3. Wyvern Tor

"Let's check on these sheeps. I'm not an expert, but I believe they should be attended to. If nobody is around, at least we could find some clues as to why." proposes Igrem, before walking into the meadow. All the while, he tries to remember if anything around reminds him of anything he has studied before.

Afternoon, 28th of Ches. About 3-4 miles south of Narth Tezrin's farm.
Igrem, you try to recall whether your studies ever mentioned anything distinctive about Narth Tezrin's farm.

Nothing comes to mind.

It is, by all accounts, an ordinary homestead—well known among travelers because of its green-painted farmhouse and large barn. There are no legends attached to the place, no ancient ruins beneath it, nor any tales of hauntings or curses.

As you move among the sheep, however, a few details stand out. Several of the animals still have short lengths of fine hemp rope tied around their necks. The rope is of good quality, and the knots are neat, uniform, and clearly tied by someone experienced in handling livestock.

Whoever was gathering the flock knew exactly what they were doing. But they never finished and it looks as though the work was interrupted.

One sheep wanders past you, and you notice a faded blue mark brushed onto its wool.

Two simple letters.

N.T.

Presumably, Narth Tezrin's initials.

Boggart doesn't know much about sheep, but he'll try to keep them from wandering about, corralling them in the meadow with Puck.

Redhawk seeing the mark and the ropes will search around the clearing for orc or human tracks or signs of a struggle.

Being alerted to the strangeness of the situation by Igrem and Redhawk, Alex pats Gertrude—stay here girl—he whispers, and slowly approaches one of the sheep. Looking at the knots, rope, and docility of the animals, he surmises that these are well-behaved domesticated animals whose handler must have just recently been interrupted. "Keep your eyes peeled, folks. Whatever stopped the shepherd from his work may still be around." Alex loosens the ties on his rapier and pockets a handful of pebbles from the ground for his sling. He slowly walks in the direction from whence the sheep came, scanning for tracks and potential areas in which to hide and perform a counter-ambush if necessary. His hackles are still on high alert from both the Klarg and the hobgoblin fracas, and he knows this area has trouble with orcs. For is that not why they are here? Alex stops and sniffs the air as well, trying to sense any difference from the background floral/herbal scent. While his skills are better aimed at the influence, hoodwinking, and potential flaying of sapient creatures, some of them do have limited use in pastoral environments.

Boggart, as you and Puck gently begin herding the sheep back together, something strikes you as odd. The flock is remarkably calm.

Animals that have been through a wolf attack, a brutal orc raid, or any other violent disturbance are usually skittish for hours, sometimes even days. They bolt at sudden noises and shy away from anyone approaching them. These sheep do neither. They seem... simply unattended. Either way, you gathered the flock and can lead them to Narth's farm, if you want.

---

Redhawk, a glance at the ground is enough for you to realize there is a story written here.
The sheep wandered in every direction before naturally drifting back together. One person—the shepherd, presumably—had been methodically gathering them and driving them north, toward the farmhouse.

Then two other humans approached from the east.

Their footprints meet the shepherd's, and the three stood together for a short while. There are no signs of a fight where they met. Nearby, your search uncovers a few discarded possessions:

- A broken shepherd's crook.
- A leather satchel containing a loaf of bread, a well-used whetstone, and a carved wooden whistle.
- No significant blood anywhere in the meadow.

From everything you can see, the shepherd was almost certainly taken alive rather than killed, all three heading back the way your own party came earlier today.

A second trail crosses the meadow as well. Later. Much later.

Three or four orcs passed through several hours after the shepherd disappeared. They paused briefly near the sheep, as if inspecting the scene, then continued on toward Wyvern Tor. You find no signs that they rounded up livestock, searched the area, or had anything to do with the disappearance.

As far as you can tell, they simply arrived after whatever had already happened.

---

Alex, while Redhawk pieces together the tracks, your own careful observations support the same conclusion. The sheep show every sign of having been well cared for, and the quality rope, neatly tied around several of their necks, suggests an experienced shepherd had only recently begun gathering them. The air carries nothing unusual beyond the scents of warm grass, wildflowers, etc. There is no lingering scent of smoke, fresh blood, or death.

Everything points to the same unsettling conclusion:

Someone interrupted the shepherd in the middle of his work... and took him south, whereas to reach Narth's farm, one has to walk a few kilometers north.

Redhawk scratches his chin as he looks south."Everything points to the shepherd being taken south. The orcs had nothing to do with and they headed to the Tor. I wonder if this temple of truth is taking people for sacrifice?" Looking to Ingrem"Were they known for sacrifice?"

After pooling the parties findings, Alex cannot help himself but think back to the party's meeting with two shady figures from yesterday. "Two people interrupting, and perhaps absconding with, a third? I don't recall bloodstains on those two blokes we ran into yesterday, do you? There were only two who passed us." Alex asks the party.

"I don't recall any blood either. They did seem rather skittish when we first met." Boggart thinks back to their interaction with the two travelers. "One of them was carrying a cask, if I remember correctly. Was it big enough for a person, you think?"

Boggart rubs the back of his neck, his brow furrowed. "Something is odd here. I'm starting to think this Temple of Truth business shouldn't be so easily ignored."

Boggart, the keg wasn't large enough to hold a grown man. At most, it could fit the butchered remains of a sheep.

"They are known to do no good. I don't have the details, unfortunately." answers Igrem to Redhawk. "I still believe we should go to the farm first. Maybe there are other people there, who might know more?". The mage is as puzzled as everyone else.

Redhawk will nod"I agree with Igrem. If we to the farm should we herd these sheep with us?"

"If we're going to the farm I see no reason not to," Boggart shrugs, "it seems whatever we decide, we leave someone in danger." He kicks a rock and sighs.

Alex chuckles at the idea of him herding sheep. "My dear fellows, were these horses, 'twould be in my blood. Which is why I and the most noble Gertrude," here Alex strokes Gertrude's flanks, "have an equine understanding. When it comes to those vexing, yet delicious, creatures known as sheep, I would be as much use as would a carnival mirror be for a displacer beast. I'll follow along with Gertrude to the farm as you wrestle these fluffy monsters."

Boggart, you quickly discover that herding sheep is not nearly as difficult as stories make it sound—at least not with Puck at your side.

The radiant pine marten darts from one side of the flock to the other, gently guiding stragglers back toward the group without alarming them.

Ironically, it is probably because Alex keeps his distance that the task goes so smoothly; had he tried to help, he would likely have scattered the flock more than gathered it.

---

Late afternoon, 28th of Ches. Narth Tezrin's farm.
The trail gradually descends into a narrow, fertile valley. A clear stream winds through lush pastureland, and the grass grows thick and green — that explains why a sheep farm would be built here. Beyond this valley, to the east, the land grows rougher and rockier toward Wyvern Tor, making this one of the last dependable sources of food for travelers and the nearby settlements.

Before long, Narth Tezrin's farm comes into view.


A weathered two-story farmhouse, painted green, stands at the heart of the property. Beside it rises a large gambrel-roofed barn with broad double doors and a hay loft above. Wagon tracks crisscross the packed earth between the buildings, while fenced pastures, watering troughs, woodpiles, and neatly tended vegetable gardens speak of years of careful labor.

A short distance away stands a small guest cottage, neat and welcoming, with a flower bed beside its porch. It is meant for travelers or seasonal workers passing through, separate from the family's home.

As the flock approaches the gate, several sheep bleat loudly.

The sound quickly draws attention, and the front door of the farmhouse opens. A woman wipes her hands on her apron as she steps onto the porch. Behind her, children's voices drift from inside the house.

Somehow relieved to see what should be the farmer's family safe and alive, Igrem eyes Alex, hoping he would be the one to introduce the party.

Alex walks up the path to the farmhouse following the flock of bleating rams and ewes, staying close to Gertrude and the wagon. Seeing what appears to be the lady of the farm exit her house, Alex scratches Gertrude one last time behind her ears and makes his way through the annoying clouds on legs. Calling out, "Hail and well met, m'lady. Would this be dwellings and lands of Master Narth Tezrin? We were told by Master Harbin of Phandalin that he may have information which would be of value to the entire environs. For that matter, these glorious creatures," Alex waves his hand encompassing the collection of wool and mutton on legs behind him, unable to help himself and putting a slightly sarcastic spin on the word "glorious", "seem to be denizens of this farm as well, judging from the initials. We found them wandering aimlessly and leaderless on the hills above."

The woman looks first at the flock, then at the party, relief briefly crossing her face before concern quickly replaces it.

"Yes," she says, stepping down from the porch. "This is Narth Tezrin's farm. I'm Elsa Tezrin, his daughter."

She glances back toward the open door.

"Father's inside with my children. He's been keeping them occupied while we waited for Joren to bring the sheep home. He left this morning."

As if summoned by the conversation, a broad-shouldered young man emerges from the nearby barn, wiping his hands on a rag. His eyes immediately go to the flock.

"They're back..." he says, taking a few hurried steps toward the gate.

Then he notices there is no shepherd among them. His expression hardens.

"Where's Joren?"

The question hangs in the air.

Elsa looks from the man to the party, searching their faces for an answer.

"You found the sheep..." she says, approaching as well. "What happened?"

Looking at the ages of the man and woman in front of him, Alex assumes the young man must be Elsa's brother. "Well, good sir, as we told your sister, we found this collection of delightful creatures gamboling aimlessly on yonder hillside." Here Alex points to the path behind him. "Being moderately consternated with the apparent lack of leadership, we," here Alex gestures at his three companions as he walks to the wagon behind Gertrude, "briefly surveyed the area. We found evidence of foul play neither in tracking nor on these items," here Alex lifts the shepherd items they found from the wagon, and walks back to Elsa and her brother holding the items in his arms, "which we presume are Jeroen's? It appears as if he met a couple of people, humanoid in height and weight, and walked off with them amicably. There were tracks of a couple of orcs—about whom we mean to speak with Goodman Narth—whom our fine tracker," Alex nods at Redhawk, "estimates came a few hours subsequent. Fellows, anything to add?" Alex asks his companions.

Elsa takes the satchel and broken crook with trembling hands. The moment she sees the carved whistle, her face pales.

"These are Joren's..."

Before she can say anything more, the young man, her brother, steps forward and snatches the crook from her hands.

"I'm Tomas Tezrin," he says curtly. His eyes flash with anger as he looks over the belongings. "You say there were orc tracks."

He grips the broken crook so tightly his knuckles whiten.

"This morning Joren was going to stop by the neighboring farms while taking the flock out. The last few days, we were talking with the other farmers about those blasted raiders. Orcs have been prowling these hills for weeks. Everyone's worried. Everyone's tired of waiting for someone else to solve the problem."

His jaw clenches.

"I've had enough."

He points toward the distant western hills.

"I'm going to gather the neighboring farmers. We know these lands better than any orc. We'll march on Wyvern Tor and teach the monsters a lesson they won't forget."

Elsa immediately rounds on him.

"Tomas, don't be a fool! You'd be marching farmers with pitchforks against orcs!"

"We'll have numbers!"

"You'll have widows."

The siblings glare at one another.