[PF] Hollow's Last Hope

[Dave ST]

It was on that fateful night, several weeks ago, when the six of you 'met', so to speak. Well into your cups at the Sitting Duck in Falcon's Hollow, you all overheard a dwarf who called himself Druingar Glintaxe, also well into his cups, bragging about how he intended to brave 'The Crags' just north of Darkmoon Woods. With his shiny mithral armor and his magically glimmering battle axe, he bragged well into the night giving up more than a dozen locations to twice as many adventurers, gloating about riches, glory and ancient lores.

For some it was the riches. For others the promises of glory. A scant few thought ancient lores sounded interesting...

BUT! Whatever the case nearly ten of you found your way to the abandoned Gold Falls Mine, the richest place (or so Druingar claimed) for one to begin their first expedition into greatness. Through a harsh challenge of natural selection, infighting, greed, and just plain bad luck... you are the only six that survived that hell. The Cave Fisher that dwelled within the mine had been feasting on unlucky adventurers for what must have been years and you were fortunate to find yourselves quite a haul.

Too bad about the other four guys... you promised you'd tip one back in their honor when you returned to Falcon's Hollow, except that jerk off Marty, he got what was coming to him.

Anyway...

On to your glorious return to Falcon's Hollow!

Toilday 28 Arodus, 4711AR (Tuesday the 28th of August, 4711 Absolom Reckoning)

The six of you return just before lunch, entering through the northern most gate, closest to the Sitting Duck. Jak'a'Napes, the only inn in town is just right down the road, not far off. It doesn't take any of you long to notice that something is 'off'. Now, being perched at the edge of civilized lands, the small town of Falcon’s Hollow has always had to rely on itself to solve its problems. Usually while the uncaring lumber barons squeeze the common folk for every last copper, deaf to their pleas.

Just in the short trip it takes you to walk from the front gate to the inn, it's evident the people have a problem. The hacking coughs of the sick are heard throughout town. A plague seems to have come to Falcon’s Hollow and the town’s leaders can’t be bothered to stop it.

^ You see that? Not the question mark, the little '^' thing that looks like an up arrow. That's to make you look up at the red text. The red text is usually plot driven stuff that you guys should pay attention to. Do me a favor: DO NOT do all your characters dialogue in various colors of the rainbow. You're supposed to be IC so when you character talks so there's no need for you to type in red. If you're talking, I pretty much assume it's for something in game unless the halflings are talking to me again, but the Doc assured me I'm cured.

If you have to use OOC, either use the Interest threat until we have an OOC one, or use a Spoiler Box. When I'm typing in black, it's "table talk" so you understand the situation better.

[Gorunta Hemok]

Before entering the town, Evan had been in a good mood. The first major bout of adventuring had ended in the majority of the band's survival, Druingar's inebriated boasting had proven true, and he was looking forward to relaxing, spreading the tales of his their achievements at the inn, and then setting up for another go at more of the locations.

Whatever Evan had been about to say to Ashton (probably 'Good thing you listened to me') vanished, along with his halfling happiness when he saw the sick and heard the coughs from all around town. "Oh no..."

To at least gain more perspective on the issue, he extended his hand and muttered an incantation, concentrating his arcane magic to show him... more magic - if that was what the plague was... "It's certainly not magical." He concluded with a frown.

OOC

Casting Detect Magic and concentrating for the next few rounds.

[Astrid Alfarsdottir]

"People get sick, plagues spread, the strong survive," the broad-shouldered Ulfen woman stated flatly. "Not every ill suffered is the result of 'arcane power,' thanks be to the gods." Her feelings about magic, if any had lingering doubts after she'd instinctively decked one of their former adventuring companions for suddenly calling on a light spell in the dark mine, were evidenced plainly in the tone of derision heaped upon those two seemingly innocuous words. "No doubt the herb-woman or the priestess are involved already." She glowered at a passer-by who had the temerity to cough throatily in their direction as they proceeded along the path, grumbling "And doing a miserable job of solving the problem, looks like."

[Aston Goldworthy]

Shaking his head sadly behind the tall Ulfen woman, Aston wondered at how virulent this plague could be. "I've heard it tell some plagues are strong 'nough to destroy whole cities, let alone towns as small as is one. Do they really rise up so quick, though?" That last he directed to the two holy men in the party.

[liam]

Stephre looked round sadly at the suffering in the town. "This is not right. We've only been gone a few weeks. We should go to the the church and speak to Lady Cirthana, she is a healer and should know what we could do to help."

Stephre was also eager to get back to the church to pray. She had managed to fit in her prayers every day on the adventure, but always found it more enlightening to pray in a holy place.

[Cynewulf1]

Cynewulf looked around, shaking his head. His eyes took in the sick as the group walked past them talking among themselves. "Perhaps we should talk to Laurel as well as Lady Cirthana. They are both healers in their own ways. This was too quick to happen for me to be comfortable with. I cannot say more until I have studied the sickness and the sick." He sighs as the group reaches the Jak'a'Naps Inn. "Perhaps we can learn more of what happened from other folks in town as well."

[Beleran]

The jangle of Beleran's armor and gear echoed eerily through the streets. The normal hustle and bustle of the town had been replaced with sporadic coughing and the noticeable lack of people who didn't want to risk getting sick. And, quite frankly, it made Beleran uneasy. Give him a monster, a bandit, a demon and he could fight it, give him a lump of iron and he could forge it into almost anything imaginable... but when it came to sickness and disease, there was nothing that he could do.

He followed his companions towards the inn. If they weren't running out of town scared, then he wouldn't either. But that didn't mean that he wasn't so afraid that a magician would have a hard time matching it with magic. He kept his eyes warily open and watching for anybody that looked to be both sick and coming in their direction.

[Dave ST]

It looks like the party agrees... the Priestess and the Apothicary... moving along.

The church of Falcon's Hollow is nothing more than a large shack that's seen better days. Iomedae's symbol is brightly displayed above the double door way that grants entrance to the simple accommodations within. Lady Cirthana has been doing her best for the better part of several years to finally get the place in order, but the Consortium has never been the helpful, sowing their seeds of mistrust among the populace. The church is simply three rooms. A large open area as you first enter with a dais adorned with various religious paraphernalia of Iomedae's faith. Behind the dais a large tapestry emblazoned with the symbol of Iomedae greets those who enter. Doors to either side of it lead to the churches office and Lady Cirthana's chambers respectively.

Despite this time of great need for a Cleric's services, you are the only one's in the temple. "How can I help you?" Lady Cirthana asks, closing the door to the church's office as she greets you. The attractive, dark haired priestess of Taldan decent, approaches the party with some measure of scepticism in her expression. "If you're here about the disease, I'm sorry. I have no immediate means of curing of it for you, Iomedae doesn't bestow upon me such blessings to offer. Miss Laurel and I are doing what we can to treat this illness naturally, of course, so please, come inside and be welcome."

[Stephre Asthra]

"Yes, we're here about the disease. Do you know of any ways at all we could cure it? You must have some ideas."

Stephre smiled as she entered the church, glad to be back in a holy place after weeks on the road. Her happiness was soon replaced with sadness that the church was so disused, even in such troubling times. She was even more determined to find a cure now, hoping that by aiding lady Cirthana to cure the plague she could bring people to the church.

[Astrid Alfarsdottir]

"Hmph." It wasn't wise to show disrespect to the gods (even when their faithful were inept), so Astrid simply ground her teeth and turned on her heel, as the paladin and the priestess attempted to communicate. Why should the gods help these people, anyway? she groused inwardly. Are they praying? Making offerings? No! And, she reasoned, even if they were, and the gods answered, how would that help them? It would just teach them to become reliant on prayers and idols to solve all their problems. Surely the gods would have better things to do than go around saving people who can't save themselves. Kneeling before an altar for answers is the last refuge of the desperate and the incompetent.

Feeling somewhat mollified following the conclusion of her silent rant, she studied the architecture of the church's interior with a curious mixture of boredom and dispassionate appraisal.

"Nice place," she mumbled finally and without a trace of irony, nodding to herself as she paced and waited for the paladin's crusade to begin in earnest. "I'd have to make some changes, but it's got good bones."

[Dave ST]

"We?" Lady Cirthana asked Stephre. "I'm sorry I don't follow, are you and your friends volunteering to assist in finding a cure? If so then that's excellent and you have my gratitude. I'm Lady Cirthana, priestess of Iomedae, and you stand within her hallowed halls," She gives a rather ashamed look around the environs and shrugs modestly. "...well... for the most part, anyway."

"Um, good bones?" She inquired to the Ulfen woman, not entirely understanding what the large, foreign woman implied. Shaking her head she moved on, a bit obviously stressed by her position of helplessness in this entire situation. "No, I do not have any ideas at all on how to cure it," She spoke to Stehpre again, gently rubbing her own holy symbol as if to hope that Iomedae would suddenly grant her the power to divine the cure. "I assure you, had I some idea, I would be working in earnest to help the people of this town."

She sighed, looking tired and worried. "They don't trust me you see, and the people in power here just continue to fill their heads with fear and lies. None of them even trust me enough to diagnose their illness, and without a diagnosis, I can't begin to help come up with a cure. However, Miss Laurel's 'Roots n' Remedies' store has been doing non-stop business. My guess she at least has some idea, she's really good at what she does, it's in her blood. Perhaps you could inquire with her and find out what this malady actually is, before you start running around looking for cures. I heard it helps to know what you're fighting, before any battle begins."

[Cynewulf1]

It must be hard on her, not being trusted due to politics. Cynewulf smiled as he watched the priestess."Perhaps if you and Miss Laurel worked together, it may alleviate some of the fear, rather than playing into it. After all, even if the people in charge don't like you, the common folk may not be as fearful once they get to know and listen to you."

[Dave ST]

"Mayhaps, friend dwarf." A sliver of hope is hidden well in her forced smile, her tone soft and kind. "But there is a malady upon these good people, and I implore you to worry less of my woes and put our focus towards how you can combat this contagion, if that s your intent.. I wish I could be of more help to all of you, but I haven't anything but prayers to offer."

"Whatever it is you plan on doing, I hope you do it quick. I've heard rumor that Kreed, sickness or no, will be extending shifts at the lumber camps to make up for the lost time. Speak with Laurel, I'm certain she can help.

[Gorunta Hemok]

Evan nodded, looking at the others. "I'd hope that. Good luck and may Iomadae bless your good intentions. Shall we?" If Laurel couldn't help... the town would be in trouble, and potentially the band as well.

[Aston Goldworthy]

With a sharp nod to Aston, and a "Thank you for your time, good lady" to the Priestess, he started for the door.

"I know my way to Miss Laurel's shop. Just before the High Market it is." He offered, as he opened the door out of the church, holding it for the next member of their little party. "She's a good herbalist, she is. Not quite so good as my Nan, but she knows her plants, she does. I took a bit of a cold last time I was up this way, and she gave me the very things I needed: garlic root and golden seal."

He pulled up the hood of his cloak, as if to ward off a winter breeze, even though it was late summer. "I had to haggle with her a bit on the price, but we ended up exchanging goods in kind, we did: some whole cloves and a half-pound of salt. It was dear, but--"

He could easily natter on as they went, but gladly shut up as soon as someone else wanted to speak. As they travelled, his stride was determined, but he was cautious not to make eye contact with the few people out and about, and seemed more frightened now than he ever had in Gold Falls Mine.

Just before arriving at the apothecary, he added one more thing: "If we get to the point of having to haggle, you let me be the one to speak to Miss Laurel. She's a good lady, but she'll squeeze us for everything we can get, and make us feel happy for it. The gilded tongue of a merchant she has, if you don't keep your wits about ye." He grinned shyly, acknowledging he was striking close to home with that comment.

[Beleran]

Beleran just listened as the others talked. He was only average when it came to pool skills, and he knew it... so he usually jut let the others do the talking. Of course, the town priestess didn't even know what the issue was, much les where it had come from or how to cure it. That didn't raise his confidence any, and just made him all the more eager to leave town; which of course he couldn't, because that would mean leaving helpless people to fend for themselves against something that he might be able to help with. Not something he was wiling to do, especially with lives at stake.

As they walked, Beleran just nodes at the appropriate times in the conversation, but otherwise kept silent. He didn't have any better ideas to offer, so he didn't muddy the waters with idle speculation or chatter. He did itch for something more direct that he could do to help, more concrete, but he knew that the planing was just as if not more important than the action, in life as in smithing.

[liam]

Stephre stayed in the church to say a quick prayer before rushing to catch up with her companions in the street outside. It scared her that this was something the priestess was unable to cure, knowing that her healing powers were far greater than Strephres own modest healing skills.

"I hope that Laurel has some idea on what this is, I hate having to see people suffer with no way to help."

[Dave ST]

Creeping ivy and full window boxes cover the façade of the rugged-looking, two-story shop bearing the faded sign “Roots and Remedies.” A line of twenty-some somber townsfolk—some with pale, wheezing children, others seeming to be precipitously near tears—stretches from the open door.

It takes nearly an hour to reach the door of Roots and Remedies. Once inside, the clutter and disrepair of the shop shows the recent traffic, and Laurel visibly overworks herself at the store’s rear, brewing remedies for the ill. The smell of burnt earth and spicy incense chokes the air of the cramped, mud-tracked shop. Bunches of dried herbs hang from the ceiling, along with dangling pots, presses, alchemical apparatuses, and glassware of more arcane purposes. Pouches of rare plants, jars of colored glass, and all manner of dried, preserved, and jellied animal parts fill high shelves and tables doing double duty as displays and workspaces. In the shop’s rear, a rail-thin woman with severe-looking spectacles and hair pulled back tightly busies herself between an over packed rack of herbs, a table covered in stray powders and measuring equipment, and a pot loudly bubbling over with thick gray froth. Over the din of her work and without looking up, the woman impatiently shouts, “And what’s your problem?”

[Gorunta Hemok]

Evan cleared his throat. "We'd like to know what we can do to help get rid of this plague. Any roots, ingredients, this that or the other you need but can't get?"

[Dave ST]

"Just like that?!" She conunies to grind up a mixture with a pestle, clutching the bowl close to her. "By the very virtue that you're calling it 'this plague' tells me you've no idea what you're even going up against." She sighs, realizing she's being rude. "I'm sorry. Look, it's caused by blackscour. It's just a fungus that’s not good for anything. Hard, bitter, and sharp, it likes the water and gets you sick if you drink it down. Never heard of it growing around these parts, though. What the people have is blackscour taint. It’s a sickness, almost like any other, but you get the mold growing in you. It starts eating away in your chest and belly and is damned determined to stay. Your body near turns itself inside out trying to hack the stuff up, but all that does is cuts your guts up… bad.”

"Nearly half the town has it, honestly, though at least everyone thinks they’ve got it. Curing is won't be easy, not around here. I’ll get these folks what I can and we’ll see what good it does.” She shrugs passively. The long hours and hard working seems to have made her quite quite short tempered and edgy. She sets down the bowl and looks you all over for a second then narrows her eyes. "Wait... you seem the capable sort."

From under the counter she pulls up a massive book filled with pages, most of them loose notes stuffed in between other pages. It's old, very old. “My grandmother’s book has a brew in it that says its good for this kind of thing. A weird concoction that sounds more like hoojoo than real medicine. It requires some rare roots and concentrations, most of which I have here, but there’s three I don’t. Elderwood moss, which I’ve never heard of, but granny says the stuff only grows on the oldest tree in a forest. A specially pickled root called rat’s tail, again, sounds like hoojoo to me. And seven ironbloom mushrooms, stunty little things that only grow in dark places thick with metal, a favorite among dwarves, or so I hear.”

"That's the only thing I've got, Master Halfling. Impossible to find ingredients for a disease, that by all counts, shouldn't even be here." She sighs and looks at them. "I've treated the well, which was the cause of the outbreak, that was easy. But it's spreading among the people in the air we breathe and treating it in people is a lot harder than a fungicide in the well."

[Dozer]

"Excuse me, but do you know of any mines nearby where we may be able to find the ironbloom mushrooms? I think that would be the quickest one to find. Do you know what those three items look like? If so, can we see a picture or description?" Cynewulf looked around the shop. "Who would know about the oldest tree in the forest? This is a lumber town, so would there be records? And is there any way to determine how this Blackscour got in the well?"

[Dave ST]

"Woah, woah, woah, slow down!" She raises her hands towards the dwarven cleric, pumping them forward in an illusionary attempt to hold of his barrage of inquiries. I'm surprised you got that all out in a single breath!"

"Let's go slowly, shall we? For the elderwood mold, there’s gotta be an oldest tree in the vale. Damned if I know where it is, though. The rat’s tail and mushrooms are even longer shots. Way north, toward the mountains, people say there used to live a bunch of dwarves. They’re not there anymore, but I’d bet their forges are. If you can find ironbloom anywhere around here, that’d be your best bet." She raised a finger to silence the dwarf as he began to ask something else. "Ah! Let me finish. As for the rat’s tail, who knows? Well. Actually. Ulizmila, the witch that lives deep in the woods might. She’s a crafty, mean thing that knows all sorts of strangeness. She might even have one. I don’t know what she might want for it, but I doubt it’d come cheap. My grandmother traded her sight to the old crone for a few pages of what she knew, and that was years and years back, and I don’t know a soul who got any nicer as they got older.”

She pauses for a moment, sifting through a few pages of her old recipe book. "Wait! I got it. Go see Milon Rhodom. He's at one of the lumber camps north of here. He's the most experienced woodsman the Consortium has in these parts. If anyone might know where to locate those places, it'd be him."

[Aston Goldworthy]

"Thank you, Miss Laurel, for your kind help," Aston gushed, bowing slightly to her with a hopeful grin. "We'll make good use of that, you just wait and see!"

He turned to the rest of them and asked "Should we go to the lumber camps right off, or is there something we're missing that we ought to bring along? Time is going, and folk'll just get sicker the longer we take!"

[Beleran]

Finally, something that we can see, touch, fight, do. Beleran let out a breath that he hadn't realized that he'd been holding. In the deep basso that reverberated from his barrel like chest cavity, he told Laurel, "We thank you for your help, ma'am. We will do everything in our power to gather what you need to help these people as quickly as we can." He then turned to Aston and the rest of the group. "I have something from our previous journey that I need to rid myself of to speed our present journey. It shouldn't take me long."

He waited to see if anybody had anything to say before he headed off down the street toward The Goose n' Gander.

[Dave ST]

As you make the several mile walk to the lumber camp each of you notices an ominous shadow and looks up quickly enough to see a hunting blue wyvern soar low over the tree tops. Thankfully, the massive predator doesn't notice any of the party. All of you breathe a sigh of relief and are able to continue on unnoticed by the beast.

The Lumber Consortium Camp cuts an ugly scar of stumps into a dense stand of proud darkwood trees. Five sturdy-looking log buildings —seemingly a bunkhouse, meal hall, office, barn, and smithy— stand with numerous wide carts and sleds amid the sawdust-covered clearing. Owned and operated by the Lumber Consortium, the camp appears as callous and unrelenting as the men who work it. Without direct business with the camp foreman you are nearly sent packing by the first band of surly loggers you encounter. Inquiring after woodsman Milon Rhoddam, gets you ignored by the workers for several attempts until finally one of them points you in his direction.

Milon Rhoddam, a blunt, quiet man, is one of the most experienced wanderers and woodsmen in the region. Tall, older, and with a face wearing the look of many weathered winters outside the walls of Falcon's Hollow. As you approach he breaks from his work long enough to give each of you a firm handshake. "Name's Rhoddam. Milon Rhoddam. One of the boys said the lot of ya had business with me. Can't say I know ya, so what is I can help you with?"

The RP portion is winding down soon, sharpen your swords. Oh, and don't fret over the wyvern, please? It was just a dramatic encounter... you will not be fighting a wyvern any time soon.

[Aston Goldworthy]

"Good day Master Rhoddam! We're hoping you might be able to give us direction in finding a few ingredients for a cure for Miss Laurel! It's to deal with the sickness that's spreading in Falcon's Hollow." As the other man quirked his eyebrow at him, Aston continued hastily.

"We're not looking for anything but some direction on where to go and how to get there! The oldest tree in the woods, the forges of the dwarven home to the north--for Ironbloom, and the home of the witch Ulizmila. Please good sir! You're our only hope to get her what she needs for her concoction quickly!"

[Beleran]

Beleran eased his swords in their sheathes as the Wyvern flies overhead, and rests his hands easily on them (not crossed as if to draw) as they enter the camp. Now that they're on the move, on a quest, he's ready for action. Forge or field is where his ability lay, so now that they were in the field, mostly outside of the social niceties of town, he was ready for action.

So, he waited patiently, though obviously ready to move forward, as the group talked to Mr. Rhoddam. Once they had a direction they'd fly, but until then, there wasn't much to do but wait.