Chapter Six: The Muster of Caltlikrath

The fifth and sixth days of travel pass without incident. The weather is mild, the campsites unremarkable, the people the party passes on the road forgettable. But here the forest encroaches very close to the side of the river the party is traveling along, and early in the morning on the seventh day of travel, the party comes to a large wooden sign posted alongside the road:

BEWARE THE BLACK BEAST OF THE WOOD!
NINE NOW HAVE BEEN TAKEN
WE CAN NOT FORAGE NOR HUNT
THE LORDS IN THER HIGH PLACES DO NOTHING
THE GODS DO NOTHING
DO NOT ENTER THE WOOD!

On the lower margin of the sign, smaller words are written, by a different hand:

KNOW THAT THE BLACK BEAST IS YOUR PUNISHMENT FOR ABANDONING THE OLD GODS OF BLOAD AND MAKING SACRIFICE INSTEAD TO THE WICKED FOREIGN GODS OF HAZARD. REPENT FOOLS OR MAY THE BLACK BEAST TAKE YOU ALL.

The next village is about two miles upriver.

"I'm always intrigued to see what's behind such warnings," Domarc says. "And I'll wager with my holy friend a couple of gold coins that it won't be a cat this time, just to keep it interesting. But I do wonder - does not the pointed hat crew seek to connect with an older god?"

The river road is your quickest way to Hazard, yes.

I made a plot notes thread!

I believe, at one point, somebody affiliated with the 6PC referred to themselves as "The Servants of the Six-Pronged Crown." Anyway, that is their full name that they use for themselves.

The party advances to the village, a long strip of tall wooden houses on the river side of the road with some vegetable farms and sheep pasture on a clearing on the other side. On a hillock at the northwest end of the village sits a squat pentagonal house of worship. At the center of the row of houses is a large inn and tavern; the sign hanging above its door depicts a trout with an apple in its belly. A large group of traders appears to be leaving the inn just now, packing up horse-drawn wagons and bickering with the innkeeper over the settlement of the bill. One young merchant with a ridiculously long feather arcing out of his puffy hat seems to be offering an overly emotional goodbye to bored-looking barmaid. Across the road, there are children plucking turnips under the unwatchful eye of a fat farmer practicing a meandering tune on a wooden flute.

The merchants are finely dressed, with sartorial affects Mordred recognizes from Hazard. Their horses are healthy-looking, their wagons in good condition. There are four wagons, each with a driver and a pair of armed guards, and seven merchants. Mordred cannot see what lies under the tarps on their wagons, but they appear to be motivated by commerce and profit.

"We come from Hazard, vagabond," says one of the merchants, a young man with a long mustache and a teal sugarloaf hat. "Now, be on your way and harass us not."

"The black beast!" one of the older merchants says derisively, chuckling.