Chapter Text
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The group, consisting of a cloaked figure of medium height, a black-haired, thin, young adult, male Elan that is clean-shaven in grey stained traveling clothes, a pale-skinned red-headed, bearded and bespectacled green-eyed gnome, with shoulder length hair, a lamp and crossbow, and a similarly small, but smartly-dressed lizardfolk, that, regardless of their striking combination of vest and formal-wear, seems to be hard to look at, make their way to the building, as twilight approaches.
Laughing and singing can be heard from within the inn as you approach. Lanterns pour yellow light around the three story building, illuminating the structure's stone and plank construction. A wooden sign, hanging from a metal rod above the main doors, proudly proclaims this establishment to be The Old Skull Inn.
Inside, the taproom is alive with activity. Most of the tables are filled with customers, and barmaids wind between them, carrying trays of steaming food. In one corner an older woman plucks a lyre and softly croons an ancient ballad. A few patrons sit near her, trying in vain to hear the concert.
You recognize some of the people here. Several merchants near the door raise their mugs in friendly greeting as you enter. You've seen others during your walks through town, and a few of them look like they are adventurers too, no doubt looking for a spark of adventure or a hint of mystery to set them on their way.
An empty table in the southwest looks like it can accommodate the four of you. One of the employees waves you over to the table and calls out that he'll be there in a few minutes to take your orders. Noticing the size of two of the people, as he does so, quickly stacks objects that are comfortable yet durable enough to assist in climbing in and out of the large chairs, and allowing easy reach to the table so that all four members of the group can sit relatively comfortably at the table, and wait.
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*The gnome begrudgingly climbs into high chair* "I miss the furniture back home, where everything is good and proper-sized"
The small gnome, having settled down pulls out a small contraption full of gears and knobs, and gets to tinkering while waiting for orders
"I'm Fleet, and you all are?"
(As for descriptions, the gnome has red shoulder length hair and a proper beard, similar to the portrait. He wears rimmed glasses over green eyes. Pale skin, and very rugged hands that look as if they've never stopped moving a moment in their life).
The thin man pulls a chair out sits and says "Ripple." He pull out his knife and a semi carved block of wood and continues whittling on it while a small crystal with thin misty legs walks between his shoulders.
"I see you've got your own psicrystal, not seen too many other psions." *Fleet reaches into his pocket and sets his own crystal on the table.*
*He stops stares intently at the crystal then nods.* "It has good coloring and refracts light nicely." *He then returns to whittling.*
The small lizardfolk folds their digitigrade legs under them to perch on one of the chairs, the skin on their face rippling through some of the shades of the crystal before them before settling back into a respectable forest green. They sit with flawless posture, eyes carefully surveying the rest of the room before returning to their companions.
Responding to Fleet, "My name is Y'G, but in these lands I prefer to be addressed as Henry or Yigg. Most know me as Henry.". Their accent is crisp and refined, the voice of someone who has clearly practiced their elocution. Yet there is still something uncanny about it, as if the same sounds were being produced through an entirely different vocal process.
*Drufel takes the last remaining seat, quietly pulling out a plain wooden lute from within his cloak. The soundboard a deep orange, hosting a sound hole designed as flames emanating from a triangle cut at the base of the circle. His gaze locked downwards, begins absentmindedly plucking at the strings softly. Drufel replies to Fleet,* "I'm Drufel. Just a bard looking for adventures to write songs about."
Y'G responds to Drufel, "Zhentil Keep merits the attention of those seeking worthy adventure. Care must be taken when necromancers are involved, but victory would endow both fame and fortune."
Fleet responds to Y'G, “Henry, huh. How’d that nickname come across you?”
"Most humans struggle with the name Y'G unless they have a morsel of food in their throat, and the first human I met was named Henry." You see a dabbling of orange form on their skin at the memory, though their expression is otherwise impassive. "But you, was 'Fleet' a name given on birth or one earned with time?"
"Ah, an adoption of culture. A bit of both, it was a nickname given to me based on my full name, after my first project of making a small fleet of wooden boats to play with .“
"My name too was earned. My birth-tribe sends its youth out to live alone for a month. I grew hungry, and slew a stonehide youngling while its mother slept. The mother mourned and moved on, and I ate and grew strong. When I returned, this was given as my name of adulthood." They straighten their well-tailored suit and flush slightly purple, in a subtle show of pride.
Fleet says, “A more… vicious coming of age than my people’s, but nevertheless a name well-earned.”
"As is yours. Do you still work as a shipwright?"
"Thank you, and no, that was just one of my little projects. While I" *raises workings in hands* "still fiddle and tinker all the time to keep busy and stir my thoughts, my main goal is the collection of knowledge. My life quest is to learn all there is to know, from every god plane and creature, to every last spell and powers."
*Ripple makes a few more scrapes on the piece he's working on and sets it on the table. It is a reddish-brown wood depicting the four people sitting around the table. He and Drufel appear to be leaning on a wall, Ripple with his arms crossed and Drufel holding his lute. While Fleet fiddles with something on the ground and Y'G, with impeccable posture, faces Ripple and Drufel. * "Still need to sand, stain, and glass it but its mostly done now", *Ripple says.*
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The meal is provided, well made for such a small-time tavern.
After the meal, a tall, middle-aged human male with wire-framed glasses enters the inn. He is well built and healthy, with shaggy hair and a short goatee. A satchel bulging with scrolls and parchments is flung over his left shoulder. Strapped securely over his right shoulder is a sword sheathed in a tooled leather scabbard.
The man's eyes dart intently around the room, obviously looking for something or someone. Abruptly, his gaze falls upon your table, and a smile crosses his face. Making his way across the room in confident strides, he approaches your group.
When he reaches you, he says "Greetings, adventurers. I bring you news of an urgent matter that requires immediate attention." His voice is deep and clear, and for a moment his words don't register. Then it begins to sink in: This could be an opportunity for a real assignment. Glancing about the room and noting the stares that followed him to your table, he quietly continues, "May I have a seat so we can discuss this further?"
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Fleet says,"Of course, pull one up."
"Thank you." He pulls up a chair, then pushes aside the empty dishes on the table with a sweep of his hand. Removing the satchel from his back, he props it against the table leg. He then pulls out a fistful of papers and spreads them out on the table. In one smooth motion he unstraps the sword from his back and lays it before your group.
You study the stranger intently. His clothing is of good quality and fits his muscular frame well. He smells faintly of ink, and doesn't seem to have the callouses of a fighter or farmer, on his ink-smudged hands.
As soon as the barmaid spies your new companion, she rushes toward the table with a cup brimming with mead. "Compliments of the Old Skull, Lhaeo. We hardly ever see you anymore," the older woman comments.
"It's always a pleasure to sip Skull mead, Jhaele," he says with a contented smile. "But bill me for it. My absence from your fine tavern hardly justifies free drinks." Jhaele smiles warmly before heading off to attend to other customers.
Lhaeo takes a long pull of the mead, then turns to face your group. "As you overheard, I am Lhaeo, scribe to Elminster of Shadowdale. Before I get into the specifics of the mission I referred to, perhaps you can tell me a little about yourselves?"
"I'm Ripple, I create various kinds of sculptures. As far as combat, I'm the equivalent of a conjurer." *After he finishes speaking, he pulls out sandpaper and starts finishing up his earlier piece.*
"Henry." They pause for a moment, while shades of blue and play on their scales. Then: "You're the one who's been asking about me." It's not phrased as a question.
“Fleet, I can pick up anything and am a general scholar of the world”
"Drufel Starwind, aspiring Bard."
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"More accurately, I believe, I was *one* of those who has been asking about you. I was given a task, and I intended to do it properly, which means doing due diligence. But, it truly is a pleasure to meet all four of you."
The inn has all but cleared out now. Jhaele and Turko move quietly about the room, clearing the last few tables. Lhaeo, halfway through his glass of mead, tips his head back and takes a deep drink. He then leans in close and begins his tale.
"What I am about to tell you must go no further than this room," he begins. "The Zhentarim will undoubtedly learn of this story soon enough, but there is no reason to give to them what they should uncover themselves. Do I have your word?"
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Y'G responds with, "I well understand secrecy, and are no friend to the Zhentarim." Their gaze flickers between their assorted companions, unready to fully trust their discretion. But then, Lhaeo had done his research. Perhaps that was enough assurance.
*Ripple appears to be oblivious while sanding his carving.*
Fleet says, “You have my word.”
*Drufel puts away lute and nods.*
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Lhaeo nods gratefully. "I am counting on you all to keep what I am about to say out of the hands of the Zhentarim.
"Three weeks ago a group of warriors led by Randal Morn, rightful ruler of Daggerdale, was attacked as they left the crypt of Shraevyn, a long-dead wizard.
"Some among you may have heard of Shraevyn, the weapons-mage, in your studies. He was a good wizard who served the Dales back in the late 900's. By all reports, he was wise and just, and he is credited with creating some of the most unique and powerful magical items of the era.
"According to popular legend, Shraevyn created a powerful long sword, known as the Sword of the Dales, just before his death. This weapon was rumored to have a variety of special powers. No one remembers exactly what the sword could do, but in my research I've managed to uncover a few of its reported properties.
"First, the sword can part chains and manacles when its wielder speaks the word 'merrydale'. It also enables its wielder to breathe underwater while holding it. Other than those two powers, I have little else to offer you."
Taking another sip of his mead, the scribe continues his tale, interrupted only by the light swish of a broom and the clinking of clean mugs being stacked at the bar by Turko.
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"Randal must have believed that possession of this sword would put him in a better position to free Dagger Falls from the hands of the Zhentarim, for he led the adventuring group into the tomb himself. According to Ariton, a loyal servant and the lone survivor of the expedition, Randal successfully freed the sword from a horde of undead that were within Shraevyn's tomb.
"The group was ambushed as they left the crypt by a Zhent force of mages who had somehow learned of Randal's expedition. They nearly defeated the free Dalesmen, but Randal - wielding the Sword of the Dales - crushed them and their magical creations with minor injuries to his party.
"What happened next was totally unexpected and ultimately fatal for the group. Although it happened quickly, Ariton was able to provide some useful information.
"Undead - mostly skeletons but a few ghouls and zombies as well - rose from the earth. The Dalesman watched in horror as his doomed friends fell before the onslaught. He also caught a glimpse of an odd emerald light that struck Randal to the ground. Ariton insists that Randal was still breathing but unable to move after this attack.
"Smart enough to realize he could not fight all of the undead alone, Ariton managed to escape undetected and flee to Elminster's tower for assistance. He gave me a sword - not the Sword of the Dales, but an enchanted blade nonetheless - that he recovered from the tomb in return for a meal and some healing potions. He has since returned to Daggerdale to inform the freemen of what transpired."
Clasping his hands before him, Lhaeo leans in and sets his gaze upon each of you in turn. "The Realms needs heroes, right here and right now. I ask you to go and rescue Randal Morn."
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A long silence fills the air before Lhaeo speaks again. "I can offer you this magical sword and a few potions if you are willing to accept this dangerous quest. In addition, you will be granted some land in the Shadowdale area when you return Randal Morn to his people alive. Do you have any questions?"
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*Drufel folds his arms and closes his eyes, searching for a question to ask but finds none. He opens his eye and softly shakes his head*
Ripple asks, "Any idea what the green light was or what cast it?"
Lhaeo responds with, "Ariton thought it was a spell of some sort, and that it came from somewhere within the tomb, but he doesn't know any more than that."
Fleet asks, "Were the undead summoned by the mages or old defenses of the tomb?"
Lhaeo responds with, "Ariton didn't know. All he figured was that whomever or whatever summoned the undead was either within the tomb or hidden nearby. He didn't specifically see enough to say which was the case, though."
Y'G asks,"Do have any items of his to track his scent from? Or a likeness so we can recognize him?"
Lhaeo responds with, "Those are good questions. The potions and the sword I am offering were handled by him, probably, however, I did manage to get an item of clothing from his love interest, Shree, but I don't know how long it's been since he wore it. As for his description, I didn't find any pictures of him, but I, and most of Shadowdale, can definitely describe him and recognize him on sight.
He is of medium build, with long brown hair. Several women would call him handsome."
"More detail, I can mold him if you can give more," *Ripple says, as he stops sanding and pulls out clay brick and begins kneading it. He sweeps away the accumulated dust to the floor.*
*Between the two of them, they come with both a bust and a figurine of Randall, both of the same height.*
"... That's probably as good as I can remember of him."
*Ripple put the finished bust in the middle of the table for everyone to see and pass around.* "Careful when holding it as I haven't fired it; its still rather soft and can deform."
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After all the questions about details of Randal Morn, Lhaeo nods his head.
"Alright, now that you all are reasonably informed, what finding Randal Morn would entail, I think I'll buy a quick snack of Jhaele, and leave you all to debate the matter. When I am finished, I'll be back to hear your answers."
With that, Lhaeo respectfully leaves the table to head to Jhaele, for some aforementioned food.
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"I have a wish to see art, its why I travel," *Ripple says as he get a wooden board to to set the bust on.* "Architecture is also a form of art and I am interested to see what lies in the tomb, for that reason alone."
Drufel nods. "Sounds good. This sounds like it would make a good song. I think I'm in."
Fleet nods. "This is probably as good a start as any for my quest for knowledge."
Henry nods. "It's not my specialty, but it's a yes in my book."
After they finish discussing it, Lhaeo returns. "So, who has decided to agree to this quest?"
Drufel, Fleet, and Henry, raise their hands, and say "I'm in."
"Of course hopefully new techniques and styles to learn," *Ripple says as he goes back to sanding.*
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After all four agree to the quest, Lhaeo smiles, seems to visibly relax, and then continues,
"Thank you. Now, you all aren't the only ones I asked. I also asked a local cleric and a fighter.
The cleric also said yes, and further is holding a Scroll of Raise Dead, just in case Randall is dead. I don't think he is dead, and strongly hope that he isn't, but just in case. Also, clerics are known to be very helpful with undead, which is what the downfall of the party with Randall. So, the cleric will definitely be joining you on the quest.
As for the fighter, well, he didn't feel up to it, but then again, he thought he was going on the quest alone. Since I wasn't sure who, of all of you would be accepting, I didn't tell either of them about any of you. They will recognize the sword, though."
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He then continues with some advice,
"I would strongly recommend that you travel the Northride to where it joins the Tethyamar trail," he says. "This path is frequented by traders and other businessmen, and the patrols keep this route relatively free of monsters and other undesirables. That doesn't mean you are immune to danger, however. As the old saying goes, 'a wary traveler sees the light of a new day.'
Sliding the sword out of its sheath and holding it up with his left hand, the scribe picks up a table knife with his right hand and points to some of the runes near the hilt. "This blade is only lightly enchanted, but it should prove beneficial in combat. You must decide amongst yourselves who will wield it." He returns it to the table and continues.
"Hopefully, both the Sword of the Dales and Randal Morn are still within the tomb. It is imperative that you get to Randal before the Zhents regroup and go after him in force."
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The scribe rummages in his satchel for a moment, then carefully pulls three vials from the bag and sets them on the table. "These are potions of extra-healing. They should aid you in times of great need. Each vial contains three doses; one dose can restore a common person near death to full strength."
Lhaeo's hand disappears once again into his bag and pulls out a bone scroll case. He places the case alongside the vials. "This contains a map of the area, as well as the location of Shraevyn's tomb. By Ariton's reports, a landslide uncovered the crypt in a valley known as the Giant's Craw. You should have little problem finding it.
"I'm always looking for books and other references, and I'm afraid our library is lacking in materials about Shraevyn. I'd gladly pay you a fair price for any books, scrolls, or notes that you find."
He rummages in his bag and pulls out an outfit. "And here is the outfit that Shree says he wore. Again, I don't know how recently he wore it, and likewise, if there is enough of his scent on any of the other items, but," he shrugs, "It's the best I have."
"If you do not have horses, I will provide adequate mounts. I will also see to it that you are fully provisioned with all necessities for your journey. Speed is of the essence in this matter - the longer we wait, the greater the risk of further Zhent involvement. You may each pick up a land grant at Elminster's tower after you successfully rescue Randal Morn."
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*"Hmm on a practical note we have two psions and a bard so additional sword would be best." Ripple stops sanding and frowns slightly as he thinks. "As neither Fleet or I are likely to fight up close and personal. If that fighter is willing we should also get him to join. As cleric can heal he will also be very much welcome." Ripple once again starts sanding.* "Lhaeo, as a side note, what does a land grant do exactly?"
Lhaeo responds with, "By itself? Nothing. However, you can turn it in to Randall, to be given ownership of about 20 acres of farmland. Or, if you find that you prefer gold to land, I'll buy them off you for market value."
"That sword is too large for me. But I'll take one of those vials and the clothes." *They seem to take a moment to focus before sniffing the hem and inner lining of the outfit.*
Drufel responds with, "I certainly won't say no to one of the vials. What kind of enchantment is on the sword?"
Lhaeo responds with, "The sword grants the capability of landing powerful blows, even if you aren't strong. It works adversely on your ability to dodge in combat. The more you push your nimbleness into your swings, the more damage it does, and the easier you are to be hit. It's not a permanent trade, though. It resets when you can next act. Or at least, that's what has been reported. If it were permanent, I wouldn't be offering it.
As for why the adventurers didn't want it", Lhaeo continues to answer a question likely to be asked as a response to his answer, "it was mentioned that none of the group preferred rapiers."
Drufel responds with, "I'll certainly take that off your hands then as well, thank you."
Fleet asks, “We don’t have any mounts of our own I believe, I at least have none, and would need one provided to accompany my particular stature, if feasible.”
Lhaeo nods. "That's understandable. I'll arrange for your mounts to be provided, after, I send the Cleric over to join you all. If you want the fighter to join you, he's in one of the rooms here. Show him the sword, and he will understand. It will take, maybe half an hour to arrange for your mounts, after that. Once again, thank you all."
Lhaeo leaves to where the Cleric was resting for the night. A few minutes later, the Cleric arrives. He is clad in splintmail, mostly muted colors, but there is a clear symbol of Lathander on the front, in red and yellow. "Umm. Hello, all. My name's Wyn. I'm pleased to meet you all."
Fleet responds with, “Pleased to meet you too.”
After the party finishes introducing themselves to the new cleric, they go to the room of the fighter, and knock on the door. After a short conversation, they convince Adgran, the fighter, to join them. As they leave the tavern, they notice Lhaeo with a mount for each of them, except the fighter and the cleric, who leaves to get their own horses, which they rode in on. Lhaeo looks kind of sheepish.
"I tried to reserve a number of mounts for all of you, but there just weren't enough available. I apologize for the inconvenience, but I was able to get a pony for most of you. However, somebody's going to have to ride the goat."
The aforementioned goat started to get interested in Lhaeo's shoes as he finished speaking.
*Ripple looks at the goat in silence for minute.* "I like fluffy chairs, I'll ride him."
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After everyone chose their mounts, everyone who was inclined, said their farewells, and departed.
The group of adventurers pass many on Northride, however, most of them ignore the group. They just seem to be on other business, day-to-day business, that doesn't involve conflict.
A long procession of carts, wagons, and horses approaches from the southeast. As the distance between your two groups shortens, you see a band of riders gallop forward on horseback.
The six men approach cautiously, glancing nervously toward the woods on either side of them. They are dressed in some sort of livery, but you can’t make out the devices on their tabards. One rider, apparently the leader, breaks away from the group and rides forward.
You see that he is a human clad in plate mail, and a sheathed long sword hangs from his belt. His shield arm is wrapped with strips of bloodied rags. A makeshift sling made of leather straps supports the injury.
“Hail, and well met,” he begins, managing a weak smile. “I am Commander Scott Harikon. We guide the House-Merchants of Arabel northward to Shadowdale and beyond. We seek safe passage past your noble band, and would sell you any equipment you might need. What say you?"
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Fleet responds with, “I cannot offer any monetary exchange at this moment, but if we are heading the same direction and you are in need of it, I could potentially exchange protection services for wares”
*Drufel simply observes, for now.*
Scott smiles.
"Well, now, that's mighty kind of you. How about an offer: We are heading towards Shadowdale, and could use the extra guards. I think we can offer 4 silver pieces per person per day, you are with us, or 3 silver pieces per person per day, and a discount on our wares. We'll pay the first day up front, of course, and the rest, on arrival. After that, though, we'll stay a week in Shadowdale, then we will be continuing on the Northride road toward Hillsfar."
The party decides to think it over, but, quickly, as one decide against being hired.
Adgran decides to be the one who breaks the news to the Caravan, "I'm sorry sir, but it seems we aren't heading in the same direction. It was very generous of you to offer, though."
Scott frowns, but he nods understandingly. "Understood. Well, we must be off, then, I guess." As the caravan moves off, some of the guards eye the adventurers.
When the last of the caravan has passed the party, the guards rejoin the caravan, and head off towards Shadowdale.
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Farther up the road you see a small stone structure at the junction of the Tethyamar Trail and the Northride.
When you reach the granite building, you see that it appears well maintained. Its thatched roof looks new, and a faint odor of fresh hay confirms this. A large opening faces southeast.
Twenty feet from the eastern wall of the hut grows a tall, young oak, its branches shading the building completely. Colorful flowers are planted all around, and their scents clash to create an almost sickly sweet odor that wafts through the air. The effect, however, is oddly soothing.
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Wyn nods at the structure. "It's a traveler's shrine, but I don't know to whom it is a shrine of, just that Lathander isn't one of them, if there is more than one it is devoted to. Generally they are safe places to sleep. Or at least, they are safe from animals and other similarly not-so-smart creatures. But, it isn't generally a good idea to disrespect shrines in general, unless you are ready to deal with the consequences."
Fleet responds with, “No idea, but it does look a nice lil’ shrine, good craftsmanship.”
Y'G looks around, tasting the air with their tongue. "A good place. Do any here need rest?"
Adgran yawns. "I could use some rest, but I think I could continue." Apparently the yawns were contagious, because Wyn then yawns.
So, it is decided that the group rest here. The two non-psionic non-spellcasters decide amongst themselves who takes what watch.
With that all ironed out, and Wyn's and Adran's rations shared with those that didn't have enough, the group rests here safely.