Reply to thread

Message: <blockquote data-quote="Teneb" data-source="post: 792813" data-attributes="member: 3572">The return trip to Holliston went without incident.  Paksennarion and I proceeded through the city to the Great Cathedral.  An odd sight greeted us as we neared the temple complex.  A (relatively) young elf stood on a street corner bearing a placard stating “Rogue for Hire”.  Fearing for this man’s morality, Paks and I approached him.    The rogue’s name is Secil, and he apparently had fallen upon hard times.  I was concerned some nefarious organization would prey upon his apparent innocence, and so directed him to the shrine of Darmon, god of rogues (among other things) located within the Great Cathedral.  Perhaps there, I told him, he could find legitimate work.  Secil agreed to follow us into the temple, and he and Paks soon struck up a friendly conversation.  I proceeded to give my report to my immediate superior, Father Benjamin.    Father Benjamin was, understandably, greatly disturbed by my report of Orcus cultists in the area.  He assured me the Church would pursue the matter with all due vigor.  It appears I will have little time to recover from the trials of the last week; Father Benjamin has directed me to deliver a message to Zorato, a city two weeks away through the Tear’s Path.  This letter must be of some import, as it is to be conferred to Revered Father Desmond with all haste.      I spent the night within the walls of the Cathedral and met up with Paks and Secil the following morning.  The elf rogue decided to join us, at Paks’ urging, feeling his job prospects would be greater in the larger city of Zorato.  I procured horses for Paks and myself from the Church.  Secil managed to find a horse elsewhere, though I am somewhat dubious; his horse bore the mark of a local mercenary group though Secil doesn’t strike me as a mercenary.  Nonetheless, I barely know the elf and it would be unseemly to presume erroneously.    The Tear’s Path is so named because of the legend that it was formed by the tear of a goddess, mourning the senseless slaughter so common among the races.  It is one of the more dangerous mountain crossings that I know of.  For that reason, my companions and I decided to join a caravan for mutual protection.  The caravan leader, a rotund and somewhat surly man, is named Master Lester (may the gods forgive me for my disparaging comments!).  We set out for the long journey.    My companions and I were assigned a watch rotation, guarding the west side of camp at night.  Wagons would form a circle, with Master Lester’s wagon in the center, along with a strange metal box on wheels which was easily twenty feet long.  This box-wagon was a subject of some discussion among us; innocent questions on the subject were quickly rebuffed by Master Lester and his heavily armed personal guards in equal measure.    As the days wore on, routine quickly settled in.  It seems only about one-third of the wagons are actually owned by Master Lester.  The rest are independent merchants who pay a fee to join the caravan, much as we have.  Over time, we noticed some interesting occurrences with the mysterious box-wagon.  One day it began to rain, and a terrible row began within the box.  After nearly fifteen minutes without abatement, I rode forward and asked Master Lester if the contents of the box were harmed by rain, indicating the noise.  He grunted non-committally, and said “They’re makin’ noise again huh?  I’ll take care of it”.    A pudgy man I had never seen before exited Master Lester’s wagon (I later learned this man is his servant) and entered the box through a small sliding door on the side.  I heard what sounded like the cracks of a whip, and the ruckus quickly died down.  When I related what happened to Paks, she was livid.  She is of the opinion that Master Lester is keeping some sort of creature captive in that box, and perhaps torturing it.  I admit I do not care for the man, but we are here by his good graces and I do not wish to wear out our welcome.  Regardless, I assured Paks I would keep an eye on the situation, and invited her to do the same.  I am somewhat surprised she didn’t draw steel on the man.  Or me.</blockquote>

Verification