Day 1
I had some unexpected extra time today, so I was able to get the first official game post up. (BTW, still waiting on email addresses for a couple of you. 
) Here we go!
Day 1
It is early evening as the weary band of adventurers makes its way into the town of Green Glade. The name of the town seems particularly cruel. It is high summer, and the surrounding countryside is baking in a dry heat. The adventurers have passed farm after farm whose crops are failing. The few streams they have encountered have dried to a trickle. And the rolling grasslands, broken by occasional woods, have taken on the golden brown shade of drying hay.
The public buildings of the middling town, then, are a welcome sight. Although the members of the party have no intention of staying in Green Glade long, the town offers a convenient place to enjoy a hearty meal and to spend the night in a clean bed instead of the wilderness. More importantly, they may find something here to quench their considerable thirst.
The arrival of the adventurers causes a small spectacle. Although the people of this town are used to the presence of traveling parties, this is a particularly impressive group. A large knight rides straight-backed atop a massive warhorse. The knight handles the beast with an expert touch, his manner clearly communicating the great skill and physical prowess of a classically-trained fighter. Walking beside the warrior is a stout figure protected by what appears to be stone armor! The crowd recognizes the dwarf as a priest by his silver Holy Symbol of Moradin, despite his martial appearance. While these people do not worship Moradin, a priest of this deity is welcome nearly everywhere. Behind this vanguard walks a pair of slighter, but no less impressive figures. A fair-yet-grim elf in studded leather carries a rapier (a rare weapon indeed in this area!) and a finely made longbow. His eyes, while not threatening or unsettling in any way, seem to be everywhere at once, as if he could react in a split second to the smallest threat. Beside him, a very small person nearly skips with enthusiasm at the prospect of finding some ale and pipeweed. This delightful creature must be a gnome, though most in this town have seen gnomes only in fairy books, and has the look of an arcanist to boot. (This last prospect has the children of the town nearly shaking with joy, but makes the adults understandably suspicious.) The party is accompanied by a small zoo of animals. Besides the warhorse, there is a pack mule, a dog with the disciplined manner of a trained guard animal, and a stately owl, its eyes hinting at the preternatural intelligence of a magical beast. Whispers in the crowd follow the party as they make their way to the public square, the likely sight of any inns the town might boast.
In the public square you do indeed see a homey inn. The sign hanging over the doors is a wooden replica of a shield, scarlet in color, emblazoned with a golden claw encircled by a laurel wreath. The name on the sign reads
The Wyvern’s Claw. The doors are painted the same shade of red. Before making your way to the inn, you stop at the public notice board. Among the usual tattered papers, advertising second hand farm implements for sale and announcing births and public meetings, etc., one in particular catches your attention.
Reward!!!
2,000 pieces of gold
For the head of the bugbear
Relgore Himtooth
Inquire with Lord Nerius Bootlum
The notice is written on fine paper, marked with the same scarlet shield that hangs above the inn.
Intrigued, you tear the notice from the board in the slanting golden light and take it with you. After paying for your rooms and stabling your animals, you sit down in the tavern to eat and discuss the notice. Moments after you sit, while you are still getting comfortable, the tavern manager—a thin, middle aged man—hurries up to you.
“Friends! Welcome to Green Glade and welcome to the Wyvern’s Claw. My name is Graf, and I am at your service. It isn’t often that folk of such obvious distinction visit our humble town."
Graf moves a little closer and lowers his voice in a conspiratorial tone.
“I see that you have found Lord Bootlum’s reward notice for the head of Relgore. The bugbear and his foul gang of humanoids harried our lands for years, plundering the outlying farms, and occasionally going so far as to carry off some of the poor folk that work the land.
“Several months ago, Lord Bootlum dispatched a contingent of the local militia to track down Relgore and his band. The squad killed several of the vermin in open combat and drove off several others, including Relgore. Though they never found his hideout, we have had no trouble from Relgore or his gang since.”
Graf sighs and continues,
“However…Nerius Bootlum is convinced that Relgore lives on—indeed, not only lives on, but actually has something to do with the current drought we find ourselves in the ravishes of. Meaning no disrespect to Lord Bootlum, you understand, but many in town think he may be going a touch senile. After all, a bugbear controlling the weather!?
“Not that one can blame him. The drought has become terribly severe. In the last few weeks, no fewer than three lakes—LAKES, mind you—have completely dried up! Things have become so bad that the local clerics at the Temple of Heironeous have had to channel all of their powers into creating food and water. Lord Bootlum is understandably desperate to do something! But the people despair believing that he will doing nothing to really help them as long as he is chasing phantom bugbears.
“Myself, I have seen many things come and go over the years. Bootlum may be a little out of touch, but he has never been one to go tilting after windmills. He has always been good to us, and has led our town through many a crisis with a level head. It may even be that he is on to something with his suspicions. If he is, perhaps you can find the bugbear for him. If not—well, perhaps a noble group such as yourselves can convince him of the error of his ways. In any event, Green Glade is in a desperate situation, and the good Lord Bootlum has precious few allies among the townsfolk right now.
“If you fine folks would be agreeable, I would like to send word to Lord Bootlum that a band of adventurers is in town. I’m sure he would meet with you tomorrow to discuss the crisis. Think it over while I prepare your ale and food, such as it is in these times, and perhaps you can give me an answer when I return.”
With that, Graf bows and hurries away. As you turn to face each other, the sun is setting, and the deepening evening fills the baking air with a sense of danger and opportunity.
