20 March, 103 CY
Balasar, Etholin, Morthos, Syler, and Tolis-Va walked along the Old King’s Road between Fallcrest and Winterhaven. Each of the young men had an interest in finding a man by the name of Douven Staul, an aged human who had influenced their lives in different ways in years past.
...
Balasar Sora-Ghesh, a dragonborn mercenary, had had business dealings with the kindly old man when his draconic family had roamed the land grifting those they could. He’d never approved of the practice of bilking people out of their hard-earned coin, and Staul had provided a friendly ear when Balasar felt he couldn’t speak to anyone else. Their discussions had lead the young dragonborn to leave his family in order to seek his own way.
Etholin Immerial, an eladrin practitioner of the arcane arts, had been seeking his twin sister for many years, after she had been kidnapped by a man carrying the holy symbol of the orc god Gruumsh. That had been his only clue during his long search, and he had met Staul shortly after his journey had landed him in Fallcrest. The old man had willingly offered his assistance in researching cults in the region, and though their efforts had never uncovered anything concrete, the friendship that the human had offered had greatly restored Etholin’s flagging spirit.
Morthos Hyjilak, a tiefling and a natural born leader of men, had endured the cruel prejudice of some local children in Fallcrest in his youth, and Staul had intervened to rescue the young man from their torments. Though his father had advised against it, he developed a friendship with the aged man, who would always tell him fantastic tales involving great heroes of past empires. These stories drew Morthos’ mind further from his duties on the farm, and when he finally decided to leave, it was with his the blessing of his father (who was a former adventurer himself).
Syler Thyll, a halfling pickpocket, was raised on the streets. His quick hands had gotten him into trouble more than once in his short life. On one such occasion, he was spared humiliation (and arrest) by Staul’s intervention. The aged human had smoothed things over with the merchant from whom the halfling had stolen. His price for this good deed was small, a weekly visit to discuss any given number of topics. Thyll decided to humor the grey-hair. He HAD kept him out of the dungeon, after all. And he had to admit, some of the old man’s stories had made him laugh.
Tolis-Va, an elven woodsman, had first encountered Staul at his mother Valna’s shrine to Avandra, which was located along the Old King’s Road east of Fallcrest. The old man was an old friend of the family, and he said he was working on a book on the topic of the Nentir Vale. He spoke with Valna at some length about the Harken Wood and the Woodsinger Clan. Then they discussed Tolis-Va leaving with the human on his next trip, so that the young man could learn more of the world outside of his home. It was agreed, and the elven youth spent the next several years traveling with and learning from Staul.
...
Douven Staul was about a month overdue from an excursion to a supposed dragon tomb near the village of Winterhaven. His wife Bahla had appealed to each of the young men to find her husband and make sure he returned home safely. It was the third day of their journey from Fallcrest, and they were beginning to think that the tales of brigands on the road that they’d heard in town were greatly exaggerated. That was, of course, when the kobolds struck.
Fortunately, Syler and Tolis-Va were both keenly aware of their surroundings, and they recognized the ambush as it was sprung. They each slew one of the five spear-wielding creatures that emerged from behind a pair of boulders without taking any wounds of their own. By the time the others reacted, the halfling had spotted three more of the creatures, two bearing short swords and shields that appeared to be made from a plate-sized dragon scale, and the other loading a sling with a strange sphere from his chest bandolier. A vicious melee ensued.
The first five kobolds fell to the adventurers’ blades and magic quickly, but the reserves proved another matter entirely. The shield bearers kept eluding pursuit, and so the warriors had to adjust their tactics to keep up with the shifty creatures. The kobold slinger lobbed an orb at the halfling, which exploded on impact and released some alchemical adhesive that held Syler firmly in place. Then the wretched creature dashed behind a distant boulder. Balasar put his long-hafted halberd to good use, and the kobolds seemed to have a hard time staying outside of his long reach. Morthos’ tactical insight granted his allies additional advantage, and his inspiring words even kept them on their feet. When they might have otherwise succumbed to their wounds. Tolis-Va supported the left flank and Etholin moved to assist Syler with his sticky predicament.
Once freed, the halfling pursued the kobold slinger, which launched a second orb just over Syler’s head. However, a third missile impacted the rogue’s leather chest plate and exploded in flames, setting the halfling ablaze. Fortunately, the others finished the dragonshields in short order, and Tolis-Va’s long stride allowed him to catch up with the slinger and put him to the sword, as well. Syler managed to put out the flames, but singed and annoyed, he walked over to the fallen kobold slinger, dropped trow, and began to urinate on the corpse. Catching sight of this, Morthos frowned and said, “Is that really necessary?” The halfling offered no reply, only a brief glance over his shoulder as he casually retied his trousers and proceeded to loot the sodden corpse. After the pittance of coin possessed by the creatures was removed from their pouches, the group decided to leave the bodies where they fell, trusting to the scavengers that were likely to come along to clean up the mess.
...
The rutted King’s Road led to the foot of a broad hill that held the walled village of Winterhaven. The village was nestled in the southern foothills of the Cairngorm Peaks, its weathered stone walls topped by defensive palisades. Small thatched homes stood around Winterhaven, each fronting a small piece of farmland or pasture. Beyond the farms to the west and south lay dark woods, and tall mountain peaks dominated the horizon to the north. The gates were open and flanked by a pair of armored guards. They smiled as the group approached and offered a greeting.
“Welcome to Winterhaven, travelers. What brings you out this way?”
“We’re looking for a friend; a man named Douven Staul,” replied Balasar.
The guard seemed to think on that for a second or so before returning with, “I don’t know the name, but if he came to Winterhaven, like as not one of the locals had dealings with him. You might try Wrafton’s Inn, the big wooden building just past the gate.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder by way of illustration, “Ya really can’t miss it.” The adventurers smiled politely and proceeded into the stone walled village.
As they walked through the front doors of the inn, they were greeted by a boisterous woman standing behind a long bar. “Welcome to Wrafton’s! Salvana Wrafton, proprietor, at your service. Can I get you lads a round of ale or perhaps a meal?”
“Bath,” Syler replied succinctly.
Salvana smiled and nodded, “Of course, master halfling. We can have a bath drawn for you in a few minutes.” She nodded to one of the young serving women who scurried into the back. “But have a seat lads, and I’ll bring you a pitcher or two, shall I?” They agreed and had a seat at a nearby unoccupied table. Morthos spun his chair around and sat in it backwards to allow for his tail.
As they surveyed the other patrons, they saw a handful of simply dressed humans, likely farmers or day laborers. Three figures in particular stood out from the others gathered, primarily because they each had their own table. The first was an aged farmer with a leathery, sun-darkened face framed by a wild mane of hair and a coarse grey beard. He grinned broadly and spoke in a loud, gregarious voice to those seated at nearby tables. The second was also an older gentleman who sat quietly, sipping wine and idly reading something from a small stack of parchment resting on the table in front of him. He wore simple robes and had a neatly trimmed black goatee, streaked with grey. The third was an elf woman dressed in simple leathers, who sat in a corner towards the back of the tavern drinking wine and not really paying the rest of the room much mind.
When Salvana brought the first pitcher of ale, Syler asked her about Douven. “I do remember a fellow by that name. He had a room here for a time, and I believe he had some business with Eilian,” she gestured to the old farmer. “He disappeared one day and never returned. I wondered what happened to him.”
“How long ago was this?” asked Tolis-Va.
“Oh, a couple three weeks ago, I guess,” replied the innkeeper. “Maybe Eilian knows.”
At the mention of his name, the old man looked up and grinned broadly at Salvana, “Could I get another, luv?” he asked, holding up his empty mug. She nodded, “Of course, dear. I’ll get it right to you.”
“That’s on me,” offered Syler. Salvana smiled again and moved off to fetch another pitcher. Old Eilian smiled and raised his empty glass in silent toast, while the halfling stood and walked over to his table.
“Pull up a chair, boy. What can Old Eilian do fer ye?”
“We’re looking for a man named Douven Staul. The innkeeper said you dealt with him?”
“You knew Douven? I’ve been wondering what happened to him! He had questions about the old burial site south of the village. Thought a dragon might be buried there! I told him it was probably just an old trash heap, but he wouldn’t hear of it, no sir! Well, a’course I gave him directions to the place. I am something of a historian of the area, you know!” Eilian seemed to get distracted at that point and began to spin a tale about how he broke his leg while showing off for a girl at some point in his youth. Used to Douven’s stories, Syler patiently waited for the man to take a breath before attempting to get the conversation back on track. Eilian continued, “Oh yes, Douven! Well, he took my directions, and we haven’t seen him since. I do hope the poor man is all right!”
“Could you draw a map for me, too?” asked the halfling.
“Absolutely, lad. No trouble at’all.”
...
While Syler spoke with the old farmer, Balasar and Tolis-Va decided to leave the inn and speak with some of the locals outside to try to find out if any of them knew anything more about Douven’s fate. Just outside of Wrafton’s, carts and wagons rested on the fringes of an otherwise open space. Their contents were out of view, covered with canvas. A few people remained, speaking near the wagons or booths. If this was some sort of market, it appeared to be closed for the day. Still, they moved over to a small group, two human men speaking with an elven woman who held a basket of flowers. The adventurers introduced themselves, and the young woman smiled and introduced herself as Delphina Moongem. In the wake of that smile, neither Balasar nor Tolis-Va could recall the names of the other two humans, though they were offered.
Delphina frowned a little and apologized that she did not know more of Douven’s fate. She had not interacted with him more than once when he had bought a wildflower bouquet from her. She did, however, mention something that was of concern to her. “I collect flowers near the old keep to the north. If your search takes you over that way, do be careful. There are goblins in the ruins, more and more of them all the time. I have no idea where they are all coming from, but it seems that they’ve moved in and plan to stay.” They thanked her for the information and returned to the inn.
...
Meanwhile, Etholin was having little luck finding out more about his sister or even any death cult activity in the region. Salvana had positively giggled when he brought up the subject. When she caught her breath, she said “That’s ridiculous! Winterhaven follows the teachings of Avandra. There are no cults anywhere around here. I’m sure of that!” Of course, Old Eilian overheard the conversation and responded (drunkenly) with, “Cults? Like a death cult or something?? Wow, wouldn’t that be something to see?! Do you think they sacrifice victims to the Raven Queen or some foul demon??! Where did you say these sacrifices were happening?!! Can I go see??!?”
The eladrin sighed and then decided to try his luck with the elf woman in the back of the tavern. As he approached, she scowled and cut her eyes at him contemptuously. He proceeded uncertainly, “Excuse me, miss. My name is Etholin Immerial, and I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Look… I just came here to have a drink in peace. Please leave me alone. Not really up for socializing. Just want to have my drink and be left to myself.” He words practically dripped acid.
Etholin blinked, taken aback by such a hostile response, but he continued, “It won’t take long, I promise. I’m looking for a girl.”
“Aren’t we all?” she countered, stone faced.
“Ah…” Etholin failed to respond.
She sighed loudly, “Fine. What?”
Regaining some composure, the eladrin pushed forward. “Thank you. My sister was kidnapped years ago by a priest of Gruumsh.”
“So?” her tone made it clear that she could not care less.
“So, I… I’ve been trying to find her since then…”
“Great. Good luck with that,” she turned away and took another pull off of her ale mug.
His mouth agape for a moment or two, Etholin finally gave up, “Thank you, you’ve been very-”
“Bitter? Antisocial?” she interrupted.
”...helpful,” Etholin finished. Then he turned on his heel and walked back to the group, flabbergasted.
...
When Balasar and Tolis-Va had returned from speaking to Delphina and and Syler came back to the table after finishing his bath. The ranger decided that he wanted to wash up, too, and he vanished into the back for a time. The halfling caught the very end of Etholin’s failed attempt to discover anything useful from the elf woman and had a seat at their table next to the eladrin. He’d requested the room that Douven had used and Salvana had rented it to him. Now he munched on a chicken leg and considered what to do next. He caught sight of the older gentleman who’d been reading striking a tindertwig and lighting up a hand-carved pipe. He stood up and walked over to the man’s table.
“Is that Longbottom Leaf?” he asked.
“Alas, no. I have not been able to acquire any in many seasons,” replied the aged human.
“Do you mind if I sit?”
“Not at all, young man,” he replied as he pushed his papers to one side.
“Syler Thyll,” offered the halfling.
“Valthrun… called ‘the Prescient,’ though I am afraid it is largely an exaggeration. I am something of a sage around town.” He smiled, “Or what passes for a sage in these parts.”
“Did you know Douven Staul?”
“I am afraid not, though I overheard your conversation with Eilian. I believe that there is a place to the south that has been associated with an ancient dragon, but I have no first-hand knowledge of the truth of such legends. I am not certain what became of the man or if he found what he was seeking.”
Etholin, Balasar, and Morthos came over and introduced themselves, and Valthrun welcomed them to join his table, as well. Etholin spoke up, “I don’t suppose you know anything about any cults in the region.”
“There hasn’t been an honest to goodness evil cult in or around Winterhaven in more than a hundred years. Not since the fall of the Nerath Empire. No, I am afraid the only real trouble of late has been the kobold’s increase in boldness, though the source of that I could not say. I know Lord Padraig has been trying to get volunteers from the town to seek out their lair and put an end to their deviltry, but his efforts have so far not yielded any fruit.”
Balasar chimed in, “I spoke with an elf woman in the market area who said that the old keep to the north seemed to be crawling with goblins.”
“Really?” asked Syler. “Damn. Old man Cranewing wanted us to map that place for him. I figured that was easy money. Goblins now? Great.”
Valthrun nodded sympathetically, then turned to Etholin and said, “I had rather forgotten the old keep. It may have had some sort of cult connection, though I don’t recall any off hand. It was built during the height of the old empire. Some sort of watchtower, though I cannot remember what for. Some think it was to guard against gnoll marauders, but I do not think that is right. Whatever the case, the keep outlived its usefulness. It has been a ruin since before I was born. If what Delphina said is true, then it probably is a goblin lair now.” He paused, thoughtfully. “You have whetted my curiosity, though. When I return to my tower, I shall look through my library. The next time you see me here, I should know more about it.”
He paused, finishing off his glass of wine and rising, “I wish you luck in your search for your friend. If you have a mind for additional work, I know Lord Padraig would be eager to speak with anyone willing to deal with the brigands for him. I believe he is offering a sizable reward, as well.”
“Where can we find him?” asked Balasar and Morthos at once.
Valthrun chuckled, “On occasion he comes to Wrafton’s to keep touch with the populace. Otherwise, he can be found at the manor beyond the inner gate. I am certain that if you asked the guards there, they will convey a request for a meeting to him on your behalf. Good night, my young friends. May Avandra’s blessings find you always.”
Balasar and Morthos made their way to the inner gate and spoke with the guards. They were told that the guards would leave word at Wrafton’s if Lord Padraig could meet with them on the morrow. They thanked the guards and returned to the inn. With no other business needing attending, the adventurers rented rooms at Wrafton’s and called it a night.
21 March, 103 CY
The meeting with Lord Padraig was scheduled for 10 AM at the manor. The party breakfasted, made themselves presentable, and walked towards the inner gate, passing a smithy, a general store called “Bairwin’s Grand Shoppe,” and Valthrun’s five-story tower on their way. The guards ushered them inside without preamble, and they caught sight of the lord’s house. The grand manor home must have been built when Winterhaven was an outpost of the Nerath Empire. It was a beautiful example of stone architecture in a village whose buildings were otherwise composed of thatch and wood. A valet showed them through the foyer and into Lord Ernest Padraig’s well appointed office.
He was a middle-aged human with short brown hair and a thick, but well-groomed mustache. He stood as they entered, revealing that he did not dress garishly. Balasar led off with, “So, we heard you were looking for able-bodied men to deal with some kobolds.”
Padraig nodded, “You heard correctly, gentlemen. You’ve already encountered the kobolds that have turned the Old King’s Road and our outlying farms into their personal hunting grounds. Those beasts vex me sorely. Yet the villagers refuse to recognize the seriousness of the problem. Attacks along the road have grown more frequent over the last few months. Something is stirring the kobolds up, and the situation will only worsen if someone does not stop them. I can pay well for your services, if you will accept my commission to find the creatures’ lair and destroy their leader, whatever it might be.”
“We’re interested,” Morthos assured him.
The lord nodded, “Excellent.” He spread a map of the region that showed the roads leading to Winterhaven, and the location of the ruined keep to the north. However, he pointed to a spot on the map to the south, between the two southern roads. “Based on reports, I believe they are originating from this area here. Local woodsman have told me of a cave hidden behind a waterfall in that general area, and I believe this is the most likely location for the creatures to be lairing.”
“What proof would you like us to bring back that the deed is done?” asked Syler.
“The left ear from as many kobolds as you can claim, and then some evidence of a leader figure. Oftentimes, I am told, these creatures are lead by their wyrmpriests who have a tendency to wear bone masks carved into the likeness of dragons, but I am unsure if that is the case for this particular tribe. I suspect something with more backbone, however. If you complete this task, you will have my gratitude and 100 gold. Additionally, if you recover any loot, keep it. Even if it once belonged to one of the villagers, if not for your efforts they would never have retrieved it anyway, and they are likely to lose more if the kobolds’ depredations are not brought to an end.”
...
Back at the inn, the party went over their game plan. They decided that Douven’s safety was their first priority, and so they would follow the map provided by Old Eilian and try to find this Dragon Tomb and any evidence of the man’s fate. Afterwards, they would begin their assault on the kobold lair, if indeed it lay in the area that Padraig suspected. Once these tasks were complete, they would place their attention fully upon the keep to the north. This decided, they made their way out of Winterhaven.
They hadn’t gone more than half a mile into the woods, following a narrow path when Tolis-Va’s keen elven ears detected movement up ahead. He uttered a silent warning and strafed left, spotting more kobolds flanking the road. One wore bright red hide armor and wore a bone mask. It cried out in a shrill voice in draconic, uttering a prayer to incite faith in some dark god (likely Tiamat). Emboldened, the kobolds nearby took a few steps forward, and their eyes gleamed with religious fervor.
Tolis-Va nocked an arrow and let fly, striking deeply into the nearest spear-wielding kobold before moving into the thick underbrush for what protection it offered. The creature hissed and charged forward with its weapon, but it could not find purchase for its attack within the foliage. Tolis-Va could not help by smirk slightly. Morthos, Balasar, and Syler moved forward to engage another pair of dragonshields while Etholin hung back and sought targets for his magic from a distance. Their former experience with the fighting style of these particular kobolds lent them huge advantage, and they controlled the field with greater skill. Still, the kobolds proved to be crafty tacticians, and they eluded Syler’s charge, leaving his left flank vulnerable.
The spear-wielding skirmisher left Tolis-Va standing in the brush with a spear wound, and the wyrmpriest struck the elf with a magical acid orb that burned him deeply. The skirmisher and a third dragonshield engaged the halfling, scoring deep wounds in his sides. Morthos quickly moved to intervene, his inspiring words keeping the wounded halfling on his feet. Etholin was having trouble controlling his magic for some reason, and few of his attacks struck truly. Balasar wielded his halberd diligently and seemed the greatest asset in the fight until Tolis-Va, having shaken off the worst of his wounds, burst forward from behind a boulder and slew both of the kobolds attacking the halfling in the span of a few seconds. Following the ranger’s lead, Syler unleashed hell on the wyrmpriest, slaying him outright. The remaining dragonshields made a dash for Etholin, hoping to kill the wizard at least before they were killed themselves. They scored hits upon the eladrin, but not enough to end him. Their deaths followed shortly thereafter.
In the aftermath, the group heard the familiar sound of urine splashing off a kobold corpse, and so did not bother to look at what Syler was doing. They rifled the pouches of the creatures and came up with some gold coins mixed among the silver. The halfling had also found a necklace on the wyrmpriest, on which dangled a dragon figurine carved of obsidian. On the bottom of the figure was etched the outline of a skull with ram’s horns. He tossed the item to Etholin, who did not recognize the image either. The eladrin pocketed the necklace for future consideration.
...
Following the crude map, Tolis-Va was able to guide the group to the dragon burial site, a steep-sided crater puncturing the wilderness. They had circled around it and approached the crater from the southeast. Near the center of the depression, they saw several humanoid figures clustered around a collection of bones. Two small, dragonlike creatures near the crater rim stood alert and stared up the group. One of them issued a little cough, which drew the attention of the others in the crater.
Four humans stood holding picks and shovels, while a smaller figure handled a bit of bone near the pit’s center. He was both shorter and more slender than a halfling with long, pointed ears, dark eyes, and grey skin. He wore dark leather armor and had a gleaming amulet hanging around his neck. A small crossbow was slung at his hip. Etholin recognized him as a denizen of the Feywild, a creature known as a gnome. His eyes instantly narrowed in suspicion.
Surprisingly, the gnome called out to the adventurers, “Greetings! Welcome to the burial site of a once great and powerful dragon, since reduced to dust and bones. I’m called Agrid. What can I do for you?” The humans stepped back a little and set their mining implements down against the walls of the crater, content for the moment to let the smaller man do the talking.
Balasar answered, “We’ve come seeking Douven Staul, a mutual friend. He was supposed to be seeking a dragon’s tomb, but he is overdue. Have you seen him?”
The gnome smiled, which made his face seem slightly more sinister. “Douven Staul, you say? Why, he was the man who sold me a map to this very site. After that transaction, I’ve not seen the man.”
“He sold you a map? When was this?” asked Morthos, while Tolis-Va scanned the area, spotting a halfling above them near the crater’s opposite edge, and a bundle covered with a tarp directly behind the gnome. To him, it seemed the right size to be a human body.
“Must have been two or three weeks ago now,” Agrid replied amiably. “We’ve found some treasures down here, as well. I’ll have to thank Douven should I see him again. Come, come! You can’t fully appreciate what we’ve uncovered from up above. Come down toward the dragon bones and see what the workers have discovered.”
“What is that?” the ranger asked bluntly, pointing at the tarp-draped bundle in the rear of the crater.
Agrid looked over his shoulder at the pile, before slowly turning back and giving the elf a thin-lipped smile. “Nothing you need concern yourself with.” Then the gnome glanced at the humans and nodded. They began bowing up, and Balasar, thinking quickly, imposed himself in front of the group. “Are you SURE that’s something you’re wanting to be doing? We can still talk about this, without resorting to anything… drastic.”
“Yea!” Syler commented, while Tolis-Va reached back to his quiver for an arrow, and Morthos flexed, his tail twitching visibly. The gnome snarled and gave a sharp command to the drakes and humans. Two of the men hesitated, sufficiently cowed by the dragonborn’s threatening tone (as well as the postures of his companions) to at least wait to see how the first blows fell. The rest moved to attack.
The gnome rapidly drew his crossbow and launched a bolt into Morthos before swiftly moving beside the tarp at the rear of the crater. Syler, strafed right and gutted one of the humans before he could even get his club up to block. Tolis-Va, arrow to string a split second behind the halfling put an arrow into the gnome, who began to fade rapidly from view. Before he had fully vanished, however, the elf had sunk another arrow in him to the fletchings. Cursing, the gnome snapped off the shaft and was gone. Etholin, thinking quickly, launched a spell at the spot where the gnome had been, and was gratified to hear the creature cry out in pain again. The eladrin then ascended to take a place atop the crater’s edge. The drakes charged Balasar next, both powerfully built reptiles sinking their teeth deeply into the dragonborn warrior. Pain washed over his face, but he steeled himself, stepping to be back to back with Syler who was squaring off with another human. He struck out at one of the drakes, delivering a solid blow. From the other side of the crater, the halfling launched a trio of sling bullets at Balasar, but he’d given up too much accuracy firing so many so quickly and every single one flew wide of its mark. Morthos stepped forward to support Balasar, his inspiring words giving his companion newfound resolve before the tiefling brought his greataxe to bear against the wounded drake.
The gnome reappeared several feet left of his previous position when he fired a quarrel at Balasar, which lodged itself in the dragonborn’s thigh. Then Syler slew the human rabble that had engaged him while Tolis-Va’s arrow finished the gnome off. The drakes continued to snap at Balasar, but desperation lent him the speed to fend off their vicious teeth. Between himself, Morthos, Etholin, and Syler, they brought the drakes low before they killed anyone. Then the group turned their attention to the halfling, which had continued to ineffectually lob sling stones at the adventurers. He was not long for the world. The remaining humans surrendered and begged for their lives, which were spared.
After the captives were released, they fled into the woods. The party moved over to the bundle, and Syler removed the tarp, which covered the unconscious form of Douven Staul, as well as a small chest. The halfling pulled out his flask and splashed a little of the liquor it contained onto the old man’s tongue, hoping to rouse him, but his efforts were not rewarded. He shook his head at the others and moved aside for Tolis-Va to make an attempt. His training in natural healing allowed him to revive his friend and former mentor, who blinked awake moments later. Upon seeing the elf leaning over him, he smiled broadly, “Tolis-Va! Gods, but it’s good to see you, boy.” He frowned and smacked his lips as though tasting something strangely unpleasant. “Is that… firewine I taste? But why..?” His glance took in the halfling and he smiled again, “Syler Thyll. Well, I will be damned.” The others all eventually fell under his gaze. “But, what are you all doing here?”
“Bahla sent us,” replied Balasar, smiling. “You are late in returning home.”
Douven chuckled quietly and nodded his head. “Well, being taken captive will have that effect, at times.”
“The gnome said you sold him the map,” commented Morthos.
“Well, if being assaulted and robbed is a similar transaction, then I see how he might phrase it that way. Where is that vile creature, anyway?”
“Dead,” replied Syler, while pulling an amulet off of the gnome’s body.
“Is that my locket?” the old man asked. Syler shrugged and tossed it to him. Smiling, Douven opened the amulet up and removed a small stone from it. Tolis-Va could see it somehow captured Bahla’s image. The human tossed the locket back to the surprised halfling, who deftly caught it. “A token of my gratitude… for saving my life,” commented Douven.
“What is it?” Syler frowned down at the amulet curiously.
“My boy… it’s magic. It’s supposed to protect its wearer. Hopefully it will serve you all better than it did me. Help me up, son,” he said to Tolis-Va, who complied.
“At least they found something,” Douven said, indicating the small wooden crate nearby. Morthos and Balasar removed the top to reveal an antique mirror. They looked up at Douven quizzically. He shrugged, “I’m not sure of its origin, but it is, no doubt, quite valuable.” He sighed, “You should keep it, too. I’ve taken enough from this experience to remind me that I’m a little too old to be chasing treasures. Time to stand aside and let you young folk have some adventures.” He chuckled again, “Then you can bring stories back to me.” He beamed at them all. They looted a great deal of gold and silver coins from the bodies and then guided their old friend back to Winterhaven.
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