Six days pass, while the injured recover. The day after the battle the midwinter festival of Needfest begins. Noramlly a time of feasting, drinking, gift giving and visiting friends and relations, this year there is little to celebrate in Orlane. The town remains quiet...and brooding.
Finally, on the sixth day of Needfest, 584, a Freeday, the injured are well enough to venture out again and resume the task at hand. The Mayor and his sons have kept an eye on things in the meantime, and this morning, after breakfast, Zakarias says:
"Perhaps it is time to deal with the Foaming Mug. After the temple itself, it seems to be the centre of the evil in this town."
Bryana nods in agreement.
"Yes, let's do that. However, give us a chance to sort through the items first. Thrwyn, can you cast detect magic and some sort of identification spell?"
"That is some pretty fancy stuff for who had it. Someone has some extra money to spend on their guards." says Thrwyn. Turning to Tragon, he continues, "I can detect if they have magic in them but I havn't had the chance to learn identify."
The plate mail, the spear and one of the shields radiate magic.
"Well, if'n I'm lucky," declares Krrl, "this armor will magically shrink ter fit me. But I don't figger I'll git lucky."
With a shrug, he decides to try on the armor.
It does not shrink to fit.
The dwarf also picks up a crossbow and as many bolts as he can find. "I used ter be pretty good with one of these," he mutters.
Tragon grins. "I volunteer to wear the plate mail. Unless someone else wants to flip me for it?"
Looking around for a mat or some soft place to land. "I don't think I want to my acrobatics arn't quite what they used to be" says Thrwyn with a smirk.
Tragon laughs. "Thumb wrestle, then?"
Looking thoughtful, "Hmmmm havn't lost any thumb wrestling matches lately. That's okay, Tragon I don't want to embarass you any. You can have the plate mail" says Thrwyn, grinning ear to ear.
Bryana supresses a giggle.
Tragon clasps Thrwyn's arm. "Thank you, my friend. You are generous."
Krrl removes the plate and puts back on his own armor. He carries the plate over to Thrwyn and Tragon, and drops it between them. He then picks up the fancy shield and replaces it with his old shield. "No objections," he states in a half-question.
Bryana shakes her head.
Tragon shrugs. "Not from me. But, maybe Lornard or Thrwyn will want to thumb wrestle you for it..."
He smiles.
Lornard says in a serious tone, "I am a ranger. Plate armor would weigh me down too much. I am better off in the chain armor that I wear now, and using leather armor on a scouting mission."
"No, the shield, friend Lornard. Do you want the shield?"
Lornard says, "I could make use of it, but my hands may be better left free so that I can use my bow without having to drop the sheild first. I will not lay claim to it."
"I need both my hands to use my weapons anyway. A shield wouldn't help me with my axe or my hammer. So Krrl you can have it as far as I am concerned," says Thrwyn.
Tragon tries the armor on.
It is a good fit.
"So, I have the plate mail and Krrl has the shield. Who wants the spear? Once that is decided, then may I suggest we head out to the next place of known cultists and see if we can subdue them?"
When no one else shows any interest in it, one of the mayor's sons takes the spear.
You set off for the Golden Grain Inn. As you see, it is a large wooden building, decorated with carvings of sheaves of wheat along the eaves of the roof. The inn was whitewashed at one time, but much of the paint has peeled. A sign picturing a cluster of wheat and a pitcher of beer or ale hangs over the door. A corral and stable, apparently empty, are off to the side.
It is midmorning. The temperature is warming into the high 40s, but it is overcast and gloomy, and a brisk wind blows out of the north.
You enter the common room. It is large and to first appearances a cheery place (right wall runs east for 70', north for 80' (flight of stairs going up in south corner, door at north end, bar counter runs from stairs north for 40'), west for 40' (large fireplace in middle), south for 30' (door in northernmost section), west for 60', south for 50', east for 20' to doorway). Tables, chairs and benches are scattered about the room. However, the thirteen patrons in here are subdued, and most are sitting alone. Those who are sitting together are not talking, and there is no fire lit in the fireplace. Several barrels of light and dark beer are tapped behind the bar. Most of the patrons appear to be farmers from outlying homesteads. However, one person sits alone in a dark corner. He wears leathers and his face - none too attractive to begin with - is adorned with a long scar down its right side.
"Good morning, all!" says the owner, Bertie Beswell, from behind the bar. "Welcome to the Golden Grain!"
Tragon looks at the Mayor.
"Well, sir, what do you want to do?"
Befoer the mayor can answer, things start happening.
Krrl looks at the men in the room. His gaze stops on the man in leathers.
"I told yers all ter get out while yer could. Well yer cult is gonna die, just like yer temple witch Merrika."
"Hmmm... Uh -- Thrwyn? Maybe you should use that spell now... Before things get out of hand."
Tragon draws his sword expecting trouble.
Bertie produces a dagger out from under his apron.
"Resistance is futile. You will be assimilated," he says.
The scar-faced man rises from his chair and dashes up the stairs.
Drawing a sword - Zendar immediately runs after the scar-faced man.
Krrl moves to engage Bertie.
"Yer overcharged fer beer, lizard lover."
"Thrwyn, throw that spell. If you need us to move back to give you more room, tell us now."
Tragon waits for the spell and its effects and then charges anyone who managed to resist.
"The spell would be of little use here. These farmers are not going to bother us. But then again...you never can tell..." says Thrwyn as he begins casting.
At 'em, boys!" cries the innkeeper.
Bertie moves quickly, making for the door to the northeast, as the farmers slowly rise from their chairs as one, Thrwyn casts his spell and Zendar dashes for the stairs.
The spell goes off first, and Bertie drops before the door, along with several farmers who were nearby, and Krrl. The rest of the farmers just stand where they were, clutching their hoes and horsewhips, but not knowing what to do next.
Bryana frowns and draws forth her short sword. She does not attack though, but instead decides to let the enemy come to her. She takes a defensive stance.
Krrl snores loudly.
Tragon heads for the stairs at a run. "Someone, wake Krrl and bind all of the farmers before their leader wakes and gives them orders again. He seems to be the key."
The mayor and his sons jump into action, awakening Krrl first.
"Thank you, sir!," Tragon calls as he is halfway up the stairs.
"We really need to fight in bigger places" says Thrwyn as he follows Tragon up the stairs.
"Never can tell what we might find up there. Someone might want to go outside and make sure nothing comes out the windows!" yells Thrwyn as he starts up the stairs.
Suddenly the door leading outside opens.
"Thrwyn, ware the door!"
Standing in the doorway looking in is a young woman.
She sees a scene of disarray before her. The room is the common room of the inn. A number of people are in here.
A large man lies snoring on the floor by the bar.
Nearby, several farmers lie slumped at their tables, also asleep.
Moving over to them is a middle-aged man and two younger men. One of the young men has just kicked a dwarf, who is now sitting up on the floor, yawning.
Just inside the door are a lady half-elf, a lady high elf and a middle-aged man.
Heading up a flight of stairs in the southeast corner of the common room is another half-elf, a male this time.
"He's gonna have ter answer some questions. Where'd the others git to?" the dwarf is in the process of muttering, when the door opens.
From the top of the stiars comes the sounds of swordplay.
The dwarf turns to the door. He wears splint mail partially covered by a cloak. In his left hand he is carrying a well used war hammer and in his right a shield. On his belt dangles a small pick, a wineskin, and a small purse. He wears a backpack with a bedroll tied beneath it. Dangling form the pack is a small shovel. The dwarf is quite ugly with a long scar dominating his face. And even from the distance of the doorway one can detect a pungent, unpleasant odor. Addressing the young woman at the door but pointing to the prone bodies, he states, "if'n yer one of these, I tell yer that yer witch at the temple is dead. An if'n yer not, then tis a good day fer yer."
The young female high elf turns to face the woman. Not sure what to make of her, she approaches her quickly with her short sword drawn. She does not attack though...instead deciding to wait for the woman to take action.
"Take care who you call 'witch'...perchance I be one," the young woman says as she surveys a scene that appears to be bandits pilfering a innful of ensorcelled yokels. She seems oblivious to the threat posed by the lady elf, not reaching for her own curved blades within their etched and tasselled scabbards.
Her voice has a whispery, Flan accent, though her appearance seems to be a strange marriage of the best of Bakluni and Suel features. Her eyes are dark, shimmering emeralds like those found in far Tusmit, though her pale amber skin and loose chesnut hair are on a classic, fined-boned face that certain Suel monks and scholars find ideal. There is something odd about the feral cast her brows and her long-fingered hands that hold her small waist. Her thin and fragile frame do not match with her worn and travel-weary garb. Road dust and a woodsy smell cover her from her boots and black breeches to her torn winter cloak of mottled verdigris. A pendant hangs from her neck--an orb nearly matching the color of her eyes, bisected by a twisting unicorn horn.
"What were you to ask?" she says to the dwarf and nods to the slumbering patrons. "Besides inquiring about loot, mayhaps I suggest,'Where is the revelry and signs of Needfest? Why so dour a village?' I have one for you, also: Why is the 'witch' dead?"
At this point, a plate-clad warrior comes back down the stairs. He sees a young woman standing in the doorway.
The middle-aged man who was helping to tie up the patrons straightens up.
"My name is Zakarias Ormond," he says to the woman. "I am the mayor of this 'dour village'. As for the lack of revelry this Needfest...well...we have not had much to celebrate of late."
The warrior notes the newcomers, but other than a nod and look at some of his compatriots, he says nothing.
"Everything under control down here? If so, Zendar and I need a few of you up here to help with the search. Zendar got the man who was fleeing, but I'm concerned there may be more up here."
You notice a walking arsonal at the bottom of the stairs. He is carrying a warhammer in his hands and has an axe strapped to his back.
"Tragon we are set down here. Just trying to determing what our new friend is doing here."
"New friend? Can you trust her? If not, leave enough downstairs, just in case. In fact, maybe only one or two of you should come up."
"Be glad to come up and root out the rest of our lovely friends up there," says Thrwyn with a grin.
"Thanks. Hurry, before Zendar goes off on his own."
Tragon runs back up the stairs.
"Lets party," says Thrwyn as he follows Tragon up the stairs.
The dwarf responds also to the woman, "well since yer didn't say 'Resistance is futile. You will be assimilated' then yer ain't one of them lizard followers. These worms is," he states, pointing in the direction of the prone men. "Any other question yer kin ask the mayor here. Cause I got some question of my own fer this fat Blob," he says, pointing at the bound innkeeper.
The dwarf turns away from the door and resumes his task of binding the sleeping men.
The newcomer raises an eyebrow quizzically. Still unperturbed by the elf girl's sword, she proceeds deeper into the common room. "A dead witch, a mayor who abets robbers and whose citizens are accused of trailing common wyrms? 'Tis not a good day yet, sir dwarf, just a troubling one," she obliquely comments.
"I am not abetting robbers, young lady!" the mayor snorts.
The middle aged man steps forward. "Greetings, ma'am. My name is Lornard Braumer, a ranger from the Grand Duchy of Geoff. Your surprise at the dour character of Orlane during Needfest brands you as a traveller. You should know that Orlane is under attack. A covert and subtle attack to be sure, but an attack nonetheless. Strange reptilian creatures seem to be abducting people, who return changed, lacking initiative, and seemingly members of a cult. Our group has been investigating this, most recently with the knowledge of the mayor. We hope to help the mayor take back his town from this insidious cult. This Inn seems to be one of the centers of operation of this cult in town. We are hardly robbers."
"'Ware and were, Braumer of Geoff," she replies in a common greeting, recognizing the ranger's trade,"the Gnarley is my home."
Arwihn's Niece ponders Lornard's words for a moment. "Odd that lizardkind would stir so the dead of winter, not in slumber..." She walks over to one of the sleeping and trussed patrons identified as cult members. "...And that they would charm humankind with some malady." Drawing forth a silver sickle with one hand, she gingerly examines the sleeper with the other and attempts a careful diagnosis, searching for clues on the body as well as clothes--an odd nick on the skin or a telling burr or thorn stuck to pants. She shows obvious skill in the healer's art and plant lore.
She finds no such clues on any of them.
Despite the brandished weapons and commotion upstairs, she turns to the mayor. "'Ware and were, Zakarias, I am Arwihn's Niece." She then indicates to the armed group. "Who are they...and what is afoot here in Orlane?"
"Pleased to meet you, Ariwen's Niece," the mayor says, momentarily dropping into politician mode. He catches himself. "I'll be glad to explain matters once we have cleared this nest of evil. Or better yet, come along and lend us a hand."
He glances at the two younger men.
"Quit staring and get on with it!" he barks.
His sons break their gazes at the young woman and resume tying up the farmers, who continue to stand there, staring blankly into space.
As he ties up the sleeping men, Krrl looks closely at their necks to see if the rumors of fang mark were true or not.
There are no fang marks.
Once all the men are tied up, Krrl slaps Bertie awake. "Tell me who else belongs ter yer cult."
"Huh? What?" says Bertie, groaning. "My cult? What you talking about?"
"Where der the lizard men live? Do yer know what terday is?" asks the dwarf.
Bertie looks blank for a moment, staring off into space.
Slowly, his eyes clear. He shakes his head.
"What happened? Why am I tied up? Why is the fire out?"
Krrl stares into the man's eyes, looking to see if they look different.
"What's the last thing yer remember," the dwarf asks, with noticeably less gruffness.
Bertie looks around, his eyes growing wide.
"What day is it?" he asks. "Who are you? Where is me wife? We've got to get the place ready for Needfest...soon it'll be 583!"
He pauses and shakes his head.
"I must've fell an' hurt meself. Strange thoughts an' sights in me mind...lizard things...a long walk...a swamp...an'...an'...HER..."
He says no more for a moment.
"She meant me no harm. I needed t'serve her...so I did. I came back here an' helped her t'get more worshippers..."
Another long pause. When he speaks again, his voice is steadier.
"A bad dream indeed, Sir Dwarf," he says. "But just a dream, fer sure. Things like that don't happen no more in Orlane."
He spies the mayor.
"Bertie," says Zakarias, his voice barely a whisper. "It was no dream. It's now Needfest...584."
Bertie looks at him for a long minute.
"Me wife...!" he says, and breaks down in tears.
"Well, it seems like these folk got charmed or such. So's let's slap 'em awake one by one ter see if they snaps out of it," suggest the dwarf. "Then mebbe we kin figger out who HER is and where she lives."
Krrl's eyes turn cold.
"We've got some evil to stamp out."
As Lornard listens to what Bertie says, his usually passive and somewhat distant countenance takes on a pained and sympathetic look. A dark cloud appears to be hanging over the Ranger. When Bertie breaks down, Lornard goes over to the man, and puts a hand on his shoulder, attempting to comfort him.
"What happened to your wife?" Lornard asks, softly.
"They took her away..."
"Do you know where?" Lornard asks.
"In the swamp temple...they let me go after I made friends..but my wife...resisted...and they took her away..."
Arwihn's Niece quietly absorbed the revelations from the innkeeper who was apparently charmed for some time. "I apologize for mistakenly discerning this scene as a robbery, Lord Mayor. Things are not as they seem, or should be, it appears."
The mayor nods, absorbing Bertie's words.
"A charm..." he mutters.
She addresses the now-lucid innkeeper. "Bertie, might I ask, who is this lady you refer to...who dwells in a temple in the swamps among lizards?"
"The Reptile Goddess..." he says slowly. He rubs his temples. "It's hard to remember...like a dream it is. A great big snake-woman...w-with EYES. Oh, those eyes..."
Arwihn's Niece frowns in consternation as she contemplates what to do. There is a witful sparkle in her eyes, though.
"This snake woman. How does she and her servitors know who is, or remains, enthralled and who isn't?"
"I - I don't know," says Bertie.
She asks the innkeeper, "Is there a sign you remember?"
"No...the priestesses at the temple of Merikka kept track of such things, and told us."
He glances at Lornard, Krrl and Bryana.
"They're dead, now," he says.
She wonders aloud if this could somehow be taken advantage of and counts the remaining bound taverngoers.
Lornard looks over at Arwihn's Niece and attempts to explain. "Some of our companions were being held prisoner at the temple. The priestess and several of her followers resisted, and would not surrender. Regrettably, we had to kill them to rescue our companions and another girl from the town held prisoner."
Lornard looks back to Bertie. "The priestess and her followers have been dead for many days how. Has anybody else tken her place as the one in between you and the direct followers of this Reptile goddess?"
Bertie shakes his head.
"No one."
Suddenly you hear footsteps on the porch outside, and a man appears in the doorway. He is a tall, well-built, freckled and deeply tanned man. He has a powerful and imposing presence. He sports a shaved head with a small ivory ring in each of his earlobes. He has a long scar from just above his left eye, back and down in front of his ear, all the way down his neck to his shoulder. He wears a short tunic over leather armor. He carries an ornately carved spear in his large rough hands. In addition to his spear he has two weapons at his hip, a scimitar and a knife.
The elf-woman takes one look at the imposing stranger and runs screaming through the door past him.
The large man utters, "What in the name of..."
The man dodges away from the elf-woman nimbly before returning to his stance in the doorway, bellowing "What mischief goes on here?!"
Upon hearing the challenge, Lornard sighs long-sufferingly.
One of the middle-aged men straightens up and looks at the newcomer.
"Welcome to Orlane," he says. "I am Zakarias Ormond, the Mayor, and these fine men," he adds, waving to the sleeping, trussed up farmers, "Are the people who elected me to office. What is your business, here?"
The newcomer looks the Mayor in the eye and says, "I am Tarl, and I am seeking an inn," without a pause, "Why are your people trussed up? It seems that sleeping thusly would be uncomfortable in the extreme."
"They are under some sort of charm," explains the mayor. "A few moments ago they were about to attack us, so we had to enspell them."
Tarl snarls, "Evil witchcraft! I shall join you in your efforts to destroy this lady-and-snake creature." as he stomps his spear butt on the floor for emphasis, "Where is this foul creature?"
The dwarf's left hand tightens around a warhammer. He looks into the big man's eyes. "If'n I tells yer that the witch at the temple is dead, what might yer say ter that," he asks.
Tarl smiles at the man, saying, "Though I knew her not, the only good witch is a dead witch. Hopefully you weren't close."
Lornard says, "I assure you, good sir, we are not robbing these men. This town has been beset by a curse, and many of its members are under it's sway. The good inkeeper here might tell you more about that."
Lornard nodes after the direction where the elven woman just fled. "Might you tell us why she had such an averse reaction to your appearance? Did you travel here together?"
Tarl replies, "Never laid eyes on that one before. She seemed a bit daft, though I didn't see much of her."
Puzzled by the sudden flight of the elf, the young woman narrows her eyes at the newcomer named Tarl momentarily when he mentions 'witch'. She then returns her attention to the discussion between the crying man on the floor and the middle-aged woodsrunner.
"This lady-and-snake is fouling the way of things here. She must be dealt with before the village and wilds fall to her influence."
The mayor nods.
She marks carefully Lornard's words. "The priestess, I take, is the dwarf's dispatched 'witch'. The one who knew the charmed and uncharmed among the villagers. Where is the temple she serves, then? Have you found all you could about the priestess's patron therein? And where is this captive you rescued? What has she said?"
"Lord Mayor, it is vital to know amongst who of your citizens suffer the taint. They may alert adversaries. How can this best be done now that the priestess is dead? Going door-to-door would rouse suspicion," she notes to Zacharias. "Mayhaps, we should not attempt unless there are other citizens that may be helpful. Instead, go to the source."
"These fine people rescued a young girl from the temple...Cirilli. She has identified the cult members in town. She says that this place and the temple were the main centres of cult activity."
She then asks the forlorn man sitting on the floor,"In dreams, you have gone to where this woman-beast lairs. Can you show the way?"
Bertie the innkeeper looks up.
"I can try," he mutters.
Turning his attention to the rest of the inn, Tarl moves over to a table and sits down saying, "Is there any food and drink around this place?"
Bertie looks up at Krrl and Lornard.
"What will be, will be," mutters the dwarf, as he cuts the bonds holding Bertie. "Bertie git us a round of yer best beer, not the swill yer served when yer were under the spell." Turning to Tarl, "well since yer seem ter be joining us, yer kin buy me a drink or two. My name is Krrl." Turning to Arwhin's Niece, he continues, "and since yer seem ter have the same idea regarding the fate of the so-called snake goddess, yer kin join us too, if'n yer wants. Even if'n yer do speak all fancy and such," he adds.
"I defer your invitation for the moment, Krrl." She draws blade like a sliver of the moon out, archaic in design and wrought unevenly, but lethal-looking.
While the innkeeper fetches the brew, she goes back to the door, cracks it and watches the outside.
Tarl pats the dwarf on the back, saying, "Sure Krrl, brews here!"
Bertie scrambles to his feet and bustles off behind the bar.
Drawing a beer, he samples it himself first...and spits it out.
"I'm sorry, sirs," he says, "But I wouldn't serve that to me pigs."
"Oh by the by," Krll mentions to Tarl and Arwhin's Niece, "there's some of our group upstairs, chasing some scarface; so's don't be getting all jumpy if'n yer see an armored pretty boy and his friends."
Tarl replies, "A scarface?"
"Yer know, a feller with a scar on his face.," answers Krrl. "All dressed in black. Perhaps Lornard, yer may want ter go see what's become of Tragon, Thrwyn, and Zendar. Or not."
"Yes, that might be a good idea," the older Ranger responds. He draws his sword and cautiously ascends the stairs.
While Lornard proceeds upstairs, Arwihn's Niece examines what she can of the village from where she's at, trying to get her bearings as well as look for anything suspicious. She is wary of anything escaping the top floors of the inn.
"Is the temple lair that you dreamt far from here?" she inquires of the inkeeper.
"P'raps a fifteen minute walk," Bertie replies. "Cross th' bridge, go past the 'Serpent an' make a right."
"Yer kin do what yer want, but I suggest yer not go ter the temple alone," Krrl advises. "There still may be more of them troglodyte creature's roaming about. Also, Tragon has a map of the temple if'n yer insistin' on goin'. Besides, the real action is gonna be in the swamp. That's where the reptiles and their queen be."
Bertie shakes his head.
"I'm sorry," he says to Arwihn's Niece. "I thought you meant the temple of Merikka, here in town. The snake-goddess' stronghold is in the Rushmoors, p'raps five days away."
Tarl looks confused at the discussions of this temple and that, "The snake-goddess from five days travel away has this town enspelled, or are there two foul witch-creatures, one here and one there? I am not understanding you."
The mayor tries to explain.
"As far as we can tell, creatures from the Rushmoors - lizardmen or troglodytes - have been kidnapping townsfolk and taking them to this snake-goddess lady in the swamp. There, they charm them. After that, they bring 'em back here. Apparently the clerics at the temple of Merikka, here in Orlane, were among the first to be charmed, and that place has sort of been the centre of cult activity in Orlane ever since."
Bertie nods in agreement.
Tarl begins to understand, saying, "And the witch at the temple has been slain, so now there are charmed people about Orlane and a snake-goddess in the Rushmoors?"
The mayor nods.
"Let us set out at once to the Rushmoors to stomp out this so-called goddess and free the people of Orlane from her evil voodoo!"
Once again he stomps the butt of his spear for emphasis.
"Soon as we finish up in the inn," the mayor says. "And get the rest of the cult members in town locked up."
Tarl asks, "How many of these cult members are there in town? And once we have them rounded up, how can we break the evil voodoo's hold over their minds?"
The mayor replies, "Perhaps half of the population has fallen under the spell. I don't know how to break the power of the magic."
Tarl then asks, "So what are you going to do with all of the enspelled people?"
"Lock them up in the jail, for now."
The mayor and his sons finish tying up the sleeping farmers.
Overhead, you can hear the others moving around on the second floor of the inn.
Tarl says, "Sounds like your friends are having trouble with the scarface. I'd better go see if they need any help."
Tarl goes up the stairs quickly, spear in hand.
"Are there other exits from above?" Arwihn's Niece asks Bertie.
"Out the windows," says Bertie.
"What do you know of this 'Scarface'?"
She continues to stand at the door and scan the surroundings.
"A bad egg, that one. The priestess an' priest used him at the temple, to...interrogate people."
"Scarface has probably scampered back to his mistress," suggests Krrl. "We should help the mayor clean up this town, then head ter the swamps."
"Aye," says Zakarias. "Why don't ye go upstairs and help your friends search the rest of the inn? Me and me lads can watch things from down here."
In the end, you do so. One of the mayor's son's relieves Arwihn's Niece at the door.
The stairs go up to the east. At the top is a 10' wide hall heading north.
On the floor here is the corpse of the scarfaced man, lying in a pool of his own blood.
The passage runs north for 30', turning west after 20'.
You go north and west. The hallway runs west for 40', turning north after 30'. There are open doors in the hall, one to the north, another to the south, leading into rooms.
Looking north, you see that the passage runs for 20', turning west again after 10'. Up by the corner are some people...the rest of the party.
The people coming around the corner from the south see the man in plate mail (Tragon), a heavily armed half elf (Thrwyn), a middle-aged man (Lornard), a high elf (Zendar), a half elven male and a man with slick hair and a pencil-thin mustache.
The people up at the north corner see a rough-looking hill dwarf (Krrl), a human female and a large, tanned man, leading the way. The mayor and his sons are not with them, and neither is Bryana.
"Hello, folks. Guess we took too long? We found this guy, Iggy, in one of the rooms. Claims he is a door-to-door door salesman and was being held captive in his room. Problem is, his door wasn't locked and he wasn't tied up."
Tragon points at the man with the mustache.
"I suggest we turn him over to the Mayor. Lornard was kind enough to agree to take him downstairs."
"We also found a traveler, named Tamas. He's a healer and has agreed to join us while we explore the other rooms."
Tragon points at the half elven male.
Tragon takes a closer look at the group. "Where's Bryana, and who are the others?"
"Bryanna seems ter have run away forever. Could happen ter any of us," responds Krrl. "This here is Tarl and Arwihn's Niece," Krrl points to the two others with him. "They want ter stampout the evil in the swamps now that they knows about it. I reckon they could be of help. Did yer find scarface?"
Tragon nods politely to the two newcomers. "Pleased to meet you. With people like Bryana running away, we need more help in our chosen task."
"As far as scarface goes, didn't you find a dead body on the stairs? Zendar ran him through without too much work. I couldn't even get close enough to help."
"Oh yeah," answers the dwarf. "I guess I was blocked by Tarl's shadow. Why don't we go down ter the main room and sees if Bertie kin round us up some decent grub. By the by, Bertie's a changed man. He were charmed by the snake-goddess of the swamp, but he's fine now." Then he adds in a whisper, "I hope."
"We haven't finished searching the rooms. We found a big strongbox in one of the earlier rooms. That may be where scarface was heading or he may have been going to one of the other rooms.
"And I'm glad to here about Bertie. What about the other farmers?"
"We got them tied up," Krrl answers. "We had ter slap Bertie around a small bit, and that's all it took ter clear his head. I suppose it might work on the others. We kin leave that ter the mayor and his folk."
Tragon nods. "Care to join us for the other rooms?"
"OK, but I don't think we should be searching fer anything other than trapped folk," Krrl replies.
"And it isn't like we are looking for them. They happen to be there. I don't see you turning down people who just walk up to you." says Thrwyn eyeing the newcomers from downstairs. "Let's finish these rooms and find out what is in that strongbox. I have a feeling that it is what scarface was after." states Thrwyn as he starts for the door.
Tarl nods to Thrwyn, "Yes, let us clear out these rooms. Who knows what poor Bertie allowed to go on up here during his voodoo stupor."
Tragon raises an eyebrow. "What about other cultists?"
Lornard takes Iggy downstairs, and quickly returns.
"So, let's take a look at the next door."
You head west to the next pair of doors.
Opening the door to the left, you see another 20' square room containing three beds. Otherwise, it is identical to the room to the east, which Tragon et al have already investigated. It is unoccupied, and you see nothing of interest in there.
You open the door to the right.
This reveals a larger room (20' X 40': 10' east, 20' west, 20' north; door in west wall, north corner). Two tables and eight chairs occupy this otherwise bare room. A tray with six dirty plates and mugs sits on one of the tables. Otherwise, the place is uninteresting.
After listening, you go and open the door in the west wall.
Revealed is another 20' X 40' room (10' south, 40' west); door in south wall, 10' - 20' section). This room looks like a common sleeping chamber. There are four beds in here....and five men, armed with shortswords, carrying shields and wearing studded leather armour.
They rise from their places when you open the door, and draw their weapons.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" demands one of them in a gruff voice. "Answer me quick, now!"
Tragon draws his sword.
"Surrender your weapons in the name of the Mayor of Orlane. We are representatives of the law of Orlane."
The spokesman spits on the floor.
"The law my ass!" he snarls. "Let's get 'em, lads!"
They move to attack you.
"It will be your ass. That was a very bad move on your parts," says Thrywn as he hefts his hammer and moves to attack.
Tragon moves to meet one of the men.
Tarl moves likewise.
Lornard draws his sword and grimly moves forward to engage one of the men.
Krrl rolls his eyes. Seeing that he is near the back of the pack, he waits. "Try not ter kill 'em," he shouts.
Arwihn's Niece waits hidden, just beyond the doorway in the hall, ready to kneecap any of the attackers attempting escape.
Four of the men charge at you as the fifth suddenly veers off and makes for the door in the south wall. Thrwyn, Tragon, Tarl and Lornard find themselves in battle, just inside the doorway to their room.
Thrwyn easily dodges the shortsword aimed at him, but then misses with his hammer.
Tragon misses his assailant and then sidesteps an incoming attack.
Tarl and his opponent exchange misses.
Lornard, however, does connect, badly hurting one of the men. The man retaliates, and the ranger takes 5 hit points of damage, as blood pours out of his left arm.
The last man reaches the south door and flings it open.
"Okay that was just to see if you were watching. Now that I know you are it is time to die" says Thrwyn to his assaliant.
"Yer dead meat, you stupid bastard elf!"
"Now it isn't polite to make fun of people's heritages. Now with me that just pisses me off" growls Thrwyn as he swings his hammer.
"Anyone back there that knows how to cast a spell now would be a good time," says Thrwyn over his shoulder.
Tarl growls as he tries to strike his opponent again, "Tis never a good time for voodoo!!!"
As his hammer connects the half-elf is struck by his assailant's shortsword for 5 hit points. His hammer lands a glancing blow off of the man's shoulder, and he curses. Then, the shortsword finds its mark again, and Thrwyn drops, blood spurting out of his chest.
Tarl jumps aside, dodging an incoming blade as he connects with his own, dropping the man.
Grunting in pain, Lornard tries to adopt a slightly more defensive stance as he continues to engage and attack the man.
Lornard and the fighter trade misses, then he feels the bite of the blade into his shoulder. Already hurt, this proves to be the telling blow, and the ranger drops.
Tragon swings again.
"Krrl or Zendar, meet that man in the hallway. The other one please help Lornard."
Tragon and his foe trade multiple misses.
Zendar glances at Krrl and rushes over to help Lornard.
The dwarf rolls his eyes to the heavens, then runs to intercept the fleeing man.
The man bolts through the door as Krrl rushes after him. Before him is Ani, whom he tries to dodge.
With a low, aimed sweep, Ani's blade flies towards his knees like a scythe at harvestime. The blade connects and he howls in agony, but does not drop.
Suddenly, the third door in the south wall opens...
The person who opened the south door looks out. She is human, it appears, though her ears are slightly pointed. In the hallway before her are a young woman and a man in studded leathers, carrying a shortsword. The latter is apparently trying to get around the former, who is blocking his way. Blood pours from his knee, and her scimitar is stained red.
Coming up behind him from the west is a dwarf. His scent precedes him.
Through two doorways across the hall come the sounds of swordplay.
The woman in the doorway looks very startled and says, "What is going on?" to no one in particular.
She seems fairly calm despite the battle.
"Help us or get out of the way," growls the dwarf. "We're helpin' the mayor of this town. Quick decide if'n yer friend or foe."
The dwarf is quite ugly, repugnant in fact. A large scar dominates his face and his odor is awful even from a distance. Carrying a war hammer and shield, he is dressed in splint mail and helmet.
"Why does the mayor need help in this town? I am new here."
While she is talking, she reaches over to her side and pulls out a staff....she gives the bleeding warrior a gentle wack between the ears.
As the lady's staff swings the man lashes out with his blade, opening an ugly cut down her arm for 4 hit points.
His sudden attack saves him from the woman's stave, as she misses.
"Doormouse, doormouse, rapped by a cane, Clear your starry eyes and come out again!"
While the newcomer struck, she sang in childish mirth and defensively held the scimitar before her with interlocked fingers.
Then Ani snapped a hard kick to the open door so that it would rebound off the wall on it's hinges, back into the face of the man in the doorway whose blood tarnished her blade.
Perhaps her fresh wound threw off her timing slightly, but the man dodges the door and then closes on her
A man's voice calls out from one of the rooms to the north.
"Krrl or Arwin's Niece, we need help back here. Thrwyn and Lornard are down. We need someone to help them."
The dwarf sees that the situation in the hall seems to be in control. "I'll be back ter answer yer in a minute," he replies to the young woman. He enters the room in response to Tragon's call. "This is what comes from bursting in ter folks rooms," grumbles Krrl.
"True, but we're helping the Mayor. So, you can also look at it that way if it helps."
Tragon swings again at his opponent, as Krrl charges back the way he came.
Tragon and his opponent trade misses, before he connects, chopping the man down.
Zendar attacks another man from behind, but the man sees him coming and dodges. He swings his blade, but misses also.
Tarl misses with his weapon but then takes a shortsword blade in the arm.
Back in the passage, the two women close on the man. Bleeding, Ariwihn's niece nevertheless connects with her scimitar. His entrails spew out, the man gurgles strangely, and drops.
Tarl stops fooling around and chops down another fighter.
Zendar is not having near the luck on this fellow that he had earlier in dealing with Derek, as he misses again. Fortunately, his foe fares no better. Krrl arrives, though, and makes short work of the last assailant.
Suddenly, quiet returns, interrupted only by the sounds of your harsh breathing.
The area is littered with bodies. You set to patching up Thrwyn and Lornard, and not a moment too soon.
You also note that several of the men that you were fighting are not quite dead yet, either.
Thrwyn and Lornard regain consciousness to find that their companions have once again emerged victorious. They also note the presence of a newcomer. Tamas seems to have wandered off...like he was never with you at all.
Tragon, still breathing heavily, moves over to examine some of the opponents who are still alive. He looks for anything handy to tie them up. "May want to ask questions of them. They didn't seem to act like the cultists we have faced before."
"Now, I admit I've lost track of all our party members. Coming and going as they have been... Do we have any healers? If so, we've wounded that need some help, please.
"I'm Tragon the Faithful. Welcome."
Tragon wipes the blood off of his sword on one of the dead.
She bandages up her arm first and then attends to the wounded enemy (she bandages them enough to stop their bleeding).
The newly arrived woman says, "I am Valea Perianth. I am a healer and mage. Who needs healing?"
Valea Perianth is a very small woman. Her elven features are slight, but present in her very dark eyes and slightly pointed ears. She is lithe of figure and keeps her dark hair cut very short. Her features are sharp and a smile is usually on her lips.
Tarl pauses from binding his wounds and says, "I am Tarl, it is good to fight beside you."
The dwarf looks at Valea, and nods. "M'name is Krrl. I told yer I'd explain ter yer when I got a chance. Well, this seems like it. We're helping the mayor of this town round up the poor folk under the spell of an evil snake goddess. We was searching this inn fer cultists, when these slobs decided ter make a fight of it." Krrl points to the dead and some of the wounded men in the room. "Now we find out why."
"An evil cult? How odd. Sounds like the area needs to be cleaned. I am happy to help."
"We're going to need it," Tragon comments wryly.
"We need both talents in this group. Welcome. Would you please see to Thrwyn and Lornard? They were hurt the worst."
"Krrl, do you want to handle the interrogation when our foes come to?"
A middle aged man says in a serious tone of voice, "I am Lornard Braumer, and I would be grateful of any healing arts you could apply to me. My companions and I have needed more healing since coming to this town than I ever thought would be possible. Indeed, we seem to be fighting a veritable war."
She nods, "Thank you."
She moves over to Thrwyn and Lornard to see how they are doing.
Valea gives each a cure light to see how that heals them. Thrwyn is healed for 2 hit points; Lornard for 4.
"Thanks little lady..." says Thrwyn as the magic courses through him. "That wasn't the best of ways to do things..."
Looking over at Tragon, he says, "Looks like we have gained a few more lucky ladies to our group."
"We need the help. And we need the luck."
"I am Arwihn's Niece."
She removes a worn leather satchel from under her cloak and rummages through it while a smell of summer herbs spills out of the bag. She pulls out scented wrappings, strips of leather and a tarry balm and applies this to the wounds, on herself if need be, then to any the most seriously injured, friend and foe alike. She works methodically, binding cuts and staunching bleeding until everyone's injuries are stabilized.
"Unngh," replies the dwarf to Tragon in a muted growl, a sour look on his ugly face. He begins to bind the hands and feet of the fallen, but still living, men.
He removes all weapons, backpacks, pouches, etc from their persons.
Cautiously he removes their cloaks and any mail shirts they may be wearing.
He then surveys the room to see who is present.
Several of the men appear ot be bleeding, Krrl does his best to staunch the wounds. One of the men is conscious, so he asks, "Who are yer, where do yer come from, and why did yer respond with such force ter what coulda been a simple parlay."
One of the men replies in a slurred voice, "Thought be fun ter kill yer."
The dwarf laughs. "Hard drink kin do that ter yer," he replies. "What's yer name and what's yer business here in Orlane?"
"Name's Borgus. We's here t'kill things."
Valea says, "Who are you killing for Borgus?"
"Bertie."
Valea says, "When did Bertie hire you to kill things? How did he find you?"
"Months ago," the man replies. "We stayed at the inn, and he took us in..."
"Do you know anything of a cult around here?"
"Yeah...we're the...recruiters..."
Tarl snarls at the man, looking almost feral, "Ye shan't be doing any more recruiting. In fact you will tell us everything about how who you recruited, how you did it, where you took them, everything. Otherwise you join Wee Jas today!"
The man growls back and then winces in pain.
"You saw how we did it...only ya bested us. After that, we handed 'em over to Bertie and his friends from the temple."
"Can you tell us where they are at around here? Who in town are the local members?"
"Ask Bertie."
She smiles and says, "Thank you. You should rest."
She says to the group, "Where is Bertie?"
"Downstairs. He is the innkeeper. From what Lornard told me, he's recovered from whatever made him help the cult. We can ask him about these 'recruiters' and anything else that comes to mind."
"However, before we go downstairs, I want to check the other rooms. And then there's that locked chest that we need to look at. It was owned by one of the cult members and it may have something useful in there."
"We should gather up all of the 'recruiters' equipment, as well."
"Okay. How many more room are left to check?"
"Finish looking around this room, the one next door and the two across the hall."
"I've been making a map and here's what I got so far..."
He shows her. The map, interestingly enough, does not bear much of a resemblance to the second floor of the inn.
Valea looks over the map and says, "Does this include my room? Also, how do you know there aren't more normal guests here? Are you going around just kicking in the doors?"
"That's what I says, but they never do listen ter me," grumbles Krrl.
"I guess drastic times call for drastic measures."
"I don't think it includes your room, since we would've noticed you before we got to this room."
"We're not kicking in doors, more like opening them. Not very nice, I know, but this inn is well-known for having cultists. And up here, we've freed one salesman and found two party members, although it looks like Tamas bailed on us."
"Can't say if there are any normal guests or not. We killed one of the cultists running for the stairs, probably to alert these guys. We didn't want to take a chance of getting attacked by surprise."
Valea says, "Okay, then let's go."
Two rooms remain to be checked on this floor...both in this passage, along the south side. One of them was Valea's: a 20' square room with four beds in it. She occupied one of them.
You go to the last door to the west and open it. This reveals a larger room (20' X 30': 10' east, 10' west, 20' south), poshly furnished. This large room has a luxuriously soft bed, a small closet and a nicely constructed table and chairs. Its fireplace is topped with an ornate mantle, carved with detailed images of sprites and dryads. Searching the place, though, turns up nothing of value.
You return to the dormatory room, where Borgus and friends resided. This room is 20' X 40', with exits into the dining room to the east and the hall to the south. In here are five beds and little else. Searching the bodies, you find no money. Borgus tells you that all was donated to the cult. The men wore studded leather armour, small shields and weilded shortswords.
None of their equipment looks to be of value.
You return to the hall and head back down to the room where you found the locked strongbox, helping Lornard and Thrwyn along. Pulling the box out, you note that it - or its contents - are quite heavy...over a hundred pounds.
Valea says, "That isn't going to go anywhere. Let's go find Bertie."
"We already told yer," replies Krrl. "Bertie's been dealt with. But perhaps he has a key ter this chest," muses the dwarf.
"Does that mean he has been tied up? Locked up? What? Has he been questioned?"
"I told yer he's been taken care of," repeats the dwarf angrily. "Don't worry yer pretty little head anymore about it," he adds sarcastically.
"Ah, so you like to be mysterious, runt?"
Krrl turns his attention to the chest.
"Valea, I don't know what Bertie's told them, but I trust my friends enough to know that he'll be downstairs when we go back down. This is his Inn after all. He's not going to abandon it. And they did say he's no longer under the cult's influence."
"Now, let's check the chest first, and then we'll go downstairs and you can requestion the man to your heart's content. Okay?"
She nods and says, "That is fine. I don't mind not seeing Bertie now, but I won't abide sarcasm nor will I be talked to like a bar maid."
Tragon grins. "You'll have to get used to the sarcasm, I'm afraid. Most of this bunch speaks in only that manner. The bar maid stuff is inexcusable, though."
She shrugs, "I don't mind the sarcasm so much."
"Good. It still gets under my skin from time to time."
Lornard gives a half-smile, but it doesn't look like he's really putting his heart into it. "You need a thicker skin, my young friend. Sarcasm is just words: people sputtering, or gently teasing each other. What this cult is doing to this town... that is what gets under my skin."
"My brothers were the worst, so I have lived with it before."
"Bah, humbug," growls the dwarf.
"Zendar, did you search the guy you killed on the stairs?"
"Did I search the guy on the stairs?!" Zendar says with sarcasm. "Ya know, I'll be kicking myself for weeks for this but I figure this group needs all the help it can get. Here."
He pulls out a key hanging from a string.
Tragon chuckles. "Yes, we do need all the help we can get. I figured you'd think to check."
"Care to check the chest?"
"Great, so, Lornard go fetch us an ale while we see what's in this box."
With that, Zendar starts to chuckle and tries the key on the box.
Lornard, however, is in no shape to go anywhere without help, so Zendar remains thirsty.
Arwihn's Niece busys herself with dragging the corpse in the hallway to where the chest is. She gathers all confiscated possessions as well as the bound prisoners there as well, whistling a song that a bird might sing, certainly not a human composition.
"Anything enchanted among this pile?" She indicates with a sweep of her arm to the collection. "Care to know?"
"Looks like junk ter me," answers the dwarf.
"Damn. I am agreeing with the dwarf again." grumbles Thrywn. "You might want to wait on casting your spell till we get the box open. No use in wasting it."
Zendar, meanwhile, has been inspecting the locked strongbox thoroughly. Satisfied that it is not trapped, he inserts the key into the lock and gives it a twist. There is a satisying click, and he lifts the lid.
Your eyes widen when you behold the contents, for the chest is filled with coins and gems. You count out five gems, 160pp and 1087gp. At the bottom of the chest is a lush velvet cloth. Within it are wrapped three vials. That is all that the chest contains, and searching and tapping its sides, bottom and its lid turns up nothing else.
Replacing the goodies into the box, you close it, and two of you carry it downstairs to the common room of the inn.
The place certainly looks much more cheery than when you left it a short time ago. A fire has been lit in the fireplace, and the room is starting to warm up. Eight men sit in a row against one one wall. They are all tied up, and do not look too happy. A man sits at in a chair by the fire, holding a mug of beer: Iggy Olivero. Another man bustles back and forth behind the bar. This is Bertie Beswill. Three more men - the mayor and his two sons - keep an eye on things.
As you reach the bottom of the stairs the door to the left of the fireplace suddenly opens, and a short, rat-faced man peers out.
"Who lit the fucking fire - " he says, then notices the lot of you.
He pulls his face back, and slams the door.
Tragon shouts, "After him! Thrwyn, Lornard, stay behind!"
"Yeah...like I can run after him," says Thrwyn with a grimace of pain.
"You guys go ahead I'll just keep an eye on the box! Besides that guy looked a little to familiar," says Zendar.
Krrl takes a few steps in the direction of the rate-faced man. He stops in his tracks after Tragons shout.
"I don't take orders from him," mumbles the dwarf to hmself.
He walks over to the bar.
"Bertie, do yer have any ale worth drinking?"
"I's got ale, sir, but I don't know that I'd feed it to me pigs," says Bertie apologetically.
Tragon draws his sword and pulls open the door.
Valea says to Bertie, "Does that room have a window?"
"Why, yes! That was the cook! A bad egg, that one!"
She rushes to the door...just in time to see the man dashing out through another door to the right, making for the road.
Tragon stops his chase into the room.
"Bertie, we need a few horses. Can we take a few from your stable? We'll bring them back."
Bertie nods.
Tragon races out of the door.
Valea sprints after the cook....
As does Tarl.
The druid steps outside.
"This bad egg, he should explain the poor meals."
Ani fingers the green orb at her chest and looks ahead of the running man towards the trees in front of him by the road. She mutters some soft words in a strange tongue, her eyes riveted to the overhanging branches.
Suddenly the trees above him seem to lean over and down. Their branches entwine themselves about him, and lift the surprised man up into the air and hold him, immobilised.
Valea and Tarl skid to a stop just before more of the branches, which seem to be groping about looking for more people to catch.
Tarl exclaims, "Careful, the very trees are enchanted in this fell village!!!"
Tarl backs away from the trees warily...
"AAAAaaaaa!" exclaims the cook, as he sways in the branhes. "Help!!"
Tarl ignores the man, focusing on the trees, trying to figure out this strange behavior.
Tragon stops his rush to the stables and runs back towards Valea and Tarl. "Oh, well done!"
"Sure, we will help, if you tell us where you were going."
"To a farm, to get some eggs!"
Tragon rolls his eyes, "Yeah, right. Try again."
"I yam, I yam! Get me down! Hey Bertie! Help!"
Bertie comes to the door.
"He was headin' for the hills, he was, that Snigrot Dogroot!" the innkeeper says. "He knows ye've got the temple sacked an' there's no help there. Maybe he was goin' 'round to the smithy. They's friends o' his!"
You take a look into the room that he ran through to get outside. It is the kitchen (from the inner door, wall runs west for 60', south for 30' (door in first 10'), east for 20', north for 10' (door), east for 30', south for 10', east for 10', north for 20'). Jars of beans, flour and dried meats can be seen stored in several open cupboards. The place looks none too clean.
"Where's that door lead to?" the mayor asks Bertie.
"The cellar...oooooo," the innkeeper moans. "There's trouble down there! Help me, please!"
"Hmmm... Anyone have some rope? I think we want to keep this Snigrot Dogroot close to us."
"What kind of trouble?" the dwarf asks. "We need details, Bertie."
"They's tunnels down there, full o' nasty snakes an' undead," the innkeeper says, paling at the thought. "I keep th' door barred. They guard a statue...worth a lot."
"Do they ever attempt to come above ground?"
"Aye. That's why the door's barred."
"Hmm... Perhaps we should look at this door."
He shudders again.
"I want it out o' here. If ye can get it out o' me cellar then yer welcome to it."
Tragon looks at the Mayor. "What about the other hotspots in this town? Are these tunnels more important than that or the main cult stronghold?"
Tragon looks at the trapped man. "What do you know about the cellar?"
"The cellar?" Dogroot repeats, "It's under the inn. I store me food and supplies down there."
Valea asks, "Have you guys taken care of the blacksmith? If he is a friend of the cook, then he is probably a cult member. Maybe we should go through the town detecting evil and hunt them all down."
"The Mayor knows most of the people we need to take care of. We were taking on the big tasks first."
"Aye," mayor says with a nod. "The young girl gave us a list. The smith is on it."
Valea says, "So, we have a choice. The rest of the list or the cellar. Either way is fine with me."
"Let's deal with the tunnels first, since we're here," says the mayor. "I think we should clean up the town before tackling the stronghold. It's several days march, anyway, remember?"
"I had not forgotten, sir. I was more concerned with your input on the priorities. Thrwyn and Lornard are down from an encounter on the second floor. Their wounds have been looked at, but I believe they will need rest to recover."
"So, the tunnels and perhaps the rest of the town will have to wait until we are at full strength again."
"That is, if the rest of my friends agree to that."
The mayor nods.
Valea says, "I say we push on till we can no longer. Rest is easy, but takes time. If nothing else, let's round up the rest of the towns people before word gets out about what is going on. We can save the cellar for last."
Tragon shrugs. "What about Lornard and Thrwyn? Even with your healing, they still aren't in any condition to fight. And if we encounter resistance, we will wish that we had their swords and Thrwyn's magic."
"We took out the sheriff and the jail about a week or so ago and spent some time licking our wounds after that before coming here."
"We took out the top rung of the hierarchy in this town first. Now, it's just cleanup work. I think without the head, the rest of the body is just sitting motionless for the most part."
"I agree the work needs to get done, I just don't know if we have to take such risks at this time."
"No guts, no glory. I still have a sleep spell available. That is a great way to capture people. However, whatever you guys want to do."
Tragon chuckles. "Well, I think you and I have both voted. I'm curious to see what the others have to say. Krrl and Thrwyn can usually be counted on to give us their opinions."
Tarl says, "My spear is never tired, and rarely is my body. Let us move to find the rest of the evil-doers in town. Methinks that the door to the cellar has held back the evil snakes and foul undead until now, it will hold them back whilst we round up the cult people."
Tragon nods. "Tarl is it not? I don't believe that we had the opportunity to meet earlier. My name is Tragon the Faithful, a follower of St. Cuthbert. I thank you for joining with us."
Tragon scratches his head. "I suppose I should take this opportunity to apologize, as well. I tend to shout out orders even though I have no authority to do so. I'm afraid it's my training showing through. Certain situations just seem to need some semblence of order and I always seem to be the one trying to provide it."
Merriment dances in Tragon's eyes. "Krrl has been doing an adequate job at chastising me for my exuberance. I do hope that none of you will take offense to my enthusiasm."
Zendar chuckles.
"Yes, Tragon, one thing this party doesn't lack is opinions. It's been my experience that it's better not to open too many doors at once. Sure the rest of the town is just "clean up work" or so we think. But why leave that door open to just open another one? Soon we will have all the doors open and then what? I say tie up loose ends in town, then take on new foes and problems. Besides if cleaning up the rest of town is as easy as some may think, it may be just what we need. Also think what has happened so far when we have just charged into something. We aren't the ones on the run this time. Let's try and keep it that way."
While the others are talking, Arwihn's Niece can be seen through a window, touching and patting the trees that entrapped him as if they were horses. She is speaking softly to them in the strange tongue again, ending with a recognizeable,"Beory blessed be."
She then makes a high-pitched trilling whistle. Out of nowhere, a young horned owls suddenly flutters in and alights on the branch that was previously animated. Ani's stares intently at it, communing with the bird in some subtle way as it cocks its head slightly from one side, then the other. In moment, it flaps it's mottled wings skyward, out of sight.
Ani rejoins the others.
"Sometimes the trees can be of more trust than people," she snickers upon seeing Tarl. "A friend is watching for any strange comings and goings in this village," she offhandedly adds.
"I defer judgement in going below as I would like to release them," she nods to the barred door, "...from unlife. But we will reap what haste sows, and there is magic to harness and wounds to heal. Preparation may save us some lumps."
Tragon nods. "So, are you a druid, Ani?"
A broad smile at the flattery, then she answers. "They be among those of field and forest that I serve - the Oerthmother and Her Handmaiden hold my faith...And perchance I gain such a title somenight, if I were to live long enough and not fall to foolish choices,"
At that she throws an even look at the whole group debating by the door.
Tragon chuckles. "And very modest as well."
Shifting in his seat, Thrwyn says, "Hey I am all for taking out everyone that is bad in this town...kind of why I came here. But we have lost myself and Lornanrd from the fray....that is quite a bit of power if I do say so myself. We have hit other places and then rested. I think that is our best bet...we can always have a few people keep an eye on the other bad ones and if they seem to be heading out of town or what not can take care of it then."
Thrwyn grimaces from his still open wounds.
"Hmm," Lornard grunts, his brow furrowing. "I worry, though, that as we keep resting for members of our number to recover our strengths, the cult has time to retrench itself, and to prepare for our coming. We may have been lucky thus far not to have suffered for our rest after attacking the temple. If we think the cult will not make further inroads as we rest, then let us rest, but if not it may be wiser for the rest of the party to continue without the two of us."
"I think we should be at full strength ter take on the undead," replies Krrl. "But I think we may be strong enough as is ter take on the smith and such."
"Seeing as you and Thrwyn are the ones who will have to sit out, what say you, Thrwyn?"
"Hey, if you all want to clean house...that is fine by me. But don't go getting to over excited. I wouldn't want to miss the ladies doing that," says Thrwyn with a smirk as he eyes all of the women.
Tragon rolls his eyes and looks over to the Mayor, "Should we leave Lornard and Thrwyn here or would they be safer at your place? I don't want to take any chances that there is a counter attack where they aren't in a position to defend themselves."
"And," Lornard adds, speaking generally to the whole group, "is there anything anybody can think of which needs to be done that Thrwyn and I could do in our current weakened state?"
Tragon smiles, "Rest?"
"Um, just make sure that door doesn't open while we are gone," Zendar says with a smile.
"My lads can take them back to the house," says Ormund, "And then we can escort these poor farmers over to the jail. We can keep them there until they snap out of it, or we decide what to do about them."
"Thank you."
"Now, what about that Dogroot feller up there in the trees? Are ye going to leave him there?"
Tragon smiles. "Tempting thought, isn't it? No, but I think we need some rope to keep him from running again until we can lock him up. Bertie, do you have any rope?"
"Aye, there's lots in the stables."
"Ani, would you please come with me? I don't want the trees mistaking me for someone to grab. And I'll need you to ask the trees to let him go when I have him securely tied."
"The trees will grapple anything that approaches now, I can de-animate them for us to approach, then the cook will fall like a plum, though ...Best surround the trees and convince him to stand fast, and have a rope to bind him at the ready."
She unsheathes her scimitar and carefully moves around the other side of the trees away from their swaying branches.
Tragon nods. "As you say. You can hold a sword to him while I tie him."
When they get close to the tree, Tragon says, "We're going to release you from the trees and then I'm going to tie you up. If you try to run, we will kill you."
"We will escort you to the jail where the Mayor is putting people who are following this cult. Behave and you will not be harmed."
Dogroot nods.
Ani cancels her spell, and the rat-faced man drops to the ground with a thump.
He sits there dazed, and Tragon hurriedly binds him.
Meanwhile, the farmers inside have been tied up and awakened.
The Mayor escorts the lot of them - including the cook - off to the jail, while his sons help Thrwyn and Lornard back to their house.
It looks like the rest of you have decided to continue clearing the town, so you head along with the mayor to the jail.
The jail sits across the intersection from the Golden Grain Inn, on the southwest corner. It is a bare, nondescript wooden building.
After the farmers and Dogroot are locked up, the mayor takes out Cirilli's list.
"Perhaps we should go and deal with Cirilli's family, now," he says. "They are the closest lot of cult members to us, now. And, I daresay that girl would be pleased if we delt with them, too."
You head east from the intersection, in the direction of the mayor's house. After a bit you come to an intersection. There is a run-down livery stable on the northwest corner and the village store on the southwest. A lane runs back to the mayor's house, and the road continues south, then southeast, eventually going past the smithy.
The mayor points to the store. It looks to be a fairly well-kept establishment with an assortment of farm implements and cooking utensils on the wide porch. The door stands open, and a well painted sign depicting a pot, a plow, a sack and a lantern hangs over it.
"That's where her family lives. Father, mother, and three grown sons."
It is noontime.
Tragon looks at the Mayor. "The place doesn't look like everything else we've seen. Do you think Cirilli was telling tales?"
"Why don't we go find out fer ourselves," Krrl suggests.
Tragon shrugs. "Sure, let's just not overreact. If a bunch of armed people came into my store, I might be just a touch defensive. Let's watch their behavior before making any judgments. At the same time, we should be ready to defend ourselves if we are attacked."
"You found her in the cage. What do you think?" the mayor says. "And I stand corrected. They don't live in the shop. Their home is over there."
He points to a second building about 40' from the store, to the south-southwest. Little more than a shack, it looks very run down.
Tragon shrugs. "Her parents are partly responsible for her being there since they didn't protect her. It might be a way for her to retaliate. Still, as Krrl points out, we won't know until we look. So, let's do that."
Valea walks in.
Tarl follows.
"This behavior looks familiar," mumbles the dwarf, as he watches Valea and Tarl. He then follows them into the store.
Tragon chuckles. "Does it remind you of me or you?"
Ani loiters outside, watching the back. Ormund waits with her.
The store consists of a large room, piled high with foodstuffs, goods and supplies. A counter bisects the room, and behind it the back of the store is hidden by a curtain. In here are also a table and several benches, located near a pot-bellied woodstove, which radiates a welcome warmth on this damp day.
In here are two people, a husband and wife. Both, you suppose, are approaching middle age. Both smile as you enter.
"Good day, milady and gentlemen!" the man exclaims. "Welcome to our little shop! What can I get for you today?"
"Can you please tell us about your neighbors that live in the shack?"
"Neighbours? Shack?? How dare you!" says the woman. "That's our home!"
"We're travelers from out of town. We gonna do some exploring and we need some supplies," answers the dwarf. "Have yer got any torches, iron rations, and such?"
"Aye," says the man, suddenly cool, as his wife continues to glare at Tragon. "How much do ye need?"
Krrl looks and Tragon, shakes his head, and mumbles,"if'n yer shut up once in awhile, mebbe we'd learn something the easy way."
"Your home? Then you are Cirilli's parents?"
"Cirilli..? How do you know about her?"
"We found her in the Temple and rescued her. She claims that you are members of the cult. Is that true?"
The woman breaks down in tears, crying hysterically.
The man rushes over to her and embraces her.
"She still has not come to terms with her loss," he explains. "Perhaps you should leave."
"I do not understand. Cirilli is fine. What loss are you speaking of?"
The woman hears Tragons words and cries harder.
"Please leave. You are making it that much harder."
Valea says, "Where are your sons?"
"They are fine," the man says. "I asked you to leave."
Tarl finally speaks up, "I'm sorry if our words cause you grief, but we are here to help you. Please tell me your story, so that I might help remedy the problem."
"No. It would hurt her too much."
Tarl responds quietly, "Then could you step outside and tell me what troubles her so? That way she will not have to hear it. I belive we can help you."
Valea says, "Where are they? Not how are they. Sorry, buddy, but we aren't leaving till we get some answers."
Tragon nods and heads out the door.
Valea says, "Very well."
She gives a partial bow to the shopkeepers and heads out after Tragon.
Tragon turns in the doorway and says to Valea in a whisper, "By all means stay if you think you can get something out of them. I can't take a woman crying..."
"Oh, okay."
Valea doesn't leave. She says, "Stop your crying woman. Tell me where your sons are."
Suddenly the curtains at the back of the shop part, and three rather large young men, carrying shortswords, step out.
"Here they are," says the shopkeeper.
"Pa told you to leave. Yer upsettin' Ma," says one of them. "Don't make us have to throw you out, ma'am."
Valea says, "Drop your weapons. You are all under arrest. You will be taken to the jail and questioned forthwith."
She seems impatient.
"Let's arrest them outside," suggests the dwarf. "There's more room fer whomping."
He backs towards the door.
"On what charge?"
"Being in a cult that is causing trouble in the area. Now drop your weapons, or prepare to get dropped."
"Are you members of this cult...or are you accusing us of being members?"
"We are accusing you as being members. Surrender now. If you are innocent then you have nothing to fear."
"And who are you?"
"We are the task force appointed by the mayor to clean up this place."
"Sure you are," says the shopkeeper.
"I take it you won't cooperate, then."
Valea casts sleep on the entire family. If it works, she starts tying them up.
Tragon walks around the store to the back, where he finds Arwihn's Niece already searching for a back door.
There is a back door. Ani opens it with Tragon beside her. They see the area of the shop behind the curtained off area: it is a store room of sorts, filled with boxes and barrels.
Tragon nods at Ani and enters the room quietly.
Ani proceeds no further into the room unless she hears Valea actually coming to blows with the people in front. She smirks slyly at the paladin sneaking around like a common burglar and taps her noggin, trying to stay out of the line of sight of any sorcery Valea may ply ontowards the storekeeps.
Tragon shrugs and grins sheepishly. He also keeps out of line of sight from the front room, but stands ready to tackle any opponent coming through the curtain.
In the front room, the sons rush Valea as she speaks her spell. She completes it before they reach her, and the shopkeeper, his sons and his wife all drop. So do Zendar - surprisingly enough, since he is an elf - Tragon, Ani, Valea and Krrl.
Tarl awakens his snoozing companions and then you tie up the family.
"Well," says the mayor, when all is done. "I don't like this, but I suppose we can separate the wheat from the chaff later. It may be better to carry them over to the jail while they are still asleep."
This you do, locking them up with the others when you get there.
"The smithy now?"
Valea says, "Aye. You do the talking."
She is obviously humbled by her own foolishness.
"No, we'll let Krrl try the next one. I did no better."
"Now yer talkin' sense," the dwarf responds with what appears to be a smile. Or maybe it is something traceable to a bit of undigested sausage from Bertie's kitchen.
You head back along the south shore of the millpond, past the village store, past the entrance to the lane which leads to the mayor's house, and on east into a new neighbourhood. The road passes through a wild area. At last, as you approach a bridge which spans the stream which flows into the pond, you come to two small sets of buildings. On the left is a small shop; on the right a farm.
Looking at the shop, you see a sign crudely depicting a needle piercing the seat of a pair of pants, hanging before this establishment., which is a small, ramshackle building in need of considerable repair. A shutter hangs loosely, shingles are missing from the roof and the walls show signs of rot in places.
The farm is run down. The house is in desperate need of repair. The front door, porch steps and visible roof supports are missing. The barn is in even worse condition, but the many chickens in the yard suggest that the place is indeed inhabited.
The mayor pauses and consults his list.
"Farmer Jack and his son are on it. Myron Tweed the tailor isn't," he says, and looks at you.
"Want to deal with the farmer before we tackle the smith?" he asks. He points over the bridge. In that direction, through the trees, you can see a collection of buildings on either side of the road. "The smithy is just over the bridge, on the left."
It is afternoon.
"No reason ter leave an enemy on yer flank," Krrl responds. "I think we should talk ter the farmer."
Tarl says, "I agree with Krrl, let us speak with this farmer Jack person."
Tragon shrugs. "Sure, go ahead. Let Krrl speak. Maybe he'll have better luck."
Krrl heads towards the farmhouse.
Ani follows after pausing briefly within the wild area that hugs the road before the bridge. She searches momentarily for traces of the taint affecting the village in the surrounding copse of foliage.
She sees nothing but dead weeds and wildflowers...probably a result of the season, though, rather than any taint of evil.
Krrl walks up to the front doorway and looks in, while the rest of you hang back a bit.
Through the door he sees into a small livingroom, poorly furnished with cheap furniture. Sitting in two chairs are a young man and an older man, clearly farmer Jack and his son. Both look filthy and unshaven. On the table between them is a bottle.
"What yer lookin' fer?" the older man asks the dwarf in a surly tone.
Ani steps forward and poses demurely at the doorway, "Hail and forgive our intrusion good sirs. I am Arwihn's Niece and this dwarf is Krrl, one of the finest smiths of farm implements in the Sheldomar. I myself am a humble initiate of the Oerth Mother." Her words fall soothingly, like a water descending a stony brook.
"In the spirit of Needfest, we would like to sharpen and bless your plow and whatever tools you will use for a fruitful harvest in the coming year. We ask for no coin in return. Lay out your tools, even those that protect your family, at the threshhold and be assured that they will gain multifold in usefulness to you after our ministrations."
Her eyes begin to sparkle with earnest sincerity and attractiveness.
"Well," Krrl begins, but is stunned into silence. He waits to see how Ani plays it out.
"Arrrrrr," mumbles the man, as his son makes eyes at Ani. Still, her words affect them. "Awright."
They stand up - somewhat uncertainly - and come over to the door. Jumping down to the ground (there being no step), they lead you over to the barn. Inside are a collection of implements: rakes, a plow, various tilling tools. All are rusted and have not been used for a long time. It is winter, after all, but no attempt has been made at keeping them in good repair. Strangely enough, there is no sign of any beasts of burden, and you wonder what will pull the plow come spring.
Ani discreetly looks over her shoulder for the others as they make their way to the barn.
"You may inspect and repair their tools, Krrl, while I ready the blessing," she begins to rummage in her satchel, glances at the tools again and seems to notice something out of place, besides the lack of plow animals. "Wait, no arms to defend your fields and home? If you wish, Krrl and I will ready them for the coming year with these tools." She indicates to the poorly kept farm implements as she awaits their reply.
Krrl, smiling as politely as he can, waits for the farmer to respond.
"We's got weapons," farmer Jack replies. He points to a dark corner of the barn, where you now see several pitchforks and clubs. They appear to be in considerably better condition than the implements arrayed before you. "More in th' house, too. No one's gonna bother us."
"Who would bother yer?" Krrl asks. "Mebbe them cult folks in the temple."
Behind a veneer of friendliness, Ani cautiously watches their reply as she edges closer to head them off from reaching the pitchforks and clubs, her hand closer to her scabbard.
Jack shakes his head.
"We're close to the Rushmoors and the Forest. Lots of evil creatures come out of the woods. Not as bad as it used to be, but you still get them."
Tarl, standing very near the men, says in a friendly surprised manner, "Those cult people don't bother you none? They've been roughing up many of the other townspeople..."
"What cult?" asks farmer Jack.
The son continues to make eyes at Ani.
"What kind of creatures," Krrl inquires. "I hope it tain't none of them kind we saw by the temple. Them lizardy creatures."
While Tarl and Krrl await for any reaction or hint of recognition as to what they are referring to, Ani stands in front of the farm implements, her hand laying easily on the pommel of the scimitar at her side. She notes to herself that three armed fighters versus two unarmed farmers make pretty good odds and stands ready to break the ruse.
"There used to be that sort around," replies farmer Jack calmly...perhaps too calmly. "Along with orcs and goblins. All manner of vermin live in the woods and swamps. But we got rid of 'em. Now...we raise chickens."
"If you got rid of all those, you must be heroes of the town!" Tragon calls over.
Farmer Jack looks over to Tragon.
"'Meant the townsfolk...led by Zacharias. Right, Mayor?"
The mayor, also back by Tragon, nods uneasily.
"Now there's other problems, Jack," he says, looking clearly uncomfortable.
"Like what?" asks the farmer in his drawling voice.
"The cult, Jack."
"What cult?"
"I think you know that better than we do, Jack."
Jack suddenly turns back to Ani.
"You gonna bless my tools or what?" he asks, turning gruff again.
Valea steps between the two men and their cabin (where their weapons are located). She says, "Should we finish up here and move on?"
Jack glances at Valea.
"May be a good idea," he says.
Valea smiles and says, "I am glad you think so."
She steps a bit closer and says, "We would like to ask you about your affiliation with the cult that is around here. How long have you been members? Who are the other members?"
"What cult?"
Valea says, "I really can't say. I am new to this group. However, you are under arrest for suspicious behavior. If you are cleared at a later date, then you will be released. However, you must understand that we will have to detain you in order to get to the bottom of this matter. If you are innocent, then you have nothing to fear. Our arrest will be an inconvenience only. If you are guilty, then your cooperation may earn you some leeway. Either way, you are under arrest. Please lay face down on the ground so that you may be tied and taken to jail. If you resist arrest, you will be most severely beaten."
She shrugs.
The farmer looks blankly at Valea and then says to Krrl and Ani, "Does she always talk that much?"
"And what have you done with all of your livestock," Ani inquires, more firmly handling the grip on her blade, still sheathed. "Or do you pull the plow yourselves?"
"I don't know," says the farmer. "We raise chickens, you know."
"Uhhhh..." stammers his son, "Would you like to - uhhh - go out on a date, sometime?"
"Good question!" Valea cries, "and what do you guys know about this group? Where are they based? Do they have a base? Who is the leader? Is he or she in town? Spill your guts or we might have to."
"What group?" asks farmer Jack.
Valea takes up a defensive/offensive stance ... a false move and she will nail farmer Jack in the noggin.
Tragon quietly shifts closer to the weapons.
"I don't like you threatenin' Paw like that," says the son, prying his attentions away from the druid.
"After reviewing the state of your tools and the absence of beasts, you are a poor excuse for a farmer and need to seek penance. My blessings and the ministrations of Krrl are not enough. Accompany us now so that you can get redemption. And may the the Oerth Mother and the goddess Merikka have mercy on you."
She draws her scimitar.
"Stuff yer Oerth mother," farmer Jack replies. "An' get off my beautiful farm."
Tragon looks at Krrl and shrugs. He then draws his longsword.
"It appears that one of us told a little white lie," Krrl responds to the farmer. "Let me tell yer the situation. The leaders of the cult in this town have been killed or arrested. That includes the priestess Merikka, the sherrif and his help, and most of the other cult memebers. We have been told that yer a part of this cult."
The dwarf looks at the farmer and his son. "Do yer have any memories of belonging ter this cult."
"What cult?"
"A lie!," Ani's brows lift with indignation. "I do fully intend to help restore this farm in good order, and you, Krrl, undoubtedly know something about metalwork. But first, let's see if they are in their right minds to be farmers."
She turns to Jack's son alluringly,"Young sir, if you wish my charms, tell us what you know of the cult."
The son stammers and turns red.
"Well, they - "
"Keep yer mouth shut an' yer pecker in yer pants, boy!" snaps his father, cutting him off.
The son shuts up.
Valea says, "On the ground, Jack! You are under arrest."
"Shuddup, woman," Jack replies.
"You are right. The time for words is past."
She wacks him in the head with her staff.
Tarl, having stood near the men silently and stoicly up to this point, cries, "By your own words you are undone!" as he strikes at the farmer with the blunt end of his spear, hoping to disable him without hurting him permanently.
"Just knock 'em out, if they resist arrest," Krrl cries. "No need fer unnecessary killing"
A short melee erupts.
As Valea swings her stave at Jack, the farmer produces a small knife that he had secreted away within the waist of his pants, and slashes at her. He opens up an ugly wound on her arm, and causes her to miss him with her stave.
The son, meanwhile, leaps bare-handed at Ani as she swings her scimitar. He grabs her as she chops deeply into him. He yelps and passes out atop her, blood pouring out of his abdomen.
Tarl is right there as Tragon and Krrl rush over to help Valea. The man grunts with satisfaction as his spear buries itself in Jack's gut. The farmer's eyes bulge as his entrails pop into view when Tarl pulls his spear back out...and he drops.
The farmer and his son lie unconscious and bleeding.
"Aw, nuts! Anyone got any healing left for these two?"
Tragon tries to staunch the flow of blood from the farmer's son.
Krrl sighs then moves to help Tragon. "Does anyone know how ter use the dull side of their weapons, once in a while?"
Tarl looks to the man, "I tried not to poke him..." as he quickly bandages the man he injured.
Valea says, "The boy will be fine...just bandage him."
She casts cure light wounds on the farmer and then bandages his wound.
Farmer Jack's guts slither back where they belong and the wound closes.
He groans and opens his eyes.
Valea says, "You will be fine, Farmer Jack. Could you please now answer our questions?"
"What questions?" he groans, barely staying conscious.
"About the cult. Where are the other members?"
"We already know that," says the mayor. "How do you think we know who to go after? The blacksmith is next."
"Oh, I didn't realize you had everyone. Sorry, I just joined up."
She says, "Well, who is going to take these two to the jail?"
When that is decided, she heads toward the blacksmith.
Krrl removes a flask from his belt, and takes a long pull from it. "Ahh."
He watches Valea leave the scene. "Well, do yer think she kin take the smith by herself? I'll give 2 ter 1 odds."
Tragon shakes his head. "You go with her, Krrl. I'll take these two to the jail with the help of Tarl."
"We'll catch up with the rest of you as soon as we can."
"Saint Cuthbert, give us strength to survive headstrong women."
Tragon and Tarl help the farmer to his feet, then hoist up the son.
The four of them head back down the road the way you originally came.
The rest of you head after Valea.
Those with Valea leave the farmstead and head down to the bridge that spans the stream that flows into the head of the millpond. Crossing it, you come to a collection of buildings, clustered around a crossroads.
To your left is what is obviously a smithy, though no sign hangs here. The shop part of the building is unwalled, and two brawny lads operate a bellows while a giant of a man hammers thunderously upon a piece of metal that will soon become the blade of a shovel. Soot and smoke abound.
Just beyond the smithy, at the northwest corner of the intersection, is a large, weatherbeaten, boarded up structure. Krrl recognises it as the Foaming Mug inn...where members of this party battled several troglodytes more than a week ago.
On the southwest corner of the intersection is another building. A wooden board in the shape of a saw hangs before this well-constructed place. Like the smithy across the road, the front of this building is unwalled, and inside this breezy area you see a carpenter at work. Many tools (saws, hammers, nails, prybars, etc.) are scattered about, and some boards are mounted on sawhorses.
On the southeast corner of the intersection is an abandoned house.
On the northeast corner is another house, nearly as decrepid as the one across the street from it, but evidently occupied.
Zacharias Ormond looks at the smithy and his sons banging away, then regards the carpenter.
"They're all cult members, according to Cirilli," he says in a low voice. "We should be careful."
Valea walks up to the Smith. "Hi, I am Valea. We are clearing all cult members out of this town. I suggest you surrender now."
She waits impatiently for them to surrender.
"RRRRRRRRROAR!!! KILL KILL KILL!!!" he replies, and attacks her!
"Aw, paw, not again!" say his sons, and rush to try to restrain him.
Valea speaks a divine word of command. "SURRENDER!"
The man suddenly stops, drops his hammer, and sticks his hands up in the air.
Valea rushes forward to hog tie him.
"What are you doin' to paw???" the sons ask, somewhat taken aback. "He wuz just funnin'!!"
She then says to the boys, as she trusses the smith up, "You saw your paw surrender, I suggest you guys come along with us peacefully."
"No way! You untie paw!" they say, advancing threateningly. One of them grips the half-finished shovel, and the other holds a pair of long-handled tongs.
Valea then says to the boy with the Shovel, "SURRENDER!"
He drops the shovel and puts up his hands.
She then calls to the rest of the group, "Some help please!"
"I suggest yer surrender," Krrl says, weapon at the ready.
"At your beck," Ani answers as she steps forward and draws her blade. "Such filial piety, your father should be proud," she addresses the boys, then turns her blade menacingly at the helpless smith. "Now what son, in his right mind," she emphasizes the latter,"would risk his parent's life so casually?"
She stands ready to lop off his head should the lads not cooperate, at least not press an attack.
The remaining son stops, and slowly raises his hands.
"Resistance is futile," he says, somewhat pointlessly. "You will be assimilated anyway."
Valea says, "By who? Who will assimilate us?"
"I dunno."
He shakes his head.
"What do you mean you don't know? That doesn't make any sense. Do you want to save yourself and your family? Tell me the truth and we will let you go."
"What do you mean, 'what do you mean'?" he asks slowly, and shakes his head again.
The mayor rushes forward and ties him up.
Valea watches with amusement and then says, "The carpenter then."
She walks over to the Carpenters shop and knocks on the door.
As soon as he answers, she wacks him in the head with her staff. "No sense going the small talk route."
He drops.
Valea says, "Wow, that was easier than I thought."
She grabs him up by the scruff of the neck (the shirt really) and drags him out to the party. She then ties him up.
"Who is next, mayor?"
The mayor looks around. It is getting dark. Besides the mayor and his sons, there are only three of you, and you have had a busy day.
"The wife will be mad if we're late for dinner...especially on the last day of Needfest," he says. "Let's finish up tomorrow."
Valea says, "Okay. I could relearn my spells anyway."
On the way back to the mayor's house, Valea asks, "So Mayor, what are you you going to do with all of these people? If they have chosen a religion, it will be hard to persuade them to give it up. Are you going to imprison them or ship them off or try to reform them?"
"We can try to break the charm," Zacharias replies, "Like what happened to the innkeeper."
Valea says, "Charm? So, they are charmed then. Okay, that makes it much easier, I guess."
The mayor nods.
You head back to the mayor's house, the prisoners in tow.
As you approach his house, you see Tragon and Tarl coming towards you.
All of you meet up again.
The mayor sends his sons off to the jail with the latest round of prisoners.
It is early evening when the party returns to the mayor's house. They find Lornard and Thrwyn comfortably ensconced by a warm fire. From the kitchen comes the smell of dinner, as the mayor's wife and daughters bustle in and out.
After a short while the sons return, and soon after dinner is served. You dine on an enormous roast ham, baked potatoes, onions, parsnips and squash, accompanied by fresh rolls and breads, plus lots of wine. Afterwards there is trifle, piled high with custard and whipped cream.
Finally, you retire to the living room, to warm your bones by the fire while you plan out your next moves.
After eating heartily, Tarl begins to recount what the party has learned about the cult's Rushmoor base.
While trashing the temple in Orlane to rescue some of their fellow party members, the likes of Lornard, Tragon, Thrwyn and Krrl also rescued a girl named Cirilli, the daughter of the shopkeeper. That family had been taken by the cult. After being imprisoned in the temple of Merrika for a few days, they were taken overland to the Reptile Goddess' dismal lair, deep in the Rushmoors. There, they faced the Goddess: a horrible, serpent-like creature. She gazed upon them and they became her stalwart supporters...all but Cirilli. Usually people who resist her gaze are put to death, but one of her followers - a cleric from the temple - took a shine to the girl, and requested that she be spared. She was, and he took her back and imprisoned her in the temple of Merrika for his own vile purposes.
Cirilli is present. Previously she has given you directions to the stronghold in the Rushmoors, though she refuses to accompany you when you go. She also provided you with the names of the other cult members in Orlane, whom you have been collecting and jailing.
Today, after taking Lornard and Thrwyn back to the Mayor's house, the party went and took Cirilli's parents and brothers into custody, along with a farmer and his son, the blacksmith and his two sons, and the town carpenter.