Party 5

[Kanaxe_Ru]

Chapter 1: Into the Mists

The lot of you are no strangers, having met through some strange turn of events and coming to rely on each other's talents time and time again. And you're not the only ones -- in the time you've spent in the small northern Sword Coast town of Daggerford, just a bit under a day's travel from the sprawling city of Waterdeep, you've made a bit of a name for yourselves protecting its people from the various perils of the wilderness. So it isn’t much of a surprise that when the Duchess Morwen is having guests over for dinner, you all are invited. You consider her quite the friend considering how much you have served her duchy over the course of your stay, and the benefits from such a friendship are quite nice indeed.

The night is brisk, the full moon ominously bright as you maneuver your way through the nearly vacant cobblestone streets. Even though the walled settlement isn’t the largest, it is normally much more lively - but the people's superstitions must be getting the better of them. Tugging on your collar you push the thoughts to the back of your mind, making haste. Best not make Ms. Morwen wait any longer than need be.

As you arrive and are lead into the dining hall, the scents of various dishes begin to overwhelm your senses. Eagerly you find an empty seat, watching others file in after you. The Duchess is seated at the head of the table, looking much more distressed than usual. But of course you all exchange pleasantries as she attempts to hide her unease.

You all eat and discuss recent happenings in the town, everything seeming to be alright until the Duchess clears her throat and begins to speak in a somber tone.

“I don’t mean to interrupt this fine night we've been having...” she begins hesitantly, “...but we do have some important business to discuss. The reason I invited you all here tonight was because I have some concerns about a group of wayward travelers that are camped outside of Daggerford’s walls. I first assumed they were harmless, but then I had heard rumors from the townsfolk -- of them practicing witchcraft and other savage rituals. Of threatening to curse any who crossed their path.”

Taking a moment to reach for a glass of wine before her, she would take a generous sip before setting the drink back down and continuing. “At this point I'm not sure who or what to believe, but I'm wary of exotic magicks -- and quite frankly, we can't afford to have any more unknown factors after the events of the previous few nights.” Her gaze flickers downward. "... You're probably aware of the rumors of werewolves."

She sighs, shaking her head. “But I digress. For now I simply ask for you to go down there tonight and investigate things for me, while I'm held up with other concerns. And in the case that they are as wicked as I've heard... tell them they have until dawn to move out of my territory, or I will see them out by force."

 

[LAmPailk]

Bryce Fauntleroy does not look like she belongs. She also quite frankly does not look like she cares much about this fact. A half-elf of an unusually pale and sweaty complexion, with dark bruises underneath grey eyes, Fauntleroy looks both sickly and unperturbed as she works her way through her meal. She’s shucked her large black coat upon entering the room, and now wears what appears to have been an uniform before it was put through some pretty harsh treatment.

Fauntleroy only seems to be half listened when the Duchess start speaking. But a glint appears in her eyes at the mention of witchcraft— the same glint that appears when she sees a particularly interesting specimen of dead thing.

“Intriguing, intriguing,” Fauntleroy says, pausing with a bite of meat raised halfway to her mouth. She puts her fork down, back on her plate, before steepling her fingers together. Her gaze flickers around the table, to the company she’d been traveling with for a while now. “I must say, this sounds incredibly intriguing, yes. Though proper digestion is important, I think it is best if we hurry to this savage camp post-haste.”

 

[Harmon]

Balion sits at the table, listening intently to her request for them to investigate. He sits up straighter at the mention of rumors of werewolves. He nods as she finishes speaking and leans back crossing his arms and looks to his companions. "This is certainly in our realm of expertise, should be easy enough with all of us going. Even if they prove that they are....less than friendly."

He looks back to Duchess Morwen with a smile. "Of course I would be happy to help, Duchess, you have been more than kind to me."

 

[roSpEnTo]

Carwyn eats with relish throughout the feast, not used to any sort of fancy foods, making small talk to everyone at the table. He is wearing his best vestments, the white and green robes augmented by simple brown leather armour pieces. However when the talk turns sombre he sets down his fork and listens intently to what The Duchess has to say, his village background still leaving him occasionally over-awed in the presence of a real noble. 'I still cannot believe I am here. By the grace of Eldath, a Duchess' house.' he thinks to himself.

"Oh witchcraft? Rituals? We cannot allow the townsfolk to be in any danger. If there truly is a threat here then it must be dealt with." Carwyn turns to Balion and whispers in Halfling <"Werewolves, Balion have you dealt with these before?">. He turns back to the rest of his group and, as he usually does, earnestly pleads to his comrades, "Please no violence. We can do this peacefully I am sure."

 

[SlyCooperKing]

Gimble eats his food but only after mixing his vegetables and carbs. Wanting to taste the all of the flavors that this food could give, his eyes flutter as he does so. Looking up after realizing the Duchess had said 'magic' , and 'rituals' his mind immediately travels to possible components of these practices. particularly the sparkling kind.

"Heeemmm, Eh Bryce, you reckon them witches got any ehh gems on em? Think they use them for those rituals?" I small smile stretches, as the possibility of getting his hands on raw materials flashes through his mind, and across Gimble's face "Ya, ya It would be a pleasure to help the kingdom in this way!"

 

[LAmPailk]

“It might not be possible for this confrontation to be non-violent, master Gwirionedd.” She raises her hands for airquotes. “They might be indeed ‘less than friendly.’” I suspect violence might be the only option. Fauntleroy does not voice her thought— instead, she briefly turns her head to the potential research subjects this might bring her.

Fauntleroy’s lips press into a flat line for a moment at being addressed by her first name, but she doesn’t reprimand Gimble for it. “I’d say that depends entirely on the spells, master Waywocket. The spell, and whether they use components or a focus, a very important distinction. It is entirely possible of course. But having you deprive them of their spell components would certainly work in our favor.”

She scrapes her throat after a moment, trying to put on a veneer of polite, appropriate amount of interest in the job they are being offered. “We are in agreement then. We should head to this camp at the earliest opportunity.”

 

[SlyCooperKing]

Gimble’s smile erupts in to a crescent cut that looks as if it would split his head! “Ya said it first Fauntleroy, first dibs on their ritualistac componants go to yours truly!”

Gimble’s percieved notion of permission towards his vice, gave him the enthusiasm to scarf done the rest of his food, hop on top off his chair, and giving a bow to the duchess he says “Tha food was delicious an’ yer hospitalitay shows no bounds duchess.”

Hoping down from the stool Gimble saunters with a full stomach towards the door with greed visible in his step. As his mind backtracks to what his other compatriots had said during the dinner he turns to Carwyn. “Ey Carwyn if ye got any way to ‘elp me get in ‘an out unseen, with their valuables of course, perhaps we would have a bit more luck in our ‘negotiations’.” Waving his hands around at the word negotiations with two fingers held up on each hand and dancing them up and down.

 

[Kanaxe_Ru]

Daggerford:

Duchess Morwen smiles softly, your joking nature seeming to let her relax in the face of all her concerns. "Always the lightheated type, in the face of something exciting," she chuckles, twirling a fork in her hand. In the time that you've discussed your plans about meeting these mysterious visitors, she's moved on from her restrained meal of smoked carp and vegetables to a small raspberry tart, taking bites as you all prepare to leave. "I understand that each of you have... unique talents and preferences, so do what you must." Finishing up your business (Gimble already chomping at the bit to leave), you say your farewells as a nearby maid shows you the way out.

The streets of Daggerford are just as empty as when you first arrived at the Duchess's manse for dinner, though even more of its citizens have snuffed out their candlelight and retired for the day. In lieu of lit windows the sky is clearer now, the distant stars twinkling in the background as the moon now hangs high and prominent in the middle of the night. For most of your walk, you hear naught but the sounds of your own voices, the occasional barking of dogs, and the rustling of a crisp breeze that follows you down the cobblestone streets.

Making your way past the city gates, you're greeted with perhaps the exact opposite: the clamor of revelry and the bright blaze of a roaring bonfire, along the distant edge of the river from which Daggerford gets its name. Circling around it is a ring of three barrel-topped wagons, their accompanying horses tied to a nearby tree and munching away at some food. Around this quant scene, roughly a dozen men dance and drink and sing, their exotic garments, swaying in the wind.

 

[Harmon]

As Balion walked with his companions he would turn to Carwyn with a sad smile. "<Halfling> I haven't fought any, though my master did save me from one. She told me a few things. Best we look into silvered weapons if we plan on going up against them." Upon seeing the scene Balion instantly begins trying to take in as many details as possible, see if there is anything off or under the surface so to speak.

 

[roSpEnTo]

Walking through the city gates Carwyn sighed and smiled to himself, thinking of the conversation at the meal. "Fauntleroy, how many times do I have to tell you it's Carwyn or Cary please. I am just a priest, a master of nothing." He turned to Gimble, "I will aid you in whatever way I can Gimble, you know this. I might be able to make it easier for you to sneak past things if needed. Especially if it will lead to a more peaceful resolution. Just let me know when you are going to move off into the shadows."

Seeing the approaching bonfire and wagons he points ahead, alerting the rest of the party. "Look, the travelers are over there. We can only hope that Eldath's light shines upon our meeting and we can get through this situation without any bloodshed." Carwyn sounds hopeful and mutters a short prayer to Eldath, although he does grip his quarterstaff a little tighter and swings his shield into a more secure place on his arm. He nods to Balion, taking in what he said and trying to work out how to silver a wooden staff in the back of his mind.

 

[LAmPailk]

She’s slipped her coat back on again, a big, dark shapeless garment that’s several sizes too big for her. The dark garment only serves to make her look smaller and paler, her mouth disappearing behind the high collar. Nonetheless she looks more comfortable in the dark folds of the garment.

”Back where I come from, we all address each other politely,” Fauntleroy says to Carwyn. “But fine. I shall make an attempt to address you as requested...Carwyn.” She doesn’t seem concerned as they come upon the camp— merely intrigued by the possiblity of the arcane.

She bites her tongue at Carwyn’s prayer. It wasn’t often that people would agree with her rather...unique views. Instead Fauntleroy instead squints into the light to try in an attempt to get a better view.

 

[SlyCooperKing]

Gimble nods to Carwyn and feeling a tap on the shoulder and a foreign sense of guidance, heads towards the exotic troupe. Gimble feels off as he loses his footing one too many times, but still attempts to sidle along the wagons unnoticed. Gimble takes out a bit of fleece and circles his hand in a clockwise motion and pushing forward on the 3rd revolution, a wolf howl resounds off the far side of the wagon circle simultaneously.

 

[Kanaxe_Ru]

Nomad Camp:

Gimble can see from his vantage point that many of revelers appear to stop for a moment, looking in the direction of the supposed wolf howl with some caution. Many of the men have short, jagged scimitars at their side which they instinctively reach for, but stop short of brandishing. Some of the more drunk revelers quickly return to their dancing and to their wineskins, but more than a few of the nomads definitely seem more alert than they were prior.

While Gimble is sitting there admiring his work, he suddenly feels a tap on his shoulder. "Excuse me, can we help you?" Should he turn around, he would be met face to face (at least, relatively) with an old man, squatting down to be at eye level. "That was an interesting trick, at least." Rather than anger, there's almost a bit of amusement in his wrinkled eyes.

 

[SlyCooperKing]

Gimble turns around slowely, berating himself internally, punishing himself by limiting the amount of jewels he will snab if he gets the chance. Seeing the old man’s eyes he puts a cringy smile on his on face.

“Ay, thankya me mother taught me that one”. After a bit of a awkward pause similar of a child with his hand in a cookie jar Gimble whispers “how can I help you?”

 

[Kanaxe_Ru]

Nomad Camp:

"Well, perhaps you could start by explaining why a quaint little gnome is sneaking around our camp and trying to play pranks," goes the old man, chuckling a bit. "We won't hurt you friend, but you probably know that most people who skulk around other folks' homes at night tend to look suspicious to those folks."

"I know ya mean well, Papa, but a wolf? On a night like this?" There's a woman sitting out of the back of one of the wagons, listening in on the conversation. "That's even more suspicious than usual." She seems to be twirling a knife around in her fingers as she watches Gimble carefully.

"Quiet, Damia. I have a feeling about this one." He glances with a nod at his supposed daughter, then turns back to Gimble. "Not many would sneak into another's belongings without a good reason. Tell me, what is yours?"

 

[Harmon]

Seeing the mass of shapes Balion kind of shrugs and just begins to walk up to them. A reasonable distance from them he hails them. "Hail, seems my companion was having some fun and you found him. I hope he didn't cause much trouble?" He flashes a winsome smile and offers a somewhat odd bow to them.

 

[SlyCooperKing]

Gimble looks towards the woman with the knife, perking an eyebrow and rolls his shoulders a bit as he decides weather to spin a tale or tell the truth. He decides on the latter.

Gimble shuffles his arms up and down in an apologetic manner. “Well, ya see I had her you folk were creeping out some of Daggerford’s townsmen and women with some exotic magic an’ curses.” Now believe me when I Says to yas, I just wanted to see what ya were up to without getting cursed me self.” Standing up to his full 3’6” he finishes “I hope that isn’t too hard to understand ey?”

Seeing his companion Balion come by he gives a pleading smile, loudly stating. "Ah Balion! They seem to be wary of wolves as well!"

 

[roSpEnTo]

Carwyn notices the group of people surrounding Gimble and shakes his head. "Eldath's bane, I hope this works out." he mutters to himself under his breath before setting off towards the group, following after Balion, making sure his robes are clearly visible and not obscured. After Balion greets them he calls out, in a clear voice. "Eldath's blessing on you all. I am sorry for my small friend's intrusion. I promise that we mean you no harm. My name is Carwyn, priest of Eldath." Keen to show that he means no violence, Carwyn holds his arms wide and gives his best smile.

 

[LAmPailk]

Seeing the rest of the party head towards where Gimble got caught, Fauntleroy sighs and follows. For the first few moments she remains at a distance, before stepping closer.

“Professor Bryce Fauntleroy, if there are introductions to be made. Professor or Fauntleroy will do just fine.” She quickly handwaves her way past the introduction. The others seem to have covered trying to get Gimble out of this mess— Fauntleroy focuses on the woman instead.

“Excuse my curiosity, miss, but what exactly do you mean ‘a wolf, on a night like this’?” She glances at the knife the lady is twirling for a moment, before looking back at the her face.

 

[Kanaxe_Ru]

Nomad Camp:

The old man raises an eyebrow curiously at Gimble's confession, then turns to the rest of the group as they announce their arrival. "Having fun, indeed," he affirms with a chuckle to Balion. "A traveler of the wilds, a man of faith, and a scholar -- what interesting company you keep, my friend. Now that this has turned into a bit of a party, I do believe a formal introduction is in order."

He stands up straight as he can, bowing slightly to the group. "My name is Stanimir, this is my daughter Damia and that --" you look in the direction he's pointing, and there's another broad-shouldered man leaning against one of the wagons "-- is my son, Ratka." Ratka notices your glances, but continues to direct his attention towards the bonfire scene as if keeping watch. You all notice that the others in the camp have noted your arrival, and have mostly thrown out their caution from a few minutes prior (though some of that has been replaced with whispers and glances in your direction).

Damia stops twirling her dagger and sheathes it, crossing her arms and leaning forward from her sitting position to look down upon the group. When Fauntleroy asks about the 'wolf', she nods upwards as if gesturing towards the sky. "Full moon, that's what I mean. You run into 'em once, and a wolf's never 'just a wolf' anymore." As you look up, you see that clouds have begun to shroud the once glaring moon -- though it still looms prominently among the fading stars.

Turning back to Gimble, Stanimir strokes his long white goatee as he considers what he said. "Exotic magic and curses, you say... while I admit that we may be seen as 'exotic', having wandered so far away from our homeland, we have yet to curse anyone in these parts. Perhaps it is the villagers' superstitions getting the best of them, seeing our celebrations from a distance."

"Not that superstitions don't have a sliver of truth in them sometimes," Damia adds.

 

[roSpEnTo]

"Stanimir, do you speak for this group of travelers?" Carwyn said, nodding to the older man. "We don't wish for any confrontation or hostilities. I do not know whether you know of the Mother of the Waters but I am a freewalker and I will happily tend to any sick or injured that you may have whilst we talk." He smiles at the river and gestures towards it. "You picked a fine river to set up near but I would take care, the Shining River can be deceptive in places."

Setting his pack down, with his shield, Carwyn sits cross legged and washes his hands with water from his waterskin. He looks up at Stanimir with a smile. "You said you have come far?" He amicably makes small talk as he works on his preparations. 'If we can appeal to them then maybe we can move this on without any problems. They seem like reasonable people.' He thinks to himself, hopefully.

 

[LAmPailk]

“Most intriguing,” Fauntleroy mutters to herself. She isn’t familiar with werewolves beyond what she’s read, if she can even remember any of it. “Have you had any werewolf trouble recently then, or are you just overly cautious?”

She vaguely looks disappointed at the denial of exotic curses. Nonetheless there’s a sliver of hope. “Yet?” she asks. “So theoretically you would be capable of casting a curse then?”

 

[SlyCooperKing]

Gimble’s face takes a ride of various of emotions as his companions ask questions of the foreign Stanimir and Damia. From inquisitive to terror as Professor F. Reaffirms the possiblity of curses. Quickly Gimble transitions to the least terryfying of the two topics, their origins. “Ay I am curious from where you originate an’ where you get that fancy looking jewelry!” pointing to the nodding towards the heads and piercings.

 

[Harmon]

Balion nods along at the warning of being cautious of wolves. "Aye, in the wilds and under the fall of shadow we are dually in their realm and if we don't tread lightly we will have unwittingly supplied ourselves to the ever turning wheel." He takes a closer look at the people before him, wondering if he meet their culture in his travels. As he does an easy smile comes to his lips but his eyes stay cold... Distant.

 

[Kanaxe_Ru]

Nomad Camp:

"Can't ever be too cautious," Damia huffs, nodding in approval at Balion before looking back to Fauntleroy. "And it seems that one of the folks from this village here had a kid go missing, and are swearin' up and down that they saw a werewolf doin' the deed. 'Least, that's what they said when they came over accusin' us of bringin' the werewolves with us from where we came."

"Magic is something we are familiar with, yes..." Stanimir says cautiously. "And our women often develop a talent for soothsaying and augury. But it is not a gift that we take lightly." He quickly moves on, turning to Carwyn. "I speak for the people here as much as my station allows -- as our Raunie has fallen ill as of late. She is a resilient woman, but should you wish to offer your talents you are welcome."

He points to a wagon on the far side of the camp, before turning to Gimble and raising an eyebrow at his "inquiry". "We are self-reliant, and much of our wear comes either from our own artisans or the money we make travelling on the road. But we are but a small splint of our larger tribe, scattered all across the realms."

He flashes a slight smile. "Should you wish to join us by the fire, perhaps I can entertain you for a spell with a tale of our homeland."