly annoyed but trying to maintain decorum, clears his throat. "As I was saying, I am Noro Wiston, the Town Speaker. This is Captain Soranna Anitah of our guard." He gestures towards Captain Soranna, a woman whose stern, unsmiling face reflects her all-business demeanor. Her gaze sweeps across the room with a professional sharpness, assessing everyone present.

Captain Soranna, with a dour expression that betrays no emotion, steps forward. "We are facing an unprecedented threat. Hobgoblin raiders have been attacking travelers on the Dawn Way and our outlying homesteads. Their aggression is unlike anything we've seen before."

Wiston, regaining the focus of the room, continues. "These aren't random raids. A large, organized tribe from the Wyrmsmoke Mountains is behind this. They are bold enough to potentially sack Drellin's Ferry."

As Wiston speaks, other local figures like Brother Derny and Kellin, each with their own concerned expressions, nod in agreement, contributing their insights and observations.

Wiston, with a hint of frustration, adds, "The Dawn Way is our lifeline. If it falls, so does Drellin's Ferry. We hoped to rally our forces and confront this threat, but we can't risk more of our people. We need your help."

As the room absorbs Wiston's plea, the gravity of the situation becomes palpable. The Town Speaker looks around, his expression a mix of hope and desperation. "We've laid out our plight. Will you stand with Drellin's Ferry against these raiders?"

[u-b]

Michael is somewhat surprised to hear that. In fact he does not even get it. At least, the man is direct.

"No, that's not the plan. I'm here to gather the intelligence and then report higher up. If Lord Jarmaath decides he is sending help, you will have help. If he decides that help includes me, you will have me. Whatever way you get that help, I'm fairly positive it will require risking your people." Michael makes a pause to let that sink in. "For now I offer you a full disclosure of any intelligence I come across and some consulting on plans we'll be taking. My plan for tomorrow morning is to interrogate a dead hobgoblin, so you can now provide your opinions about what should be asked. I can ask him three questions. If a local cleric can do that instead, I'll delegate it to him and save the spell for when I act on the information received, which would be my plan for the rest of the day. The questions I propose are as follows:
1. Where is your immediate superior most likely to be?
2. Who is your ultimate superior?
3. What will probably happen if things go as your side has planned?

I'm open to change questions 2 and 3 if you have better ideas. As for "standing"... we'll see. If things are serious, you might better be running. How many fighters you think can a large, organized tribe muster, and how many can you? Do you have any data on that tribe at all?"