Having attended to the gravely wounded Carver and Davros, the band of adventurers takes some time to investigate (loot) the bodies of the fallen. Aside from very few coins and mundane weapons among the personal effects on the bodies of Hack’s cronies, they also take possession of an unusual pair of glasses that had been worn by Berniece. She also carried a number of high quality, but relatively small sapphires, and a silvered warhammer. Additionally, they lift the silver I.D. badge off the uniform of Officer Greene. 

Carver has fallen into a state of profound grief over what has transpired. He collapses to the ground, wracked with sobs and cries out “Why did this have to happen? I never meant for anybody to get hurt!” He states that he knew some of those guys since he was a kid. And he never should have taken that gem. He blames himself for what happened. Ursula, in bear form, cradles Carver and tries to comfort him. She, in turn, is distraught for having nearly killed her beloved, and is in tears herself.

During the 15-20 minutes of these macabre activities, Hack and his surviving crew members have mounted their horses and crossed the river. Ursula lifts Carver and carries him back to her cave with the party following close behind. They bed down for an uneventful night, recovering the best they can from their injuries.

They wake before dawn, and choose to spend some time exploring a tunnel at the back of the cave. Cycek squeezes through a tight passageway and discovers a small, locked chest. He slides it out through the opening to Davros, so that he could attempt picking the lock. Davros is successful in his attempt, but upon opening the lid, a burst of acid sprays out, dealing massive injury to him, as well as to Sartan standing nearby. Within the chest is a cache of precious sapphires, and a wicked looking key, with a demonic face on its handle and jagged-looking blades.

Taking more time to recover from this latest injury, the party converses with Carver before taking their leave of him and Ursula. Carver has reluctantly agreed to stay with Ursula, while the party goes on in search of Wendella. Questioned by Cycek, Carver provides more background on his situation with Hack. He tells a story of having been given the massive gem, in a case of mistaken identity, by a goblin who approached him at his job at the Stoneyard. He kept the stone, meant for his brother, in the hopes he could use it to win back Wendella from the mysterious stranger whom she met at the visitors center library. Carver explains how he came to understand that Della and this man had common interests in their areas of study. She was impressed by his worldliness and knowledge. And Carver believes she went with him on some kind of research expedition up in the bluffs, indicating an anomalous circular structure shown on the map.

The party studies the map and decides to pursue this lead, by following the trail back north around the tip of the bluff. They pass by the scene of the previous night’s fight, and as the head around the back side of the bluffs, they notice some evidence of recently disturbed rock, as well as a couple of dented metal buckets, and a rusty pickaxe.

When the travelers approach an ancient stairway ascending to the next tier of bluffs, they pause, suspicious of a large rock they see at the top of the stair. Mishok cautiously proceeds partway up the stairs, only to be shot with a crossbow bolt. As the rear guard moves to take defensive positions, two more shots are fired from rocks near the top of the stairs. Cycek and Davros return fire from cover. Meanwhile, two heavily armored hobgoblins, crowbars in hand, lever the huge rock over the lip of the top stair. It bounds down the stairs with a crash, narrowly missing Cycek. Cycek and Davros bring down two goblins with arrow shots, and the two hobgoblins turn and run.

The team, again injured from this encounter, loot the bodies of the two goblins, and decide to rest for an hour. Their rest period ends at around 7am.

The party, in the company of Carver and Ursula, are ambushed by Hack and his cronies. A battle ensues in which several of Hack’s posse (Piglet, Bignose, Mr. Wig, Oily Mack, and Officer Greene) are slain, as well as Berniece, her Death Dog, and one of two goblin archers who had taken pot shots from atop the rocks. Carver and Davros nearly die, but pull through thanks to the quick actions of Cycek and Mishok. Ursula had apparently been charmed by the dwarf-lady Berniece, leading her to turn on the party, and delivering a pair of near-fatal blows to her beloved Carver. Davros, despite the miraculous curative powers of Mishok, remains afflicted with disease caused by the Death Dog’s bite. Hack, Skids, Shaggi, Troutman, and Skinny Mini retrieve their horses and seek to flee across the ford with the gem in-hand. One of the goblins escapes into the rocks. 

The party consider their options for finding shelter for the night as daylight fades and they prepare to attend to the fallen.

The team leaves the gemologist shop slightly before noon, and head farther into town to talk to Carver’s mother at the grocery store where she works. She is kind but somewhat exasperated that more people are here looking for Carver. She tells them that the mayor and his wife, accompanied by armed guards came to her home looking for him several days ago. Then, a woman named Coriander came looking for him just yesterday. She does not like how the mayor has always had a negative view of Carver. She believes that her boys’ background, as half-orcs and the product of rape, should not be held against them. It made Harven (Hack) into an angry, aggressive man, whereas Carver over-compensates to the point where he is so nice that he is taken advantage of. And she thinks Wendella may be doing just that. And she did not trust this woman who claimed to work on behalf of the city. She told both of them that Carver had taken employment on a merchant caravan headed north. Sartan explains to her that they met Hack and they wonder why he is so angry with Carver. She says that there has always been bad blood between them because of their different personalities and the perception that Carver has always been favored. She comes to trust the party, and hopes that they can actually help find Carver and bring him back. She gives them a map that he left behind in his room, and four liver/onion/limburger sandwiches on rye. She also mentions that she has given Carver a family heirloom, a chain and locket, for luck.

Outside the grocery store, they are immediately confronted by Hack and his friends. he yells at them for bothering his mother, and they retort “what do you care, you haven’t seen her in years!” A fair point to which he has no answer, but to ask again what they want with her. He figures they are looking for information about Carver. He insists they they go together to find Carver. He asserts that he and Bignose have the kind of skills they will need. The party tells him, they are going to the police station first and that he should go get his horse and they will meet him there. He relents and goes off to get his horse.

The party picks up their steeds at the 3 Javelins stable. Then they inquire at the police station about the body they brought in last night. The first officer they speak to says that, they were unable to identify the body and they don’t believe him to be local. The body has been sent to the morgue.They ask what he thinks about Hack. the office says he thinks he is an upstanding individual despite his reputation as a brawler and troublemaker. Upon further questioning, the officer is obviously somewhat uncomfortable and says he will have to ask his boss. he goes into an office, and a second senior office comes out shortly thereafter. This officer knows them, having met them the previous day. They ask him if he thinks it wise to travel with Hack. He looks around, and says in a hushed tone, “If I were you guys I would involve as few people in this town as you can. It’s a small town, but a complicated one. Why do you think the mayor brought in outsiders to do this? If you are supposed to meet Hack here, I suggest you get going now before he arrives. And go by the North Road. People will see you leaving, it will be no secret. But Hack will probably leave out the back of the Stoneyard and take the trails called the “Thieves Highway.”

With that, they head north out of town. About an hours and half out of town, they identify the trail that should take them to the river crossing. They cross the river and come to a fork in the road at the tip of the bluffs. Here they are confronted by a huge, angry bear. It rushes toward them, but stops short, towering 10 feet tall and roaring at them. The party handles the situation calmly and with much delicacy. Cycek approaches the bear with liverwurst sandwiches as a peace offering, while Sartan, noticing a silver chain around its wrist calls out names of people he suspects this bear might recognize, “Carver, Lolly, etc.” The bear continues to make threatening gestures, but does not attack. The parties tentatively draw nearer. They perceive that this is a female bear. The party continues to make peaceful gestures, until finally the bear turns and runs behind a rock. Cycek moves closer with another sandwich, and before long a transformed creatures come out from behind the rock. No longer a “natural” looking bear, this is now sort of a fur-covered bear-human hybrid. It says in a throaty bark, “You know Carver?” They respond in the affirmative. She responds, “Follow!” And takes off at a run down the trail. The quartet follow on horseback, until the fleeing figure disappears into a cave in the cliff face.

Davros keeps watch outside while the other three cautiously head down the narrow stone tunnel. They hear a voice calling out for help!. The voice turns out to belong to Carver himself who has been held captive by Ursula the werebear. He asks to be released. Cycek is reluctant, not wanting to earn the ire of the powerful bear-woman. Shortly, Ursula, now in human form, emerges from a side cavern and expresses her unwillingness to let Carver go. She says he’s safe here. He’ll get hurt out there. He begs her to let him go. He says he cares about her, but he can’t stay. He promises to come and visit. He wants to go with the party to find Wendella. She finally relents with the condition that she will travel with them to make sure he is safe. Cycek says she can have him back after they find Wendella. All in agreement, the party, now of six, sets out north on the trail in the late afternoon.

Hack and one of his ruffian pals toss the bodies of the two dead creatures into the pit. The fight has gotten his blood up and he is ready for more. He exhorts the party to come join him down in the pit. He says “Dell set Bernice and me up with some more exotic creatures. Let’s have some fun!” The party turns down the offer. Hack offers the ultimatum “It’s either fighting of drinking. If you’re not up for the fight, let’s go back to the bar!” The group reluctantly agrees. Back at the Yur Inn they have a halfhearted drink, and weasel their way out. Luckily, the horse they left tied up outside the bar, with their gear, has remained unmolested, and their personal items unstolen. 

They are on their way out of the West End, in the wee hours of the morning, when an arrow comes from out of nowhere and strikes Mishok. He is badly wounded. The perceptive Davros and Cycek are able to see a dark figure on a roof top. Thinking fast, Davros moves to the wall closest to the shooter, out of view of the shooter and begins to climb. Cycek takes a position in the shadows of a building across the street. Sartan hastily pulls Mishok out of the line of fire, and takes and arrow between the shoulder blades for his effort. Cycek fires one of the flametip arrows, and against all hope, hits the assailant dead-center in the chest. The arrow head bursts into flame, and the figure tumbles off the roof and lands in a heap on the cobblestone street. The adventures find a young man clad in black leather armor, with a fist-sized smoking crater in his chest. They load the body on the back of their horse, but first discover some interesting items on his person, most notably 2 sealed glass vials of a black liquid. Moments later, 2 city guards emerge from the main boulevard and inquire what is going on. They recognize the party from their earlier visit to the headquarters and know that they are here searching for Wendella. The accompany the group back to the HQ and take possession of the body. The night shift captain tells them they will open an investigation and recommend an armed escort back to the 3 Javelins.

They meet Randall Roanstol, the owner of the 3 Javelins and brother of Willa Strongbow. He provides his views on the situation, insinuating that Wendella might not be so innocent, and her disappearance may be more complicated than her merely running off with her boyfriend. He agrees to do them the favor of having their rented horse returned to Duskhaven. They spend the night in peace without further incident.

They sleep late that morning after having been on the go for nearly 24 hours. They chat with three young men, Ace, Brace, and Caso, who give them a little bit of intel on Wendella and Carver. They also mention the reported massacre at the Erhurr farm southwest of town, and that there are rumors that goblins have moved into the old “Slave Pits” in a ravine not far from there. After breakfast, they set out on foot to make some inquiries, stopping first at the alchemist where they gain some insight about several of the items they have acquired over the previous few days. The alchemist identifies the whitish powder as ground bone, although he cannot be certain what kind of bone. The black candles are tallow candles, made from animal fat, and typically a more rustic utilitarian item found on a farm, whereas in a city household, more refined beeswax candles are the norm. He does wonder about their greasy quality and black color. The mandrake root is a fairly common, although somewhat expensive item with both mundane and arcane properties. He is most taken aback by the sealed glass vials with a black liquid. It looks like the type of thing the Assassins Guild might deal in, and not a reputable store like his own. They buy a dose of Philter of Love.

Next, they visit the gemologist. Coincidentally, they encounter a giddy Frandlehoobin coming out of the store. He just sold the blue-green gems for a good price. It turns out there’s a bit more a market for them than he had anticipated. He tries to sell them a roll of Silver Cloth of Practical Adhesion, but they decline. Davros in particular wants to kick the little gnome, as he feels that he has been cheated. The gemologist tells them that, yes, there is a market for the blue-green gems lately. But he asserts that they are a vaguely similar, but completely different mineral than the Shadowfust Sapphire that the region was once known for. Large or clear specimens are very rare these days, but even a small one is valuable. A large, clear Shadowfurst Sapphire is reputed to have an unmatched ability to harness the power of light. These gemstones that are currently moving through the marketplace are similar in hue but quite inferior in quality.

The late morning departure, with the sky clearing, and a few good slugs of healing hooch makes for a pleasant journey compared to the weather and battles of the last couple of days. In the mid-afternoon, they encounter the roadside stand of a Gnome named Frandlehoobin. He and his young son have a number of strange gnomish items for sale. After much haggling, the party leaves with several noteworthy contraptions such as the Escape Balloon, the Gooey Grabber, the Unbreakable Leg Trap, a Hypnotic Fidget Spinner, and some firecrackers. This was, in part, financed by a trade for some of the blue-green gems that had been looted from the bandits a couple nights before.

They arrive at the gates of Duskhaven after dark. They are disrespectful to the guards, and are about to be turned away, but the guards realizing that these are the team being contracted to find Wendella, relent and bring them before the Mayor. The gate guards escort them through the town square, past a looming warrior statue, and turn the party over to the care of the Mayor’s Elite Guard who then escort them inside the Mayoral Tower. Mayor Anton Strongbow and his wife Willa have summoned them here to conduct an investigation for which they feel their own constables are not well suited. The Town Council, not the mayor’s office,  is in charge of the town guards and constables, and Mayor Strongbow feels they have not shown themselves to be sufficiently competent or motivated to have made progress in Wendella’s return. The couple give the party some background information about Wendella, along with a physical description: a slight young woman, with black hair that has been cut short and spiked to stand straight up. They suggest that they look for her boyfriend, Carver, of whom Anton has an unfavorable view. They also mention, but dismiss the rumor that goblins have moved into the region southwest of town. They give them a note they found in Wendella’s room which reads.:

“Dearest W,

The stars will align, our paths will join, and we will be together soon. Come to me in our secret place. Seek safe passage. I’ll see you soon, my love.

XO”

They offer payment of 500gp, as well as use of horses, and lodging in the 3 Javelins Inn.

Although it is dark, it is not terribly late, so when they take their leave of Anton and Willa, they decide to visit the seedy bar at the other end of town, where they figure they might find Carver. They wisely seek the escort of town guards, which they obtain quickly and easily since the City Guard headquarters and Mayoral mansion share the same structure, the Old Guard Tower.

It takes about half an hour to cross town and they arrive at the Yur Inn. They leave the 2 guards outside and go in boldly calling for Carver. They are confronted by an angry beast of a man who turns out to be Hack, Carver’s brother. He and the party share a couple of drinks and he declares that he wants to find Carver too. “He took something of mine!” A few rounds later, midnight approaches, and Hack invites the party to enjoy the spectacle and gambling opportunity of a dog fight at the old gravel quarry of the grounds of the Shadowfurst Stoneyard. They witness two hideous, almost ape-like beasts tear apart a trio of dogs, and then turn and tear down the barricades. The crowd (including the guards who came along to enjoy the show) turn tail and run, while the party and Hack fight off the marauding creatures. Cycek and Davros put a couple of arrows in the creatures, slaying one, while Hack finishes the other with a vicious swipe of his sword.

The night is rainy, cold, and windy. The adventurers take turn standing watch, in case more of the creatures they had encountered should come to the house. They don’t see or hear anything unusual. However, when they prepare to set out in the morning, they find the barn door open, and the horses gone – along with their riding gear. With the rain and the dark, they can’t tell where they might have gone. So, they set out on foot back to the barn. Avita gives Cycek a lucky bracelet. Exploring the barn further, they discover a number of tools, including a cargo net. They also find a small keg of moonshine, and some interesting arrows within a barrel. The arrow heads are stone, like a polished grey slate, with an engraved design resembling a tongue of flame. It also appears that the hatch and the barrel, although still intact, have been disrupted as if something had been hammering on it from below. They decide the remove the barrel and throw an enchanted glowing crowbar down into the hole. It clangs on a stone floor and illuminates a small stone room and a metal ladder. Proceeding down into the hole, they find a small basement containing a number of kegs, and muddy scuffs or tracks on the floor leading from the ladder to a crack at the base of the far wall. A terrible smell emanates from the hole, but they decide to investigate. They realize that something is coming up from the hole, so they stand ready in the chamber. Cleverly making use of found items, they throw the cargo net over a nasty, snarling humanoid beast as it lunges up out of the hole. They begin attacking it as a second beast follows slightly behind. The fight is well-fought and the party emerges victorious.

The decide to investigate more deeply and proceed down the hole, taking with them the net and a keg of moonshine. The creep down a dark, dirty tunnel and find themselves a larger chamber – little more than a big dirt hole. Several other tunnels lead out of the chamber. Tentatively exploring one tunnel, they come to another, smaller dirt hole that has human remains, scraps of clothing, and a silver belt buckle. Backing out they way they came, they hear the sound of of snarling coming from another tunnel. Davros retreats to the main tunnel, while the others pour moonshine at the mouth of the tunnel where they expect another monster to emerge. A creature much like the other two, but larger, and even more ferocious, lurches forward, only to be restrained by another well-thrown net. While the creature is held in place, Cycek fires one of the “flame icon” arrows, and true to his guess, it bursts into flame, igniting the alcohol, and seriously damaging the monster. The creature makes a tactical move to retreat down another tunnel, only to be felled by a crossbow bolt from Davros.

An investigation of the creature reveals that it is wearing a bracelet very similar if not identical to the one given to Cycek by Avita. They take it, along with the silver belt buckle, and several kegs of moonshine, back to Avita’s house. They come to understand that one of the creatures may be the hideously transformed remains of her husband, thought to have been killed by wolves over a year ago. The belt buckle was unmistakably that of Dougal. Avita is very shaken by the news, and terrified at the prospect of more creatures like those being present on her property. She accompanies the party back to the Duskhaven Den.

The inkeepers, Barnabus and Stiletta, graciously give Avita lodging, while the party has breakfast. There, they also discover the healing properties of the moonshine they have brought with them. They are briefly joined at the breakfast bar by the two travelers who had argued with Avita the night before. Realizing that they are running behind on their scheduled arrival in Shadowfurst, and finding themselves without a horse, they rent a horse from the Duskhaven Den, and set out on their way.

The party wakes early the next morning to the nervous stirrings of Sylvester, and the sound of distant howling. It is cold and drizzling. The group breaks camp and heads back up the road. The sound of rustling, slurping, and tearing is heard in the vicinity of the hidden bodies. Davros, investigating more closely, sees in the gloom, just partly visible, long sinuous bodies writhing and thrashing among the remains of the dead bandits. He moves away undetected and wisely leaves the mysterious creatures to their feast.

Although distant howls continue to be heard through the dim light of morning, no trouble comes of it.

That afternoon, still on the road, the band of travelers detects the sound of horses approaching. While most of the group hides in the woods, Sartan stays in the road. Shortly, a cart drawn by two draft horses comes into view around the corner. It is driven by a man named Roland, who is hauling granite counter tops and stone tiles from the Shadowfurst Stoneyard to a customer in Stilport. He is accompanied by a stern town guard. The suspicious party members hiding in the woods do not escape Roland’s notice, and they eventually reveal themselves. Roland is friendly despite the suspicions, but the guard is all business and is clearly unhappy with the situation. Nevertheless, the exchange goes without incident. Roland tells the party that he is aware that the mayor’s daughter is missing, and makes mention of her brutish boyfriend who works at the Stoneyard. The party warns Roland of the possibility of bandits and weird creatures on the road ahead, and with that, they go their separate ways.

Arriving in the tiny rest stop hamlet of Duskhaven, the traveler’s encounter a fracas in the courtyard of the Duskhaven Den. Two recent arrivals (a large barbarian and a little halfling) are having words with a woman who beseeches them for help. A small crowd of locals observes as the two travelers angrily brush her off, saying they don’t have time or interest in dealing with a crazy woman. They turn and walk toward the Inn and the woman turns her attention to the party. She is Avita Ploughman, and her hired man Dougal has gone missing after investigating the deaths of livestock out near the abandoned barn on her large property. She is looking for someone to help her find him. She offers to pay a small sum, and the party agrees to accompany her to her farm.

Out in the far reaches of her sizable property, they find evidence of the slaughtered livestock. In fact, one of the creatures is not quite dead. A dead bull gets to its feet and charges the party – goring Cycek and trying to lasso others with its dangling intestine. They manage to kill the beast and then proceed to the barn. There, they are attacked by large, black, vulturelike creatures that flap down from the caved-in roof to claw and bite them. These creatures too are vanquished.

Inside the barn, the party finds rubble and debris, as well and a number of tools, barrels, and a broken down cart. In the far corner, they find a hatch in the floor. They very cleverly place a heavy barrel of manure upon it to keep anything from coming out. While exploring, they note that while part of the structure seems to be typical rustic stone barn construction, some of the walls seem to be ancient, solid stone, similar to ruins they have seen in the vicinity of their recent travels. Mishok remarks that it seems to of Dwarvish construction.

Somewhat beaten up from the evening’s battles, and having been on the road for nearly two days, they decide the spend the night in Avita’s home, before returning to investigate the barn further in the morning.

The cold rain of a lingering winter blew in from the sea. The few shivering souls still working the docks late that evening hustled to finish their tasks, eager to get home to the warmth of a fire. The Ruby Clipper had made port this afternoon, and most of its crew had disembarked, yet a few still labored to offload the last of the cargo. The damp and blustering wind chilled the workers but had little effect on two shadowy cloaked figures, one tall and thin, the other short and stocky. This mis-matched pair of stoics trudged past the clipper and continued along the darkened wharves of Stihlport. They were used to the oppressive weather, having just spent several weeks escorting a trade caravan from the north. In their line of work, discomfort and exposure to the elements was far from uncommon..

The pair left the creaking ship behind them and stepped into the glow of an oil lamp mounted to the stone façade of a warehouse. A clattering wooden sign swung from chains above the doorway. The sign read “Wright Way Distribution – Bontelan Wright, Proprietor.” The taller of the cloaked figures peered around furtively, a habit born of his suspicious nature. His eyes, deep in the shadow of his hood, glinted faintly in the lamplight. His stocky companion shouldered past him and pulled the door open.

They peered into a small office lobby. No one greeted them. They wordlessly stepped into the room’s warmth and hung their damp cloaks on pegs near the door. The two had spent so much time in each other’s company during their last assignment, that there was little left to discuss, particularly after an unfortunate incident which had tarnished an otherwise trouble-free, albeit wearisome outing. They took seats just inside the door and silently awaited the arrival of their employer. The tall man drew a dagger and dragged a whetstone across its blade, while his eyes moved over every inch of the sparsely furnished office. There was a fire in a stone hearth, a sturdy oak desk, and an iron door which lead to the warehouse proper. The other member of the pair was a stout fellow with a bearded face and a placid demeanor. His lips moved in a silent prayer and his fingers grasped a small circular medallion hanging froma silver chain around his neck.

It was not long before the door banged open, a mountain of a man strode in. Steel armor rattled, and heavy boots stomped, thudding on the wooden floor. Water dripped from the notched blade of a huge battle axe, a dented helm, and a shield which had endured more than a few nasty blows. The short, bearded fellow glanced up with an expression of mild curiosity, his prayer momentarily interrupted.  His partner, however, was on his feet in a blink, the keen blade of his dagger thrust forward in warning.

“Back off, big boy. Who are you?”

The newly arrived man’s eyes widened in surprise for a heartbeat. Then his stubbled face broke into a wide grin, and his voice boomed forth in a hearty greeting.

“Hail and well met, my friend! I am Sartan, the Juggling Jester of Javelins, the Swashbuckling Swordsman of Strife, the Bodacious Behemoth of Battling Battleaxes, the P…”

“Stop, stop, stop. That’s enough. He gets it!” a voice rang out from behind this “Sartan” character, “Now get outta my way so I can get in out of the rain, you damned oaf!”

The interrupting voice was that of a lithe elf clad in grey and green. He shoved past the bulky Sarta, and his grey eyes blazed with exasperation at his towering companion. He shook water from his mane of blonde hair, and then halted at the sight of the dagger-wielding man who stood before him. The man pivoted toward the elf, pointed the blade at him and demanded, “Are you Kilgore’s men?”

The elf exchanged a look with Sartan, and turned to the black-clad blade-wielder. “Never heard of any ‘Kilgore’. Now, why don’t you just put your little knife away. We’ve dealt with tougher blokes than you, and we have been doing precisely that for weeks aboard ship. Now, we’re wet, cold and tired and would like to get warm, get paid, and get out of here for a drink or two. You OK with that?”

The silence stretched and simmered, then was broken by a gruff voice. It spoke kindly, but with measured certainty. “You speak wisely, good elf. Sorvad, kindly put aside your blade. These are not agents of Kilgore’s gang here to trouble us. No, the Lord Divoc tells me that, like us, these are defenders of the good and the just. Brothers in arms.” This heretofore silent figure rose to his full four-foot stature, and held out a sturdy hand in greeting. “I am Mishok, dwarf of the mountain clans overseas, and servant of Divoc the Benevolent and Wise. This is my colleague Sorvad, a good but cautious man. Like you, we have only just arrived from long weeks of travel, and we are weary. You will surely excuse the somewhat… apprehensive… stance of my partner. We have had some recent trouble with the local banditry.”

The elf took the proffered hand in a firm grasp and replied, “I am Cycek,” he replied with mock formality, “ranger of the elven realm of the Whisperwood in the north of these provinces. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Sorvad, his eyes still shifting between the elf and the armored warrior, reluctantly sheathed his dagger. At that moment the iron door behind the desk swung open and Bontelan Wright entered the room.

At a glance, Bontelan Wright seemed an unassuming man, yet he carried himself with a confident demeanor that filled the room. He was somewhat rotund and not particularly tall. He was beyond middle-aged, yet it was difficult to tell how far beyond. His bald head was ringed by a fringe of close-cropped greying hair, and his face was clean shaven. All four of the travelers worked for this man, yet it was their first time in his physical presence. He cast an appraising gaze at them and spoke with a polite, yet commanding voice.

“Welcome to Stilport, gentlemen. Please, do sit down.”

They did so, and Mr. Wright continued.

“I would like to commend all of you for your fine work. Sartan and Chichek, this was one of the few journeys the Ruby Clipper has completed entirely without incident since the autumn. There were few fights. No incidents of theft. And happily, no need to take up arms and defend against piracy. You have either been the finest or the luckiest security officers in my employ for a long time. Either way, you have earned the agreed upon fee and more. I believe in rewarding exceptional results, thus you will receive a bonus as a token of my gratitude… and as an incentive to make yourself available for additional projects.”

Sartan raised a huge fist in victory and would have whooped with delight, had not Chichek elbowed him in the ribs, to pointedly caution him against outbursts. Mr Wright went on.

“Sorvad, Mishok, I understand that you handled yourselves quite skillfully in the field as well. You routed a brazen assault by an infamous and dangerous group of bandits. You saved an important shipment from almost certain loss. It is regrettable that there was loss of life.” He paused, with a thoughtful look upon his face, and Mishok bowed his head. “But,” he continued, “that is the risk of banditry. Those who partake it such acts have their reasons, sometimes good reasons, but they know the consequences of attempting to take by force, that which is not theirs. And Kilgore’s band displays little of the honor that many thieves hold dear. I believe your consciences are clear. You too shall receive bonuses in recognition for your good work, and the risks you took on behalf of Wright Way Distribution.”

Sorvad remained impassive, while Mishok nodded his head in quiet gratitude.

“I do not, at this time, have additional work, but I expect to in a few weeks. However, as fate would have it, another situation has presented itself… one for which you are not only well-suited, but also, I believe… available.”

This drew the focused attention of the four mercenaries, as the prospect of a lucrative new assignment is wont to do.

“This morning, a messenger arrived from the office of the mayor of Shadowfurst. Anton Strongbow. He is my friend and he is in need of help. He knows the – degree of competence – of the individuals I employ, so he sent this request for assistance. I can assure you, he will pay handsomely. You see, it his daughter. She has gone missing. His town constables have had no success in their investigations, so he is seeking someone with more specialized talents. You have shown your worth as capable operatives, and so I would like to send you to Shadowfurst immediately with my recommendation. It is your decision to make, but if you choose to pursue this referral, I will supply a horse to carry your gear, and I will arrange for lodging tonight.”

The four glanced uncertainly at each other, gauging each other’s receptiveness to this “referral.” Bontelan continued, as if it had been decided. He spoke as one used to commanding.

“You will be the guest of Mr. Fullmer at the Wandering Fool. It is a reputable inn on the west side of the city, away from the distraction of our portside entertainments. I realize this may forestall any well-earned revelry you may have intended. But urgency demands that you forgo such things and make travel preparations this evening, so that you are ready to leave tomorrow, first thing. It will take you three days on the road. So visit the general store. Visit the outfitters. You are professionals, and you know the supplies you will need to be effective at your work. Then, get some rest. You will be traveling west out of Stihlport. You can hope for easy travel at first, but it will get wilder as you head inland. And you have already encountered some of our local banditry. You will need to stay sharp. And the mayor, understandably, urges haste. He hopes to meet with you – the investigative team – three days hence. What do you say?”

Mishok, the dwarf, was the first to his feet. “The mayor can count on Mishok of the Mountains to act in accordance with his mandate from Divoc. Of course I will do what I can to assist in the safe return of the mayor’s daughter.”

Chichek then spoke up, “So we are to travel three days through, as you say, “wild” country, and endure possible bandit encounters, all on a referral? You have made it clear that we would be working for Mayor Strongbow. Not for you. So we have to hope that he chooses to employ us once we get there. We could very well travel all that way, and find that the girl has returned home of her own accord. Or, he has already hired other “operatives.” Seems like a risk that may not pay off.”

Bontelan was a man used to discussing such business arrangements. “Yes, ” he replied, “That is the risk you take. There is, of course, no guarantee. However, the alternative is just as uncertain. You may speculate on the emergence of other employment prospects. But who can tell? As I have said, I have no immediate assignments available myself. There are other employers in Stilport, although I daresay few that will recognize your value as tangibly as I.” With that he dropped four jingling felt pouches of coin upon the desk. “As independent agents, you are each welcome, and indeed encouraged to pursue opportunities and seek fortunes where you will. But, I had hoped my “bonus” might encourage you to view Wright Way Distribution as a well-paying client, and one that is loyal to its preferred contractors such as yourself.”

Sartan stepped forward and grabbed one of the four coin pouches. “We’ll do it!” he boomed.

Chichek nodded his head in agreement as he too took his pay. “Mr Wright, you raise a good point. Count me in, and thank you for your generosity.”

Mishok reached up and took his coin pouch. He pulled the draw string, opening the pouch, and withdrew a single gold piece. “This one is for Divoc to use to further his own ends.” He placed it on the counter. “May the next soul through this door, take what Divoc has placed before him, and use it for the betterment of this troubled world.”

Sorvad slipped his pay off the counter and into the folds of his cloak without a sound, as if performing a magic trick, such was the subtlety of his instinctive sleight-of-hand. He may have spirited away Divoc’s gold piece as well.

Mr. Wright moved to his desk and dipped a quill in an ink well. He scratched out a few words of instruction on a sheet of parchment, signed his name, and then folded it into an envelope. He dripped molten red candle wax upon the envelope, and sealed it with his mark, a stylized “BW” monogram. He handed the envelope to Mishok and bade him show it to Fulmer at the Wandering Fool. Then he shook the hands of all four travelers, bade them farewell, and directed them back out into the night.

The outdoors had not gotten any dryer or any warmer, so the four quickly decided to forego any side trips to the markets and instead proceed directly to the Wandering Fool with all possible haste. This proved to be a wise choice, for it was a long walk to the outskirts of town. By the time they arrived, they had sloshed through the sloppy streets of some of the most unsavory-looking neighborhoods they’d had the displeasure to visit. Stihlport, like the other cities in the Western Overseas Royal Provinces, was falling into ruin. The Provinces were a story of boom and bust. They had once enjoyed the care and attention of the crown overseas. The goods and riches discovered here were siphoned off to the enrichment of the nobles within the Kingdom. But when the gem trade in particular ran dry, the Council of Dukes who administered the provinces, and even the Queen herself, turned their backs. The investment was no longer deemed worthwhile. So the provinces had to labor on with a lack of investment, or even military support. The cities began to decay, whereas banditry and smuggling thrived. Such was the state of the decaying port city the four travelers found themselves slogging through on this cold, wet, spring night. Their moods had almost uniformly soured during the course of their trek across town. Even the jovial Sartan and the unperturbable Mishok were muttering under their breath.

Nevertheless, all of them felt their spirits lifted by the whimsical sign that greeted them outside the Wandering Fool. On the peaked roof over the door stood the jaunty figure of a jester constructed of brightly painted sheet metal.  Its legs were mounted on squeaking axes and they spun crazily with each gust of wind. Welcoming lamplight glowed from within. The door opened, and a genteel man with a thick mane of white hair leaned out and beckoned them indoors.

He introduced himself as Fullmer and led them immediately upstairs to comfortable rooms where they could dry off and get warm. Once the travelers were refreshed, they returned to the otherwise empty common room, where Fullmer joined them around the table. A true hospitality professional, Fullmer had seen to it that the kitchen, ordinarily quiet at this late hour, would prepare a warm meal. The food was plentiful and was accompanied by welcome tankards of ale. More than one of the guests remarked that this was in fact better than a night of debauchery in some portside dive. The four adventurers chatted amiably with their host and shared stories of the road. They were also sufficiently experienced in their profession to recognize a good source of information when they saw one. So, they asked Fullmer questions that they thought might aid in their investigation.

Fullmer confided that he was an old friend of Bontelan Wright, and is always happy to provide his operatives, even independent “contractors” such as themselves, the highest-quality accommodations possible. He was also happy to provide whatever assistance he could in terms of information or advice. With that he offered them some cautions. He acknowledged that travelers along the road were always at some risk of banditry. “There are those bandits who operate in the shadows,” he said, “mostly smugglers… traffickers in contraband. They will seek to avoid detection and seldom pose a problem to wayfarers. Less common, but by no means unheard of are the brigands who will waylay travelers, and take their belongings by force. Some travelers have indeed lost their lives as well as their belongings in ill-fated confrontations with such folk. You chaps looks like you can take care of yourselves. Just the same I advise that you take care to avoid such encounters.”

Sorvad chuckled and placed a hand on the dagger hilt that protruded from his belt.

Fullmer continued, “You are also traveling in the first blush of spring. Many creatures are emerging from the period of stillness. All are hungry and some are aggressive. I suggest you don’t stray from the road. Keep a watch. You may encounter other travelers… farmers, and merchants, transporting their wares. I suggest you stick together for mutual safety if you can. But don’t delay. The more quickly you arrive at your destination, the better. Two days west from here you will come to a small settlement. That will be Duskhaven… a day’s travel outside Shadowfurst. There is only one inn there, but it is happily a fair one. The Duskhaven Den will be happy to have you for the night. It is frequented by travelers spending their first night on their journey east from Shadowfurst to Stilport, or like you, their final night on their way to Shadowfurst from Stilport.” He concluded with a wink, “Tell Stiletta that Fullmer sends his regards.”

With that, Fullmer bade them good night, and began clearing away dishes. The weary adventurers thanked him and headed upstairs where they would enjoy one of the last peaceful nights of sleep they would have for some time.

The next morning, Fullmer was there to wake them before dawn. It was difficult to be truly angry with the man who had treated them so kindly the previous night. Nonetheless, it was with much grumbling that they gathered their gear, donned their armor, strapped on their weapons, and stepped outside into the cold misty darkness. They were introduced to Sylvester, a placid horse who would bear their gear, and help ease a journey that would otherwise be on-foot. The four travelers expressed their thanks to the host of the Wandering Fool. Sartan tipped his helmet to the mechanical jester with the spinning legs, and the four set off.

They traveled west on the Mountainbound road. The first hours of their trek were cold. The rain had tapered from a soaking downpour to a frigid, penetrating mist. Small homes and country lanes dotted the gently rolling hills west of Stihlport. By the time the first dim glow of grey morning crept into the sky, the homesteads and fields of grain were replaced by stands of trees. They pressed onward and the forests grew denser and wilder. And older. They encountered not a soul. To pass the time, they told stories of past journeys, and dangerous assignments.

Sorvad related the tale of the bandit encounter from just two days prior. He and Mishok had been escorting a trade caravan from Mill Harbour in the north. They had spent several weeks in the company of wagons which labored over rutted, ill-maintained, and sometimes snow-covered roads. The dismal cold of a lingering winter seemed to have suppressed  the expected bandit activity, for they had nearly made it all the way to Stihlport before encountering any trouble. The caravan stopped at a clearing near a creek just a day short of their destination. The drivers of the wagons were tired of being on the road, and were resting in anticipation of one more day of hard travel. Dusk had fallen, and with it had come a cold mist. Like spirits, the bandits emerged from the mists without a sound. One moments all was shrouded in silence, and then next, all was thrown into chaos. There were no threats and no demands. No offer to parley. The stealthy marauders simply swept in and attacked, throwing cart drivers to the ground, bellowing invectives, and beating down any who offered resistance. This was a well planned, and ruthlessly executed raid.  But the raiders hadn’t counted on the specialized skills of this particular caravan’s guards.  If the bandits were at home in the shadows, Sorvad was even moreso. He swiftly moved unseen among the attackers, and wreaked havoc with his rapier, delivering wounds that few would live to remember. He quickly routed the bandits. Those who were able to flee did so, and the rest lay bleeding in the mud. Mishok, meanwhile, sought to protect the chief driver of the caravan, and there alongside the lead wagon, he found him. The frightened man lay prone beneath the boot of a black-clad figure who loomed over him a scimitar. The dark bandit leader raised his gaze and glowered at Mishok. He sneered, and raised the sword to strike down his helpless prisoner. Mishok spoke a word of prayer to Divoc, and found the means to bring down holy fire. Mystical flames descended and lit upon the startled bandit leader. He shrieked, dropped his sword, and batted at his burning cloak.

Sorvad then stepped out of the shadows alongside his companion and locked eyes with the bandit.  “Kilgore, I might have known,” he muttered.

“You! Traitor to the guild!” the bandit retorted. Then with a smoldering glove, he snatched up his fallen scimitar and bounded into the fog, disappearing with the surviving members of his band.

His tale concluded, Sorvad explained to his rapt audience that yes, he himself was once affiliated with the Thieves Guild. He was acquainted with, and had in fact worked a few jobs with this particular bandit leader. Kilgore was an exceptionally violent sort, lacking any pity for those whom he brutalized and robbed.

Following the attack on the caravan, Mishok and Sorvad had chosen to not pursue the fleeing Kilgore. Mishok had insisted that they attend to the dead and wounded bandits, and of course, see to the well-being of the rest of the caravan. Sorvad would have gladly left the fallen bandits there to rot. The caravan broke camp and continued down the road, driving into the night and through the next day, before arriving that evening at the office of Bontelan Wright.

he tale of the bandit confrontation was fresh in the travelers’ minds when they themselves stopped and set up camp. The forest had grown dense around them, and best they could find was a small clearing… little more than a wide spot in the road. It was cold, damp and uncomfortable.  A far cry from the restful night they had enjoyed at the Wandering Fool. But they were no strangers to discomfort. Nor were they oblivious to the dangers of the night. They wisely had their ranger, Cycek, take first watch, and it was not long before his keen elven senses detected stealthy movement in the woods to their rear. He quietly got to his feet, crept toward the disturbance, and confirmed his suspicions… it was men, not animals, sneaking toward their camp. He returned to wake the others. They stirred from slumber quietly and instinctively knew trouble was afoot.  Sorvad and Cycek rose and melted into the woods to take defensive positions in the shadows. Sartan and Mishok stood their ground at the edge of camp, ready to confront the unwelcome company. They did not have to wait long. Four men emerged from the trees. If they expected to find unwary victims, they were sorely disappointed. They were instead met by two imposing, well-armed and armored warriors prepared for battle. The newcomers came up short. The uncertainty hung in the air for a heartbeat. Then one of them strode forward, his head held high, and demanded, “Turn over you valuables, now, and we will let you live. Refusal means death!” Sartan’s blunt reply carried a hint of a laugh, “Screw you! No way! We’re not giving you anything.” Mishok recognized the scimitar and the scorched clothing of this haughty brigand. The dwarf spoke up, “I suggest you leave, Kilgore. You scarcely walked away from our last meeting. Put aside your evil ways. Leave us in peace.” Kilgore’s face bore a wide-eyed look of recognition which rapidly distorted into a sneer of contempt. He raised his sword and had barely taken a step when an arrow thwacked into his shoulder. He swore and whistled… hailing his own men to come forward to fight. They did so. It was a short, fierce battle. Arrows flew and weapons clashed. But Kilgore and his men were no match for the four adventurers. All four bandits fell to blade, hammer, and arrow.

The woods fell quiet, and the four mercenaries examined their handiwork. This was not how they hoped their day would end. But they lived a life that entailed scratching their meager existence from whatever rewards they could glean. So they set about searching the bloody bodies for valuables. They had little sympathy for violent thieves who made a living accosting travelers in the night. Nevertheless, Mishok said a quiet prayer for their souls.

They turned out the bandits’ pockets and packs. They inspected and took whatever weapons looked serviceable or salable. They took a fair amount of good-quality travel rations. They divided up a small cache of blue/green gems. They also came upon some rather unusual items, including a burlap sack containing a bundle of mandrake root, a number of greasy black candles, and two glass vials of an off-white powder. They carefully stowed the vials away until they might have a chance to inquire into the identity, properties, and value of their contents.

Finally, they decided that this would no longer be a safe place to stay. Who knows if the dead bandits might have allies lurking in the woods? Worse, who knows what might come sniffing around at the scent of blood. They dragged the bodies off the road and into the forest. They kicked dust and gravel over the blood that had pooled on the road. Then they set out back the way they had come, alert to the possibility of additional pursuers. They found none, and within an hour, the travelers again found a tolerable place to get some rest. They set no fires. They pitched no tents. They sang no songs and told no stories. They simply set a watch, slept in shifts, and got the rest they knew they would need for another day of travel.