Our Story Begins...

RangerRanger Zugor heads out to track.

Zuger finds wolf tracks. He deduces that this one was a lone Wolf. He knows a lone wolf would not attack a caravan alone. But he almost misses the second set of tracks a little further into the wood. Dire Wolf. These tracks are fresh and this second set of prints makes him nervous being about alone. On his return, he hides his own tracks.

Iron-eye is a bit surprised.
Barnaby grunts.
"Odd that a Dire Wolf is active in the daylight. We need to take precautions as you say. Reinhardt! Where is he? I need him at the front and Zugor take up the rear, Geros I need you on the left flank and Wilfred...on the right flank with Barnaby. Now let's move out!" says Iron-eye.

The attack you anticipated did not appear. The night passes uneventful.

Day 3
The sky has turned the color of a bruised plum, threatening a heavy, premature snow. The trail dips sharply into a sweeping, wind-scoured basin. Below you sits Frisia. Its low, timber longhouses hug the earth, buried under thick mounds of green sod to keep out the killing frost. Plumes of grey hearth-smoke rise from the settlement, promising warmth, hot broth, and stone walls. Behind the town, the ancient, impenetrable canopy of the Damfrat begins—the true territory of the goblin clans.

Smelling the settlement and sensing the approach of a storm, the draft animals bolt as they approach the final steep descent into Frisia!

Reinhardt? Geros?

Old Barnaby’s Yells at Geros, "Don't yank the bit! Whistle low and blindfold the lead mare with your cloak."Geros stops yanking on the reins and begins to whistle softly and blindfolds the lead mare. The horses calm once again, Iron-eye gives an approving nod.

The chill of the Graffenvold clings stubbornly to the morning air as the caravan rounds the final bend in the south road. Dew still glistens upon the grasses and wagon ruts sparkle with last night's rain. Ahead, rising above freshly cut fields and timber lots, stands the frontier village of Frisia.

A stout earthen embankment surrounds the settlement, crowned by a sturdy wooden palisade. Men labor along its northern face, digging what will one day become a defensive ditch, pausing only long enough to watch your caravan approach. Thin ribbons of blue-gray smoke drift lazily from dozens of chimneys into the crisp autumn sky.

Beyond the gate, modest homes of timber and whitewashed wattle stand shoulder to shoulder beside workshops and storehouses. Ox carts rumble over packed earth streets while farmers, woodsmen and traders begin another ordinary day. Children chase one another through the lanes, stopping only long enough to stare curiously at the arriving wagons.

There is nothing remarkable about Frisia.

It is simply a quiet village standing watch over the southern frontier.

The caravan enters the village without ceremony. The guards exchange familiar greetings with the gate watch while several villagers wave toward merchants they recognize. Clearly this journey has been made many times before.
The wagons slowly make their way toward a large slate-roofed building near the center of town.
Iron-eye, the caravan master, rides near the front.

As the caravan pulls into the yard behind the Bierkeller, Iron-eye swings down from his horse and begins directing the unloading.
"Barnaby, stable the teams. Lars, check the wheel on the flour wagon. Easy now... no sense breaking an axle after two hundred miles."
Barnaby merely nods.
"Aye."

Payment
Once the horses have been turned over to the stable boys, Iron-eye approaches the adventurers carrying a worn leather purse.
He counts the coins carefully into each character's hand.
"You've earned your wages."
"Three days on the road. Thirty silver apiece, as agreed."
"We'll spend today in Frisia. I leave before dawn tomorrow with the merchants for the Drazkleed. You'll remain here until we return."
"I've already arranged rooms with Ronart. Beds are paid for, so you needn't worry about lodging."
"Food and drink are your own affair."
"Enjoy yourselves while you can. Frontier roads have a habit of growing longer than expected."
He gives a slight nod before turning back toward the wagons.
Old Barnaby glances toward the characters.
"Breakfast won't wait."
Then he disappears into the stable.

The Bierkeller smells of oak smoke, fresh bread and simmering stew.
Although still morning, several local farmers are already gathered over mugs of weak ale before heading into the fields. A pair of woodsmen quietly discuss timber prices while one merchant pores over ledgers near the hearth.
Behind the bar moves a tall, gangly fellow with rolled sleeves and an easy smile.
This is Ronart Tonnahor.

Bierkeller Menu
Morning Fare
Meal Price
Fresh bread with butter 2 cp
Bread, cheese and apple 4 cp
Hot oat porridge with honey 5 cp
Fried eggs, bacon and rye bread 8 cp
Hearty woodsman's breakfast (eggs, bacon, sausage, potatoes and bread) 1 sp 5 cp

Midday & Evening Meals
Meal Price
Thick vegetable stew 6 cp
Beef and barley stew with bread 9 cp
Roast chicken with carrots and onions 1 sp 2 cp
Pork roast with cabbage and potatoes 1 sp 5 cp
Hunter's platter (venison, potatoes, mushrooms, brown bread) 1 sp 8 cp

Drinks
Drink Price
Small ale 2 cp
Large ale 4 cp
Dark stout 5 cp
Apple cider 3 cp
Mulled cider 5 cp
Goat's milk 2 cp
Herbal tea 3 cp
Spring water Free

Extras
Item Price
Fresh loaf of bread 3 cp
Wheel of local cheese 7 cp
Smoked sausage 6 cp
Honey cake 5 cp
Meat pie 8 cp
Sack lunch for travelers 1 sp

What do you plan to do?