[right][h3]An Old Priory, Southwest of Orzamar
Cardherday, 27th of Rainwater
1257 GC[/h3][/right]

An old stone priory, a church of Gyaal, sat still in the wood. Half a stained-glass sheet, depicting the crucifixion of Saint Nimriel by the river, remained in one of the two windows on the front. The afternoon light, piercing the dense forest canopy above, shown on the pale blues and reds of the broken shards that still hung in the window. 

This priory had once sat in a clearing, it seemed, but the growth of the forest had overtaken it after years of neglect. The priory consisted of two grey stone buildings, one a larger church, the other a smaller building, connected by a ten to fifteen-foot hall lined with stain glass windows. What had once been a garden, set neatly before the hall between the buildings, complete with benches and what looked to have once been a complete statue of one of the saints, had seen the growth of wild shrubs, brush, and trees. The statue’s head was removed, leaving only a white marble body, arms outstretched. 

The party, concealed in the underbrush behind the tree line, considered their options.

The goblins had made no effort to conceal their tracks, and though they could not discern the number of the savages that had treaded through the undergrowth, their path through the brush suggested that there were more than enough of them to make this rescue a daunting task. They would be handsomely rewarded by the Lord-Mayor, though, the captain of the guard reminded them.

Captain Emmanuel Harrad, a dark-skinned native of Ghirducania who had served for years as a legionnaire during the Yvenlond campaign, crouched in the brush with the adventurers, his guardsmen behind them. The plan Captain Harrad proposed was straightforward. The adventurers would enter the priory, eliminate the goblins therein, rescue the citizens in distress, as many as they could, and return before nightfall. The guardsmen, meanwhile, would hold the rear, ensuring that the way back to the Stone Road was clear and that the adventurers wouldn’t be ambushed from behind. 

Easier said than done, surely.

Some seventy feet from their position, two goblins, one armed with shield and spear, the other a shortbow and longknife, stood guard outside the entrance to the priory. The short, lanky greenskins did not seem terribly attentive. The one with the spear leaned idly against the stone construction, while his bow toting companion crouched down to investigate something in the dirt.

The great wooden doors that served as the entrance were slightly ajar, but the adventurers could not see beyond them at their angle and distance.

What do you do?

[right][h3]The Road to Tinwe, South of Tinwarren
Cardherday, 27th of Rainwater
1257 GC[/h3][/right]

The Road to Tinwe was quiet. 

East of Orzamar, the forest closed in on the road, and the path through the foothills became more winding and rockier with each league. Songbirds, perched on the pine branches, sang eerily cheerful songs that pierced the silence. As the party moved, they passed a tall black stone, some nine feet in height and carved from a single slab of rock. It was one of the so-called Waystones built by the Vieric Empire. The rock, which appeared slick to the touch, almost as if freshly oiled, shone in the afternoon light. 

They were common throughout the Empire, marking safe passageways, or so the old tales told. Most travelers avoided stopping to rest by them, though. It was bad luck to sleep in the shadow of a Waystone. That the tales also told.

Tinwarren, Pelial Skadden had told the party, was located half a day’s journey east, at which point they’d come to a well-worn path through the woods, marked by a sign. The kobolds were quite friendly, he had added, the civilized sort of monster most folk in the Empire wouldn’t believe existed. They were not used to receiving visitors, however. Usually, they would load up a cart, pulled by the mountain rams native to the Forgewall, and drive the ore in to Orzamar to the local smithy. What use for Adean coinage the kobolds had, the gnome did not pretend to know.

Pelial had not accompanied the adventurers on their journey to Tinwarren, sending instead one of his research assistants in his stead. Devrah Coie (“Devie for short,” she’d told them), a tiny chatterbox of a gnome wizard with energy to spare, had talked their ears off about her studies at the College and her love of enchantment and how Professor Skadden was such an incredible potionmaster and so on. If any of this nervous energy came from the fact that she was journeying with a group of armed mercenaries to search for her missing peers, she made no mention of it.

As she stopped to collect a few white flowers, petals streaked with yellow veins, the adventurers noticed a signpost hammered into the ground. A crude directional sign pointed to the left—north—off the road. Unfamiliar characters lettered the signpost, and underneath them, in very roughly scrawled Adean script, was the word “Tinwarren.” A worn dirt path, just as Pelial described, snaked its way off the Road to Tinwe north, through the stout oaks and pines, beckoning them to journey deeper into the wood.