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Message: <blockquote data-quote="industrygothica" data-source="post: 6584311" data-attributes="member: 23298">Garrison knocks, but there is no response. Maighan is sure that nothing about the vines are natural, but can't seem to put a finger on what the source may be.As you continue to investigate the barn, you hear the unmistakable sound of a horse and cart approaching. It's a small, overloaded box being pulled by a single malnourished horse. It stops in front of the barn, unable to continue on with your own carriage in the way."Well met, strangers!" The gnome was riding shotgun in the driver's box. He wore a dusty coat and top hat that had seen better days, and when he smiled, the rot on his teeth rivaled his stringy ebon hair and goatee.  "We seem to b..." he is interrupted by a rustling coming from the wagon, and the irritation shows plain on his wrinkled face.  "We seem to be at an impasse," he finishes. "But perhaps it's for the best!" he says, and is answered with more rustling from the back. "Gronde! Do take care of that thing already!" The gnome stands and climbs to the ground, his bent and broken posture making him appear even smaller than he isGronde, the driver, on the other hand, is anything but small. He stands nearly eight feet tall and has to be several hundred pounds. Like Garrison, he is an orcish half-breed, but his other half looks to be ogre if anything. He stepps from the carriage with one giant step and heads toward the back."Mortimer Mondri's the name." He drags out the vowels, and it sounds like mon-DREEEEEE. He approaches, offering a dry, cracked hand.There is more rustling from the carriage, and Gronde opens a cage buried within.  "Easy little guy." His common was surprisingly clear.</blockquote>

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