Chapter 08 - Forrestvale

After another 30 minutes of riding the clearings, homesteads, and farms became closer and closer together, and a few minutes later they could see Forrestvale up ahead.  

 

The town proper was relatively small, home to perhaps 500 people, though when factoring in the outlying areas that number roughly doubled.  Whereas Unity and Beetwix were surrounded by high walls and fortifications, Forrestvale’s protection was a bit more practical and appropriate for its location.  The entire town was surrounded by a five foot wide, five foot deep.  During the rainy season it sometimes filled partially with water, but at this point in late spring it was dry other than for a few small puddles.  Behind the ditch stood a four-foot stone wall.  The defenses weren’t designed to repel an attacking army so much as keep random wild animals and predators from entering the town.  They were also useful when dealing with small bands of goblins or even hobgoblins, providing the defenders protection while also making it difficult to get over the wall and into the town. 

 

Three roads entered the town through openings in the defenses, one to the north, one to the south, and one to the southeast.  Each entrance had a small guard tower next to it.  The people of Forrestvale were a self-sufficient lot, and all able-bodied adults assumed guard duties from time to time ensuring that the small force of five constables could focus on the more important tasks requiring direct intervention.  It was one of these volunteers, a young main in his late teens who wore an ill-fitting helmet and hold a tall pike, who greeted the party as they arrived from the north.

 

They slowed as they approached the town.  They weren’t required to check in at the entrance, but they also didn’t know where to find the constables.  Vim pulled up alongside the man and stopped, lifting the goggles from his eyes.

 

“Those are some great trikes,” the young man said with more than a hint of admiration.

 

Vim smiled.  “Yeah, they are, aren’t they?  Say, my man, could you tell us where to find the constables?  We wiped out a horde of goblins and hobgoblins at a farm up the road a ways and we wanted to let them know.”

 

The man’s eyes grew wide.  “Goblins and hobgoblins attacked a farm?”  He was so focused on Vim and his trike that he failed to notice Modi, who had gotten off his own trike and walked over to stand beside him, a little too close.  He turned to his right and took a startled step backwards, a combination of surprise and revulsion.

 

“I have a ring to give to Claire Underwood,” Modi said sternly.  “Where is she?”

 

The man looked back at Vim as if seeking help.  “Don’t mind him.  He’s with us.  Modi, we’ll find Claire as soon as we’ve checked in with the constables.”  

 

Modi continued to stare at the man for much longer than was appropriate.  “That is a sensible plan, Vim,” he said, spinning on his heel and walking back over to his trike.

 

“Claire… it wasn’t the Underwood farm that was attacked, was it?”

 

“’Fraid so, kid,” Vim said.

 

The man turned and ran into the town, shouting as he went.  “The goblins attacked the Underwoods!  Judge Dredd, the goblins attacked the Underwoods!”

 

Paloma pulled up between Vim and Modi.  “I guess we follow,” she said, slowly driving into town.

 

It only took a minute of slow riding to reach the town square.  People were already starting to gather around the young guard who was now outside a building to the left, breathlessly talking to a pair of constables and pointing toward the north entrance.  All eyes turned to the party as people made way for the slow moving trikes.

 

As they dismounted the constables approached.  “I’m Simone Dredd,” the woman said, “and this is James.”  The man nodded in way of greeting.  “Let’s discuss this inside.  The last thing we need is to create a panic.”  Simone turned and led the group into the constable headquarters.

Judge Simone Dredd

 

Once inside they presented Simone with their letter of introduction from the council and recapped their experience at the Underwood farm.  Paloma reached into the bag of holding and withdrew the two maces, cloak, and message tube they found inside the Underwood’s house.  Dredd’s jaw muscles tightened as she took the items.  She turned to James.  “James, where is Lucas right now?”

 

“He’s walking the rounds, Simone.”

 

“Well, you better go find him.  Because I have to tell him that his brother is dead.”

 

James nodded and left.  Simone stood in front of the party for a few moments longer, staring at the items that had belonged to her fallen constables.  She looked back up.  “I don’t know about you all, but I could use a drink.”

 

The second floor of the building was the living area for the constables, six individual rooms as well as a communal area with a large table.  Simone led them upstairs and bade them to sit.  She entered one of the bedrooms and returned with a bottle of a liquor called asponte, a regional drink made from distilled berries.  It was light blue in color and was known for its potency.  The constable poured five small glasses.  “To Vincent and Thadeus,” she said.  The others replied in kind and all downed their drinks.  

 

Over a second glass of asponte they compared notes about the happenings of the last week or so.  Simone told them that in addition to a few scattered goblin attacks some people from the outlying areas had gone missing.  While people came and went in towns like Forrestvale, this was still unusual.  She also advised that another party, one similar to their own and also carrying a letter from the council arrived four days prior, apparently on a quest for some holy relics rumored to be in the southern regions.

 

“I need to find a way to get a note to Jane,” she continued.  “There are only three of us left here in town, and given the size of the goblin force you faced I’m worried about sending it with some townsfolk.”

 

“Have we got some good news for you, Simone,” Vim said with a smile, leaning back in his chair.  He leaned back just a little too far, though, his arms flailing as he barely kept from falling backwards, the front legs of the chair slamming back down on the floor.  “Show her, Modi,” he said, as if nothing had happened.  Paloma once again rolled her eyes.

 

The elf reached into us cloak and pulled out a ring.  “I swore an oath to return this ring to Claire Underwood.”

 

“No no no, not that Modi.  Excuse my friend, Simone, bit of a one track mind.”

 

“I swore an oath to a dying man, Vim.”

 

“Yes, yes, Modi, we know, and we’ll find Claire, I promise, OK?”

 

Simone turned to Jahnas and Paloma.  The monk simply shrugged.  Paloma looked at Modi.  “Show Simone our birds, Modi,” she said helpfully.  

 

Vim nodded.  “Exactly.  Quite.  Yes.  The birds.”

 

Seemingly satisfied that they would indeed find Claire, Modi returned the ring to one of his robe’s inner pockets.  He then reached into the bag of holding and withdrew the box containing the three clockwork birds.

 

“These are programmed to go directly to Jane’s office,” Paloma said.  “Write your note and we can send it on its way immediately.”

 

A look of relief washed over Simone’s face, her shoulders dropping slightly.  She quickly wrote out a note and handed it to Vim.  The bard rolled it up tight and put it inside the compartment in the bird’s leg.  He then opened one of the windows and prepared to release it. 

 

“Wait, Vim,” Modi interrupted.  “We should send a note to Slovi to let him know we delivered this box.”  The wizard’s hands went back into his robes, emerging with a small piece of paper, a pen, an inkwell, and a hunk of surprisingly potent-smelling cheese.  He carefully arranged all of them on the table, taking extra time to position the cheese to the right of the inkwell, then began writing.  He narrated the note as he wrote.  “Dear Slovi.  How are you?  We are fine.  It was a nice ride to Beetwixt.  Your cousin says hi.  Some people tried to kill us at the bar and Vim died, but he’s not dead any more.  We gave the box to Debora and I danced and won a duel.  I need to find Claire so I can give her her mom’s ring.  That is all for now.  Modi.”

 

The elf rolled the note up tightly and handed it to Vim, who inserted it into the bird’s other leg.  “That’s a good note, Modi.”

 

“Thank you Vim.  I know.”  Modi put all the items back into his pockets, including the cheese.

 

Simone’s brow creased and she turned to Paloma.  The tabaxi just shrugged.

 

Vim wasn’t entirely sure how the bird worked, but was too embarrassed to say so.  Did he need to wind it up, or was there some button to push?  He thought as hard as he could, the fear building inside him.  What if it just fell to the ground because he didn’t do it right?  He was sure Paloma would give him one of her looks, and it would probably ruin any chances he might have with Simone, who he thought was cute and a lot less scary than her sister.

 

He blinked a couple of times and realized everyone was staring at him, waiting for him to do something.  He flashed them his best Vim smile and without giving it another thought tossed the bird out the open window.  Its flight started a bit jerky. and he was afraid it was going to fall to the ground, but after a few seconds it seemed to figure out what to do and flew smoothly upwards toward the northwest.  

 

They showed Simone the medallions they’d taken from the goblins and hobgoblins, but she had never seen anything like them before.  “If you’ll all excuse me, I have much to do to prepare the town,” Simone said as she stood from the table.  “I’ll arrange for rooms for you a The Wheatfield Inn.  You can leave your trikes here and our artificer will charge them for you.”

 

“Judge Dredd, we know that duty calls, but if we may, one last question please,” said Jahnas.  “We were told there is an old church here called the Chapel of the Taken.  Do you know where we might find it?”

 

Simone thought it over for a few moments.  “I don’t know of anything by that name.  There is an old church maybe 20 or so miles to the southwest of here.  An old cleric oversees it, and he comes to town a few times per year.  I’ve been there once or twice just to check in, but never been inside.”  With that Simone turned and began walking down the hall toward the stairs, but after a few steps she stopped and turned.  “Someone who might know is Sam Winedrinker.  He’s an old gnome, been here for as long as anyone can remember.  You can probably find him at The Longjam Tavern.  It’s the first building outside of town if you take the southeastern road.”

 

Forrestvale was a fairly small town, and it only took a few minutes to walk to the southeast entrance.  The Logjam Tavern indeed sat just outside of the town on the left side of the road, just as Simone described.  As they approached they were surprised to see four trikes parked in front of the tavern.  The vehicles looked very much like their own, right down to one of them having a sidecar. 

 

The Longjam wasn’t busy in the hours between lunch and dinner.  The bar was to the right of the front door, the rest of the tavern opening to the left.  At one table in the corner sat five adventurers, a number of empty mugs and cups piled up in the middle as they continued to drink and talk loudly.   A human fighter in scale armor leaned back from the bench and gave them a hard look when they entered.  A large two-handed sword leaned against the wall behind him.

 

“Kind of like looking in a mirror,” Vim said.  “Assuming of course the mirror made everyone uglier.”  Paloma laughed in spite of herself.

 

A gnome sat slumped over at a table on the other side of the room, his white beard stained purple from wine.  “Wow,” Gnomey said, awe in his voice, “he is seriously old.”

 

“How old is seriously old, Gnome-ster?” Vim asked.

 

Gnomey crinkled his lips.  “I’d say he’s at least 400 by the looks of him.”

 

“Four hundred?” Vim asked confusedly.  “Four hundred what?”

 

“Four hundred years old.”

 

“You’re joking.”

 

“I mean, he could be 350 or so, it’s hard to know exactly.  But I’d say probably 400.”

 

Vim looked dumbfounded as he tried to process this information.  He knew that gnomes lived longer than humans, but he had no idea precisely how much longer.

 

They got drinks from the bar, including an extra cup of wine, and sat down with the gnome.  Hearing them, he raised his head.  Gnomey smiled and pushed the wine toward him.  “We bought you drink, revered old one.”  

 

The old gnome smiled back and slapped Gnomey on the shoulder.  “Ah, so many gnomes have forgotten respect for their elders.  Thank you young pathwalker.”  He looked at the others, his energy increasing as he took a swig of wine.  “Sam Winedrinker, at your service lady and gentlemen.”

 

“Samuel, we hear you’re a bit of an expert on these parts,” Vim began.

 

“Aye, that is true.  Been here since, well, since I don’t even know quite how long, to be honest.”

 

“We’re looking for a church, revered one,” Gnomey said.  “We’ve been led to believe it is quite old.  It is called the Chapel of the Taken.  Do you know of it?”  Paloma was impressed by the young gnome’s manners.

 

“Now that is a name I have not heard in a hundred years or more,” Sam said, a faraway look in his eyes.  “But yes, nowadays they just call it ‘the old church’.  It’s southwest of the city.  I can draw you a map if you like.”  Before anyone could even begin to think about how to get some writing material, Modi deftly laid a piece of paper, a pen, and a small inkwell on the table.  The cheese was nowhere to be seen.

 

Sam began to draw and point out landmarks.  “Any idea why they call it the Chapel of the Taken, Sam?” Vim asked.

 

“Oh, I don’t know.  Something or another about slaves or some such nonsense.”  He stopped drawing and looked up in thought.  “You know, there was an interesting mural there too, upstairs in the tower.”

 

As Sam looked off into the distance a copper piece struck him in the forehead.

 

Laughter erupted from the table in the corner.  The party turned to see the other group with four copper coins laid out on the edge of their table.  A spectral mage hand flicked a second coin at Sam, but Jahnas’ lightning-fast reflexes allowed him to grab it out of the air.  

 

Both groups stood immediately, hands reaching for weapons.  Tendrils of green light began to spark between the claws of Paloma’s right paw.  She made a low growling sound that was only heard and understood by the tabaxi druid on the other side of the room.  It said, you die first.  The druid’s eyes grew wide with fear.

 

A powerful female voice, enhanced by magic, filled the entire room.  “Stop!”

 

Both groups turned toward the entrance as Simone Dredd strode in, mace in her hand and a look on her face that implied she’d like a reason to use it.  She turned to the other group.  “Haven’t you worn out your welcome in Forrestvale already?”

 

The human fighter lowered his sword so its point was on the floor, his hands resting against the crossguard.  “We have a letter from the council, judge,” he said.  “So it seems we can do what we want, when we want.”

 

“Oh, is that what you think, Vlad?”  She looked at the triton cleric with the group, then back to the fighter.  “Your cleric doesn’t look powerful enough to raise the dead, so you might want to consider your next words very, very carefully.”

 

The threat hung in the room.  

 

Vlad laughed.  “We’ll be on our way.  But you lot,” he said, pointing at the party, “we’ll be seeing you later.  Count on it.”

 

They watched the group grab its gear and leave.  No one relaxed until their trikes had departed.  

 

“Sam?  Sam?”  Gnomey’s voice asked behind them. 

 

They turned to see Gnomey holding up Sam’s head.  The old gnome’s tongue was black, his eyes rolled back in his head.  Simone whispered a quiet prayer, but the gnome’s soul had already left his body and no healing magic could change that, at least not anything she could cast.  Gnomey sniffed at the wine cup Sam had been drinking from and recoiled.  

 

Paloma ducked down under the table, emerging a few moments later with what looked to be a small rubber stopper.  It took carried an awful smell.  Poison.

 

“They probably used the mage hand,” Modi said.  Everyone turned to the wizard.  “During the standoff we wouldn’t have noticed if the elf wizard in that group used it to pour poison in Sam’s drink.”  Paloma had been able to conjure a mage hand for many years, but it had never dawned on her that it could be used for something so nefarious.  She filed that information away.  It could come in handy someday.

 

“Simone, is there anywhere in town someone could by poison, or the components to make it,” Modi asked.

 

“The only place I can think of is The Drop Shop.  It’s a little alchemist workshop in town.  Though Edgar would never sell poison, I’m sure of it.”  

 

“We should probably go pay him a visit anyway,” said Vim, trying to sound authoritative to impress the constable.  “It’s getting late in the day.  After that we could all use a rest and we can head out to the church in the morning.”

 

“Before you go there,” Simone interjected, “we found Claire.  That’s what I came here to tell you.  She’s at headquarters.”

 

Modi immediately turned and walked with purpose to the door and outside.  Paloma hurried out to catch up, hoping she could help keep the elf from scaring Claire.  The pair walked rapidly to the constable office.

 

As expected, Modi’s interaction with Claire was quite awkward. He bowed and took a knee as he held it out to her, looking like a suitor proposing marriage.  But she did appear grateful to receive her mother’s ring.  In a way Modi’s odd formality may have made the entire thing a little less emotional for the young woman. 

 

“Well, that could have gone worse,” Vim whispered to Paloma as they stood a respectful distance away.  She was about to nod in agreement when Modi turned and walked straight to Lucas, the constable they had not yet met.  Modi stood a bit too close to him before looking him directly in the eyes.  “I’m sorry your brother died, Lucas.”  He then turned sharply on his heel and walked back toward the group.

 

Vim’s head dropped as he slapped himself in the forehead.  Paloma just sighed.

 

 

A trip to The Drop Shop confirmed their suspicions.  The proprietor, Edgar Eyedropper, recalled an elf sorcerer stopping by a few days prior and inquiring about some very esoteric ingredients, things that Edgar knew could be combined to create a powerful poison.  The elf met the description of the one whose mage hand flicked coins and Sam before the gnome’s untimely demise.  According to Edgar, he told the sorcerer he didn’t stock a few of the key components, and with that the elf left empty-handed. 

 

While at the shop they used some of the gems they recovered from the hobgoblins and purchased additional healing potions, just in case.  After all, it seemed that most of the people they’d met in the last few days had tried to kill them.  Edgar also offered them a few esoteric items.  Modi opted to purchase a potion of psychic damage resistance, reasoning that with all the rumors of psionicists and their own recent encounters such a thing might come in handy.  Vim left the shop with a huge grin on his face and a potion of giant strength in his hand.  “I can’t wait to try this out!  Hopefully we don’t need to waste it in a fight so I can use it as part of a show!”  

 

Modi nodded in agreement.  “Yes, Vim.  Perhaps you could hold the stage over your head while I dance upon it.  That would be striking.”

 

“The only striking I care about me is getting a chance to strike that smirking elf in the head with my staff,” Gnomey said, a look of determination in his eyes.  “What they did to Sam was wrong.  Hopefully we cross paths with them again.  If we do, watch out.”

 

“Your anger is rooted in righteousness, Gnomey,” Jahnas said.  “They will pay for what they did.”

 

That was fine with Paloma.  She was never one to shy away from a fight.