Deep within the dense undergrowth of Hraldon Thicket, a strange sphere was floating through the trees. Two rugged and unlikely companions were walking along the Silver Trade-road, heading west towards Cyndarr, Cyndillian and eventually the city-state of Catacrach. Andrunil the Aasimar and Galdur the Hill Dwarf had been on the road for the better part of a week, without much more than the occasional merchant and traveler going the other way.
The calm late-summer weather was pleasant, a light, morning-breeze rustled through the thinly-veiled canopy of Hraldon Thicket, an area that was kept clean by the mages living in Hraldon Refuge. But after the Abborgardian Empire’s fall, the mages abandoned the fortification, and the area slowly turned into a bramble-covered forest.
Lacking the excitement of adventure, and curious by nature, the two followed the orb into the undergrowth, pushing and slashing plants aside with their weapons. Eventually they came to a clearing, and before them rose the mostly intact remains of Hraldon Refuge. The sandstone and marble walls and pillars, with it’s fine-cut stones, a clear mark of the Abborgardian times. here and there moss and ferns where reaching up, as if trying to reclaim this part back to nature.
When the sphere disappeared into the ruins, the two adventurers followed through, and in their eagerness for action, none of them noticed two figures standing ready with heavy clubs. Around twenty minutes later, the Half-Elf ranger Blellow Wildstride witnessed an odd crimson sphere, floating oddly above the stones of the Silver Road. His natural path-finding ability easily discovering the wide path that the two adventurers before him had taken. Shortly thereafter, he too entered the ruins. As the first club swung towards the back of his skull, he happened to look away, the whiff of the blunt weapon causing him to reach for his bow, but then the second club struck and Blellow’s eyes rolled back into his skull.
Not even ten minutes later, another Half-Elf walked the stretch of the Silver Road, his hooded cape covering his shortbow and shortsword entirely. He longed for dark alleyways, packed market-places, in other words, civilization. The few travelers he had met on the road didn’t seem all too well-endowed in their purses, and among those that did, he had gotten stern looks; one even loosened his rough-looking hand-axe, letting Therion know not to try his luck.
The crimson sphere was a pleasant surprise, a change of pace, and it was nice to get away from the open, flat road. Therion even managed to move close enough to investigate the orb, but as soon as he would reach to touch it, it would fizzle and blink out of existence, only to appear some ten feet ahead of him. When Therion came across the path, he smiled; a path meant people, and people meant civilization, and civilization, usually, meant money to “obtain”. the heavy set of boot-prints in the soft dirt didn’t bother him. He stood for a while gazing the walls of the Refuge over, old ruins sometimes had treasure, plus, there could always be interesting items that could be sold to a fence, with a little sparkle here, some paint there. Therion was counting out the possible gold he stood to earn, as he entered the ruins, unaware of the creatures lurking behind the wall.
Nearly an hour later, Nak’Ral the Tiefling Bard was merrily heading west, he had been looking for the random bird that would normally be active in a forest like this, but when he found none, he didn’t exactly stop to think it over. Particular as a red ball seemed to glow amongst some bushes by the side of road., the ball was giving off a low-humming tune. “Huh, strange melody…” Nak’Ral fetched his flute, trying to mimic the odd sound, as he did the ball danced, and seemed to lure him to follow. When he entered the ruins, he looked up in the last second “Hey, you’re not a red glowing – !” before the club knocked him out cold.
Some hours later, the unlikely group of heroes woke up, heads hurting, but finding themselves otherwise unhurt. Bound by their feet, the scent of stale, dusty air mixed with that of dried blood. Apart from their clothes and armour, the adventurers found themselves trying to escape. Some climbed up the rope, only to find the iron bars from which they where bound, were solidly lodged between layers of stone. And even an artistic attempt at a dagger used as a make-shift pulley failed, with the risk of a self-inflicted stabbing.
Eventually, with the help of gravity and a couple of cuts from daggers, all five adventurers found themselves on the floor of their cell. Andrunil woke up with a strange next to him, as it wasn’t his Dwarvish travel-mate, but instead a taller, slender Half-Elf in Blellow. Quickly finding a common ground in the need to get out of their cell, the two began to push, kick, headbutt and punch through the lower cell-wall, as they found it to be ill-maintained.
In the opposite corner of the prison, Galdur found that his way to the floor was longer than the others. But a Dwarf isn’t easy to pin down, so instead he used the first, the best tool to smash against the nearest wall; himself. At least he made a lot of noise, and the adventurers all began to call back and forth, trying to find one another. To their luck, it seemed none of their capturers were nearby. After dusting himself off, Galdur took a different approach, on a different wall.
On the other side of this wall, Nak’Ral looked at the stones of the wall, then at his less-than-muscular body. And then he decided to pretend to help break down the walls, as Galdur’s chain-mailed covered gauntlet busted through into his cell.
On the other side of the wall Galdur first tried to break, Therion was meticulously working his crowbar into the stone and mixer used to hold the stones in place. The loud noise of Galdur against the stones, decided for him where to start picking away.
Several walls broken down later, the adventurers discovered a grizzly sight in the cell next to Therion’s: a young, female Halfling. Or rather, her corpse. Multiple stab- and slashing wounds, and a relatively fresh pool of blood below her blonde, blood-soaked hair made it clear, that there was no saving her. She had probably died a little while before anyone of them even arrived at the edge of the forest. Cutting her down and searching her body over, Blellow discovered an odd necklace made in iron, bearing the mark of a prancing griffon.
With this discovery done, the group worked together to breaking the outer walls of the cells, and found themselves facing the scent of wet soil. They had entered a cave. A poorly paved path turned south towards some walled-in pillars. To the north an area covered with weathered planks was serving as a make-shift storage area, stacks of battered crates, tools and firewood were randomly stashed away here. Along with a simple chest, that caught the adventurers’ attention. They passed a large, earthy area filled what looked like dead roots and shrubbery, but stuck to the path.
Picking up the leftover tools, they began to look through the crates, while others where attempting to open the chest, that was locked with a simple, yet sturdy iron padlock. Inside the chest was a messenger’s leather bag, containing a sealed letter as well as a small vial with red liquid. The wax seal was identified as the seal of Catacrach.
The adventurers read the letter, leaving the seal unbroken on the envelope, that they cut open with a dagger. The letter contained a report about the movements of a wanted criminal named “Geoffrey the Blade” near the city of Ezolder, and was addressed to a certain “Lady M.”. A post-script was also written in, in Infernal, but only Nak’Ral was able to read that part, and he did not inform the others of the postscript’s wording. The sender of the letter was named Ruso Passwater, and asked for further instructions, regarding tracking and surveying the contacts of Geoffrey the Blade.
As they were about done with their search, they heard three voices coming from the western end of the cave. As the adventurers alerted the voices, one of them took off, told by the others that “the prisoners were escaping”. The two remaining Goblins put down a heavy-looking crate, and went to investigate, only to be scared away, as a the effect of a spell by Nak’Ral (calling himself Francis) hit the one of them, causing the other to flee.
The party then investigated the heavy crate and found that all of their missing equipment, including gold, inside. The only thing missing was Andrunil’s halberd; as it seemingly had been too long to fit in the crate, and had been carried by the first Goblin that ran off.
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