# Greenwood Traders: an FR Story Hour [Updated 6/15]



## Citizen Mane (Nov 4, 2002)

This SH is basically the campaign logs from the campaign in which I'm currently playing/DMing (we're rotating DMs—I'll note who DMed what in the session list at the end of tbhis post).  We've been running since October 2002, and the party's currently at and around 3rd and 4th level.  I'm currently revising and editing the logs that I posted back in the fall and will be putting up rough logs from the sessions after that soon.

The player characters are listed below.  I'm including all the PCs, noting where they enter and leave in the run.

*Drona, son of Tarkan, of the Baldar Clan* [Co-DM]
(Gold Dwarf Fighter/Cleric of Gorm Gulthyn)  Drona, the primary muscle of the party, can be a downright vicious combatant.  Having grown up in a family of craftsmen and merchants, he's the most practical minded member of Greenwood Traders, negotiating most of our trade contracts and always ensuring that the Company has a ready supply of the finest meads and ales available in the Dalelands.  He currently has a pony called Dwarfcarrier.

*Lucille* [inactive]
(Human Wizard from Scardale)  Lucille is some sort of specialist, likely a conjurer.  She's a young woman, almost a child, rail thin, bordering on being malnourished.  She has a marked, borderline obsessive concern with properly burying the dead and likes to construct little totems and ritual circles out of bones.  During Of Sound Mind, the party finds out that Lucille is from Scardale.  Lucille left the party right before the mission in Daggerdale and is now apprenticed to Alhcyni, a Harper wizard.

*Fagan Foxburr* [Co-DM]
(Lightfoot Halfling Monk1)  Fagan is extremely quiet, but also very effective.  Until Thas joined the group, Fagan served as our primary scout.  He shares a love of fine dwarvish ale with Drona and the two of them have become fast friends.

*Whitman Amblecrown* [Co-DM]
(Human Bard from the Vast, and my PC)  An expert in a number of modern (5) and ancient (3) Faerûnian languages, Whitman is talkative and reasonably opinionated.  Raised in a Deneiran monastery, his main goal in life is to find and examine ancient texts.  He's also substantially older than your standard beginning adventurer (32 yrs. old).  Whitman is currently dead, having been killed in an ambush at the Pool of Keth Kisane.

*Jasper of Lowenstein* [inactive]
(Human Paladin of Torm) Invited to join the Company as they travelled to Whiteford, Jasper puts all but the most dedicated clergy to shame. Whereas most people keep quiet about their religion, Jasper oozes his religion—he bears flags, wind chimes, hooded lanterns lit 24 hours a day—all this in the name of Torm (the three items, respectively, have come to be called the Flag of Justice, the Winds of Justice, and the Beacon of Justice). From time to time, Jasper feels that Torm speaks to him and acts through him. Despite his innate desire to convert the masses and broadcast his faith, Jasper's proven to be extremely capable in combat and ridiculously effective working undercover.  Jasper vanished after the party dove through the portal at the Pool of Keth Kisane.

*Dahlia* [inactive]
(Human Wizard) A warrior-wizard from somewhere in the south (Whitman would suggest Mulhorand, Unther, or Chessenta, but never had his inklings confirmed), Dahlia tends to rely on her brawn rather than her brains.  Her refusal to cast spells at enemies, unless they cast them first, nearly got everyone killed at least twice.  She joined the party for their mission among the Zhents, only to leave after its completion.  She now serves, with Lucille, as an apprentice to the wizard Ahlcyni.

*Thas*
(Elven Rogue/Sorceror?)  Rescued from the clutches of a dwarven ghost during the Company's search for the Mirror of Justice.  

*Saam*
(Half-Orc Barbarian) Saam was assigned to the party by the Harpers, joining them in time to head to Archenbridge.  A shoemaker by trade, he proved himself invaluable during the ambush at the Pool of Keth Kisane.  

*Weasel* [NPC]
A teenage boy from Ashabenford, Weasel serves the company as a cook and drover.  He idolizes Jasper and desperately wants to be an adventurer.  Whitman encourages these desires and, to the horror of the rest of the group, has started to equip the boy with weaponry.

The campaign itself is set in the Dalelands and started in Mistledale.  A Sembian trader, Darvin Greenwood (as Fagan's player said, "no relation to Ed"), hired Whitman, Drona, Lucille, and Fagan as caravan guards and minority partners in Greenwood traders.  The caravan is currently in Ashabenford, heading on towards Peldan's Helm, approximately 3 days down the Moonsea Ride.

The caravan itself consists of three carts (containing quite the assortment of trade goods), seven horses (two per cart, plus one spare), three drovers (including the inimitable Weasel), and Darvin Greenwood (the owner, a rather gruff Sembian). 

Here's a rough list of the sessions and what part of the campaign they belong to, who DMed, and all that...  I'll update and subdivide this list as I get more logs posted.

*Session 1: The Journey to Peldan's Helm (Fagan)*
*Session 2-5: Of Sound Mind (Whitman/tKL)*
     Session 2: [OSM] The Sandalwood Box, Othic, and Bad Dreams
     Session 3: [OSM] Werehorses?, Holy Visions, and the Mines
     Session 4: [OSM] Jasper's Holy Quest Expanded
     Session 5: [OSM] The Belly of the Beast
*Session 6-8: A Secret Mission (Drona)*
*Session 9-11: The Mirror of Justice (Fagan)*
*Session 12- : Under a Sleepless Moon, Pt. I (Whitman/tKL)*

Best,
tKL


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## Citizen Mane (Nov 4, 2002)

*Session 1, Part 1*

_1 Kythorn 1372 DR_
Sunny, generally nice weather.

Greenwood Traders sets off from Ashabenford early in the morning.  Most of the land just surrounding this part of the Moonsea Ride is farmland, and the day passes largely uneventfully.  Come night, the caravan pulls off into a fallow field and, appropriate sets camp.  The party arranges the four two hour watches so as to allow Whitman and Lucille adequate time to rest and prepare their spells for the next day.  Lucille will take the early watch with Fagan following.  Drona, confident in his ability to see in the dark, gains the dogwatch.  Whitman will stand guard over the dawn.  Meanwhile, the two unnamed drovers turn the horses off into a nearby field to graze and Weasel cooks dinner.  Lucille takes the opportunity to set up a circle of bones and begins chanting some sort of mixture of incantations and prayers, something which Drona and Whitman find generally disconcerting.

The first two watches pass uneventfully.  About midway through Drona's watch, a whinnying scream pierces the night (I know, shades of Bulwer-Lytton — although, to be fair both to the DM and my prose, it was decidedly not a "dark and stormy night").  From his current vantage point, Drona cannot see anything, although preliminary intelligence indicates that something has frightened/unnerved the horses.  The dwarf wakes Fagan, Lucille, and Whitman.  In concept, a good idea, excepting the fact that, save Drona, no one can see in the dark, nor did they think to bring torches or memorize a _light_ spell.  Eventually, Whitman throws up a _dancing lights_ and the party is off to investigate.

Heading off towards the direction of the noise, the party finds the horses huddled together and apparently unharmed — although the two wolves that jump out of the darkness certainly have other intentions.  The wolves manage to bring down one horse before the party can close in on them.  Whitman looses a shot with his bow, and misses horribly, and Drona, lacking a missle weapon, does no better throwing rocks (the bard and dwarf agree that at no point in the future will they engage in a knife-throwing circus act, no matter how lucrative it may seem).  Lucille shoots out a spell — and suddenly, tiny demonic hands fly out of the ground, seizing the feet of the wolves, and narrowly missing the horses and Drona.  Now having a stationary target, Whitman manages to hit a wolf with his bow, while Drona and the recently arrived Fagan drag the living horses back to the camp and safety.  Things wind down, the party stands guard over the injured wolves until the spell wears off and watches as they run off into the night.  Free of all other distractions, Lucille starts to carve meat off the downed horse.  The reactions of the caravan range from disgust (Drona, Weasel) to an academic curiosity (Whitman — "you know, in some parts of Faerûn, horse meat is considered a delicacy...").  Shortly afterwards, dawn breaks.

_2 Kythorn 1372 DR_
Foggy.  Visibility down to roughly 2 yards.

Darvin reacts poorly to the news of the horse dying, and is probably no more excited than Drona at the thought of eating horse meat in his next meal.  The ridiculously thick fog slows the morning preparations somewhat, as does Lucille's cursory burial of the carcass of the horse.  Eventually the carts are hitched up, arranged in a tight formation — Whitman, thinking that his knowledge of strategy and tactics is sound, bungles the cart formation, placing two in front, one in back, and managing to block the view of everyone behind the front two carts, although this is somewhat a moot point given the thickness of the fog.  Despite this, Greenwood Traders press on, making slow progress down the Moonsea Ride.

Sometime around noon, just as the party gets closer to Plow Creek, Fagan, in front of the caravan calls out for everyone to stop.


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## Citizen Mane (Nov 4, 2002)

*Session 1, Part 2*

_2 Kythorn 1372 DR_
Still foggy, something which quickly becomes a problem.

The caravan halted, the small group of guards gathers to find out why they've all stopped.  Fagan hushes them and tells them to listen.  Ahead of them, they can hear crunching, snapping, and smacking sounds, followed by a very loud and resonant burp.  

"Maybe it's a drunkard," Drona suggests hopefully.

"Or ten drunkards, belching in unison," rejoins Whitman.  

Despite their misgivings, the party heads off into the fog to investigate.  It is at this time that Whitman offers the helpful information that "Plow Creek generally marks the edge of Mistran civilization as it were.  Fell creatures often come out of the mountains, and this area can be quite dangerous."  The party is less than appreciative of his annotation.

Frustrated in the search, Drona picks up a rock and throws it into the fog.  The crunching and smacking stops, and a rough voice admonishes someone called "Crusher" not to even think about taking his food.  The party fans out slightly in search of the mysterious munching monster, and eventually, Fagan finds it.  And with a loud thump and a bellowing roar, Fagan, decidedly unconscious, lands at the feet of Whitman and Lucille.  The latter takes this opportunity to severely chastise the halfling for wandering off into the fog.  Whitman, anticipating battle, starts to play a famous ballad on his lute.  Drona, who had been closest to Fagan, turns around, takes a step towards the thump and comes face to face with the thumper — it's about 2.5 dwarves tall, ugly, stupid, has a big club, and appears to be snacking on a recently dead horse.  

Drona and the thumper, an ogre as the party later realizes, exchange misses while Whitman plays his lute and Fagan bleeds out.  Lucille grabs the little monk and drags him back towards the camp.  Eventually Whitman, wandering around and playing his lute, stops playing and manages to walk directly into the ogre.  Stowing his lute, he pulls out a dagger and prepares to strike.  Finally finding his moment, he stabs forward and manages to take a chunk out of the ogre, who then turns and absolutely clobbers the bard with his club.  Meanwhile, Drona continues to miss the ogre with his axe.

Lucille, recently returned from tending to Fagan, returns and finds that the ogre has the upperhand.  Drona continues to swing wildly and Whitman is unconscious.  She drags Whitman off to the side and manages to stabilize him, binding his wounds quickly, but well enough for the time being.  Somewhere around this time, Drona's luck takes a turn for the better and he starts to hack away at the beast (although it should be noted that the ogre did manage to take a bit of aggression out on Drona, as well).  A few small _rays of frost_ from Lucille and a _magic stone_ later, the ogre is dead.  

While Drona heads back to tend to the wounded, Lucille, the only guard to be completely unscratched says a prayer over the ogre's body and proceeds to loot the corpse, netting a bag of gold pieces.  Without consulting the rest of the party, she gives the coin to Darvin.  (Whitman's contention later is that it doesn't really matter, as the caravan owner would have taken it anyhow.  Drona, thankfully, never really finds out about this.)  With Whitman and Fagan all but useless because of their brushes with death, the caravan circles the carts and sets camp for the rest of the afternoon.  During this time, Lucille trys to convince the drovers and Drona to help her bury the ogre.


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## Badger (Nov 4, 2002)

*Interesting Start*

Your party does seem an odd mix so far, look foward to seeing how they fare as the days pass.

Keep up the good work, and any chance of stats for the guys later on? Always curious to see the inner workings of the personalities on screen.

Badger


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## Citizen Mane (Nov 6, 2002)

Hi, Badger.  Thanks for the kind words .  The party's mix is a bit odd — had I known what it was going to be ahead of time, I'd probably not have made Whitman a bard.  That said, the four people present for the first adventure — Fagan, Drona, Lucille, and Whitman — all levelled, which makes the party a bit less rough around the edges: Whitman picked up cure light wounds (as a 1st level bonus spell) and Drona picked up a level of fighter.  That, and the fact that we'll be picking up at least one more player (a halfling rogue, I think) and maybe two (probably a fighter or barbarian from what I've been told) hopefully will make things a bit easier.  

I can post Whitman's stats or at least link to them.  Probably tomorrow (need to put them up on the Web).  Character generation was done on a 30 pt. buy, so they're a spot on the powerful side.

As far as how things will go for them, a lot depends on who we have present for the next session and who the party gains.  I'm DMing for the next 2 or 3 sessions at least, and my intention is to put the party through Of Sound Mind — should be interesting, to say the least.

Best,
tKL


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## Citizen Mane (Nov 6, 2002)

*Session 1, Part 3*

_2-3 Kythorn 1372 DR_
Clear, nothing remarkable weather-wise.

With the afternoon rapidly passing and Whitman's condition improving very slowly, the caravan remains camped off the edge of the Moonsea Ride just outside a rather heavily forested area.  Drona remains on watch for much of the evening and deep into the night.  Late in the evening, or early in the morning (as you will), the dwarf hears a rustling and some twig snapping just to the north of camp.  Heading towards the sound to get a closer look, he can see a humanoid shape scurry through the woods ahead of him.  When he returns to camp, he wakes Fagan and the two consult for a bit, deciding to check on the camp and make certain that everything is all right before setting watch again.  In fact, everything seems to be normal — excepting the fact that Darvin is lying in a pool of his own blood, his throat slit.

The rest of the party is roused, including Weasel and the other two drovers.  The incapacitated Whitman, along with the teenage cook and his counterparts, remain at the camp while Fagan, Drona, and Lucille head off to investigate.  Having previously spotted the murderer(s?) near a rather large tree just north of the camp, the three scouts loop off towards the tree from the east, while Whitman casts a _ghost sound_ of a twig snapping just off the west side of the tree.  The plan is only partially successful — the scouting party doesn't appear to make any noise, but doesn't apprehend the culprit either, largely due to the auditory illusion.  Eventually, after a brief search, Drona spots the culprits again — he identifies two dark and shadowy shapes with his darkvision.  Having found the enemy, the party begins to gear up for a fight — Fagan looses a shot from his crossbow, misses, and the assassins run away.  No one is truly willing to chase after them, given the situation back at camp.

Back at the camp, the remains of Greenwood Traders attend to the Darvin issue.  Weasel and the drovers dig a grave while Lucille attends to preparing the body for burial.  At this time, she also relieves the deceased of some things that won't be terribly useful to him — she reclaims the ogre's gold, lays hold of Darvin's pocket change, and finds a tersely-worded note in his pocket:

_Darvin — see Rowan in Peldan's Helm — Atheleas_

In the meantime, Drona continues to see to the wounded, managing to bring Whitman and Fagan back into health through judicious use of _cure_ spells.  

All the preparations having been finished and the body ready for interrment, Greenwood Traders pays tribute to its founder.  Lucille says a brief and somewhat grim prayer over the body.  Drona taps a keg from the back of one of the wagons, blesses the body with some ale, and mutters a brief benediction.  Whitman briefly entertains a notion of penning some sort of pastoral elegy in Greenwood's honor, an idea he just as quickly dismisses.  Fagan says nothing, and the drovers start to shovel the earth over Darvin.

When all is said and done, no one's particularly tired.  The keg has been tapped and there are quite a few hours before dawn.  Greenwood Traders spends the rest of the night somewhat somberly polishing off the keg.


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## Citizen Mane (Nov 7, 2002)

Here's a link to a Rogue's Gallery thread containing stats for Whitman Amblecrown, and whatever else I end up throwing in there.   I'm going to try to put up the last section of our first session either tonight or tomorrow.

Best,
tKL


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## Citizen Mane (Nov 10, 2002)

_3 Kythorn 1372 DR_
Clear, nothing remarkable about the weather.

By this time, the farmlands have completely disappeared.  Forests border both sides of the Moonsea Ride and Plow Creek is about 50 ft. off in the distance.  The caravan makes good time, and eventually sees a clearing about 300-500 yards off with a raised wooden platform/watch tower.

Anxious after the events of the previous day, the party halts the wagons and prepares to head off to scout.  Before leaving, however, Whitman enlists Weasel, the drover-cook, as back-up, asking the other two drovers to remain with the horses and carts.  As far as the bard is concerned, the teenager wants to be an adventurer, so let's throw him out there.  The rest of the party feels rather apprehensive about this, but the idea of having a fifth is too appealing to ignore, and Weasel and his kitchen knife join the scouting expedition.

As the group closes on the tower, two people can be seen, one slumped over in the tower, peppered with arrows, and the other standing at the bottom of the tower, pacing back and forth.  He's a rather gruff looking man, with one and a half ears — and, to be honest, he looks rather dangerous.  Fortunately for the party, the man on the ground turns out to be Atheleas.

They bring him back to the caravans, set camp and settle down to Weasel's meal.  After conversing with Atheleas for a while, the party learns the following items:
1) Drow have been acting up in the area for a while, and were probably responsible for the death of Darvin Greenwood.
2) Darvin and Atheleas are both Harpers.
3) The party is within half a day of Peldan's Helm, if not less.

Atheleas makes the following offer: assume operation of the company Greenwood Traders and work at gathering information for the Harpers — in addition to having the support of the organization, the party will be generally free to do as it wants and profit from their business.  Drona feels confident enough about the situation, and Whitman's all too eager to jump in on this (visions of Harper libraries and lost poetry flash into his mind).  After a little consultation among themselves, the party agrees to maintain Greenwood Traders and work for the Harpers.  This settled, Atheleas leaves his Harper pin with Whitman, with the instructions to show it to Rowan Darkwood once they reach Peldan's Helm.   The party then sets camp and sleeps for the night.

_4 Kythorn 1372_
Ominously cloudy, winds picking up.

The next morning, after minimal travel time, the party reaches the road that will take them from the Moonsea Ride to Peldan's Helm.  Turning up the road, Fagan spots smoke and fire up ahead in the distance.  The party heads off, with the wagons trailing to see what the situation is.  As it turns out, Peldan's Helm is under attack by a large group of goblins — mostly archers and footmen, but a pair of wolf-riders leads the attack from a point just SE of the hamlet.

Lucille runs back to tell the drovers to stop the carts while Fagan, Drona, and Whitman take a circuitous path that should bring them around and behind the wolf-riders and wait for the wizard's return.  While waiting for Lucille, the three men have the chance to see that the battle has reached a standstill.  Occassionally a townsman will poke his head up over the stockade, half-heartedly launch a few arrows at a goblin, miss horribly, and duck back down.  The goblins are no more effective.

When Lucille returns, the party launches the attack, making short work of the wolves and then attending to their riders and picking off other goblins as they close in, by the time they eliminate the first set of goblins, the militia rallies, joins the battle, and the entire battle becomes an almost academic exercise.  In short, Greenwood Traders routs the goblins and enters Peldan's Helm as heroes of sorts.  Mayor Darkwood is extremely grateful, bestowing a small selection of minor magical treasures upon the party.  Although saddened by the death of Darvin, Rowan offers her aid in establishing contacts for the party throughout the Dales as they continue trading.


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## Citizen Mane (Nov 10, 2002)

*Background for Session 2!*

The group, as I've mentioned, is rotating DMs, and I'm up next.  Here's the background I sent the party last night for next weekend's session (which'll be the first of two or three using Of Sound Mind) —

You've spent about a week in Peldan's Helm, resting, training, and generally taking things easy.  One night towards the end of the week, while all of you sit down to dinner, Mayor Darkwood approaches the table and pulls up a chair.  She politely declines joining you for the meal, apologetically noting that she's here attending to "business" (it's clear to all of you that she means "Harper business," and the following summary has been mostly cleared of euphemisms, allusions, and the like for clarity). 

In short, Darvin was scheduled to move on from Peldan's Helm to Whiteford in Archendale as part of a pre-planned itinerary.  For various reasons, it's been a few months since any Harpers have been to Whiteford and any resident Harpers in Archendale are currently elsewhere on personal, non-Harper business or incommunicado.  She's asking all of you (funny, it doesn't feel like she's asking to any of you) to head to Whiteford and meet with one Provis Jaggers at the Elk & Star, a roadside inn one day north of the town.  She's fairly sure that he may even have people interested in joining "our little business venture." 

As there is no direct road from Peldan's Helm to Whiteford that can accomodate the wagons, she suggests that you follow the Moonsea Ride to the Thunder Peaks at Tilver's Gap, turn south there, following an old trade road in the foothills until you reach the road to Highmoon.  From there, heading east towards Whiteford should be easy.  The Elk & Star is one day northwest of the town and she bluntly tells you that it's "absolutely imperative that you be there in seven days to meet with Provis Jaggers.  He has business in Arable in eight day's time — business he's already delayed to meet with you."  Having finished, she takes her leave of all of you, politely suggesting that you get set to leave for Archenbridge in the morning. 

The next morning (11 Kythorn 1372 DR), Greenwood Traders is set to head south.  As Weasel and the boys hitch up the wagons, Whitman offers the following information about Whiteford, even though it's one of the few towns in the Dales that he's *not* been through in his studies and travels: 

"Well, Whiteford's a small town — a hair over half the size of Ashabenford if I estimate correctly.  Used to have a dragon problem — a rogue blue or something of that sort with a copper fetish enslaved the townsfolk and used them in the mines.  Dragging out copper and minting it for his hoard.  Roughly fifty years ago, some local adventurers slew the dragon and freed the town. 

"If I recall correctly, a number of poems were written praising the brave adventurers.  Nothing memorable to be honest.  Generally overwrought, bombastic verse with doubtful meter and worse rhyme, written in emulation of the elvish heroic style, picking up all the weaknesses of that form and none of the strengths.  Best forgotten really.  Well, perhaps I'm being unfair.  One poem, by Rhiastiel Arkhendeire, the half-elven philologist, is interesting in its use of —"  He interrupts himself with a cough and picks up his train of thought again. 

"Well, never mind all that.  Point is, the dragon's gone and with that, the townsfolk have been able to put the copper to better use.  Whiteford's known for its brasswork — best work outside of the Dwarven kingdoms.  Specifically known for its work in bells — just beautiful craftsmanship — resonant, full-bodied.  Very popular in Lathanderian churches.  Actually the monastery of Deneir that I grew up in had a set of them, too.  Delightful.  The monks there used to call the town Cymbæforiel, high elven for 'Bellhold.'" 

By the time he finishes his monologue, your preparations are over and the journey underway.  Travel is brisk and uneventful, and by noon of the seventh day (17 Kythorn 1372 DR), you're in sight of the Elk & Star.

_Edit — fixed dates, some spelling/usage errors._


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## Citizen Mane (Dec 13, 2002)

*Of Sound Mind, Session 1, Part 1*

_17 Kythorn 1372 DR_
Sunny and pleasant, for the most part.

After spending some time relaxing in Peldan's Helm, the party has started travelling again.  The overland journey south, towards Archendale, is uneventful and, to be frank, boring.  Fortunately, this allows the party ample time to reach the Elk & Star for their meeting with Provis Jaggers.

Jaggers turns out to be a meticulously neat, well-dressed barrister.  Not one for pleasantries, he starts in on business.  "Now that we're all here, I think it best that we should begin.  My client has authorized me, Provis Jaggers of Sembia, to release this item—one small, sandalwood box—to your group, Greenwood Traders.  The box itself is part of a set, enabling my client or myself to contact you at any time."  As he talks, he produces a second box and demonstrates.  "I place this piece of paper in my box, and, a few moments later, you will find it in your box."  A jingle from the party's box.  Provis opens it and produces the message.  "Communication of this sort, for security reasons, is one way.  I or my client will be able to contact you, but you will not be able to contact us."

Drona looks suspiciously at the box and Jaggers.  "Aye, that's all well and good, but who's the client?"

Provis nods.  "He suspected you might ask as much and has instructed me to tell you that he shall, until further notice, only be identified by me, or himself, as M."

Someone asks quietly, "But is he a Harp—"

Provis shakes his head firmly as he interrupts.  "What my client is or isn't does not figure into the matter at hand.  I'd rather, to be honest, not know a bit about what you may suspect, or in fact, what you may be doing."  As he says this, he wrings his hands, as if washing them.  "Before I leave, one final point of business, M has instructed me to _tell_ you that he recommends you head directly to Whiteford in the morning.  If that will be all, and it will be all, as my business here is done, you will have a good evening and I will be heading to Arabel."  With that, Jaggers stands, brushes himself off, and collects his belongings. Bowing slightly towards the group, he heads off towards the stables.

Left alone, the party orders some ale and sets down to play with and examine the box.  As it turns out, the ale is not very good ale, much to Drona's chagrin—the dwarf, in fact, voices this opinion in earshot of the proprietor, ultimately ensuring that the ale he has right now will be the best ale he'll taste at the Elk & Star for a while yet.  The box itself displays no unique qualities aside from what Provis demonstrated.  When empty, as it is now, the box looks like a well sanded, impecably cut block of sandalwood.  During stress tests, the party also finds the box to be exceedingly solid.  Tired from their journey, the Company heads to bed for the night.  Whitman bunks with the drovers, Drona and Fagan share a room, and Lucille sleeps alone.  Before heading to bed, Lucille, ever careful, barricades her door.

*About the Sandalwood Box*: _Ultimately, this box, as should be obvious, serves as an easy way for the DMs to move the party from place to place.  It also places the party within a hierarchy, allowing them to receive orders from their Harper masters, without necessarily meeting every single Harper in the Dalelands; basically this means that they only encounter the people they have to encounter or people powerful enough to not need to worry about having their cover blown.  Yeah, it's a little bit of a hand of God type thing, but it makes things run a lot smoother, I think.  As for it's weird parallel to e-mail, that was, when I came up with it, unintentional.  I wanted something more reliable than carrier pigeons, mostly._

*About Provis Jaggers*: _Although he hasn't shown up again yet, both Jaggers and M figure in my plans for later.  A cookie if anyone figures out what novel I cribbed his name from..._

*Other Notes*: _For the entirety of this run through Of Sound Mind, Whitman was an NPC._


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## Citizen Mane (Jun 9, 2003)

*Of Sound Mind, Session 1, Part 2*

_18 Kythorn 1372 DR_
Overcast, threatening.

Morning at the Elk & Star.  Whitman rises early and heads down to the main room and orders breakfast.  The rest of the party mills down eventually, Drona spending a little extra time in his room praying to Gorm.  Lucille does not show up for breakfast.  

Weasel, as is customary, is bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.  Ready for just about anything, he seems to have latched himself on to a tall, handsome stranger dressed in shining armor, tending to a meagre breakfast of bread and water.

"Hi, I'm Weasel.  That's quite the sword you have.  Someday I want to have a sword like that."  The boy continues to fire out questions and observations, until, finally, the man speaks.

"Weasel, I'm Jasper of Lowenstein, holy warrior of Torm.  Perhaps, when you are older, and ready to embrace the Might and Glory of the True Faith of Torm, you too may have a Sword.  It is a great Responsibility, my Little Friend.  The true path of Justice and Righteousness is hard, but no one should fear the retribution of a vengeful god, IF, in their Hearts, they have obeyed Torm's Rightful Law."  Jasper's speech continues growing more rhetorical.  He reaches to his side and picks up a flag leaning against the wall and unfurls it.  Sewn onto the flag is a open palmed gauntlet on a purple field.  "Behold, Weasel, the Flag of Justice and the Glory that is Torm."

Weasel beholds.  Drona, coming down the stairs, notices Weasel beholding and hurries over to the table.  "Excuse me, sir, but you'll have to forgive the boy, he's a little impetuous and a trifle bothersome..."

Jasper smiles benignly.  "There is nothing to forgive.  Someday this one," he places his hand on Weasel's head, "will be a Great Warrior in the service of Torm."

The poor boy is overwhelmed with ecstatic joy.  "WOW!  Did you hear that Drona?  I'm going to be a warrior in the service of Torm!  Will I get a sword like that?  Hey!  I've got an idea.  We're heading to Whiteford, Jasper, why don't you join the group!"  By this point, Fagan and Whitman have come over to see what the disturbance is.  

Before anyone can say anything, Jasper unsheathes his sword, strikes a glorious pose, and smiles.  "Of course, little one.  It is, in fact, part of my Holy Quest!"  

"Oh, boy!"  Weasel runs off and tends to the horses.  He's practically skipping.  Resigned to the alliance with the knight-preacher, the remains of the party introduce themselves and finish breakfast.

Soon, sometime around midday, the Company is ready to go.  All, that is, except Lucille, presumably still asleep.  Drona heads up to her room, knocks, and tries the handle.  The door, still barricaded, won't budge.  "Aye, lass, are ya all right in there?"  He hears a groggy affirmative from the other side of the door.  "Well then, ye best be getting your things together, we'll be headin' out soon.  Time to get a move on."  Somehow, Jasper has wandered up and is watching keenly from behind Drona.  The knight, however, does nothing and heads back down to the wagons.

Eventually Lucille does show up, hair wet, still groggy, and in a slightly sour mood.  Ignoring the fact that everyone is waiting on her, she begins to assemble a small ritual circle with bones, small rocks, and sticks.  Finishing the circle, she sits down to meditate.  Jasper, horrified, intervenes as Fagan and Drona stand dumbfounded.

He makes a move to scoop up the young woman, and she jumps up and away from the warrior.  "My Lady, are you all right?  You must be Sick.  No worries, I will Protect you.  It is, in fact, part of my...Holy Quest!"

Under his breath, Drona mutters to Fagan, "Aye, I'll bet it's part of his 'Holy Quest.'"  

After everyone settles down, and after Whitman somehow manages to separate Jasper from Lucille, the Company sets out.  The weather, initially dreary, quickly turns for the worse as it starts to rain, heavily.  Progress slows, and before long the party has reached farmland and a main road.  Whiteford must be close now.  As the caravan turns down the road, Fagan spots a clearly frustrated farmer throw down a length of rope.  Curious, but skeptical, the party halts the wagons, and starts to consider pulling off the road.  Too late, the farmer has spotted them and runs down the road towards them, waiving his arms and yelling, "Heya!  Hey there!  Ho, how about some help?"

Whitman groans and moves into the back of one of the wagons.  He didn't sign up with the Harpers to help farmers plow or sow or whatever they do.  There weren't, as far as he remembers, any ancient Netherese farmer-linguists.

The farmer catches up, and, panting, relates his story.  In short, he's having trouble getting his horses into the barn.  They had been missing, they're back now, but they're a bit unmanageable.  If the party could help, the farmer, Othic, would be "mighty obliged."  Said horses are currently grazing blandly on some clover at the far end of a nearby field.

After a short debate among themselves, with Whitman and Lucille not wanting anything to do with the problem, the party decides to help out the farmer.  Easier said, of course, than done.  Fagan, Drona, and Jasper have little to no skill with animals and spend the better part of the hour chasing the beasts around the fields.  One of them would get close, almost loop the lasso around the horse's neck, only to have the animal trot off to another part of the field.  After multiple tries, the three men decide that since they are, in fact, smarter than the horses, they will outwit the beasts by encircling them and then sneaking up on the surprised horses.  This doesn't work either.  Eventually, a barely interested Weasel is enlisted by Drona and Jasper to give it a try.  The boy drover has much more success, and, soon, Othic is leading the party and his horses back towards his home, promising to cook the group dinner.

Whitman, Jasper, and Lucille head directly into the farmhouse with Othic, while Drona and Fagan take another look at the horses.  Each of the horses has a scab on its forehead.   Cursory examination of the wounds reveals that whatever caused the wound was forceably entered into the horse on a trajectory aimed directly at the animal's brain.  Odd, surely, but the horses seem to be healing well and none of the other animals look to be injured, so no worries.  The dwarf and halfling head into the house to the smell of a fresh lamb stew.

"Heya, I'm sure glad you all could help and it's mighty nice to have folk in for dinner.  My family, you see, has all but up and moved away, so I'm alone here, just me an' my horses.  I'm just cooking up some lamb stew right now, but I've got some fresh bread, a little cheese, and some fresh mead.  Just brewed it a day ago."

Drona perks at the mention of mead, gladly accepting the offer.  It's good.  Really good.  Othic, for an amateur brewer, makes an outstanding mead.  "Well, Othic, this is a fine mead here.  We're merchants, _travelling_ merchants, and if you're game, why don't you meet us in town at one of the inns tomorrow morning.  I'd love to buy some of this for us.  It's a far sight better than the watered down aboleth-piss they serve over at the Elk & Star."

"I'd be delighted to do so; I'll be in town anyway, so—say now, why don't we have breakfast?  It'd be nice to have some civilized, pleasant talk in town for a change.  Here we go, lamb stew.  Help yourselves, please, there's plenty of it."

"What's wrong with the folk in town?"  Fagan asks.

"Well, nothing's wrong with them, they've just been a tad...surly as of late.  Grouchy, touchy, you know, a bit henpecked.  From what my fieldhand says, folks aren't sleeping right and there's a nasty virus going around, gives folk nasty, pounding headaches.  Well, that's what they say, I mean, it could just be me.  I get lonely and sometimes I ain't as pleasant as a man should be to his neighbors.  Whiteford's been a swell town since the dragon died.  Swell town.  How's the stew?"

Throughout the meal, Othic and the party talk and eat and talk and eat some more.  The stew ends up being not half bad.  It isn't as good as the mead, but, truth be told, what is?  In addition to finding out that things are generally odd in town (most of the spellcasters, healers and wizards alike have left town for parts unknown), the party discovers that the corpse of the dragon still rests where it was killed, up in the old mines.  Lucille can hardly contain herself at the thought of seeing the dragon—"A dragon corpse?  I want to go look at it now."

"Lass, ye cannot look at it now, it's late and we need to be getting into town."

The girl frowns.  "I'm not going into town."

"What?"  Whitman spins around.  "Why not?  You have to."

"I don't have to do anything.  I'm not going.  There's a plague there."

"It's actually just some headaches and poor sleep.  Not a plague."  Fagan returns to his stew.

"It doesn't matter.  I've been through this before and I'm not going into town.  That's it.  Let's go look at the corpse."  She smiles hopefully.

"No.  We've got business in town, important business."  Important sounds an awful lot like a synonym for Harper when Whitman says it.  Despite his general lack of responsibility, the older bard manages to add some authority to his voice.  He hasn't won the argument, but Lucille's quiet (if a bit sulky) now.

Drona looks at her and frowns momentarily.  Then his expression brightens.  "Aye, I understand, lass.  No worries.  So, how about that mead?  You look t'be almost done with it.  Maybe a bit more?"  He offers the pitcher.

Whitman pokes Drona.  "What in the hells are you doing?  You can't get her drunk; in the mood she's in, getting her drunk will..."

Drona glares at the bard.   He whispers to the bard, "Getting her drunk will get her into town, no questions asked.  She'll quit whining about the bloody plague and we'll be able to tend to business.  So, aye, I can and I am getting her drunk.  We'll just have t'make sure t'get her safe in her room before some rogue gets his hands on her."  

Whitman nods.  _Although dubious from an ethical standpoint, the plan has some merit.  If we can protect her from ill intentioned locals, it might all work out and no one will be the wiser, excepting the unlikely possibility of a hangover._

Meanwhile, Lucille finishes off another glass of mead as Drona pours her another mug.

*Notes*: _This session, which still has at least one more post to go, took place back in December, I think, so I'm reconstructing it from a rather basic recap I sent to the players and my rather shaky memory.  Jasper, in play, really does speak as I've written it above.  He's all about capital letters.  Certainly.  As for his Holy Quest, it's come up at least fifteen times and I don't think any of us are any closer to figuring out what it is.  The best I can figure is that it's exceedingly complex.  

As for the drunken wizard, we spent a good amount of time trying to talk her into coming into town with us.  I can't remember how we got to getting her drunk, but I think it was her player's idea.  She nearly made me choke when she started hinting at it.  Surprising to say the least._


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## Citizen Mane (Jun 10, 2003)

*Of Sound Mind, Session 1, Part 3*

The party arrives in Whiteford at the end of the market day.  A good number of townsfolk scramble about the main square, Wyrmcall Plaza, breaking down stalls and picking up their belongings.  A thin man, his dirty face streaked from tears, preaches and raves to a small crowd.

"Swallowed!  We're all going to be swallowed!  That's right.  Even you," he points towards the party, "all of us.  Deep into the abyss where we'll be kept by the one that hates us...  Every night, I can feel him.  Against my skin.  The deepest pits await us!  So, so very black and dark."  As he talks, he begins to move through the crowd, towards Jasper and Lucille, his tone becoming almost conversational.  "I'm not going back to the mine!  Never never never never never.  He talks to me, but I don't want to listen to his whispers.  Not me.  I won't go back into the darkness.  Not me, not me, not me."  He continues to babble along the same lines, alternately preaching and confiding.

Lucille, drunk, is enthralled by the raving man.  Jasper, ever-vigilant, steps in front of the young wizard and brandishes his sword.  "Have no Fear, People of Whiteford.  It is I, Jasper of Lowenstein.  I will Protect You."  He turns to the man and places a hand on his shoulder.  "Have no fear, for the Might and Power of Torm is with you.  It will be okay.  For I will Protect You.  All of You.  Let Everyone know that Jasper of Lowenstein is here!"

Someone in the group of townsfolk snorts, saying "So who're you to do anything about this?"  Snickers and head-shaking follow the heckler.  

Jasper, unimpressed, spins around, "Who said that?  Torm is Glorious and will Save all of his Faithful.  Do Not be Afraid, Little Ones.  I am here to Protect you."

"We're charmed, I'm sure."  The crowd laughs again and starts to disperse.  By this point, the Company is all but ignoring the raving, dirty man before them.  Eventually, a grandmotherly local leads the man off, castigating the party as she leads him off to one of the temples.  The party, barely cognizant that they've been dressed down by one of the townsfolk, decide to shack up for the night at a local inn, the Bell & Clapper, located just off the main plaza.

The Clapper is fairly busy, but not exactly a festive place.  Whitman arranges for some rooms with the half-elven owner of the bar and sets about for some information gathering.  Drona and Fagan attend to getting the drunk Lucille into bed ("Can't we just go look at that dragon corpse now?  I'm not tired, and it'd be soooo interesting.  *yawn*  Really, I think we should go right away!  Is there any more mead?") and keeping Jasper from disturbing her.  Whitman chats with Tokket for a while, and Drona eventually joins him as well.

*Note*: _To be completely honest, I can barely remember this conversation.  It ended up with the party finding out the information below—likely, I rushed through this section and let the party find out too much too quickly, and too easily, but live and learn, I suppose.  This was, incidentally, my first time DMing any RPG since something like 1993 or 1994._

* Three local children are missing, two boys and a girl.  A local adventuring company, the Heroes of the Bell has gone missing looking for the children.
* No one knows why people are suffering from headaches, poor sleep, and nightmares.  Perhaps someone in town has offended one of the gods and the deity is punishing the town in return.  It's likely not the water, but you should all drink ale and wine to be safe.
* Most people in town work for the New Mine (under Lucius Krekket) or in one of the town's two foundries.
* Utrish, the local wise woman, has said the headaches will stop in a week, and she's been correct before.
* The Bell in Wyrmcall Plaza calls people to meetings and warns them of danger.  It used to be used to warn that the dragon, Copperdeath, was coming.  A drunk once passed out up there and the sound killed him and shattered the glass wine bottle he was carrying.
* Tokket's mother was a bard who helped to kill Copperdeath.  He has some of her mementos, including a sundered great axe and a journal that belonged to some of her friends.

After the conversation with Tokket, the party retires to bed.  The night brings only fitful sleep and poor dreams.  No one in the party sleeps well.

Whitman dreams of his tongue being ripped from his throat while he sings.  Fagan and Drona have dreams about piety, faith, and unworthiness.  In her dreams, Lucille has been stripped of her magic abilities completely.  Jasper never shares what his dreams were about.

_19 Kythorn 1372 DR_
No unusual weather.

The shaken party gathers in the common room and chats about how their nights went.  Lucille's the most bothered by far.  Fagan and Drona are puzzled, Whitman and Jasper annoyed, but the girl is scared.  

Quietly, Fagan addresses the girl, "Maybe you'd like to take a walk with me?  I thought that I'd go and visit that wisewoman on the outskirts of town."  

Jasper stands.  "A walk is a Wonderful idea!  Let me join you!"

"Lad, let the two of them have a quiet walk, I need you here to help me take care of some things."  Drona pauses.  "To help me take care of negotiating with Othic for his mead.  Aye, you'll be very helpful."  The dwarf does not look convinced, but by the time he finishes speaking, Fagan and Lucille have left and Whitman has retired to his room to study.

Jasper, knowing he's been tricked, makes a move to save face.  "Well, yes, of course.  Negotiating Trade Deals is, in fact, part of my..."

"Wonderful, lad.  Look, we've a bit of time yet before Othic is due, what say we take a look about town.  We can look at the foundries an' pick up some bells."  The dwarf nearly drags the paladin out of the Clapper.

Meanwhile, across town, Fagan and Lucille are deep in conversation.

"So, you had a rough night?"

"My mind was broken, it was terrible, Fagan.  I felt so helpless.  I couldn't cast spells, but I could remember casting them."  She shudders.

"That does sound pretty awful."

"It reminded me of the plague.  Things like this happened to my neighbors.  It was terrible."  Lucille explains to Fagan about her upbringing in Scardale and the plague there.  By the time she finishes, they've reached the cottage of Utrish.  The apparently vacant cottage of Utrish.  No one is anywhere to be seen.  Well, except for the figure darting out through the bushes in the back of the house.

"Utrish?"  Fagan calls out and starts to head towards the woman.

"Um, yes, dear?  Were you looking for me?"  A fairly elderly woman turns at the halfling's voice.  She's carrying a pack, as if she's going away.

"Yes.  Are you travelling?"

"Oh!  This package.  Well, dear, family, a niece in Battledale.  Thought I'd go have a little visit.  You see folk so rarely these days, and there's no real substitute for family, you know."  She smiles uncomfortably, but the two adventurers buy her bluff.

"Well, we don't want to keep you, but we were wondering if you could help us out any.  Tokket suggested we talk to you about the headaches and all that."

"Oh, the headaches and all that.  My, so concerned."  She stifles a nervous laugh.  "No need to worry about that.  It'll all pass in a week or so, dear.  No need to worry.  Oh, but my, doesn't time fly.  I need to be off, off to see my neph—, er, niece, you know.  Family is so important.  All I think about.  Good luck, dears!"  She heads off into the woods, leaving Fagan and Lucille behind.  Discouraged, the two head back to the Clapper.

Drona and Jasper, out touring foundries, have been no more successful.  They fail to meet Krekket ("He hasn't come in yet, but'll probably be in this afternoon.  Would you like a small, sample bell, a keepsake of your visit to the Krekket Foundry?") or the owner of the other foundry ("Him?  We never see him.  We don't give tour neither.  Out with you, all right?").  The warriors turn back towards the Wyrmcall Plaza and breakfast with Othic.  A local man, some sort of errand boy, accosts them on the streets, "Meeting in the Plaza!  Midday!  That's near the tower!"  He rushes off.

Shrugging, the two men head towards the Clapper.  When they arrive, they find the party waiting.  Othic is nowhere to be seen.  After some small talk and more time killing, Drona suggests that they go out to see if Othic's at his farm.  Before they can do anything, a young man, some kind of farmhand, bursts into the inn, wildly disturbed.

"Othic's been murdered!"

*Notes*: _I wish I could remember more of the conversation between Fagan and Lucille.  It was a much nicer moment in game than it seems like it was here, one of my favorites from the entire run, even up to now.  The encounter with Utrish was loads of fun for me as well.  Such trusting PCs I have._


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## Citizen Mane (Jun 11, 2003)

*Of Sound Mind, Session 2, Part 1*

*Note*: _Fagan's player was absent for this session._

The party attempts to get some information out of Tal.  Unfortunately, the grief-stricken laborer is far too out of sorts to be of any help; they'll have to head out to the farm and take a look at things themselves.  The humans and Fagan grab the trading company's horses while Drona borrows a pony for the short ride out to Othic's farm.

Once there, they discover the body, face down in a pool of blood, in the barn.  The torso's nearly been ripped in two and a bit has been shoved into the farmer's mouth.  Cursory inspection reveals that no money has been stolen off of the body.  No one can find any sign of a human presence in the barn.  All in all, the scene's gruesome and rather disturbing; the coppery smell of blood fills the party's nostrils.  The party spends a brief moment paying respect to the dead farmer before they discuss what to do with the body.

"We should probably contact the authorities."  
"Bury it in the Name of Torm."
"Maybe we should just leave it alone."
"No, we definitely should do something."
"But what?"
"We could bury it.  It's not like we aren't in practice."
"This isn't exactly a horse.  We can't just leave him in an unmarked grave."
"Why not?"
"We should Rope off the Scene.  This is a Crime Scene and Nothing should be done to interfere with Justice."
"We're not roping off the scene."

Around this time, Drona notices Lucille preparing to burn the body.  

"You can't burn the body."
"Why not?"
"It's not right."
"Actually, burning bodies is an acceptable form of honoring the dead in a number of Faerûnian cultures.  The people of Impiltur and Damara often cremate their dead because of the difficulty in burying people in the hard soil.  In fact, an old Netherese epic mentions this in a number of places, although the language is, at times, vague—"
"Whitman!  Not now!"
"He says it's acceptable."  She prepares to light the corpse.
"Lass, when have we ever paid attention to him before?"

Eventually, the decision is made to bury the body in ritual fashion, with Lucille in charge.  Before burying Othic, however, the party makes a cursory check of the farmhouse—nothing has been stolen there either, although Othic does have two kegs of mead.  Whitman and Drona make mental notes to come back for the kegs later.

Dragging the body out into the pasture for burial, the party discovers that Othic's horses have arranged themselves into two groups.  Two horses graze alone at one end of the field while the rest of the horses are gathered around the other end of the field.  Jasper, suspecting that something is amiss, scans the area for evil and discovers that the isolated pair of horses is evil.  He rushes into battle.

"Jasper, lad, where are you going?"
"These Horses are Evil!"
"Evil?"

The initial parts of the battle go fairly well, in that no one is killed, with Drona and Jasper heading into melee, while Whitman and Fagan provided missile cover.  At a number of points, Jasper feels as if something were grabbing at his mind, but he manages to shake off the intruding force.  Eventually, however, he just can't resist and he feels himself lose control of his own body.  To the rest of the party, Jasper looks like he's dancing—jerking himself around like a crazed marionette.  That's when the other horse transforms itself into some sort of wolf-horse hybrid, snapping large, wolfish jaws at Jasper.

Drona, horrified, takes a stab at identifying the creatures—"Werehorses!"—and heads back into melee.  A few spells from Lucille and a well-placed bolt from Fagan's crossbow manage to down the non-lupine horse.  

The remaining horse whinnies and taunts the party, mentioning the awesome power of the "beasts in the mountains."  Eventually the party gains control of the battle, but not before Lucille runs out of spells and decides to enter melee combat (with her bare hands).  Bad move.  The wolf-horse snaps at her, almost rending her in two and sending her spiralling into unconsciousness.  Fortunately, Drona manages to finish off the horse well before Lucille dies, enabling him to tend to her wounds.

The two horses defeated, Drona and Lucille take another look at the wounds on their heads.  Confident that she can perform the necessary surgery to examine the wound, Lucille pulls out her dagger and sets to work.  She ends up mangling the head badly.   Drona manages to keep her from trying again on the other head and, after some careful study, manages to extract a small crystal splinter from the horse's forehead.  The autopsies done, the party burns the bodies of the dead, and rides back into Whiteford for the town meeting.

*Note*: _I have no idea how the party got from giving Othic a proper burial to burning the body._


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## Citizen Mane (Jun 16, 2003)

bump [also, reserved for OSM Session 2, part 2]


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