South of Beregost
Ruznami’s short legs scampered after the bulette as Crock Jon dragged it away from the carriage, but he didn’t get a blow in before the others had finished it off. He was a bit disappointed in his own performance, not having landed a blow on the creature.
“Well, that should make the road safer,” the dwarf said. “Well, until the pup grows up.”
Archimedes flew down and perched on Ruznami’s shoulder, hooting quietly before burrowing back into his satchel for a nap. Ruz slipped a dead mouse in there as a reward.
Mirror Image: (7r) 3 duplicates (AC 12) 6+ on 1d20 hits duplicate Arcane Ward: 11/11 hp
"Crock Jon, are you sure you are all right? That bite would have torn me in half!" Argenti watched the half-orc tend to his wounds with some concern before letting the mater settle. Healing wasn't in her wheelhouse anyway, and she likely would get in the way, at best.
"At any rate, the pup won't be coming back any time soon. Unfortunately, that means it will learn and grow from this experience, getting better at hunting..." A frown and creeps across the woman's face at the thought of a killer beast with better sense. But again, it is not a problem she can help with at the moment. Instead, she turns her attentions to the dead beast and taps on it. "Do you suppose there is anything we could do with this shell?"
"I don't know if we have the time or the space to deal with a bulette shell of that size, Argenti. Although I'm sure it would be wanted by a number of magicians and alchemists, I think we will need to just leave it here."
Hawthorne walks around the area, making sure all the folks involved in the battle are okay and taken care of, then once things are settled back into place, he whistles for everyone to mount up again.
"We want to get going as soon as we can. I'd like to get back to the Uldoon Trail before nightfall if possible. Spending the night in the wilds around here seems like a recipe for disaster."
Crock Jon wants to smile and reassure Argenti, but he is not able to do so. He will try to rest on the next leg of the journey to recover some of his strength. If there is a creek he will try to wash his hands and forearms, which are filthy from holding onto the beast. His waist hurts, and he is bleeding quite badly, but his uncle had a towell, and the blood has already slowed down a great deal.
"Thank you. I'll be fine."
He listens to Hawthorne, but his Uncle has taught him well enough not to offer suggestions unasked. He looks at the creature's corpse, and thinks that at least it can serve as a warning of the dangers to be found on this road.
Broun checked over his nephew and was shocked to find no broken bones. A few minor scrapes, some quite impressive marks that were sure to bruise, but nothing fatal. He patted the big half-orc on the back and hopped back up onto the driver's perch. It wasn't long before they were off again.
As Hawthorne had hoped, they found the Uldoon Trail before nightfall, where they met up with an Amnian trade caravan bound for Berdusk. The caravan had wagons laden with trade-goods, and took quite a bit longer to both set up and strike camp. The traders were happy to have them along (in particular after having heard the story of their recent encounter) but they would be slowed to close to half the pace that Hawthorne thought that the coach could make, now that they had arrived on a well-travelled, relatively straight road through gently rolling grasslands.
What will it be - slow and safe or leave the caravan behind you?
Ethian tended to Broun’s wounds the best he could. He explained to the warrior that he only was able to do minor battle magics, but his wounds would heal after he rested. He also asked the beast of a man to teach him how to grapple like that as they traveled.
Ooc 1: Ethian considers that the slow path is actually quite fast (he’s an elf after all). No need to take unnecessary risks
Ooc 2: he’ll also start casting aid on Kaliban, Broun and himself every evening before the night’s rest, and every morning before adventuring. Note that he’s including himself only because he’s more likely to be on the front lines, based on the fights so far. This is a +5 to the hp total for 8 hour
The coach travelled in safety with a large caravan, along the Uldoon Trail. They crossed the Geenfields at a leisurely pace with lively company and shared good food flavoured with spices from the south. Eight days later, they found themselves in Berdusk, a fine jewel of a city on the banks of the upper Chionthar river. There they bid farewell to the caravan folk, crossed the river, and headed east toward Iriaebor. They made good time on the Dusk Trail and arrived in the City of a Thousand Spires only four days out of Berdusk.
The two cities were night and day. While both were on the north bank of the same river, Berdusk was a bright, fine place of wool and wine. Iriaebor's tightly-packed and crumbling towers shrouded its streets in shadows. Though the cities were of similar physical size, Iriaebor was densely packed with thrice the population. Furthermore, the traders, mercenaries, and guilds of Iriaebor were involved in complicated plots, alliances, and intrigues that were enough to rival Waterdeep itself.
Let me know if you want to do anything in either of these fine cites; if not, I will move us along.
Crock Jon tries to get rest, and supports his uncle when he can. At one point the wagon was stuck in a muddy rut, and Crock Jon was able to push the cart out. He washed himself in a nearby stream, and felt much better by the time he reached civilization. His uncle was tired, though, and Crock Jon did what he could to cover for him.
Berdusk and Iriaebor
Ruznami enjoyed the trip with the caravan. Good food, good people. Much like the library, though without all the comforts, he had to admit. Still, he thought he was hardening up a bit, becoming more accustomed the longer they traveled. He wasn’t so sore at night now, after a day of riding the carriage.
In Berdusk, and now at Iriaebor, Ruz hit the markets, looking for any interesting scrolls of magic, spellbooks, or other lore. He didn’t really have much coin for it, but he liked thinking maybe he might have a bit more coin on the way home and could pick things up then.
From Iriaebor, they took the road to Easting, and from there, they headed toward Proskur, but after a day's travel, they turned northward to avoid crossing the border into the Kingdom of Cormyr. Here they followed a series of trails and roads through the foothills of the Sunset Mountains. After a few minor course corrections, they found the town that had been mentioned in the book that had been discovered in the Library at Candlekeep. The closest known town to the lost hamlet of Vermellion, where the mine would have been. The town of Maerin.
Nestled at the foot of a mountain range, Maerin was the last bastion of civilization before the inhospitable climate of the peaks. Not near large enough to be called a city, the town was nonetheless bustling. Shops, taverns, and other establishments lined the main road, and an open-air market at the center of town found vendors of all sorts hawking their wares. The town served the many shepherds, trappers, woodsmen and prospectors that worked the foothills and peaks of the mountain range.
Broun rolled the coach up to a large building - an obvious Inn and Tavern - with a sign that read "The Bored Weasel".
"Here we are at long last!" Shedrick declared with a bow as he opened the door for the Agents of the Black Dragon Gate Mining Consortium.
Crock Jon helps others unload the wagon, and takes any bags to the door of the inn. He lines them up, but it's not thay straight. It's not that he doesn't care; he just doesn't realize that anyone might want something other than "By the door".