It was uneasy and restless night for the adventurers, with the tortle taking watch till the dawn. The mist greeted them at dawn, thicker and more ominous than days past. With the consumption of kale washed down with water by Honu, Hadrioul and Krill picked up the path taken by the biped wolf only to lose it in the mist and wind up in circles, coming close to the farm again.
A newer trail revealed itself, boot marks intermixed with drops of blood. Heads down, they blood-hounded the red splatters till they came upon a body near death…only to find it to be their former comrade Cor! A healing touch from Maulduk brought the warrior from the brink, but the story of his wounds didn’t add up. Hadrioul’s investigations proved what others suspected; Cor was infected with an evil unknown to the party before. Lycanthropy was believed to be disease, and the group debated on burying him or bringing him to Oakhurst. The tortle was practically out of his shell at the notion of the return trip, demanding “Do you know how long it takes me to walk two hours!?!?!?!”
Begrudged, Honu and Seisha agreed to bring him back but warned the party of clear intentions – one bad bat of an eye and they would end this mission of mercy. Eiric led the construction of a litter and they made their way back to Oakhurst, a long, slow, trek that felt more like 525,600 minutes than the two hours promised. Hunger overtook the rescue rangers and broke their fast with the sound of wolves echoed around them as they sat in the fog. Seisha sent off a warning shot when one predator got too close; with a yelp it runs off without further incident, they arrive back at the well-to-do village and made their way to Corky. The gnome priestess conferred with the human cleric of knowledge; the threat of werewolves was here and at their doorstep. Corky agreed to heal the fledging polearm master but only after an anticipated long night of prayer.
“Can you silver my blade?” the words echoed in the blacksmith’s warren as other-worldly barbarian and half-elf crossed through his barn doors; it announced the beginning of errands for many of the party – collecting debts, preparing for the anticipated night ahead, the search for radicchio rations & scrap metal and more. The only thing was the ‘Bernie’ the gnomish slang for a trussed up biggie, in this case Cor; it felt like a whole weekend passed in between sightings of Cor The Bernie but luckily Krill’s skills were up to the task of tracking the near-dead man. A bargain was made with the dwarven smithy, at a pricey cost, but the adventurers now had a supply of were-ready weapons and a stronghold for the night. The sextet (easy Hadrioul….) went about their preparation and strolled up to the kiln and forge as the sun began to set in the west…
XP: 100
