Attack of the Pallid Men
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| The Pallid Men |
With his new friend lying dead, Vilwyn's warning alerted the campsite to their attackers, and Alice woke to find a pair of Pallid Men dragging her from her bed by her ankle. The Rangers scrambled for their weapons, Kharmir rushed to his feet and drew his blade while Callidus melted into the trees to harry the forest dwellers from afar. It became clear that one of their number was a shaman of some kind, whose blood magics caused a nest of spikes to spread across the campsite, endangering all who walked upon it. Injured by Callidus' thrown daggers, the shaman tried to flee, but was beheaded by Kharmir's flaming sword. Visimar and Byron lunged at Alice's attackers, with Visimar sinking his teeth into one. Byron was injured by one of the Pallid Men's spears, but retaliated with a hammer blow that caved in its head and freed his daughter. While Byron and Alice staggered away, Vilwyn healed a wounded Kharmir, and Visimar's Curse of the Fallen Puppet reanimated a dead Pallid Man to finish off the last.
The group gathered around while Vilwyn cast a prayer of healing to close their wounds. Looting the bodies of the slain Pallid Men, they found that the strange leathery masks they wore were made of tanned human skin, peeled from previous victims and worn as a kind of ritual attire. Kharmir also revealed that he had taken a spear to the belly, causing a punctured stomach which could not be healed by the magic Vilwyn was capable of. Alarmed, the party made plans to hurry to Stonecross and allow Kharmir some time to recuperate naturally. The following morning, they bid farewell to the Rangers of Roamere and continued along the Stumpmarsh Trail.
Leaving Fenmarrow
Lunas 20th Concord, 30 Fifth Age
The Reforged carried on along the road after the night's encounter with the Pallid Men, soaked in blood and muck. Alice trembled from the shock, held tightly in her father's arms. The trees began to thin, the canopy overhead letting more and more sunlight through as the cart neared the edge of the Fenmarrow Forest. The mud here was thicker than it was upon arrival in Correnwald, giving the impression of recent rainfall. Several times, the party had to slow down to let the horse navigate its way through waterlogged dips or sinking mud patches.
After a while, Vilwyn's keen eye noticed that the path ahead was blocked by a pool of grimy black mud overlain with rotten leaves and plant matter. Bubbles of displaced air burst on the surface, releasing a foul sulphurous stench into the air. Vilwyn hurled a stick into the muck, and it sank down fully beneath. Realising that the path was impassable in a cart, the party freed the horse from its restraints and continued the rest of the way on foot.
Finally, after two weeks of murk and misery, the dim pink light of evening sun shone through the trunks. Not quite believing their luck, the party burst out of the treeline and found themselves, at last, outside the Fenmarrow Forest. Ahead, the Stumpmarsh Trail continued along a soft boggy plain, lined with the stumps of chopped tree trunks. A few mills and farmsteads littered the marsh, farming bogroot, while a ruined watchtower stood nearby, abandoned. Exhausted by their march, the party decided to make camp inside the watchtower, where they found the remnants of an old campfire, as well as a nearby pond, in which Byron washed the mud and blood out of his daughter's hair. Visimar found a rusty helmet amidst the rubble, bearing the mark of a regiment of the old Stonecross armies, during the days of the Swamp Kings and Storm Kings. It was most likely an army under one of the many King Dunstans of Stonecross, though they were so numerous throughout history that the scholars stopped counting. The party settled down to rest, with Kharmir keeping well away from Visimar to ensure that his injured belly did not trigger any uncontrollable bloodlust within the dhampir.
Luctoras 21st Concord, 30 Fifth Age
The next morning, the party continued their walk for another few hours across the marshland, past patches of bogroot, hops and wild rice, and windmills that spin dully in the breeze. In the distance, a few farmers stood knee-deep in miniature lakes, cultivating their wetland crops. Cresting the fold of a hill, a dark wall of jagged peaks broke the skyline ahead, before slowly unveiling out into the massive Dragonspine range, blocking the horizon behind a spiked ridge of rock. The mountains were unfathomably vast, and only the foothills of the larger mountains to the north. Below these grand summits, at the edge of a large river that gleams in the midday sun, lay the Most Ancient City of Stonecross, Alagost's oldest settlement.
Stonecross Ahead
Where Correnwald was a ramshackle handful of buildings clustered at the water's edge, exposed to the dangers of the Fenmarrow Forest, Stonecross was massive, encircled by 15-foot stone walls studded with watchtowers and its four huge gates, one at each compass point. Since the Sack of Stonecross thirty-three years ago, considerable amounts of time and gold was poured into the city's not-inconsiderable fortifications. Two vast crags dominated the city skyline in the north and south corners, fringed by sheer cliffs on the outer side and natural stone stairs on the inner. The northern crag, named Petra's Cairn, was surmounted by an ancient stone ringfort that now houses an imposing temple to the Stormlord. The southern crag, the largest, bore a vast and terrific stone keep, roughly-drum shaped, surrounded by threefold walls that fly the blue-and-black banners of House Stylflint.
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| The Stone Drum of Stonecross |
Awe-struck, the Reforged took in this impressive sight, only to be interrupted by a farmer's cart coming from behind, laden with hops. The party got talking to the farmer, who introduced himself as Edric, and asked if they were heading into Stonecross to celebrate the Marshal's return. Curious, the party inquired further, and learned that Marshal Dulgrum, head of the Stormlord faith in the city, had been into the Dragonspine on a pilgrimage, and the Stonecross was hosting a festival for his return. Having only stopped briefly in the city before their excursion to Correnwald, the party asked Edric for advice - namely, where Visimar and Kharmir could find a centre of knowledge, and where Byron could find work. Edric told them that Turnshale Tower was the home of the city's resident archmage - an exile from the elven enclave of Vanga Irina - which had a small library attached to it, accessible by appointment only. He also directed them towards Hewan, a noted smith who might be able to provide work if he had need of a new apprentice. The party bid thanks to the farmer and allowed him passage.
As they walked down towards the city, Vilwyn noticed Alice trembling, and asked Byron about her welfare. Byron was disturbed by the ceaselessness of the torment she had endured, from the death of her mother, to her imprisonment by the Needlefang goblins, and now the attack of the Pallid Men. Vilwyn asked if he might be able to ease her distress by magical means, and Byron acquiesced. Taking Alice's hand, he spoke to her in soft tones, and promised her that she was safe now, that the party would find her comfortable lodgings in the city, and that she and her father could start anew. In doing so, he allowed a warming magic to pass through his hand into hers, and he noticed her troubled expression cleared somewhat. For the first time as long as they'd known her, Alice spoke, whispering a thanks.
It began to rain, the clouds overhead broiling in typical Alagost fashion. Shored up against the city's north wall, the ramshackle Marsh Town lay dirty and in a widespread state of disrepair. The streets between the tightly-built, crooked buildings were made of packed dirt: uneven, rutted and muddy. Structures had received similar low levels of care, and most were built out of splintery timbers. Pigs and sheep grazed in narrow pens, soaked in mud. The smell of wet earth and manure was rife, accompanied by the sound of hooves, mingling conversations, distant shouts, and the barking of dogs. As they went, the Reforged got a few intrigued looks from the passers-by, who were unused to travellers, even at the height of summer.
The foot traffic grew heavier near the gate: a huge, 15-foot wide portcullis kept shut. Decorated with tree-root patterns and crocodile bones, the gatehouse was poorly-maintained, its much-crumbled stone walkways and towers replaced by wooden banisters and thatch roofs. As the Reforged approached, they found the gate manned by guards of the Stonecross City Watch, dressed in blue-and-black surcoats stamped with the four arches of the Stylflint crest, over chainmail and greaves, and pointed half-helms with nasal strips. The party glimpsed a cart ahead being searched for contraband, and quickly resolved to stuff any suspicious or illicit items they discovered in Correnwald into their socks and the seams of their jackets. However, as they approached, the guards saw the impoverished Alice and Byron, and allowed the ragtag group through the gate without much delay.
Market Games
The city within the walls was very, very old. The streets were wide, former dirt tracks that had recently been cobbled over. Some buildings were timber, but most were stone, with steeply-pitched roofs of dark grey slate. The rain came down in sheets, and the clouds cast a gloom across the whole city. Locals ran to and fro, shawls, cloaks and hoods pulled over their heads to shield them from the wet.
The four main roads of Stonecross converged at Dunstan's Square, named for one of the many King Dunstans of this city during the pre-Ceonred days. As the Reforged arrived, the forum hosted a kind of multicoloured bazaar of cloth tents and awnings, all clustered around a natural dais in the centre of the square, which hosted the First Stone - a large, roughly-cubic boulder with a notch in the top, still used as a chopping block. All around, hooded workers perched on precarious ladders replaced the golden ribbons of the just-passed Highsun festival with lightning-bolt banners to celebrate the pilgrimage's end. Despite the overcast sky, the market was alive with chatter and music that carries over the harsh wind. Alongside the merchants, a few games stalls were set up within tents to keep them out of the rain. Judging from the streamers still attached to some of their tents, they had been here since Highsun, but stayed up for this extra day of festivities in the city.
First, Vilwyn went to the taskboard at the edge of the square to investigate the state of things in the city. It was mostly plastered with information about the Marshal's return, including a programme for gladiator games at the Pit of Proving that night, which the party resolved to attend. Also on the noticeboard was a flyer for a local play - The Pennant of Red and Gold - at a theatre called the Rockery; a note stamped with the Stylflint sigil, warning of bandits taken up at Fort Siward along the mountain road; an official-looking note from the city watch, inquiring after sellswords to slay a roaming beast; and tucked away, almost hidden beneath the rest, was a scrawled note: 'HELP WANTED: Must be discreet and skilled with arms. Ask for Gilderbone at the Three Badgers Inn.'
Meanwhile, the rest of the party decided to unwind by partaking in some games. First, they went to a game called Dwarven Anvil - run by three members of the Stonemason's Guild, the object of the game was to dislodge a heavy stone cube from a fulcrum-mounted bar by striking the opposite end with a hammer. Visimar tried first, but failed, so instead he went in search of food. Despite his injury, Kharmir stepped up and succeeded first try, winning the pot of thirty-eight gold pieces and stunning the stonemasons. Callidus returned from an archery competition with all three prizes - a basket of raspberries, a stone medallion shaped like a bird of prey, and a mouse from a cage - and joined the party beside the First Stone, where they all ate some local lamb pasties, relishing the taste after weeks of gruel. The party then turned to the arm wrestling tent, hosted by a shaven-headed member of the Stormlord's clergy, and after playing a few games against each other, Kharmir challenged the champion - the priest himself - and narrowly won.
The Marshal's Return
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| Victor, the travelling merchant |
After partaking in the festivities, the party happened across a familiar elderly gnome, who had relocated to Stonecross since leaving the swamp. Despite the party's warm greetings, Victor inexplicably pretended that he had never seen them before in his life. The party cast an eye over his offerings, and Vilwyn decided to buy a jar of beige jelly. However, when he tried to open it, Victor shrieked in panic and lunged to prevent him. The party bid farewell to the merchant and hoped to see him again. Before they could leave, however, a fanfare rose from the city's south, and the sound of a parade drifted down the River Road. A crowd materialised and the party were pressed up against the stalls, knocking Victor's table over to the gnome's indignation. A man in blue led the way through the square, ringing a bell. "Make way! Make way for the Marshal! Make way!" A man followed behind - physically massive, at least seven feet tall, musclebound and square-jawed, with a shaved head like a boulder and knuckles like marbles. Beneath the hem of his ragged grey tunic, his feet were bare and caked in mud, dust and dried blood. A cheer rose up in the square, with cries of "Dulgrum!" "Hail the Marshal!" and "Stormlord's blessings!" The herald and the Marshal turned up the road into the Stonestairs district and begin making their way up the King's Cairn.
Before turning in, Kharmir and Visimar went to Turnshale Tower, where an Ermet scholar found them perusing the gardens. Kharmir asked for knowledge on fallen Dwarven civilisations, while Visimar asked for information on cults and demonic influence. The scholar noted down their interests, and their willingness to exchange information, and promised to speak to Archmage Rogeiros on their behalf.
At last, the party went down to the Three Badgers Tavern, down Elder Way in the city's Old Town: a solid stone building on the main road, within eyeshot of the Old Gate, three stories tall with turrets and chimneys made of slate-grey stone. A thatch-roofed stable was attached to the east side of the inn, and a wooden shield depicting three gamboling badgers hung outside the front door. Inside was a spacious but cosy common room, lit by a circular firepit in the middle and overseen by three eight-foot statues of badgers on their hind legs. There was a lower area in the middle of the room and several booths clustered between wooden pillars around the outside, while a balcony ran around the entire room, forming the upper level of the tavern, connected to the lower by a cramped narrow staircase. The bartender was Grimley, an overweight man in his sixties with an ugly cleft in his head and a silk wrap around his right eye. He often claimed to have lost his eye in the Sack of Stonecross, having managed to fight off three men himself with only a tankard and a broken sword. Grimley asked his guests to write their names in a ledger, and recognised Callidus by name, handing him a note which had been left at the bar for him by a young woman in her twenties.
Meanwhile, Vilwyn looked around. The taproom was stocked with people, and he could tell from the girded tunics and amber brooches that they were locals, or at least Alagosian. Their simplistic clothing made the non-locals stand out ever more. A man in a yellow cloak sat alone in the furthest corner, keeping a keen eye on the room over the rim of his tankard, and three figures sat at a table in the middle of the room, drinking and laughing loudly between themselves. The first was a bald man with a pockmarked face, wearing a bandolier of wickedly sharp knives of various shapes. The second was a fairly small man, who wouldn't be much over five foot if he was stood up, with a narrow, clever face and slightly pointed ears, with a skin tone bordering between tan and very pale green. The third was a massive, fearsome-looking creature, scaled all over, with the flat head of a lizard, his spine, brow and jaw studded with bone spikes.
Vilwyn blanched. He knew these men, and they knew him.
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