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. Meanwhile, the uncaring lumber barons squeeze the common folk for every last copper, deaf to their pleas. Now the hacking coughs of the sick are heard throughout town. The plague has come to Falcon’s Hollow and the town’s leaders can’t be bothered to stop it.

Morning breaks with clear skies and the shrill call of the birds throughout the forrest and meadow. As the sun prepares to make its presence, indicating the start of the New Sun hours, the party gathers their gear and leaves Break Camp Meadow behind as they continue their trek to Falcon's Hollow. It is not long into the journey when the forrest falls behind them and before them is rolling hills of short grasses and knee high shrubbery. The land is covered with stumps from logging operations long ago. Only few trees dot the landscape here and there as the party follows the trail north.

While they ride, Jhaelin describes Falcon's Hollow to his friends, some who have never been there.

Falcon's Hollow is a rough community wholly owned by the local Lumber Consortium, it rests on the edge of Darkmoon Vale, a blunt, sawdust-choked stop on a winding trade route. Home to fewer than 1,500 humans and a smattering of other races, most of the townsfolk care only for the paltry coins paid for their backbreaking work and what simple comforts they can buy. A few, however, understand that what’s bad for one is bad for all, and so the community thrives on a tenacious mix of greed, debauchery, and stubborn self-reliance.

Falcon’s Hollow is perhaps better described as a scattered collection of several ramshackle communities rather than a single town. Enclaves of wealthy lumberlords sit comfortably on the Perch, looking down at numerous ghettos of indigents, downtrodden lumberjacks, religious zealots, and desperate settlers who in turn gaze across their fences with suspicion and distrust. The ramshackle town rests perilously close to the infamous Darkmoon Vale. Many are drawn here to make their fortune cutting a swath of darkwood lumber through the lush forests of the vale. Others journey to these remote fringes to start over, piecing together their shattered lives on the edge of an untouched wilderness far from the things of man. Persecuted zealots and outcasts flock to Falcon’s Hollow. Here, these fanatics practice their strange and often deviant rites unfettered by the mores of civilization. Still others are lured to Falcon’s Hollow by the promise of great adventure. The deeper forests are filled with ancient ruins from a different age of the world.

Nearly a hand before High Sun, the party comes to the ferry. Ten coppers apiece, and one silver for the wagon, gets them across the swift flowing river and finally into Falcon's Hollow. The town is every bit the way Jhaelin described earlier. Leaving the ferry dock, the party makes their way along the road in a northerly direction, passing though an area generally used by vendors as a market around a central water well. Today, there are few vendors, and those few that are there are only selling vegetables. Moving further north along the road, they come to a store on the left that without a doubt belongs to the herbalist Laurel.

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. Racking coughing can be heard throughout the line.

Farther ahead and to the right can be seen a tavern's sign, "The Sitting Duck". Across from that building is a street running west. The stables are on the north side of that street.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:13, Mon 14 Nov 2022.

The sight of all those sickly people lined up at Laurel's shop is disquieting to Jhaelin. He sighs and brings his horse to a halt to address the others.

"Should we stop and see Laurel now or take care of our lodgings and this wagon first?"

One of the women in the line overhears Jhaelin and states her opinion his question.

"Ye'll be gittin to the back o tha line like the rest o us. Dont be thinkin yeh gonna cut in and see the lass afore any o the rest of us."

Several mumbled agreements, nods, and defiant looks come from the others waiting in line following her words.

Karok, from his own horse, gazes back at the querulous townspeople, visibly unimpressed. Still, his counsel is: "It looks like your friend is busy. Maybe you can give one of these... you know... a coin and have them tell the herbalist we're in town and where we're staying. Maybe set up a runner to come get us when she's free."

He finished with a stolid shrug, as if to say, "That's MY take on the situation."

Dûrwë feels bad once he sees the line of sick people at the herbalist's house.

"I would feel much better the sooner we complete our agreement with Dal'thor and deliver his goods. Let's take care of that business first and then secure lodging for ourselves and mounts. Once that's done, then we'll come back and see how we made aid these people," Dûrwë responds to Jhaelin's question as he sits on the wagon holding the reigns to the wagon's team.

Tynia gazes around. Things are not so good, She thought.

"We should just complete this transaction and leave. This sickness doesn't do well." She said a loud.

Her gaze goes around wondering.

Brett follows the group in silence, but with the sense... stint rather... of sickness, his features grew hard almost angry. His grip on his staff tightens.

The female who spoke earlier almost undid his careful control of his emotions and he quickly turns away, muttering under his breath.

"Not saying anything. Not going to say a thing."

He moves forward to where Jhaelin is and speaks to him, "So when will this job be complete?"

"We will not be imposing ourselves between you and the healer ma'am," Jhaelin retorts, before dismounting his horse and approaching the woman. He takes the call for adventurers parchement from his tunic and hands it to her, along with a silver coin.

"Please give this to her, and ask her to seek us out at Jak'a'napes at her earliest convenience."

He turns from the woman then and regards his friends.

"Good idea Karok." he says, then answers Brett. "We have not even begun the quest, but to turn in the supplies for Dalthorp is easy."

"Forgive me. We passed Jak'a'napes back there. It sits on the edge of the low market by the well. The stables is just on the other side of it to the west. Let's get rid of these horses and drop the wagon off."

The party arrives at the stable, which sits so close to Jak'a'napes as to almost be an extension of the ramshackle inn itself. As the party is dismounting, a boy of maybe fourteen years comes through a door at the back of the inn and enters the stable. He is immediately taken with the elves, gawking awkwardly at them and blushing a crimson red under the gaze of Tynia. He recognizes the horses and begins taking them and placing them in stalls once personal gear is removed.

"Yeh be lookin' fer Jak. He's inside repairin' a chair."

The boy takes the wagon and pulls it around back of Jak'a'napes out of sight while the party, now carrying their gear, enters the inn. Jak is in the empty lobby repairing a broken chair. He is rotund man, breathing hard with every stroke of the hammer. He is red-faced and sweat drips from the end of his nose. He makes the effort to stand up when the party enters, then wipes back a single wisp of red hair on his otherwise bald head.

"Ahh travelers! Jonny's taken yer horses. They carry me brother's brand, so I'm assumin' yeh come from Falcarragh."

"Name's Jak Crimmy, n yeh met me son Johnny. Now... the question is. How come ol' Dal sends six o'yuns ta carry me supplies a day north?"

Jak squints, seemingly seeing the elves for the first time as elves. He wipes the sweat from his face with a rag and seems a bit jittery. "Ehhmmm. I'll be lookin' fer yeh rental contracts please. Will yeh be lookin' fer rooms?"
This message was last updated by the GM at 02:30, Mon 14 Nov 2022.

Dûrwë hid his surprise at seeing the stark difference in the brothers' establishments, and smiles warmly at Jak's greeting.

"Good day, Master Crimmy," Dûrwë says in a friendly tone, "thank you, yes, we will be needing rooms for our stay here. I believe that Jhaelin has all the necessary paperwork for the wagon and goods."

"Is it too early to get a mug of ale, before we finish the business of the day?" called Karok from the back of the group.

Tynia glances at Jak with that gaze of hers before pulling the hood of her cloak up about her face, hiding behind its folds.

She stands there listening, not saying anything yet.

It didn't do for her say something being who and what she is. Unless someone spoke to her that is.

Ordil had kept mostly silent. While words were his strong suit, it seemed that action spoke louder in this particular group, and winning any kind of trust seemed a long way off. So when the innkeeper offers some friendly chatter, he relaxes and slumps down into a chair, letting his pack slide off his shoulders.

"Some of us joined up along the way when things got rough. But these kind folks shared the road and, I'd hope" he says with a glance at Jhaelin "a cut of the spoils. It makes quite a story, let me tell you. Battling elves, explosive magics and a burning bear! You'd think I was mad, but I can hardly believe the wonders I've witnessed since sun-up before last."

He paused for effect, taking in the din of the bar room.

"But stories go down better with drink, and I must concur with my bearded companion on the need for that."

Like the dwarf, Ordil believed business could wait. And the upside of working for a priest was that he had no doubt he'd be getting an equitable share.

"And good day to you as well sir," Jak says to the elf. "Welcome to our little town. We have rooms aplenty of late. Business has been slow."

Jak takes the parchment from Jhaelin and begins reading through it. He nods at the remark from the dwarf. He chuckles; his belly bouncing with every guffaw.

"The reputation of your kind precedes you sir. It is never too early for ale master dwarf."

Jak moves to the bar, placing the parchment on it while grabbing mugs and filling them, even one for himself.

"I thank yeh fer bringin' me supplies this way, but.. ahhh... what's this here other business 'bout? I'mma ta extend-- to yeh all-- lodgin' n' food at his cost? What'm I ta make of this? What's me good natured brother gotten into?"

At Ordils words, Jak says cautiously, "He mentions four of yuns. Not six."

He pushes mugs of ale to the other side of the wooden counter. Were elves able to charm others, he wonders. Tynia's hooding of her head does not go unnoticed.

"On Dalthorp's coin... apparently. No matter. He is good fer it. If I may enguire sirs... what be yer business here in Falcon's Hollow?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:30, Mon 14 Nov 2022.

" 'It's NEVER too early for ale,' " Karok repeated, almost meditatively. "A very fine motto for an inn, indeed!"
He made a toasting motion at Jak and drank deeply without responding to the question. That was for Jhaelin, if he cared to give answer.