Merwor Ziltix had lived in Greenest for practically his entire life. He served faithfully as the town's alchemist, focused mostly on developing recipes which would best benefit the needs of local farmers. He would say he considered his youth to be quite wild, traveling occasionally in search of additional knowledge and insight into his craft. He spent more than a decade searching for information on how to craft an alchemical whetstone, and though his questions took him far and wide he found in the end that the needs of the project were far too exotic for a simple gnome of modest means. He was no adventurer, after all, and the true use of the item he wished to craft served no purpose in the life he envisioned for himself. Merwor abandoned his pursuit, but never his fascination.
He therefore felt a certain sense of glee when Tross the Hound ambled into his shop, asking questions about training in alchemy. Merwor had seen this man traversing his home town through the night, saving many who were in need. He witnessed as Tross raised his hand in defiance to the sky and scared away the mighty blue dragon. He reveled as this man, and the strangers who were obviously his friends, gave themselves over to risk and danger in order to preserve the safety of a group of strangers. Merwor had never considered sharing his extensive knowledge with another person, but the deeds of this man were far more than worthy. In fact, maybe Tross would possess the means and fortitude to accomplish the very thing Merwor had believed he would forever abandon in actually crafting an alchemical whetstone.
Hero or not, altruistic or selfish, gnomish pragmatism dictated the process of training alchemy would bear a certain expense. Tross frowned in disappointment upon learning of the costs associated with his desire to learn a new trade, but Merwor was ready with a solution. His longstanding arrangement with the herbalist Melanie Spinwright afforded him a great many herbs at steeply reduced costs. However, Melanie had proven withdrawn in the day following the raider attack. Her family's pearl necklace had been stolen. If Tross could prove himself once more by retrieving that item, Merwor was certain he could leverage this into an even more favorable contract with the Stem or Petal shop. So, he offered a deal to Tross, saying that he could cut the costs of training significantly if the adventurer would be willing to help the herbalist with her problem.
Not long after, Leosin had managed to gather Tross and his companions together again, entreating them with a fresh plea.
"After all you've done already for me personally and for the people of Greenest, I hate to ask anything more from you. But the need is great, and I dare to hope that you can aid me one time more. I need you to return to the cultists' camp. You know your way around it now. If the cultists are preparing to conduct another raid, or a large body of them marches away, or if anything substantial is carried into or out of that cave, I need to know. If you have a chance to get into the camp and look around again, that would be the ideal way to spot anything that's changed."
The half-elf paused, observing the frustrated looks on the faces of the party and thought to say something more about the need, but left them instead with a simple quip and a wry smile.
"I don't recommend letting yourselves get captured."
Leosin wasn't wrong in his observation. Our heroes, having only just escaped the overwhelming might of the cult, was not anxious to return to the camp and possibly stir up more trouble. Nevertheless, they re-provisioned, gathered what rest they could, and made their way back to the place where they had just rescued Leosin.
They found the camp almost completely abandoned. The stinking kobold huts had all been burned, although most of the other dwellings remained standing along with the guard towers. Almost all of the structures were completely abandoned. Just two cooking fires drew the adventurers' attention to the only huts still in use. These were occupied by the camp's hunters who appeared to be actively ignoring the presence of our heroes.
Wagon tracks led from the camp in all directions, indicating a hasty and scattered departure. Tross was able to observe that the deepest tracks headed to the west, indicating most of the wagons traveled in that direction. Shocked, and unsure whether they should proceed or simply return to Greenest, the party spent about an hour searching the abandoned structures. This exercise revealed that even though a lot of materials were left behind, all of it was garbage like cracked pottery, rusty knives, soiled clothing, soiled bedding, cheap cookware and wine turned to vinegar.
Attempting to interrogate the taciturn hunters revealed little. These men seemed completely unconcerned about the cultists and their activities, only sticking around because the pay was still quite good. One of the hunters did inform the group that the camp was dissolved within hours of the noisy discovery that the "half-elf" had gone missing.
They approached the cave cautiously, dispatching the two dragonclaws who were still stationed as guards at the entrance. After this, they found themselves fighting a guard drake and two urd who also fell swiftly before the adventurers' blades. Following Seraphina's lead, the group edged inward to a small alcove at the end of the entrance. Here the path continued down the trapped stairs where the halfling had decided to turn back last time. Examining the cave carefully, they discovered an additional, concealed passage leading to the south. The group decided to take this route instead of passing through the fungus garden.
The first room they came across was a mostly empty cavern littered with a few overturned boxes, broken items, scattered coins and small gems dropped during the hasty evacuation. There was also one lone cultist who was sleeping soundly on the floor near several empty wine bottles. Tross grimly unsheathed his greatsword and ended this unfortunate soul. A quick search of the room gathered a not insignificant amount of wealth.
Groldead Doomdrifter, or "Grol" as those who knew his name preferred to call him, had one of those names. The kind of name that makes people assume all sorts of things about a person before ever actually getting to know them. He could never say why his sire would have chosen such a moniker, but he longed for the day when he could prove himself worthy of a better name. Or at least a less pessimistic one. Ending up in the employ of the Cult of the Dragon was nobody's fault but his own, though. It used to be unique and powerful. He would meet with his fellow cultists from time to time to make grand, impossible plans for the future of the world and the power they might obtain from draconic allies. He never considered whether he took any of it seriously or not. It just lent weight to his threats when bar fights got out of hand.
This new direction and sense of purpose within the cult, frankly, scared him to death. Groldedd had come to regret every moment he'd devoted to the cult over the course of the past few months. Watching former friends commit unspeakable acts had sobered his mind - too much. Perhaps that is why he sought solace in the drink when word came that it was time to transport the great hoard northward. He wanted to slip away from it all, and that's exactly what he did. When the final loads of treasure were hauled out of the treasure room, Groldedd volunteered to make final inspections. Then he, unaware that any cultists remained behind, promptly downed four bottles of wine. This left him blissfully unconcerned about the atrocities he had scarred his own life with. It left him unaware of his surroundings. It left him unconscious on a hard stone floor. It left him ultimately defenseless against Tross' blade which cut all of his many, many regrets short.
In the end, "...dead Doomdrifter" proved an appropriate name for Grol.
The next area they encountered was a room full of 8 cultists and 3 guards, who gave no quarter to the interlopers. The guard Temath Jinkram and three cultists, Derlic Sie, Fergom Rusk and Sem Chikreg, slipped out the back of the room while the remaining two guards and five cultists fought valiantly, but ineffectually against the might of our heroes. Sirded Denam, Enns Enzalda, Sanih Jahlom, Lalmi Nosk, Vihu Bojid, Kegan Dersk and finally Luvu Umzaka all met their end serving their master.
Their pursuit brought the adventurers into Frulam Mondath's private chamber, where the cultist leader and her protectors were hastily gathering supplies for a retreat. Mondath was a survivor at heart, but her position within the cult was tenuous. Her core guard had started to disintegrate with Langdedrosa's dissatisfaction. The young half-dragon thrived on honor and had taken Lennithon's retreat very personally. Frulam knew better than to question the honor of a dragon and initially hoped that Langdedrosa would drop the issue. However, her lieutenant had grown cold and aloof in response to her placation. Mondath was even now considering whether it would be prudent to abandon the cult to make what she could of her remaining life.
A group of hapless adventurers would hardly be the end of her. Mondath initially hoped to distract Langdedrosa with the task of dispatching these intruders, but their pursuit was quicker than she anticipated. It was no matter, she would kill them herself. Perhaps she might even stage her own death in the process. She had options.
Little did she know our heroes were in the business of eliminating options.
After the cult leader had fallen, dead, at their feet, our heroes quickly searched the room for valuables, snatching Frulam's personal purple cult of the dragon regalia.
He therefore felt a certain sense of glee when Tross the Hound ambled into his shop, asking questions about training in alchemy. Merwor had seen this man traversing his home town through the night, saving many who were in need. He witnessed as Tross raised his hand in defiance to the sky and scared away the mighty blue dragon. He reveled as this man, and the strangers who were obviously his friends, gave themselves over to risk and danger in order to preserve the safety of a group of strangers. Merwor had never considered sharing his extensive knowledge with another person, but the deeds of this man were far more than worthy. In fact, maybe Tross would possess the means and fortitude to accomplish the very thing Merwor had believed he would forever abandon in actually crafting an alchemical whetstone.
Hero or not, altruistic or selfish, gnomish pragmatism dictated the process of training alchemy would bear a certain expense. Tross frowned in disappointment upon learning of the costs associated with his desire to learn a new trade, but Merwor was ready with a solution. His longstanding arrangement with the herbalist Melanie Spinwright afforded him a great many herbs at steeply reduced costs. However, Melanie had proven withdrawn in the day following the raider attack. Her family's pearl necklace had been stolen. If Tross could prove himself once more by retrieving that item, Merwor was certain he could leverage this into an even more favorable contract with the Stem or Petal shop. So, he offered a deal to Tross, saying that he could cut the costs of training significantly if the adventurer would be willing to help the herbalist with her problem.
Not long after, Leosin had managed to gather Tross and his companions together again, entreating them with a fresh plea.
"After all you've done already for me personally and for the people of Greenest, I hate to ask anything more from you. But the need is great, and I dare to hope that you can aid me one time more. I need you to return to the cultists' camp. You know your way around it now. If the cultists are preparing to conduct another raid, or a large body of them marches away, or if anything substantial is carried into or out of that cave, I need to know. If you have a chance to get into the camp and look around again, that would be the ideal way to spot anything that's changed."
The half-elf paused, observing the frustrated looks on the faces of the party and thought to say something more about the need, but left them instead with a simple quip and a wry smile.
"I don't recommend letting yourselves get captured."
Leosin wasn't wrong in his observation. Our heroes, having only just escaped the overwhelming might of the cult, was not anxious to return to the camp and possibly stir up more trouble. Nevertheless, they re-provisioned, gathered what rest they could, and made their way back to the place where they had just rescued Leosin.
They found the camp almost completely abandoned. The stinking kobold huts had all been burned, although most of the other dwellings remained standing along with the guard towers. Almost all of the structures were completely abandoned. Just two cooking fires drew the adventurers' attention to the only huts still in use. These were occupied by the camp's hunters who appeared to be actively ignoring the presence of our heroes.
Wagon tracks led from the camp in all directions, indicating a hasty and scattered departure. Tross was able to observe that the deepest tracks headed to the west, indicating most of the wagons traveled in that direction. Shocked, and unsure whether they should proceed or simply return to Greenest, the party spent about an hour searching the abandoned structures. This exercise revealed that even though a lot of materials were left behind, all of it was garbage like cracked pottery, rusty knives, soiled clothing, soiled bedding, cheap cookware and wine turned to vinegar.
Attempting to interrogate the taciturn hunters revealed little. These men seemed completely unconcerned about the cultists and their activities, only sticking around because the pay was still quite good. One of the hunters did inform the group that the camp was dissolved within hours of the noisy discovery that the "half-elf" had gone missing.
They approached the cave cautiously, dispatching the two dragonclaws who were still stationed as guards at the entrance. After this, they found themselves fighting a guard drake and two urd who also fell swiftly before the adventurers' blades. Following Seraphina's lead, the group edged inward to a small alcove at the end of the entrance. Here the path continued down the trapped stairs where the halfling had decided to turn back last time. Examining the cave carefully, they discovered an additional, concealed passage leading to the south. The group decided to take this route instead of passing through the fungus garden.
The first room they came across was a mostly empty cavern littered with a few overturned boxes, broken items, scattered coins and small gems dropped during the hasty evacuation. There was also one lone cultist who was sleeping soundly on the floor near several empty wine bottles. Tross grimly unsheathed his greatsword and ended this unfortunate soul. A quick search of the room gathered a not insignificant amount of wealth.
Groldead Doomdrifter, or "Grol" as those who knew his name preferred to call him, had one of those names. The kind of name that makes people assume all sorts of things about a person before ever actually getting to know them. He could never say why his sire would have chosen such a moniker, but he longed for the day when he could prove himself worthy of a better name. Or at least a less pessimistic one. Ending up in the employ of the Cult of the Dragon was nobody's fault but his own, though. It used to be unique and powerful. He would meet with his fellow cultists from time to time to make grand, impossible plans for the future of the world and the power they might obtain from draconic allies. He never considered whether he took any of it seriously or not. It just lent weight to his threats when bar fights got out of hand.
This new direction and sense of purpose within the cult, frankly, scared him to death. Groldedd had come to regret every moment he'd devoted to the cult over the course of the past few months. Watching former friends commit unspeakable acts had sobered his mind - too much. Perhaps that is why he sought solace in the drink when word came that it was time to transport the great hoard northward. He wanted to slip away from it all, and that's exactly what he did. When the final loads of treasure were hauled out of the treasure room, Groldedd volunteered to make final inspections. Then he, unaware that any cultists remained behind, promptly downed four bottles of wine. This left him blissfully unconcerned about the atrocities he had scarred his own life with. It left him unaware of his surroundings. It left him unconscious on a hard stone floor. It left him ultimately defenseless against Tross' blade which cut all of his many, many regrets short.
In the end, "...dead Doomdrifter" proved an appropriate name for Grol.
The next area they encountered was a room full of 8 cultists and 3 guards, who gave no quarter to the interlopers. The guard Temath Jinkram and three cultists, Derlic Sie, Fergom Rusk and Sem Chikreg, slipped out the back of the room while the remaining two guards and five cultists fought valiantly, but ineffectually against the might of our heroes. Sirded Denam, Enns Enzalda, Sanih Jahlom, Lalmi Nosk, Vihu Bojid, Kegan Dersk and finally Luvu Umzaka all met their end serving their master.
A group of hapless adventurers would hardly be the end of her. Mondath initially hoped to distract Langdedrosa with the task of dispatching these intruders, but their pursuit was quicker than she anticipated. It was no matter, she would kill them herself. Perhaps she might even stage her own death in the process. She had options.
Little did she know our heroes were in the business of eliminating options.
After the cult leader had fallen, dead, at their feet, our heroes quickly searched the room for valuables, snatching Frulam's personal purple cult of the dragon regalia.