So we have been sent by our marvellous benefactor to acquire some paintings. This is a change of pace for me seeing that we have to acquire them by paying for them rather than “acquiring” them through my usual methods! I decided to keep this journal of the journey, force of habit, if it hadn’t been for keeping the ones I could growing up, whenever we could keep parchment and charcoal hidden from the guards, I would probably never bothered learning to read or write.
Our first day, and my first foray into the Margreve, hasn’t gone exactly to plan, bloody tree hugging druids and mystical wonders, “oooh we must go see this fantastical puddle, it will be well worth our time, we won’t be attacked by sentient trees with massive killer roots and be forced to sacrifice an item of great power to save our skins, honest we won’t”. Won’t we indeed? No in fact, that is very much what will happen. Well, at least the stupid bear face got to dip his toes in the water. I thought having a druidic type is supposed to make journeys through woods and forests and hills and such easier. I suppose the Margreve is the exception to that rule.
I made my way into the clearing as quietly as I was able, dashing from tree to tree, I had figured that the rest would have waited back until I was sure the coast was clear, no such luck. As the others trampled into the clearing the tree I was almost pressed against seemed to spring to life. The very roots writhed from the ground and tried to take hold of us. I managed to avoid the attention until the tree had brought most of the others to the ground. At that point I could hardly avoid its attention much longer, things seemed dire. I wasn’t keen on become food for the forest. I suppose I might complain, but our spell slinger Arcael is going to be much more unimpressed I imagine. I’m not sure what that doohickey of his did that he gave up, but he can’t be overjoyed about it.
We did find the rotting corpse of what we can guess now to be a bugbear; I guess he wasn’t as lucky as us when trying to have a swim. It did appear he had on him some goodies you wouldn’t normally associate with the horrible creatures so we figured perhaps these he was part of the group that had been hitting trade caravans on the north road, perhaps a reward from the watch might be in order when we returned if we solved their problems for them. If travellers can’t watch over their own goods that’s their problem but if there’s coin to be made from it then why not?
We followed the tracks to what appeared to be one of those Griffon towers; from appearances it seemed to be one of the abandoned ones. A handy little bolthole from which to attack traders I would warrant. That’s what I would do. I checked out the outskirts, but couldn’t see much. Rather than take my advice of taking a quiet look in first, that gearhead Iron wall had kicked the doors in. This is when we realised the rotted corpse from the pond must have been a bugbear as we spend the next while moving floor to floor slaughtering what seemed to be his collaborators.
It was all fun and games until we came across some bloody ogres. Nasty creatures, but one took offence to me severing his spinal cord with my blades. I need to remind myself not to piss off that Sorcerer; maybe I’ll endure his looks of distain at my heritage a bit longer, as he burned one of them to a crisp. The remaining one I’ll give him credit as despite watching his fellows felled so quickly he still stood his ground, until slaughtered and put on the ground.
This left us free for the best part, some focused looting! The most we could come up with was a pair of eggs and a pair of the stupid bugbears who had locked themselves in a cupboard. I was for and now with their untimely deaths they wanted to help us in any way they could. I’ve never been one for leaving potential foes at my back, but someone had the glorious idea of having these stinking creatures carry the eggs for us until we could sell them. At least then if momma birdy appears she has some targets that aren’t us!
We headed back to the path and hustled along to the witches teat, (I didn’t notice it being particularly cold though). It did get rather foggy the closer we got, apparently according to the clanky cleric and the mage this isn’t unusual. What was unusual was the sudden appearance of a wounded rider on a horse. He dropped a rather fancy looking axe but that smelly druid managed to get his paws on it before I could slip it in my pack.
The Inn itself was typical of the homely inns all over the land, worried looking locals, gambling, drinking and a roaring fire. The room in which is write this is no lap of luxury but it’s warmer than sleeping outside. The one thing that grabbed my attention was a good old game of cards, figuring I could make myself a little earner. It was no card game I had ever played though and I’ve played them all. Probably the most disturbing part was it seemed all the cards had the faces of me and my companions on them, now I don’t remember being paid for any card maker to use my face so I figured there was something very wrong.
I returned to inform my travelling companions, but they seemed much more concerned with some missing girl and one of us becoming the “champion of the woods” or some such nonsense. I wasn’t sure where the profit margin was in this, but Bartiman seemed keen to take advantage of this opportunity. We made our way to our room to get some rest, the one thing I had learned in my time in Zobeck is the advantage of the metal men for guard duty, no sleep means one eye always opened. Always something to be cautious of when casing jobs. I wonder what the morning will bring.