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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Ruined" data-source="post: 1251151" data-attributes="member: 113">12th of Chardot, yr. 150 A.V. Rising above a countryside of cultivated vineyards was the quiet hamlet of Oakdale. An occasional tree broke the horizon, but most of the terrain had been converted to arable land. Numerous villagers worked through the rows of plants in search of succulent grapes for the day’s haul. Gerad sighed to himself as they neared Oakdale. They were following a forgotten tale in search of a man who was last seen sixty years ago. Normally, he would never have followed such a fool’s errand, but he would honor the dying request of his friend Marus. Men worthy of respect were hard to come by in Gerad’s current lifestyle – he would not forget one easily. They broke from the group of parishioners, wishing them well as they ventured into the city. Up the road, the first building they neared was a large stable. A manure-stained man rested against the outer wall, studying the group as they approached. His face seemed to droop when he saw that they had no horses to stable. “Greetings to ya,” the man said as he stood, wiping his hands on his grimy breeches. “Greetings, sir. Where could we find a good inn for the night?” Tréan asked. The man sucked air through his teeth and wrinkled his nose, apparently deep in thought. His eyes played across the three humans and the wolf, sizing them up. “Well, ya could try the Hilltop Inn. It’s dead center of the town. Good enough folk there. Ya folks staying for a while?” “We might be,” said Gerad. “That should do ya. Name’s Tobus Blackwater.” “Good to meet you,” Gerad said, reluctantly extending his hand to the man. Gerad was careful not to reveal their names; there had been many conversations about maintaining secrecy on the remainder of their quest. The last thing he needed was another lecture from Tréan. “If’n ya need horses or anything, just come find me.” Again he punctuated his sentences with that sucking sound. Gerad wondered if the women found Blackwater as distasteful as he did. “We’ll be sure to do that,” Gerad said. And then they were on their way. Following Blackwater’s directions, the group ventured into the heart of Oakdale to the Hilltop Inn and found it to be a comfortable respite from the summer heat. The proprietors, Erich and Artur Thimbledown, were halfling brothers who served up wonderful foodstuffs while constantly bickering with one another. The meals were plentiful, and the ale flowed freely. As Gerad feared, however, no one seemed to know of a mage named Kelkarrin. He felt fortunate that the brothers remembered Barrett, the young bard that had told them the tale.“Bah!” Artur Thimbledown said. “I remember that boy. He was the worst minstrel we ever heard.” “Couldn’t even rhyme,” Erich chimed in from down the bar. Artur frowned at his brother’s interruption. “The one good tale he could tell was full of lies and untruths about our beloved town.” “So the parts about the wizard – ” Gerad started. “Hogwash and claptrap, I tell you. Yes, Oakdale has weathered raids from the Hornsaw and the like, but we never had no wizard to come help us.” “Didn’t need one, either!” said Erich. “Shut your hole and get back to the stoves!” Artur yelled. Gerad politely stepped back from the bar, allowing the brothers to continue their argument. He returned to the table and informed Surielle and Tréan of the news. Even the antics of the Thimbledown brothers couldn’t lift their spirits now. They eventually decided that more could be learned after a good night’s rest. As the group retired to their cozy rooms upstairs, an unobtrusive patron slid down from a barstool and made his way into the night.</blockquote>

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