The Travelers Stop Inn stands just off the main trade route on the fringe of the Arthfell Forest. While it does not lie within any particular community, it often becomes a small settlement in its own right when large caravans stop by and attract locals from the surrounding area to view the available wares. As such an important trade site, it falls within the jurisdiction of the nearby Shire of Elberwick and is policed by that district’s sheriff to ensure the peace is maintained and taxes are collected.
Despite the Travelers Stop Inn’s long tenure in the area, locals tell of an even older inn deeper in the Arthfell Forest that once served a now-abandoned trade route from the north. Nothing has been heard of that inn or its occupants for several years.
Najare the Huntress of Catapesh, Belton the Blessed Inquisitor of Desna and Sif Amarth, shieldmaiden of the Ironbound Archipelago ride forth from Olfden. The Arthfell Forest looms just to the north of the trade route, an ominous wall of unbroken green and shadow.
Not far ahead is the famous Travelers Stop Inn, the only safe refuge in the area. Rounding a bend in the road, they encounter trio of mangy wolves playing a gruesome tug-of-war with some sort of humanoid corpse against a great and terrible Worg. Their snarls and barks break the silence of the otherwise calm afternoon.
Sif breaks from the treeline and approachs the Worg, applying the ancient wisdom of her Wild Empathy to calm the fearsome Worg. But the monster is no mere beast and cannot be cowed by her advances of comeraderie and friendship. With a voice, dark with threat and malice it venomously dismisses her entreaty and paces forward to tear out her throat. Like lighting the crossbow of Belton unleases a volley of bolts, biting deep into the chest of the fiendish wolf, followed in flight by the tomahawk of Najare. But the Worg is feral and wary after the deadly lesson of Beltons crossbow and it leaps aside from Najares flashing axe only the turn and face deadly execution at the hand of the mighty valkyrie of the north. Sif's well-hone battle axe crashes in the the Worg's skull dashing it's brains to bloody ruin and instantly ending it's foul life.
Not far ahead is the famous Travelers Stop Inn, the only safe refuge in the area. Rounding a bend in the road, they encounter trio of mangy wolves playing a gruesome tug-of-war with some sort of humanoid corpse against a great and terrible Worg. Their snarls and barks break the silence of the otherwise calm afternoon.
Wolves
The Great and Terrible Worg
Sif breaks from the treeline and approachs the Worg, applying the ancient wisdom of her Wild Empathy to calm the fearsome Worg. But the monster is no mere beast and cannot be cowed by her advances of comeraderie and friendship. With a voice, dark with threat and malice it venomously dismisses her entreaty and paces forward to tear out her throat. Like lighting the crossbow of Belton unleases a volley of bolts, biting deep into the chest of the fiendish wolf, followed in flight by the tomahawk of Najare. But the Worg is feral and wary after the deadly lesson of Beltons crossbow and it leaps aside from Najares flashing axe only the turn and face deadly execution at the hand of the mighty valkyrie of the north. Sif's well-hone battle axe crashes in the the Worg's skull dashing it's brains to bloody ruin and instantly ending it's foul life.
In the meantime the three hungry wolves have drug the HobGoblin's corpse almost into the wood. With deadeye aim, Sif lobs a Tanglefoot Bag at the trio and binds the lot of them to the trees and ground. Investigating the scene, Belton espies a shining blade embedded in a tree near where the entangled wolves struggle to free themselves from the Tanglefoot's ropy grip. Retrieving the dagger it si instantly clear that this is an item of eldritch power. The pommel and center of the blade appear to be made of liquid flame and yellow-orange light shines from it, warning of its power. Belton, well versed in many tongues, translates the Draconic script etched into it's blade, "Brightflame". The blade is supernaturally sharp, it's edge keen and hungry. He tucks it away in his belt. An excellent trophy of their battle with the Worg and wolves. The companions drage the Hob's carcass into the clearing and begin an investigation of it's murder. while the body has allready been partially eaten by the wolves, it is plain to see that the goblinoid was truly killed by two sword slashes to the chest, which tore through it's crude, hide armor and laid open it's vitals. The body is still limber, a telltale sign that it's death was not too long ago, perhaps 7-8 hours by the condition of the blood. Sif, a wise survivalist, plys her Ranger's craft on the area, revealing the tracks of a human warrior, an Elven maiden, a heavy human with footwear unbecoming a warrior, perhaps a Wizard or Cleric, and not far off, the small, and poorly constructed boots of a Goblin. An unusual companion to such as the others of the party are clear to be.
Now the party bears witness to the skill and power of Najare's feral senses. crouching over the dead Hobgoblin she waves in the scents of the scene to her keen snout, sussing-out the hidden among the clues apparent to the eye. The human warrior was wearing leather armor, he was of Taldan stock, and from the abundance of blade oil scent hanging in the air, he wielded not one, but two steel weapons. The Elven maiden has poison on her blades, the acrid stench of the deadly 'coward's advantage' dancing among scents where she had stood. Also the smell of incense, a Cleric by trade perhaps, or a Rogue. Worse yet, the possibility of a Cleric of a dark deity. Some god of evil that would allow it's worshiper to poison the foes of it's faith. In the footsteps of the fat man, crumbs are sniffed out, traveler's bread from common Olfden-market trail rations, by the scent. And something else...
Najare catches the scent of a new human. Not old like the lingering scent of this battlefield, but fresh on the wind. Someone is watching them. She warns the others.
Out of the brush, Sif's sometime friend Quick Jim Barleycorn, a knave of the alleys and local character of Olfden steps, into he clearing and bounces into a patois-laden dialog that wanders the gamut from business proposition to breathless excuse to random observation all in a single breath. Najare bristles at this intrusion at first but Sif allows that this is a friend. A familiar companion of the city. Belton greets the newcomer halo ablaze and celestial wings rustling, his blindingly handsome smile, perfect teeth, otherworldly golden eyes and perfect physical stature dazzling the glade. Jim Barleycorn dismisses the holy man with a friendly quip and sweeps over to glad-hand Sif and nod amicably to the wary catfolk huntress. An never-ending stream of winding patter pouring forth in an ofttimes bewildering sweep of disjointed observations, offers and declarations of good intent.
Najare accepts Sif's vouchsafing the goodness of this smelly, seemingly transient man, and Belton coolly regards, but i the spirit of good, accepts this strange addition to their party. The four head back out onto the road and talk pleasantly on the walk through the woods to the Traveler's Stop Inn.
A well-built inn painted in cheerful colors is tucked beneath the eaves of the forest. A stable stands nearby. A hitching post at the front of the inn has several mounts, and more than one farm wagon sits in the yard. A large red sign above the door proclaims in gilt letters, “Travelers Stop Inn.” Above this sign and stretching across the front of the building is a banner with artistic lettering stating “The Traveling Exhibition of Doctor Phineus Krane, Professor of Antiquities and Master of Shroud Artistry.” A number of colorful tents have been set up at the rear of the inn yard, apparently for this exhibition. Evening is drawing on as the party arrives, and several curators are securing the tents for the night and locking up their wares in large trunks. The patrons of the exhibit are either dispersing to their homes or heading to the taproom for dinner and drinks. Approaching the Inn the travelers meet a red-caped commoner girl carrying a heavy basket of gathered berries. Belton and Sif turn on the charm and dazzle the girl with their good looks and adventurous lifestyles, the girl is enthralled and willingly hands the basket over to Belton who offers to help her carry it in.
Business is brisk as the long shadows of evening slant through the taproom’s open windows. A bald, red-faced man wearing an apron works behind the bar and several young girls carry platters of food and drinks to various tables. Most of the crowd seems to be local farmers and traveling merchants, although clustered around one table sits a rough-looking group of mercenaries, one of whom is a short, black-cloaked figure who might be a goblin. They huddle over their drinks in quiet conversation, occasionally raising a head to eye the crowd. At a table nearby, a bespectacled scholarly looking fellow discusses a piece of decorated linen spread across the tabletop with a small group of onlookers. In the taproom, the PCs find a modest crowd but can claim a table or two to pull together for a place to sit. Currently in the taproom are Ostler Merinwaite, three serving girls, the Company of the Black Banner, Sheriff Cage Blunnde, Doctor Phineus Krane and seven Merchant and Farmer customers.
Najare slips as quietly through the room as the regions only catfolk traveler for several hundred miles can. Eyed warily, curiously or cautiously by the patrons. Quick Jim Barleycorn cuts a beeline for the two pots of simmering stew over the great and expansive hearth where two large cauldrons of Travelers Strew and merchants Stew boil, giving off delicious, mouth-watering smells. He plunks his goblet right into the Merchant Stew and is caught red-handed making away with the un-paid-for victuals. The watchful Ostler accosts him from behind the bar and quick as a wink, Jim is weaving a tale of how he is a friend of Phineas and to put it on his tab. His reasoned and well presented claim suits the Ostler fine and he goes back to his work but Professor Crane hears this outlandish claim and counters Quick Jim's hobo-dodge with accusations of the truth. But Sif steps deftly in and explaines that Jim is 'Simple' and to pay his talk no mind and Jim immediately backs her play with some nonsense about a birthday cake and the worried Professor, placated for the moment, goes back to his pedantry about the burial shrouds with his curious onlookers. Jim angles for a Table nearby to the Company of the Black banner. Them fitting the description of those who were earlier at the scene of the Hobgoblin's death. Listening for anything he can glean of their goings-on. Najare takes a quiet spot in the corner, keeping an eye on the proceedings. Belton passes by the table of the mercenaries, observing them in person and confirming that it was they who slew the Hobgoblin ( not a crime in Andoran as a result of the Goblinblood Wars 11 years ago in 4697 ). Sif, tired of all this positioning and careful subterfuge pulls up an empty chair right to the table of the Company of the Black Banner and offers to sell them the Worg hide she stripped from their kill that day, as they look like folks with money and a possible interest in trade. This, they are not. And she is met coldly as they start to get a little ugly, clearly involved in conversations that they would like to remain among only themselves. Jim, coming to Sif's aid in response to her quick save of his gaff mere minutes before approaches the table loudly offering a shine-and-a-line about a card trick he hopes to perform for them for tips as he is a traveling prestidigitator or some such tomfoolery. He fakes a trip and sprays his Varisian Harrow Deck all over the assembly and their table colliding with Nirashi Sylvanmede, a thin and pale elven woman with nearly white hair worn long and loose, pickpocketing her vial of Unholy Water blessed by Urgathoa, the Pallid Princess, A dark and evil Goddess. The Elf unleashes a stream of vitriolic cursing as Jim untangles himself from her.
But Grelm Hammerlock, wearing all black, including his scale mail and cloak, has a volatile temper that compels him to come to his companions immediate aid with a flurry of haymaker punches, his face red with bulging veins, rage consuming him. Jim skips backward to avoid that savage beating as from the rafters a wicked blur and resounding, cracking thud heralds the sudden arrival of Najare's throwing axe. Missing Grelm by scant inched and embedding itself in the floor.
From the side, Sherrif Blundde steps forth, sweeping aside his worn travelling cloak and revealing his badge and announcing him as the Sheriff of the Shire of Elberwick. His voice booms out, powered by some sort of mystical energies to command the room the stop. All obey and the grim lawman strides into the middle of the suddenly still fray. Immediately Quick Jim regales him with accusations and explanations and supplications in a drawling low class banter, as Belton sidles up next to the Sheriff, relying on his Inquisitor profession to nudge him into the Sheriff's good graces.
A well-built inn painted in cheerful colors is tucked beneath the eaves of the forest. A stable stands nearby. A hitching post at the front of the inn has several mounts, and more than one farm wagon sits in the yard. A large red sign above the door proclaims in gilt letters, “Travelers Stop Inn.” Above this sign and stretching across the front of the building is a banner with artistic lettering stating “The Traveling Exhibition of Doctor Phineus Krane, Professor of Antiquities and Master of Shroud Artistry.” A number of colorful tents have been set up at the rear of the inn yard, apparently for this exhibition. Evening is drawing on as the party arrives, and several curators are securing the tents for the night and locking up their wares in large trunks. The patrons of the exhibit are either dispersing to their homes or heading to the taproom for dinner and drinks. Approaching the Inn the travelers meet a red-caped commoner girl carrying a heavy basket of gathered berries. Belton and Sif turn on the charm and dazzle the girl with their good looks and adventurous lifestyles, the girl is enthralled and willingly hands the basket over to Belton who offers to help her carry it in.
Business is brisk as the long shadows of evening slant through the taproom’s open windows. A bald, red-faced man wearing an apron works behind the bar and several young girls carry platters of food and drinks to various tables. Most of the crowd seems to be local farmers and traveling merchants, although clustered around one table sits a rough-looking group of mercenaries, one of whom is a short, black-cloaked figure who might be a goblin. They huddle over their drinks in quiet conversation, occasionally raising a head to eye the crowd. At a table nearby, a bespectacled scholarly looking fellow discusses a piece of decorated linen spread across the tabletop with a small group of onlookers. In the taproom, the PCs find a modest crowd but can claim a table or two to pull together for a place to sit. Currently in the taproom are Ostler Merinwaite, three serving girls, the Company of the Black Banner, Sheriff Cage Blunnde, Doctor Phineus Krane and seven Merchant and Farmer customers.
Najare slips as quietly through the room as the regions only catfolk traveler for several hundred miles can. Eyed warily, curiously or cautiously by the patrons. Quick Jim Barleycorn cuts a beeline for the two pots of simmering stew over the great and expansive hearth where two large cauldrons of Travelers Strew and merchants Stew boil, giving off delicious, mouth-watering smells. He plunks his goblet right into the Merchant Stew and is caught red-handed making away with the un-paid-for victuals. The watchful Ostler accosts him from behind the bar and quick as a wink, Jim is weaving a tale of how he is a friend of Phineas and to put it on his tab. His reasoned and well presented claim suits the Ostler fine and he goes back to his work but Professor Crane hears this outlandish claim and counters Quick Jim's hobo-dodge with accusations of the truth. But Sif steps deftly in and explaines that Jim is 'Simple' and to pay his talk no mind and Jim immediately backs her play with some nonsense about a birthday cake and the worried Professor, placated for the moment, goes back to his pedantry about the burial shrouds with his curious onlookers. Jim angles for a Table nearby to the Company of the Black banner. Them fitting the description of those who were earlier at the scene of the Hobgoblin's death. Listening for anything he can glean of their goings-on. Najare takes a quiet spot in the corner, keeping an eye on the proceedings. Belton passes by the table of the mercenaries, observing them in person and confirming that it was they who slew the Hobgoblin ( not a crime in Andoran as a result of the Goblinblood Wars 11 years ago in 4697 ). Sif, tired of all this positioning and careful subterfuge pulls up an empty chair right to the table of the Company of the Black Banner and offers to sell them the Worg hide she stripped from their kill that day, as they look like folks with money and a possible interest in trade. This, they are not. And she is met coldly as they start to get a little ugly, clearly involved in conversations that they would like to remain among only themselves. Jim, coming to Sif's aid in response to her quick save of his gaff mere minutes before approaches the table loudly offering a shine-and-a-line about a card trick he hopes to perform for them for tips as he is a traveling prestidigitator or some such tomfoolery. He fakes a trip and sprays his Varisian Harrow Deck all over the assembly and their table colliding with Nirashi Sylvanmede, a thin and pale elven woman with nearly white hair worn long and loose, pickpocketing her vial of Unholy Water blessed by Urgathoa, the Pallid Princess, A dark and evil Goddess. The Elf unleashes a stream of vitriolic cursing as Jim untangles himself from her.
Nirashi Sylvanmede
Grelm Hammerlock
Sheriff Blundde
Sheriff Blundde orders Najare down out of the rafters and listens to both party's claims. Grelm contests that the magic dagger, "Brightflame" was part of the gear of the HobGoblin that he killed in the forest on the road to the inn and that it is his to claim by right of victory and it being legitimate spoils of victory. Our heroes contest that possession is a recognized part of the law. Sheriff Blundde confiscates the dagger and after further accusations are thrown about by the two parties, advises the party that he is going to sleep on it and award the object , one way or another, in the morning. Quick Jim insist that he and Grelm shake on this and deftly plants the vial of Unholy Water, cursed by Urgathoa on his person even while under the watchful eye of the sheriff and the room.
As the two aggrieved parties warily return to their tables Jim grabs a passing serving girl and pays her to slip a note to Nirashi Sylvanmede. He quickly pens a message warning her not to trust her allies on a scrap of paper, folds it and gives it to the woman who, in a somewhat impressive display of secret note-passing skill slips it to Nirashi who surreptitiously looks it over when her fellows are distracted. Jim's seeds of discontent are sown.
Belton approached the Sheriff after he sits down and the common room of the Inn goes back to its usual hubbub and they speak for some time about a number of things. The sheriff revealing himself to be a cautious individual who actively seeks the upholding of the law and the common good. He has a few more drinks and then turns in for the night.