Adventurer's Guild

The path back to road was a different one than the way we traveled here. Otto and Dox were very happy to be travelling with me. I even found some tasty herbs for making a tea.  We were skirting a bog when shimmering, buzzing, stinging swarm lit on us. We later learned they were called Shimmer Flies. They lay eggs on a host the inhabit - but their shiny carapaces blind their targets. We scattered them and drove them off.  We took a little rest and camped near the road. Before we finally made it out of the forest we saw a masked humanoid figure standing in the distance watching us. We neither hailed him, nor attempted to attack, and the figure melded back into the wood.  After another night on the road, we reached the inn. We found the caravan and safety of numbers here. It would be nice not to sleep on the ground. Argasto was very generous. He gave us a bonus of twenty gold each for the assistance. We explained all that we knew to him and he said Mal Gergard was a former Tem

As we moved through the forest, we had a sense that we were being watched. The trade route in the Drachenfell is ominous enough, but pushing off the road into the wood definitely gives you a much bigger sense of dread for those who are sensitive to those things. I remember thinking that Otto was probably blessed that none of this seemed to phase him. He just plodded along jingling and crashing through the primeval forest without any notion of fear or stealth. Dox was particularly quiet. I wasn't entirely sure what he was focused on. He is often very intense like this. Kind, despite his infernal origins, but also very focused and serious. It's as if he has a lot on his mind. After traveling for half the day, the trail led to a clearing. The ramshackle tower seemed quiet, it had a scaffolding staircase, and stretched to the sky over three stories. Concealed in the leaves was a large bear trap. The steel spring trap was set to deter any pursuers, but we considered it w

Three days out of the town of Mort, we'd reach the Drachenfell forest. The caravan had at least seven days left to Brandon's Ferry. We traveled slowly. Our group was over twenty men strong, five wagons each with one or two drovers, nine soldiers including us, a priest, and a blackcloak. She seemed to view our scouts as prey, but she was young and more used to having a group of templars to back her up.  The morning calm of the fourth day was shattered by the caravan master Argasto. He was shouting about a thief and interrogating the guards on duty the night before. One of the muleskinners, an aging and grizzled veteran named Keller, had vanished in the night. Taking his loyal mastiff with him and padding out of the camp.  My skill as a tracker was not challenged by finding his trail. He probably had a six hour lead, but our investigation turned up that he was an ex-bandit, he'd ran with a pretty rough crowd after the war. More importantly, he'd on