Regarding optimization: I'm certainly going to make an effort to build effective characters, but I'm going to try to make them myself and avoid online guides for now. Part of the process of learning a new system.
My long-time readers know that I often put story considerations above game effectiveness concerns, but I promise no gimped wizards this time.
I'm still waiting for my books, but I have put together some early chapters that aren't dependent on crunch. I quickly got to the point where I need concrete info to proceed, so the bulk of the story will have to wait for July.
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Lazybones’s Keep on the Shadowfell
Chapter 1
Jaron Feldergrass looked out over the battlefield and shook his head in dismay.
He’d thought that the campaign was going well, but it seemed that his adversary was not one to admit defeat.
The halfling leapt down from the fence he’d used as his vantage point, landing lightly on the soft earth of his orchard. The saplings he’d planted last spring had taken well, for the most part, but he saw one peach tree that jutted at an awkward angle, a clear sign that the enemy had made an incursion there. For some reason, the badger seemed to want to make probes at a half-dozen spots each time it visited, as if it was consciously trying to nettle Jaron by spreading its damage as broadly across the farm as possible.
Jaron did not begrudge the creature the right of establishing a den, but surely the creature had to recognize that it would not be in the best interests of either of them for it to do so
on his farm. Thus far the creature had avoided a direct confrontation, and it had not remained near its diggings in the morning when Jaron came out to check on his crops, his trees, and his animals. He’d taken to carrying a sling, just in case, but he had little interest in slaying the creature. But filling in its holes, closing them up before they could become full-fledged dens, was clearly not working.
Clearly, he’d have to be more creative in dissuading it.
He was distracted from his musings by the noise of a horse coming up the track toward his farm. The sound of iron-shod hooves was distinct on the packed earth, narrowing the possible identity of the newcomer to just a handful. Unless the visitor was a stranger to Fairhollow, in which case even more caution than he was applying to his four-legged rival might be warranted. Jaron wasn’t really worried, although he did glance back to the low rise where his neat little farmhouse was perched, flanked by a pair of low outbuildings that seemed to jut out of the hill like natural mounds. Curiosity won out, but he stayed in the shadow of the fence as he made his way through the orchard to a spot where he could get a vantage on the track without being seen.
The traveler was not coming especially swiftly, and was still some distance away when Jaron got a good look at the pony and its rider. Grinning, he climbed up onto the fence, standing easily on the stout post where the fence made a corner.
“What a nice surprise, Yarine,” he began, but then he got a good look at the rider’s face. “What is it?”
Yarine reined in her mount, a brown pony with white forelocks. The rider was a halfling as well, of like age as the farmer, still hale and energetic despite the slight crinkling of the skin that was just visible around the corners of her eyes. She wore simple clothes of good-quality wool and leather, her only adornments a narrow brass band in her hair, and a small sigil of the god Avandra carved from wood on a throng around her neck. She had the look of a woman who smiled often, but there was only sadness and pity in her eyes as she met the eyes of the farmer.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
Jaron swallowed. “It’s Jayse, isn’t it.”
Yarine nodded. “Maybe we’d better go inside, Jaron.”
She nudged her pony forward, and offered him a hand. He accepted, swinging up behind her on the pony. The animal accommodated the two of them easily enough, and did not protest when the woman urged the mount forward again. Neither halfling said anything, agreeing to let their topic rest through unspoken agreement. Jaron looked troubled, but he helped Yarine fasten the horse’s lead to the rail of the porch in front of his house, and held the door for her to go inside.
The front room of the farmhouse was warmly decorated but not cluttered, with several hand-made rugs on the wooden floor, and heavy wooden shutters, currently drawn back, affixed to the half-dozen slit windows. A number of portraits, depicting halflings of varying ages in an assortment of simple poses, decorated the walls. A doorway to the side of the entrance led onto a neat kitchen, while another, cloaked in long shadows, gave access to the back of the house.
The most significant feature in the room was a broad stone hearth, large enough so that either of the halflings could have stepped fully inside it without ducking their head. Jaron efficiently lit the ready stack of kindling there with flint and steel, and put a pot of tea on one of the adjustable metal hooks that swung out from the sides of the hearth. Yarine took the seat that he offered, and waited there in silence until he was ready. Jaron’s preparations only took a few minutes, but he lingered over the fire, clearly reluctant to face his guest. Yarine did not press him, and finally he turned to look at her.
“What happened?”
“I received word from Sister Linora, a priestess of Avandra in Winterhaven. Your brother was working as a guide in the area, and she said he’d left town with a group of men from the East, folk with the look of adventurers.”
“Treasure hunters, probably,” Jaron said. “For some reason, people from the settled lands cannot help but think that the frontier is littered with hidden caches.” He rubbed his hand through his hair, and then looked back up into Yarine’s soft eyes. “Where did they find the body?”
“Not far from the King’s Road. They never found the rest of the group.”
“How did he die?”
“He... his body, it was...” she trailed off.
“I’ve seen a lot, in my travels,” Jaron said quietly. “Please, continue.”
Yarine’s eyes glistened in the firelight. “His body was in poor shape when it was found. It looks like it was bandits, Jaron. Linora’s letter indicated that Winterhaven’s had a recurring problem with kobolds, and that they’ve become increasingly bold of late. The woman who found him—an elf woman from the area, named Delphina Moongem—she said that there were several kobold weapons in the area, and tracks, where Jayse’s body was left.”
“What about Jayse’s employers? Do you know anything more about them?”
Yarine shook her head. “The townsfolk didn’t know much about them. Linora said that they kept mostly to themselves, but that one of them wore the sigil of Pelor.”
Jaron looked into the fire, and for a long moment a silence stretched out between them. “I will go to Winterhaven and bring back the body,” Jaron finally said, without turning.
“I believe that Callen was planning on taking a load of supplies to Winterhaven in a day or two,” Yarine said.
Jaron glanced back at her. “He knows about the bandits?”
“You know Callen.”
“Yeah. Stubborn as that old horse of his.”
There was another long silence. Finally, Yarine looked around the warmly-decorated room. “You know, I always knew that you’d come back here, someday.”
“You never would have guessed it from what I said as a young man. I made no secret of my desire to get far away from Fairhollow as possible.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Drove my parents crazy. They could never understand. Jayse did, though.”
“And Jaela?”
Jaron nodded, but he didn’t respond. Yarine leaned forward in the deep chair, and ran a hand along the weathered stones of the hearth. The fireplace was old, and the mortar in the crevices had started to flake, but the whole had a look of permanence to it, as though it was keeping the entire house standing. “I remember when you, Jayse, and Marten went off to the War.”
Jaron’s lips tightened. “The War. You know, to the humans, it was barely a skirmish, a little raid of almost no consequence. Our “army” was barely a hundred men, in all. There are cities in the more settled lands where merchants have private companies of guardsmen that are larger.”
“Our world here is... smaller, Jaron.”
He looked back up at her. “Do you blame me...” His eyes dropped into his lap, and he worried the fringe of a seat cushion with his fingers.
“For Marten going with you? No, never that, Jaron.” She reached out and touched his knee. “Dal Durga’s raiders threatened the entire region. If you hadn’t brought the news about the humanoids, and about the humans rallying their army to stop them, someone else would have. Or maybe our first warning would have been the braying of hobgoblin warhorns. They destroyed several villages, I understand.”
“Yes, I know,” Jaron said. He stared off into the distance, as if seeing things that could never be forgotten.
“Marten would have gone even if you had never come back. He told me, before he went, that he was glad you were here. That if he had to fight to protect his people, he was glad to do it beside the Feldergrass boys.”
Jaron smiled, but it was wry. “My mother nearly killed me when Jayse volunteered. After Jaela left, then me... she thought that she was losing everything important to her.”
“Is that why you returned? After it was all over?”
“No, not really. I mean, they were already dead by the time that Jayse and I came back. Do you know that they died within three days of each other?”
“I was the one who found them, remember?” she said quietly.
Jaron fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair. “Oh, yes... I’m sorry, I guess I’d forgotten.”
She touched him again, her eyes brimming with sympathy. “It’s all right, Jaron.”
He abruptly stood up and turned away from her. “I... I’d better get ready.” He walked over to a chest that stood near the outside door, and flipped it open. He let out a tired sigh as he looked inside, barely audible, but Yarine noticed. She came up beside him, stepping past him toward the door, but she paused there, her hand on the latch.
“Thank you for coming, Yarine,” he said.
“I had to, Jaron.”
For a moment the pair lingered there, close together by the door. Finally Yarine opened the door, but she paused again in the threshold. “There’s something else, Jaron... I would not trouble you with it, not now, but I fear it cannot be avoided.”
“What is it?”
“It’s Belden.”
Jaron let out an exasperated sigh. “What has he gotten into this time? Gods, he hasn’t stolen from the Galderbrushes again, has he?”
“I’m afraid that it is a bit more... serious, this time. He... he killed Dale Wanderwarren’s bull.”
“What? Why?”
“I don’t know, Jaron. But I’m afraid that the situation is quite grim. Dale’s furious, and he’s threatening to file a claim on Wanda’s property for reimbursement of his loss.”
Jaron hit the threshold of the door with his fist. “It’s not Wanda’s fault. Beetle’s... hard to control. It was an act of kindness, taking him in. No one else would have...” Realizing he was starting to babble, Jaron clenched his jaw and stopped speaking.
“Everyone knows that your cousin... has problems, Jaron. But this is more serious than anything he’s done before. Some people are starting to get worried, afraid even.”
“Beetle—Belden—would never hurt anyone. He must have had a reason for what he did to Wanderwarren’s bull.”
“I’m not saying you’re wrong, Jaron. But I don’t know if I can protect Belden, or Wanda, if he stays in Fairhollow. You have to take him with you.”
“You mean to Winterhaven? Are you serious? I can’t, Yarine. Look, I understand the problem, but I promised Belden’s mother that I would look after him.” He hesitated, and looked away for a moment, realizing that the current situation was a sign that he’d failed in that vow. “It’s dangerous, outside,” he said.
“I know. But it’s dangerous here as well. Belden... he’s special, Jaron. He... he needs to find his place.”
“And you think he’ll find it out there? In the tall folks’ world?”
“All I know, is that Fairhollow is no longer his place. I’m sorry, Jaron.”
He did not respond, and after a moment Yarine lowered her head slightly, as if nodding to herself. She went to her horse and untied it, using the step on the edge of the porch to boost herself up into the saddle. “Farewell, Jaron,” she said, but he said nothing, only watched her as she turned her mount around and urged it back up the path.
When she glanced back at the bend in the trail, he was still there, standing in the doorway, staring after her.
