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Message: <blockquote data-quote="the Jester" data-source="post: 2496314" data-attributes="member: 1210">Meanwhile (and a few days earlier), back in Whitewater, Fwaigo “Goer” Smith wakes up and has breakfast with his family in preparation for a long day at the forge with his father.  On the wall is a crude wooden slat that his father uses as a calendar and makes note of various business transactions and appointments.  Goer’s father, Brackburn, spends a few moments hmm’ing over it this morning before finally smacking himself in the forehead.“What is it, Dad?” asks Goer. “I knew I forgot something important today!” Brackburn replies, shaking his head.  “Blast!”  He turns to his son.  “Well, lad, I’m going to need you to take care of something for me.”“What’s that?”Brackburn explains that, during the autumn, he had made arrangements to purchase some supplies for the smithy from a dwarven merchant with whom he trades every year or so.  “But I’ve got to meet with Sir Martin today.  He’s been talking about having us produce a fair-sized order of weapons and such.  I think, since the incident last fall with Tumenore’s men, that he’s been considering building up something of a local force for protection.”Goer nods.  “That’s a good idea.”“But the dwarves don’t come to town- they’ve had bad experiences in the past.  I’m supposed to meet them most of a day’s journey away... but I have to meet Sir Martin at noon today instead.  You’ll have to go to the dwarves in my stead.”Goer nods again.  “I understand.”So, about an hour later, Goer finds himself driving a rented donkey-pulled cart southwest, along one of the Roaring River’s minor tributaries.  The land gradually rises as he heads into the foothills.  He is a little nervous about making such a journey on his own, but as the cool, invigorating air washes over him his concerns fall away, and he sings little ditties he has heard in the taverns.  The flowers of early spring are to either side of the bare game trail he is following, scenting the air with their perfumes.  His voice is neither sweet nor awful, but it is loud enough that he does not notice the buzzing sound until he steers the donkey almost into a four and a half foot long bee!His singing stops suddenly as the donkey screams, and the giant bee stings it directly in the chest!  With a wordless cry, Goer scrambles from the cart to more firm footing, pulling the spear he purchased just this morning (in preparation for this very journey) with him.  But the bee, when it pulls back, leaves its stinger behind in the screaming, rearing donkey.  The great insect’s entire hind quarters tears in two, and the thing falls to the ground dead.But there’s more buzzing... and two more bees arise angrily from behind some of the flowering scrub brush around him.  Goer goes pale as the two bees buzz towards him, and one splits off to continue harassing the poor donkey!  As it stings the animal in the back, the donkey rears again, straining against its harness, and breaks free, tearing the harness apart!  Still screaming in pain, the donkey lunges into the water of the creek they have been traveling beside, seeking to sooth the burning pain.The other bee, meanwhile, darts towards Goer.  With a cry, he thrusts at it, jabbing a hole in its thorax, and it wobbles in the air, trying to reach him with its stinger.  Goer backpedals, trying to keep some distance between him and it, and jabs it again, this time impaling it completely.  Its wings make one last loud buzz, and then it dies.Wildly, Goer pulls his spear free, looking and listening for any more signs of trouble.  Nothing.  Panting, his face drawn with worry, he hurries to the donkey, spending a minute or two to calm it, and pulls the stingers from its flesh.  They are as long as daggers, and a yellowish ichor- clearly the stings’ venom- seeps from the wounds.  The donkey is shaking with fear and pain, but Goer packs mud on the wounds and gradually soothes the donkey.  After a time he ties the broken harness back together as best he can and soon he and the donkey have resumed their journey.  Goer no longer sings; he keeps his eyes and ears open more fully.  At about mid-afternoon he passes a friendly- but somewhat suspicious- fisherman, who offers to share some fish with him but is evasive when asked who his lord is.  Goer shrugs and politely declines, stating that he has an appointment that he must keep, and tells the man (who says his name is Sooth) to look him up if he’s ever in Whitewater.  He continues along his way.Evening is rolling in when Goer finally reaches the dwarves.  Though they are suspicious of him at first, when he declares that he is Brackburn’s son and that his father had to meet with his lord, the dwarven leader (named Thurbardin) nods sagely.  “We dwarves understand duty,” he declares.  Still, they require that Goer demonstrate that he is a smith, and as the sun goes down Goer finds himself politely forced to demonstrate his skills with a hammer and tongs using a large flat rock as an improvised anvil.  Once he has straightened the bent horseshoes and sharpened the dull blades before him, Thurbardin nods again and the dwarves seem to become much more accepting of him.  They transact their business, Goer handing over a bag of coin from his father and receiving an inventory of metals and tools from the dwarven group.  Afterwards, they share a bowl of disgusting fish gruel with him, which he gladly eats (being quite hungry after his day’s journey) and then offer him some dwarven ale, which Goer is extremely impressed by.  They disdainfully wave his little wooden mug aside and loan him a dwarf-sized stein, which is as large as any drinking vessel Goer has ever seen. After an amiable evening around the fire, Thurbardin offers to let Goer sleep by their fire.  “We’ll keep watch, no fear,” he rumbles.“Oh, I could take a watch if you want,” Goer offers.“No need.  There are five of us- we have a routine.  No need to disturb it.”With a shrug, Goer goes to sleep, and the night passes without event.  In the morning, he packs up and prepares to leave, checking the donkey’s wounds.  They are healing but still tender.  “Damn giant bugs,” grumbles the squire, shaking his head and thinking of the giant ants in the ruins of Castle Laagos. Before he leaves, he invites the dwarves to come into Whitewater some time, but Thurbardin snorts.  “We’ve had trouble there in the past,” he responds.  “The lords of your town didn’t much care for us.  Damn Laagos family...”“Well, they are long gone,” Goer explains, “and the current ruling family is, er, much more reasonable.”  Still, the dwarves seem uninterested.  Relations between humans and dwarves are fair at the moment, but Thurbardin seems convinced that there is no reason for them to stay that way for long.  Goer shrugs.  “Well, if you ever change your mind, look me up,” he says with a smile.***That evening, back in Whitewater, Goer spends several silver at the Fat Mallard, telling the tale of how the donkey and he fought off a swarm of almost a dozen giant bees.  He impresses the other patrons with his tale, and soon he discovers that one of the folk in the tavern is Cara Reed’s little brother, Mane (who is somewhere around 14 or 15 years old).  Buying him a drink, Goer asks Mane to tell him about his sister. “She’s a bitch,” Mane says immediately, and proceeds to rant about his sister in the way only a 14 or 15-year-old little brother can.  He rails against his mother, too, but when he starts to mock Sir Cedric Goer warns him off.“Watch it!” he snaps.  “He’s my lord.”“Oh, of course, of course...”  Mane Reed backs away from his affected lithp and becomes immediately more respectful.  Goer claps him on the back and buys another ale for him.  As the night starts to turn late, the two chat amiably, and Mane mentions that his mother was a member of some order of knights in her younger days called the Order of the Paladin.  He doesn’t know much- really, anything- about said order, however.  Eh.  Goer calls it a night.  ***A few days of hard work at the forge pass uneventfully for Goer.  Apparently Sir Cedric has left town for a little while to work on some sort of goblin problem, but the details are lost on Goer.  Then, one morning, Bartholomew, Sir Martin’s footman, summons him to the Whitewater estate.  After quickly washing, Goer follows him to the estate.  Sir Martin greets him from behind his desk and pulls a book entitled The Natural History of Plants of the Foothills and Mountains from a drawer.“Fwaigo, last fall you offered to help me with my wife’s illness,” Sir Martin begins.  “I have had so many hopes dashed, but I am no quitter.  I will never give up!”  His face is fierce.  “I have recently had something new brought to my attention.  There is a flower that grows further up in the mountains that I am told might be able to at least help treat some of the symptoms of the wasting disease that has taken hold of her.”  He flips the book open to a dog-eared page and points at a picture.  “That one there.”Sir Martin goes on to explain that his son, the sheriff, and several of their companions have set out to try to deal with whatever has driven the goblins from Goblin Gorge.  “We’ve sold them animals to help keep them fed through the winter,” he adds, “and we wish to get them to return to their gorge.  Goblin Gorge is halfway to the flowers.  I want you to proceed to the gorge, link up with the sheriff and Sir Cedric and the others, and thence- after completing their current mission- go further up the mountains until you can retrieve the flowers in question.”Goer nods.  “Yes, my lord,” he replies.  He proceeds to make a few suggestions (“perhaps we should lead the goblins to deal with their own problems”) that are rejected (“it would not be proper for goblins to follow a Whitewater banner”) and ask a few questions (“no, we don’t have any dogs- we had to eat them in the famine of 262... no, I’ve never heard of the Order of the Paladins”) before heading back to town to prepare.Soon he is back in Whitewater, gathering his gear and making ready to depart.  The question of this Order of Paladins still has his curiosity piqued, though, and so he heads to the Old-Timer’s house before leaving.  It turns out, according to the Old-Timer, that the Order of the Paladin is a group of knights that protect the weak, defend the downtrodden and generally comport themselves with the highest moral stance they can.  Interesting, Goer thinks.Then he sets out on yet another lone journey, looking for game along the way.  I would love to find some venison, he thinks, his mouth watering, but alas, the best he can do is some quail and coneys.***“Hey, look- an intact building!”  Kyle gestures, and indeed, amongst the rubble and burnt remains of the goblin village there is one structure that still stands.  Cautiously, weapons drawn, our heroes move towards it.  The stone building, 25’ square, has been touched by flames, and the thatch roof that was once upon it has been burned off, but the building itself is otherwise in good shape.  Some kind of white powder is on the ground within and immediately around it.“Salt,” announces Jorgen after putting a small amount of it on his tongue.“Durka zishoza!” comes a voice.  “Maglube dis durka!”Our heroes are most surprised to discover a living goblin within the place.  She is filthy and covered in soot but seems unharmed.  The interior of the building is dominated by a statue of a great, burly-looking goblin with a shield and a club.  “Durka jeehaw!  Sherpik del durka Maglube!” the goblin says excitedly.“Doeth anyone here thpeak Goblin?” asks Sir Cedric.There is a moment of silence.“I think Cur does,” Cara says at last. “And maybe Otis,” adds Kyle.  “Crikey!  Where are those two when you need them?”“Durka Zeem del Maglube ix jershova!” the goblin says, and gestures at the big statue.  “Maglube durka!”“How did she survive here?” wonders Cara.“I wonder if the salt has something to do with it,” Jorgen muses.“Maybe we should gather some up,” suggests Kyle.  Carefully watching the goblin- who manages to communicate via gesture that her name is Zeem and that the statue is Maglube, but nothing else- the group gathers a few pouches of the salt.  “Where do you suppose all the salt came from?” wonders Dahlia.***Meanwhile, the two members of the group that speak Goblin have begun their own trek up the river towards the Goblin Gorge.  Otis broods as he and Cur travel along the north bank of the Roaring River.  According to the lord’s men, Sir Cedric and the sheriff and the others are trying to find and drive out whatever drove the goblins from their homes, he thinks.  And it sounds as though whatever it was came from an elf ruin up there!  Well, clearly, I shall have to investigate that ruin.  Who knows what arcane secrets might remain there?  Secrets that perhaps even my old mistress knows nothing of- the secret powers of the lost elves.  I wonder what happened to drive the elves away.  Do they still exist somewhere, or are they all dead?  If they exist yet, where have they gone?  Why?  There are many unanswered questions about them.  I hope to plumb the depths of the mysteries of the elves, and perhaps Dahlia can aid me with them.  I know that she is interested in her elf heritage as well.  And she seems to have a crude talent for nature magic.  Well, with any luck, we’ll find out something up here...  He sighs.  Since I have broken with Lady Xastys, I must find a way to discover new spells.  The costs of research and scribing spells are almost prohibitive.  I must discover the secrets of the elves- I must!It takes about a day and a half to reach the gorge from Whitewater, and when Otis and Cur do they spy a long fence rising uphill to the north.  A wooden fort guards the gate, and the two approach it.  Soon they find themselves in negotiations with the leader of this particular group of goblins, whose name turns out to be Glourkin Scrimmercut.  Fortunately, both Cur and Otis speak the crude tongue of goblins, so they have no difficulty expressing themselves.  They declare that they come in peace to find their friends, and they explain the mission that the others are on.  Glourkin chuckles and tells them that they are on the wrong side of the gorge.“Surely you have a way to cross over,” Otis says, half a question.“We knocked out the bridge when the horrible thing came,” Glourkin replies.  He goes on to describe the terrifying day when the horrible beast came into the goblin territory across the gorge, slaying and burning and driving out the lucky ones.  “It almost made it to the bridge- we had to knock it out with dozens of our own kind still on it!” Cur is appalled.  “Did you at least kill the monster?”“No- it escaped.  As far as we know, it still lurks across the gorge.”“That’s terrible!” Cur exclaims.After some negotiations, and paying Glourkin a bribe, the goblins dispatch two scouts to escort Cur and Otis.  “They’ll take you to someone who might be able to help you cross over,” declares Glourkin, pocketing the coins he was given.  He squints at them.  “Good luck to you- but beware!  The monster is terrible!”  However, our heroes are forced to leave their weapons behind.  Glourkin assures them that he will provide them with a single weapon for their journey, but this turns out to be nothing more than a pointed stick.  Somehow, they feel as though this is not the most effective weapon they could have been given.As the two goblins assigned to guide them lead them uphill beyond the line of the fence, Otis and Cur confer, being careful to speak in Kamendan rather than Goblin.  “We must find a way to get across the water,” Otis states.Cur nods.  “The goblin seemed to think that heading further upstream and crossing through the valley just past the gorge is our best way.  I wonder if they can provide us with a boat?”“Would you trust a goblin boat?”“Good point.”In fact, thinks Otis, I don’t trust these goblins at all.  He glances at the two small red-skinned humanoids ahead of him, then at Cur’s pointed stick.  It is fortunate, he thinks, that I am a weapon myself.  Soon... but not until they are out of sight of the fort.Next Time: Goer battles a giant frog!  Otis and Cur betray their escort- and land in some serious trouble because of it!  The others find a disgusting area like nothing they’ve ever seen, and the source of the strange tracks!</blockquote>

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