We begin the session with our intrepid heroes entering Molistead’s hometown of Travensburg. The burned out husks of the town’s granary and storehouse were particularly obvious to Molistead, and telling his friends that he would join them shortly at the Dragon’s Breath Inn, he went off to speak with his family. As the party had nothing better to do, they bypassed the fletcher, the temple of Pelor, the manor house, didn’t even think of checking out the tower under construction, (which would have been at least an hours hike to reach) and headed straight for the Inn.

Opening the door, Xon was greeted with the fierce grin of a large, black, reptilian head, hanging above the fireplace. Seeing his new guests “fascination”, the innkeeper broke in with “Ya, in my younger days, I took care of that black pest. Foulest thing I ever seen, spitting a poison that would melt yer strength right from yer bones. Lucky that we kilt it, I say. What can I get fer ye?”

After the party was seated at the bar, with drinks in hand, Annu looks up at one of the many maps displayed across the room and excitedly proclaims “Nar-fael!” A brief discussion ensues in which the barkeep warns against such an extended journey (especially because of the Zhents), Annu insists on it (especially because of the voices she has been hearing), Xon is horrified by the idea (especially because of the inclement weather, dampness, and lack of civilization), and Ravensong is amused by the idea (because she perceives a lack of hardiness amongst the group). Ravensong, who’s Ravensong!

“Your too soft to reach Nar-fael!” says Ravensong.

Xon, immediately rising to the woman’s . . . challenge, suggest that she “test his mettle”, so to speak. An arm wrestling match ensues, in which Xon does a great job hiding the physical pain that winning causes him. Much impressed (“you have a strong arm, you must use it a lot”), the dark haired woman returns to her contemplations and mug of ale.

After many heart wrenching, cheek pinching, hair tousling reunions, Molistead returns with the following:

“The town’s in trouble. The sa-ge guy thing, I don’t trust him, moved in after I left and these mushrooms ate the store. Anyway, things are pretty bad, and you shouldn’t go to the temple, because you’ll die like the rest of the people there . . . something about plaque, I think.”

Annu, having come to know Molistead, pipes in with “A plague. Perhaps I could be of service”, and falls through a conveniently contrived plot-hole. :) Opening up a space for “Mr. Travens, Sir” (an imposing older gentleman dressed in black banded mail) to enter.

“Ah, Aaron, back from that wizards college I see. They didn’t happen to teach you anything about scrying or divinations that could help us find out what’s happened to a couple of wagons did they?” he asks.

Molistead, being who he is, replies that “Why yes they did. No, wait, they didn’t. But I could, ya know, if you got me a scrying glass or a magic crystal ball or something like that.” Xon asks, “Aren’t they really expensive?”

After a bit of confusing dialogue, Mr. Travens turns to Xon and Falahara. “Perhaps I should be speaking with you. As you’ve heard the town’s in trouble. We had to burn the town’s stores, else that fungus would have decimated the whole place. It was lucky our new sage was in town and that he could tell us how to safely destroy the pestilence. I just wish the price had not been so high, we don’t have much food left. We sent immediately to the next town over for supplies. Both food, and some herbs that the Father needs to treat those who have recently fallen ill with the burning sickness. The wagons should have been here yesterday. Four of the town guard went with the merchants to make the purchase, and I sent two more of my boys out to meet the wagons this morning. They haven’t reported back, and I’m beginning to worry. Maybe you could go out and see what’s going on. Probably they’ve just lost track of time, or one of the wagons broke a wheel or something. But with only two of the town guard remaining, I am loathe to leave town myself. Will you . . .”

At this point, Ravensong’s presence is noticed as she interrupts, “I hear that you are the head of the town guard. I’ve been tracking a war band of orcs for many months now. I lost their trail near here. I came here to warn you of their presence, and from your story, I think it likely that they may already be causing this town some trouble. I have already sworn to hunt them to the last orc. To the extent that it parallels my own duty, I will gladly find out what I may about your missing wagons.”

After a very brief discussion of reward (Xon waving his usually modest fee for such services) our band of heroes agree to aid the town with Ravensong’s help. Stopping off first at the fletcher for some information (Do you recognize these bows, these arrows, etc. yeah, the arrows look like Tarrant’s work, and the bows I sold to a halfling trader nigh on twenty years ago . . . three way deal . . . I got some nice darkwood for it . . . and Travens footed the bill . . . ) the group takes to the northern road.

Nearly an hour worth of trudging through the freshly fallen snow pass as the party wishes for real sunlight and not this hazy, diffuse stuff that is filtering through the clouds today. As they crest yet another hill, the sight of a figure hitching horses to a wagon greets their weary eyes, and a hiss of “orcs” greets their weary ears.

Ravensong hastily launches an arrow, missing the orcs standing guard on the side of the road. Molistead fires a crossbow with little success as well. Two of the orcs are faster on their feet than the others and, with wicked grins to each other, move to close the distance between the two groups.

Ravensong charges the nearest orc, dropping her bow and drawing her axes as she runs, but the orc’s armour deflects her wooden blade. Xon places a crossbow bolt into the second orc, wounding it slightly, which turns its grin into an expression much more ugly. Seeing an opportunity to finish off one of the enemy, Falahara steps up behind Ravensong, whipping her spiked vine around to fell the first orc.

The man hitching horses to the wagon stops, muttering and waving his arms about before drawing a crossbow. Two more orcs heft their great axes, one charging Ravensong with a wild blow that didn’t even come close to marring her lovely features. Ravensong responds with both her axes, ending the orc’s life quickly and efficiently. Falahara sidesteps the falling orc and downs the third while Xon offers terms of surrender to the remaining orc and human.

The orc, looking uncertain, turns to the unidentified man, shouting in its foul tongue. The man loads his crossbow, muttering again, and responds in the same language. Ravensong charges the last remaining orc, laying it low, while Falahara moves beside the human and unsuccessfully attempts to disarm him. He responds by shifting the aim on his crossbow, and most likely would have fired, had not Falahara seen fit to leave him bloody and dying on the ground beside her with one wicked flick of her vine.

Feeling that there might be something gained from interrogation, she stops his bleeding and declares him to be in a stable state as she ties him up, while Ravensong slits the throats of the already cooling orc corpses, ensuring that they stay dead. Molistead identifies the wagon as one of the three they were after and quickly spots the corpses of two horses and a number of men.

The group fails to convince Ravensong of the importance of this wagon and of sticking together, and she rashly heads off along the trail the orcs took getting here, saying that she will mark the path for them. After briefly tending to the bodies of the fallen townsmen, the group leads the wagon back to town (taking with them one bound prisoner and six of the towns dead).

In town, our group relates the grim fate of the city guard and the probable fate of the towns supplies. In an uncharacteristic burst of generosity, Travens lends three of his horses to our group that they may pursue these orcs and avenge the town as well as recover the badly needed medicinal herbs.

Flying like the wind, they quickly return to the scene of the ambush, and find that Ravensong has clearly marked her trail. In fact, it is clear enough for them to make good time. That is, until the markings end abruptly at a clearing near a cave opening.

There are many tracks leading in and out of the cave, and it is clear that at least two wagons have been brought through here recently (the groves made by the wheels are clear, even through the deepening snow and enclosing gloom of evening). A torch is lit as the group cautiously enters the cave.

“plink, plink, ckkrckk, plink, plink” A volley of poorly aimed crossbow fire finds little purchase in the walls of the cave. Falahara pauses to thank whatever new sixth sense it was that let her dodge the bolts as Xon charges past to brandish both the torch and his rapier at one of the orcs. Molistead exposes another orc’s hiding place with what many may consider his first appropriate use of the dancing lights spell (circling a rapier, indeed!) and Falahara charges in to finish it off. The orc facing Xon begins to retreat but is not fast enough to escape Xon’s quick wrist and strong arm.

The cave narrows, becoming much more like a true stone dwelling, and the party becomes more cautious. Around a corner, the now flagstone floor leads about twenty feet to a wooden door. Quietly approaching, Xon hears the sound of flesh beating upon flesh through clearly audible orcish laughter. He indicated that the rest should follow him into the lightless room.

Immediately following Xon’s opening of the door, Molistead uses his dancing lights to illuminate the room behind two surprised orcs. Amongst a large number of crates and barrels, the source of the sounds becomes clear as the sight of four more orcs beating a near dead Ravensong is revealed. In a fit of rage Falahara charges the orcs and the first one she comes to is nearly ripped in half with the force of her blow.

With quick thinking, Xon moves to secure the only other exit in the room, while the orcs turn towards the party, their eyes gleaming with hatred. Molistead approaches the table and looses one of his more potent spells, a spray of dancing colors that engulfs three of the orcs and incapacitates one. Falahara, still seething, sees fit to remove the life (along with the front of his chest and most of his face) from the next closest standing opponent. As if in a dance, Xon kicks the door shut, while skillfully skewering an orc through a week point in its armour, felling the group’s fourth in less than ten seconds. (note fuming DM)

The first of the two remaining orcs grabs a great axe and charges Falahara only to be felled by her chain as its legs are ripped from under it. There is a sick thud as the orc hits the ground and it is doubtful that he will ever rise again. The last remaining orc seems desperate to leave the room as it trades blows with Xon, who retreats from the door with a nasty cut across his chest and arm. Seeing the door unguarded, the orc opens it, shouting, presumably for help, while dodging Falahara’s wild swings. Unable to flee with her so close, the orc steps up to Falahara and delivers a mighty blow that would have laid low any other of her companions. Feeling threatened, she backs off and swings, only to miss again. But Xon sneaks up, placing himself at great risk, and attacks while the orc is occupied with Falahara.

The last orc falls, and Xon quickly closes the door again, looking for something to bar it with. Finding little that would be of use in holding off the strong-armed orcs, he rushes to Ravensong’s side. Turning to the injured companions he dolls out handfuls of berries to each of them, taking time to feed Ravensong before eating his own. The goodberries return Ravensong to consciousness, but it is not until downing a potion of cure light wounds that she regains her feet. As the blissful healing draught warms her blood, she laughs and says, “With the ones I killed, and the bodies I see here, there can be no more than twenty left. Lets go.”

Xon places his ear to the door. Listening intently, he still hears nothing. Keeping an ear out, he begins to detail his plan. “We can make a barrier of fire. Force them to run through it while we hit them with arrows. We’ll each take one of these flasks . . .” and then he hears it. It’s faint, and at first he’s not sure. But, off in the distance, too quiet for any other to make out, is the sound of chains rattling…