Session One - Retainers at the Inn of the Tankards

 

"They say," said the wiry man in a gravelly voice, head drooping in his cups at The Chantry Inn, just outside the looming limestone walls of High-Hankle, "he fell in love... with a woman... a strange and beautiful woman... from the wood. And that was when it started to come undone for the great warrior, Sir Chyde. Now, mind you, this happened, oh, nigh nine hundred years ago, during the last wars of the Dukes of Brackenwold against those frosty elves of the Prince of Winter. And for nine hundred years, the tale has been told, and aye, me own dad told me, many a cold winter night, tall tales of Sir Chyde, riding his great hoary stallion into battle, cutting down elves like scythers in the harvest wheat. He told me how Sir Chyde was struck mortal in battle, and buried by the ring of stones he'd trysted at with the Woman of the Wood... But for all his love, she never visited his grave... For a hundred years, the place was consecrated as holy, as they were wont to do back then for the resting places of their fearful warriors...

"But never once did she appear to mourn... Or, did she? Haha. Tall tales. And yet, I know them to be true.

"A hundred years the grave was kept, until something changed, and the friars stationed there left, and it was sealed. And it was sealed...

"And I know it to be true, else why would the Florrid Envoy have paid me a hundred gold pieces to bring me back the ring, bound to Sir Chyde's dead finger, with the promise of another 5,000 on completion. Eh? Told you. True as my father's blood."

As he speaks, Clump Tolmen quaffs a tall flagon of fizzy yellow ale, and brandishes a sack of 100gp that the 'Florrid Envoy' purportedly gave him. In his left hand, he holds a necklace pendant---a small, burnished sword, that looks very cheap.

He plans to travel to the Tankard Inn, a bit north of town, and sleep there tomorrow night, setting out early the next morning for the burial mound. He says the Florrid Envoy showed him directions to the place, and so only he knows.

When he finished the strange myth, Clump's head drops to the table, and he sleeps.

It is evening, and the party are gathered around Clump. It was debated whether or not to steal his coin purse, but the eventual consensus is to follow him to the Tankard, and from there out to this mound. Murder, highway robbery, and banditry are considered---they decide to play it freely, until the next night, at The Tankard. He is shaken, and roughed up a bit, including his matted chest hair searched for any hidden objects. Nothing is found, save lice.

The evening of the 13th, Eggfast, of Lillipythe comes to a close. The day is the Feast of Saint Torphia. All food has little decorative Purple Nightcap mushrooms, and drinks have poisonous looking holly wreaths. Rumors are discovered... An animal orchestra of cursed humans transformed into beasts, a con-artist shrine to the 'great' King Pusskin, sleepwalking shorthorns kidnapping travelers, a monolith surrounded by dancing shadows granting immortal life, and a city of humans-turned-swine.

In the morning, Crump is gone. The party decides to briefly stroll High-Hankle, picking up a jar of salt for 3gp on the way, before setting out on the Tankard Road for the Inn of the Tankards.

They reach the inn around 6pm, after an easy trip along the road. Greymorr discovered two symbols hidden on a rock outside that he recognizes from the wider Flanaess, meaning "Evil Power" and "Friendly." Inside the cozy and busy inn, they find a welcoming, but strangely negative, atmosphere. Crump Elbowgren, the breggle proprietor, offers to sell the inn, giving the party a tour of the kitchens, basement wine stores, and upper rooms, thinking the PCs to be more affluent than they really are. Meanwhile, Meowianne reconnoiters and finds Crump in the common room, eating his second snail tray and drinking more of the fuzzy yellow ale.

Noting the oddly negative environment, the PCs nonetheless try and hire themselves onto Crump as retainers, which he accepts, albeit barely, offering 5sp daily and 1/3 share, plus room and board, to be split among themselves.

He plans to leave at first light.

They all sleep in the commons room, having strange fitful dreams of corpse-faces peering in the windows, blood draining from the walls, slamming windows and doors, and moaning seemingly coming from the rafters of the room itself.

In the morning, the 15th, Colly, the weather is still and crisp. By midday, it will be sweltering and utterly still of movement.

A note on the PCs. The mysterious fighter has finally given a name... D-Dane, the 'e' being silent. D-Dane is bald, and pasty-white, her skin normally concealed beneath her heavy plate armor. The Grimalkin has thus far elected to stay almost entirely in her Chester form, eavesdropping on the patrons of both The Chantry and The Tankard as an unassuming black-maned cat. And Perrin has the old bowl of a fish that died the day he was conceived---a beautiful, iridescent creature that hailed from the Dolmenwood. He hopes to take the powdered bones of said fish and return it to some shrine where it can be blessed, in hopes of healing his afflictions.

And so, the party's second day in the environs of the Dolmenwood comes to a close. They have spoken to few, mainly the proprietess of The Chantry, and Clump the breggle proprietor of The Tankard, as well as the thiefly human Clump, with his professional aims on the ring of Sir Chyde. To the north, the wood lays like a long arboreal blanket, a dark band of tree trunks running beneath it.

The party wakes weary from their fitful slumbers, ready to follow Clump Tolmen, and perhaps betray him, into the wood.