conversations: human
conversations:  Globs of sweat run down your brow as you complete your last branch-hanging crunch, and you practically slump off of the smooth red maple in exhaustion.  For a style that touts the motto of "Ingenuity over force", it certainly has a demanding regimen.  Wiping yourself down a bit, you make to go for a wash in the Grand River, but you are interrupted by the faintest sound of rustling.
  
  You turn to face it, fists drawn.  You can't imagine how anyone would be able to single you out, but that's how it was when your master had been kidnapped by the X.  You are confident in your stance, but hope it is unnecessary.
  
  As it turns out, it is.  Given the complete lack of any visitors in the past few weeks, you'd feared the worst.  Instead, you are greeted by the graceful Orcish runner, Konwatsi'tsiaienni of the Attawandaron tribe.  She mutters something in a language that is definitely neither Common nor Dwarven before handing you a parcel.
  
  You do not delay on opening the message- there is no one watching you.   Pax Acer  has finally sent you instructions, and they're even fancier than usual.  The embroidered paper and wax seal definitely add some officialism to your summons, but you secretly wonder if a plain letter would be more secretive.  As it stands, Attawandaron runners are about as reliable as they come- a honourable race, to be certain.
  
  In fact, it's striking to you that the message is unciphered; you'd become so accustomed to troublesome letters that you memorized the key after you'd nearly lost it in the river.  Breathing a sigh of relief, you inspect the missive carefully.
  
   " Vagabond ," , it begins. That's you, by the way- or at least, the name you go by in the organization. Usually they just write "Agent V" or even just "V", so you can tell that they mean business.
  
   "Two points of business. First, Pax Acer hath securid the funding of the Lord of Trafalgar- thou art officiallie into service of The Crowne, now. Be that as it maye, however, thou aren't authorizede to make public this facte, unless situ. calleth apon its neede. Enclosed art thy officialle seal, and thy magicked contract." 
  
  You find a small royal crest of bronze inside, engraved with the outcropping of a shield, a maple leaf and a stylized "T". There is also a parchment still hidden in the parcel- it is made from the pulp of sacred wood, and acts as a medium for passing thoughts through writing.  Behind that is a curious silver coin marked with the likeness of a clover.  Something about it strikes you as suspicious.  You continue reading your missive.
  
   "Lastly, we hath received word of sightings that may be relatid to the X. Three art they; in ordered Chronologiecal to the most late:
  
  -Clifton-Drummondale (Freebuary)
  -Goderich (March) 
   -Windsea (April) ASSIGNEDE TO AGENT F. 
   
  although they are but unconfirmid reportes, this coulde be the highest activity of the X. in nearly a decade. Our firste agent is already en route to his destin. but you can have your pick of the remanening two. Mark thy destin. upon thy magicked papers and we shalt accomidate. Touch base with our informynt there. thy word is "crabgrass".
  
  X. is watching. Stay Vigilant, Ex Acer Virtuous.
  
  -B.
  
  P.S. Finally, to account for Agent F.'s first pick of destin., we will awarde you with this treasure, the coin of clovers.  When you flip it, those around you shalt finde missfortune.  Use it with wisdome." 
conversations: Just_Ice:
conversations: human
conversations:  Taking the coin of clovers in his fingers, V stashes it into his pocket for safe keeping alongside the seal. Thinking a moment, he decides that it may be more fruitful for him to visit Clifton-Drummondale, where the first sighting was held. The more time that may have passed, the more rumors may have spread.
  
  Removing his pen and some ink, V scribbles down his decision.
conversations: Rook:
conversations: human
conversations:  Your decision made, Konwatsi'tsiaienni mutters some more incomprehensibles before handing you a cartograph of the general area.  You decide not to bother looking at it just yet, relying on your keen instincts to get you where you're going.
  
  You gather the necessities before starting off towards your destination.  By your count it is likely to take two weeks, if you don't delay.  You've been to Clifton-Drummondale before, after all.  Something that gives you slight pause, however, is a wanted poster for a notorious criminal, Faargate.  A substantial cash reward for his capture or killing, 2000 gold, is posted.  From the looks of it, the crook in question is a fairly tough customer, sporting a ragged blond beard and showing teeth like they could take a chunk out of his curvéd longsword.  Inexplicable, however, are his extremely thin eyelashes.
  
  After removing one of the solid nails that has attached the parchment to the tree, you note that in the rather poorly-weathered bottom section of the note that he was last seen in Holy Catherine's.  This is not far out of your way- maybe a couple days, tops.  From what you know of the town, it is a centre of trading, and the fine clay nearby fosters the perfect environment for growing grapes.  It is of no surprise that many of the finest glasses of Hontaire Wine hail from there.
  
  You paid little attention to it from the perview of military importance, but it does have one thing - a fighter's college on the Ridley Campus.  Even that is tangential, as most of its graduates go on to become mercenaries.  Indeed, there may be some merit to visiting the place given its proximity to Clifton-Drummondale, so you mark it on your map.
  
   
   Spoiler 
   
   
  
  
  After reviewing your map, you determine your heading.
conversations: Just_Ice:
conversations: human
conversations:  (SUDDENLY, FIRST PERSON)
  
  I weigh my options and decide that I will make a course to drop by Holy Catherine's. If it takes me two weeks to reach my final destination, I should have a day or two to spare. However, I determine that I will not linger for long.
conversations: Rook:
conversations: human
conversations:  Although your intent is to make haste, as you race through the thicket and foliage you hear a yelp of pain.  You are quickly directed, out of self-interest, to the source of this cry.
  
  It appears to be a reddish dog; you suspect a coyote- whose leg is ensnared in an iron vice.  A half-eaten dead mouse lay on the ground beside the struggling animal, whose ears perk up when it finally spots you.  To your great surprise, it speaks to you.
  
   "Human, human!"  It yells to you,  "Get me outta this contraption!  I'm dying here!" 
conversations: Just_Ice:
conversations: human
conversations:  Refusing to waste a moment, I retrieve the crowbar from my backpack and set the pack down next to me while I try to see first if I can disarm the iron vice quickly. Barring that, I am ready to pry it open with my crowbar.
  
   "Are you okay? How bad are you hurt?"  I ask, as I proceed it attempting to disarm it.
  
   
   Spoiler 
  I roll to disarm the iron vice: 12 (1d20+3) (Survival)
  
  Possible roll for prying the iron vice open: 15 (1d20+4) (Strength + Crowbar)
   
conversations: Rook: