Hours earlier...

A storm rages over the Craglorn mountains  and the lands south where Falcon's Hollow is found. Winds strip limbs of leaves beginning to turn color in the late summer. Rain pours at a steady rate after a short heavy downpour. The night is gloomy and dreary for anyone caught out in it.

Zarrin. The name echoes in her mind as the augury comes to a close. Lady Cirthana looks up from a basin of gilded silver inlaid with the holy symbol for Iomedae. The mirrored surface of the water shimmers with refracted candlelight as the surface tension of the liquid inside tries to equalize.  It is rumored that a small sacrifice to this dwobolg can reward the sacrificer with a boon. In the small chamber beneath the temple, as the elation and feeling of awe when speaking with the deity begins to fade, a new fear grips her insides at the information gleaned. "Myshra.", she mutters as if voicing her name would conjure her here to safety. There is so little time, she frets, rising from her knees.

The lady leaves the chamber after replacing the holy shroud over the silver bowl. It is not a large temple, able to house herself and three others. Currently, there is only one other visitor. A young acolyte of St. Cuthbert sought refuge from the storm and seems eager to begin his path in adventuring. He has been awaiting His calling.  Lady Cirthana raps on the quarter's wooden door, waking its occupant. Another flash of lightning is followed by a loud peal of thunder so forceful it shakes the temple.

Acolyte Duivelssmak!", she calls. "Are you-- please meet me in the vestibule immediately."
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:49, Wed 21 Dec 2022.

The young cleric, Duivelssmak, promptly opens the door.  “Were you about to ask me if I was asleep?  In this weather, not likely.”  He wipes locks of his golden hair back from his careworn brow.  “You have need of me?”

Say yes, He thinks.  So tired of books and chanting.  I need to get out there.  Put the evil ones in their place.  It’s what I was born to do.  No more excuses.

The world was going to hell in a hand basket?  Not if he could help it.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:13, Wed 21 Dec 2022.

She smiles warmly at him, but not without a tired expression. "Yes, come.", she says turning from the doorway.

"Thank you for meeting me.", Lady Cirthana says as the acolyte approaches. He wipes sleep from his eyes  then stands patiently with hands clasped in front of him.

"As we talked last evening after vespers, my daughter is long past her expected return. In desperation, I have performed an augury for information. I am weary from the effort to near exhaustion and require your help."

"She is being held captive for a minion of Nerull, god of death and despair. I do not know from where His presence to this valley comes. I beseech you to gather a few adventurers from The Sitting Duck, or Jak-a-Napes, and go get her."

The priestess pauses, letting the information sink in before continuing. "It is dangerous and it will be difficult but through your faith and skill, you can save her from a sacrificial rite. Iomedae has shown me the path to take. A  couple of hours walk up the north road, it forks. Take the leftmost path through the wood.  There is a farmstead located at the end of that road. There you will find her."

"Tell me, will you help me?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:50, Wed 21 Dec 2022.

"Yes, of course." He smiles grandly.  "It's what I was made for.  Which of the two taverns do you recommend I investigate first?"

The storm, the rain, thunder, lightning, he hates all of it, everything he gets close to seems to drip on him, The Inn a welcome sight to Janser as he heads to the door, pausing, taking a deep breath and letting it out, hoping the hour won't have him finding a locked door, or having to deal with those that pre-judge him for his size.

Giving the door a push, a smile coming to Jasner's face when he feels it move, stepping inside, and giving his eyes a moment to adjust, his guard up as always s he looks around, listening as well, ready to venture back out should the need arise, even as slips down his hood, the water having seeped underneath, matting his usually unrully mop of hair.

His sleep had been short. Before bed he’s been running errands for his older brothers, Hefen and Honan. The drudgery was usual and Larn did it without complaint. The work needed doing and it was the right thing to do. It was the reason he was the first to rise and was busy preparing his brother’s horses and packs. Larn did not have a horse of his own and he would be walking again today, another tiring march. As he busied himself Larn saw the wet traveller enter the ‘Sitting Duck’, the boy gave the person a nod of his head “good morning sir” he offered in greeting, he felt some sympathy for the other unfortunate person.

"I would start at the Sitting Duck.  It is known for it's patronage of adventurers.", she states.  "This is important.  You must be there before the middle New Sun hour (10:00).  I do not know how much before, but you must hurry.  Godspeed young Duivelssmak and good fortune. Now I must rest."

With that said, she looks into the eyes of the young acolyte for a moment before turning and recedes into the temple toward her quarters.

Janser almost jumps when he hears a voice, looking around and finding it's owner, a smile coming to his face.

"Good Morning to you, I hope it is alright that I am here and won't be a hinderance to anything or anyone?"

He does not relish going back out into the storm, but given the hour if it would cause trouble he would be willing to do so.

At just past middle low moon hour (4:02am), the sitting duck is quiet though active. It is the first tavern when one enters the town from the north.  A lone figure is sitting near the fire at a table, nursing a mug of ale as the storm outside rages.  Thorgwain, as he goes in human lands, chugs another mug of ale then pours more from a decanter.  He silently notes the two figures as they enter.  Probably seeking refuge from this blasted storm as well, the young dwarf thinks to himself. If they look his way, he nods in greeting.

"Oy, he don'aye own the place. Of course it's alright.", Thorgwain states. "Come in out the rain folks. The kitchen is closed, but yon Marc will get yeh some ale if you're thirsty.  Though maybe yeh not be, as it's a pouring outside."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:14, Thu 22 Dec 2022.

Marc is a short but stout human man with dark hair and wondrously green eyes.  He looks up as more enter the tavern in the late hour.

"Come in. Sit by the fire and warm yourselves.", the man states in a polite voice.  "Will you be having something to drink sirs?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:16, Thu 22 Dec 2022.

Relief washes over Janser even more than the storm outside had, the morning shaping up alot better than it had seemed it would and he makes his way over to the fire, making sure to take a spot close enough to get warm and to dry out but not so much as to keep anyone else from doing the same, partly as it's the way he is, and partly to avoid trouble.

"Many thanks to you both, this is most kind, and an ale would wonderfully hit the spot, if it is not too much trouble."

Janser begins a quick inventory of his bow and sword, not drawing or making any aggressive moves, simply making sure they were not too wet, giving the a look into his pack to do the same.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:22, Thu 22 Dec 2022.

Marc busies himself with refilling the decanter from the table where Thorgwain sits.  He brings the decanter back to the table with two additional mugs as the patrons take their seats.

"There you are sirs.", he says quietly.  "Just call out if you need my service. I can bring more from the cellar if need be."

Marc makes sure the door is secured from being blown open, then retreats to a small antechamber behind a wooden bar.

Thorgwain eyes the newcomers speculatively.  A Hin and a tribesman.  Not a likely pair.  As they take their seats, Thorgwain pours himself another mug of ale.

"Make yeh selves a'home.", he says, pushing the decanter their way.  "Warm yeh selves by the fire.  Such a dreary night.  What brings yeh to Falcon's Hollow?"

The patrons of the Sitting Duck tavern are startled when a man enters hurriedly and begins seeking help with a holy quest.  It is the kind of stuff adventurers are made for, and this group is no less ready for such adventure. The priest of St. Cuthbert relays what information he has and to his amazement, every patron agrees to help him and the Lady Cirthana rescue her daughter. St. Cuthbert be praised!

Hours later...

The companions have been walking for some time and the sun has long topped the trees in its morning glory.  The rain  had stopped about an hour before sun up and now the land is just wet and dripping.  But, it is a beautiful day with clear skies and fresh clean air.  The companions get to know one another, telling stories and relating pertinent history as they follow the road north and the land begins to dry out.  Finally, they come upon the fork in the road and began taking the left path that is more so into the woods.  After some time a horse suddenly rounds a bend in the road ahead at a gallop.  It is saddled, but without rider.

Duivelssmak become anxious as the sun moves through the middle New Sun hour....

The horse begins to slow when approaching the group.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:36, Thu 22 Dec 2022.

Duivelssmak squints, trying to get a good look at the rider before he can ride over them.  He is prepared for action, but doesn't draw his mace just yet.

"Whoa boy, easy... easy.", Thorgwain coaxes as the riderless horse approaches.  He grabs the reins and looks the beast over.  It has saddle, but no markings.  He discovers a crossbow quarrel stuck in the beast between breast and shoulder.

"This one's been in a fight.", he states.

"For a moment, I thought there was a rider.  I must have been mistaken." He looks at the horse's wound.  "I wish I could be of more help to the poor beast..."

He glances further up the road to make sure nothing else is coming toward them.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:52, Thu 22 Dec 2022.

Busy with his tasks Larn was preparing everything for when his brothers would wake and make their demands. All was ready when dawn came but the older siblings still grumbled and berated their younger brother. Larn accepted all complaints without objection. After his brothers had departed in their errands and left Larn the task of tidying up the youth accepted the offered to sit by the fire and sup on a watered ale.

When he had finished his ale it was time for him to return to his tribe. Then to his surprise he was asked to go on a quest. Larn was torn he should return home but a holy quest! There was little he could do but be dragged along and worry about the consequences later.

At the riderless horse Larn scanned the horizon for dangers before he went to help calm the horse and inspect the wound to see how fresh it was and if it was infected.

Having little experience with horses, Janser does his best to stay out of the way, both of the animal itself and those trying to help it, his eyes and ears pricked as he scans back the way the horse came, but off the road as well, since it's possible the horse is just a diversion..tho the idea that an animal could be hurt to do it makes him shudder.

The horse is injured from a crossbow bolt.  Thorgwain pulls the offending bolt from the horse, causing it to whinnie and back away, but the dwarf holds the reins and the horse calms quickly.  Thorgwain pats the animal on its flank, sending it on its way home; where ever that is. Due to the sensitivity of time, Duivelssmak urges the companions to make haste.  The hour is past middle New Sun, and the priestess had warned him to arrive before said hour.  Starting at a jog, the companions follow the track north and westward for about an hour through the wood until reaching a small bridge over a flowing stream.  Here, there is evidence of a struggle, and a fresh shallow grave.  Looking westward, greyish white smoke makes a hazy snakelike trail across a field of beans.  It appears to be coming from a farmstead in the distance.  A sinking feeling of dread overcomes Duivelssmak, as he realizes he may be too late. Will his first quest be a failure? Will the priestess ever forgive him? The companions race down the lane with renewed fervor until they come upon a large barn to the right side of the road.  There they find several bodies of men and women.  Looking ahead, the road is obscured by a dark cloud, obscuring vision beyond it.  Coming closer, they realize it is a swarm of locusts, that suddenly dissipates.  The swarm dissolves, with locusts spreading in a thin wave to either side of the road into the fields.

The scene then becomes known.  Ahead an elven warrior leans on his bastard sword, grasping at his midsection while avoiding an attacking dead person.  Another warrior, a male human, is running toward a red haired woman and robed figure standing in front of a pyre engulfed in flames while being attacked by a dead person.  Another dead person is moving toward the figures at the pyre. The black robed figure appears to be casting. And finally, another dead person is tearing into a figure lying prone on the side of the road. 

---

Begin combat rounds... take up this fight by continuing in The Fugitive thread.

Range to figure lying on the side of the road is 30 yards.
Range to figures in front of pyre is 90 yards.

Your characters must move, then act.  Loss of any initiative in that case.
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:16, Fri 23 Dec 2022.