The day had gotten on considerably by the time the weary troupe finally made it back to the others, so much so that it was well after dark by the time the two groups were finally reunited.
Some awkward initial words were exchanged, with Stan and Carric apologizing profusely to their companions for abandoning them, but after everyone had said their piece there was a general sense of contentment about them all.
The small clearing had become a small camp in the time since Thia and Rory had gone, as Carric and Stan had wasted no time starting a fire and making preparations for a rugged dinner as soon as they were satisfied with their lodgings for the night.
Lyra opposed this decision vehemently at first, needing no source of sustenance so crude, as she deemed it, but she was outnumbered two to one, and it was clear that the two famished travelers would not be dissuaded. Still, she would not yield on the topic of firewood, as the sight of burning wood of any kind horrified her, and she insisted that they use a dried pete moss instead, which she agreed to procure for them after some argument.
The smell of the fire was a bit musty but it burned just as well, if not a bit better than a wood fire Carric and Stan had to admit, and the camp had a rather homely feel about it by the time the others returned late in the night from their excursion.
The mood was friendly and the fire crackled happily through the meal as the travelers shared stories of their exploits and the various conditions that had brought each of them to this unlikely meeting.
Thia explained to the others that the winter had been hard on the forest and that, along with the help of the other denizens that dwelt there, she had been hard at work protecting the borders of the wood with all means at her disposal, both magical and conventional.
She revealed to them that she had dwelt in the forest for centuries after her wood elf tribe had scattered in the events that followed the orc invasion that laid Phandalin and the surrounding lands to waste some six hundred years earlier. She was the last of her tribe as far as she knew, and upon speaking the words out loud a somber look passed over her perfect elven features. It was clearly not something that she thought of often, and still held feelings that were perhaps rekindled after laying long dormant.
With her tale retold, the others consoled her, Rory most of all. It was then that they told the others of their own plight, of how they had been forced to chase after their lost daughter and how the chase filled them with a dread that they could seldom shake off since the chase had begun some weeks earlier.
As if realizing the desperateness of the situation all over again, Rory got up and began nervously pacing about.
It was Thia's turn to respond then. The distant ache of her long lost tribe having kindled fresh flames at the mention of these much more immediate tidings, and she declared that it was a sign that she had been sent there to aid in the rescue of Rory’s daughter and would not rest until she had seen the task to its end.
Lyra was less moved by the plights of the mortals around her but she had gained a respect for Thia since the beginning of their brief companionship and felt that it was only natural that she accompany her on this mission.
The rest of the group was less eager, but knowing full well that they owed these three a debt for their hospitality and Morrah and Nizel for no less than their lives, they agreed to help too, though with the understanding that the group would probably go there separate ways after the errand. It was unlikely that such companions would willingly go on to Neverwinter together after all.
For the time being though, everyone’s minds were made up. They would continue on the trail of the bandits and rescue Rory’s daughter, and whatever happened after that didn’t matter.
And so it was that an alliance between the folk of the forest and the outsiders was forged, and they immediately began drawing up plans for their next moves, with the casters preparing spells of tracking and clairvoyance, the holy warriors praying to their gods, and the fighters honing their blades for the road ahead.
Their newfound enthusiasm did not last long, however, as the realities of a long and weary day began to weigh on them, and they realized they were all quite tired. After working out a watch schedule for the rest of the night, they all eventually fell into a sound and comfortable slumber.
It would be the last night that such a restful sleep would be had, for little did they know that the road ahead would eventually grow more vile and restless than anything they could have imagined, as the fly is seldom aware of its peril as it floats unexpectedly towards the spider's web, and there was more than one spider awaiting them on the road ahead.
The unlikely group of travelers arose early the next morning, each of them feeling fresh and revived by the pleasant aura that the forest imparted to them, and they were eager to get back on the road and catch the villains that had caused Rory so much pain.
It took the better part of the morning, but after some effort, Morrah was finally able to pick up the trail that Rory had been following before they ran into Stan and Carric. Though the trail was a couple of days cold by then, the captors seemed to be moving carelessly and it was easy to follow their movements as they had slashed and torn their way through the underbrush. In fact, seeing the careless devastation further vindicated Lyra specifically, and brought the formally passive hamadryad firmly into the pursuit of whatever creatures left such a wake of destruction through her precious wood.
The pursuit continued on for the rest of the day without incident, and by nightfall, they had realized that they had been closer to the bandits than they had hoped and the signs of their passage were not more than an hour or two ahead of them. Apparently, the goblin rouges had slackened their pace considerably after entering the wood, perhaps confident in their concealment within.
This could only be shear foolishness of course, as even a chance wanderer who happened upon their trail would have seen it for what it was, and a determined pursuer would have no problem at all following them, but goblins were not generally known for their intelligence, and the pursuing party thought nothing of their apparent laxness and decided to set camp for the night without great concern. Though they did at least have the presence of mind to avoid lighting a fire that night.
As it turned out this was their saving grace, as the events that followed would not only have been bad but catastrophic had the party more prominently announced their presence.
It started with Lyra’s watch. She had been conscious and restless for several hours, and she was simply itching for some excitement. So when she heard a distant noise a couple of hundred feet away from the camp, her first thought was not to rouse the others but to first go and investigate herself.
What she did not realize is that she had already been spied out from afar and her stalkers were baiting her out into the open. They were a band of a half dozen goblinoids, four scouts, and two hobgoblin hunters, and luckily for the party, only Lyra had been picked out in the dark gloom of that moonless night, otherwise, it is likely that the scouts would have chosen to return to their camp for reinforcements rather than try and take them all out at once. Nevertheless, the trap was set and they were certain of the kill when they sprung it on an unsuspecting Lyra.
Suddenly arrows flew from several of the surrounding trees and a throughly war cry went up into the night air. The rest of the group sprang from their slumber and scrambled to figure out what had happened. It only took a few moments of disgruntled shouting for the others to hone in on their imperiled companion.
Quickly and efficiently they fell into positions at the backs of several of the goblins and executed a flawless counterattack on their overconfident opponents. It wasn’t long before five of the hideous creatures lay dead and the sixth was being bound and interrogated by a bruised, battered, and very unhappy, Lyra.
The retch immediately betrayed the location of his camp to them and groveled for his life pitifully at their feet. Having no wish for further bloodshed, they opted to leave the goblin where he lay but did not untie him or remove his gag. It was more than the creature deserved, but he wined and whimpered as long as the others were in earshot, and though the prospects of the deserted creature were certainly grim, Lyra would have alternately ripped his throat out if the others hadn’t restrained her.
It was nearly dawn by that point, and with the bruised ego of Lyra still fresh, the party set out once more, but now with a clear idea of the course before them. They would seek out this “Cragmaw Castle” that the goblin described and they would free the prisoners that were being held there, hopefully with Rory’s daughter among them.
It was early morning by the time the party had worked their way to the camp. It was an old castle that was long worn down by the passing of the years, and hardly the impenetrable stronghold that the goblin had described to them earlier that day. However, it held a distinctive dignity that the wearing of long years could not steal away. None were overly familiar with the history of the region, but if any had been they may have known that the castle was actually a long deserted high elven watch post from the previous age and had long since fallen into disrepair after the high elf kingdoms of the north had dissolved and their peoples migrated further inland and seaward more than a millennia ago.
The sight before them could hardly compare with the splendor of the ancient structure that once stood there, but even despite the additions of its new inhabitants, mostly crude stonework and shabby wooden barricades, the goblins still could not hide completely the majesty that it once held.
The feature that most stood out was the structure’s tall central spire, a shear spear-like building of finely hewn stone that jutted from the center of the complex and appeared to act as a watch tower for the surrounding region.
Weary of this particular feature of the castle's defenses and its ideal vantage point over the open field before them, the group gathered at the edge of the tree line, obscured from sight, and discussed their next move. Some among them wished to swing around the back and attempt to find another entrance other than the main set of heavy wooden doors that appeared to be well-guarded by the flanking towers of the gatehouse. Others preferred to exercise even more caution and gain a greater understanding of the surrounding region before acting at all, but as it happens neither of these groups would have their way.
Soon after the debate had started, Stan Rustwell, the party’s brash fighter, strode confidently forward into the clearing and began walking briskly across the outstretched field toward the gate. Predictably this action did not go without notice and within a few moments, arrows had started flying from the concealed slits in the gatehouse of the fortress. Most missed their target, the goblins weren’t the most accurate adversaries, but Stan had shrugged off at least a couple of arrows by the time had reached the gate.
Overcoming their initial disbelief at the shear stupidity of the man, the others followed begrudgingly after him, but to his credit, by the time they had arrived behind him at the front door, Stan had already made some progress in dislodging it from its rusty hinges.
Rory stepped up next to him to lend a hand and with one final heave by the two of them, the great door collapsed inward and the group rushed through the breach.
The interior of the structure was dank and dismal with the smell of goblins mixing with the mildew-laden air of the hunched low tunnels of the lower fortress. After running off a few sentries that had detected their approach, the group formed up and continued straight down the main corridor deeper into the fortress.
They encountered minimal resistance and assumed that the bulk of the goblin raiders were outside of the compound and the party had caught those who had remained unaware. Their overconfidence proved to be misplaced however, for soon after they had exited the structure's feted interior and emerged into a central courtyard, there were a dozen or more goblins laying in wait and though they were neither well disciplined nor well armed they still managed to press the adventurers sorely before they were turned back. With the momentum of the fight shifting the remaining goblins were easily cut down or chased from the premises, deserting eagerly once the tables had turned.
Exhausted by the ordeal, the party took their time investigating the ruined castle and it wasn’t until near nightfall that they were sure the last of the castle’s hosts had been dealt with.
They also didn’t have any luck in locating the missing prisoners. This was devastating for the Firbulg and they paced around the courtyard incessantly for the better part of an hour uncertain of what to do next.
After much deliberation on whether to continue hunting the goblins or to try and ambush a returning group of them. Carric suggested another course of action. He had been considering the tower in the center of the courtyard since they had first arrived, and, with no better ideas forthcoming, suggested making an attempt to scale the structure and see if they could discern anything from its top.
Scaling the tower would prove to be no easy task however, and the party labored for the remainder of the day before they were finally able to get Morrah, one of the more dexterous members of the group, up to a small opening at its top with the help of a spider climb enchantment courtesy of Thia.
From there she secured a rope to a long rusted but sturdy curtain bar and the rest of the group slowly climbed their way up the length of the rope, taking special care all the way so as not to go careening down the one-hundred foot drop to the ground below.
So it was that they were all gathered in that lofty place with the rope pulled up behind them and the setting sun dipping beyond the horizon. Apparently, their ventured guess of the tower’s use as a watch post was incorrect, for it seemed that none had been to the high place for many years and there was no decreeable way to get down from the room.
All of this seemed odd to the group but they didn’t dwell on it, thinking that it would be just as well to hold up in such a place for the night, apparently outside of the care of those below them. And so they laid down and fell into a long and restful sleep with not a one bothering to remain awake for the long dreary night.
