GreenDragonPage
  
 Falcon’s Hollow is a logging town through and through.
Most buildings have log walls or are finished with wooden
siding, their roofs covered in wooden shingles. The town is
rough-looking, but some homes feature lovingly wrought
ornamentation that shows their owners’ pride: decorative
molding, carved cornices, window mullions, and delicate
inlays on furniture. Sawmills and lumber yards are the
main evidence of industry. Sawdust invades nearly every
home, bed, and meal in the community, like sand in a
beach town—but locals claim one gets used to it and
mock those who can’t stand the dust. Around Falcon’s
Hollow, the forest flourishes, dark and impenetrable,
seemingly eager to claim the lives of those who endlessly
assault its borders. 
  
A blunt, sawdust-choked stop on a winding trade route, a festering haven of injustice and cruelty, Falcon’s Hollow rests perilously close to the infamous Darkmoon Wood. The long shadow of Droskar’s Crag casts a shroud of gloom on the desperate souls who call this place home. Many come here to make their fortune cutting darkwood lumber in the lush wood, while others journey to this remote fringe to start over, piecing together their shattered lives on the edge of an untouched wilderness far from the things of man. Persecuted zealots and outcasts flock to Falcon’s Hollow to practice their strange and often deviant rites unfettered by the mores of civilization. Finally, Falcon’s Hollow lures many explorers with the promise of great adventure nearby. The town, its people, and everything in it belong to the corrupt Lumber Consortium, controlled by the de facto leader of the town, the loathsome Thuldrin Kreed. His petty decrees and the consortium’s overpriced goods keep the people of the town prisoner as surely as if Kreed and his goons used manacles and chains.

It is into this den of corruption that a band of adventurers - who may yet one day become great heroes - enter...

Outside the city gates, the party is confronted by a town guard. As you approach, he motions for the gate to be closed. He is about six feet tall, with a burly build, shaved head. He is armed with a spear in his hand, while a mace dangles from his belt. He eyes the party up and down before barking, [COLOR="#EE82EE"][B]"Oi! What you lot doin' here in Falcon's Hollow? We don't want no trouble, you hear? Why should I let a band of well armed thugs enter town? You lot seem a might bit dangerous, iffin I do say so me self."

He pauses for a moment, scratches his head as if contemplating something particularly difficult, then corrects himself,   "Myself, not me self.   He pauses for a second, then quickly adds,   "'Scuse my bad common. I ain't speakin' good like one of dem educated types you lot prolly deal with. Out here in the wilds, we ain't got time for no good common. Just blunt common."   
 
 Spoiler: OOC 
You are a recently formed band of adventurers. You have tackled the iconic "kill some dire rats in the basement" quest - not once but twice - and are now stepping out into the wider world to find your destiny...

For your previous efforts, the group has earned 15 silver pieces.
 

 
 Spoiler: Old Please Disregard 

 
 Spoiler: The Search for Barlus Chortun 
Located in the center of town, the Temple of Iomande is made from rough cut stone, which sets it apart from most of the other buildings in town, which are made from - thanks to the abundance of lumber in the region - wood. The Temple typically serves as the homebase for a half dozen or so neophyte priests and priestesses. As you know, there is always a great turn over for such neophytes, as the rough-and-tumble town is difficult for cloistered outsiders to grow accustomed to. Worse, the dangers of the wilds &amp; the unprepared nature of the neophytes themselves, sours most on the whole venture and sees them return to safer, more civilized areas. As for the townsfolk, most are self-serving in nature and see the high falutin virtues of Iomande as being out of step with the realities of life on the frontier, as such the temple rarely has more than a handful of worshippers, even on important religious festival days.

The temple is led by a woman named Cirthana Gensar. She is a human of medium height and build. She has flowing black locks with many braids woven into her thick, luxurious hair. Cirthana has warm, violet eyes and a smooth complexion.

She greets the party members warmly,   "I thank you for coming."  

Turning her attention to the Tiefling, the Lady smiles brightly as she states,   "Cassandra, it has been many years. I hope you are doing well with your studies."  

Turning to the Orc, the Lady continues,   "It is good to see you once more Falsker. I hope you have been able to find reliable work in these troubled times."  

The Priestess' tone turns more somber,   "As you know, I am Cirthana Gensar, highest ranking Priestess of this temple. A week ago, Barlus Chortun - Cassandra's adoptive father &amp; Falsker's friend - came to the temple. He asked that I " Put in a few good words " for him with Iomande because he was going to go hunting in the dangerous wilds. I did as I asked but, sadly, my prayers were for not. Barlus has gone missing. This is why I sent word for both of you to come as quickly as possible. I pray that he is only missing and not..."  

Cirthana cuts herself off before she can utter the word "dead."

  "Although I know both of you would venture into the bowels of Hell to save him, I know you adventure with two other souls who may not wish to risk life &amp; limb for a man they barely know. So, I will offer to you and your adventuring companions this silver longsword, upon your return with news of Barlus, be that news good or ill."   
 
 

 
 Spoiler: Droskar’s Crucible 
You find yourselves in the town Falcon's Hollow, following up on a tip that you had heard in a nearby village, that someone in Hollow was hiring adventurers to explore some old ruins.

The Sherff's office is located in the middle of town, near the docks. The Sheriff is a young Half Elf with tanned skin, a five o'clock shadow and tousled sand-brown hair.

  "Welcome, welcome adventurers and fellow amateur historians. I am Deldrin Baleson, Sheriff of Falcon’s Hollow! Am am glad you finally arrived. I put out the call for people such as yourselves to help me uncover the forgotten history of this beautiful little town. In fact, I am writing a small book about the trials and tribulations of a dwarven adventurer who used Falcon's Hollow as a homebase for his ventures in the wilderness. Indeed, my research has indicated that this dwarf was not only a visitor but he was actually born here, in Falcon's Hollow! Can you believe that?   
  My hope is that my book will help inspire the locals to take a greater pride in the town and its long history, with which we can build up civic pride and help make the town a better place to live.

Sadly, the adventures of Druingar the Glintaxe end in an ellipsis, as we do not know what happened to him. He left the town nine years ago and no one has seen or heard from him since. I would ask that you explore Droskar’s Crucible, the last place Druingar was seen, so as to discover what happened to him. I can offer you a small bounty for the information I seek. 
 

He grabs a small statuette of a dog made from obsidian.   "This is a magical item, with the utterance of a command word, the statue will grow in size, then become a loyal canine companion. Some criminals I apprehended a few weeks ago tried to use it against me. If you can find the information I seek, I will give you and your party this statuette."   
 
 Spoiler: Picture of Deldrin 
 
 

 

 

 
 Spoiler: Connected threads 
CONNECTED THREADS:
Recruitment:  1 
OOC:  1 
IC:  1 
 
Zero Prime
      
     Vharag the Deceiver, Belkzen Outcast    
   AC:  13  | HP:  24  | Current:  24  | Hero Points:  1
 Fortitude:  +7  | Reflex:  +3  | Will:  +7  | Perception:  +5
 Summoner Spell Slots:   Cantrips:  5  | Level 1:  1/1
 Focus Pool:  1  | Current:  1
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.  
 
  Verjigorm, Dragon Eidolon  
   AC:  17  | Fortitude:  +8  | Reflex:  +5  | Will:  +5  | Perception:  +3
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.  
 
 
   
 
  

 
The old orc, shoulders near as wide as his bent frame was tall, supported himself on a thick, darkwood staff, topped with an ursine skull.    Vharag knew that he and his companions needed to gain entrance to the town, they needed to reprovision, resupply.  Secondary to that was Verjigorm's incessant whispering behind his thoughts, a dwarven hero whose failed quest could lead the Vharag to truth and knowledge that would allow him to raise himself from exile and return to his people, wrest control and lead them to some semblance of safety, free from the corrupting influence of Slaathrax and his patron mother, Lamashtu.

He spoke, his old voice dry, raspy, but gruff and surprisingly powerful,   "Listen lad, my companions and I aren't here to cause trouble, just looking for a place to wash the dust from our throats.  Been on the road near three days, but gathered some herbs your local healer may have use of, and we have a pouch of silver to spend for accommodation and provisions.  Your superiors might discipline their guard for turning away the offer a help when it appeared at their gates."    However, even as he spoke, a soft, hissing whisper slithered through his thoughts,   'Meat,'   it hissed,   'if this fool bars us from our goal, strip the flesh from his bones, boil them, and present them to the next who dares bar our way.'    The large orc swung his head to and fro, his iron-grey beard swaying with the movement, thankful Verjigorm had not yet manifested in this realm, and, instead, still stalked the unknowable byways of the astral plane.    "We kill those that deserve it, wyrm,"   he whispered under his breath,   "this fool is just a woodsman whose mind is every bit as dull as a discarded axe."  
Triskavanski
      
     Dovli Tevni N. Middlebrooks Deatherage    
   AC:  18  | HP:  14  | Current:  14
 Fortitude:  +3  | Reflex:  +9 | Will:  +8  | Perception:  +8
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.
   
 
  

Dovli Tevni N. Middlebrooks Deatherage stood off to the side, dressed in leather armor that had been colored and treated to look more like a tuxedo or some other fancy attire. He even had a bit of wire bent to form a metal loop he wore in front of his left eye like a monocle. For the moment, he stayed silent, taking a slow look at the guard of the camp.
Xihirli
Falsker sticks next to Vharag. He reminds her of her earlier days among her own people, and besides she's still getting used to the rest. Large and muscled, her axe looped in on her belt, she steps forward. As someone who is not a ratcatcher by choice, she snarls absently and looks away.

  "I am missing my husband, and I have many questions,"   she says.  "You will not keep me from the answers." 
Eclipse Dynasty
Vanizel did hear the town guard's way of speaking, and while his common was a little blunt, she was more than used to it from her travels and Although she was about to speak up and question the man on anything related to the antidote she sought. She was a little stunned to hear Falsker's words. Talking a bit louder since she was a little further than the other two members there.

 "You wouldn't happen to know anything to be wary of in the city right?"  She'd let out a bit of a sigh as she glanced towards the city.  "Or know of anyone who might" 