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[Nebulous]

Adventure #3: Ambush on the Old Road

PART ONE

The next morning, Ash the Rogue is woken by pounding on his door at Wrafton’s Inn. Sunlight slants through the windows, and he hears the chirp of birds outside. Hand to his knife, he warily asks: “Who’s there?” It’s awfully early in the morning for him to kill someone.

“Gobbo Goodnest it is, hero!” grunts the half-orc wagon driver from Silverymoon. “I got someone ‘ere who wants to speak with you.”

Ash unlocks the door, peeking out. Gobbo’s ugly mug greets him, along with a clean-shaven young man garbed as a Winterhaven Regular.




“And there he is!” crows Gobbo. “Barely out of bed, and this man could still gut a gob in the blink of an eye. What did I tell you, Corby? They’re true heroes!”

Ash is clear that he also has no qualms about gutting ugly half-orcs, but Gobbo rolls with the jest, only slightly unsure of its authenticity.

Corby nods in agreement with Gobbo. “Mr…Ash, sir…Lord Padraig sent me to rouse you and your friends, at…at your convenience of course. He wishes to speak with you, at his estate. Mr. Ash. Sir. It concerns his good wife, Ms. Lady Padraig.”

Ash agrees to wake the others. They smell bacon frying downstairs and that alone is enough to rouse them. Well, the Eladrin Wizard Erevan doesn’t actually SLEEP; he just sinks into a reverie of rejuvenation. He spent some time on the parapets the night before looking for invaders, unaware that his companions had actually left the walls to collect snailwort with Delphina Moongem. The half-elf warlock Irann was unaware as well.

Soon, Helga the dwarf, Ash, Irann and Erevan have all congregated downstairs. Brandis stayed at the estate with his family. Behind the counter a busty Salvana Wrafton easily greets them:



“Mornin’ strangers. Did ye sleep like the dead in my beds?”

There is another old man they recognize at the bar, the same pig farmer from the night before when they first arrived: Elian the Old. He’s pigless right now, but enjoying his morning beer before Market Day begins. “Hoo-eee! Morn to you, folks.”



Gobbo clamps a beefy hand on Helga’s shoulder. “Heroes they are, seen em myself in the thick of battle. Just what Winterhaven needs!”

Gobbo offers the heroes to peruse some of his wares from Silverymoon. He makes the trip once a month or so to sell trinkets and pottery, and to collect items to resell in Silverymoon. The group isn’t particularly interested in his wares though (or Gobbo himself), and they soon find themselves in the streets. Winterhaven is active this morning. People mill about outside; chickens cluck; pigs squeal and the general hubbub of the market filters through the air. Farmers from outlying fields come here to sell vegetables and furs; seamstresses set up kiosks to sell blankets and pillows; cobblers repair and sell shoes, and so on. The commerce seems reasonably rotund, although Corby points it is less than it should be, given all the brigands on the roads.

Following Corby’s lead, they’re almost at the interior gates when an attractive young blond woman approaches them. They recall briefly meeting her the day before, outside the city walls. She is Sister Linora, a Priestess of Sune and religious presence in Winterhaven.



“I heard what you did for Lady Cynthia. She…and we…thank you. I think that your actions will soon help us all through these dire times. I…I can offer you this. Not much, but it should aid you your troubles. Fare thee well, adventurers. You have Sune’s blessing.”

She hands them a small leather pouch that tinkles when Helga accepts it. “Careful,” Linora says. “It is fragile.” Helga sniffs the bag but doesn’t open it, but Erevan does. There are five small vials with a rune of healing upon. The party members take 1 each.

Corby leads them through the inner gates. “That Ms. Sister Linora is a kindly soul. I like her. Follow me now. Mr. Lord Padraig is waiting.”

Soon, Lord Padraig has heartily greeted them with a wide smile and handshakes. “The brew you and Delphina returned to us is the finest we’ve had yet. Cynthia is now in a deep, dreamless slumber, an aura of peace about her that I have not seen in weeks. I cannot thank you enough.”

“You can thank us with gold,” mutters Ash.

“Ah, yes, of course. Gold. Brandis and I have been discussing this.”

Brandis Padraig stands diligently at his father’s side, already geared for battle. “Father will pay you, but first we need to find this kobold lair, and this so-called goblin named ‘Irontooth.’ The threat to Winterhaven will not subside until we eliminate the threat at its core.”

“Yes, but the gold…?” insists Ash.

“Seventy-five pieces of Winterhaven-minted gold upon your return,” says Lord Padraig. That is acceptable to the heroes, but they still want 25 upfront for supplies. They also want to know if Lord Padraig has any magic items to give or sell them. No. The only thing he has is an enchanted sword, but that is the Padraig heirloom and will be passed down to Brandis one day, gods willing. Lord Padraig says that they should visit Bairwain Wildarson of Bairwain’s Grand Shoppe. He’s known to carry rare items from all over the Realms and can sometimes supply exceptional merchandise. He certainly likes to talk about it, Padraig adds.

Helga wants a better axe, and Brandis wants a polearm, so Lord Padraig tells them to speak with Rond Kelfern, Head of the Militia, and he’ll supply them with whatever weapons they need. The group visits the Siege Supply, and soon they’re off to find Bairwain Wildarson and his Grande Olde Shoppe of Excellente Stuffe.



A large, pompous sign swings above the shop with gaudy bright lettering, and the man behind the desk matches his establishment. He is impeccably dressed in a pressed purple tunic. Slick black custom-fitted shoes click on the tile as he approaches them. [He looks like an Prince Valiant to me, and portrayed as such].

“Greetings,” he says with a curt drawl and southern accent. “Help you this fine day? Welcome to Bairwain’s Shoppe of the Rare and Exquisite, as I’m sure you can see from my wares.”

Gilded birdcages hang from hooks. Glass cabinets house chiseled ornaments from Cormyr, Amn, and Aglarond and more exotic locales; ornamental swords dangle from the walls, encrusted with gems or sheathed in fine silver inlaid scabbards. The shop almost has the air of a miniature museum rather than a practical store, although there are plenty of mundane items interspersed among the flashier goods.

The group simply asks if Bairwain has any magic items for sale, and his eyes light up.

“Ah! That I do. That I do, travelers and friends. Not my normal bounty of goods, for I have not been to my…well, my “supplier” in some time, but I will soon enough. But I do have…”

And he offers them a quiver of 20 red-tipped steel arrows: Heartseekers.

“What do they do?” grunts Ash.

“They seek a foe’s heart!” the shop owner snaps. “What kind of adventurer are you? It’s obvious I would think.”

Bairwain offers them a newcomer “Friend Price” of 250 gp for the heartseekers (+1 arrows) but they can’t really afford it. Maybe later.

His second offer is more interesting, to Bairwain anyway. He hands a small mundane wooden box to the Dwarf and bids her to open it with the key. She does so. It’s empty. He asks her to close it again, open it, close it and then quickly open it, as fast as she can (Dex Check 10). Helga does so, and this time sees a golden chained medallion curled inside.

“It’s called the Box of Innox, or the Box of Innocuous Conclusions. Or even a Box of Illusion to some. Noble wives have used it to hide their pretty trinkets.”

The box is smaller than a shoebox, always weighs half a pound, and never seems to have contents. The only way to access the hidden items is to open it quickly a second time. It is not a Bag of Holding and can only accommodate what will fit within the dimensions of the box. Erevan the mage is particularly interested in this item, and convinces everyone to chip in to cover the 100gp price.

There’s nothing else they want in Bairwain’s store, although he says that he will be re-supplying in the near future and they should return. The group steps outside, enjoying the cool spring breeze washing over them, a vaulted deep azure blue sky over their heads, They begin walking briskly toward the north gate while Brandis fills in Erevan and Irann about their encounter with the Frog Queen last night.

They’re about to leave when they see Eilian the Old nearby with his morning beer and a pig. “Hoo-eee! They’re off! Luck with ya, adventurers! Kill me a gob! Kill me a—”

Helga snatches his beer. Ash takes his pig. Eilian looks after them, flabbergasted, and then raises his arms to the sky, wailing: “Why do ye gods hate me so!!!?”