The Perfect Match

It was a strange deal that he’d made with the large Druid. An enchanted, inexhaustible ironwood staff to subsist on indefinitely at the cost of the loss of all independent movement.

A harsh bargain, but Dijonn had been in an extremely poor, literally last gasp, negotiating position at the time…

Die now or live forever as a slave.

Eternal life was an odd concept for a fire elemental. Flames generally burn fast and furiously but not usually for very long. Would he become bored of the board he’d be eternally attached to? Could he, one day, become tired of life everlasting?

These thoughts though, were for another day. It was surprising however that Thornberg had come to trade, not for himself, but for the Halfling that he’d already previously sworn servitude to, for freeing him from the hundred years trapped in Dulcetta’s accursed tower prison.

Even more surprising was how much Liga Bur had changed in the mere four hours since they’d last seen each other. Flesh creatures were hard to understand sometimes but his Halfling saviour had seemed to have undergone an equally profound mental, emotional and physical transformation. 

It was impossible to predict if this new partnership would prove successful, but by tethering his flaming self to the top of this magical, blackened-tipped quarterstaff, Dijonn had managed to unlock a plethora of new and interesting abilities…

The (Apparent) Allies

Rifkin: 

Born and raised in the backwards, sister-wife village of Loretto by his Human Mother. Rifkin’s Quarter-Elf, travelling minstrel Father was killed by his Mother’s close-minded, inbred relatives while she was still pregnant with him. Loathed by the villagers for being different, the teenage Rifkin took his Father’s mandolin and left the moment his Mother died. Though cowed by the constant beatings of his youth and timorous by nature, Rifkin still sought adventure and used his good looks, natural charm and musical skills to earn a living.

Estrid:

A powerful, magical and long lived Fey creature, beautiful but righteous, Estrid, as ‘goddess’ of the pool, guards the magical glade, deep in the Feylands. She protects both her people and the mysterious portal beneath the life extending properties of the crystal clear waters themselves. She granted the outlander adventurers ’Champion’ status and her protection within the Feylands in exchange for their help. Now though, Estrid’s concern and priorities have changed with the return of the adventurers and their alarming news.

Thornberg:

A haystack of a man and powerful member of the ‘Circle of the Scale’ Druidic order. Thornberg (and his gigantic bear; Bamse) has recently spent a year of his life in a bubble in time, teaching the Halfling outrider; Liga Bur, the secrets of the ‘Green’. He has grown fond of Liga Bur over those twelve months and wants to keep him close but still respects the scarred Halfling’s desire for both justice and independence.

Tsigan:

The Centaur Prince, initially an enemy, has become a powerful ally to the Party, alongside his noble Father and the rest of his semi-savage herd. Despite his rescuing of Rifkin, under the Calcientan suns, he still feels indebted to Fortu, Arowe and Liga Bur.

Magritte: 

The dashing but pragmatic Satyr has formed a liking and an admiration for the adventurer, especially Fortu. A nimble, talented warrior and potion keeper, he also has the ear of (the occasionally suspicious and often ferocious) Estrid.

Henshaw:

A mercenary from a family of mercenaries, Henshaw is lean, tall, surprisingly intelligent and, perhaps as a consequence of that intelligence, overly cautious. Although a self-professed ‘Bad-guy’, his recent association with Fortu, Liga Bur, Arowe and Rifkin has caused him to re-evaluate some of his previous life choices.

Barbella:

Lifelong friend of Henshaw, Barbella is a thief of the lowest order. A goatee sporting, gold-toothed mugger and backstabber, he is however surprisingly skillful in several useful areas and loyal, at least to Henshaw.

Doberman:

As dumb as he is fat, Doberman is almost too stupid to be considered merely ‘retarded’. Treated as an imbecilic but tolerated pet by Henshaw and Barbella, he is strong, round and relentless in a fight. 

Dijonn:

A small but psychopathic fire elemental, left behind in the desert oasis when the Party was forced to travel through the water filled passageways between dimensions. It has, however, sworn a ‘life debt’ to Liga Bur when he was rescued from a hundred years trapped on a meagre wick in the ‘Singing tower’.

Lightning Tree:

Though a monstrous, flesh eating tree, it possesses a fine mind and a surprising store of knowledge. It also, weirdly, considers Fortu its friend for sparing its life and still waits patiently in the Fey forests for his return with that promised meat.

Shananaghan:

One of the two remaining ‘summoning’ charms on Rifkin’s bracelet, the tiny but foul-tempered, gossamer-winged Pixie has decidedly mixed feelings about the Party. Non-Fey creatures, especially Humans, are the hated enemy but the goddess; Estrid has ordered him to assist the Party to the best of his ability when summoned and, although begrudgingly, he’ll do it for her.

Lorellie.

The second and last of the two remaining magical charms on Rifkin’s bracelet, the flirtatious, small, green-skinned and fin-toed Nixie is more Fey-curious about the outsiders than antagonistic. Physically weak but a powerful swimmer and natural water breather, she may yet prove vital in an aquatic environment.

The End or the Beginning?

It’s early morning, with the dawn sky still hazy with the rising golden sun still partially hidden behind the trees. Although there are several of the Fey creatures still enjoying the gentle music, wine and each-others company, the Elven Arowe is the only member of the Party still conscious when the large, shadowy oak tree at the edge of the clearing, opens up again and the mighty Thornberg steps through. The Archer hurriedly shakes the nearby Fortu and Rifkin awake and the three of them try to peer around and behind the enormous Druid and his shaggy, over-sized, brown bear to see if their Halfling friend; Liga Bur is still with him. All of them break into relieved smiles at the sight of their diminutive scout companion, but… 

…

He looks tired somehow, weary.

…

No, not tired.

…

He looks older.

…

Older and wiser.

Four Seasons in One Day

With one hand grasping the thick, wiry pelt of Thornberg’s huge brown bear; Bamse and the other wrapped in the reassuring, softer fur of his own hound; Mir Hundur, Liga Bur, after what seems like hours of silent plodding through vague, formless, earthy nothingness, follows the towering Thornberg out of the magical ‘Green path’ and feels the gentle rays of sunshine warmly kiss his face.

Unsure what to expect; Liga Bur had agreed to Thornberg's 'price' out of a weird feeling that it was somehow fated to be, as much as a way to save his friends from a potentially unwinnable battle. The bright sunlight momentarily dazzles him, but as his eyes adjust, he's pleased to see the old, winged dog; Dawk and the handsome adolescent fox sitting beneath the arching trees, waiting for him on the path, both of their tails wagging.

After stroking each of them on the undersides of their upturned chins, the big, bearded Druid guides Liga Bur to a beautifully tended glade, with a massive circle of stone Menhir’s arranged like pillars. There’s a small pool of crystal clear water and a comfortable looking thatched, wooden cabin slightly distant. Liga Bur notices the new, small and vibrantly coloured wildflowers freshly emerged from the lush and fertile soil; it’s Spring here… Wherever ‘here’ is?

Looking around, Liga Bur feels no danger. On the contrary, the battle-scarred Halfling has never felt such a sense of serenity. Birds sing in the trees surrounding the grove and succulent fruit hangs from almost every branch.  

It’s only then, that Thornberg finally speaks. His voice is deep and gravelly, like a man who doesn’t speak often and has grown unaccustomed to it.

“This is to be your home for a while. These four animals; my bear, your hound, the hawk-dog and the fox will be your companions and I will be your teacher and guide. Despite your, surprisingly thorough, basic training in the 'Green' arts, you still have much to learn, and although you must forsake your bow and your lance, this is far from a prison sentence. Rather than a punishment, I will share the secrets of our Druidic order and perhaps, over time, we will become friends. I do not say this lightly, for all our obvious differences, I believe in you. I believe in you because of the reports from my Satyr friend; Magritte, the Centaur Prince; Tsigane and the Frost giant; Droofin. I believe in you because this little adolescent fox and this elderly hawk-dog didn't just vouch for you; they championed you.”

The training is difficult but rewarding and as Spring passes into Summer, Liga Bur watches with pride as the little fox grows from cub to bold, young Reynard.

The Summer seems long, but the company is good and the initially intimidating; Thornberg turns out to be a surprisingly kind and patient man.

Summer turns to Autumn and with it the realisation that the grey in the muzzle of the old Dawk has spread all the way down to his rudder-like tail and his movements have become slow and hesitant.

Winter finally arrives and the snow that falls can't mask the sadness as the athritic Dawk finally succumbs to old-age.

Mir Hundur, the now adult fox and the great bear; Bamse all howl in the moonlight, as Thornberg lays the wrapped body of the strange, hybrid creature into the freshly dug ground. Liga Bur can’t hide his tears for this silly, brave and gentle soul. He’d grown fond of the kind-hearted creature and although he understood everything mortal has to die, the pain of the loss takes him back to everything and everyone he’d already lost and his heart breaks anew.

The bulky, brown-robed Thornberg places his muddy but reassuringly heavy hand on Liga Bur's shoulder.

"This is your final lesson. For every summer, there must be a winter. For every day, there must be a night. For every birth, there must be a death. For this is the way of balance and, now a full year has passed, you have finally earned entry into the Circle of the Scale."

One for All

The music and wine continue to flow but the massive figure of Thornberg, standing back in the shadows of the surrounding trees, finally makes his looming presence felt. His voice is both deep and grave.

“I’m glad that The five of you made it back safely from the void between worlds, but I also want you to know, that I know what you’ve done. Three members of my brotherhood have been killed in the last few months and I knew that you were involved somehow. Koenig, the Three-Quarterling and Zephir.”

The monstrous brown bear growls to reinforce Thornberg’s menacing tone,

“However, Zephir of the oasis was killed before you’d even arrived there and I cannot blame you for carving up his mindless, reanimated corpse. You had a hand in the death of the pacifistic Three-Quarterling but not the murder itself, but his father? You are, all four of you, responsible for Koenig’s death. He may have been over-zealous and acting far beyond his remit, but he was still a member of the Circle of the Scale and a price must be paid. Balance must be restored and although our creed is usually a life for a life, many voices have spoken up for you. From the little fox to Droofin the Frost-giant. As such, instead of death, one of your group must relinquish their current life and swear allegiance to our order.”

The adventurers respond very differently to this surprising news. Man of few words; Fortu reaches for the hilt of his indestructible sword, Rifkin opens his mouth, searching for a convincing argument to use in their defence but Liga Bur does the opposite, biting down to prevent himself revealing his true thoughts. It is the Elf; Arowe though, who breaks the silence.

“I’ll do it. To save my friends, I’ll join your Brotherhood.”

The bulky, bearded Druid’s eyes widen in response before laughing it off.

“Tis a surprisingly noble offer Elf, but the choice has already been made. The Halfling has already received rudimentary training and possesses a natural aptitude for our craft. What say you Liga Bur?”

Love is in the Air

The octopus-armoured Fortu, eagerly (but unnecessarily) supported by two of the fawning, small but perfectly formed, amphibious Nixies, finds his footing, wades forward up the gentle slope and breaks the surface of the magical pool. Just drinking a mouthful of the enchanted water refreshes him as much as a full nights rest and he feels the aches and stresses from the previous day, wash away as if they’d never been. As the water cascades off of him, leaving him completely dry, he hears the exquisite voices of the Fey creatures singing in harmony. Looking up, he sees three of the Dryads, the smiling Satyr; Magritte and, in the centre, the beautiful ‘goddess’ herself; Estrid. They’re standing in a semi-circle, waist-deep in the water, with their hands outstretched in welcome.

Even as the Four Nixies swim up and down the underwater, hundred foot pipe, retrieving the less submersible Party members, Fortu, despite his distrust, can’t help but gaze upon Estrid. Her beauty is beyond compare, with flaming locks of auburn hair, ivory skin and, her (previously terrifying) eyes are of emerald green. Though not a man comfortable with the ‘gentler’ emotions, Fortu reflects upon the difference between the tall and athletic Estrid’s and overly curvaceous Hetzabah’s beauty; Estrid’s seems to fill his heart, whereas Hetzabah’s seemed to fill an entirely different organ, about two feet lower down.

The heavily armoured, but strangely unencumbered in the water, warrior, accepts Estrid’s proffered hand and allows her to pull him forward. She stands about the same impressive height as him in the water but her kind smile is like a breath of Spring and Fortu, for a moment, forgets why he was so angry with her.

Behind him, two of the Nxies emerge with his Halfling friend and his slobbery dog, before the small, green-skinned women dive back down to retrieve the others.

Liga Bur looks about himself suspiciously, but on seeing no signs of aggression, treads water while holding onto his soggy, doggy-paddling companion. The welcoming choral song the Fey creatures are singing is warm and genuine and even the ever-vigilant, Orc-raised Halfling feels himself lull a little.

Fortu and Liga Bur are soon joined by Arowe and Rifkin and all of them have been guided to the safety of the grassy bank before a coughing and spluttering Henshaw, Barbella and Doberman break the surface of the crystal-clear pool.

Still (mostly) wearing the same uniforms that they attacked the Fey in, the three soldiers weren’t given the magical, water-breathing Nixie kiss and are choking by the time they escape the hundred-foot deep, underwater sinkhole pipe. The four Nixies roughly pull them to the shallower water but their actions are obviously begrudging and Fortu is coldly reminded of the general ill-will felt between the Fey and Humans.

Still, when Estrid finally speaks, her voice is soft, like Summer rain.

“Welcome home my champions. We have much to discuss, but before we’re forced deal with the evil that’s to come, please rest after your arduous journey, share our food and enjoy our music, wine and… our company.”

Fortu feels a wave of confusion wash over him as he battles conflicting emotions. The goddess; Estrid seems so different this time around; kind, generous and objectively, (whatever he may think of her past actions) breathtakingly lovely.

DMs Run the Game they’d want to Play in

Congratulations! We finally (after a few false dawns) finished the ‘Givrad Void’ module! I hope you’ve all enjoyed playing this adventure as much as I did running it. 

Like the title says though, I think Dungeon Masters, Dungeon Master because they get frustrated as Players in other Dungeon Master’s games. Assif, I know is just there for the ‘kick-in-the-door’ combat. Scott enjoys devilishly circumventing or disrupting my carefully contrived plans and Cousin David’s probably just there out of love and loyalty. 

For me though, it’s all about the story. Everything has to make sense within the internal logic of the fantasy setting and common sense and reason must always be able to be applied. Villains will behave as smartly or as dumbly as their stats state and monsters will exploit their own environment and physical advantages to the full. Henchmen and associates will behave in a way depending on their own agendas and as a reflection of how well or poorly they’ve been treated. Actions will always (well usually at least) have consequences.

That said; everyone finally gets to Level-up to 7th level! (Even Rifkin and the lesser Henchies!)

Fortu: 24,763 xp (7th!) 

Arowe: 24,558 xp (7th!)

Liga Bur: 24,331 xp (7th!)

Rifkin: 15,009 xp (6th!)

Henshaw: 6,271 xp (4th!)

Barbella: 6,271 xp (4th!)

Doberman:  6,271 xp (4th!)

At this point, I’ll also give you all an opportunity to have a little tweak of your characters, if you want. No changing race or class (apart from the new 7th level cross-class level if desired), but if you want to replace a previously chosen Feat that never came into play or you want to rearrange your skill points a little; fine by me. 

This is all under the assumption that we all want to soldier on with this campaign? Even though we’re occasional players rather than weekly grinders, a long-form D&D game is still a time consuming commitment.

I’m going to try to take a break from compulsively thinking about it until the new year, aside from possibly/definitely posting up some videos and the last of my background stories. Despite the routinely depressing ‘No comments’ underneath each posting, I still hope that you read and enjoy them all.

They’re chock-full of clues and reminders of what’s happened, but hopefully entertaining too. If we are to continue, I’d urge you to spend some of your free down-time to read back through them and take a few notes to remind yourselves what’s been happening, why it’s been happening and who it’s been happening to?

After you’re latest decision, I’m already wondering what’s going to happen next? I wasn’t sure whether you were going to charge into the lower levels of Hell after Hetzabah and Sir Briefadel or return to Fissa to face the potential wrath of the (small ‘g’) goddess; Estrid and the hulking Druid; Thornberg? Now though, wIll the seven (and a dog) of you try to seek out and warn the eyepatch wearing, old Lord Urdurel that his errant son is coming to get him?

At the end of yesterday’s session (as Scott’s full-time back in England), I suggested that we perhaps just drop the online sessions and revert back to the quarterly ‘Cottage of Doom’ weekends?

David though suggested that we might instead do a combination of both? 

Either way; Fun, fun, fun!

I Know What You Did Last Summer

Emerging from a thicket of oak trees on the edge of the wood, Thornberg finds himself, now well within the Human realms. Sniffling at the air, he immediately smells the lingering, acrid hint of burnt wood and damp thatch but it still takes him a few minutes before he actually finds the remnants of the tannery.

Searching the partially burned down and abandoned buildings, the big Druid and his even bigger bear companion, discover several burned human corpses, a score of crisped, giant rat bodies and countless fire-shrivelled normal ones, before they actually find Koenig.

The great bear; Bamse tracks him down to the tree-line on the opposite side of the small settlement. His body twisted and burnt beyond recognition. Tragically, the dead, lacerated dog-sized rat, sprawled protectively across him, gives him away.

Thornberg can’t help but voice his inner thoughts; the words emerging through his thick beard, deep and gruff.

“That’s Koenig all right. His giant rat familiar; Francis obviously died desperately trying to defend his master, long after he'd been struck down.”

Wandering over to the riverbank, the gigantic Bamse moves to lap at the cool water but looks up at Thornberg for permission.

“Go ahead bear. The toxic elements from the tanning process seem to be long gone. Koenig’s letters had said that the fish here were all dead but I see plenty of healthy ones swimming around now.”

While the enormous brown bear splashes joyfully into the refreshing water, the bulky Druid, once again, moves to commune with the witness trees, just to confirm what he’s already, almost, nearly, completely certain of.

Bearing Down on the Truth

After camping the night outside the dead Three-Quarterling’s too cosy for comfort, low ceilinged cave-like home, the huge Druid Thornberg ruffles his great bear companion’s thick furry brow and sets back out in the morning. Not for the Goddess Estrid’s magical glade, but instead to his ‘Circle of the Scale’ brother Koenig’s wooden-shack home. He will need to be told of his son’s untimely death.

Koenig; the self proclaimed 'Rat King’! Weirdly, he hadn’t heard from him in over a month. No rambling letters or requests for assistance against the ‘foul’ Human polluters. Another mystery ripe for solving.

After muttering a few incantations to reinforce the Three-Quarterling’s wavering wards protecting the magical pool, Thornberg beseeches the only large tree in the hidden garden for access back into the 'Green path'. The old oak shimmers with deep magic and seemingly splits open to allow the large Thornberg and his even larger bear passage toward the Human realm.

Despite the distance, it only takes a few hours to traverse the network of trees and Thornberg emerges mere yards from Koenig’s ramshackle hut. Sniffing loudly, the oversized brown bear, Bamse pads forward unafraid.

There's no-one here and judging from the rotten fruit and vegetables in what passes for a kitchen, Koenig’s not been here for weeks! 

Thornberg frowns and grumbles to his ever-near bear.

"Could the old coot be dead, and if so, what… or who killed him?"

A Thorn(berg)y Issue

With his heavy brow knitted in a suspicious frown, the Druid Thornberg transports himself and his massive bear from the goddess Estrid's grove, through the mystical green pathway. The journey is quick but not instantaneous and the very large Druid is puffing heavily by the time he and his animal companion emerge from the single large Oak tree in the Three-Quarterling's far distant, hidden and magical glade.

Thornberg is a truly massive man; dressed in the simple brown vestments of his brotherhood. A head and shoulders taller than the six-foot tall plus Fortu and at least a hundred pounds heavier, but he's still dwarfed by his brown furred guardian. The mighty Grizzly bear sniffs the air and grunts softly and Thornberg's broad shoulders relax. If Bamse's trusty nose senses no danger, then there's no danger to sense.

There are a few bizarre looking creatures milling around by the pond but none of them make any threatening movements or show any signs of aggression. Mostly untroublesome insect mixes but there are a collection of about a dozen curiously quacking fox/duck hybrids that waddle on their webbed feet towards him.

Thornberg can't help but smile momentarily, despite the sombre reason for his visit.

A flock of Fucks!

His grin abruptly fades though as he turns and directs his attention back to the grim task at hand. The big man and bigger bear spend the next ten minutes or so, retracing the Three-Quarterling's last few hours of life but Thornberg curses when he comes across the bodies of the tiny, smeared and dismembered Scorcion and arrow peppered, feathered horse Howl, before finally discovering the unmarked mound of soil covering the pulped remains of his small friend. There's barely enough of him left to recognise and far too much time has passed for any sort of reincarnation spell. The mixed Halfling/Human is beyond his powers to save.

Despite this though, Thornberg still continues with his investigation. From previously speaking to the simple souled, winged Dork, he was already certain that the adventurers were lying about what happened here and was determined to discover the full truth. After instructing his bear Bamse to guard the entrance, Thornberg ducks his head and squeezes his bulky frame through the unlocked, arched door in the cave, deep behind the vertical rocky wall. Bending low to accommodate for the much smaller Druids dwelling, Thornberg searches the place as best as he's able. There was no battle here but the place has obviously been searched, with desks broken into and secret hatches and hiding places found. No battle that is, until he discovers the yellow and black striped corpse of the poisonous Beer lying in the iron-barred cellar below. Sword slashes across its chitinous torso and four arrows still protruding from the creatures shaggy head, one of them piercing deep through its big, buggy, compound eye and into its tiny brain.

Four finely fletched Elven arrows...

Pushing back outside and into the sunlight, Thornberg finally whispers a few secret Druidic incantations and breathes a semblance of sentience into the tree he'd recently emerged from.

"Tell me friend Oak... What exactly did you see here?"

The Ice Giant and the Snow Owl

After filling a second large barrel with the ice-holes magical water of 'Heat resistance', the sixteen-foot-tall frost giant; Droofin shakes the freezing beads of water from his braided hair and beard.

He backs further from the hovering waterfall portal and steps over the lower, second ice barrier, before addressing his fluffy, white companion.

"Vell Uurgle, thaat waas the loongest conveersation I've haad with eenyone oother thaan yooo in oover three years. I doo hope theey're successful in catching that naasty Sir Brieefaadel."

The large snowy owl blinks while perched on the heavy wooden sled handle and hoots dolefully in response.

"Doon't yoou woorry yoou greedy bird. I doubt wee'll haave to share anymoore of our dinner aagain for anoother feew years."

Dragging his now, mostly empty, gigantic sled, the two of them head back to Droofin's cottage fortress. The weak, watery sun is already setting as they get to the filleted carcass of the insectoid Remorhaz.

"I'll haave tooo catch and train anoother of these though, juust in caase... I shoould also report back to Thoornberg..."

Experience of Water, Wood, Wolves and Women!

From the Nixie river crossing, the Lightning tree and Kane's wolf pack to the Dryad trap and the season Finale at the Pool of Temporary Immortality, you've certainly earned this level. 

Fortu: 15,967xp (Up to 6th!)

Arowe: 16,042xp (Up to 6th!)

Liga Bur: 15,875xp (Up to 6th!)

Rifkin: 10,191xp (Up to 5th!)

Level five was a bit flat but sixth is a great one! New Feats all round and, as you're all Fighter classes, an extra attack each round! 

Personally, I think that Sixth level is the beginning of being a mid-level character. Good bye Rats and City guards, hello truly terrifying monsters of the void!

Congratulations!

Range Rover

 

After watching Rifkin scribbling down notes by the light of several lanterns for a while, the flaxen-haired Arowe nimbly rolls to his feet and peers over the demi-elf's shoulder.
The Bard looks up nervously.
"I've been trying to make sense of this map I found of the War's hunting and foraging grounds. The Three-Quarterling was pretty thorough in his research of it over time. I suppose he had to be, as this creature was his first line of defence against interlopers such as ourselves."
The long locked archer shrugs in response. He regretted the death of the half-halfling but it was too late to save him now.
Catching his other team-mates attention, Fortu, still wearing his dark, octopus adorned armour, heaves himself to his feet but is easily beaten to the table by the smaller and much more acrobatic Liga Bur.
With everyone listening, Rifkin continues with his warning.
"Initially, the War constrained itself to the zone marked nearest the secret garden path entrance but, over time, as it got bigger, it started to roam farther afield. The dates adjacent to each additional zone show that the War's about eight-years old and that its grown to nearly the size of a ferociously tusked horse!"
The battle-scarred Fortu tenses at the description. Wolves are one of nature's apex predators at regular size and, from their earlier run in, wild boars are no easy mark either. A combination of both, allowed to grow that large...
Unaware of his human companion's unspoken response, Rifkin carries on talking.
"In a way, we were lucky. The War's ranging zone has become so wide that it can't cover the entire area in one day. Unfortunately, although we inadvertently entered its territory via the shortest route, the 'Lightning tree' takes us pretty much the longest way out."
Looking up and around at the three adventurer's faces, Rifkin points back to the map.
"It's about twenty-five miles back the way we came but almost double that before we reach 'safety' if we travel North toward the tree. Our horses, despite their loads can travel about forty miles in a day but Mir Hundur here can only manage about thirty. If we travel South-ish, we can be out of the zone before nightfall. If we ride North, we'll probably have to camp amongst this ruined forest. Either way we're at risk encountering the War but we've no idea where the beast currently is and South probably halves the risk."
The stern faced Halfling; Liga Bur bites his tongue. Should he let the others know that, as they've been comfortably holed up here over a day, the monstrous creature's almost certainly caught their scent by now and is probably already, as they speak, tracking them down?

Twixt and Twirl

After washing up the dirty glasses and plates in the kitchen, Rifkin wanders back into the warm and well lit living room, wearing the flamboyant magical hat found in the Beer's cell. He's also brandishing one of the brightly coloured, magical feather tokens twixt his thumb and forefinger.

"I've surmised what these feathers can do and ascertained how they work! If you write a letter down on paper, you can use these to magically send it to whoever you want, wherever you want, as if by a super, super quick courier pigeon. All you need to know is the name of the person you want to receive it. The more information you provide, the better but you don't need an actual address. The summoned bird will simply know where to go! We could send word to anyone, anywhere! Sir Briefadel, if we find the Dryad pool, each-other, if we ever get lost or even this Thornberg individual that the Three-Quarterling was corresponding with! We could write anything to anyone we know of and it'd get there safely and as swiftly as any fleet or tireless bird could!"

The Elvish Bard stops and beams at you all, truly pleased with himself before artfully rolling the wide brimmed, rainbow-coloured hat down his arm and spinning around in a theatrical twirl.

"Also, can I have this lovely hat as my half share of the magical treasure?"

Study Notes

With the fire banked and roaring, their stomachs full and their wine glasses topped up, the four adventurers rifle through all the letters, notes, sketches, maps and journals.

Their are only two maps. The first leading from the Three-Quarterling's cave to a large blackened and twisted tree. The second leading back towards Scar Burrow and showing Koenig's hidden forest base.

There are also only two sets of letters. The larger pile are all from Koenig, who you also knew as the Rat King. They are written in the secret language of the Druids and mostly indecipherable but Liga Bur recognises a few words from his training under the orc trackers from his tribe. 'Love', 'Father' and 'Son' are the most obvious but a few others also stand out... 'Poison', 'Humans' and 'Confict'. The second, smaller pile are from another Druid called Thornberg but unfortunately, Liga Bur can translate nothing additional from these.

The notes and sketches are obviously the result of years of observation. There are literally scores of self-portraits of the Three-Quarterling himself and drawings of the now dead Owl/Horse: Howl and Orc/Scorpion: Scorcion plus the very-much-alive Dog/Hawk: Dork.

Just by quickly scanning through, you soon find several dozen drawings of the horse-headed man you encountered a few days ago. 'Charlie-Horse', the Centaurs had called him. You also find references to the Cat/Raven hybrids: Cravens. One of which was brought down by Sir Briefadel's trained falcon.

Bizarre looking as most of them are, some of the other names make you laugh. A huge, powerfully built wolf-like creature with monstrous Boar tusks is labelled a War and an oversized rabbit with short curled horns, weird horizontal slit goat eyes and a long chin beard called a Grabbit.

The journals are mostly just sad and lonely diary entries but a few of them contain useful information about the groups' current situation.

'Normals are completely safe from the magical pools influence whilst within these cave walls but will be again vulnerable immediately upon leaving.'

'Even when a Normal has resisted once, that resistance will only last until the next sunrise.'

'When a Normal has resisted the strongest call of the pool thrice times, he is forevermore immune to its influence.'

Another entry explains why the Three-Quarterling was able to coexist with the Howl, the Scorcion and specifically, the terrifying Beer.

'Hybrids have an inherent understanding and sympathy for each other. Whatever their intelligence, they will never attack another Hybrid.'

Just then, Liga Bur's sturdy dog; Mir Hundur wanders in looking very pleased with himself. The creepy black remains of one of the loose Bat/Beetle: Battles, hanging limp from his mouth.