The Fall of Plaguestone

Arngrimir shrugs. ”If you’re really so worried about my health I won’t stop you,” he replies with a warm smile. ”Not used to getting doctored.”

"You're traveling with a doctor now for the time being," Tara responds wryly. "Get used to it."

Bort just looks between the two for a moment. "The twins took a couple scratches and are just overblowing it like they do. It sounds like the real action was over here," He says, shaking his head. "The real damage on our end was some of the horses got spooked, pulled Cooky's cart right off the road. I don't suppose you all feel up to helping us get it back on the road?"

The group agrees to help out and within minutes the wagon is securely back on the road. Cleaning traces of mud from his hands, Bort gives the group a wide grin. "Simply marvelous work, and not half bad with the wolves either. Come, tonight we'll dine at the tavern in Etran's Folly, my treat!" He says, and shortly after the caravan is back on its way.

---

Less than an hour later the caravan pulls into the town of Etran's Folly, colloquially known as Plaguestone after a landmark from when the town was wracked with plague some 20 years ago: A moss-covered large, flat, and cylindrical 2-foot high stone with a hole in the center and bowl-shaped depression to one side. When the plague ran rampant, the townsfolk left food for the sick in the bowl, while the sick left coins in the center hole (which at the time was filled with vinegar to cleanse the coinage of contamination). The town itself never fully recovered from the plague, with most of the wood-and-thatch houses in disrepair, several even having collapsed roofs. The caravan rides right through the center of town, approaching the only tavern; the simply named "Feedmill".

On the way into town Tara checks on Arngrimir's leg, treating wounds-now scratches-with an alchemical salve to prevent infection. Afterwards she takes to bandaging up Cass, but the bumpy wagon ride makes stitching them up inadvisable, so there's little she can really do.

In short order the caravan arrives at the tavern, and as the crew and passengers disembark the horses are quickly whisked away to the stables by an older halfling woman. Inside, the entire tavern's entire team (except the now pre-occupied stable-hand) seems to have assembled to welcome the new arrivals: A kindly looking young woman who appears to be the owner, a large older woman in an apron, an uncomfortable teenage girl who seems to want to be anywhere but there, an adult man who appears to be in his 20s with a wide grin, and a small goblin hiding behind the owner's legs.

The young woman in the front of the group steps forward, firmly shaking Bort's hand as the group arrives behind him, and introduces herself as Delma Fulst, not just the owner of the Feedmill but also the mayor's daughter. She introduces the rest of the team as Amora, the cook; Trin and Kolnral, the servers; and Phinick, the tavern's general helper.

Looking over the rest of the room, such an assembly seems easy to do, as the tavern's only other occupant at the moment is a large, imposing man criss-crossed with scars, with a slew of empty mugs in front of him. As introductions finish, he finishes off his latest mug and stands suddenly, approaching Bort who seems to recognize him. With a nod the man leaves the room, and after a quick word with his second Bort follows. The rest of the group is led to a table, and a few moments later Bort and the man return. The man returns to his table, the goblin hesitantly running another mug to him as he sits, while Bort returns to the group.

---

"...and I offered her the fine silver comb I had in there to tame her hair. And wouldn't you know it, Pharasma was so impressed by that comb, she returned me entire crew to the shore unharmed!" Bort finishes another of his wild tales, a couple hours later. Business in the tavern has definitely picked up in the mean time, with the tavern being filled nearly to bursting with probably three quarters of the town's population. Everywhere you look there's farmers and craftsmen drinking the weak turnip ale the tavern offers. In one corner seems to be a gambling ring, where the twins are deep into a game of dice with a quite drunk farmer. In the opposite corner a half-elf musician is setting up with a fiddle, seemingly getting ready for the dinner hour which is fast approaching.

Tara chuckles at Bort's tale, as entertaining as it is clearly exaggerated. She takes a sip of her wine, frowning as she realizes it's the last in her glass, and flags down the young waitress. "Excuse me, Trin, yes? Another glass please, your finest red."

”...well by that point the bear had completely consumed my supply of mead. It was stumbling around like the drunkest, fuzziest dwarf you ever did see! You’d think a drunk bear would be easy to wrestle, but it still gave me quite a fight. I won though, and I was so happy about it that I made this good out of it,” Arngrimir finishes his own story at another table in the tavern, having already shared quite a few ales with Cass.

Cass laughs and grins as the story concludes, bringing their glass up for another drink. They realize they’ve run out, and flag down Kolnral. ”Would you mind getting me another?” they ask, beaming. ”Also, if you get a moment, I’d love to hear some stories about your town!”

The teenage girl brings over a simple glass bottle, filled with an equally simple berry-based wine. "Afraid this is the only wine we have," She says, pouring the half-elf's glass full. "Small towns and all."

Her compatriot sets down two more mugs of the tavern's signature turnip ale a few seats down, anticipating the dwarf would likely need another soon too. "There's not much to tell. Your caravan has been the most excitement we've seen in years, ever since the plague passed."

"Ah, yes," Tara nods, accepting the drink regardless. "It's been too long. Well, this will still do nicely tonight, thank you."

”Ah, well,” Cass considers, and quickly decides against asking further about the plague, ”cheers to new excitement, then!”

"Just let me know if you need anything else," The teenager replies, continuing on to the next customer asking a glass of wine. A short distance behind her follows the goblin Phinick, his tiny arms loaded with great bowls of turnip pudding that he places before the members of the caravan, a particularly large bowl going to Bort, who proclaims it his favorite part of dining in Plaguestone. Before anyone can start to eat though, two drunken farmers bump into each other, spilling one's drink, and the two start yelling loudly at each other.

"This is the kind of old excitement I can't say I much care for. Unfortunately it happens far too often," Kolnral comments, and gathering up the empty mugs he quickly makes his way for the edge of the room as the shouting match turns violent and fists start flying. The fight spreads like a ripple in a pond, and soon the entire tavern is consumed in a massive bar brawl.

As the bar fight spreads, Arngrimir moves in and has a very intense fight with the air around a couple of combatants while Cass starts throwing out Dazes and Tara and Aralee kick back to watch the free entertainment. After a brief moment of this Aralee creates a distracting Ghost Sound outside the walls, which draws attention from those that aren't knocking each other out. At the far end of the building a couple of the staff members, including the owner, leave to fetch the constable while one patron ducks out and away from the brawl. A bit less than a minute later Delma returns with a bang, as the somewhat portly constable kicks open the (notably unlocked) door, halting the few still conscious patrons in their tracks. Bort rises from the table and approaches the constable, and with a few quick words and a couple laughs calls Arngrimir and Cass back to the table while the lawman gathers the townsfolk at a table in the corner for a stern talking to.

"Well how 'bout that for some excitement during dinner?" Bort says, taking his seat again. "Fortunately Delma's better with a healer's kit than ol' Rolth is at actually keeping the peace, she gets plenty of practice in this tavern of hers."

Looking around after the fight has ended, Aralee mutters to herself "Humans are stupid."

”Seems like something of a waste of energy to me,” Cass comments on the fight, sipping their drink. ”Then again, I’m much more entertained by dancing than punching, so perhaps to each their own.”

Bort merely laughs, before turning his attention to his bowl of turnip pudding. This seems to set the mood as soon the entire table is eating, and other than the vaguely audible sound of the constable lecturing the still conscious farmers in the corner everything seems to have returned to normal.

Normal, that is, for about 20 minutes. About then Bort starts loudly coughing, finally clearing it a moment later. "Guess the pudding must not be agreeing with me today," The dwarf says, laughing it off again. "Now where was I? Oh yes, the giants were just lowering us into their great cauldron when I-" He cuts off again, with another coughing fit. This one doesn't end so quickly, as within a minute his face starts going purple and he starts frothing at the mouth.

Tara blinks, thinking shit, someone should get a physician briefly before remembering oh, shit, I am a physician and springing into action as Arngrimir helpfully points out Bort's swollen neck, identifying that he'd been poisoned. Anaphylactic shock, and I'm too late to administer an antidote, she thinks, pulling him to the ground. "On your back," she orders, taking a chair and turning it over before placing it under his legs to elevate them. As soon as he's comfortably set down she begins performing CPR while the tavern's owner does minor things to help, but after more than half a minute of frantic work and Bort's twitching body slowly growing more still, Tara presses two fingers to his neck before her next set of chest compressions and finally lets out a sigh. "... he's gone."

"How... how did this happen?" Aralee wails in dismay. "Who could have poisoned him? Why?"

"I'd rather like to know that too," The constable says. It appears that all the excitement had drawn his attention and he'd made his way over while Tara had been performing her attempted treatment. "This... this is bad. There hasn't been a murder in these parts in decades, I-," He mutters to himself, before locking eyes on the group. "You lot, come with me. Delma!" He calls to the tavern's owner, who runs over as he turns and starts towards the door to the stables. "Get something and get that body covered, I'll send someone by later to take it to the morgue."

---

Once the group has made it to the stable, the constable (who on closer inspection has a badge with the name "Rolth Garley" on it) closes the door and turns to them. "So I'll be frank here, I'm fairly certain you all didn't do this, and because of that I need your help. I'm the only law in this town, and I only have the job because my uncle's the mayor, I'm not cut out to investigate a murder. Your caravan feels the most likely suspects, as they would likely have the most to gain but... I wouldn't even know where to start. So please, will you help me solve this?"

”I’ve never investigated a murder before!” Cass answers with great cheer and brightness. ”It’ll be something new, so sure!”

"Bort was a good man, if a bit... much," Tara nods. "I couldn't save him, but if I can help bring him justice then I will."

”Aye, I’ll help,” Arngrimir adds with fire in his eyes. “I’m gonna make sure the coward what did this gets what he fuckin’ deserves.”

Aralee tilts her head. "Wait, you think we're not suspects, but the people we came with are?"

"One of you specifically called out the poison, another tried to help, and both of you two seemed dumbfounded by the event. Combine that with how you lot weren't with the caravan last time it came through, which tells me you're probably newer additions if you're even long term, you're probably less... connected to Bort. The rest of the lot, well, many of them seem to be nowhere to be found, and of the rest none of them seemed particularly quick to lend a hand," Rolth says.

Rolth nods, a look of relief passing over his face. "Excellent. I'll leave you to it then. If you need to talk to anyone in town, just tell them ol' Rolth sent you, they should be happy to let you in. Maybe wait until tomorrow for that though, it is getting late," He says. "I'll be conducting my own investigation as well of course. We should meet up in a couple days, compare notes and all that."