Session 4 - The Wolf Lodge and the Willow

Hex 5612 - Still in Lydonia

…having left Nora at the Cup & Candle, on the way to the center of the city

“I’m going to check with some of the mercantile guilds in the Silk Quarter,” Rodolfio tells Orren. “Maybe they’ve done business with dryads. Hells, maybe they’ll have a mirror to sell us!”

“I think I’d want some sort of proof that a dryad owned it,” Orren looks a little dubious. “Not just a merchant’s word.”

“Spoken like an Alkeshi,” Rodolfio chuckles. “Fair enough. I’ll meet you back at the Cup & Candle at dinner time.” They part cheerfully, leaving Orren to make his way to the Pale Quarter.

Headquarters of the Wolves of Lydonia

In the periphery of the King’s High Keep, the Wolves’ Lodge is resplendent with banners, built in an ascending set of tiers up a majestic silvery oak. The Hall is as much Gazebo as Headquarters, with what are clearly established adventurers of all sorts coming and going freely. Orren can’t help but feel a deep sense of awe and envy, the resonance of a dozen childhood stories filling his heart. But among the chattering rangers he fails tospot anyone who seems standing by to welcome visitors.

“Excuse me,” he interrupts a group studying a massive map of the Sablewood on the wall. “Is there a receiving officer in the hall today?”

Oracle Check: 13. There is. Is it Sir Eledin Mithriel himself?
Oracle Check: 14. Commander of the King's Guard in this very hall.

The group trades glances, and points at a tall and imposing silver-haired elf in once-beautiful leaf-ornamented armor, but clearly patched and altered in the pursuit of hard use.

Orren approaches, and waits quietly while Sir Eledin concludes some business with a subordinate. Finally the regal elf turns to him and looks him up and down.

“You’re not one of mine, and I see no badge on you. If you have business with me, make it quick, please.”

“I’ve just journeyed from the North, with news. One of the king’s investigators bade me here, for I hope to be welcomed in your ranks, if I can prove myself.”

Sir Eledin stares at Orren with calculation, and after a moment, gives him a nod to continue, so Orren swallows and chooses his words.

“Three nights ago on the road our camp was visited by a great Unicorn, who gave us tidings of spiderfolk breeding in the ravine. She also mentioned strange howlings at night, and fears corruption in the Western woods.”

“Such news matches other reports,” Sir Eledin considered. “So the confirmation has value. You must present yourself as noble-hearted to be visited by such a creature, if I were to take your words on faith.”

Orren winces, realizing that his words could be easily mistaken for an aspirant’s falsehood, and that his report lacked any specifics. He decides to divulge everything, regardless of any perceivable dubiousness.

“It’s… yes, I… understand that this sounds a little ridiculous; but we were also… waylaid by fairies, attempting to kidnap babies. Or children, I suppose. My companion is one of the smaller folk; so perhaps they mistook him for… well… that’s neither here nor there…”

Sir Eledin begins to look visibly impatient, Orren attempts to hurry.

“…Anyway, regardless, we, uh, threatened them back a bit, and they divulged that they were working for a witch, some sort of wood-hag named Mammy Crookbranch…”

Orren didn’t see any recognition on the Captain’s face, but didn’t see him rejecting the name either.

“Anyway, a witch trying to steal children, well, that’s not a thing my friend and I want to leave hanging, I guess, but it also seemed prudent that we tell someone before harrying off into the woods like a couple of, well… foolhardy vigilants.”

“Ah. So you mean to investigate this yourself? And, I assume, report back if you survive such an investigation?”

Orren nodded firmly, and Sir Eledin beckoned over a young scribe, who apparently was in hidden attendance.

“Tell him what you just told me,” Sir Eledin says, “I mean, not the stuff about the unicorn, but this report of a Witch and where you were told she was - you did think to acquire such information, yes?”

Orren nods, and Sir Eledin gives him his first look of respect.

Lord-Captain Eledin Mithriel

“Well, there. You’ve told me. I’m Sir Eledin Mithriel, Lord-Captain of King Sindalian and Commander of the Wolves of Lydonia. Should your absence remain sustained, we may look into it if we can afford the time or attention. What is your name?”

“Orren Nightleaf, sir,” he stammers, his eyes growing wide.

• Oracle, is Sir Eledin gonna be a nice guy and give Orren words of encouragement?

Oracle Check: 19. Elendil sees a spark of herocism in Orren.

Sir Eledin gives him a nod and puts a gauntleted hand on his shoulder. “Well, Orren,” he says, looking him in the eye. “Witches are dangerous, so may fortune favor you. When you return, I’d like to hear your report personally, and then we can talk about the oaths of the badge. What say you?”

Orren nods while blushing, and the Lord-Captain turns and heads back towards some stairs. Orren then looks to the scribe, who was scribbling down his name.

“Wow…. that was… was that…?”

“Sure was,” the scribe says, shrugging. “Your report, please?”

Orren gives it, and then has to go have a sit-down.

• It’s not yet dinnertime, so Orren attempts to find Rodolfio in the Silk Quarter to reunite earlier.

Orren WIS check (hard), can he find Rodolfio among the Guild Halls?
Rolled an unadjusted 3. Orren is out of luck, and heads back to the Inn to keep Nora company.

• Rodolfio is asking around amongst caravan guards and I don’t really feel that has to be roleplayed out, but I did read some interesting stuff in the Lydonia lore that might be fun to explore, let’s see if the dice lead us there.
• I think in standard Shadowdark, you shouldn’t roll for things like rumors or clues, any focused investigation should reveal everything unless there’s some dangerous element to the investigation.
• So let’s just make this an Oracle question: Does anyone in Rodo’s Mercantile network know about the Greenshrine?

Oracle Check: 14. They do! Let's roleplay this out.

Hex 5612 - The Silk Quarter, then River Run

Rodolfio approaches a group of mercenary guards he’s aquaintance-level familiar with as their caravan is starting to unload.

“Guardian’s greetings and good morning, you fellas know any dryads?”

“Hey look, it’s little Benniti. You made it back to Lydonia in one piece. How was the fish-city gig?”

“Terrible, and smelly. Stay away from Estinn unless you absolutely have to… they look at you far too long without blinking up there. But seriously, you guys know of any dryad groves?”

The usual traded looks of questioning back and forth, not without some snark, and then one of the mercenaries looks back down at Rodolfio.

“Are you, uh…. looking for some fun out there, Rodo?”

Rodolfio stares back, he’s been around the block a few times and knows he’s being ribbed.

“First of all, that sort of thing is usually a wood-nymph thing, you gutterhead. And second of all, I’ll have you know, it’s for official business.”

“I think I know a dirty limerick about wood nymphs,” another guard says, munching from a bag of seeds. “But what I don’t know,” he sighs, a little wistfully, “is a damn thing about dryads.”

“Yeah, me neither,” says another. “I suppose they’re out there, somewhere; but I’ve never heard anything. Sorry, Rodolfio.”

“You know who would know,” seed-muncher speaks up again, “Is that tree gal over at the Greenshrine.”

“Greenshrine?” Rodolfio asks. “The hippie part of town past Raven Run?”

“Yup,” the merc nods. “There’s a old tree there, what can talk, apparently. Knows all sorts of stuff about the forest.”

“Huh,” Rodolfio says, scratching his sideburn. “I guess I’ve got time before the sun starts to set to go check it out. Thanks buddy! Maybe see ya round next season.”

 

 

Rodolfio heads out to River Run, a part of the Grove-City comprised of artisans and crafters. There’s much to admire from his elf-trained eyes, but he’s on a deadline. The main byway concludes at a sun-dappled shrine among towering maples, where waystones and dolmen-shelters surround a small hillock with a single beautifully hunched over willow tree. Rodolfio approaches, looking around and feeling a little silly.

“Uh…. excuse me…. hullo?” he says, first in common, then shakes his head and repeats it in Sylvan.

Deru-Daka the Treant in Greenshrine

One of the thickest branches twists and turns, revealing the wooden face pockmarked by aging burls. “Yes, dear?” the face says in the kind of kindly, aging voice that makes you want to fetch groceries.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Oh mighty willowness. I’m to be venturin’ into the forest, and could use some advice.”

“Oh, that’s nice for you, the forest is quite lovely. I do hope you have a lovely time in it. You’re not the only one who comes by and asks for blessings, you know. You can call me Deru-Daku, if you like.”

“You are clearly a being of great wisdom,” Rodolfio nods, “but more than blessings, we’re on a sort of quest thing, facing some dangerous foe. And, uh, part of the quest requires some help from a dryad. I was wonderin’ if you happened to know of any?”

• Good question, let’s take it to the oracle, high means I roll up a dryad, low means Deru-Daku starts questioning Rodolfio’s intentions

Oracle Check: 19. Guess we're making a dryad!

“Ah, yes I do, as a matter of fact,” Deru says, nodding in the way of a tree trying to remember things (a smaller branch scratches her chin as she looks into the distance), “A really sweet young thing, well, young to me, which is most everyone of you, I suppose. She visited me a number of years ago, and the birds have since told me that she’s in the neighborhood.”

“Neighborhood, like in terms of… er… Lydonia here? Or more in tree terms like, somewhere in the whole forest? It’s a very big forest.”

“Yes I guess it would be, for someone so small,” the kindly face looks down at Rodolfio and a branch pats his head in an incredbly patronizing way. Rodolfio is about to protest but she continues. “I’ve heard of Lydonia, of course, all this very recent hubub and elf-stuff happening over there-ish.”

Rodolfio looks back towards the rest of the city which he is fairly certain has been here for more than a dozen centuries. He has no idea how old treants can be but he’s starting to think Deru is messing with him.

• Rolling a random direction and distance.

“But yes, little miss Frond. I think she’s in the neighborhood of, uh, barely an hour’s birdflight away. In that direction.” Deru-Daka gestures a branch into the Southern forest. “Her name is Frond Daraka-Dawn.”

“That direction?” Rodolfo clarifies, pointing himself and trying to align to the branch. The face of Deru-Daka nods with a kind of creaking rocking chair sound. Rodolfio immediately wished that he had a compass to compare to. “And the birds that told you this, would you say that they are ... like… fifteen-mile-per-hour type birds, or so?”

The tree shrugs, giving Rodolfio the impression that she might not even know what an hour is.

“Hey, if those birds come back today,” the halfling says, “could you ask them of any nice visible landmarks near Frond’s place? I might be back here tomorrow with some friends. Thanks, you’re really kind, for a tree.”

“What tree isn’t kind?” the treant asks, clearly slightly miffed. “And you’re mostly polite, for a very tiny hairy thing.”

Rodolfio nods with a frustrated smirk and heads back to the Cup & Candle in the Domes.

Hex 5612 - The Cup & Candle 

• Now let’s see if Nora successfully learned the Alarm spell.

Nora INT Check (DC 15): Natural 1. OMG. This is the kind of thing she would spend her luck point on. 

• But Hard Luck Mode in the Western Reaches GM's Guide says you can't spend Luck on critical failures.
• Okay. Critical failure needs to be incorporated. Since the way to prove that you’ve learned a spell is to try to cast it, let’s roll on the ol’ spell mishap table.

Spell Mishap roll: 1. Devastation, roll twice and combine (oh good lord) 6 and 4. Discorporation and Your Hand Slipped. She loses an item and Alarm gets cast on Orren.
Gear slot to destroy: 5. Her rations.

“Ah! Yes! Finally!” Nora cries out, waving the scroll around the table excitedly and startling Orren, freshly arrived. “I think I understand it. Now to attempt to prove that I can cast it!” She plucks a hair from her head and wraps it around and stretches it between two fingers while reading magical words from the scroll.

Natural 1, baby

The words become grandiose as the scroll itself begins to burn away with a magical glow, and then suddenly with a flare of magic leaps to her pack on the bench by the table, eating away at it as well. Nora lets out a cry and breaks the hair-tether, interrupting her own words to bat the ashes of her pack where her rations once were. The magic spins out of control and swirls around Orren.

“CAN YOU STOP THAT MAGICAL RINGING?”

“What?” Nora looks up from her burnt pack in dismay. “Orren, there’s no ringing, you don’t need to yell.”

“ALL I HEAR IS MAGICAL RINGING!” Orren yells, batting at his ears. “YOU DON’T HEAR THAT??”

Nora sighs. “It should go away in a second, I think. It’s supposed to ring quietly in your head. MY head, I mean. Not yours.” She slumps frustratedly. “I have no idea how this spell works, I guess.”

“WHAT?” Orren yells. “I CAN’T HEAR YOU BECAUSE OF ALL THE RING–oh. wait. it stopped.”

Nora sighs. Slams her spellbook closed in defeat. Orren flinches.

“Is this why the priests didn’t let you join their little magic club?” But he sees she’s upset, even if he’s starting to question her ability a bit. “Hey, sorry. Maybe we’re just getting our bad luck out of the way here. It’s okay.”

“Would’ve been a nice bit of magic to have for camping out in the naked woods,” she sighs. “Guess we’ll have to keep relying on your friends’ road-sense. Hey, speak of the halfling, here he is, and with a smile, too.”

“Well met, friends. I have good news, but I’m dying to hear how things went with the high and mighty Wolves of the King, half-elf.” Rodolfio sits down and waves the innkeeper over. “A meal of whatever’s in the stewpot, please. Three of us. With ales!”

The innkeeper nods and Orren describes meeting the Lord-Captain. Then Rodolfio fills them in on what he learned from the treant. They ponder what level of wild goose chase they’re on but hey, a quest is a quest, and decide to leave from Greenshire tomorrow to go look for her.