The Bold Adventures of Poins--In the Woods!

[Rhialto]

HISTORY OF THE TOWN OF POINS
The High Pyrees--a small 'nation' in some of the most mountainous terrain on the continent of Eldheim. A combination of rocky hills and deep, but fertile valleys, the Pyrees have always been uncomfortably situated between the Empire of Syra and Holy Kingdom of Archea, and from an early time in its history forced to ally with the former to avoid being absorbed into the latter. Given a special province status by the Emperors, the Pyrees pledge a nominal alleigiance and pay a few taxes to the Empire in return for some military protection, while maintaining a great deal of autonomy. Of course, this arrangement has had many difficulties over the years, with disagreements on both sides as to how much freedom the Cantons get, and how much right the Empire has to protect its interest, but still most people agree the Empire is a better master than the Holy Kingdom. Some are not so sure, especially as the majority of Pyreens are of Archean descent.

The Pyrees are made up of twelve Cantons, each of which is under the rule of an elected Reeve, and a council of Aldermen. Once a year, the Reeves meet to discuss business and politics in the Pyrees--the Canton this meeting takes place in is decided by lot at the end of the preceding meeting. The Reeves may also meet in case of emergencies and extraordinary occurrences. The Canton of Oran lies in the southwesternmost part of the Pyrees, and has often been used by Archean and Syran armies as a pathway into the other's state. The backwoods town of Poins has seen many such armies come and go through the province proper, and has rarely been touched by them. Aside from the sinister Azerai, who built a fortress on Blacktooth Peak, none have ever considered the town worth occupying--and even the Azerai rarely bothered the town proper. It is a small, unremarkable section of the Canton. Like most towns in the Pyrees, it elects a Mayor and a Sheriff, with local businessmen (well, practically anyone who shows up to a meeting, when you get down to it) belonging to the Small Council. Like all of the Pyreens, they are a hardy, sensible, independent folk, who dislike meddling into their affairs, and stirring up trouble.

It is also like most of the Township and Cantons in having fairly sizable streches of woodland and wild areas. In these places, an independent folk live, trading with their more civilized neighbors for what they cannot produce themselves, and eking a living out from the wild. In these regions men and women make their way. And it is a region where almost anything can happen.

 

[Rhialto]

Devon and Graf
After a long career spent keeping his woods safe, the Archdruid Nightshade was dying. The old elf had lived for centuries, but even they are touched by age in the end. The young druid and half goblin who considered him friend looked on.

"Devon--Graf--could I have--a drink of water please?", the dying druid stated.

Tristan
The ranger made his way to the Archdruid's hut. Tristan was not a cowardly man, and he knew what he was doing was sensible--but still it stuck in his throat to leave the goblin bandits he'd seen unharmed. But it was all that he could do. He was not equipped to face a small horde of the brutes. But the Archdruid Nightshade...

Hemaor
Hemaor sighed to himself as he prepared his late breakfast. He'd been told that Oran, a sizable town in the center of the Canton of the same name, needed mercenaries. When he arrived there, he discovered that this was not the case--at least not for Nibelungen and their wolves. Now he was wondering the Canton, looking for work. He'd heard that Poins had a few merchants looking for bodyguards, and was going to try his luck out there.

Or at least he'd been going to when his wolf found something. It was a goblin. A dead goblin.

 

[Argent Silvermage]

Yyes sir. Devon said with tears in his eyes. He had known Nightshade all of his life and this was tearing him apart. Is there anything I can do to make this more comfortable for you elder?

Devon held the cup up to the elf's lips and slowly allowed the pure spring water he had conjured roll down the Archdruid's throat.

 

[spidertrag]

Graf inched forward carefully, so as to not disturb his friend. Gingerly, he lifted his Nightshade’s hand, placing a small bone carving of a horned wolf within his frail grasp. “To run with you in the next life…” was all Graf could manage to say as a well of emotion burst within him. Graf felt it was unfair that the good must die & that his pack was now losing its leader.

True, Nightshade would tell him, as he often did, that death is just part of the natural world; but those thoughts did not comfort him. Now only Devon would be his pack mate. How the deer would laugh…a small smile briefly accompanied that thought…

 

[Brain]

Hemaor
Hemaor sighed to himself as he prepared his late breakfast. He'd been told that Oran, a sizable town in the center of the Canton of the same name, needed mercenaries. When he arrived there, he discovered that this was not the case--at least not for Nibelungen and their wolves. Now he was wondering the Canton, looking for work. He'd heard that Poins had a few merchants looking for bodyguards, and was going to try his luck out there.

Or at least he'd been going to when his wolf found something. It was a goblin. A dead goblin.

Hemaor lets out a mild curse and looks again.

Yes, it is dead, that much is for sure.

He calmly pats his wolf on the head and gives it a treat, for its keen nose had uncovered the dead goblin. He leans in closer to examine the corpse and determine more details.

How did it die? Who left it here?

Many questions ran through his head as he inspected the thing.

 

[Rhialto]

At least one of Hemaor's questions has an easy answer--the Goblin--a Hill Goblin, in fact--has a stab in the stomach, and a slit throat. But as for how it got there--this is a mystery, though a set of footprints (blatantly obvious to even a casual onlooker) nearby might just hold a clue to the solution.

 

[Rhialto]

"Thank you", Nightshade whispers. The Archdruid takes a deep breath, and shuts his eyes. His breathing becomes slow and labored.

 

[Argent Silvermage]

Devon's badger companion slinks up to the bed and places his head on the mattress. His eyes showing even the animals will miss the great elf.

Rest now Elder. Devon says his voice breaking through his grief. It is time for your new journey to start. Graf and I have each other to ease our sorrow, and you have our love to take with you. May Terra keep you safe in her crystal womb until it is time for you to return.

Devon takes a moment to toss more sacred herbs on the small fire in the room, filling the area with the sweet scent of copal, cedar and sage. Tears flowing freely he looks at his "bloodbrother" Graf and tries to be strong.

 

[Brain]

At least one of Hemaor's questions has an easy answer--the Goblin--a Hill Goblin, in fact--has a stab in the stomach, and a slit throat. But as for how it got there--this is a mystery, though a set of footprints (blatantly obvious to even a casual onlooker) nearby might just hold a clue to the solution.

Hemaor walks a bit away and finishes his breakfast, then packs his gear away again in his wolf's saddlebags. He then searches the goblin corpse for any clues or valuables or notes the lack thereof.

After satisfying himself with his search, Hemaor leads his wolf along, following the blatant footprints, wary of an ambush or trap.

 

[Rhialto]

Hemaor walks a bit away and finishes his breakfast, then packs his gear away again in his wolf's saddlebags. He then searches the goblin corpse for any clues or valuables or notes the lack thereof.

After satisfying himself with his search, Hemaor leads his wolf along, following the blatant footprints, wary of an ambush or trap.

The body seems to have been stripped of any valuables it once might have had.

The trail goes on rather sloppily, clearly the work of people who aren't used to covering up their tracks, and don't care. After about an hour, Hemaor hears something on the road up ahead...

(OOC--Does Hemaor speak Goblin?)