1: Dovedale

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.