Winter's Log: Part 2
The old man didn't have me waiting long. After only a few moments, he glanced past me towards the tavern's door and said, "Here they come now."
"They" consisted of a tall barbarian wearing furs and carrying a big axe. He looked powerful, but not too bright. The next person was a man wearing the simple garb of a monk. He appeared unarmed, but I suppose his fists and feet were the best weapons he could have. Lastly, there was a half-elf. She had a short bow slung on her back and a sour expression on her face.
The old man waved the three over and instructed them to sit. He introduced himself to the four of us as Richter Evarn. He explained to us that we had all been selected for our various skills to accomplish an important task.
It is said that first impressions are important. My first impressions of the others were hardly complimentary. The barbarian was clearly an idiot. The monk was poor, and would likely mooch off everyone else. And Pointy-Ears? Let's just say she rubbed me the wrong way. I expressed my displeasure at the thought of traveling with these three, and the half-elf echoed my sentiment. Richter basically told us to get over it.
We were given a map and instructions to travel south to a village called Oakhurst to meet up with Richter's contact. From there we would receive further instruction. Then he shooed us away from his table so he could eat. With little else to do, we left the tavern.
The next morning, we met at the city gates. The morning watch was eying us suspiciously, but I ignored them. After some debate over who would carry the map, we set off. Two days we traveled, never so much as sharing names with each other. Such animosity! Whatever, not like I cared what their names were. I had nicknames already picked out for them: Stupid, Robes, and Pointy-Ears.
When we finally reached Oakhurst, the first thing we saw were the abandoned farms. A little closer to the village were inhabited farms, however, the cattle were kept awfully close to the farm houses. Thinking this was strange and may have something to do with our task, we headed straight for the tavern to wait for Richter's contact. I kept to the shadows while the other three went straight for the bar.
Robes began trying to spark a conversation with Stupid, getting mostly monosyllabic answers in return. Robes introduced himself as Quince. Stupid said his name was Crons. What an eloquent name, Crons. Sounds like something his mother simply grunted immediately after his birth. No forethought, no meaning, just... Crons.
Anyway, a dark-haired man entered the tavern at that moment. He wore two sheathed swords on his belt and the symbol of Raven on a pendant around his neck. He strode purposefully towards my traveling companions and asked where I was. Quince flicked a thumb in my direction, and I was then waved over. The dark-haired man introduced himself as Jonah, a cleric of Raven. He was going to join us in our task, to keep us safe, he said. He told us that something had been killing the villagers' livestock. Cattle would be fine one day, then dead the next morning with little holes all over them. He suggested we ask the farmers in the tavern if they'd seen anything.
I was the only one who had any luck getting a farmer to talk. Apparently he'd lost a few cows, himself. He told us that the colony of goblins in the nearby ravine could be to blame, but the wounds on the cattle didn't look like they came from goblin weapons. Also, the cattle were simply left dead. Not stolen, not eaten, not anything. Killed without purpose or gain. Apparently, another party of adventurers had gone to investigate the killings about a month ago, but never returned. The tipsy man also told a seemingly unrelated tale of magical apples that could cure any illness. The village was granted one apple a year, and if the seeds were planted, the saplings would be dug up in the middle of the night. Whomever was supplying these apples clearly wanted the monopoly on magical fruit.
Anyway, we decided the best way to deal with the cow situation was to sit out in a field with some cows all night to see if anything happened. Brilliant, right? There was no better solution to be had, so there we were. In a dirty field with smelly cattle. And again, with nothing to do but wait, Quince tried getting people to divulge information about themselves. It took some doing, but he finally wheedled Pointy-Ears' name out of her: Midian. When he turned to me, I told him my name straight away just to spite the half-elf.
Suddenly a cow screamed - er, that is to say, it mooed in a loud, distressed sort of way. We ran over to see what was going on. There was the cow, and two roughly man-sized bundles of animated sticks poking and stabbing at the beast. The sticks were easily dispatched, but it was too late for the cow. The farmer was not pleased about the dead cow, the next morning. He wasn't sure what to make of the stick-creatures, but he figured they'd make good firewood. I couldn't agree more. What we weren't sure of, though, was whether or not we took care of the problem, or if there were more stick things out there. We had to investigate.
So the five of us, Quince (who was not completely annoying), Crons (who was still none-too-swift), Midian (who was the pointy-eared bitch), Jonah (who was the most respectable of the bunch), and myself, all headed down to the ravine to see if the goblins were indeed behind the killings. We also hoped to find out what became of the other adventurers before us. Using a length of rope, we descended the first drop in the side of the ravine. ...And we were immediately attacked by a bunch of dire rats. After the fight, we needed to rest a bit before climbing down the crude staircase that had been carved into the rock... (To be continued.)
"They" consisted of a tall barbarian wearing furs and carrying a big axe. He looked powerful, but not too bright. The next person was a man wearing the simple garb of a monk. He appeared unarmed, but I suppose his fists and feet were the best weapons he could have. Lastly, there was a half-elf. She had a short bow slung on her back and a sour expression on her face.
The old man waved the three over and instructed them to sit. He introduced himself to the four of us as Richter Evarn. He explained to us that we had all been selected for our various skills to accomplish an important task.
It is said that first impressions are important. My first impressions of the others were hardly complimentary. The barbarian was clearly an idiot. The monk was poor, and would likely mooch off everyone else. And Pointy-Ears? Let's just say she rubbed me the wrong way. I expressed my displeasure at the thought of traveling with these three, and the half-elf echoed my sentiment. Richter basically told us to get over it.
We were given a map and instructions to travel south to a village called Oakhurst to meet up with Richter's contact. From there we would receive further instruction. Then he shooed us away from his table so he could eat. With little else to do, we left the tavern.
The next morning, we met at the city gates. The morning watch was eying us suspiciously, but I ignored them. After some debate over who would carry the map, we set off. Two days we traveled, never so much as sharing names with each other. Such animosity! Whatever, not like I cared what their names were. I had nicknames already picked out for them: Stupid, Robes, and Pointy-Ears.
When we finally reached Oakhurst, the first thing we saw were the abandoned farms. A little closer to the village were inhabited farms, however, the cattle were kept awfully close to the farm houses. Thinking this was strange and may have something to do with our task, we headed straight for the tavern to wait for Richter's contact. I kept to the shadows while the other three went straight for the bar.
Robes began trying to spark a conversation with Stupid, getting mostly monosyllabic answers in return. Robes introduced himself as Quince. Stupid said his name was Crons. What an eloquent name, Crons. Sounds like something his mother simply grunted immediately after his birth. No forethought, no meaning, just... Crons.
Anyway, a dark-haired man entered the tavern at that moment. He wore two sheathed swords on his belt and the symbol of Raven on a pendant around his neck. He strode purposefully towards my traveling companions and asked where I was. Quince flicked a thumb in my direction, and I was then waved over. The dark-haired man introduced himself as Jonah, a cleric of Raven. He was going to join us in our task, to keep us safe, he said. He told us that something had been killing the villagers' livestock. Cattle would be fine one day, then dead the next morning with little holes all over them. He suggested we ask the farmers in the tavern if they'd seen anything.
I was the only one who had any luck getting a farmer to talk. Apparently he'd lost a few cows, himself. He told us that the colony of goblins in the nearby ravine could be to blame, but the wounds on the cattle didn't look like they came from goblin weapons. Also, the cattle were simply left dead. Not stolen, not eaten, not anything. Killed without purpose or gain. Apparently, another party of adventurers had gone to investigate the killings about a month ago, but never returned. The tipsy man also told a seemingly unrelated tale of magical apples that could cure any illness. The village was granted one apple a year, and if the seeds were planted, the saplings would be dug up in the middle of the night. Whomever was supplying these apples clearly wanted the monopoly on magical fruit.
Anyway, we decided the best way to deal with the cow situation was to sit out in a field with some cows all night to see if anything happened. Brilliant, right? There was no better solution to be had, so there we were. In a dirty field with smelly cattle. And again, with nothing to do but wait, Quince tried getting people to divulge information about themselves. It took some doing, but he finally wheedled Pointy-Ears' name out of her: Midian. When he turned to me, I told him my name straight away just to spite the half-elf.
Suddenly a cow screamed - er, that is to say, it mooed in a loud, distressed sort of way. We ran over to see what was going on. There was the cow, and two roughly man-sized bundles of animated sticks poking and stabbing at the beast. The sticks were easily dispatched, but it was too late for the cow. The farmer was not pleased about the dead cow, the next morning. He wasn't sure what to make of the stick-creatures, but he figured they'd make good firewood. I couldn't agree more. What we weren't sure of, though, was whether or not we took care of the problem, or if there were more stick things out there. We had to investigate.
So the five of us, Quince (who was not completely annoying), Crons (who was still none-too-swift), Midian (who was the pointy-eared bitch), Jonah (who was the most respectable of the bunch), and myself, all headed down to the ravine to see if the goblins were indeed behind the killings. We also hoped to find out what became of the other adventurers before us. Using a length of rope, we descended the first drop in the side of the ravine. ...And we were immediately attacked by a bunch of dire rats. After the fight, we needed to rest a bit before climbing down the crude staircase that had been carved into the rock... (To be continued.)