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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Softwind" data-source="post: 1241426" data-attributes="member: 13893">Ghost in the nightFifeteenth Session (Jan 03)Grimnyr is hailed by Reg Ty-djarling, the town sheriff, some days later.  With a concerned look on his face, Reg stops the dwarf and asks a favor.  It seems that a local farmer south of the town has encountered something of a disturbance, and would the Companions mind checking it out?  The town’s guards are still understaffed, and it would be a great favor to them if the party can help out.  Inwardly repressing a sigh, Grimnyr agrees to bring it up to the group.  With Reg’s thanks, he continues to the blacksmith, to work out some dings and dents in his armor and weaponry.  Leaving the blacksmith shop, Grimnyr retraces his steps, grabbing each of his companions as he heads to the Prancing Pony.  Once seated around a much scarred table, laden with foam frothed mugs, he lays out the job for everyone.  As one, the rest of the party agrees to the task.  Cast into the role of adventurer, they are young enough to grow antsy for any length of time spent not active.  They decide to head to the farm the next morning, so they will arrive fresh (and full of beer and pies, think Grimnyr and Tombit respectively).Brynn and Genoa, still within the forest with their animal companions, deign to stay behind, but will wait only a certain time before following if needed.  The rest of the party hit the trail shortly after dawn the next morning, following directions supplied the night before by a guardsman sent by Reg.  The day looks promising for warmth and clear sky, and the Companions spirits are lifted by the promise of excitement ahead.  It takes several hours of casual walking, with the sun making its usual march across the sky, to reach the area described by Reg; flat cleared fields, bordered by the forest, with fences delineating the various plots of land.  Looking around, they spot a farmer in a field nearby.  They approach casually, hoping that their appearance will not startle the man.  They are taken aback, amused, as the scrawny old human male whips out a crossbow apparently older than even Grimnyr, and points it in their direction“Hold, there, old man,” Grimnyr puts up his unarmed hands in placation.  “We’re only here to ask some questions about strange disturbances we heard of in town.”“Eh? Whatzat?” is heard in reply.  “Whatcha doin’ on my prop’ty?  Ain’t no need fer robbin’ here, so’s ya’ll ken jist git!”  The farmer swings the crossbow menacingly, underscoring his words with jabs with its business end towards the Companions.  “We’ve got troubles a plenty alreddy, don’t need no more!”“Old man, that is why we are here.”  Grimnyr enunciates loudly and in clear tones, hands still up, well away from weapons.  His friends are a little less trusting, their own hands close to hilts and quivers.  The farmer’s eyes peer from underneath his brow, suspiciously.  “WHUT’S why you’re here?” Grimnyr sighs.  “The trouble you are having.  We were sent from Merikest to investigate the disturbances.  But we don’t know where they are originating, and need some help.  Could you direct us to someone who knows what is going on?”Once the farmer is convinced that the Companions mean him no harm, he relents and gives directions to a farm nearby that has been “haunted” several nights now.  No harm is being done, but the livestock is spooked, and the farmer down the road is scared to go out at night now.  Thanking the man, the Companions head further south, off the clear trail and into the forest, following the directions.  On the way, they feel a sudden, passing chill in the air.  As they look for the source, a low moan reaches their ears.  As they stare at the road behind, a pale flickering form can be seen.  At first, the noble visage of a bearded man’s head, twisted in sorrow is seen.  Then it’s the body of a mighty lion, half a score feet long and complete with swishing tail.  Upon its back sprout wings, mightier than any hawk’s, but fashioned the same as that bird of prey’s.  The translucent form twinkles, coalescing into a single, unified being.  “Now you dare the last riddle of Ujaset” moans the voice. At first, the figure pays them no mind, pacing and cursing in a language none understands.  But it soon remembers someone is there, and, spying the party, roars and leaps forward.  Surprised, the group can little more than reach for weapons before it is among them.  And there it stops, clearly puzzled.  The figure, its humanoid head topping a winged lion body, stares at each member of the party, intently studying them.  After a moment, it steps back, shaking its head.  “One last riddle.  A puzzle, a conundrum bittersweet.” It is heard to utter, in growled Common.  Other words follow, but in no language known by the party, as it seems to withdraw into reverie.</blockquote>

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