It was just after eight bells in the keep courtyard, behind the great tower of Bridgetower, when Alaria arrived at the north gate. She had packed up what things she could carry herself, her orb and spell components in the pouches and pockets around her waist. Following her week of study and transcribing, there was only a single scroll left in her scrollcase. Alaria had said her farewells to Midge, Stenthil and Devrim, Captain Rynthis and the Lady Elhianne. She took up her staff securely in her grip, made her way to the courtyard and waited for the rest of the party.
Haelan, Erevan and Fen arrived shortly, suitably supplied and ready, even eager, to get moving on their quest.
Coerraine stood a short distance away saying his goodbyes to the other Goldshields and priests of Celradorn.
Duor marched directly through the circle of armored men in crimson tabbards on his way to the north gate.
“Get the spear outta yer arse, Goldilocks. We’ve got treasure to hunt.” The dwarf barked as he passed Coerraine.
The blond paladin looked at his fellows who met Coerraine’s gaze with raised eyebrows and questioning glances.
“New charge.” Coerraine said in simple explanation.
This received several smiles and “ahhh” looks. “Celradorn keep you, Goldshield. May the Red Star guide your path.” One of the other paladins offered.
Coerraine clasped arms with his fellows and met the rest of the group where they set off down the dirt road leading north from outpost of Bridgetower.
The band discussed their mission on the road, along with what Stenthil had uncovered and Alaria’s own suspicions about the dark wizard and his motives.
“Kobolds! There’s a dragon’s hoard in the swamp and we’re going after yappers?!” Duor said incredulously. “I say we turn around right now!”
“There might be a dragon’s hoard in the swamp, Duor.” Alaria calmly explained. “We have only sixteen days to collect what we need and get to the Desriite temple in the Vale to raise Braddok. We don’t have time to be wandering about a swamp with nothing but hopes to find some centuries old ruin that could possibly have some treasure.”
Duor conceded but put in his two coppers that once Braddok had been returned to them, they go hunting for the dragon’s lost lair. “The old boy would be rather peeved if we went dragon hunting without him, I suppose.”
“What concerns me,” said Coerraine, “is the missing squad from the tower. Bridgetower, while a relatively small fortification, has well-oiled greaves. The men are disciplined and exacting. I concur with the Captain’s sense of foreboding that they have not, at least, sent word back to the tower in almost two weeks.”
“I do hope they’re alright.” Haelan said offhandedly as he patted Buttercream as she hopped along beside the daelvar.
The morning was bright and lovely, if a bit cool with the thoroughly entrenched autumn. They passed a couple of homesteads, small but nicely-maintained single story thatch-roofed cottages with low “fences” of piled stone, here and there, delineating property lines and separating animal pens from gardens and fields.
The “diverse” group caught a few curious glances from wives sweeping their walks or tending their roadside gardens. A couple of small children peeked over one low stone wall, pointing and giggling with each other.
Haelan waved and smiled at anyone. The others gave subdued but good-natured “Good morrow’s” to the few people that stared a bit too long.
Alaria had to admit, they must be quite the sight, even for the lands of the Dragonmage. A Redstar Knight, a druid, a magess of R’Hath, an elf, a dwarf and a daelvar hilltender with a giant ferret. Alaria smiled despite herself. Yes, she thought, they must appear curious indeed.
The Wyvern’s Wing inn and tavern was just a mile up well-worn dirt road. It was a popular hang out for the local farmers as well as off-duty keep guards and travelers moving through Bridgetower who were not offered the honor of chambers within the keep. It was a solid looking two-storied building of wood and stucco with multiple chimenies and a roof of shale shingles instead of the thatching atop the other country dwellings. A wooden sign in the shape of a serpentine dragon-like creature with a long tail and outstretched wings hung perpendicular from the building.
A long single-story structure that did have a thatched roof ran along the side of the inn. From the smell and lanky peasant lad that was toting an armful of leather straps and buckles, it was clear the structure was the inn’s stable.
The party entered the almost entirely empty tavern common-room (it was only nearing mid-morning). Sitting at the bar, the satyr Festus shared a cheery guffaw with the buxom young woman behind the bar and took a long draw from his flagon.
“Ah! Well met, Defenders.” Festus burst at their arrival. “You see, Amber, I told you I was on a quest with the heroes of the Tower.” The satyr set down his large mug and smiled brightly at the party. “She didn’t believe me. Some nonsense about trusting a satyr. So how ‘bout that kiss fer luck now, my beauty?” The small horned goat-man leaned over the bar with a leering wink.
Amber laughed openly. “How ‘bout a victory kiss upon your safe return, instead?” the red-headed barmaid suggested. “He speaks the truth, though.” Amber directed at the party. “I didn’t believe him. Well met, heroes. Can I get you anything before you start your journey?”
“I’ll take one of those ‘luck kisses.’” Duor said lustily making his way to a stool beside Festus.
“No, thank you, Amber. We really must be getting on the road.” Alaria interjected.
“How ‘bout a whiskey then?” Duor said, more to Alaria than the barmaid.
Amber gave Alaria a knowing nod, obviously understanding that the magess, near-legendary to the simple barmaid's mind, was the reasonable one in this group. “I’ll get your provisions then.”
“Provisions?” Coerraine said.
“Aye. The good captain told me to make arrangement for our journey with all speed. I took the liberty of ordering us a lunch and full wineskins. Shafton is not a full day’s journey, but no reason we should deprive ourselves of Amber’s mutton pasties. Best in the land.” The satyr concluded with another hopeful leer at the barmaid’s back.
“Now, now, Festus. They ain’t mine, you know that.” Amber said returning with two full satchels. “Father’s the cook.” She said as an aside to Alaria and Coerraine.
“Em, well, many thanks, to you and your father…and you, Festus.” Alaria offered to the cloven ranger. “But my understanding, from Captain Rynthis, was that you would be securing us mounts to speed our errand.” Alaria concluded, emphasizing the “official” nature of their mission.
“Indeed. Indeed, mistress magess.” The satyr said as he took his mug back from Duor who had gulped down its contents. “They’re in the stable. Ready to go in a moment’s notice…One more for the road, beautiful.” Festus said.
Haelan sniffed deeply at the contents of one of the satchels. “These smell divine! My compliments to your father, Amber.”
“Wait’ll yeh taste’m. Best in the land. I'm tellin' yeh.” Festus said distacted by his refilled mug.
“Ranger Hornshod,” Alaria began, attempting to assert some control over the situation though she had only a week ago willingly shed her role as group leader, “we really must be on our way. Time is of the essence.”
“Now, now, Alaria. We’re not at your beck n’ call anymore, remember?” Duor offered. “That whiskey, please, my dear.” The dwarf asserted.
Amber gave Alaria a cautious glance and then pulled the bottle out from behind the bar, pouring a shot into a small thick glass tumbler.
“Fine.” Alaria said. “One for the road, then. Coerraine, Erevan and I will get the horses and await you outside.” The mages did not wait for a response but turned abruptly, causing her golden traveling robe and dark blue hooded cloak (an indulgence purchase from the keep before leaving) to twirl with a flourish.
Erevan followed without a word. Coerraine hesitated a moment waiting for some derogatory comment from Duor. He was not disappointed.
“Indeed.” The dwarf said with intended affectation. “Prepare our mount, pally. I’ll be out in two swigs.”
Ten swigs later, the dwarf and satyr exited the inn to find the rest of the company waiting. Alaria, in particular, was obviously impatient.
There was a horse for Alaria, one for Coerraine which Duor was hoisted up on, one atop which Erevan sat, with Fen seated behind him and a pony for Haelan.
“What about Buttercream?” Haelan said.
“She will keep up, friend daelvar.” Fen offered. “And you, master satyr? What will you ride upon?”
“Pah!” Festus snorted. “I’ve hooves of my own.” The satyr ranger chuckled. “I’ll keep up. Don’t yeh worry ‘bout me. Shall we, then? We’ll make Shafton in two shakes o’ my tail.” He turned his back to the party and pulled aside the coarse patchwork cloak of browns and greens that he wore (as opposed to the fine blue and grey cloak of the Tower guard Alaria had seen him in before). The satyr bor his shaggy haired behind and flicked his stumpy goat-like tail twice.
“Onward to adventure and glory!”
With that the ranger began cantering up the road for a distance before breaking from the dirt road across a field to the north and east. The rest fell into a speedy trot easily keeping up with the satyr.
It was only a couple of hours later, the party halted their mounts at the top of one of the low hills they’d entered after clearing some miles of harvested farmlands and yellowed fields.
The ferret, Buttercreamshadowfeet, sat with them nonchalantly chewing at some itch on her hindquarters.
They all watched as the satyr tramped his way, slowly, up the slope to the top of the hill. Finally, Festus met them and leaned against one of the sparsely spaced trees. The ranger huffed and puffed, gasping for air.
Alaria looked down at the satyr imperiously.
Festus offered a broad smile in between gasps for air. “No worries, magess. *huff* No worries. Only *gasp for air* a few leagues to go.”
“Which way?” Erevan said. His smooth voice betrayed no hint of humor or condemnation.
The ranger simply pointed, adjusting his gear and taking a single deep breath. The company again took off.
Buttercream merely twitched her whiskers as the satyr began after them. The ferret overtook the ranger within a few strides.
Festus fell behind almost immediately. He called after the group, “There’ll be a road over the next ridge through the trees.”
The band found the road without incident before noon and slowed their pace for the ranger to catch up.
At this rate, Alaria supposed, they would make the town by mid-afternoon and suggested they break for lunch. She directed her horse off the road to a clear patch of browned grasses not far from a copse of trees. She eyed the copse cautiously as her mind immediately went to the night, only a few weeks before, when the companions had almost fallen to the rampaging troll and the cursed were-rat. Unbidden, her mind went to Braddok being flung by the troll into the grasses...and then the image of the ogre slamming its club into the field. Alaria physically shook off the unwanted images.
Erevan, as if reading the wizard’s thoughts, said he would go scout the trees. Fen accompanied him as the rest dismounted and stretched their legs. Haelan, immediately, dove into the satchel holding the pasties and began doling out the patry wrapped meat and potatoes. Festus, naturally, pulled out his own full wineskin and gulped thirstily before offering it to Duor, who did the same.
The company had settled into a relaxed meal of the meat pies and fruits when they heard Erevan’s signature birdcall “alert.”
Festus was a bit confused why the others leapt to their feet and made for the trees over the call of a warbler until Duor explained it was the elf and there might be trouble. Without a moment’s hesitation, the ranger withdrew the shortbow that hung from his waist and nocked an arrow.
“Stay here with the horses, Goldilocks.” Duor commanded.
“Duor,” Coerraine said without any hint of deference, “if you go, I go. I am duty-bound to your protection. You have my spear and my shield, not my will or servitude.” The young paladin had indulged his new “charge” while they were in the secure confines of Bridgetower, but now they were in unknown territory. He’d had enough of the dwarvish rogue treating him like a squire. He was a Redstar Knight. Doing his duty, not only to Duor but to himself and his true lord and god demanded he be able to act as he thought best.
Duor furrowed his brow before nodding a reluctant acceptance of this fact. “But yer arse is still mine. Haelan! Watch the horses.” The dwarf commanded again.
The Hilltender, not one to make waves, consented. “But you’ll call me if you need me, won’t you?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Said the dwarf over his shoulder, trotting after the mage, paladin and ranger.
It was evident that there was no immediate threat. The elf and half-elf stood over a heap of…something…in the road. As they neared, Alaria had to cover her nose and mouth at the repulsive odor that clung to the area.
“By the forge” Duor proclaimed, similarly covering his nose, when he neared. “What is it?”
The heap was, in fact, a carcass. Primarily bones with few remnants of bloody muscle and sinew left on them. The remains were humanoid.
Fen, Erevan and Festus quickly confirmed them to be, in fact, human. Remnants of whatever the person had been wearing were shredded and flung about the area, a few scraps of fabric still wrapped about torn limbs. A pack laid a few feet distant, its contents strewn about around it.
Alaria set to examine the contents of the pack while Festus and Erevan nosed about the area to try and discern what had happened to this poor traveler.
Fen inspected the carcass.
Alaria wondered how the druid was able to get so near the carnage without losing his stomach.
After some time, the druid proclaimed the killing was not the work of any “natural creature.”
“The teeth marks are like no wolf, cat or bear I’ve ever seen.” The druid explained. “And here,” the druid lifted one of the arm bones, “the teeth have even gnawed into the bone, but…whatever it was did not eat them.” The druid attempted to point out the specific wound. The others took his word for it, not daring or desiring to get any nearer to remains.
The contents of the backpack proved entirely mundane travel items. There was a pouch holding nineteen silver pieces (minted with the dragon symbol of Daenfrii on one side and a diamond shape on the other), a tinder box, two pouches of oil, a hooded lantern (its glass lens shattered in the brawl, no doubt), some ink, blank papers, a sack that had been torn open with some rotting fruits.
Among them, Alaria found a single parchment, wrapped and sealed with a blue wax and the symbol of Daenfrii. She broke it open and read the distressing contents. Seeing the severity on her face, Duor asked what it said.
Alaria read:
“To Captain Rynthis Thesunder,
We have arrived in Shafton. Kobolds hold the mine. There is a curse over the whole of the area. The village has lost nearly half of its populace to the creatures that emerge from the mines at night. Guardsman Felorn has already fallen. We request and await reinforcements to retake the mine and fight the cursed vermin back to their depths. A sickening afflicts any who have enganged the creatures. Healers are sorely needed among the reinforcement of arms.
Long live the Dragonmage.
Signed, Sergeant Hepbert Balthas.”
“Well, seems the soldiers did send word back to the tower.” Duor remarked before turning to the carcass. “Sorry for you, mate, that the message didn’t make it.”
“How long has the body been here, Duor? Fen?” Coerraine posed.
The dwarf took silent affront, grumbling something about “not being a physician” under his beard as he neared the remains.
Fen was silently leaning casually on his leaf-tip spear and staring blankly into the surrounding trees. He seemed not to hear the paladin’s query.
“These are not kobolds.” Festus stated plainly. He pointed out a couple of tracks he’d discovered among the disarray of dirt on the road. Erevan concurred. The prints were almost human-like, but elongated with clawed toes.
“A large goblin, perhaps? Or small troll?” Festus posed to the elf tracker.
Erevan solemnly shook his head. “No goblin or troll I’ve ever seen.” The elf disagreed.
“No.” said Fen simply. “Do you sense it?” the druid said cryptically.
“Couldn’t not smell it, half-blood.” Duor said, hand over his nose. “Surprised we didn’t smell it back at the Wyvern. I’d say the body’s ‘bout a week old. Though I can’t be entirely sure.”
“Not ‘smell’, my dwarven friend. ‘Sense.’ There is no motion or noise in the trees. No scavengers. If the body has, in fact, been here a week wolves, ravens, bears, foxes, even raccoons should have picked this entirely clean. Especially with the winter approaching. The bones would be scattered through the woods. There shouldn’t be anything left here for us to find.”
None liked the sound of that.
“Why wouldn’t scavengers be taking these remains, Fen?” Alaria asked tentatively.
“Abomination.” Fen said matter-of-factly. When that roused no response, the druid explained further. “Something unnatural lingers here. Do you not feel it? The animals will not come near it.” The druid did not meet any gaze but scowled at the surrounding wilds, as if he might discern some further insight from the air or the trees. None was forthcoming.
“Only thing lingering here is this gods-awful smell.” Duor said as he backed away from the scattered bones. “Ruined a perfectly good lunch. Let’s get out of here.”
“Should we not dispose of the poor soul?” Coerraine offered. “Perhaps have Haelan lay a blessing over the body?”
“No blessing is going to help him now.” Fen said morbidly. “Let us return to camp.”
The others conceded. Alaria stated that they would have Haelan say a last rite for the poor courier and they would dispose of the remains when they got back on the road.
The group returned to the halfling, casually snacking on his second mutton pasty. Happy to see his companions returning unscathed, Haelan inquired through a mouth full of pastery and potato, “Wuh wuv it? Ev’yfin ok?”
The daelvar priest’s eyes widened to the point they seemed they might fall out of his head by the time they had finished.
Haelan did not like the sound of any of it, "not one bit."…and something in the back of his mind itched at him…something about the lingering odor he couldn’t quite recall.