Locations

• Leave the Calling Horns to arrive in Noanar’s Hold
• Leave Noanar’s Hold to arrive in Everlund
• Travel on Evermoor Way

Characters You MEt

• Agvar Filroy – innkeeper at the White Hart
• Fienes Maynard – gruff farmer type, beheaded
• The Hunt Lords – five wights (undead) who when alive, ran hunts at Noanar’s Hold for the rich
• Amrath Mulnobar – dwarf and castalan of the Hunt Lord’s keep in Noanar’s Hold

Quests

Tamalin Zoar, the innkeeper from Calling Horns, gives Londer a letter to deliver to Dral, the innkeeper at Dannivar’s House as thanks. She said Dral will be able to help the gang if the letter is delivered to him.

Overview of activities

• Travel to Calling Horns to drop off the finest harnesses money can buy
• Discover town gets locked down each night to allow the Hunt Lords to parade around
• The town is scared of the Hunt Lords, who made a deal with the devil to stick around undead, repeating themselves endlessly (terrible company, same stories every time)
• Gang stays one night, drops off the five fine harnesses as promised to and paid for by Narth, find out they were actually for the Hunt Lords
• Gang disgraces themselves with loose lips that gets the farmer guy killed
• Gets out of town fast without saving the petrified townsfolk, as they seem like they aren’t that fussed and nobody is getting hurt (much)
• Lands in Everlund

You heard it here first…

Getting the fuck out of dodge

The horses snort at flies as the gang, all a little disoriented from the previous day’s adventure, loads their gear in the courtyard of the Calling Horns. The day’s memories linger and drag like a stubborn hangover. The sun rises, lifting the mist with it, revealing a new day.

Tamalin Zoa, the innkeeper, and other guests gather together, squinting in the morning light to see the gang off.  The mood is very much that debauchery happened last night and nobody can look anyone in the eye. There is a sense of a traumatic event shared, a camaraderie where nobody need speak.

They each remember the huge castle floating on clouds high above, the black robes of the assassins, and poor Alafandro being torn apart – the very same Alafandro who now stands smiling before them. The gang pat the horses with more warmth and affection than usual as they finalise their packing, remembering the sounds of their tearing flesh and muffled agony in the heavy snow. The laugh of the hag rings in their ears, while they keep expecting to see the telling purple light creep over the land or the flaming hair of a fire giant. It’s hard to truly believe it’s over.

Cora has disappeared again without a word into the mist of the Evermoors, much to the gang’s dismay – they were looking forward to at least having a chance to catch up.

As they prepare to leave, Tamalin hands over a sealed envelope to Londer, saying, “Thank you so much for all you have done. Give this to the half-orc at Danevar’s house. Dral will be able to help you.” Londer nods nobly and pockets the letter safely.

Londer wanders around the courtyard aimlessly, poking things with sticks and kicking a rock. He seems preoccupied.

Gunther, now atop Bill and ready to get moving, senses the pensive mood and decides to cheer everyone up with the bagpipes. You know, razz everyone up to get things going.

Thoradin laughs and rolls his eyes at the noisy bagpipes as he fills his bag with some last-minute supplies – bread, meat, cheese and mead. Boris sits quiet, attachede to the cart, watching without interest. Thoradin throws the rucksack and himself into the cart and lights a pipe.

Lia glares at Gunther as she dramatically stuffs cloth in her ears to dull the bagpipes. Miss Moss groans loudly and rolls her eyes, but is grateful for the disturbance to the mood as she climbs atop Patricia.

Leshanna is the last ready, tightening straps and tucking in edges. She stirrups onto Maximus and the gang are ready.

On their way from misery to happiness, uhuh

The gang heads East towards Everlund on Evermoor Way, continuing on their way to deliver the horse harnesses to Noanar’s Hold as promised to Narth and his wife Blinky Bill. As they travel, rain sets in. To the left is the huge expanse of the Evermoors, misty and unusual to the eye. On the right of the gang is forest almost the entire way.

As they travel along in the rain, Miss Moss brings up the black eye that Lia has had for nearly a week. Lia says she doesn’t want to talk about it. Miss Moss laughs out loud at this. “Intriguing!.” Lia smirks and says, “I gave as good as I got.” Miss Moss raises an eyebrow, and laughing, Lia spills.

“Next time you’re down in the docks, look up Lelu Honeytrap Tanaka.” Lia decided to go into the underworld by herself and joined a wrestling circle. Miss Moss is very impressed as Lia explains that she won quite a few matches, but she didn’t win them all. Lia has made a name for herself with a small but loyal fan base.

The Evermoors are a forlorn scene. Every so often the ruin of an ancient tower protrudes awkwardly through the mist. There isn’t a great deal to see, no real signs of life along the trail. Thankfully it’s not a long trip. The rain is pelting down and it’s a miserable old trip. A dark storm is descending. They reach a road, their turnoff, and head down a surprisingly overgrown path.

Lia looks around and notices fewer track marks than might be expected along this road, the main road into and out of a wealthy town. It’s a little odd. There’s no movement. Lia is curious so uses primaeval awareness to check for any life nearby. She senses presence but is not offered any details.

Leshanna sends out the Tressym who confirms their destination and signs of normal life – smoke from chimneys. There’s lots of rain. Rillix flies back to Leshanna and nuzzles into her shoulder, happy not to be in mortal danger for once. As a precaution, Lia takes out her quarterstaff and Londer his crossbow and they continue on, alert but not alarmed. 

As they arrive into the small town, it’s a fairly gloomy scene but nothing suspicious. There are ten or so quiet-looking buildings and a large stone keep on a hill surrounded by trees. The rain is now pelting down as hard as it ever has. The other building of note is an old hunting lodge. It has a faded badge on the walls, likely very impressive at its prime. There’s not much to see.

The lodge has a sign over the door announcing itself: THE WHITE HART INN.  It looks like Thoradin’s kind of place.  Miss Moss checks the place out.

It’s about 4.00 pm and apart from lights in the window and smoke coming from the chimney, there’s no sign of life. Thoradin gets up off the cart and casually wanders up to the inn’s single wooden door. Londer steps alongside with his crossbow at his side, cautiously peering in the window. Thoradin swings open the door. He notices that the door is carved extremely well; money has been spent here. The faded beauty has been well maintained.

As Londer, Thoradin and Leshanna wander inside to investigate, they see a bright, warm fireplace in a central room, tables everywhere, tapestries on the walls. It seems like fancy human stuff, but it’s run down. The innkeeper, Agvar, steps out from a doorway to greet them.  Miss Moss and Gunther wait outside at the ready, while Lia goes to find a bathroom.

Londer is the first to greet the innkeep, asking him, “What’s going on in this town, any news, innkeep? We’re adventurers!”

“I’m surprised you haven’t heard of us, you appear to be of noble blood!”, the innkeeper says with a big smile. Londer replies with a grin, “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of us!” Both men laugh. It’s warm. They are offered a drink, tea or ale, and a seat by the fire to take the chill off. They start to steam gently.

“We were quite a haunt for nobles back in the day!” explains Agvar with enthusiasm, making a sweeping gesture with his hand, a tiny faltering look appearing and disappearing just as quickly. Looking around at the tapestries and décor, Londer feels the tug of a memory, something that reminds him of old stories his grandfather used to tell.

He recalls with a jolt. This was a famous place for very rich people to go on hunts, well-known for its luxury. The hunt lords used to have wanton slaughters and their blood lust grew and grew until they began to hunt each other. The rumours about this place are very dark.

Londer whispers to Thoradin and Leshanna about his memories of the place as Agvar chirrups on and they sip their drinks. Lia is using the bathroom, however, Miss Moss and Gunther are still out in the rain wondering what happened to everyone. Miss Moss and Gunther finally go inside expecting the worst, just in time to hear Londer encouraging everyone to eat something as they all sit around the fire drinking ale and tea. As Gunther and Miss Moss exchange an eyeroll and enter, a brusque farmer leaves the inn.

Lia starts first, and then Gunther joins in to brusquely walk behind the man, calling out “Yoo Hoo!” Miss Moss goes in and takes a seat.

Gunther, catching up to the farmer, says, “You left in a hurry.” He just gets a funny look from the farmer, as if to say, and it is your business how? Gunther, seeing the look, hurriedly continues. “You look a little out of place there, how did you come to be drinking at such an establishment?”

This time the farmer laughs. “Fancy! This place hasn’t been fancy for a very long time.”

“Why are you slumming it?” Gunther is out of line, but he’s too deep to backtrack now. He wants the farmer to talk to him, explain himself.

“Fuck you!” says the Farmer, continuing on his way. Gunther follows, pulling a gold piece out of his pocket and showing it to the farmer, enticing him to talk.

Eyeing both Gunther and the gold peice, the farmer relents. “Follow me then.” Lia starts to follow, but the farmer says,“Just you.” He waves Lia away.

The farmer leads Gunther to his cottage. They go inside and sit down, Gunther looking expectently at him, placing the gold piece on the table.

“10g and I will tell you things.” Gunther obliges without a second thought.

“What kinds of trouble are in these parts at the moment? We are heroes and we like to find trouble and make it not trouble.”

The farmer is quiet for a moment, but seeing the 10 gold pieces on the table, he then says quietly, “Stay the night and look out the window.”

“Here?”

“Not here, this is my house.” The farmer rolls his eyes at Gunther.

“10g to look out the window? Can I at least have some dinner?”

The farmer clearly hasn’t had a pushy visitor in quite some time, and can’t figure out a way to say no, so offers Gunther some potato soup.

Shortly after Gunther slurps the last of the soup from the bowl, the farmer says curtly, “The sun is going down, it’s time to go back,” and hands Gunther a black robe. “Wear this, try not to draw attention to yourself.”

“This alone is worth 10 gold. Perhaps I could see you tomorrow, what are you doing?” The farmer pushes Gunther out the door. Gunther trots down the road back towards Lia who has been standing in the rain, waiting. They go back towards the inn and Gunther tells her about the conversation.

The pair are completely soaked when they re-enter the inn bu thankfully the fire is blazing. The innkeeper looks a little suspicious about where they may have been but doesn’t say anything. Turns out he didn’t have to, as Gunther explains about needing to look out the window at night. The innkeeper becomes scared and evasive. Gunther thinks he should look out the window. Gunther slides over a gold piece and says, “Come on”.

“Please. Do not pull that thread,” says the innkeeper quietly. The innkeeper seems upset. Thoradin gives the Tabaxi a nod to come over and tell him what is going on. Meanwhile, the innkeeper starts closing the heavy shutters. It is clearly routine.

Gunther and Thoradin discuss the situation and consider sneaking outside and hiding in the bushes. Perhaps there is something outside, nocturnal, undead. The innkeeper is trying to keep it together but is clearly disturbed by the fact that Gunther has been advised that there’s something outside.

Leshanna decides shes going to bed, she’s not sure Gunther isn’t having a psychotic break. She sets an alarm and retires. Londer also goes to bed. Gunther tries to sleep outside leaning against the door but the innkeeper stops him.

There are shutters over the window but it doesn’t take too much secret searching to find one with a crack. The owner tries to stare them down but keeps dropping off to sleep.  Thoradin magically darkens a secluded room and he and Gunther settle in to start to watch through a crack.

Both of them sit there for hours staring out the window through the cracks. After about three hours they feel the hairs on the back of their necks stand up as they see in the forest the trees start to light up with cold, white light – almost like lanterns. They can barely make out the strange sound of hooves.  It’s hard to make out but they are certain they see five wight riders, ghostly but not transparent. Undead, with terrifying faces, riding through the forest, swords held high. They disappear into the forest.  

“Thoradin! Did you see that shit?” says Gunther, excitedly.

“Aye.” Says Thoradin, also excited but much less obvious about it. “These seem like the same five riders from the tapestry.” Thoradin is perplexed and intrigued.

The innkeeper appears in the doorway with a cold look on his face, holding a lantern. “Please, we must give the Hunt Lords some space. The night belongs to them, it is all they ask of us. You are causing trouble here.” He looks worried, older, graver than before. Any pretence of cheer has left him.

Londer appears in the doorway, “What’s the ruckus? Seen some Hunt Lords? Just like my grandfather used to tell me!” Londer seems amazed to have joined the dots of his memory.

Gunther asks, “How long have the Hunt Lords been here?”

The innkeeper tells them he is not going to answer any more of their questions and says they have to leave first thing in the morning. Londer tries to appeal to his sense of history, recounting his grandfather’s tales and hoping to help restore the inn to its former glory. The innkeeper isn’t having a bar of it.

“Stop the Hunt Lords? Why would we want to do that? The Hunt Lords have given us everything!” He starts murmuring of the good times, the parties, the guests.

Gunther asks the innkeeper, “Why do you fear the hunt lords?”

He doesn’t fear them, he respects them, he explains earnestly and repeatedly, like he’s got a screw loose. The innkeeper asks again for them to leave in the morning, then retreats, looking rattled and upset.

Londer, Thoradin and Gunther all think they should go outside and hunt down the Hunt Lords, but aren’t sure, so wake up the others who are not at all impressed with being woken up. After some irritated discussion, they all go to bed.

In the morning, Thoradin is found snoring on the Chesterfield. Gunther is curled up in a ball by his feet. The others emerge. There is a very cold vibe from the innkeeper. He’s still doing his job to provide the continental breakfast, however, and the shutters are open. The rain has stopped but it’s misty outside.

The gang pack up and scurry out of there as quickly as they can. Outside, they see a crowd gathered in the streets near the house of the farmer. They walk over, pushing through the townsfolk. They make space for them as they come through. There lies is the body of Fienes the Farmer. Seeing a waste of money lying on the ground, Gunther reaches into Fienes’ pocket to take back his 10g, but as he does, people start kicking him.

The adventurers look around and try to see if they can learn anything. People are murmuring, “I can’t believe that he was so stupid.”

“Was this the Hunt Lords?” asks Londer. The townsfolk stare at the gang in defiant silence.

Gunther is reflecting with Bill on the happenings of the night: he remembers how he was asked not to say anything to anyone and he, in fact, told everyone what the farmer had said. And then the innkeeper asked him not to do anything and then he did it anyway. He hangs his head.

The gang head to Noanar’s Hold to deliver the harnesses, except Gunther who goes back to the inn to apologise to the innkeeper.

The large crumbling keep is in a corner of the town. There are battlements on the roof, one turret has collapsed and there is a gaping hole where birds fly through. All the windows are bricked up and there is a huge oak door, barred shut from the inside.

Miss Moss walks up to the door, knocks and calls out. A slit appears, dwarf height, and there’s a voice, “What do you want?”

“Does Amrath live here?”

Amrath identifies himself and Miss Moss explains why they are there. The door swings open. They deliver the harnesses and don’t get a reward because the guy already paid for them.

“Can we have a cup of tea?” Miss Moss asks politely. She doesn’t want the tea, but she does want to talk to the dwarf.

Amrath says, “I don’t have any tea, please just unload the wares, the masters will be pleased.”

“Who are the masters?” Miss Moss asks, perturbed.

“The Hunt Lords.”

They quiz the dwarf about the hunt lords and Londer asks if he has heard of his grandfather, Osric the Great. The name sounds familiar but he’s not sure.

Moving out

After a little chatting, they jog on and leave the shithole town to their fucking hunt lords, swinging past the inn to collect Gunther who has descended into guilt and grief about the farmer dying. They encourage him to jog on too, by dragging him out by his collar.

“Thank god we’re out of there, I can’t believe they made us carry those stupid harnesses for the Hunt Lords!” Miss Moss is incensed.

“At least we got a horse out of it,” says Londer. Leshanna leans over and pats Boris’s head. They quickly make it back to the main road. Traffic begins to pick up and they notice some more travellers, merchants and carts – they are getting close to a town.

Sun begins to creep through the rainless clouds as the afternoon wears on. They pass another town, a traveller’s rest, and pause for the night. The whole place was lit up from a floating flagon that is permanently lighting the inn. A good night and an uneventful sleep was had by all.

Descending towards Everlund, they are immediately struck by the size of the place – it’s breathtaking, maybe five times the size of Yartar, set on the side of a river and beautiful. Greenery and trees pop through between the roofs with golden, autumnal leaves. Stone buildings and spires of temples appear and an enormous black stone soars above the town. Four narrow cylindrical towers form a massive keep, where a signal mirror flashes sometimes. T

he gates of Everlund are open and they head inside, seeing a prosperous town, bustling with people. They head towards Danivar’s house, a bustling, big town pub.