21 March, 103 CY (Continued)

The party arrived back in the village of Winterhaven around noon, and so they went to Wrafton’s to rest and have lunch. Salvana welcomed the group back warmly, and when she saw Douven she smiled brightly. “Found him, then, did ya? There’s a story there, I’ll wager. Best told over a cold ale, eh?” Turning to a serving girl, she said, “Sally! Lunch for the gentlemen.” The maid scurried to the kitchen while the innkeeper brought a couple of pitchers to the table. Winking at Douven, she said, “Lunch’ll be right out, lads.”

There were fewer people in Wrafton’s at this hour, but three men among the patrons stood out from those gathered. A sturdy, black-bearded dwarf with soot-stained clothing sat at a nearby table, dining and working on the bottom half of his own ale pitcher. A human bedecked in armor like that of the guards at Winterhaven’s entrance stood near the bar conversing with a half-elven woman. Another human sat nearby dressed in clothing that marked him as a successful merchant, if not nobility. Syler’s eyes reflexively flicked to the man’s belt in search of a coin pouch. Seeing none immediately evident, he turned his attention back to the meal and the conversation at hand.

Douven was asking about the situation in Winterhaven. “You boys mentioned something about kobold brigands on the roads? Bahla would be none too pleased with me if I went and got myself killed after you all went to the trouble to come rescue me in the first place. Might be that I should stay here in town until you all sort that situation out.” It was agreed, and the group finished their lunches.

The human merchant and the dwarf smith paid their tabs and exited Wrafton’s. Syler brought the others’ attention to him. “Hey, I bet we can sell that mirror to him.”
Douven looked over at the man as he left and nodded, “Fair odds. That’d be Bairwin, proprietor of Bairwin’s Grand Shoppe.” He chuckled, “Not sure how ‘Grand’ it is, but he does a good business in so-called ‘adventuring goods.’ I imagine he can probably find a buyer for the mirror.”
Etholin intoned, “We should take it to him, then. Balasar, would you mind carrying the chest to the shop?”
“Huh? Oh. Yea.” The dragonborn heaved the sack containing the chest they’d found at the burial site over one shoulder as he stood, making it look effortless.
“I’ll stay here,” said Morthos. “I’d like to speak to Douven a while longer, anyway. The old man smiled, pleased, while the others looked to Tolis-Va.
“I think I’m going to have a bath and see about washing all this gnome blood off my clothes before it stains.”

Balasar snorted, and then he, Etholin, and Syler turned and left the inn, seeking Bairwin’s Grand Shoppe. In a village so small, it was easy to find. The chime of a bell greeted their ears as they pushed through the door to the shop. The interior walls were covered with shelves containing all manner of mundane gear presumably used by adventurers the world over. The man they’d seen at Wrafton’s stood behind a counter, apparently going over a ledger. He smiled amiably as they entered and said in a voice usually reserved for mountebanks, “Welcome to Bairwin’s GRAND Shoppe. How might I be of service?”

Balasar didn’t mince words, simply hefting the bag and plopping it and the chest inside unceremoniously on the counter. Syler looked at him askance, before he said, “We found an antique mirror and wanted to know how much you might be willing to pay for it.”
The merchant pursed his lips and said, “I see. Very enterprising of you boys. May I see it?” Etholin nodded, and Balasar removed the chest from the bag. Bairwin opened it up and removed the mirror, taking a look at it from several angles before settling it back in the chest with a satisfied nod. “Nice catch. The mirror is of old Nareth make and quite valuable. May I ask how you came by this… relic?”
“We found it in a dragon burial ground to the south after slaying the gnome who had taken our friend Douven Staul captive,” replied Etholin simply.
“A gnome, you say? I was certain creatures of that sort… a native of the Feywild, I believe… tended to dwell farther from civilization.”
Etholin did not quite sigh audibly, stating, “Not all beings of the Feywild are as crude as the gnomes.”

The merchant raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture, “Certainly not, and I apologize if I seemed to imply otherwise.” He smiled, “Well, as the mirror is not stolen, I can in good conscience offer you 550 gold crowns for it. What say you? A fair bargain?”
Etholin did some mental calculations and then nodded to the halfling, who replied, “Sold, and we’ll throw in the chest for two sling bullets and two crossbow bolts.” The merchant chuckled briefly then agreed. In the next breath Syler said, “What about this?” referring to the obsidian dragon figurine, which had previously occupied one of the eladrin’s pockets. Bairwin reached out his hand, and the halfling handed it over. Ignoring the perturbed look that Etholin gave him, Syler waited for the merchant’s appraisal. Balasar blinked.

“A fine piece. I could offer 80 crowns for this item,” said the human.
“What of the etching on the bottom?” asked Etholin, trying not to glower at his diminutive companion.
Bairwin took another look, and seemed to consider the symbol for a moment before shaking his head, “I’m sorry. I don’t recognize it.”
“Well, then we’ll hold onto it for now,” said Syler as he took the necklace from the merchant and handed it back to Etholin. While the merchant went to retrieve the gold for the mirror, the eladrin spoke to Syler, “If you’re just going to lift it out of my pouches whenever you want it, why don’t you hold onto the necklace?”
“Meh. Don’t want to,” replied the halfling laconically. Balasar looked between the two, blinking slowly.

Bairwin returned shortly and tried to engage the adventurers in a conversation about the kobolds. “I’ve heard that you met our kobolds?” Balasar nodded, which the human took as prompting to continue. “They have made it a habit to harass travelers on the old King’s Road.”
“We’ve heard as much around the town,” stated Etholin.
“Yes, what was once a minor annoyance has become a very real threat to the commerce of the village. Fewer and fewer travelers come our way these days, and even I have a harder and harder time keeping my shop stocked with the finest goods.”
“Uh…” began Balasar, but Bairwin continued as if he hadn’t heard, his eyes looking past the three.
“I remember a trip I made to distant Clovermarsh, many years ago. The place was literally crawling with kobolds because the people of the area refused to drive them away. I wonder how long before the kobolds grow brave enough to strike the village itself?”
Syler raised an eyebrow and looked at his companions before commenting, “Yea, we’re working on that. Padraig is paying us to deal with the kobolds, permanently.” He emphasized his statement by slashing one finger horizontally across his throat.
“Well, that’s good news indeed. I look forward to hearing tales of your success!” The young men muttered their thanks and left the shop.

...

While the trio were speaking with Bairwin and Tolis-Va enjoyed another bath, Morthos and Douven conversed. “So, you finally left the farm, eh boy?” chuckled the old man.
The tiefling nodded, “I had to walk my own path, but before I left, he gave me HIS old adventuring equipment.”
Douven smirked, “Aye, he was always ever looking out for your safety. He and I both took many risks in our youth, and we made it through… somehow. I guess your safety was just not something he wanted to risk lightly. In the end, he realized that you had to live your own life. He’s proud of you, too. I know it.”
Morthos lowered his eyes, a little embarrassed by the praise, “I believe you’re right.”

The tiefling looked thoughtful for a moment before he continued, “Douven, I wanted to ask where I might find more information about… the old empire. I want to know what happened… what went wrong.”
Douven cleared his throat and took a deep breath before responding, “Bael Turath, eh? Well, to be honest, I’ve not seen a great deal of literature on the old tiefling empire circulating. I imagine that there are any number of ruins that no doubt house libraries filled with the lore.” He paused briefly, then shrugged and said, “The books you find there will likely contain conflicting reports. There will be those who believed everything done was completely justified and those who realized what was happening was wrong, but failed to act decisively enough to stop it all before it was too late. If you need to know, you should go Bael Turath and find your own answers. I don’t know how long you’ll keep the boys around, but they seem competent enough, and you may need them to get far enough to discover that which you seek.” Morthos nodded, then the pair lapsed into a comfortable silence, sipping their ale as they awaited the others.

Tolis-Va finished his bath about the same time that Balasar, Etholin, and Syler returned to Wrafton’s. ”...Wonder where that old goat is, anyway,” Syler was saying as he entered the building.
Etholin gave him a patient look and said, “I’m sure Valthrun is a very busy man. We left him a note, and it isn’t as though we’re going anywhere soon anyway.” Balasar said nothing as he walked over to the table and sat down beside Tolis-Va.

When the others were seated, the soldier who’d been standing by the bar finished his conversation and turned as if to leave. Catching sight of the party, he changed course and walked over to them. “You’re the guys who Padraig hired to deal with the kobolds, right?”
“Yes, that’s right,” replied the ranger.
The man grunted assent, “I’m Rond Kelfem. I’m captain of the Regulars, what we call the guard around here. Glad you guys are doing this for us. Padraig’s been at it for months, trying to get the locals to recognize the threat.”
“Eh. He’s paying. We weren’t busy,” said Syler flippantly.
“Still, I’m grateful. I wish we had more resources. I’d love to personally drive those kobolds out of the area and back to whatever foul pit spawned them. I have heard the whispered name of a marauder leader named Irontooth, but I have no idea who or what that might be. If you find out more, I’d appreciate you letting me know about it. Again, thank you,” he finished and nodded to the group before making his exit.

...

Evening brought more villagers into the inn, including the farmer Old Eilian, who greeted Douven vociferously, and the elf huntress, who rolled her eyes and sighed before retreating to a table in the back. Douven was dragged into a conversation at Eilian’s table, although he didn’t seem to mind overmuch. As much as they both talked, it seemed they could be brothers, although Douven was clearly the more intelligent of the pair. Most of the young men chuckled at the ribald stories being shared at the old men’s table, but the eladrin was too distracted for such merriment.

Etholin, inexplicably drawn to the elven woman who had treated him so rudely the night before kept catching himself looking her direction. She caught his glances, too and about an hour after she’d arrived, she scoffed, stood, and approached the adventurer’s table. “Well, hello…” started Tolis-Va with a smirk, but her glare silenced him quickly. Etholin expected another tongue lashing as she stood there tensely. She gritted her teeth, apparently steeling herself, and then she looked at the wizard and spoke.

“I wanted to… apologize if I was a little… harsh… last night. The indifference of eladrin caused in my own sister’s death, and so I’ve got little love for your… people.” Her voice dropped a couple of levels of intensity as she continued, “But that isn’t your fault. I’ve heard what you all have been doing for the village. I know you’re doing what you can to help. So, I’m sorry.”
Trying to keep pace with this unexpected turnaround, Etholin nodded graciously, and said softly, “I accept your apology, and I am sorry for your loss.”
She shrugged slightly and said, “I also heard you were interested in cult activity in the area. I think I’ve seen some cultists going in and out of a cave behind a waterfall to the south. I’m not certain, exactly, but I think they may be in league with the kobolds.”

The adventurers exchanged knowing looks (except for Balasar), and Morthos said, “We are bound there tomorrow. We’ll look into it.”
Etholin and the woman nodded at the same time, and when she noticed, her back stiffened. “Thank you again,” said Etholin. She nodded curtly before turning and practically stalking back to her own table. The evening wound down and the party members retired to their rooms.

22 March, 103 CY

In the morning, Tolis-Va lead the group out of Winterhaven and towards the south. He decided that approaching from downstream would be the best way to avoid giving away their approach, and so he brought them to a point below the waterfall. As they drew near, he and Syler gestured for the others to stop walking and be silent. The elf and halfling could both hear voices barely carrying over the sound of the falls, and through the trees they spotted over a dozen kobolds standing in and around the shallow river. Several carried a spear and had a few javelins slung on their backs. Two had darker hide armor than the javelineers and only wielded spears. One of the dragonshield swordsmen stood in a circle of glowing runes near the side of the river, and a single slinger, easily identified with his bandolier of annoying alchemical orbs, stood against the rock wall near the waterfall.

Retreating to where they’d left the party, they reported what they’d seen and Morthos began to scratch a crude map into the earth. He and (surprisingly) Balasar lead the brief tactical meeting, and then Tolis-Va and Syler moved closer to the dragonshield. They executed the ambush with skill and panache, Morthos and Balasar engaging the kobolds farther downstream while the elf and halfling dealt with the dragonshield and held the glowing circle, which seemed to empower them, lending magical accuracy to their blows. Etholin employed his magic to pick off stragglers, and as the kobolds’ numbers dwindled, the slinger fled through the waterfall, crying out in a shrill voice, “Irontooth must be warned!”

When the last other kobold fell, Morthos cried out to the others to give chase. Etholin, caught up in the moment, sprinted across the shallow water and through the waterfall. Once within, he saw over a dozen MORE of the creatures apparently preparing for an assault, and adrenalin gave him the energy the dash back out and warn the others. Balasar, Morthos, Syler and Etholin gathered in front of the waterfall, but Tolis-Va brashly strode inside. The kobolds were ready, and a hail of javelins flew his way. He was only struck by two or three of the missiles, but they had hurt, and he cut left through a narrow tunnel. Morthos was next through, and seeing the wounded elf, called out to his companion, his steely voice allowing Tolis-Va to ignore some of his wounds. Then the tiefling charged the nearest kobold wildly, unable to bring his greataxe to bear in any meaningful way. Moments later, he found himself surrounded and impaled by spear and javelin. He was momentarily overwhelmed and staggered to the floor.

Balasar, Etholin, and Syler entered the cave and sized up the situation. It didn’t look good. The dragonborn took up what he hoped was a pivot point in the cave and downed a nearby kobold. Tolis-Va began fighting his way back to the tiefling from the narrow passage. Syler engaged the right flank of the kobolds surrounding Morthos’ form, and Etholin blasted at the rear ranks with magic missiles. The kobolds, distracted by the ferocious second onslaught ignored Morthos, who, apparently only stunned, shook out the cobwebs and returned to the fight with gusto. The party began to make headway against the kobolds, though the slinger stuck Balasar to the cave floor with an alchemical orb. The others were taking wounds, too, and the injuries were beginning to take their toll. Which is, of course, when two more dragonshields and a wyrmpriest arrived from the back of the cave.

Syler was struck down by a dragonshield’s short sword, and though Morthos’ inspiring words seemed to help the halfling start to recover, the tiefling quickly found himself otherwise engaged. Then, a harsh, bleating horn heralded the appearance of a burly, battle-scarred goblin. Around him, kobolds scurried as if afraid to get too close. A great tattoo depicting a skeletal ram’s head marked the goblin’s face. One of his lower tusks was broken off at the lip, but the other was long and capped in iron. He wore a wolf fur cloak and a chain shirt, and he wielded a battleaxe in both hands. Party, Irontooth. Irontooth, Party. As soon as he rounded the corner, he charged Balasar and slashed into the warrior. For his part, the dragonborn responded with a great fury. He opened multiple bleeding wounds on the goblin’s body with his halberd and followed up the vicious assault with his fiery breath, taking down a couple more minions in the process.

Morthos gave Balasar another opening and the dragonborn’s mighty blow left Irontooth bloodied. This seemed to infuriate the goblin, who retaliated with a vicious attack at both of the warriors. After he was struck, Balasar saw an opening in Irontooth’s defenses as he struck at the tiefling, and brought his halberd up in a killing stroke. The goblin stumbled and fell, his axe mere inches from Morthos’ face. Though a mighty deed, the party still had kobolds to contend with. Tolis-Va fell next followed shortly by Etholin. Having recovered his wits, Syler, fueled by adrenalin, launched a shuriken at the kobold wyrmpriest, showing the creature its own blood. Morthos was struck down moments later, and then a surrounded Balasar fell hard. Syler did what he could to kill the wyrmpriest, but the other surviving kobolds rallied to it and he was overwhelmed. Surrounded in a dark corner of the cave, the last thing the halfling saw was a spear descending.

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