Clangers and Ambushes
10 of High Sun, morning
Nothing can stop Market Day in Devlin’s Dower - not the horrors of that one long, dark night, nor the acrimony that followed, during a tense Town Council Meeting. Neither the introduction of guards, inspecting the contents of each and every cart that rolled across the Silver Strand Bridge, nor the imposition of a copper coin levy have diminished the abundance of stall holders and the bustling, joyful energy of the Market. Ted Salmon gazes with furrowed brow and vacant bafflement into each cart, before waving it through.
Pebbles laid out his wares, jewellery and knick-knacks fashioned from cast-offs and refuse he gathered in the course of his rounds. His young sister Tyna has been promised a cut of the day’s takings if she’ll mind the stall. Axel Moorcraft smothers a sneer of distaste as he casts a disapproving eye over Pebbles’ wares.
Every Market Day brings a sense of misrule, disturbing the sleepy order of the Dower. Today, the caperer Candlefoot is at his japery, moving stealthily behind the portly Moorcraft. Miming, he silently shadows the banker with a zombie-like shamble, resembling the Moorcraft’s recently deceased and tragically reanimated servant Lobelia. Now, he spreads his body and balances on tiptoes, looming with arms outstretched like the terrifying Bugbear zombie, before dropping to a cowering huddle. As Moorcraft turns, alerted by the crowd’s laughter, Candlefoot nimbly darts around him, remaining out of sight.
The party do a little shopping, haggling with Tobor Golightly for a potion of healing. Finding it a little too expensive, Pebbles offers him a cast-iron cauldron from his cart, cleaned to a gleaming shine by Featherfew’s prestidigitation, which earns the friends a small discount. [Healing potion for 40gp]. They also chatted to Manx Windear, the refugee from Sallow who they had directed to Wicklow Mill, who is selling Wicklow Baked Goods, including Gingerbread Men… Ilyad bought one and bit its head off. Manx thanked the party, saying his family were happy to have somewhere to settle, but said the Miller was having a hard time coping with his wife’s infidelity, transformation, and death. He grumbled about Old Man Monkton, the landowner who closed Monkton Weir and flooded the town of Sallow.
Twig grabbed hold of the hem of Enid’s garment and tugged, dragging her over to Father Kendrick, the blind High-harvest Master of Devlin’s Dower. Enjoying the warm sunlight, Father Kendrick told the party that the grave goods that were stored at the Harvest Hall, known locally as the Rose Garden, seemed to be attracting unsettling presences. He claimed that the wind howled around the church all night and the old gate had creaked terribly, though the weather during the day had been still. He had also heard the hoof-falls of a lone rider, riding widdershins around the kirkyard, deep in the dead of night. He asked the party if they would consider taking the cursed items out of the town, and return them to the Barrowlands to the Southwest.
The friends headed down to the Idlewhile, where Rimple Welby, the Weather-eye and Featherfew’s mentor, was perched on a branch overhanging the pond, dropping crumbs of bread for the ancient Golden Dragon Catfish Ol’Melton. With a discontented burbling, Ol’Melton complained to Featherfew about being a large fish in an increasingly smaller pond, but Welby reassured the party that Caris Flyte, the Bailiff, had already sent a delegation North, to Monkton Weir, in the form of Elwood Darrow and Cam Goodchilde, their childhood bully.
Pebbles took some of the water from the Idlewhile and headed down to Cross Corners, where he made a small offering of it to the statue of the Widow of the Waters. Closing his eyes in silent prayer, he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, as though he were being watched. He thought about his mother, and reflected that she never used to come to Cross Corners, though he had never asked why.
Den and Burley strolled into the Old Wood to take another look at Old Jago’s still, to see if they could find a clue to Gander’s whereabouts. Distracted by the abundant birdlife in the trees, the two friends came back empty handed.
Having prepared themselves, the party went to the Rose Garden, to collect the grave goods from Father Kendrick. The church was so-called because rose bushes had been trained to grow around the open stone architecture, festooning the building in vivid scarlet blooms. Petals covered the marble floors in drifts, and the air was thick with a pungent floral scent. The cursed items were stored in the church’s ‘silent vault,’ a rudimentary storehouse, seed bank, and library. Featherfew collected Holy Water from the constant tinkling stream that trickled from the apex of the cathedral, watering each of the plants as it ran through a series of intricate gutters. Thanking the party, Father Kendrick also counselled them to be careful, reminding Den that he still had the old copper whistle that he snatched from the Wight’s neck. He also ruminated on Axel Moorcraft and Caris Flyte, suggesting that it was pride that had caused them to disrespect the young friends. Before they left, Father Kendrick gave Enid a small magical boon: a glossy, golden acorn that, when planted in the soil, would sanctify the surrounding area. [It casts a modified version of the Hallow spell: it must be planted in the ground, it has a ten minute casting time, and it can ward a location of up to radius 6oft from either Aberration, Celestial, Elemental, Fey, Fiend or Undead. It does not have any of the other features of the Hallow spell, but it will remain functional until the tree that grows from the acorn dies]
Father few charted a relatively swift, though somewhat hazardous route to the crossroads of the Dusk Road and the Wind Way, while Pebbles gathered a meagre supply of provisions.
Their first stop was Old Jago’s still once again, to give it a thorough search. With the whole party working together, they turned up another three health potions, and a couple of notes. The first was addressed to Gander, from Jago and read:
‘Gander, I have a mind to brew make some strong mead when spring comes; and on my route I met a fellow who said that the finest honey can be found in a wildflower meadow, midway betwixt the Talon Hill and the old Pining Tree. If you want investigate, I have left a map.’
There was no map, suggesting that Gander had already taken it. The other note was from Axel Moorcraft, requesting that Jago complete his regular delivery to High Hay on Market Day. The shack seemed undisturbed since the party’s last visit - their IOUs were still there - suggesting that Jago had not returned either.
Continuing on through the Old Wood, Mrs Bunch warned the party about an approaching Owlbear. Though they attempted to hide, the creature snuffled them out, but seemed unperturbed by their presence. They placated it with a couple of their rations, which allowed them to continue on their way, but not without the creature following them for a mile or so, mewing plaintively for further treats.
Emerging from the wood at the crest of a low rise, the party saw a sprawling ranch spread about before them. The central household was fashioned from old stone, but had had many subsequent additions over the years, often in varying architectural styles. Burley felt an uncanny sense of deja vu as though he had been here before; though in this strange fragment of memory, it felt as though he were leaving, not arriving at this place.
Chatting to the handsome, though proud halfling owner, Boskin Morrow, the party learned that Goblinhead Ranch was busy stables, specialising in breeding and breaking ponies and what Boskin jokingly called ‘dire ponies’: horses. The party discovered that purchasing mounts were beyond their means, and that Boskin was not in the business of renting out his livestock. He did offer to sell them some famous Goblinhead clangers though, and the party met his wife, Winny Morrow.
The clangers were a crumbly pastry confection, filled with avoury rabbit and thyme at one end, and sweet apple and custard at the other. While enjoying their lunch Boskin showed them a little of Goblinhead Ranch, proudly showing off the decapitated head of a goblin, preserved in an immense glass demijohn. He claimed that his ancestors had driven the goblins out of nearby Sawtry Briar, and claimed the head of their chief as a trophy. He indicated to a long hall of portraits, celebrating former Morrow patriarchs, which gave Burley a strange chill. Boskin also bragged that the renowned bard Lapidarius Greylock had also visited them earlier that morning, much to the party’s bemused indifference.
While chatting, the friends glimpsed a rat darting about the skirting boards. Boskin abashedly confessed that they had recently been plagued by a rash of vermin, but insisted, unnecessarily and at suspicious length, that there was no rat meat in the clangers.
Hastening away from the ranch, the party were keen to reach the crossroads before nightfall. At a fork in the road, they avoided Tolman’s Way and headed for the Old Bridge. The structure was immensely old, seemingly of elven design, its swooping, graceful curves crudely mended with boggy mortar in places. At the centre of the span, they saw an elderly dwarf being waylaid by menacing tough. Venturing out to intercede, the party found themselves ambushed: the greasy, unkempt hedge-wizard dropping the illusory guise of Lapidarius Greylock before blasting them with a thunderous burst. All at once, the party were under siege, with Poor Sons bursting from the bushes on the opposite bank to pepper them with arrows. Burley shoved the tough, Skarn, off of the bridge, sending him plummeting to the dry gully below. Featherfew transformed into a Giant Wolfspider, while Den and Enid pursued the fleeing hedge wizard. Pebbles skirted around the outside of a dilapidated old cottage to the south of the bridge, where he was surprised by a lurking bandit.
A Black scaled Dragonborn bandit emerged from the cottage, munching casually on roast turkey leg. In his other hand he clutched a writhing burlap sack. With seeming wry amusement, he shouted to Ilyad, who was standing by herself on the south side of the bridge: ‘John Shade says he wants your key, girly. He also says he wants you dead, but I might be persuaded to let you live if you hand the booty over peaceful, like.’
Ilyad refused, causing the chuckling Dragonborn, Roos, to toss the sack onto the bridge. Bursting out of it was the severed arm of a green-skinned troll, its taloned hand still clawing at the air with a fury. Pebbles let off a sorcerous blast, stronger than he had anticipated, which evaporated the bandit and left a pair of smoking boots where he had once stood. Burley rushed past the flailing arm, feeling its claws rake across his back, to confront Skarn, as he clambered up the side of the dry creek bed.
‘Go ahead, kill him. I don’t care.’ Laughed Roos.
Pebbles, meanwhile, had crept around to the back of the cottage. Peeping through the window, he saw another bandit, guarding the tied-up and presumably genuine Lapidarius Greylock!