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[D&D 4E PbP] (IC) Keep on the Shadowfell+ - Chapter 1: The King's Road
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The night's usual sounds are soon heard once more, and Ezekiel's lantern keeps the darkness at bay from his position at the rear of the column. The road's quality improves as you approach Winterhaven, and a couple of hours after the violent encounter, the lights of the walled village are visible atop a broad, low hill in the gloom.
When the group arrives, the detail on the walls is more apparent - weathered rock topped with defensive palisades, with a handful of guards keeping watch. Not much of the village can be made out, thanks to the heavy wooden gates barring entrance, but a tall, somewhat rickety tower can be seen above the walls, in the rough center of the settlement.
"Who goes?" are the first words that greet the party as you ride up the shallowly inclined road to the front gate. "And why, at this time of night? Ghosts haunt the Downs at night, the dead monks from the Abbey! And other things too, scalesnitches and quickclaws!"
As the guard atop the walls yells down at the six travellers, a small door in the side of the gate opens, and two pikemen exit, spears levelled at the group warily. A flash of the seal of Fallcrest, and some friendly words from the golden machine-man quickly reassure the milita, and entrance is granted.
Tara recalls the map of Winterhaven in her travelling pack (and indeed, there are two more, in Ezekiel's and Godfrey's supplies), which has the major areas of interest marked upon it.
"You'll be wanting Wrafton's Inn, first buildin', straight ahead. Stables are opposite it, along the southern wall. Only public house in Winterhaven, but the beer's good, the food's fillin' and the beds are warm." one of the Guardsmen offers.
He dismounted from his steed with a loud harrumph, as if he proved some mighty declaration. He grasped the horse's reins as he led his mount into the city, headed towards the stables.
"A sivver fer yer hoss, suhr," he says, sleepily. After rubbing his eyes, and peering past the dragonborn to see the others congregating near the inn, he adds, "Three sivvers fer alla youse, uh."
The youngster leans forward, and looks more closely at the Warlord, before squinting back up at his long face. "En't never seen wun o'youse afore. Dun' look like a big dragonsqueek. Youse one o' those Argh... aah... dragonmen, right?"
The main village road bends to the left, and the large building directly opposite the entry gate has a couple of sputtering lanterns on the narrower side, facing the trail. A large sign proclaims it to be 'Wrafton's Inn', and a plaque on the wall proclaims it to be 'Winterhaven's Finest Inn'. Someone has struck through the word 'Finest' in chalk, and scrawled 'ONLEE' above it. Inside, the only light is especially dim. Perhaps a candle or two. The village itself is quiet, with the usual nocturnal noises breaking the near-silence from time to time.
Tokul's head cocked at the boy's words, his fingers deftly searching his money pouch. He pulled out a single gold coin, gently placing it in the stable lad's outstretched palm.
"Mmm, yesss," Tokul hissed jokingly, "Dragonbornsss are not the 'sssqueakersss'. We have honor and true ssstrength. Dragonborn alssso known to tip!"
He smiled hideously, followed by an unusual laughter as if he were attempting sarcasm or teasing. He patted the child on the head before heading out of the stables towards the inn.
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He puts a tankard below the nearest keg, and pours a thick, dark ale for Nolar. "This is Coalstriker's favorite," he says, sleepily, sliding it across to the Runepriest. He peers into the back of the room, and counts quickly in his head. "Separate rooms for the lady, and the lords," he guesses, counting on his fingers. "You want one of the bigger rooms between you, or separate? At least two of you got to share, though. Only got five rooms open right now. Only got six rooms total, heh. Can give you all five, with an ale and Ploughman's each... one gold. Or ten silver, iff'n you like. And welcome to Wrafton's. I'm Bill Wrafton, Salvie's brother."
"All five rooms it is, my good man. I shall double up with someone. Being as I lack a need for sleep, everyone gets a bed all to themselves this way. Simply smashing wouldn't you say? he declared in part to the sleepy innkeep and in part to his comrades in arms.
"Ah, before we all take to our rest though...would you have perchance encountered a man by name of Douvren? An archaeologist from Fallcrest, we believe he might have stayed here for a time."
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Once the drinks are sorted, the lad takes a set of keys from under the counter. "I'll put these here now, but you all want feeding, right? Won't take too long, then y'can get some sleep, an' talk t'my sister in the mornin'."
A few minutes later, he returns with a plate for each member of the party, as well as two jugs of water, and some more tankards. The meal is satisfying, if cold, and the rooms are clean and tidy. The night passes without incident, with everyone enjoying a good night's sleep after a whole day of ritual-enhanced travel, capped off with a kobold ambush.
And then, morning.
The smell of frying bacon is on the air as people drift downstairs as and when they have awoken and washed. A petite woman with brown hair, tied back and braided, is tending the bar. The common room is otherwise empty, but there are sounds in the kitchen that suggest activity.
He tapped his foot somewhat impatiently as he waited for his morning meal.
"Salvie Wrafton, the innkeep. She'll probably be able to fill us in on a few things, too."
"Rise and shine my good man! I can already hear the others below, snapping at the coattails of adventure! Up up up!"
Not waiting for a response he exited the room to join the others with gusto, "Good morning! Oh, food. Right."
Somewhat deflated by this unfortunate impediment on the roadway to more important sections of the narrative, he nevertheless took a seat.
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"Breakfasts're on the way!" she calls, before turning to call into the kitchen. A few moments later, two younger girls come from out back, arms laden with plates. The four seated at the table are presented with a large, wholesome breakfast. Bacon, black blood sausage, tomatoes cooked in their own juices, and some interesting fried potato patties that none of the group have likely seen before. Salvie herself follows, with a jug of water in one hand, and another jug of warm, spiced milk.
"I'm Salana Wrafton, proprieter. Anything else you'd like while waiting for the last two? We do have herbal infusions for steeping, if that's your thing. Bill tells me you got in late last night, after the gates were closed. Welcome to Winterhaven, and the Wrafton Inn."
He eventually makes his way down to the common room and sits with the others, nodding at Nolar, smacking Godfrey upside the head and helping himself to large portions of blood sausage and those unusual potatoes. He seems to eat quite a bit for a rather fit man, devouring the food with something perilously close to socially reprehensible speed.
Midway through the first sausage he looks up as Salvie walks in. "These are delicious, madam; are they your recipe? Do you have some preserved for the road, perhaps?" He nods as she holds forth the jug of spiced milk, flipping one of the cups in front of him over.
She busies herself pouring milk and water for the group - the only patrons in the inn, at present, and then asks, "Bill tells me you were asking after Meister Staul? Wonderful man, very spry for his age, and a decent swordsman, if old Eilian and the sage are to be believed. We've kept his things, but haven't seen him for some days."
"Staul, yes, quite spirited," he managed to spurt whilst gulping down a carafe of water. "Looks deceiving."
As the dragonborn licked his plate clean, he grinned at the hostess, mischievously. He crooned, "May we have seconds?"
He spoke in a deeper voice, "It's been some time since I've enjoyed succulent flesh as this." One could not help but be somewhat disturbed by the eerily spoken words out of the mouth of such a beast.
"And good morn t'you, Milady," Salvana says with a grin, as she pours Tara some spiced milk. To Nolar, she shrugs. "I was usually too busy to talk about specifics with the Meister, but if you can find old Eilian..." she looks around the room, as if he might be hiding in a corner, "He'd probably know. Him or Valthrun. They both spoke to him at length, with great interest. Only the sage really understood him though, I feel."
She sets down her mug of hot spiced milk, and wipes her hands with her apron. "Eilian was in here last night, threw him out an hour before the gates closed. He should have made it home, but with the amount he drinks... he might have collapsed in an alley someplace. He has a farm, outside the town walls. But he's in here most nights, spending his savings on ale."
"If you might indulge my curiosity m'lady, we are searching for a number of friends of ours. Did, perchance, a convoy of sorts pass through this town recently?"
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"Are you not eating, Sir? Or removing your helm or armor?" she then asks of Godfrey.
"And ah...no. The armor and helm is me, I am a golem my good lady. Your concern is quite appreciated all the same."
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The Innswoman then nods towards the other breakfasters. "Anything else I can get you fine folk?"
The smell was overwhelming delicious, his mouth salivated just as his tongue forked out to the utensil. The entire spoon went into his mouth, as he began to savor the delicacy.
Promptly followed by a loud "Uggggh" sound, spitting up his entire mouth's contents onto the empty (licked clean!) plate in front of him.
"Aaaggh... how can this be eaten? It's horrible!"
He eyed Tara's plate with a sinister smile, "Tara, you do not like meat, correct?"
"The golem's share for the dragonman," she says, by way of explanation, while nodding her thanks to Nolar. "Should I keep the rooms open for you, for tonight?"
He even managed to chirrup in excitement as a serving girl served him Godfrey's portion of breakfast.
The dragonborn stifled his loud chewing, small bits of food still managing to fall from his maw. "Mmm, yesss. Rooms will be good to have. Delicious... good idea to not have to sleep in stables. Ahh! This is prepared wonderfully."
"Would you mind if I took a look around Douven's room? He might've left something behind that'll give a clue to his disappearance."
"There be not much in there," she repeats, "But perhaps you'll find something of use." She unlocks the door, and then grants the group access.
The room is quite neat and tidy, with a few papers stacked on the desk, and a small pack beside it, containing spare tools. There are also clothes in the footchest - nothing of interest. The papers on the desk seem to be rough maps, not particularly useful on their own, but it looks like Douvren was using them to create a larger composite map. There's an old, most annotated map of the Gardbury Downs, held together with hope and cunning folds. Tied to this with a slim ribbon through a cross-shaped slash in the top corner, is a rough, near-illegible map that shows Winterhaven, a rough approximation of the snaking line of the King's Road, and a large circle with 'sumwere rund heer' scribbled beside it, in a very unpracticed hand. There's a corresponding mark on the old map of the Downs, with a questionmark beside it.
Godfrey tapped his chin, intrigue was afoot!
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