1: Dovedale

Experience Points

---

The Dovedale district is one of the many farming areas nestled in the foothills of a long mountain range, east of Thornfall in Caldan. The district takes its name from the narrow wooded valley known as Dovedale. The like-named Dovedale River flows out of the dale and provides water for many of the farms in the area. The Dalewold forest skirts the northwest edge of the valley.

The farmers of the Dovedale district have a problem: It is midsummer, and the river has suddenly dried up. A small trickle of water remains, but not enough. Without water, most of the farmers' crops (which rely on irrigation) are doomed to fail. The locals are convinced that the abrupt drop in the river is yet another evil plot of a tribe of wicked goblins that live in the steep, winding dale. It's only a matter of time, they say, before the goblins issue a long string of unreasonable demands in return for restoring the river.

The farmers spend much of their time standing around and grousing that someone should do something. However, none of the farmers have volunteered to go sort out the goblins. The local farmer' cooperative has offers a 100-gp reward to anyone brave enough to go up the Dovedale and force the goblins to restore the river. You have learned that interested parties should apply to Mrs. Cogs, the leader of the cooperative.

---

---

We begin our adventure in Ashbourne. Four roads come together in the town of Ashbourne, a small fortified place where cattle and sheep are driven in at night, and where travelers can rest in relative comfort. Because of its proximity, Ashbourne is considered to be part of the Dovedale area. The Dovedale River flows past Ashbourne.

The village has a farmer's market, a bakery, a church, several passable inns, and a couple boarding houses. Some of the villagers may have old family armor and weapons for sale, but they will likely be sold at considerable cost if at all. But most people earn their livelihood from farming, as occasional adventurers spend their monies only in the outfitting shops and at Ma Nettle's boarding house, in the middle of town.

And it is at Ma Nettle's that we find our adventurers. The boarding house, in the center of town, is built on two levels. The ground floor is walled with fitted stones, while the timber-framed upper story rests on this base. There are several windows, both downstairs and upstairs. A metal stovepipe protrudes from the wall of the southwest gable, where a gentle stream of wood smoke rises.

Outside, posted on a piece of wood, is a notice beseeching any adventurers to help the Dovedale district with their goblin problem. The common room is warm and pleasant, with a bar counter opposite the entrance and plenty of space between the tables. To the left, as one walks in, is a wide staircase rising to the bedrooms on the second floor. The twin doors to the kitchen open and close regularly as Ma Nettle bustles in and out with trays and plates. The bar is Ned the gnome's responsibility, and he can be found (after some searching) behind it.

Should visitors wish to rent a room, they must register in the visitor's book that Ned keeps tucked away when not in use. Fees for rooms are 5sp per night or 3gp weekly, paid in advance. Beer and wine are cheap enough: 2sp for an eight-pint credit. Though meals are only 3sp each, they're uncommonly good, and it would seem that many business people in the town prefer to take dinner at Ma Nettle's rather than prepare their own, based on the crowds tonight.

Maon dismounts the Giant Spider he rode through the rough country and after bidding Sheskarith to hide in the wood north of here, he walks the next mile or so to the village of Ashbourne.

Although he is an acolyte of his order, they have judged him to be ready to begin interacting with the world around him not just the insects and spiders he has made friends with. Not very many Hivemasters exist and so his value as a Druid has made him an anomalie among the druid circles.

Nonetheless, Maon finds comfort in his calling. He arrives at Ma Nettles around the time one has early dinner. He orders a honey mead and sits with one of the bee farmers, he can tell by the scent, and begins small talk while he subtly inquires as to Mrs. Cogs and the goblin dilema...

Odilo sits, rubbing both sides of his temple; trying to coax a blossoming headache into a swift exit.

Giving up, he rubs his red and runny nose into his sleeve. Would that the nose on his face would dry up, and not the damned river. His nose; and the troubles of the common folk; of which there were plenty. The mage had sat since breakfast, hearing the woes of the people of Ashbourne. Most, as expected, were accounted to the river, and the Goblins by extension, but not all. And only some of those could he solve. But one thing at a time.

The mage sniffles, and rubs the small wetness into his sleeve again. He stands, pushing up from the table, and feeling the morning’s sitting in his legs.

"Aye, fresh air…" he speaks, low enough so that he could only be talking to himself. He leaves his hat where it lays on the table, entrusting the thing to keep his seat if Ma Nettles saw a sudden boom in business.

"That’s what I need." and he steps out from the bench, and heads for the front door, and fresh air.

Just as Odilo is heading out, a strange figure is walking in. A human, sure, but wearing the clothes of a traveler and not of a farmer.

Maon steps out for a breath of the crisp air. He lights his pipe and notices Odilo.

"Here now good man, I'm sure you've grown weary of all the hearsay surrounding the blockage of the river? Perhaps tis only a beaver family busy doing what nature calls them to do...? How do you see it?"

Having grown terribly bored with camping in the Dalewold, Oren decides today is the day to try his luck in town. As he nears the boarding house he immediately spies the sign requesting help with the local goblins and figures today must be his lucky day after all! Even better still, two of his friends are standing outside of the boardinghouse enjoying a pipe!

"Maon! Odilo! Still letting you lot through the gates I see? Seems providence that we should meet here with such trouble brewing to the North. What say we form a band and see what trouble we might abate?"

"Oren! Always up for a brawl. How goes it lad?"
Maon takes a long drag off his pipe and blows smoke rings into the gables.

Odilo steps to the side to allow the man entry, ushering him in with a wave of his hand. He looks back to where his straw hat lay, and then left for outside, safe in the knowledge that the gnome bartender would direct the traveller to Odilo’s table, if that was his purpose for being here!

He sniffs in the fresh air, making a wet sound as he does! The grumbles to himself for a moment or two, wondering on origin of ‘The Three Giants, until Maon approaches.

"Our duty is never done, is it?" the mage answers the notion of him being weary. He rubs his temple again.

"If you were to ask them, they’d say the beavers had been pressed into service by the goblins. An industrious lot, these greenskins, to hear it told."

The wizard waves his hand as if to push away the notion.

"The goblins are real enough. Though I doubt that dull band of brigands could stopper a river."

And then Oren arrives. Odilo rubs wet into his sleeve and then raises his hand in greeting.

"Letting us in easily enough. Though I do wonder if they’ll ever let me back out!"

"Couldn't help but overhear you two don't believe goblins are behind this!"

Oren takes out his own wooden pipe and packs a bowl of dried leaf as he speaks,

"Not so far fetched is it? Devious little fey things that they are. Still... I'd hear their side of things before a slaughter."

"Hold that thought..."

Oren leads his mule, Eeorr, over to the stable and hitches it to the post.

"Stay,"

he tells Garcon as the great mutt hunkers down instinctively by the ass. Heading then back to the others, Oren casts about with his eyes for a light to his pipe.

Jabrano wiped the sweat of her brow as she approached Ashbourne. It seemed like a nice place to rest up for a couple of days and maybe earn some coin.
Caldan summers burnt brighter than those back home. She had entered the country late in spring, when the weather was milder. She was glad her armour was packed away in her backpack. She wore simple but well-made clothes, and a somewhat expensive looking but very dusty dark green cloak.

She wore her twin swords on her back, where she couldn't quickly draw them. The slightly curved blades tied securely to their scabbards with leather peace cords. The two daggers on her belt, hidden under the cloak, were more than sufficient for most regular trouble she could run into on the road.

The Half-Orc sighed as she watched the guards at the gate go from almost asleep to very alert in almost no time as she came closer. Luckily they were good folks, and she didn't even have to bribe them to let her in. One of them informed her about the town's goblin problem and the bounty posted at Ma Nettle's. She thanked him for the information and for asked directions towards the boarding house.

The establishment is a little bit more upscale than she'd like, but it'll do. A childish part of her delights in her ability to make a whole room full of merchants clutch their pearls just by waling through the door. A game that can turn sour real quick, but she's not intending to spend more than two days here unless she can find some good work.

She registers with the gnome as Jabrano Ivanova, and heads up to her room with some lunch and tea. First thing she does after wolfing down the food is taking a bath and washing off the grime of the road. She hands her cloak to a maid to have it cleaned.

After that she goes out, to get the lay of the land, or the town at least. She leaves her armour and swords in her room. A brooch displaying the symbol of Doary is pinned to her light brown tunic.
She doesn't need to look up to know that practically everybody is looking at her. She stops by a merchant and buys a broad-rimmed hat. It's always good to be seen spending coin.
Next she stops by the church. While the teachings of Doary are very important to her, she wouldn't call herself very religious. She's not even sure if she really believes in any gods.
It doesn't really matter. She enjoys the serene atmosphere most holy places have.
She spends some time talking with the priest, about the teachings of his god, and also about the town's goblin problem. And she leaves a generous donation of 10 silver on the altar.

She knows people are still watching her, even if they try very hard to pretend not to when she glances at them. And as she leaves the church, she knows they'll gossip, and that by tomorrow she'll more likely be seen as the devout half-orc instead of what they'd call her otherwise.

Oren watched the comings and goings of Jabrano with amusement. Trying so hard to fit in, he thought, when she could probably conquer this hamlet single handedly.

"See that? Didn't even say hello. Proud as ever. GOOD DAY TO YOU JABRANO!"

Oren shouted the greeting across the square so as to raise the warriors heckles,

"We were just discussing the woes and weals of the local constabulary. Care to join?"

Though the elf had long roamed these lands he had only a passing acquaintance with the half-orc. A misstep he hoped to soon remedy.

The chapel to Shisanah, goddess of humans and agriculture, stands open for all who seek it. The largest religious center in the Dovedale district, it attracts many farmers who can afford to make the travel. The priestesses wear earthy greens and browns, as opposed to the more commonly seen reds and oranges of the priesthood of Raev, god of humans and of the sun.

Malard takes a seat at a table, and begins eavesdropping on the people around.

"Goblins...," he grumbles. I can't imagine how they exist. Is there no shortage of smallish green unpleasant things in the world? He rubs his back, and looks around trying to determine if this places is worth a meal.

"Tying that ass up outside was probably more work than the whole voyage out here."

Outside the inn Malard can see small number of individuals who do not look like farmers, but rather adventurers.

"Involved? Most certainly!" the mage says in full assuredness.

"Behind it? I doubt it completely!"

The man let’s out a cough before continuing:

"Unless your experience with the brutes has been different from mine! No mind for forethought!"

And then Oren calls out to the half-orc; to which Odilo remarks:

"I thought I knew every brigand, bully, beggar and baron in these lands. And yet you always seem one step ahead, Oren the Exile!

You’ve yet me introduce to your Druidic friend here!"

Oren laughs and slaps his leg,

"What a fool I feel! Odilo, this is Maon; Maon, Odilo. Maon is the great and high guardian of the bees in this land. Seems awfully narrow in scope, no Maon? Why not all insects?"

"Ah, tis true friend, but a friend of spiders might be frowned upon. I pray for the hives of various creatures, but have an affinity for the humble bee. And, honey mead, I might add! Ha!"
Maon smiles as he takes a gulp of his stein. Another chimney of smoke rings rises up into the gables.

And yet, there is some truth to Odilo's logic. Beavers are clever but hardly qualify as intelligent. Goblins on the other hand are evil and unpredictable. Yet they wouldn't have the will to give up devouring an elven or human infant. They are also clever, but spend their time with traps, ambushes and torture devices - which fills their evil little hearts with glee. They always manage to upset the balance somehow. Agents of Chaos they are! There may be more to it than meets the eye. The only way is to head up there and find out for ourselves. Along the way, we should pay a visit to Mrs. Cogs."

Maon sees a Raven across the way. It cocks its head, squawks, and takes flight. It's shadow crosses the high gables before it disappears.

"Ill portent," he thinks to himself. He makes the sign of Ceranus. "God's, who's superstitious now!" He chuckles to himself and has a bit more mead.

Oren laughs,

"Haha twins indeed! Clearly you got all the looks in the family!"

As Maon muses over the various creatures of the forest Oren finally manages to borrow a coal from the druid's pipe and puffs it into life.

"Yes, Mrs Cogs will certainly need visiting, the sooner the better."

The day is getting late, and the best information says that Mrs. Cogs lives roughly six miles away upriver and to the west.

Trina checked her purse. A single gold and 5 coppers. Things were looking dismal. With a sigh, she turned her eyes towards the boarding house. She had enough for a meal and a night, but beyond that, if something wasn't done, she would be sleeping on the streets. She entered the place with a cheery smile. No sense in letting other folks know her troubles. She would just have to find an adventuring party that was interested in investigating the troubles upriver.

The halfling wears a dark tunic and breeches and a black woolen cloak. She has twin daggers on either side of her slender waist, and another dagger hilt peeks from the top of each boot. Her raven tresses cascade around her shoulders and accent her blue eyes. To the untrained eye, she would seem little more than another halfling wanderer.

Entering the boarding house, she flips her remaining gold piece onto the counter and says, "I'd like a room for the night, a water, and a meal, please." She scans the room looking for anyone that might seem to be an adventurer.

Having seen Trina walk past and enter the boarding house, Oren suggests to the others standing outside that they should perhaps find a table within.

"Just saw the best burglar I know go in, what say we grab a table and sign her up? Seems like we are starting to collect quite the company, eh?"

Oren taps out his pipe and heads inside where he taps Trina on the shoulder.

"Best food in town, or so I hear! It's been quite some time Trina, has it not? Laying low I assume? Why else would you not have visited my camp?"

"Mostly looking for some way to make some cash. My purse is alarmingly light. Are you interested in investigating the goblin problem?"

"Of course I am! In need of some coin myself, and I have some friends to introduce you to. I think we might have put together a fairly outstanding group..."

Oren introduces Trina to the others and orders a pint while pleasantries are exchanged.

As Ned the gnome checks in those who wish a room, it is Ma Nettles who serves the meals. Alongside the standard fare of chicken or mutton, bread, cheeses, and honey cakes (locally sourced), tonight also offers chicken dumplings that smell absolutely delightful. The ale is brewed by a nearby gnome farmer, a close cousin to Ned, and it promises both a joyful evening and rough morning.

Oren gags at the smell of so much poultry and doubles down on the ale. It wasn't easy keeping one's sensibilities in the halls of men when all they seemed to live on was dead flesh and barley. At least the barley was good...

Due to the season being midsummer, fresh salads are also available, but looked on curiously by many of the locals

Maon speaks discreetly to Trina as he takes a seat near hers.

"So a Halfling. Far from the shires of Tethyr aren't we? It's a wonder your purse hasn't gone empty before now. That said, I am Maon, a druid of sorts, and we are in need of a scout. One who can move among the shadows and not be noticed, one like yourself. I can offer to pay your repast and a place to rest your head tonight, and of course a fair cut of any profits we may make. What say you milady? Are you in?"

He awaits her answer...

"Foodfoodfoood...," Malard counts out a few coins, coppers so as not to draw attention and has a meal sent to his table. "I wonder if I have any maps that I could use to study a path," he thinks to himself. Turning to the table next to him, he asks those seated nearest, "Sorry for the interruption, but do you know of there's a map of the area here? Perhaps town hall? I'm passing through and wanted to plan a route."

With a determined blow of his nose, Odilo leaves something wet and green on the ground outside the inn. It offers him a momentary relief from the stuffiness; though he wondered if the stuffiness was a blessing in a place like this!

As coin begins to change hands, he hoists himself up and begins to mutter something down into the ear of Ned, the gnome behind the bar.

The table turns and looks over Malard in his strangeness. While there was nothing truly odd about the man, he did stick out as an outsider in the area. One of the folks points towards Ned the gnome, saying that he would likely have the information. And if not, there was a local cartographer who helped with homesteading claims and land disputes. But that Jed would probably have what he needs.

And true to their word, the gnome pulls out a heavily folded map of the area for the abjurer to examine, "...or purchase!" The route to Mrs. Cogs is shown, as well as the directions to Inn-on-the-Peak, which is just northwest of Ashbourne and miles before he would reach the farm. Ned claims that it would be a decent source of information and preparation, and that their homemade beer, Hal's Ol' Singular', is worth the journey. In addition, he points out Tor's Cloud Peak, which is a landmark in the form of a tall, steep hill that is directly due east of the Cog's farm on the other side of the Dovedale River.

---

Odilo is already at the bar speaking with Ned when Malard approaches, and is able to hear all of this if he wishes to stay and listen. He had just been told that his money was no good here, given his nature and helpfulness. Ned offers Odilo a private room (though not the finest one), as well as a meal.

"I am. And while I appreciate your kind gesture, I can, at least for tonight, pay for myself. But come, let us sup and discuss the dangers that we may face. Are you familiar with my friend, Oren?

"Oren is a rowdy fellow and good in a fight. Yes, he is a thorn rose. Haha! It seems we will have company. There is that one asking for a map. Perhaps that might also be of some use to us. However, we don't have time for a cartographer to make us a copy. We'll have to invite him along. As for goblin troubles Odilo has brought up a valid idea. He believes there is more to this dammed river than just Goblins. I am inclined to agree, but as things stand we will most likely need to get a birds eye view of the situation. And that's where someone of your experience has the advantage. If coin is keeping you from a proper halfling meal, at least let me see to your libation. Another round of honey mead for me and one for me friend here! Ha!"

As Oren continues talking loudly with all the folks he has met in his long travels and trying to bring them together in pursuit of money, he feels someone bump into the back of him rather hard. Wobbling on his feet is a particularly drunk man in ratty clothes, suggesting that most of his money ends up in his liver rather than his health and home. hic! "Would'n ye be so kind as to purch... purchase a drink for a man down on his luck? Name's Ian McNeill, local collector of tales. My thirst is great, and I can give ye some company and secrets if'n ye oblige!" He stands swaying and trying his hardest to focus on one of the three elven warriors before him.

The map shown to Malard by Ned the gnome contains many local points, and the gnome goes on to suggest that there are many reasonable crossings of the Dovedale River to the western bank downstream of the pool and the hill just to its south.

Rolling with the impact Oren swings around ready to pounce and sees only a soggy barfly in need of libation.

"McNeill say you? Oren am I! I just so happen to always be in the market for tales and secrets sir! First pint is on me but the second depends entirely on you and what you have to say!"

Oren flashes two fingers to the bar keep and fishes our the silver for his voucher of eight.

Ned the gnome comes out with two ales, and visibly rolls his eyes upon seeing McNeill standing beside Oren. Clearly the man was not an unknown in the area, or at least this boarding house. 'Again with the fish tales,' Ned mutters as he walks away, silver in hand. The first sip of ale is quite pleasant, and McNeill takes a looong drink immediately. It would seem he did not exaggerate his thirst.

A smile crosses his face as he lets out a sigh of relief and comfort, home again in the drink. Without missing a beat, he begins talking about the seventy goblins that live in the Dalewold, a nasty tribe that is up to nasty deeds. He hardly takes a breath before he then dives into his encounters with a talking fish out by Talking Fish Weir, wrapped around the pool in the Dovedale River. hic! "I swear it to be true! I've spoken with it several times! Nicest fish I've ever met. Also the chat... chattiest. Maybe I'll go ask it what happened to the river, and get the reward myself!"

"A talking fish you say? Now that is something! Well earned that drink, and have a second on me. If I see that fish, and I intend to look, I'll drop your name!"

Oren waves a second drink over for McNeill and then returns to his table.

The second drink is downed just as fast as the first, and McNeill finds himself without words, though he does mumble as he stumbles his way home - presumably. 'Gravel... beak... iron... beak... talking... fish... granting... wish...

The newly formed group, many of whom are connected through Oren the Exile, now have several leads to follow in regards to the disappearing river and goblin interference. They can head out to Mrs. Cog's farm to speak with the namesake, as the posters suggested. They could head to the Inn-on-the-Peak to ask around for more information. They can head to Talking Fish Weir at the recommendation of a drunkard to speak with a... talking fish. Or, if they are men and women of action, they can head into the forest and try to handle the situation by themselves.

Jabrano was rather quiet and reserved and a bit awkward. Having spent the better part of the year mostly on her own, she's gotten unused to being surrounded by people. And the kind of social behaviour she's used to, has grown up around, would see her swiftly kicked out of the boarding house.
It felt good to not be alone though.

She wasn't particularly hungry yet, but she was intrigued by the weird chicken things. It wasn't a dish she had encountered before, but it smelt nice. Soon after she found herself stuffing her face with dumplings.

She shot Oren a disapproving look as he gave the drunkard more booze.
"Poor bastard is going to drink himself to death, and indulging him isn't helping." she whispered to the elf after McNeill had departed. "And most of his information is flat-out incorrect anyway."

Something had been bothering her about the whole affair though: damming off a river seemed like a lot of hard work to her, requiring a decent amount of skill, and providing no direct benefit to a tribe of goblins she could fathom. She didn't particularly feel like slaughtering a bunch of people for not real reason.

She raised her voice a bit and addressed the table. "Well, I suggest we go visit Mrs. Cog's tomorrow. She'll likely know more, and the posting did indicate we have to actually sign up for the job if we want to be paid... And after that we just follow the Dovedale upstream until we reach whatever is blocking the river and see what's what."

While the lighting isn't perfect, Malard leans in and scrutinizes the map. He recognizes the point the people adjacent to him were speaking of and can't help but wonder if this map was made recently. "Ned, how recent current is this map, and do you know who the cartographer was? Are they local?"

Ned looks back at Malard over the map. "This here map is about as current as any. Not much changes around here, and the only changes that be needing changed are done so in the official documents. Do you want property lines? You'd have to talk to Fionna. Not only does she make the maps, but she's mayor of here Ashbourne! Clever of her, combining the two roles. Is there something you're curious about that maybe I can answer?"

"Your contributions to my work help keep my focus singular!" Odilo says, patting the counter and thanking the gnome again quietly.

Coming back into the fold, Odilo remarks:

"Someone you don’t know!" with a raised eyebrow. "And he brings us an exact number of goblins, and the culprit behind the whole plot; a talking fish."

Odilo knew that the common man was fond of some gentle back-and-forth, most of the time. But when a quiet moment arises, Odilo rests a hand on the drunkard’s shoulder and speaks low.

"If you’re ever in need of help, you need only come to that table there." he says, nodding his head to the usual spot the wizard occupied when he passed through town.

"Not drink, mind. I haven't the coin to help you partake in that. But help. You understand, don’t you?"

For a brief moment, Odilo sees the man behind the glassy stare, a man whom has known joy and pain and whom has struggled in the world of the real. He nods somberly before remembering that he's still drunk! And only Odilo can hear the wistfulness in the rhyme he mutters as Ian McNeill departs.

The wizard wondered if one of the farmsteads could be convinced to take on the drunkard in some capacity. One with some worshippers of Taeavae present; for the McNeill was in need of healing of some kind.

The earth is always in need of hands to toil it!…

Something to ponder on another time; perhaps as part of the wizard’s payment for solving the problem of the dam.

Malard nods his approval the whole time Ned is speaking and says, "I wish I had questions, but I don't know what I don't know," he says to the gnome. "I ask because sometimes there's a flood or an avalanche or something like that, and if the map isn't current it's not always helpful. If this is up to date though, it would probably help me out a lot. Thank you as well for the tip about the mayor. I guess I have to ask how much is this now, don't I? Also, now that I might have a reliable way to navigate the area, do you know if there's anyone in town that might be willing to come with me? I'm not useless on the open road, but I always appreciate an extra set of eyes. And maybe sword-wielding hands."

"Alas, were it that simple. We have workers who could dig, but we are simple farmers and a tribe of goblins is beyond us. Even our town guards are overworked, and not the best trained or equipped. It's usually quiet around here, aside from some troublesome children. As for the map, I could part ways with it for... say... five gold pieces. The inks and labor are quite expensive." Ned doesn't have a greedy look about him, and spells out the price as though it were reasonable. It does sound reasonable, and may likely be a life saver.

"Five gold it is," Malrd says. "I'm sure this will be of great use to me. If you're inclined, I'll buy you a drink. It's always better not to dine alone." He looks around the room for anyone that looks like they might be good traveling companion anyway. "Maybe at least until the first crossroads," he thinks to himself.

Ned whispers in an almost conspiratorial manner, "For buying the map, the drink is on me." From behind the bar, he pours two pints of ale and offers one to Malard. The abjurer, looking around the room, sees that the gnome must have been speaking the truth. The only folks looking capable of adventure are sitting with Oren already.

"Don’t you know that one, Oren the Exile?" Odilo says, pointing out Malard as he purchases the map.

"A practitioner of the arcane, to look at him!"

"Aye, ye be ever perceptive Odilo. Oren, call the man over, if you would do us a favor lad, he looks to be as curious of us as we are of him."
Maon nurses his tankard, a warm feeling in his belly is all he is about. Getting tipsy isn't his style.

"I suppose you're right, Ned," Malard says. "And thank you for the drink." He sips his drink and looks to where Ned is pointing. "I supposed they do look to be more farmer than warrior, but you know, a dagger weighs less than a spade. Aside from that one that sort of sticks out, I don't see where your wrong."

Oren eyes the wizardly fellow over his ale and furrows his brow in thought,

"Hmm, can't say that I do... Yet. Must be one of those library types, face was probably burried in a book when I passed through."

Oren downs the rest of his tankard and adds,

"Or maybe he doesn't drink."

Oren stands and waves the map mage over,

"Good friends all around, you look like one of us sir! Come and speak with we of scourges green and goblinny!"

Discussions of all things green and gobliny are had over ales and food, and the evening turns into night. Ma Nettle's has room for all who can pay, and especially those who have provided aide for the locals as Odilo has done. Slowly the newly formed group, brought together by the vivacious Oren, finds themselves drifting off to sleep, content with the thoughts of money soon to come.

---

The map provided by Ned the gnome at Ma Nettle's Boarding House proves to be useful, as many of the paths are not heavily traveled or well maintained. Over the next day, the party finds themselves on road leading to Mrs. Cog's Farm. The sun shines brightly overhead, and the strong scent of earth and growing vegetation permeates the air. The road itself leads northwest for three miles from the boarding house to a junction leading to the Inn-on-the-Peak, then another half mile to the junction with the main road following the Dovedale River. From there, the road continues north, but the river itself is low enough to cross nearly anywhere.

Once on the other side of the Dovedale River, there are countless paths that seem to lead to the Cog's farm. It is still morning, nearing noon, by the time you make your approach to the farms in the area. You know that Mrs. Cog's is the furthest north and closest to the Dalewold, so these must be the neighboring farms. One man stands by a fence tending to some livestock. Looking at your dress and your direction, he quickly ascertains that you are heading to the Cog's in response to the goblin threat.

The farmer spits on the ground- not out of disrespect but rather lack of manners- and calls out to you. "If'n you're heading to Mrs. Cog's, best watch out for that boy of hers! Ben Cogs is a quiet child, but he's a troublemaker. He's always filching things, lying, and pulling mean tricks on the other children. Just last week, he pushed Susie into a mud puddle and stole her lunch. Whenever Ben does something bad, the shameless lad refuses to take responsibility." Seemingly content with his warning, the man returns to his farmerly responsibilities.

Oren ponders the farmer's curious decision to denigrate his neighbor's son... While his experience had usually been that outliers tended to stick together and withhold information from strangers this man openly spoke ill without provocation. Perhaps the man had something of his own to hide, perhaps there was a debt or grudge at play. Curious.

"Good sir, hail to you! We are indeed about to pay the Cog farm a visit. Is there aught else you might like to share with us afore we arrive there? Seems like an unusual way to greet strangers, but I am appreciative. Is there anything else we need to know?" says Maon.

Jabrano awoke at the crowing of the cock.
She had slept reasonably well. The bed was slightly too small for her liking, but that was hardly an uncommon problem for her.

After refreshing herself and having breakfast, she set about to put on her 'work clothes'. The armour was well made, but old and worn. She really ought to upgrade as soon as he could afford it.

After having bound her hair in a single braid, she donned the old chain mail and she moved her daggers and her swords to her sword belt.
Her freshly cleaned green cloak completed the ensemble. It made for a very different impression than her normal travelling clothes she wore the other day.

Her footsteps sounded a lot louder coming down the stairs than they had going up.

---------

Jabrano throws the farmer a disapproving glare, but she adds the information to the mental picture she'd been forming about this Mrs Cogs.
She apparently owns the largest farm, or at least the only one big or important enough to mark on the map... she's the head of the farmers' commune... So she's relatively wealthy and likely has some political pull locally.
And apparently she raised her kid to be a spoiled brat who can easily be mistaken for a goblin by the sound of it.
On top of that, her neighbours seem to dislike her enough that they gossip about this to complete strangers, but don't say a bad word about Mrs Cogs herself. Maybe they fear her a bit too?
Mrs. Cogs was starting to sound like a real nasty piece of work.
Or maybe she's just being completely paranoid.

"Maybe Mrs Cogs would like to hear who's been badmouthing her family..." she said to the farmer, just to see how he'd react.

The farmer leans on a pitchfork for a while, seemingly lost in thought as he ponders a response. "If'n ye plan on talking to Mrs. Cog's, she'll likely tell you some far-fetched tale about wolves and goblins. There are wolves in the Dalewold, that's true. But I doubt they have anything to do with the goblins. That Mrs. Cogs, she's a silly old woman and probably imagined the whole thing. Or maybe she's just making excuses for that rotten little kid of hers." He gives a nod, clearly confirming what he has said now.
At the comment from Jabrano, he gives a little jump! The man is embarrassed to be called out like this! "You don't have to say a thing! I was trying to give some friendly advice, is all!" He wrings his hands in a pathetic display, peering out from a bowed head sheepishly.

She feels a bit bad at the man's reaction, but the whole exchange does seem to lean towards something else going on than troublesome goblins.

She gives him her best attempt at an apologetic smile. "Don't worry about it. And you're probably not wrong about things."

While Odilo tried to focus on the loftier, more worthy problems of the regular folk, he had to admit that such issues crossed his table more times than he would like. Gossip, rivalries, and peasant diplomacy.

He grumbles a bit to himself, but then approaches the farmer. He casts an eye over the working man, seeing if he might recognize him or his lineage. And then he casts an eye over the work being done.

The wizard had a mind for agriculture, and yet he hadn’t been called to service by this man, or indeed most of the farmers on this side of the settlement.

"You may detest the child." the wizard says, with no hint as to the worthiness of the feeling "But to suggest that he could stopper a river by himself…"

The man quickly becomes flustered at being called out by his logical fallacy, and by the friendly wizard no less! "Well, I mean, I don't think the child did it... not this thing... but other things! And I just meant the wolves and goblins... together I mean! I still think the goblins have everything to do with the river."

He wrings his hands for a moment, "Ah hells, me and my big mouth. You may want to just head onto the farm, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention me!"

Odilo sniffles and then let’s out a friendly laugh as the man admonishes himself.

"We are no wiser than you! And we’ve heard all manner of suppositions as to why the river is stopped. Why should yours be any more or less wrong?"

He takes in a deep draw of the country air, before continuing:

"We will take your advice with us as we go! And we will surely pass this way on our return journey, and can advise you as to the cause. Unless the wolves and goblins get us first!" he says with a wink.

Trina listens carefully to the conversation, formulating some opinions of her own. It seemed unlikely that one human child could cause all the trouble, no matter how much of a brat he may or may not be. The wolves caused her a minor concern, as the goblins might well have allied with such, particularly if they were worgs. More intelligent than the average wolf, those.

"Why can't you just lead us to the farm?" Maard asks. "You obvious know your way around here. It would help us a lot." Based on the me and my big mouth comment Maard is fairly certain something is off about all this, but his morbid sense of curiosity pushes him to want to see what's going on.

The farmer shakes his head at the demand. "I've got much to do today, and besides, it's just up ahead. Keep following the path, you'll be there in no time." He shakes his head, and returns to his work.

---

It doesn't take much longer for the party to reach their destination. Mrs. Cogs owns a large, prosperous farm on a hilltop to the west of Dovedale. Her farm boasts a large house, several barns, many acres of grazing land, and several hundred sheep. The odd child can be seen running around either playing or tending to chores. Directly due east, the group can see a large, steep-sided hill jutting from the earth, likely the locally-named Tor's Cloud Peak.

After knocking on the door of the main house, a large, businesslike woman answers the door and peers at each member in turn. "I only have half of an hour to talk with you, if you're hear about the goblins. Come inside, and let me find you some herbal tea and cookies." Without a hint of nonsense, she ushers the group inside and towards a large table.

"To start with, as the head of the local farmer's cooperative, I have been allowed to offer you a 100 gold coin reward for restoring the Dovedale River. This reward does not necessarily require you to kill the goblin. On the contrary, we have had a long history of coexisting with these goblins, and have never had an issue like this before; we would rather not start a blood feud with them. But of late, they have been more present, and not often in good ways. For the last few years, once or twice a year, a goblin rides out of the Dalewold on a great slavering wolf and steals one of my sheep. And it seems like every time I turn around, those nasty goblins are stealing my fresh-baked pies and cookies off the windowsill! I would love for you to knock some sense into the Dalewold goblins, so we can get back to life as it used to be."

"That is all the information I have, though you might have questions I can still answer. If you want to learn more, I might suggest heading to the Inn-on-the-Peak to speak with some other farmers that gather in the evenings. They have have other experiences that I haven't heard about. And finally, if you need some guides who know the area, my two oldest work with the militia and would be happy to walk with you."

"It's nice to meet you," says Malard politely. "Thank you for the tea and cookies. I'm not acting as the group's spokesperson, but am I to understand that, the goblins are accused of blocking the river, as well as stealing livestock and food? This isn't just you, right?"

"As far as I've heard, it has been only my livestock and crops. I have the largest farm, as you have no doubt seen, and the closest to the forest. But the river affects us all. Without water, our farms will wither and die. Without traffic on the river, Ashbourne will become much poorer, and the Inn-on-the-Peak will be unable to maintain its famous rose gardens."

"If I were to speculate... goblins are usually too disorganized to accomplish something like blocking the river. This points to some outside influence on the tribe. If we cut off the head of the snake, things may go back to normal." Trina poses.

Oren graciously accepts the tea and cookies and bites into one of the confections with zeal. It had been quite some time since the elf had taken any sugar and the sensation flooded his senses.

"You are an amazing baker Mrs. Cogs. Is there a Mr. Cogs around here somewhere?"

"Why thank you, uh, elf. I'm sorry, I never did catch your names! And to answer your question, no there is no mister anymore. He done and got himself put six feet under, leaving me with six children to raise and the largest farm to... Oh!" Mrs. Cogs blushes as she thinks she understands Oren's intent.

Jabrano thanked Mrs. Cogs for the cookies and tea. Mrs. Cogs' particular blend was a bit bitter for her taste, but she loved the cookies.

She did her best to try and keep a straight face as she heard the uncanny and strange things the local goblins were being accused of. The solitary goblin poaching a sheep once or so per year was bizarre enough but stealing of cakes and cookies? She'd be willing to bet a lot that the only witness to these crimes was young Ben Cogs. Maybe that farmer hadn't been that out of line to warn them.

"I also have a few questions..." she said as she put down the empty tea cup. "I agree with Trina. This seems very... ungoblinlike behaviour. And as far as can gather, nobody has actually been upriver to see what is going on. Is there any real evidence that points towards the goblins as the culprits here?"

After she listened to Mrs. Cogs' reply, she went on, "My other question is more practical. The matter of payment is a bit ambiguous. Would this be 100 gold each, or 100 gold split six ways?"

She wasn't in this for the money, but 16 gold and small change didn't seem like it would even cover their expenses. It seemed especially poor considering that the continued existence of the village may very well depend on their success.

The widow Cogs furls her brow at the questions from Jabrano. "Well, isn't it obvious that it was the goblins? They're the only ones in that forest, right by where the river forms! They're always up to something, and now they've managed to stop the river! What we don't know is why! And as for the money, it was 100 gold altogether. We may have thriving farms, but there is little money to be exchanged. I could probably pull together a little more if you demand it, but this is what we could spare."

"Mrs. Cogs, I for one am bound by providence and the grace of Ceranus and of course Eninath. The well being of this humble vale is of great importance to me as well. The agents of chaos serve their purpose, and yet are rarely bound by their ambitions and lusts. Your remuneration will go to the local temple - at least my portion.

"It seems though that our lady Jabrano offers a more investigative tact to our dilemma. It seems unlikely that goblins, however clever, would be at the heart of this conundrum, for conundrum it is. I would ask further questions; and yet courtesy forbids such intimations,, seeing as we've only been introduced to you. I would ask, however, if it pleases you, then, to allow us to further investigate your property as we piece together the extent of the damage caused?"

Mrs. Cogs turns her head to Maon, but her eyebrows scrunch in thought. "I'll be the first to admit I didn't understand half of what you said, but if you want to look around the property, feel free. Just try to stay out of the way. There's a lot of work to be done, and the water problem ain't doing us any favors. You'll find my oldest Percival and Petra wandering the property, if you need the help. With that being said, I don't imagine you'll find too much here. You'll want to follow the river or head into the Dalewold. That's where you'll find your answers."

"I guess we look around then?" Malard says to the others. "Shall we split up?"

The sun is high in the sky, the tea and cookies are warm in your bellies, and the sound of goblins seems to be... well, missing from Mrs. Cog's kitchen.

Supping a little at the tea, both enjoying the warmth in his throat and cursing the steam’s tendency to make his nose full and wet, the wizard listens on. If the woman recognized him, she didn’t say.

Listening to it told, the problems in the area did seem like the work of a mischievous child, and not the work of goblins; at least not all of it!

Skilled in the ways of agriculture, Odilo wanders the farm to check on the produce, and try to reckon it the place is truly starved of water, and for how long. An opportunity, too, to get an estimation on the character of the children living and working here!

Oren introduces himself to Mrs. Cogs and listens idly as the others ask their questions. Although he fancied himself ponderous Oren had no patience for investigation and once he had finished his tea he felt the road calling to him.

He wanders around outside as Odilo makes his observations and soon decides it is best to stay sharp, drawing his blade and shadow fighting a hitching post near one of the barns.

Trina's face falls slightly at the mention that the payment will be one lump sum. It did indeed seem a small amount for such a task, but if it was all that they could afford, then that's what it must be. Perhaps they might find some supplemental funds along the way.

Jabrano stayed with Mrs. Cogs for a while, helping cleaning the teacups and plates, or whatever needs doing.

"I didn't mean to come across so mercenary." she says her voice sounding very serious and earnest. "I know isolated farming communities like Ashbourne. It's the middle of summer. Harvest is in a couple of months, and the village's crops are wasting away as we speak. If you don't get the river restored quickly, you're looking at famine and people will die come winter. This is the kind of job I take on for free, or at least in exchange for the services of a healer and free room & board, should I require it afterwards."

And then, in a much lighter tone, she asks "By the way, do you know anything about that?" as she points through the window towards Tor's Cloud Peak.
She already knows it's the actual location of the goblin's lair, but she's curious what Mrs. Cogs will claim it is.

Malard decides to tie up his donkey, and then walk a perimeter of the farm to see if he can find traces of goblins. "If they're stealing, then they must have a way in. I can't imagine that goblins are smart enough to be able to cover their tracks," Malard mumbles as he wanders the farm.

Maon walks the property to see if indeed the water is turned off. He looks for irrigation and collection ponds to see how low they are at the same time looking for goblin sign. He wants to call his spider friend over to see if she's encountered any goblins, but he knows it could bring more trouble than it's worth. So he finds himself walking the property, deliberately looking for clues of foul play.

Jabrano continues talking with Mrs. Cogs for some time, and she brings up Tor's Cloud Peak. The stern farmer is a little curious as to why it is being asked about, though she tells Jabrano what she knows. "Tourists often climb to the summit during the warm summer months, dodging sheep as they go. From the top of the peak, the view of the surrounding countryside is spectacular. I climbed it once in my youth, but have no time for such foolishness nowadays. Freak storms can sometimes hit the top of the peak. It can be sunny and clear one moment, then the next minute the wind starts whipping ice and rain down on your head. The storms have killed quite a few people over the years, mostly foolish tourists."

---

Both Maon and Malard traverse the Cog's property in search of any clue. It takes a bit of searching, but they are able to find the occasional footprint that does not appear to be human, though the dry soil does not allow for much of an imprint. If one were to guess, these would be goblin tracks, but neither are able to determine where they came from nor where they go.

---

Odilo wanders the fields for a spell, and considers the farm and water more so than the threat of goblins. It is clear that there is little water available, though the mage does not have a solid idea of how long the farm can last like this. If farmers are paying others to solve a problem, it is likely a dire situation. He sees several children working the fields and tending to animals, along with other adults that seem to be hired help of some sort. One boy of about six approaches the mage with a shy demeanor, and says to Odilo, "Are you the wiz... wizard everyone talks about? You have to help us! It's the goblins that are doing all these bad things, and I swear that I haven't done anything! One of the goblins dresses up like me and steals the pies and pushes the girls, and he won't stop even when I asked him to!"

---

Oren, in the midst of his duel with shadows and breezes, sees two young adults approach; truthfully, it is their shadows he sees first. The two, a boy and a girl, are dressed in leathers and have bows slung across their backs and daggers at their belts. This was the uniform of an unorganized militia if he had ever seen one. "Ello there, says the boy, likely Parsival. "Not much challenge when nothing fights back, is there," asks Petra?

Oren sheathes his blade and wipes the sweat from his brow as he answers the youths.

"Hello young ones, before one can face a challenge one must be confident in their ability, such confidence comes from constant practice! Likely so with those bows you carry, I'll wager you weren't any good with them until many hundreds of arrows were loosed in practice, eh? I myself have spent one hundred years practicing with this blade, would you like to see the form known as the bladesong? I can make this steel sing a deadly tune with movement alone!"

Never one to miss an opportunity to show off, Oren takes several steps back and draws his blade. He takes a deep breath and then slowly begins the dance of the bladesong. Slow, perfectly fluid motions gradually give way to faster ones and soon the steel whistles an ethereal tune as the elven kata reaches its crescendo.

The sheer volume of footprints throws Malard off. "This is probably important," he thinks to himself and marks the area where the footprints to be better able to show the others. After he found the evidence though, he decided to return back towards Cog household to see what the others were up to.

Maon returns to the Farmhouse, disappointed, but still optimistic as he sees Malard approaching the house as well as Oren dancing about in a furious but graceful martial cadence that is his signature style. Maon admires his dedication to the form. Alas, he is not as strong or as agile as Oren, but it is good to know he is an ally, rather than an enemy!

The two militia youths are also impressed by the display, though they seem confused as to why Oren isn't singing with his Bladesong style. The whistling of the blade is lost on them. "With someone like you going into the Dalewold, those goblins won't stand a chance," declares Petra, blushing in a way a far-too-young girl is wont to do. Parsival seems too enthralled to notice.

"Yes, that’s me!" Odilo dispensed with mock-flattery years ago. He had a job, like anyone else in the community, and it didn’t do to deny it to anyone!

"I’m the one that people come to for help!" he stoops down to take in the boy fully.

"So you’ve spoken to these goblins then? Asked them to stop! Yes, as you should have! Good manners, first and foremost!

Now… tell me everything you can recall about these goblins that are bothering you!" he says with a reassuring smile!

The boy, given the invitation, begins blathering about the goblins he's seen. Ben, as it would seem, has seen a small handful of them- "It's hard to tell cause they look alike"- though he has only spoken with one, who seems to go by the name Grabbo. The interactions have been negative but not hostile, and only when the sun is setting or rising, never in the broad daylight.

"Just curious" Jabrano offers as explanation for her interest in the Peak. "It looks... ominous on the horizon, and such places usually have all sorts of interesting stories and legends attached to them."

She considered what Mrs. Cogs had told her. She was hardly an expert in such matters, but the Peak, more a large hill really, didn't seem like it should have freakish weather like that. She would ask the druid and wizards about it later.

After saying goodbye to Mrs Cogs and thanking her again for the tea, she wondered around the farm, and talked to the people. She mostly asked about other strange happenings that seemingly didn't have anything to do with goblins at all.

Trina does some snooping about the farmhouse perimeter, looking for tracks or other evidence of goblin incursion (or any other intruders, for that matter).

Trina, a little behind Mallard and Main, finds nothing they had not already found. Goblin prints with no discernable beginning not ending.

---

Jabrano heads out to the fields to ask about any other strange happenings. In this, she comes across two stories. The first is from a worker who says, "The storms on Tor's Cloud Peak are caused by an insane air-elemental trapped in a rune circle on top of the mountain!" By the way he looks with slightly unfocused eyes, it could be the heat and thirst getting to him.

The second comes from a young girl of about seven who says, "A big, hair spider shouted at me while I was gathering mushrooms in the Dalewold. It leapt out from behind a tree and yelled, 'Put that down!'" She flails her arms about as she tells this story, likely trying to impersonate a big, hairy spider.

"A big hair spider shouted at you...," echoes Malard. "Where did you see that, exactly?"

"Everyday?" the wizard remarks simply, wiping some wet from his nose and casting a suspicious, investigative eye over the boy as he speaks.

"Today?" he prods further, wondering if he might be able to capture one of the greenskins at sun-down.

The girl looks around to get her bearings. She finally points towards the forest, which is maybe half a mile away. "In there! Between the big tree with little leaves and the little tree with big leaves!"

---

The boy counts on his fingers for a moment, then scrunches his face in thought. "Not every day! Just some days! And not today. Not yesterday. But... before yesterday! He came and I got yelled at for pushing Susie in the mud but I didn't do it!"

Malard looks at the others silently and over to the trees that are being indicated. "Aside from tracking footprints, we have another lead," he says."What do you all want to look into first?"

Oren rejoins the others now that their investigation seems to be concluding.

"Should we not follow the river and see where the stoppage is first? Could just be beavers! If not, we should be able to tell and I'm sure we will find the tracks of whatever is responsible."

"I'm with Oren. At this point I very much doubt goblins are involved at all.
The village priestess told me the goblin's lair is in or on Tor's Cloud Peak. The gossip we met leaving town said there weren't any goblins in the forest.

What we have here doesn't seem like goblin trouble.
We got a "goblin" disguising himself into Ben Cogs well enough people can't tell the difference. We got petty theft of sweets, pushing girls into mud...
And we got goblin tracks that don't seem to have beginnings or endings. We may have a talking fish and a talking spider. I'm starting to think we got shapeshifters or illusionists.

This is starting to sound like some faerie bullshit to me, like some pyxie or brownie is having some fun.

We're going to have to follow the river upstream sooner or later, but I don't think gathering more information at that inn would hurt."
Jabrano yawned.
"We could also spend the night here, take turns keeping watch, and see if we can catch something in the act..."

"You're both probably," Malard says. "I just can't help but wonder if the "hairy spider" doesn't have something to do with the issues described by Ms. Cogs. Perhaps we should look into that after the we return from our trip upstream."

"I think that we should head upriver and see what we find. We can always deal with the goblin problem when we get back if the two aren't related."

"Leave it with Odilo." the Pauper mage tells the boy, with a wink, and a pat to the crown of his head.

"Stay out of anything that looks like mischief until we return." he commands, before returning to the others.

---

Finding himself parched, but feeling it wrong to ask for water, the wizard scratches at his throat, while the group discusses what to do.

"The boy claims…" he lets the word ‘claims’ hang in the air for a moment "… that one goblin in particular comes to cause mischief at sun-down. And that the boy has spoken with him at length. We could spring a trap, perhaps?"

"Aye Odilo, 'tis a fine plan. I feel you and Jabrano are on the right tack, if you'll pardon the sailor jargon. If we catch something tonight that's a plus, if not, I say we head out in the morn' and see what lies upriver. What say you lasses and lads?"

Maon find a moment to pack his pipe once again as well as a warm wooden chair on the stoop/porch. Forgetting that he doesn't have a flame, he mumbles under his breath and makes his way inside to find some fire for his pipe. He finds the hearth has some embers left and returns outside to share a bit of "Shire Gold" tobac with Odilo and anyone wanting a plug. He smiles to himself, enjoying the afternoon breezes.

"So shall we set a watch rotation and get some rest?"

Odilo takes the offering graciously, and begins to puff at his own pipe.

"Seems to me…" he says, through big mouthy puffs "… to be the best plan." his nose has him speaking, smoking and breathing through the one hole in his face. It’s not easy work.

"Some tea and a sunset would be lovely. I do wonder if our presence has been noted by anyone, though."

Things happened quickly, and Malard was content with the speed with which he and his new companions were willing to achieve their tasks. "A decent plan it is," he said. "We'll have to be careful not to put the child at risk. A hostage would be a terrible turn of events."

Maon volunteers for the first watch, he wants to see the stars and hear the nightime insects sing to Ceranus.

"I would be happy to take the majority of the watch, sleep is of no use to me. I will take four hours to meditate before dawn, however."

Oren takes out his own pipe and shares in the proffered weed. As much as he was eager to get upstream he did like the sound of tea and the local inn was sure to have some interesting people watching opportunities.

"Perhaps I might join you for a spell." Odilo says to Oren the Exile.

"You’re legs travel faster than mine, and I’m certain there’s much to be heard from afar!"

When the group proposes to Mrs. Cogs that they would like to camp out on the property and see what they can find at night, she is hesitant at first but relents. It is clear that she finds it to be a waste of time, when the goblins live in the Dalewold, not her farm! But she begins preparing a dinner for her family and her guests, as well as baking a pie. Hours pass as the group continues their search and setting up their resting site, tucked away from prying eyes. The long summer day begins to turn into a short summer night as everyone heads to their homes or beds, but this is the time that you have been waiting for. The dusk is quiet, with only the sounds of birds and the smells of the pie.

It isn't long before you see Ben, the child blamed for all the mischief, creeping around the farm. You know for a fact that he should be in his own bed at this hour, as assured to you by Mrs. Cogs herself. Though the child is creeping along a wending path, it is clear that he is looking at that pie as a destination and prize. So far he has not spotted you.

"Shall we let him take it, and see what happens?" Malard asks. "If it weren't for the goblins I'd be amused by this behaviour, but since they're about, I feel it might be a bit of issue. He may be more problematic than a mere scamp."

"Yes, by all means let us catch the lad in the act."

Oren cannot decide if the child is to be admonished or admired. On the one hand, he was clearly a liar and potentially stirring up trouble beyond his reckoning. On the other hand... Oren liked liars. He fancied himself a teller of tall tales as well.

Well, by the smell of that pie, I don't particularly blame the lad. But, if we're going to eliminate possibilities we should at least let him make enough tracks to compare to what we believe to be those belonging to goblins. And; to be fair, he must have the evidence in hand, or rather in his belly, when we catch him. If he leaves any of that pie, I daresy we'll be tempted to eat the evidence! Haha!

"If that is the child, and not a goblin wearing a magical disguise."

"Did somebody tell our employer that we'd be trying to catch somebody who looks exactly like her son? Because she may freak out when she sees our captive if we can't get them to change back..."

As the group sits back and watches, the child creeps forward towards the windowsill with exaggerated steps, emphasized for better sneaking. When he meets with no resistance, he swipes the pie and scampers off a short distance before plopping down into the dry grass behind a small wall that would protect him from being seen from the house. And that's when the group sees the child, Ben they assume, pull his face up over his head and begins devouring the pie with reckless abandon.

The goblin, now unmasked, kicks his feet with glee as he devours each and every baked berry (though many do end up on his face instead of in his mouth). It takes him a surprisingly short amount of time to engorge himself, and he tosses the empty tin to the side. Still kicking his feet, the goblin begins singing a little ditty in an ugly but childlike voice.

"Pie and mash, pie and mash
Loads of nosh for not much cash
Warms yer cockles fills you up
Wash it down with a good strong cup
Pour the moonshine in the pie
Come on fellah don’t be shy
Loads of liquor, lovely stuff
Us goblin lads can’t get enough."

The goblin's appetite shocks Malard almost as much as the disguise. "Well, I had hoped that this wasn't the case," he says. "Now what? Do you think we can rush it? I think it might have answers to questions."

Oren is shocked and amazed at the turn of events! He was certain it was the son who had been filching baked goods but the duplicity of farie folk never ceased to amaze him.

"Maybe we should follow it back to it's lair, might not get another chance to find the rest of them..."

"I agree with Oren. It might serve us better to follow him than to confront him now."

Odilo smirks to himself in the gloom, standing their on the farm. The boy was innocent enough; as innocent as a young boy could be, he thought. And the warning they’d received from the neighboring farmer earlier was misplaced…

"Marching out into a goblin den at this hour, in this light…" the wizard starts up.

"Our advantage may take a turn. We had better hope that it is near, or we’ll be thrashing through the brush in full dark."

Maon tells the others:
We should apprehend the little monster and interrogate him in the barn so that his screams cannot be heard; or, we can keep him in a pit until we figure out what to do with the creature.

"We could try and subdue the goblin, but if we do that then we'd better be ready in case it's comrades cone looking for it," Mallard says.

"We could try and subdue the goblin, but if we do that then we'd better be ready in case it's comrades cone looking for it," Mallard says.

Jabrano is starting to realise if somebody isn't going to make a decision soon then the goblin is just going to finish its snack and leisurely wander off back to wherever it came from.

"Enough. There's no point in being here if we're not going to try and catch it. Oren, Trina, and Odilo sneak around to the other side. When they're in position, we rush it from both sides." she whispers in a commanding tone.

She fixates on the goblin, ready to run out and tackle it if it would start to move prematurely.

When focusing on the mask, it becomes clear that it is made of various woods and leathers to simulate a boy's face in the dark. It would likely be obvious when viewed directly that it is but a mask.

"Hrmph…" the wizard grunts, as the half-Orc sets about the business of whipping them into shape. He nods his head in the gloom, and readies to set off.

"Trina ought to go first. No doubt she has the best chance to get close!" he whispers to the others, waving the Halfling forward with his hand.

A halflings little legs don't seem sufficient for chasing down anyone or anything, but the goblin isn't very large. "They are about the same size, I suppose," says Malard. "It'll be a fair match-up, but we may have to ready to help follow quickly."

Oren is glad someone took the reigns on the matter and crouches low, ready to sneak.

"You got it Jabby! Let's go friends!"

Taking a wide path around the goblin, the elf sneaks as quietly as he can to the other side so as to pincer the little booger.

Trina creeps forward as fast as she dares, trying to remain unseen and unheard (40% hide in shadows, 45% move silently). I'll let the GM make the rolls, so I don't know if she is successful or not (the character always believes that they have succeeded until proven otherwise).

The Halfling, with movements practiced and innate, sneaks up on the goblin in the fading light. Not a crackle or snap is made as she moves forward, and before she knows it the goblin is just before her, facing away. Seemingly unaware.

Odilo holds back, and barely dares to breath, lest he rustle some dry leaf or bush in these parched lands, and gives their position away.

He lets the wet from his nose run down to his lip, so as to avoid the sniffling sound. The saltiness rests on his tongue in the gloom.

Maon prays for Ceranus to grant him the Entangle spell to capture the creature in a tangle of roots and vines.

...and may Ceranus take you!

As Trina sneaks up on the goblin, she is able to hear some low chanting from Maon behind her. Before she knows it, the very grass and shrubbery begins growing upwards and outwards, seemingly reaching for her and the goblin standing just before her! The goblin jumps to its feet, avoiding the worst of the groping vegetation, and starts trying to make its way through the thick shrubs to escape. However, it is clear that it will take some time, and so the group can quite easily surround the poor goblin who only wished to enjoy a sweet pie.

Trina throws her body against the goblin, grabbing for his legs and hoping to overbear him to the ground.

Trina attempts to avoid the entangling grass and still fell her foe. She avoids the worst of the spell, but the goblin's legs slip from between her arms.

As Trina sneaks up on the goblin, she is able to hear some low chanting from Maon behind her. She has enough time to leap out and take the pitiful creature to the ground, hearing it squeal out in shock! But before she knows it, the very grass and shrubbery begins growing upwards and outwards, seemingly reaching for her and the goblin standing just before her! Both Trina and the goblin are able to avoid the worst of the growing vegetation, and any escape attempts from the goblin will be severely hampered.

Jabrano rushes forward to intercept the goblin in case it gets away from Trina. And almost trips on her face as she makes a sudden stop at the mess of vines and roots that hadn't been there yet when she started running.

Trina seems to have the goblin under control for now. "Are you okay in there?" she asks.

His hand comes up reflexively and Malard slaps his forehead in disbelief. "Whoops!" Malard blurts out. "It was a good idea Maon. I think maybe we can surround them so our quarry can't escape."

Maon walks in unobstructed by the knots of tangled vines and roots. He grabs the goblin by the scruff of the neck and points his scimitar at its back before the spell wears off.

Don't try to escape foul creature. You are an agent of chaos and we've caught you redhanded!!

"Eee," squeals the goblin. "Don't kill me, all I did was eat the pie!" The creature speaks the common tongue surprisingly well. "What do you want with Grabbo?!" He squirms and squirms, but between the vines, halfling, and scimitar, he makes no progress in his escape.

Oren picks his way forward through the tangle of brambles to reenforce Maon.

"Well played Maon! Let us bind this little thief before it wriggles free."

Oren takes rope from his pack and ties the goblin's hands and feet,

"Well Grabbo, fantastic name by the way, we can play this one of two ways. You can lead us back to your people so we can talk about the river being lowered or we can make you into a pie. What will it be, eh?"

"Or we can just take him back to the farm, get some sleep, and interrogate him in the morning like civilised people. It's not as if we're going to go anywhere anyway in the middle of the night." Jabrano intervenes, trying to de-escalate the increasingly heated situation, "And we're definitely not killing someone over pie theft!" she added, raising her voice.

"And what if the others notice his absence before morning?" the wizard asks simply.

"If he's the kind of guy that gets missed, then they have already notice anyway." she replies. "Goblins tend to be nocturnal".

And thinking back to their earlier discussions, she ads "And weren't you the one that said it was too dark for most of our group to do anything at night in the first place?"

The goblin's head darts back and forth as the group discussed their plans right beside him. Underneath his rudimentary disguise is a tattered scale tunic, and a short sword seems to be tucked halfway into his pants to stay hidden. He also wears a cheaply crafted necklace of various rocks and feathers, likely a symbol of his tribe. The emblem means nothing to you, as goblin tribes are a silver a dozen.

"To be fair, if they come looking for Grabbo it would save us the trouble of looking for them," says Malard. "I'm in favor of exposing the fraud and asking questions when it's more convenient, like Jabrano."

"Thank you." she replies sincerely, relieved that somebody backs her up.

Reaction roll

The goblin seems taken with Oren's words... and the prospect of not ending up in a pie. "I'll take you to the hideout! I'll take you anywhere, just don't eat Grabbo! I'm all dirty and stinky and would taste so so so bad!"

Oren smiles at the little greenie,

"Seems like we have an accord then! And don't worry, I'm a vegetarian."

Grabbo's face makes it clear he has no idea what a 'vegetarian' is.

I say put him in a sack, and leave him bound. Lock him in a closet while we get some rest.

"Yes, that was me. But you did you hear me argue that we ought to hold a goblin of unknown importance captive all night? No doubt he’s told his tribe of his exploits, and they’d know where to come looking for him. That is, if he is of may importance to them."

Odilo approaches and stoops down to look over the goblin in the dark.

"Tell us Grabbo, who is so quick to sell out his tribe, who are you?"

"I'm not carrying him. He can walk. Do you even have a sack?"

Jabrano puts herself between Grabbo and the wizard.
"Well, what else were you planning to do after we'd captured him? Let him go so he can tell his people all about us? Just plain murder him for stealing pies?" She's practically shouting at him now.

She takes a deep breath and forces herself to calm down and looks around to see if they have attracted any attention from local wildlife or other dangers.

"We're too exposed here and you don't even know if he's alone."

The goblin nervously looks back and forth between all his captors, his eyes landing pleadingly on Oren from time to time. When Odilo asks him a question, he responds with, "I am Grabbo! I'm not selling my tribe, just offered to take you to them! You can't have them. And if you fight them, they'll kill you like that!" It's easy to imagine the goblin snapping his fingers at the last comment, but, alas, he is all tied up.

"It's probably assured we'd be no match for your tribe," Malard says, trying to sound friendly. "However, we're a bit concerned that you're here stealing food. Your tribe probably misses you Grabbo, don't they?"

"They don't even know I'm gone! Grabbo is really, really sneaky," the goblin says proudly. Given his knack for disguise, this isn't necessarily untrue.

Since we can find the tribe soon enough; and, we know that this one is not capable of damming a river on its own, I say we kill it. It is a creature of chaos, inherently evil, whose sole purpose is to steal, sneak about in the darkness and murder the innocent.
Maon is stoic and unmoving, though he speaks intensely and barely above a whisper.

Trina is appalled at the notion of killing the goblin. Yes, it was a thief, but that was certainly no reason to cost one's life. They had seen no evidence that the creature had murdered anyone, or indeed, committed any crime beyond stealing a pie here or there. "Always remember those less fortunate than yourself." Trina's father had told her. It was a code by which she lived. Sure, she was a thief herself, but she never took from those who could not afford it and always gave a share to charity (anonymously, of course). Maybe the goblin was in need, but even if that wasn't the case, killing it for crimes that it may not have committed was wrong!

"I think that we should have it lead us to its fellows. This little one is hardly enough to have caused all the trouble itself."

"Are you out of your godsdamned mind?" Jabrano demands of the Druid. "We're not killing anybody here. Not over some stolen pies."

It seems evident that the warrior is quite willing to back her words with steel if pushed.

"What's wrong with you anyway? You sound more like some fanatic Raevian war priest than a druid. Have you forgotten that the village has lived in peaceful coexistence with these "murderous agents of chaos" for ages without incident? What do you think is going to happen to that peace once the goblins find out some lunatic killed one of their people over a stolen pie?"

Oren puts a hand on Jabrano's shoulder to calm the warrior,

"Let us not forget ourselves,"

and with a stern look to Maon he adds,

"Any of us. This little thief has broken several of the king's laws and besides that is now a valuable asset. We will keep him alive and unharmed and in the morning he will take us to his people. We should keep watch over him tonight, I will take the lion's share of the chore if you want to relieve me before dawn Jabby?"

"Kill it?" Malard says. "Do we suddenly not like clues and information? That kind of violence has it's place, but this isn't the palace's dungeon. "

"You keep interesting company, Oren." the wizard says, shooing away the warrior as she becomes belligerent.

He similarly waves a hand to calm the Druid as he suggests killing the goblin.

"Grabbo." the wizard says, with attempted friendliness, though his head started to ache with the annoyance of the whole ordeal.

"The pies aren’t of any concern to us." he casts an eye back to the half-orc, wondering if she remembers why they are here.

"It’s the river, and it’s impact on the people below. What can you tell us about that?"

The goblin had been looking between the individuals as they had argued their sides. He looked particularly unpleased with the prospect of being killed or left in a sack; both of these caused him to squeal with fear! But when Odilo steps in, he calms somewhat. "Grabbo doesn't know about the river, but maybe Chief Gravelbeak or the blue lady knows! You can ask them when we go to my home!"

"The Blue Lady?" Odilo asks with some urgency.

"The blue lady," Grabbo says without the same urgency.

Oren smiles at Odilo,

"I keep only the very best company the human lands have to offer my good friend!"

Seeing as how things look to be calming, the elf leaves to secure a stall in one of the barns that might serve as a functional jail cell for the night.

"The Blue Lady probably isn't a goblin, is she?" Malard asks. "She's probably very nice to all of you though, maybe?"

To rest of the group he says, "We're starting to have something of a breakthrough I think, and who would have thought it would have come from one stolen pie."

When asked about the blue lady, Grabbo shrugs a gobliny shrug. "The blue lady sits in her cage. I don't think she likes us very much. And I'm pretty sure she's not a goblin." It seems like the goblin is growing more comfortable talking with the group, though it casts a wary eye towards those who threatened it death.

I still say kill it and be done with it. But...do as you will. I harbor no ill will to you good friends we just see things in a different light. I care not that it stole a pie.
Just know if I catch this foul beastling eyeing your throats instead of the lady's pies, I will not hesitate to put an end to it.
Maon gives the Goblin a look of hatred before sheathing his scimitar.

Perhaps heraldry for The Blue Lady?

Oren thinks back through the vast list of heraldry he has memorized over the years of his travels, and he is very confident he has not encountered any for a "Blue Lady". Whoever this person is, it is unlikely that she is royalty, petty or otherwise.

Jabrano relaxes when Oren intervenes and agrees to his proposal. "And please, it's just Jab."

She kneels down with Grabbo and relieves him of his blade. "Be nice and maybe you'll get it back when we're done" she tells him in Orcish as she tucks it into her belt.

"Tell us about this blue lady. Is she human? Why do you call her that. Why is she in a cage. How long has she been with the tribe?"

Odilo had studied the religions of man and demihuman in order to better help those under his charge. In his time, he has heard of many deities and demigods who have gone by countless names and titles. There have been a few "blue ladies" in the scrolls he has read, but none that seem to fit any of this narrative. The last Blue Lady had been in the coastal lands, and claimed to be a vengeful goddess who wished to reclaim her rocky shorelands. It had not ended well for her.

---

The goblin shrugs at all of Jabrano's questions. "She doesn't look human. She's too small. Like this one," he says, gesturing to Trina. "And blue. But maybe she's just really sad, living in that cage. She hasn't been there long, just since the chief took her." He squirms in his ropes, trying to get comfortable.

"I had thought it could be a water priestess. It could explain the river. Pah! It doesn’t fit together. No matter." he says, dismissing the theory with a wave of his hand. Bringing his sleeve to his nose, he rubs deep, before stooping to the goblin again.

"Could you retrieve this blue lady? You are sneaky. Perhaps… in exchange for continue access to the farm pies in future?"

Grabbo shakes his head emphatically. "No, no, no, no, no. I cannot take her from the chief. But I can bring you to her!" His widened eyes express a fear of his chief; a fear he was not willing to face for pies.

I don't want to split us up, but I think we need to see what is holding up this river. It might have nothing to do with these Goblins. Ask it...ahem, ask Grabbo if they have anything to do with the river being diverted. The water has to go somewhere and it must create a large dam otherwise.

Perhaps they are following the orders of this blue lady. He thinks to himself...could it be some aquatic fey being?

"I can't help but wonder if the lady herself isn't blue, and not her clothes," Malard says. "It's silly, but stranger things have happened."

"Indeed." Odilo agrees, his mind wandering to what he had heard said of Aquatic Elves. But he wondered if a single one had enough power to do this.

"Better to go at night, or at first light?" the wizard quizzes the Goblin further. He wondered if he ought to take the answer at face value, or to do the very opposite of what the sneaky goblin suggested.

Grabbo merely shrugs at Odilo's question. "Guards during the day, guards during the night. They might not want you there, day or night." He seems genuine in his indifference.

"Stealth then must be the option," Malard says. "Perhaps we should head back for the night, and set out in the morning. A few more hours likely won't change anything, right?"

Maon agrees.

"I don't know about this. Sneaking in to do what? Talk to the blue lady who's constantly under guard? If we get caught we'll look like thieves or assassins, and we'll be massively outnumbered. And, crucially, we still don't have any real reason to think the goblins are even connected to the dried up river so we'd be taking a huge risk on something that may not actually progress our mission or help the village, and could even endanger the village if the goblins think they are to blame for our transgression into their lair. Maybe just talking to them is an option here.
After all, the only real, confirmed issue with the goblins was Grabbo's misschief, which we've already solved."

She turns her attention at the goblin again. "Grabbo, tell us a bit about Chief Gravelbeak. How does he regard the village. What would he do if he knew you were sneaking out to steal from the humans?"

The Half-Orc seems completely at ease again, now that everybody has stopped talking about killing. Judging by some of the reactions of the group she may have overreacted, but she still feels like she did the right thing standing up for Grabbo. It's not just that though. It feels like Maon was talking about her. And he'd be a lot more justified if he had been. She resolves to talk about it with him privately.

The goblin gets a little excited when asked about his chief! "Gravelbeak is the biggest of us! Well, second biggest. Maybe third. But he's really good at fishing! And so smart! He keep the village happy, and keeps his tribe happy! He doesn't mind some small pranks, so I do my best to have fun pranking! He's a good chief."

"I see two way of approaching this, Oren chimes in,

"Either we are going to the goblin camp to free the Blue Lady by day when they are mostly asleep, or we are approaching by night to treat with their leader for an as of yet unknown reason. Since we have no motivation to free the Blue Lady other than the ideal that all living things should be free and we also have no reason to speak with the goblin king as of yet, perhaps we should first head up river to investigate the cause of the drought that we were employed to remedy. We could easily bring our new friend here with us and play his card at a point that it makes more sense to do so."

Our notions were correct from the beginning. Seeking out the farm to gather information then moving on to the river's source. I think we're on the right trail.

If we must parley with the Goblin Leader we should do so only after we gather more information about the river itself.

In the meantime, see that our "guest" doesn't run off and let us be off at the break of dawn. After a good breakfast of course. We should pay the widow for her hospitality on our way out.

She mentioned something about the mountain, maybe we should share that information as well, if possible. What say you all?

"Yes, the goblin shall have to accompany us for a day or so, if we search the river. We can’t have him…" and then he turns to Maon "… and maybe even the landlady here, telling anyone of our plan to treat with the goblins." he shrugs.

"Do you think she’ll talk?"

"Perhaps we should vote?" Malard suggests. "If we opt to bring Grabbo with, then perhaps it can ride my donkey."

Can we trust the widow to be discreet? Another question is, who besides us knows that our plans might include a parley with the Goblin Clan?

We should keep Grabbo from getting anywhere near her. As long as we keep our tongues in check, there'll be no need for trust.

Maon pulls his pipe from his pocket and looks out at the stars before having another bowl of tobacco.

Trina nods her agreement. "We bring Grabbo here with us and keep quiet about our intent. The fewer who know, the better. Would you like to come on an adventure with us, Grabbo?"

"My main reason for wanting to talk to this chief Gravelbeak was that he likely knows more about what happened to the river than the folks of the village, seeing as he lives a lot closer, and we just learned he's apparently a great fisherman, so the river would be of particular interest to him, and he likely wants the problem dealt with as well.

As for freeing the blue lady... I agree with Oren on the principle that people should be free. At the same time, Maon isn't exactly wrong in his belief that certain beings should be... contained. I just disagree that Grabbo is one of them. I'd rather like to know why the blue lady is locked up before setting her free. It also should not be our primary concern. The thing with the river threatens the entire village. We should fix that first, and then we can see what to do about the blue lady.

I'm fine with just going straight up the river, but I think our chances will be better with more information."

She disagrees with telling the widow much of what they're planning to do unless she asks, mostly because they don't really have much to tell other than basically "we're gonna go there and see what's up".
She also disagrees with "paying her for her hospitality".
"We're not her guests. She's our employer. She's paying us. And she's likely the wealthiest person in town anyway."

Odilo nods along; agreeing with much of what’s being said.

"A vote then? To the river first, and then treat with the goblins.

Or the goblins first, and hope that they might illuminate the issue with the river some more!"

The man thinks on it a moment. Mulling over the options and weighing them against each other.

"For my part, I think… I say we ought to see the goblin tribe first. Jabrano makes sense of it!"

Jabrano speaks truth. Maybe she can care for Grabbo. I know we are at odds on what to do with him, but I am at peace.

As for a parley with the Goblin leader, that could be our death at worst, or if he is amenable, dangerous at the least. I feel if we see what has become of the river we will be able to divine the truth with more clarity about the predicament.

If there is another element involved, such as magic, in the holding back of the river, I would want to know first hand rather than relying on second had information. No offense, although Goblins are quite clever indeed, they don't have a reputation for mental accuity. We've already conceded that they would not have blocked the river without guidance from an outside source.

That is, IF they have blocked the river and not someone else.

Maon continues to look at the stars, noting the brightest ones. He puffs at his pipe, the glow creating deep shadows across his face.

Maon realizes he may have suggested too much about their plans in the presence of the creature. When they release the creature to his own devices, and he is certain they will release him, he will reveal all he remembers of their conversations. Another fly in the ointment of secrecy!

He looks at Odilo

Knowledge is power, and we should not be unarmed...just a thought good man.

He nods at Jabrano, pipe glowing.

Trina shrugs. "I think that we should check out the river first. Hey, maybe something is jamming up the river because the goblins are holding the blue lady. Maybe she is a water spirit or something!" She seems very pleased to have thought of this idea.

The captive goblin shakes his head emphatically. "Grabbo doesn't want adventure. He just wants to go home."

"Well, it sounds settled then," Malard says. "The consensus is to speak with Gravelbeak, and bring Grabbo with us. Who knows? Maybe we have a bargaining chip."

The discussion continues for some time before weariness sets in, and it is decided that they will embark in the morning and head upriver with a planned detour of visiting the goblin chief should his location become apparent. And so the party makes their sleeping arrangements (with Oren spending most of the evening guarding Grabbo the goblin), and sleep quickly overtakes them.

---

The morning comes too soon, as it is wont to do in the midsummer, and Mrs. Cogs offers a hearty breakfast to those who wish to partake before they depart. Grabbo seems rather uncomfortable in the coming daylight, as it is commonly known that goblins are nocturnal. He doesn't burst into flames, however, and so he will be fine.

The walk from the Cog's farm to the weir and pool (a reasonable starting point for heading upstream) is short and easy. It takes less than an hour and the sun is still high in the sky, though midday starts making its way to afternoon. Without any incident, the group arrives at Speaking-Fish Weir.

A weir of large, loosely piled boulders stretches across the Dovedale River. It looks as if it might be possible to cross the river by stepping on the tops of the moss-covered stones. A 50ft-diameter pool has formed behind the weir. In normal times, the pool would be much larger and deeper, but the water has retreated to show cracked mud along the banks. Now that the river has been reduced to a trickle, the pool is only 2ft deep at its deepest point.

Colorful gravel lines the bottom of the pool. Rushes and willows, many of them drooping in the artificial drought, grow along the banks. Two 6ft tall, 2ft-diameter stone pillars stand at the top of the pool, one on either side of the river. A narrow footpath winds its way through the grass and reeds up the side of the pool and along the east side of the river. The footpath goes right by one of the stone pillars.

"Well, no matter what comes next, at least we've been able to start things off with a pleasant trek," Malard tells the others off-handedly. "It would be easy to fall prey to an ambush if we became too relaxed."

"Now where is that scoundrel? The talking fish that has directed the beavers to do their dirty work in damming the river?" the wizard jokes, feeling fresher in the new day’s sun!

He wanders his way towards the pillar that sits on their side of the river. He walks around it a number of times, and peers across the small bit of water to its twin.

"An ambush might be possible; though not from the water, eh?" he says, stooping to pick up a stone before plopping it down into the shallow pool.

As the pebble splashes down into the water, Odilo can see a flickering of beautiful color shimmering through the ripples. A small jet of water shoots out and squirts the mage in the face, and suddenly he can see a large trout of some sort floating near the water's surface. The fish looks at him with some intelligence in its fishy eyes, and then, most wondrous of all, it speaks!

"So sorry there, man, but I had to get your attention! My name is Salvel the Talking Trout. What is it that brings you to my little pool all the way out here?"

Maon sees this and makes his way down near Odilo. He is thrilled, and laughs with excitement. He calms down and crouches near, smiling, careful to cover his teeth, and listens as he looks on.

Malard is content to walk alongside his pack animal, with Grabbo on it's back. The scenery is enough for now, and he's happy to be off and hopefully, helping people. In fact, he was so relaxed that the talking trout barely even registered.

Trina is so thrown off by the talking trout that she very nearly falls into the water!

Oren is positively tickled by the appearance of the talking fish and makes his way up to the edge of the water so that he might converse with the creature.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance Selvel! I am Oren, formerly of the Eternal Lands, and this fine fellow at whom you have squirted is Odilo. In answer to your question we are here on our way to investigate the lowering of the water level in the river. Have you noticed anything in your travels that might shed light on the matter?"

Your comment about the awful state of the river appears to have piqued Salvel's interest. His shimmering scales glint in the sunlight as he swims closer.

"The river is low because the goblins have captured Unda the River Fairy," says the fish. "If you want to restore the river, you'll have to rescue her from their secret lair. The goblins captured Unda about a week ago. They've kept her alive; I would have felt it if she died. They're trying to catch me, too, but I've managed to avoid them so far. I've been trying to find someone to go into the goblin lair and rescue Unda, but you're the first likely prospects that I've encountered."

"If you go up the river, past the three stone giants, you'll find a tall weeping willow that the goblins have chewed on. The entrance to their tunnels is in a shallow cave near that tree. I've managed to find out that much, over the years, by watching them from the river."

The goblin, hiding from the river now that the fish has begun speaking, visibly nods his head at the comments of the willow tree. "That's where I was taking you!"

Oren turns and smiles at the goblin before turning back to Selvel.

"Have no fear my fishy friend, we will rectify the matter. Tell me, how did the goblins manage to capture one of the fairy folk? They are usually quite clever..."

The fish swims in a small circle before locking eyes with Oren. "That, I do not know, elf. Chief Gravelbeak has been trying to catch me for years, but I've been able to evade him. Perhaps Unda did not think they would try capturing her! The goblins around here are rather clever."

"Told you it was some kind of fairy nonsense..." Jabrano said. The Half-Orc had been in much better spirits since they left the farm behind them.
"Is this... normal? A whole river just shut down because of one fairy? What if she gets ill or has an accident? Bye bye river?" she asks, only half seriously. "All kidding aside, that's not good, assuming this information is correct."

She turns towards Grabbo, who still wears the hat she borrowed him: "So... let's say we want to convince chief Gravelbeak to give up his prisoner, how'd we best go about that?"

Trina fairly dances about at the news of the captured fairy. "I knew it!" she proclaims gleefully. Then, realizing that her enthusiasm might be mistaken for joy at the fairy's capture, she suddenly stops, becoming somber. "Not good that she was captured, but I thought that might be what was going on around here!" she explains.

Odilo brings a heavy brown sleeve up to dry his face and beard, before grumbling something about trout hospitality. He’s more than a little shocked to see that there was, in fact, a speaking trout here. Not so much that such a creature exists, but rather that village rumored had turned out to be true in this case…

"We’ve been quite wrapped up in what to do about these goblins. Are they to be parlayed with? Or expelled by force? You’d know better than most!"

The whole story from the talking fish has Malard shaking his head in disbelief. "I don't know know what bothers me more, the three stone giants, or that the goblins are eating a tree. Who ever heard of such a thing?" he says to the others. "The relaxing sojourn has taken a dangerous turn if what our fishy informant says is true. Grabbo, is this the only way up the river?"

The talking trout locks eyes with Odilo as the mage asks it of goblin-handling methods. If a fish could shrug, you suspect that's what Salvel would be doing about now. "These goblins are clever. Rather clever, much like many around the area. Not sure why the Dovedale is so special in this way, but that's the way it is. I would be careful with the goblins, both in word and action. They are wise enough to parley with the town and farmers, and strong enough that other tribes have not moved in. You may have luck trading this goblin for Unda, but that depends on how favored this one is."

---

The goblin hides behind Jabrano as Malard questions it. The new friendship with the half-orc had allowed him to open up some, but he seemed to be more attached to the warrior than to any other. He replies with a squeaky voice, "The tree makes us feel better. And we can go upriver on either side. Either one is fine."

Jabrano shrugs. "It sort of makes sense about he willow. Used to know a guy who swore by this foul tea he made from ground-up willow bark as a hangover cure. And he was kind of an expert... on hangovers, I mean."

She eyed the fish somewhat suspiceously. No way if that an actual talking fish. Fish don't have the parts to talk with. Probably some other fairy that chooses to look like a fish.

"I doubt Grabbo is a very valuable hostage, but him being alive and treated well should play in our favour if we have to negotiate. The goblins' continued good relationship with the village and general being left alone being conditional on the river being restored may be a better way to make our case."

Bargaining with these goblins sounds like a fairy tale to me. However, if you all feel it has merit, then we should proceed. How far is this encampment? Is there enough daylight left to get there safely. Grabbo may yet prove his worth here shortly.

Can I call on my Spider friend to join me once we near the Goblin demesne?

"By the sounds of it, we wake into overwhelming peril. Perhaps not immediate; but rather possible. If there’s anything… from the years you’ve watched, and outsmarted, them, that you feel would help us, please share it!" the old, sniffling wizard asks of the fish.

His mind went to the notion of threatening the tree, should things go sour. But the wizard didn’t share the notion, for fear of further upsetting the woodland guardian in their ranks.

---

Along the walk to the the pool:
As Jabrano gets to know the goblin, it begins to open up to her. It jokes about the tricks it has played and the pies it has stolen, but never once mentions murder or dark deeds. The way it laughs about its minor crimes, however, suggests that it has a very different morality than the warrior. She doesn't get the impression that the are murderous agents of chaos, but they are still agents of chaos in some manner.

---

To Odilo's questions, the trout swims in few small circles, possibly in thought. "I can't tell you much, but I can tell you this. The chief has been known to fish during the daytime; it would seem he is no longer affected by the bright light. Also, at least one goblin knows how to swim, though I'd prefer it to keep its dirty self out of my water. They rarely cross my path, other than the chief, and I have not spent much- any, really- time in their lair." While one would be surprised at a talking fish, the sarcasm was even less expected.

"Interesting. Perhaps if we lie in wait we might catch the chief in the open without having to go to his home where he has the advantage..."

Maon calls out to Sheskarith. He waits to see if she is near...

"What's your relationship to the goblins' captive, if you don't mind me asking?" Malard asks the fish. "No offense of, of course. It just isn't everyday I meet a talking fish that has all the current gossip."

"A fine plan. Assuming he doesn’t take a guard with him on these fishing trips. Though the tribe does seem quite confident in its security; which works in our favor."

He turns to look at the Halfling, sizing the small folk up!

"We’d need to sneak up on the creature…"

A rustling in the brush lets Maon know that the spider is very, very near. It must have followed them, hidden in whatever foliage it could find.

---

The fish swims in yet another circle before turning to look at Malard. "Unda protects the river, and keeps it flowing. She lives at the great spring, further upriver. She and I often swap stories or gossip about the other animals around here."

"The chief often comes in the early morning or late evening, when the sun hasn't quite risen or set. You may have quite a wait ahead of you, my friends." Salvel the Talking Trout seems to face upwards towards the sun, making its way towards noon. It is still early, but the sun has been up for some time now. Had the chief been fishing already, you would have missed him.

"Unless you were to present yourself as a tempting mid-day catch!"

A few indignant bubbles rise to the surface as the fish silently protests at the idea of being used for bait.

"Honestly, I don't see how this plan can work..." Jabrano says.
"An ambush strikes me as a terrible first move in a negotiation. It's going to immediately turn him unfavourable towards us, and it's not as if can actually release her because he won't have her with him. He's going to need to get back to his home where he has the advantage to do that.
I mean, look, put you in his place. A bunch of armed vagabonds want you to talk you into parting with something you treasure, and their best idea to get you to give up this treasure is to sneak up on you while you go fishing?"

A different approach is necessary. You have the right of it again Jabrano. And yet, if he is wont towards violence first ask questions later, we'll be in the same situation. We will have to parley with him at any rate, however, if we approach him alone we may be able to speak with him on safer terms than in his lair.

"Perhaps it might be worth getting closer and scouting things out a bit," Malard says. "We have a plan, but we don't have quite enough information to make it work."

"We are at the disadvantage in almost every case." Odilo laments. "That just comes with the territory." he says, meaning both figuratively and literally….

"Perhaps our… companion…"

Captive…

… might organize a meeting on good terms? It might be that the goblins lament the very situation they have unknowingly caused. And we’ll be home by supper."

I like your optimism Odilo, but is that really more likely than the violence or at least the brutish ways they are more likely to be familiar with. I say we scout the fishing hole and lay in wait for the creature. Not to attack, but to secure a neutral ground to parley with the Goblin leader. However, if you'd rather take another approach. I will go along. Meanwhile I must see to Sheskarith. I won't wander farther than the treeline my firends.friends.

Maon walks a few feet into the wooded area and calls on Sheskarith at slightly lower than normal volume.