Module: In Search of Adventure (Castle Caldwell)

"Threshold! The northernmost town in the Duchy - and your last stop before your adventures begin. Threshold, the gateway to mysterious castles, lost temples, deadly caves and caverns. You have heard the stories and legends, now you wish to see for yourself."

Characters:

Ambrose the Celt: A solid and devout man, Ambrose does not believe in bloodshed, but will bash enemies on the head to subdue them. Young, not tonsured, although dressed as a cleric, he insists on praying for one hour a day. He is loyal and fearless in the face of evil.
He can most often be heard proselytizing about the return of King Halav to Traladara, in the form of Stefan Karameikos. It is clear that Ambrose, like his fellow Halavans, deeply believes that Traladara is on the path to the restoration of its former glory, and that Stefan Karameikos, King Halav reborn, is the man to make it happen.
Due to the nature of his profession, and the object of his devotion, Ambrose has little to his name other than his leather armor and sturdy club.

Anastasia Vorloi: Anastasia Vorloi is a fairly attractive 15 year old. She stands about 6 foot and is approximately 145lbs. She has long red hair that falls in loose waves down to her waist, and eyes that look like pools of ink. Her smooth skin glistens like bronze in the noonday sun.
Around the city she wears fitted black pants that lace up the sides of her legs, a red linen blouse; a black bodice wraps around her waits and laces up on either side. Black leather boots come up just past her knees and fitted black leather gloves adorn her hands. On her back a cloak, the color of her hair, falls down almost to her ankles where it ends in a rather ragged and torn edge. She seems to wear this cloak with the utmost of pride. There is a throwing axe and a sword on her left hip.
Anastasia carries herself in a proud and dignified manner. She seems confident in all she does. Her father, Lord Vorloi, a general in Duke Stefan's army, taught her swordplay since shortly after she could walk. While no one expected her to go through the shearing, her father was only too proud to cut her cloak, give her a sword and watch her go out to prove herself truly a Vorloi.
Since the shearing a few weeks ago she has traveled to the neighboring city of Specularum, to begin to truly earn her family name. She spends much of her time talking to people and learning more about the current goings on, and trying to glean small bits of information that might be useful to her.
In the evenings she has a room at a local tavern, and spends the evenings socializing with the locals, sharing in a few drinks, and then quietly retires to her room for the night.

Gurv Mohr: Gurv was born the son of a soldier and tried his hand at it for awhile. He chaffed under the yoke of the discipline and decided to go freelance as a sellsword. Nothing too risky, just an occasional bit of caravan escorting and bully beating. When he was in his mid-20s, he settled down with a young barmaid he met at his favorite tavern. He thought about opening his own inn and having a few kids. This plan fell apart when his wife left him for a younger, handsomer, adventuring type. Now, to prove to his estranged wife and himself that he's worth a damn, Gurv has taken up his sword for real riches and real danger.

Gurv is a solid, 6' tall human man in his early 30s. He has brown, thinning hair and a thick beard. His face is of average appearance, but jovial and usually smiling. Gurv is a bit soft and heavy around

his middle, but has wide shoulders and powerful build.

Keelo B. Marrows

Nahawen:

Pommeraie Sollis: is a tall (just under 6') man in his late teens or early twenties, with tan skin, short but thick and unkept red hair, and bright cobalt blue eyes that seem to shine with either mirth or rage.
His dress is both practical and subdued. Redish brown wool trousers, a studded leather jacket, and a forrest green hooded cloak blend in well in the woods of Karemeikos. His boots have the worn look of long travels. He wears a longsword on his left hip and a dagger on his right. Under that green cloak he has a dark green metal shield slung on his back.
Pommeraie's ancestors were traditional men-at-arms (frequently sergeants) of the Karemeikos family. When Duke Stephen chose to move to the new land, Pommeraie's grandfather Uhtred Sollis went as a sergeant of the guard and took his own family with him. After years of service, the Duke granted Uhtred a title and small holding outside of the capital. Pommeraie's father, Uhtred's eldest child (also named Uhtred - as are all of the eldest surviving sons in the Sollis family) followed in his fathers footsteps, now as a knight in the service of the Duke. As the third born male, Pommeraie was ignored more often than not. He was drawn more to the forrests. When his father stated that he planned to make Pommeraie become a cleric in the Church of Karemeikos, the boy opted for a life of adventure, seeking his own fortune in the world.

Sevaliar he was a former officer/wizard in the elfguard, then. I can't for the life of me remember the name of the Colonel, (straight wizard, lots of facial scarring) but for this we can bust him down to former Sergeant. (Elves live a long time and can have a bunch of careers).

He'll still have the facial burn scars, but not from battle or from some botched magical experiment: a village that "didna need no fancy book larnin'" ran him out, and a villager made sure he got cozy with a torch before he was clear. Traldaran cleric was leading the mob.

Shayesti: Shayesti grew up in the Alfheim town of Shieldtree. Her mother was a wizardess of respectable stature. Her father was a great warrior and had been gone for the last several years since becoming one of Duke Steffan's first Homeguards. Despite her parents attempts to steer her towards a career similar to one of theirs, Shayesti (Shay to her few friends) never felt comfortable pursuing either weapons training or the magical arts. She liked hiding in the shadows among the tree branches, listening to people's conversations and seeing how close she could approach them before they noticed her.

She also enjoyed playing with mechanical things like locks and traps.

Unfortunately, this cost her dearly once when the lock she was trying to pick had a needle trap she failed to find. That incident cost her an eye and the respect of her parents. In hindsight, she probably shouldn't have been playing with the lock on her mother's magical laboratory doors.

Soon after that, her mother left Shieldtree on a voyage to Glantri. Her whole caravan dissapeared without a trace one night as they camped on a misty hillside. After that, Shayesti decided she should be the one to inform her father of the dire news. So she took what supplies she could carry and set out to the south on a journey to Karameikos. Eventually, she found herself in the town of Threshold with very little money left. Needing more funds to continue her journey, she decided to seek employment in this place.

Tacitus Aurelius: Tacitus Aurelius, the fourth of four children, grew up in grinding poverty on a small plot of land in the wilderness, eking out a meager existence farming and herding sheep. His parents had immigrated two decades before, lured by the promise of finding their fortune in a new, untamed land. The reality has been very unlike the tales of wealth that brought them here, however, and now they mainly work toward the day when they can bring their family back home.
Tacitus, or "Tack" as he is typically called, has brown eyes, stands just over six feet tall, and weighs about one hundred ninety pounds. He is in excellent physical condition, largely due to his hard life of farming, and his dark bronze skin reflects the long hours spent working outside. He keeps his head cleanly shaven for reasons that will be explained below, and typically wears simple, home-made clothing. His dark brown tunic and pants show signs of frequent mending, as does his black cloak. He prefers solid, durable boots for footwear, and wears a wide-brimmed hat to keep the sun out of his eyes. He typically carries a scythe wherever he goes, using it like a walking stick.
About a year ago, the Aurelius home was visited by a strange vagabond asking for shelter. The man was old, perhaps in his seventies, and had a clean-shaven head and few possessions. Quintus Aurelius, Tacitus's father, agreed to let the man stay as long as he pulled his weight around the farm. The old man readily agreed, and was soon tilling and weeding like a man half his age. The vagabond took an immediate interest in Tacitus, who at the time was a bitter, unruly young man and was held in poor favor in the family. The old man patiently advised Tacitus, helping him to see that he was causing his own disfavor through his intemperate ways. After a time, the old man revealed to his young friend who he truly was: a monk-- indeed, a master of his order that had taken to wandering the land to help those he could.
Tacitus was fascinated by this elderly vagabond who seemed healthier and more agile than a man half his age, and before long the old monk, who revealed his name to be Janus, took the boy under his wing and made him a disciple. For many long months they trained, both while working and in their spare time, and Tacitus made rapid progress. Tacitus learned to meditate, to keep his head shaven as an act of self-discipline, and to control his unruly emotions through a sort of spiritual centering. Then, on a sunny spring morning, Tacitus awoke to find that his teacher had left in the night. Where he usually slept was a note that informed him that he was now a monk, and that he must now find his own way. Tacitus never actually learned the name of the order to which his teacher belonged; the old man always dodged the question when asked.
Only a month later came Tacitus's shearing. His family gave him some basic supplies, their sturdiest scythe, and their blessings as they sent him on his way. Tacitus is now determined to improve himself, make a fortune for his family, and just maybe find his old teacher again. In the meantime Tacitus finds himself wandering the streets of Specularum, either sleeping in out-of-the-way alleys or doing a day's work in exchange for room and board, they way his teacher had done. He does his best to keep himself centered, but sometimes his emotions still get the best of him.

Introduction: Spring in Specularum; a time of great natural beauty, especially in the port city. It is also a time when young folk’s hearts call them forth to adventure, or at least to travel to lands unknown. Of course, sensible folk start small, and local. And where does one hear of adventure closest to this area? Threshold. A logging community safely in the fold of the Grand Duchy, and yet right on the frontier’s edge. Ably led by a Patriarch of the Church of Karameikos, and yet neighbor to woods hiding hosts of savage creatures.

Date: Lunadain, Yarthmont 1, AC 1000

Location: City of Specularum, Grand Duchy of Karameikos

A wild-haired man with a club in his belt walks up and down the main street of the city, energetically questioning almost every able-bodied individual he meets; “Have you heard the Word of Halav? Will ye not join me in bringing this Kingdom’s glory to hand during our lifetime? Travel with me to the frontiers so that we may beat back the bestial races and once again reclaim our native soil!”

Anastasia stops and turns toward the man.
"You seek adventure man, to push back the wilds. One might start with grooming. Tame the wilds you have there, before you seek to tame that which is mightier then a single man."

The wild man stops, but does not face the speaker. “Mightier than a single man? Aye, aye. But I don’t seek a single man. I seek a group, to do deeds in the name of a single man; or, more accurately, in the name of someone more than just a man.” Having delivered this last with eyes closed, and swaying slightly, he turns toward Anastasia. “Why, you’re a slip of a girl! Yet armed and sheared.” He leans in close to her and whispers, “Seek ye greatness, lass, or do you seek only to offer advice to those that did not ask it of ye?”

Anastasia: "I seek no greatness for myself, but to prove myself worthy of my family's great name, and to prove myself a worthy countryman of our great Duke. If you seek to prove yourself and make better this great nation, you can count on my sword. My name is Anastasia Vorloi, and you my rather enthusiastic friend would be?"

The unkempt man in leathers bows, his fist held against his chest. “They call me Ambrose the Celt, after my tribe’s name. And I seek not to prove myself, but only to assist those events foretold to come to be. Sword-work there may be ahead, so I welcome your offer. Mayhap we can add to our little band. I can heal and, despite what the other “churches” may say, am able to work small wonders through my faith in the Immortals, King Halav be praised.”

Anastasia: "Ambrose is it, well then it's agreed. We'll need to find a few more if we expect success. I've seen a few around the city that seem a bit out of place. That might be a good place to start. Shall we split up and see whom we can gather? We could meet up at dusk at the Long Shadow tavern, I have a room there and the food prices are fairly good, even if the sheets on the beds be a bit scratchy."

The scruffy fellow eyes Anastasia for a moment, then nods. “Agreed. Dusk at the Long Shadow. And may our search prove fruitful.” He offers his rather formal bow again, and meanders off into the crowd.

Time: Dusk

Location: Long Shadow Tavern, Trader’s Corridor, City of Specularum, Grand Duchy of Karameikos

Dusk finds the acolyte of Halav sitting alone at a table in the Long Shadow tavern. It’s a little crowded in here, and he looks slightly uncomfortable as he drinks water from a wooden mug and nibbles at a hard heel of bread (beggar’s rations). Each time the door opens he looks up quickly, only to look away again when he does not recognize the patron. It is painfully clear that he would rather be elsewhere. The conversation around the bar seems to be concentrate on the fact that today was tax day for the previous quarter, and the typical exchange of differing viewpoints concerning fiscal responsibility ensues.

The door to the tavern opens, and Anastasia enters, scans the room quickly. Seeing Ambrose she raises her hand in greeting and heads over to the bar. Quietly she talks to the bartender and then heads over to the table Ambrose is at.
"Ello my friend, mind if I sit?" Hardly waiting for a response she pulls out a chair and sits across from the obviously uncomfortable Ambrose.
"How did you fare on the search? I'm afraid I had little luck. I did spread the word that anyone wanting adventure should come here tonight. I think we may have a few takers, I saw a farmboy sleeping in an alley, I'd be willing to bet that he could use the chance to earn some money. Now I guess that we wait and see. Care for some drinks, they have a great mead here, and the stew is amazing."
Anastasia gets up and walks over to the bar. Thanking the barkeep, she pulls a few coins from her belt pouch and takes the two bowls from the counter and the small loaf of bread. The barkeep talking above the crowd says the drink will be brought over in just a few minutes. Anastasia walks back over to the table and slides a bowl of steaming stew in front of Ambrose, sits down and splits the bread in half and hand him half of the fresh baked loaf.
"There have some real food, that little lump hardly seems worth the effort. Now tell me what did you have in mind for this little adventure?"

Vem (with his face covered so no one can recognize him) sits down at the table with an empty mug...*whispers* Hey... hey Priest. What are you doing here? Your sort will end up in the river if you're not careful."

Ambrose accepts the bowl and the bread, after tucking the crust he was worrying deep in a pocket, and lustily begins eating, scarcely looking up. He seems to have no problem talking at the same time as eating. Actually, he seems to have no compunction against it. The level of success he achieves is somewhat suspect. “Goo stew. Mmmpf. No drinks, thanmmff. Just water. *gulp*

He pays no attention when Vem sits down, but looks up sharply at his comment, an almost feral glint in his eyes. He would look dangerous were it not for the stew dripping from his beard. He glances furtively about, leans forward, his holy symbol dredging a trail in his stew bowl, holds up a stew-y finger and mutters, “People fear the truth.” He slumps back and follows up with “and this is damn good stew,” as he converts the bread to a sponge and begins sopping up what little liquid remains. You feel fairly confident he will be licking his holy symbol clean when more conventional methods begin yielding sparse results.

Once again the tavern's door opens. This time a tall, stern-looking youth carrying a sturdy scythe enters, making surprisingly little noise in his heavy leather-and-steel boots. As he enters he removes his wide-brimmed hat to reveal a freshly-shaven head, and throws back his well-worn and fray-hemmed cloak. He strides toward the bar, giving an acknowledging nod to a couple of tables as he goes. As he sits, he rests his hat and scythe on the bar and says familiarly to the bartender, "Peace be upon you today, my friend. Do you have any work for me, by chance? I realize it's late, but my luck has been short so far today."

The bartender shakes his head and sighs. “You’re the third feller t’day as has walked in here wit’ a large farmin’ implement and asked me fer work. Are there no jobs in the farms and outskirts, then?”

As the bar wench delivers the two mugs of ale, Anastasia grabs one and slides the other to the newcomer and dips a small piece of bread in the stew and takes a bite. After she is finished with the bite she takes a sip of ale and looks up at the newcomer.
"Well as he doesn't seem to drink guess I got a spare. Drink up. What's your name, what’s your business?" She then goes back to eating the stew, occasionally with some more bread, sometimes without, but always finishing one bite completely before moving on to the next or speaking. "Hasn't changed in all these years, always have to come to the Long Shadow for their stew. It's legendary, and it hasn't changed a bit, not in 10 years."
Grabbing a scrap of cloth she wipes up some of the stew that has sloshed out of Ambrose's bowl. "I think ya missed a spot there." She says with a chuckle and tosses the rag lightly next to the priest bowl. "Well nothing like a well mannered priest for dinner company."
Looking back at the newcomer, "Name's Anastasia Vorloi, pleased to make your acquaintance. If you’re hungry, I highly recommend the stew, and I'd be willing to lay odds that our priestly friend here would as well. That is if he stops licking the bowl long enough to speak."
Making note of the youth at the bar, Anastasia nudges Ambrose slightly. Keeping her voice down "He looks like he could use a bit of work, think I saw him sleeping in an alley late yesterday. He keeps that up he's bound to run into trouble be it with the law or others. Looks like he's fresh off the farm too; he's easy pickings for some of the less trustworthy in this city."

At the mention of his profession, Ambrose stops licking the previously mentioned bowl. And mutters, “Not priest. Just an acolyte.” Looking at the bar he adds, “Big feller. Scythe. He’ll do.”

"The outskirts are the first place I checked," sighs Tack as he rests his elbows on the bar, "but all the nearby farms claim to have too many people as it is." He glances up at his weapon and continues, "Perhaps I'd have better luck if I had a more conventional walking stick. My scythe seems to intimidate city folk."

Anastasia rises from the table and walks over toward the bar.
"I got this one Sarge,” she says with a warm smile at the bartender. "
"Come on over and sit with us. And you might want to tuck that thing in a corner; it’s a bit big for the tables. If you want I can store it in my room while we sit and chat."
Anastasia smiles at the barkeep again and leads the big farm boy over to the table where her other two companions sit.
"It's not that it intimidates city folk, friend. It just makes you stand out a bit as being straight off the farm. Makes you stick out a bit more then most city folk like too."

"Heh I am not sure of this stew, it smells 'off' but what do I know of cities... not much I'm afraid." Vem smiles, but it quickly disappears. “I came over wondering why this poor priest was so nervous, but was I correct in hearing there is work to be had? Outside the city walls I hope."

“Aye lad..lads…lads and lady,” Ambrose offers, now apparently out of anything to eat. Far outside the walls. It’s the frontier we seek, if only to extend it farther than its current location.”

Tack awkwardly follows the lady from the bar to the table, leaning his scythe against the wall as he sits. As soon as he is seated, he glances over at the priest and blurts, "Hey, I know you! You're the crazy guy that's always yelling things on streetcorners!" He gives a start when he realizes what he's just said, and quickly tries to change the subject. "Uh, anyway, your advice is well taken, my lady," he says to Anastasia, "But I think I'd prefer to keep my weapon handy. Just as well that they think of me as a harmless farmboy, as the prideful will often make mistakes in their overconfidence." This last bit is said in a somewhat recitational tone.

Anastasia: "Well, it would seem that we are all in the market for work. Ambrose here (she nods toward the acolyte) seems to think that out on the frontier we might be able to test our skills, and make our names for ourselves. I have to agree; here in the city we will find little if any real work. Certainly nothing to better our situations or prove ourselves worthy of our great families."
She pauses for a moment, and then continues "Threshold, we should head there, if there ever was a place to make your mark on the world it is there. The untamed wilds just outside there door, makes it a good place to start anyway."
She looks at each of the men at the table in turn "What say you, do we set out as individuals striving for the betterment of all, or do we go our separate ways and hope for the best?"
"Oh and if ya miss out on the stew it is truly your loss, if we hit the road you may never get the chance to try it, and one should always set out on a warm hearty meal."

Ambrose pipes up, “The stew? Delicious. Small bowls, though, goes fast.”

Vem: "Thanks for the offer but I personally will save my appetite for my remaining rations in my pack. They need to get eaten before they go bad.. And they should just about get me to Threshold. If that IS our destination."

Anastasia: "Well Ambrose I do believe that is where you mentioned earlier, is it not?"
Suddenly remembering her manners Anastasia looks over at the farm boy.
"My name's Anastasia Vorloi, pleased to meet you. And you are? Hungry or thirsty, how about I order ya a beer and some stew. If you’re the one I saw sleeping in the alley I'm guessing you’re a might hungry."
As the barmaid walks by Anastasia stops her “Hey Val, can you get this one a stew and ale. I've got it covered."

Vem: "No offence my good woman, but that probably wasn't me you saw in that alleyway, I do not imbue alcohol, and I do not partake in charity. My rations will do me fine for the travels... “ After leaning back with a scowl on his face a moment, he speaks again "Marcus is my name, and if you are looking for folks willing to go to the frontier, count me in." He looks to everyone in turn and leans back appearing like he will say very little any more.

Anastasia: "Oh don't worry about it, I wasn't speaking to you, Marcus, I suppose two farm boys at the table can be a bit confusing. I meant our shaved friend here. I'm pretty sure I saw him in the alley the other day. You already said you didn't want any stew, your loss but he may be hungry and a good meal is always a good way to break the ice and make new friends."

Ambrose suddenly thumps his fists on the table and belches. “Aye, very good stew, indeed.” He stands. “Beg pardon, new friends assembled, but I must take my leave and get some rest. The day starts early for the wicked and the driven, and I confess I’ve been both in my short life. In parting I offer these words,” he takes Anastasia’s hand in his and leans forward a bit. “A journey into unknown territory should always start with something that will be missed. He gazes up into her eyes. “I sure will miss that stew.” Releasing the lady’s hand with a bow, he stomps out of the Inn, into the dark; all the more dark as the moon is new. A voice booms back in from the road. “One hour after sunrise, my new friends. We’ll meet back here to break our fast and then to the road. May King Halav protect us all.”

Anastasia: "Interesting fellow. Not quite right in the head to be sure. But he is right, ‘tis late and if you are interested in joining us, we should retire shortly."
Looking at the ales still sitting on the table. "Dear me, am I the only one at this table who enjoys a nice cool brew every now and then? Ah no matter, I guess I'll have the last of these with the Sarge, if no one else is gonna drink up."
"You guys have rooms for the night? The common room here isn't too expensive, or they have private rooms for a bit more."

Tacitus makes arrangements for the common room, as Marcus stands and prepares to leave. He indicates he will sleep under the starts this evening. All make arrangements to meet back here 1 hour after sunrise.

Date: Gromdain, Yarthmont 2, AC 1000

Time: one hour after sunrise

Location: Long Shadow Tavern, City of Specularum, Grand Duchy of Karameikos

Ambrose enters the tavern loudly, his gear (what there is of it) arranged on his person, ready for travel. He sits at a table, asks for a mug of water, pulls a bread crust from inside his vest, and nonchalantly begins nibbling on it.

At exactly one hour after sunrise Anastasia walks down the tavern stairs from the private rooms. Dressed much the same as the previous day. Today however her long red hair is pulled back and tied with a strip of black cloth and she now has a chain shirt on under her cloak.
"Morning all, I trust you all slept well." Looking around seeing only Ambrose and Sarge "Humm, guess the others slept late. What’s on the menu for breakfast this morning, Sarge?"
Anastasia continues down the stairs and heads over to the table where Ambrose sits. "Sleep well? "

Ambrose rises. “Well enough, my lady. What aches the hard ground may cause, an hour of prayer removes. Now I assume we’re just awaiting the arrival of the two slug-a-beds and we can be off.”

"Who are you calling slug-a-bed?"
The voice comes from a dark corner of the common room. You see Marcus there, whittling something out of a piece of wood.. it looks like a Viking ship or a duck. You’re not sure.
"I have been up for a while, and have already eaten and I am ready to go"
A scowl on his face tells he isn’t too happy on how his carving is coming.

Tacitus enters the common room from the tavern's rear entrance, shirtless and covered in a light dew of sweat. "Good morning," he says as he passes the table, "I've decided to come along on the trek you mentioned last night." He then dons his tunic, cloak, and gloves, and joins the two already sitting at the table. "My name is Tacitus, by the way," he says as he sits, "I'm not sure if I'd mentioned that before. My friends call me Tack, and I'd prefer that to 'farm boy.'"

"Well then Tack, good morning and you as well Marcus. So we are all agreed then, we are off to Threshold?"
Anastasia gets up from the table and fetches the small plate of food from the bar that Sarge just placed there.
"Sarge, perfect as always. Hey Sarge should Dad ask, and he may. Sheared or not, I still think he's gonna wonder what I'm up to. Just tell him, I've headed off to Threshold and not to worry. I'd really appreciate it, you know how he can get."
Plate in hand Anastasia moves back to the table and sit down. The small plate contains a small chunk of bread with fresh berries spread across the surface and a bit of egg.
After quickly eating, she returns the plate to the bar, and takes a small sip from the waterskin on her hip.
"Perfect Sarge, you are the master of cooking. I'll miss your food while we are gone."
Turning back to the three men in the room, "Well if our bellies are full, and we are all packed up we might want to head out. We have a long trip ahead of us."

With a final whittle, and a furrowing of his brow Marcus sets his creation down on the table, slings his pack over his shoulder and heads for the door.

Tacitus follows suit, picking up his pack and scythe from their place against the wall as he moves toward the exit.

Anastasia rises from the table, grabbing her pack from the floor and slinging it to her back in one graceful motion. She walks to the door, and turns back to the old barkeep.
"See ya Sarge, I'll try and swing back often." and with a wave and a smile she heads out into the city street, which is just starting to come alive with the activity of a new day.
"You coming Ambrose?"

“Right!” replies Ambrose. “I seem to be the one holding this little party up. Off we go to do our part.”

As you head north out of Specularum on the Duke’s Road, following the Highreach River, you pass by the ancient walled city of Krakatos, where Ambrose insists at least a short time is spent in reflection and prayer. It is here, he explains, that many believe part of the “Song of King Halav” took place. As you travel on, dark clouds signify an ominous beginning. Indeed, as the day progresses, the weather worsens, turning to a moderate rainfall as the winds from the north begin to pick up. Early in the day, you see only the occasional traveler, and even these meetings turn scarcer as the conditions deteriorate. Your day’s travel ends just at the beginning of the Radlebb Wood, where you deem it necessary to make camp, such as you can.

OCC: Marcus will take a watch if needed but you can skip to the following day if needed.

Anastasia: I'll take a watch as needed, and then I say we kick back into our little travel up the river.

I assume everyone east after camp is made. Everyone, that is, except for Ambrose. He fiddles about with some flowers and long grasses, chewing on what he can find, and making horrible faces in the process. The road is close enough to the river for waterskins to be drained and re-filled. Being late spring, the day, if not damp, was at least warm (about 70°) and the evening gets down to about 55°. The rain, while not heavy, was driven almost sideways by a 29mph wind from the North. The night passes uneventfully.

Date: Tserdain, Yarthmont 3, AC 1000

Time: one hour after sunrise

Location: on the Duke’s Road, South of Rifflian, in the Radlebb Woods, Grand Duchy of Karameikos

As soon as the sun rises, Ambrose can be found in prayer, on his knees in the mud. He will keep this up for one hour, as the party breaks camp. Everything is dripping wet, and the day dawns warm and humid. But the humidity is soon accompanied by a downpour of rain; heavier than yesterday. Well at least the wind has diminished somewhat, and now blows from the south at 19mph. Today will rise to 80° and will get no cooler than 60° at night. Only Tack seems to have slept in any semblance of comfort, in his bedroll. While as damp as the rest, he seems to have less difficulty in moving and getting the pain out of his joints.

Barring incident a good day’s travel should put you in the town of Rifflian for the evening.

Date: Tserdain, Yarthmont 3, AC 1000

Time: late afternoon

Location: the town of Rifflian, Grand Duchy of Karameikos

You arrive in Rifflian, very wet, hungry, and slightly worse for wear.

"It looks as if you three haven't done much traveling," Tack remarks as they approach the town's outskirts. "I've found my bedroll to be an excellent investment in the months I've spent wandering. You should consider buying one while we're here."

Anastasia heads to the nearest inn, trying to shake some of the water from her hair.
"Excuse me, Do you have a room for the night, and a hot meal would be divine. Also good sir, could you point me to a local shop where I might buy some goods for my travels?"

You are told the tavern does, indeed, have rooms and a meal would be no problem. Of course the smell of supper alone indicates the quality may not be up to the caliber of the Long Shadow, bit it certainly beats soggy rations. Ambrose looks uneasily about and prepares to exit the tavern, apparently not making arrangements for bed or board. The keeper of the establishment directs you down the road for a provisioner.

"Thank you sir, I will need a room and a meal. Do you happen to know if the provisioner will be open much later, or if he opens shop early in the morning?

“The room’ll be five crona, and one royal for the meal. The provisioner’ll be open a while yet, but closes at dark.”

Anastasia pulls the coins from her pouch and hands them to the tavern keeper.
"Will the meal be ready straight away, or would I have time to speak to the provisioner while it is being prepared?"

“As is your pleasure, m’lady.” Replies the hostler.

"Very good then, I'll be back in just a few minutes."
With that Anastasia turns and heads out the door at a jog in the direction of the

provisioner.
Anastasia enters the shop the innkeeper had director her towards. “Good Eve Sir, do you happen to have a tent and a bedroll I might purchase.”
The provisioner points to a small shelf stacked neatly with bedrolls and an adjoining shelf with tents neatly folded.
“You do excellent.” With that she scoops up a bedroll and a tent and places them on the counter and reaches into her belt pouch for some coin. After concluding business Anastasia exits the shop “Thank You” and heads back towards the inn.
Anastasia enters the inn, “Thank you for directing me there, very helpful fellow had the two items I needed.” She talks to the innkeep as she sits down at a table near the fire. “Oh guys they do still have tents and bedrolls, should you be wanting one, fair price too.”
The serving girl brings over a plate of food “Thanks Miss” and Anastasia begins eating. “Not bad, not bad.”
Tacitus, who until reaching the tavern had accompanied Anastasia silently, casually approaches the tavernkeeper and takes a seat at the bar. "Pardon me," he says, "I was wondering if you'd seen someone strange recently."

The tavernkeeper ponders the tall, bald youth with the scythe. “Err, well, mayhap yes and mayhap no. Most travelers seem strange in one way or another. I minds me own business as much as possible. Can ye describe this individule?”

"He's a fairly healthy looking old Thyatian man, shaven head, dressed in simple clothes and barefoot," Tack says, giving a description of his old teacher. "He was probably carrying a staff or large walking stick, and asking about work."

The tavernkeeper looks thoughtful for a moment. “I’m sorry, lad, don’t ring no bells wi’ me. ‘Course very few linger long in Rifflian, what with the big city so close one way and th’ frontier t’other.”

Tack sighs and looks away for a moment. "Ah well," he says solemnly, "It wasn't too likely he'd come this way, anyway." He then strides out of the bar to find the rest of his companions.

"Whats with those guys, you'd think that with the rain and travel they'd at least take advantage of one night in a warm dry bed. Oh well, their loss I guess."
Anastasia finishes her plate of food, brings the plate back to the bar. "Thank you, it was indeed good. Now about that room."
Anastasia concludes busines with the innkeeper and gathers up her pack and her new purchases, and heads to the door. "Night guys see ya at sun up or shortly thereafter. Try and at least find a dry place to sleep."
With that Anastasia heads up the stairs to the room the innkeeper had directed her too minutes before.

As Marcus has no money he is forced to seek shelter outside the inn, and must go hungry, as he ate the last of his rations earlier. Tack gets a poor meal and stays in the common room.

Date: Moldain, Yarthmont 4, AC 1000

Time: one hour after sunrise

Location: The Silver Swan Inn, the town of Rifflian, Grand Duchy of Karameikos

Upon waking, to a much more pleasant, sunny, dry day, you discover that the name of the Inn which you have discovered is, in fact, the Silver Swan. On reaching the main room, you are greeted by a Halfling who identifies himself as Stubbs Plattermann. He runs the inn, and apologizes for not being available the night before, but the weather had caused him to catch a bit of a cold and he was resting. Stubbs informs you that you are in the trading town of Rifflian, a town populated almost entirely by Callarii Elves. As luck would have it, you stumbled upon an inn maintained primarily for human traders. But if you wish to be trading with the Callarii, this is the town in which to do it. For the most part, humans trade raw materials and good horses for supplies, equipment and items of elvish craftsmanship.

Ambrose is waiting for you in the main hall, looking well fed and rested. He explains that, once outside Specularum, it is common among his cult for clerics to perform ceremonies and cast spells in exchange for food and lodging. This may be difficult in Threshold, as the town is run by the Patriarch of the Church of Karameikos!

The pleasant day, with the gentlest of breezes from the north does get quite warm (80°), and cools to only 65°. This day’s travel along Windrush Road takes you as far as the village of Verge, on the edge of the Black Peak Mountains, at the junction of the Fomafire Jallew and the Windrush Rivers. Of course Ambrose insists on calling them by their old names; the Foamfire River and the River Waterholde). The day’s travel finds you in Verge, one day from Threshold. Ambrose takes his leave, but Marcus must deal with the fact that he hasn’t eaten in almost two days.

Date: Moldain, Yarthmont 4, AC 1000

Time: late afternoon

Location: the village of Verge, Grand Duchy of Karameikos

If Marcus needs food, Tacitus will gladly share his rations.

Then rooms are acquired and rations shared. Once again, Ambrose heads off into the village to make his own way.

Date: Nytdain, Yarthmont 5, AC 1000

Time: early afternoon

Location: the town of Threshold, Grand Duchy of Karameikos

Weather: High of 80°, Low of 70°, no wind, moderate rain (3/4”)

Threshold

5 ½ hours of wet travel brings you to the town of Threshold. As you enter the town, you are met by a soldier in a deerskin cloak. He identifies himself as Sergeant Arthol. “Well met, travelers. I must now inform you of our town laws, so that you might not find yourselves on the wrong side of our good justice. Within town limits, no weapons other than daggers, swords and staves may be carried. Other weapons,” at this he gestures for Tack’s scythe, “must be turned in and will be kept in Town Hall, to be returned when you leave. Wearing armor, while not illegal, will most likely result in your being questioned repeatedly unless you are leaving from or arriving in town. No public casting of arcane spells is allowed, and penalties for causing property damage or injury with magic are severe. I must now ask you your names and your business in Threshold.”

Anastasia steps up promptly, you would have thought her a soldier in the Duke's army if you did not know better. She sounds like a soldier addressing a superior officer when she speaks.
"Anastasia Vorloi, I'm here looking for work and to explore the frontier." With a fluid sweep of her hand Anastasia pulls a throwing axe from her hip, and holds it, handle out, to the guard. "Other then the sword I have here that is my only other weapon. If you could please direct me to an inn I will remove this armor and shield straight away."

The sergeant accepts the weapon and hands you a scrap of paper, torn in half, the other half of which he affixes to the axe. “Inns there are aplenty, down yonder road,” he gestures. “Prices vary but you can find private single lodgings for about 10 royals a week. “Course if you’re lookin’ for common quarters, they’ll run you only a crona a night.

Merchants are down that road, along with the bank. Of course the Patriarch can most often be found at the Church or at his keep, Tarnskeep, just outside of town. This bulletin board usually has notices posted of folks lookin’ for assistance. If it’s work you seek, that’d be your best bet.”

He turns to Marcus and Tack, an expectant look on his face.

Tacitus steps up beside Anastasia. "Tacitus Aurelius," he says, handing over his scythe. "I am also here looking for work and other opportunities. Be careful with that scythe, now." He reaches around to the place on his belt where he keeps his sling. Holding it up, he asks "Will I have to turn this in, as well?"

Sergeant Arthol hands Tack a slip of paper, as he takes the scythe. “No sir, many’s a boy as has one of them on his belt. We trust you won’t be causing any mischief with it. And you sir?” he queries of Marcus.

Marcus responds in kind and hands over his short bow. Ambrose hands over his club, but as for purpose of visit he simply states “Pilgrimage.”

As they stroll into the town, Tack glances at his three companions. "Well, we made it," he says, "What do we do now?"

"Well you heard the man, the bulletin board should have postings of any work there may be. We should check there and then make accommodations in town if we are going to have to stay for a night or two."
With that Anastasia beckons the others to follow and heads off in a determined manner in the direction the guard had directed them only moments ago.

The bulletin board has a sort of cupola over it to protect the parchments from inclement weather. You see the following notices:

QUALIFIED EVICTION PERSONNEL WANTED

See Clifton Caldwell for details

WANTED: RENEGADE CLERIC ELWYN

See Patriarch Halaran

PACKAGE DELIVERY NEEDED TO SELENICA

See Merchant Sindar at the Stalwart Glass Tavern

The following “news” items are also posted on what seems to be a current events/ gossip parchment;

“Goblins raiding along the Black Eagle barony border. The Baron is suspected”

“Unidentified merchant has been making inquiries about something called “The Rock.””

“Foreign nobleman who owned a whole fleet of ships was assassinated a week ago in Specularum. The Iron Ring is suspected.”

“Renowned fighter Rogahn the Fearless, long missing, is believed alive and working for Baron Hendriks.”

“Gnomes are smuggling gems down the river in hollowed logs.”

"Well then, I guess we start at the begining and see what we can find out." With that Anastasia takes the first notice down. "Lets find this Mr. Caldwell."

As you turn around you realize Marcus has slipped off somewhere. A previous conversation on the road alluded to the fact that he might become scarce once in Threshold, depending on which way the wind blew. Apparently it’s blowing that way.

A small figure wrapped in a heavy, grey-green cloak plods up to the board, stopping a couple of feet back. After a couple of abortive attempts to look past the towerin humans in the way, a heavy sigh comes from the shadows under the hood.
In unaccented Thytian,
"Excuse me, young ones. I can't help but notice that you're newly arrived and, unless my knowledge of local human dress customs fails me, newly sheared as well. My predicament is...analogous to your own, and you might find my knowledge as useful in your travels as your own...brawn. "
He flips back his hood, revealing snow-white hair, blue eyes, pointed ears, and a massive, gruesome burn scar covering most of the left side of his face; beginning with the ear and stopping just shy of the nose.
"My name is Sevaliar. I'm a teacher, and a wizard."

Anastasia eyes go wide "A Callarii, last time I saw one of your people was knee high playing while my father and the duke were in a meeting."
As if suddenly remembering her upbringing, Anastasia straightens herself up and composes herself. "My apologizes, I'm Anastasia Vorloi, and these are my traveling companions, Ambrose, Tacitus and well we seem to have lost another somewhere around here. Please pardon my outburst, it's been awhile since I have seen another of your people, and even longer since I've had one speak with me. You are more then welcome to join us, t'is always safer in numbers, and we welcome your expertise and wisdom. We were just getting ready to find this Mr. Caldwell as it seems he has work that might be of interest."
Anastasia holds out the posting she had previously removed from the board to Sevaliar.

Tack has apparently been lost in his thoughts for the last few minutes, but the diminutive stranger's introduction snaps him out of his reverie. "A wizard," he says with his eyes wide, "I've... never met a wizard before. Can you really kill a man with a single thought?" He seems somewhat torn between fascination and fear as he regards the robed elf before him.

Ambrose looks somewhat uncomfortable at that thought. He mutters under his breath, yet audible enough “It must require a tremendous amount of discipline to wield such powers, unchecked as they are by faith.”

Sevaliar looks to Anastasia, "Thank you, young lady." He looks to Tacitus "No, child, there are gestures and phrases involved, and even then it's often a bit less certain than putting an arrow through a man's throat." He turns to Ambrose, "discipline I have, none who lack it serve in the Duke's Elvenguard for long."
He takes the notice from Anastasia and glances over it. "Eviction, eh? Hopefully outside of town limits, otherwise I'm afraid all I'll be able to contribute is wiggling my fingers at him menacingly." He rubs his scar unconsciously as he adds "you'd be surprised how often that works, though."

"Oh," Tacitus says in a relieved tone, "Good. Back in my home town they tell lots of stories about wizards. I'm glad that one isn't true, at least." He seems to relax a bit, and in a more even tone he asks "Why do you keep calling us children, anyway?"

Sevaliar looks up the big human with patient exasperation. "Because elves can live a very, very long time. I have seen more than a hundred winters. From the looks of you, none of you three has seen so much as thirty. Given the cuts on the ends of your cloaks, I'd wager as much as a decade less than even that."
He glances at the sheet in his hand again. "Clifton Caldwell. Well, whoever he is, he's probably not standing out in the mud; let's see if we can't find him." He flips up his hood and starts walking toward the center of town.

Castle Caldwell

Finding Clifton Caldwell is easy enough. A couple of questions and you are directed to the merchant’s area of town. And gaining an audience with Clifton, obviously a wealthy merchant, is just as easy. “I have recently purchased a small castle, located a few miles outside of town. The castle had not been occupied in some time. I paid to much for the place, to be sure, but I really have always wanted one. When I went to visit my new home, I found it occupied; monster squatters, if you will. Small little beasts, to be sure, but I am not skilled in the arts of war. I should like you to clear the castle out. For this I am willing to pay you 100 gold royals each; and, of course, any treasure you find in the castle. That should be incentive to leave no corner unsearched, yes? Half the fee is payable up front, the rest due upon completion of the task. Have we a deal?”

Sevaliar turns to confer quietly with his new acquaintances: "His offer sounds like just the sort of thing I'm looking for at the moment: fast, straight-forward, and profitable. That reminds me, we should work out a system for dividing what we find there. But for now, does this work suit everyone else's needs?"

"Seems fine to me," Tack says, scratching his chin. He turns to Clifton and asks, "What sorts of monsters are they, anyway?"

Clifton Caldwell: “They were small creatures, oh, about 4’ tall, with pointed ears and misshapen teeth. Their skin was a pale, earthy color and their eyes red. Goblins, I think they are called.”

Sevaliar:"Well," he glances at the two hulking Thytians and the club-wielding priest "I think we can handle that. Anastasia, Ambrose?"

"Indeed the offer sounds quite fair, and will definitely fill our bellies for a moon at least. We can discuss the division of any goods we find once we finish our business here, it will give us something to discuss on the journey."
Anastasia looks at Mr. Caldwell, "Sir, the job sounds to be just what we are looking for. Do you have a map to the castle or any map of its interior? Surely any information you can give us of your new residence can speed our job and allow you to move in all the sooner."

Clifton Caldwell pulls a parchment from within the folds of his robe. "I have this map of the exterior, but I'm afraid I know nothing of the internal structure. And I will take you to the site myself, but I would, of course, be coming right back here to await word of your progress."

Exterior map of Castle Caldwell

http://i50.photobucket.com/albums/f302/rexartur2/In%20Search%20of%20Adventure/CastleCaldwell.jpg

Ambrose nods his wooly head. “Aye. For the glory of Duke Stefan and King Halav, ‘tis a small start, but a start nonetheless. I’m in.”

"Now Sir, how long will it take us to reach this little castle of yours? Would we be able to reach it by days end if we left within the hour, or is this trek best left til first light tomorrow?"

Clifton studies your group. “You look healthy enough. It’s little more than an hour’s walk. The road is good, if not a bit muddy. The choice is yours. For my part, I’d rather be in my new home sooner than later and,” he looks out of the window at the rain, “this is not uncommon in the spring.” He waves his hand at the sky through the window.

Sevaliar peers out a window to check the sun's position, then says "Yes, I believe there should be plenty of time for us to, at the least, take a look inside and get back to town before we risk losing the twilight. In any case, we have a bargain, Merchant Caldwell."

Clifton Caldwell rises and snaps his fingers twice. “Delighted to hear it. I really am anxious to move in to my new abode, a place of quality and all.” The way he stresses the word quality gives you the impression that Merchant Caldwell likes his surroundings grand and ostentatious. Mind you the home in which you are currently conducting your business is no hovel. Far from it.

In a moment a servant enters bearing a small coffer. Caldwell takes it and opens it, careful to let no one see the contents but himself. He expertly sets out four piles of fifty gold royals each, closes the coffer, hands it back to the waiting servant and shoos him off.

“You have your mission, and your ‘seed money.’ Please report to me as soon as the task is accomplished.” Merchant Caldwell clearly wishes this to be the end of your meeting, now that there is no more business to discuss. You don’t anticipate sparkling conversation en route to the new Caldwell Manor. “Do you need to visit the shops before I bring you to my castle, of shall we head off straight away?”

Sevaliar: "The only items I particularly want are," the elf picks up one of the piles of coins "currently beyond my means. So, if everyone else is ready..." He glances at the others questioningly.

Tack leans toward Anastasia and, in a low voice, says "We may want to purchase some sacks to help us carry any spoils we find."

The doors of the room open and two guards stand aside to admit another figure who glides forward to stand before the party and Merchant Caldwell.
A slight figure not much more than five feet tall, her shoulder length white hair flows behind her and past her pointed elven ears. Her hair also hangs down in front, covering the left side of her face. On the right side though you see that her eye is a light purple color, like an amethyst gem.
Halting before you as gracefully as she walked in, you catch a glimpse of leather armor, spiked gauntlets, and thigh high studded leather boots which nearly touch the hem of her side slit leather skirt. But as she stops, her heavy dark green cloak settles around her to block all further inspection.
In a gentle but resolute voice she asks, "Is this the place where we sign up for the job as 'Qualified Eviction Personell'? My name is Shayesti, and I would like to apply for the job if there is still an opening."

Anastasia: "Agreed, we gather some supplies and head out. It may even be in our best interest to make sure we have supplies to camp near the castle, rather then plan on traveling back and forth each day."

Ambrose stands when the female elf enters the room, a very please look on his face. “This is just the thing needed to make the movement grow. More followers! You are very welcome, miss. The more the merrier, says I. I am Ambrose the Celt; spreading the good word of Halav-reborn for these past few seasons”

Anastasia looks to the female elf "You are more then welcome to join us, as I have said before there is safety in numbers. We were just discussing our preparations so we could set out. Do you have provisions for the trip? I would suggest a tent and a sleeping bag, as I think it would be in our favor to secure a spot near the castle to camp, rather then loose half of our days to travel."
"Mr. Caldwell we will need another share of that money, as we seem to have gained another hand to assist us in your job."

Clifton Caldwell doesn’t even bat an eye as he places another stack of 50 royals on the table. He repeats his brief description of what he is looking for.

Tacitus chuckles softly as he doffs his hat to the lady. "Yesterday I had never even seen an elf, and now I meet two in one day," he says with a smirk.

Sevaliar eyes the newcomer levelly, and inclines his head slightly. "Welcome, fellow Calarii. I feel certain your skills will be most useful in the work to come."

The white haired newcomer steps forward and nods her head to the merchant Caldwell as she deftly pockets the 50 royals with nary a coin clinking together. Stepping back, she nods in greeting towards the rest of the group as she looks at them each in turn.
"Greetings. Yes, let us go."
Shayesti is ready to leave whenever the rest of the group is. She doesn't need to provision any further.

Anastasia would like to purchase two large sacks.
Then she is ready to head to the castle

After a brief stop at the general provisioner, and another stop at Town Hall to reclaim your weapons, Clifton Caldwell leads you to his estate, the soon-to-be Caldwell Manor. The trek through the forest brings you to a clearing, in which stands a fairly impressive castle, a turret at each corner. A slope leads up to a pair of massive oaken doors in the front. There are narrow windows spaced evenly around the first floor of the building. Clifton bids you godspeed and good luck, and prays you inform him when your task is complete. At this he returns to town.

Anastasia surveys the area quickly and makes note of the arrow slots and the single entrance. "Might I suggest that our first order of business should be to find a place near here to set up our camp? A bit off the path so we are not visible to anyone coming or going from the castle, but close enough that we do not have to spend much time in travel when we start to feel a bit fatigued. Then we can at least leave the bulkier items, tents, bedrolls and such at the campsite and not have them weighing us down as we will most likely have some fighting in our near future."

Sevaliar nods, rubbing absently at his scarred face. "That sounds like a workable course of action. Let us be as swift about it as possible, though. I mistrust this place, and the sooner we can hand it over to our for-the-nonce employer, the happier both he and I shall be."
That said, he begins looking around for a safe, relatively dry, place to camp.

Many of the forested areas nearby the castle appear safe enough, at the moment, but dry? After the rains of the last few days, dry is not a term currently associated with anything outside shelter.

The elf mutters something about mud, then starts walking toward a dense copse of trees on a nearby hill, making for the side furthest from the castle.

Shayesti follows the rest of the group's lead in looking for a campsite. She looks not at the ground though, but upward at the miniscule trees of this forest.
"Forget the mud, brother Callari, we should sleep among the comfortable branches with the leaves for a canopy above us."
Finding a suitable branch, she jumps and pulls herself up until she straddles it comfortably while leaning back against the trunk.

The wizard rolls his eyes and stomps on the dryest portion of mud available. "My tree-climbing skills are somewhat less than spectacular these days, and testing them on rain-slick, substandard trees hardly seems worth the risk. This spot will do nicely."
He looks around at his companions. "Shall we begin the work at hand, then?

Tack eyes the diminutive elven female incredulously and says, "You can sleep in a tree if you like. I prefer to stay out of the trees unless I'm looking for fruit. Besides, a fire's hard to control on a tree branch."
Nodding to Sev, Tack hefts his scythe over his shoulder and says, "I'm ready. Let's go and evict some monsters."

Anastasia pitches her tent and places her bed roll inside. She quickly unsheathes her sword and gives it a quick shine with the hem of her cloak. In a confident tone and with a confident nod of her head "Alright then lets clean some filth out of this castle." With that she turns and heads out of the clearing and back toward the castle.

When you are ready, you may be standing before the great oaken double doors that lead into the castle.

Tacitus shifts his weight uncertainly as he gazes up at the massive entrance. Glancing at his companions, he jokes "Should we knock?"

Sev cocks his one remaining eyebrow at the human, and says quietly. "It would probably be best if someone searched the doors for traps first. Even a bucket full of nails poised on top of one of them could let half the squatters in this place know we're here."
He nods Shayesti toward the door, then steps back and falls silent, flexing his fingers and staring intently at the door.

Anastasia: "Agreed, we must use all our respective skills to get through this. If we keep our wits about us and work together we will all walk away from this stronger and wiser, not to mention richer."

"I shall see what may be found, and counteract anything harmful as well as I may."
Shayesti steps up to the large doors and begins searching on and around them for any traps that might be present. She absently rubs her hand behind her hair and over the patch covering what was once her left eye. Anyone watching closely enough might even be able to catch a glimpse of the flat silver area where that eye should be.
She also checks to see if the doors are locked and tries her best to undo such protections if any exist.

Shayesti finds no evidence of traps. The doors are unlocked and swing easily open into a 20 foot wide corridor. There are doors to the left and the right, 15 feet in. The corridor continues for 40 feet, ends in a third door, and turns left and right.

Anastasia steps to the front, shield on her left arm and longsword in her right hand. "I'm sure I don't need to say this, but just in case. Ambrose, Sevaliar, stay to the back, no use having you both in a place to take the main attacks. Tack, you look like your pretty good in a fight, feel like joining me up here? Oh, and Shayesti stay close, something tells me there will plenty of things we will need your expertise on in this old place. No foolish heroics, we clean this place out, we go rest if we need to, this man's ego is not worth dying for."

Shayesti left most of her gear in her backpack hanging in a tree back at camp. She's currently carrying only her sword, 3 daggers (one in her right hand), a waterskin, and one ration. (OOC: Does this get her to unencumbered for movement purposes?)
She will follow the lead of Anastasia and Tack while exploring except when she needs to move up to check doors and such.
"Your wisdom exceeds your years, Anastasia. Your advice could have come from the lips of my very father, a seasoned warrior."

Anastasia chuckles slightly "It pays to be raised by the best General in the Duke's army." Anastasia pauses slightly "Has your father even been with the Callari contingent in the service of the Duke? If so those may very well have been his words, I learned much watching them at practice when I was but a child."

Shayesti: "My father was one of the first Elves in the Duke's service I would guess, because he has been away from home for many years. Perhaps you've heard of him, his name is Keleraan. Finding him is the reason I left home in the first place and came this far south."

Tack silently accompanies Anastasia at the front of the party, his scythe at the ready. He seems to be repetitively mouthing some kind of phrase; apparently gibberish.

"Three possible doors and two other passages" Shayesti whispers to the others, "If we move up I can check those next two doors for traps while we decide which one we want to try first."

"Agreed, lets try our best to be quiet about this too. No need to let everyone know we are here." With that Anastasia begin slowly moving forward keeping an eye out for any trouble.

The party carefully moves in and Shayesti checks both doors for traps, finding nothing.

Sevaliar nods toward the door on the left, his face stony.

Anastasia steps forward to the left door, and after Shayesti gives her the nod that the door is safe, she slowly pushes the door open, sword at the ready.

Abandoned Dining Room

The heavy oaken door opens easily onto an irregular pentagon-shaped room, 30-feet wide at the door and 4-0-feet long at its deepest point. This room appears to have once been used as a dining room. There are tables and benches scattered throughout the room, many turned on their sides or upside down. Everything is covered with cobwebs. Light streams in through high, narrow windows.

Shayesti silently glides in behind Tack and Anastasia. With a watchful eye, Shayesti will check around the room for any valuables if no threat presents itself while looking for any secret doors in walls or the floor.

Due to the size of the room and the amount of debris, you estimate it could take some time to search, 10 to 15 minutes for a thorough job. How long do you wish to devote to the task?

Shayesti has no problem taking the needed 10 to 15 minutes unless something more urgent happens before then or her companions object. Also, Shayesti wanted to make sure that the front doors we came through got shut behind us instead of left open for any wandering critters to notice.

Sevaliar waits for her to finish checking the room, hanging back with Ambrose until the rogue completes her sweep.

Shayesti finds a large sack under one of the tables.

Without saying a word or picking it up, Shayesti will feel the bag from the outside to make sure it doesn't feel like some live animal or snake inside. If it doesn't feel like something along those lines, she'll open the bag and look inside.

Anastasia stands guard at the door, sword out and shield on, keeping a wary eye on the door across the hall and the hall itself for any activity.

Shayesti hesitates slightly before picking the bag up into plain view of the party. If nothing else is found in the search, Shayesti will declare that she believes the room to be clear of any dangers. She then brings the sack of silver coins over to the others to show them their first claimed treasure.
"Have a look at all these crona's. How many do you suppose there are?"

The wizard attempts a quick estimation, (let me know if you need a die roll) then shrugs. In a murmur, he comments:
"Hopefully a total easily divisable by five."

Anastasia: "We shouldn't linger here long, 'twill only be a matter of time before something comes this way and we are discovered. Frankly, I'd rather be the one discovering them. Ambrose, or Sevaliar, you both look like your packs could hold a bit. Would either of you mind carrying the money for now? Then when we go back to camp tonight we can divide this up then, and hopefully a lot more too."

Ambrose gives a huff. “Aye, give it here, I’ll bear it fer now.” He bundles up the clinking sack and deposits in into his backpack.

Sevaliar nods and, glancing around tensely, gestures toward the door across the hall.

Shayesti agrees that they should head across the hall and check the other door next. Since she already searched it for traps and locks, she will stay behind the front-liners until the door is opened.

Tack nods at Sevaliar and silently pads into the hallway, his scythe in his right hand. He peers up and down the hall, scanning for any sort of movement or noteworthy sights. After a quick glance at Anastasia to make sure she's in position to back him up, he grasps the handle of the door across the hall and forces it open. Once it has swung sufficiently to get a good look into the room beyond, Tacitus assumes his combat stance with his scythe held high.

Guardroom

Opening the door, you see four small humanoids, each armed with a short sword. They appear to be arguing with each other, evidently over two large piles of coins of the floor. The creatures are small, about 31/2’ to 41/2’ tall and very ugly. They have pointed ears and misshapen teeth. Their skin is a pale earthy color. Their eyes are red and glow faintly. They are wearing bits of leather and metal and wielding wicked, if not rusty, short swords.

Ambrose tightens his grip on his club, mutters something about filthy beasts, and wades past his compatriots, into the room! He swings his club at one of the creatures, hitting it solidly. The creatures scream in rage, forgetting their past argument, and swarm around Ambrose. Two of the little monsters stab at Ambrose and miss. The third hits him and the fourth puts all of his weight behind his blow, luckily hitting Ambrose’s shield.

"Foul creatures!” Shayesti shouts as she moves into the room attempting to catch one of the creatures between Ambrose and herself to try a back attack on it with her longsword.

Shayesti draws her weapon and heads into the room, trying to position herself for a rear attack.

Tack strides into the room, his scythe held up with the curved blade arcing forward and down; the overall impression is of a serpent, both from how his weapon is held and how he moves, tracing a sinuous path toward his opponent. He singles out a foe that is furthest from his two teammates and swings his scythe in a downward arc upon it.

Tack’s blade misses the goblin, even though he was able to attack from a rear flank.

Sev stands in the doorway across the hall, his fingers flashing in the gestures of an offensive spell. He points at the creature Ambrose struck, and the air seems to twist as an arrow of pure force slashes through the air and plunges into the little beast's body with a sharp Thock.

Anastasia draws her sword and moves into the room next to Ambrose, and attacks the same beleaguered creature that has been wounded by both Ambrose and Sevaliar.

Anastasia stumbles as she makes her attack and instead hits Shayesti for 9 points of damage.

Ambrose grunts, “No, lass, like this!” and brings his club down on the head of the wounded goblin, hitting it, but with only a glancing blow. “Well, you get the idea,” Ambrose grins broadly over his shoulder.

All four goblins continue to stab at Ambrose, and they all completely miss. The cleric lets out a defiant, “A-Ha!”

"Aaaiie!" ,Shayesti grunts as she is hit unexpectedly by Anastasia.
Leveling a curse in elven at Anastasia that would make Sevaliar blush, Shayesti nevertheless focuses on moving into range and trying for a rear attack against the goblin with her longsword.

Shayesti’s swing from behind the goblin misses completely.

Carried by the momentum of his first swing, Tack's scythe whispers through the air, spinning in his hands even as his body whirls around to bring his weapon to bear a second time. With a peculiar look of serenity on his face, Tacitus again swings his scythe in a downward angle at the goblin before him.

Tack slips in some of the blood that has been spilled on the floor and the blade of the scythe slips past the goblin, back around and straight across Tack’s brow for 14 points of damage.

Sevaliar's eyes dart in horror at the gruesome accidents befalling his companions. He hurriedly repeats the incantation and gestures to send another bolt of force whistling into the wounded goblin.

The goblin yelps and falls to the ground.

Anastasia attacks the other goblin within range of her blade, and slashes its left leg deeply.

Ambrose’s club misses its target by a wide margin.

The remaining goblins continue to press their attack on Ambrose, but all attacks clearly miss.

Muttering a prayer to the Elven gods for protection in this apparently cursed battle, Shayesti swings again at a goblin, from a rear attack if possible.
(OOC: Not sure if the one she was attacking was the one just felled or not. If so, she will move to another one and try another rear attack.)

Shayesti’s attack completely misses the goblin.

With a determined grimace, Tack brings his scythe around for an underhand sweep at his foe.

Tack’s scythe catches a different head this time; a goblin’s head; but the beast stays on its feet.

Sevaliar looks around for something he can use as a weapon, then grabs one of the rotted benches from the ruined dining room.

Anastasia swings her sword at the nearest goblin but misses as the little creature grins menacingly.

Except Anastasia doesn’t see the grin because her chain coif has slipped down over her eyes. (use an action to fix it by rolling Dex or less on a d20; -6 to hit until then.)

Ambrose continues his assault, bringing his club solidly down on the left leg of the goblin he and Shayesti have been attacking. The blow elicits a howl, for which is less of an effect than Ambrose was hoping.

The goblin to the rear flank of Ambrose stabs his right arm for 2 points of damage as the other goblins’ attacks miss.

Once again Shayesti attacks her goblin from behind. She stabs it in it’s left leg, grievously wounding the creature. It collapses to the ground. Shayesti maneuvers herself to assist Tack with a rear flank attack.

Tack changes his stance, moves his hands to different positions on his weapon's handle, and then makes a raking horizontal sweep across the body of his diminutive opponent. The manner of his attack is evocative of a jaguar or other large cat.

The goblin takes the blow to his back but staggers slightly.

Sevaliar waves the bench awkwardly in front of him, trying to keep it between him and the two remaining goblins.

Anastasia vainly struggles with her mail coif covering her eyes, the process made all the more difficult as she is trying to regain her vision with a shield in one hand and a sword in the other.

Ambrose turns his club on another goblin, but misses.

Luckily, the goblins fare no better as they cannot hit their target.

Shayesti slashes at the goblin with her longsword hoping to end this fight soon.

The blow fails to connect.

Tacitus winds back and brings his scythe down in an overhand sweep, attempting to bisect his wounded foe.

Tack comes close to his goal as the wicked blade slices into the creatures left arm and buries itself in its side. With a wet sound, the monster slides off the blade and falls to the floor in a heap.

Sevaliar continues waving the bench around and prepares to try and block the last creature if it attempts to make a break for it.

Anastasia struggles and finally pulls the coif back up to its proper placement.

Now that all but one of the buggers has fallen, Ambrose leads his companions in a brief prayer. “Kill ‘em! Kill ‘em all! Filthy bastards! The epitome of evil!” He seems to feel very…religious about the matter. Ambrose’s club slams into the remaining goblin’s left arm, visibly breaking the limb with the sound of a chicken bone snapping through wet cloth.

The goblin’s eyes grow wide as it reflexively stabs at Ambrose, but such is it’s physical condition that the sword turns in its hand, the weight of the weapon dragging the off-balance creature’s blade arm down, until the point pierces one of his companions, lying bleeding on the ground, obviously killing it.

Shayesti moves around to attempt a rear attack with her longsword on the last goblin.

Shayesti’s blade slices a gash into the dangling broken arm of the goblin. It screams but fights on.

Tack twirls his scythe and then changes his stance once more, this time assuming a seemingly rigid, straight-backed pose. He swivels at the hips and forcefully drives the point of his scythe directly at his opponent's chest.

In a swirl of purple and velvet, a Halfling armed with a rapier appears in the doorway, having moved up behind Sevaliar. He lunges at the remaining goblin, but fails to connect.

*Offers a nod to Sevaliar which is made much more dramatic due to his wide brimmed purple velvet hat* Greetings to you Elf-type! I am Keelo B. Marrows, Highway Halfling! Surely you have heard of me! I have come to save you all from these foul beasts!

Sevaliar's head snaps toward the halfling in perfect shock. He only has time to offer a strangled "What?!" before redirecting his attention back to the remaining goblin and shifting his position to block the opening through which the halfling lunged.

Anastasia slashes at the final enemy and misses.

Ambrose sighs and with a frightening single-mindedness, slams his club into the same arm he broke only seconds before. The goblin’s eyes roll back into its head as it collapses immediately.

No enemies remain standing.

"My goodness! Perhaps in the future we can do more damage to the enemy than to ourselves?!", Shayesti exclaims.
She then starts examining the room around her for the first time, initially looking for any other exits before moving on to a thorough search of the room and it's former inhabitants.

Tacitus bends and begins wiping the blood from his scythe-blade on a goblin's tattered rags. As he does so he looks up at the newly-arrived halfling, and remarks "Just what are you doing here, anyway? It doesn't seem likely that you were just passing by. Were you following us?&