In-Character - Down from the door where it began...

Gwydion searches the local area near the foot of the pinnacle for anything unusual and otherwise attempts to remain alert for trouble.


"Perhaps we should use the remaining daylight to scout forward? A hidden vantage point from which we might spy the village without putting ourselves may lessen our anxieties whilst bringing us clarity as to any threats we face.

“We can leave entering the village until the morning, after we have watched it overnight.”

Miska the Misanthropic

“I think this is a reasonable compromise. Let us advance then, in our predetermined marching order, steadily and stealthily. Perhaps, depending on the terrain, we should deviate from the path after, say, twenty minutes and strike out parallel to it, but at such distance that we might no be noticed by anyone set to watch.”


‘I feel like we’ve caught a bit of the sailor’s paranoia’, Masov smiles,. ‘I myself am somewhat split on whether it’d be best to waltz in as if we suspect nothing vs. coming in like brigands. That being said, if we’re to be surprised in the night, I’d rather be accosted in whatever passes for a bed in the village rather than out in the cold woods.’

Hengist the Fair

“It seems unlikely that Orlean will be doomed or saved by one more night; if we can find a concealed site I vote for a cold camp overnight. Moreover I’d rather not enter by the marked path if there is a problem.”

Despite his words, Hengist mutters “ah, hells” and accompanies anyone approaching the camp, motioning to Dagmar to follow.

<Miska the Misanthropic

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it is that just because you’re paranoid it does not mean they’re not out to get you.”

It has been some minutes since you all disembarked, with the sun now low in the sky. The launch has reached the Dawnchaser, and appears to be in the process of being brought aboard. After some disagreement, the party falls in to marching order, with Miska and Hengist in the lead, and Kerrick and Andrew bringing up the rear. You then begin making your way up the path leading from the pier. The footing is uneven, and under wet or dark conditions would no doubt be treacherous.

Rising steeply from the shore, the path begins to wend its way to the east, with the sea quickly being lost from sight. The roar of waves on rocks can still be heard, but the sound quickly becomes muffled as the trees close in. The trees themselves also begin to change, as the more salt tolerant pines and cedars give way to other, more familiar trees such as larch, evergreen oaks, and even elms. Many of the larger trees are festooned with hanging moss. The air amongst the trees is still, and feels warmer than the shoreline while in the sun, but the deep shade under the larger boughs is chill. Still, numerous small insects flit about, and while they do not seem to bite, their habit of flying into the nose, eyes, and mouth proves bothersome.

After perhaps ten minutes of uphill hiking, a more level area can be seen to the left of the trail, and the group moves off the path, travelling about a hundred paces into the woods. Here the party comes upon a small clearing, still lit by the sinking sun, with a waist-high promontory of rock jutting out over the downward slope that povides a clear view of the landing and pier. Here you drop your gear and begin preparing to spend the night.

Once the party has settled in, there is little to do but watch the setting sun. The Dawnchaser can still be seen, heading towards the horizon to the north, but as you watch you notice a handful of other sails have appeared and are headed towards the island from more or less the same direction. These gradually resolve themselves into a number of small, lateen-sailed ships, each with two or three people aboard. The sailboats remain tightly grouped, turning and heading for the pier you yourselves landed at.

As the disk of the sun begins to sink below the water, the ships, nine in number, dock at the pier and are made fast by their crews. The men gather a number of objects from the boats, including what appear to be several large nets, then move out of sight below, seemingly heading towards the path up the slope. The sun has all but slipped beneath the sea.

After a number of minutes, you can hear the sound of movement coming from the trail, the group apparently traversing the path by twilight. The party undoubtedly can't be seen from the trail in its current location, although noise louder than whispered conversation might be heard...

Miska the Misanthropic

No fool, Miska keeps quiet and cups a hand to his ear, eager to hear what the fisherfolk have to say between themselves."

Aria Danae
Aria has been quietly observing the events. Venus has not revealed to her that either a patient wait or a rapid advance to town are better options, so she has said little, save the occasional muttered battle-song. With camp made, she settles down to clean and polish her weapons. As she hears feet on the trail, her eyebrows arch up. Might a battle be afoot??

Aria Danae
Aria tries to read the strange script engraved on Kaul’s crossbow, too. Noticing that he seems to be listening, she attempts a Hear Noise check to see if he has text-to-speech installed.

OOC: Heh.



The party remains silent, and strains to hear the quiet conversation from the trail. Between all of you, you are able to piece together the following, with Gwydion relating much of it:

"...worse...winter'll be hard..."

"...Baron DO something?"

"Bah!...are useless!"

"...charmed by those damnable elves!"

"...hate the dark...watching...the water seems different. As if it's waiting to swallow me up."

There is a pause, broken only by the sound of their ascent and breathing. The darkness under the trees is total. The sound of movement on the trail grows quiet for a few moments, before a flicker of light appears. The group has lit a torch, and continues climbing the trail, moving away from the party. A few more words drift back to you... 

"Haven't seen Eduard's Why...seem upset?!"

"Like the others."

"Mayhap they left...lucky ones."

"...ALL leave..."

" one left...ordinary folk!"


The sound of conversation fades into intelligibility, and within another minute the forest is again quiet. The sky above shines with the twinkle of a growing number of stars as dusk approaches, and the air is now quite cold.


Readying my crossbow i listen carefully.

The rest of the night passes uneventfully, the quiet of the woods broken only by the furtive movements of unseen forest creatures, and, at one point, what sounds like a nearby owl. In the distance you can hear the steady wash of waves against the shore, but the regularity allows it to eventually fade into the background. It is also very cold. With only a few blankets between all of you, sleep proves difficult. Eventually, Kerrick manages to get his horse to lay down, and the remaining party members not on watch crowd in and cover themselves with what blankets there are. Dawn seems to come far too early, and all of you smell like horse.

Moving back to the trail and continuing the hike upward works the stiffness from your joints, and within minutes you can hear the sound of a cock crowing from somewhere ahead. The trees thin, and as the ground levels out you find yourself looking at a wooden palisade, much of it in poor repair, presumably surrounding the town of Orlean. The ground between the party and the palisade is softened by low-hanging mist.

The well-worn path meanders towards the palisade from the west, passing between pairs of waist-height and exceedingly worn pillars. The pillars are surmounted by carved shapes, but the span of years has left little more than the suggestion of piscean outlines. To the left of the path as you near the open gate stands a grove of mature oaks, towering above the surrunding trees. Just south of the town's palisade you can also see a large, stone building, surrounded by an impressive stone wall set with a wooden gate. The roof of the building is unusual, and is pierced by a number of lightwells.

From what you can see of Orlean itself, the numerous buildings are of half-timbered construction, save for a second stone building, with a much less impressive stone wall, rising above the others on the far side of the town. A cock crows again, and somewhere nearby a door slams. You don't see anyone about...

Kerrick Helmsworth

Kerrick rides into town all pomp and glory. His flag is proudly on display in its pennant-holder, and his armor clearly shows that he was polishing it during his watch.

Passing through the gate, he looks around curiously, before calling out “Hello, the town!”

Andrew will do his best to remain quite and listen. He will also do his best to see if any of them have weapons.

Hengist the Fair

mutters “Damn I need a horse.”

to Dagmar: “We’ll back him up if he gets in trouble, but hang back with me while he makes his play. Man on a tall horse is a good move, but there’s no sense in looking like his lackeys.”


I try to listen carefully. as i said whispering “at least the fisherfolk looked kinda of human and not undead, god undeads creaps me out”

Miska the Misanthropic

Miska strides into the village with purposeful steps. “Ho there!” he calls out, cupping his hands together, “a band of weary travelers has arrived, with gold in our pockets and prayers on our lips! Come forth, and tell us the tale of this place!”


Masov sighs, following slightly behind Miska. He concentrates on the reactions of the townsfolk who witness Miska and Kerrick’s boisterous introduction.