IoK Session 12 – ACT I Conclusions

“Damn it, Talanic… I don’t know what she’s talking about!”

Remenik was red.  The exasperation and fatigue shown through him with every breath, shining as a crimson furnace, and like a furnace… his lungs weezed and huffed like bellows feeding the flame.

“Remenik… This attack was more than just staking claim to their turf.  That elf called you out.  If you know nothing of this ‘Entropy Engine’, then why does she know of you?”

Astride his marbled mare, Talanic looked down on Remenik.  The older dwarf was struggling to mount his horse, and his frustration was evident.  Nothing in Talanic’s gaze offered support.  He simply watched, impatient.  Even enjoying the vantage of speaking to Remenik from his high horse.

Giving up on the mount, Remenik threw the reins over the saddle and started walking.  It was meant more as a gesture to Talanik.  An attempt to take control over his situation, but his limping gait betrayed the need for a mount.  Remenik would never make it far on foot, and though he did his best to not let his aching knee get the better of him, his direction was simply to find Jacob or Colm in order to gain the assistance he sorely needed.

As he hobbled toward the other dwarves, he could feel the weight of their situation pressing down on him.  On all of them.  His knee hurt, and he believed it was due to the burden that Ironsbane once carried for him.

Approaching the stretcher, Remenik gestured to the Srylian priestess.  Hsyrolno knelt near the old smith.  In one hand, she held a wooden cup full of a pungent poultice.  The other applied it to the dwarf’s wounds.  Slow and methodical, she worked with a patience and calm that was desperately needed amongst the caravan… as if her actions could heal the body of the smith while mending the spirits of the miners.  Alongside her, ZzyZzyk searched through the collection of herbs and vials.  Whatever he was looking for eluded him. 

“This one cannot quench his fever, Keymeister.  The master smith will need more than blessings and salves.”

Hsyrolno didn’t not pause from her actions or look at Remenik while speaking.  The application of her poultice itself seemed a ritual which she would not stray from. 

Remenik regarded the pale smith for a long moment.  These two healers have done everything within their power, both within the realms of medicine and magic.  It was an infection which would kill Ironsbane, not Nevil’s knife.  Were they in Forgen, the proper Dranite cures would be within ease of reach.  Infection and disease were the devils of the battlefield, a far greater danger than any dagger or arrow.  They didn’t just kill their victim… they poisoned the spirit of those around them.  There was no greater pain than watching your own die slowly, powerless to stop it.  Gar’s strength, Armin’s speed, Colm’s faith, and Mip’s spirit.  Even Ket with the luck of a hynid could not steal Ironsbane from his fate. 

But perhaps ZzyZzyk could.  Like the Dranites, ZzyZzyk’s knowledge of healing may be able to sway death’s grasp. 

With the help of Jacob, Remenik was able to finally get a leg over the saddle and unburden his knee.  A last long look at Ironsbane, then he pulled the reigns and returned to the side of Nine Hammers.

“Talanik… we need to send the scouts south.  Mip and Ket spotted skindancers watching the fight in the forest.  I believe it was they that chased off the Maji, not us.  That wyvern we saw was no coincidence… I believe it may have been a servant of their tribe.  A band of seven skindancers is a rare thing, and for them to take an interest in our activities should not be taken lightly.”

“After such an attack, we can’t afford to send off our guards!  Let the old smith rest and the Srylian do their job.”

Bolan Nine Hammers had joined his father’s side during Remenik’s absence.  With Ironsbane incapacitated, Bolan had taken over command of the mining expedition.  Being the elder son, Talanic had naturally wanted to see Bolan step into leadership.  It didn’t take long to see how his ill temper and contempt for the working class gnawed at the morale of the caravan.

“Bolan, we can’t let our master smith die.  You have months of mining ahead of you.  Norgart is nursing a wound himself, meaning you have no one to work a forge.  How long do you think our tools will last in the forest?  How did do you think you’ll get with no repairs?”

It was a cold way to address the threat on Ironsbane’s health, but it was at least one that Bolan could agree with. 

“Send the scouts south to find the medicine ZzyZzyk is seeking.  The Northwinds can defend us once we have set up camp.”

Talanik eyed the Keymeister, but didn’t speak.  As they both sat atop their horses, the high ground had been lost and the senior Nine Hammers waited for his son to address the matter.

“Fine.  Let them go, but if the golyn attack while they are away, I’ll hold you responsible.”

With a nod, Remenik heeled his horse and turned to leave.  The scouts would seek out the skindancers, and they best leave immediately. 

IoK Session 11 - Broken Anvil

The fog sprung up around the center of the caravan, a manifestation of the hynid's recent dabbling into shamanism.  Jacob felt a shiver as the mist climbed from his boots to his waistcoat.  Soon, he found it hard to see the golyn swarming through the forest.  'This was a gamble' he thought, knowing that Ket's enchantment would obscure the Nine Hammer family from archers... all of them, friend or foe.  He couldn't see much further than his grasp, leaving his pistol nothing more than a crude cudgel.  Dark shapes could still be observed near the closest trees.  He recognized Drauk Northwind, hunkered down and directing his crew along the golyn's flank.  Hsyrolno and Ket stayed behind him and low, attempting to secret themselves amongst the rolling curtains of mist. 

Of comfort was the cherry incense of Yugrim Ironsbane's pipe.  Like the forge he worked, the elder smith smoldered of fruit and tobacco smoke at all hours of the day.  The steady glow of his pipe's ember shown through the fog like a lighthouse along a darkened shore.  Sanctuary amongst the rocks. 

"Steady, Jacob.  Keep low and use the mounts as cover.  Remember what we discussed... it's Armin's job to protect the merchants, not yours."

With a nod, Jacob let Remenik know he understood.  His teacher was focused on the skies.  The mist may have blocked out the forest, but the brightness of the noon day sun could still be seen above.  Like an eclipse, the dark shape of the dafan and it's rider cast its shadow upon the caravan.

"I thought golyn didn't like the sun.  Why are they attacking in broad daylight?  And what of the drums?"

Jacob found himself speaking too loudly, as if he thought the mist would muffle his voice as well as his vision.  Perhaps it was the steady echo of gunfire from the sappers, convincing him to speak up.

"Golyn attack when they are told, and it seems their master told them..."

It was now Remenik's time to shout.  Jacob saw the flash and the blazing streak of fire descend.  This is what the Keymeister had been waiting for.  With the leadership of the caravan positioned tightly together, an elemental blast from an arcanists would take them all out.  He planned on this and told the Nine Hammer's family to stay close, much to the frustration of Benjamin and Drauk.  'Give the golyn 'shaman' the opportunity to show her cards.' he had said.  True to form, Remenik's prediction came true.

Raising his outstretched hand skyward, his ring of the Great Clockwork flashed as he completed the countering equation.  As the fireball approached, it was met by a shockwave from the Keymeister.  The force of it disrupting the elemental magicks, shattering the spell to nothing but glowing trails of light which gave the fog an amber glow.

In that moment, Jacob observed a glint of steel.  Though the fog was thick and he couldn't be certain, it seemed that Nevil, the Nine Hammer's dirt slave, was brandishing a weapon.  Standing beside Ironsbane, even this slight dock worker was preparing for a fight.

The shapes to the south continued to charge through the forest.  Jacob thought of the shadow puppet shows he would frequent as a child.  Dramatic stories of heroes facing off against monsters and demons.  In these stories, the heroes were knights and noble warriors.  They would save the fair maiden from being kidnapped by hobok and flatland savages.  Watching the silhouettes before him, he smiled as he thought of how these stories would be told.  Of how dwarven soldiers fought the golyn raiders.  A brave Darian swordsman charges to their side, and as he faces the massive hynn axeman... this is where the story changes.  Gar was a beast, but he was a loyal one.  Much of his blood had been spilled in this forest, and still his shadow charged into the rain of arrows. 

"Volimak's down.  Pull back!"

Culnen's heavy Forgen accent echoed across the forest.  The shadow knights were facing too many shadow monsters.  Still, Jacob held his ground.  This was not his place in the story.

Ironsbane's voice pulled Jacob back to the mists.

"The volleys have stopped.  We need to regroup.  Priestess, dismiss your fog!"

The Ninehammers clan seemed to have taken no injuries.  Jacob heard Rolak and Bolan's sharp voices.  The two brothers bickered often, and the subject now seemed to be about who would have to ride the wounded mare.  Talanic stood near Remenik and inquired as to the nature of the dafan rider.

"That is no golyn, Keymeister.  What are we dealing with?"

"Her magic is powerful.  That ball of fire was fueled with old energies... Elemental and strong.  No Talanic, this is no golyn."

"Then why is she just sitting there?"

His voice was calm, but Jacob could sense that the senior Nine Hammers was concerned.  As a merchant prince, Talanic had a reputation for seeing the angles.  Finding the opportunity when others were still assessing the problem.  If Talanic didn't already know the answer, then Jacob wouldn't figure it out.

A howl tore through the forest.  Pain and anger like he had never heard.  That was the voice of Gar, and something awful must have struck him.  Earlier, he had witnessed Drauk take a direct hit from an arrow.  A one-in-a-million head shot which would have taken down anyone not wearing a heavy Forgen helm.  A sniper was in the forest, and Jacob's gut sank as he wondered if Gar would prove the value of wearing a helmet.

The shadow of the dafan moved, and Jacob saw the sun again.  It flew overtop of the caravan and to the north.  The shadows on that side of the fog, which had not been dismissed despite Ironsbane's demand, were of Benjamin and Felsyrlus, the Jerule.  Benjamin released arrow after arrow skyward, looking for the lucky shot that would pierce the enchantment shielding the dafan rider.  Coupled with the musket balls of Drauk's longrifle, the shaman was under constant fire.

"Yugrim... what should we do?  How do we stop this rider?"

The question went unanswered.  Jacob could see the shadow of Ironsbane standing but 10' away, but he saw no ember.  The smell of cherry and tobacco had faded, leaving nothing but smokepowder and the damp of the mist.  Yugrim's shadow stood motionless as Jacob saw a glint of steel grow from the back of the dwarven silhouette.  Saw Nevil's shadow step out of Yugrim's.  Saw the dwarf fall to the forest floor.

"NO!"  The shout escaping Jacob's lips without thought or fully understanding what he had witnessed.  Rushing forward, he caught sight of Nevil as the mist parted enough for shadow puppets to became people again.  His hand was bloodied and clutching a kitchen knife.  He smiled at Jacob before darting away and out of the mist.

"Remenik!  Nevil stabbed Ironsbane!"

The world of mist and shadows swirled around Jacob.  He held his hand over the chasm of Yugrim's waistcoat, pressing upon the wound but unable to slow the wash of deep crimson that was flowing across the once impeccable vest. 

A clawed hand grasp Jacob by the shoulder and pulled him aside.  ZzyZzyk, the srylian medicine man, had firmly pushed him back while Hsyrolno chanted in the slick tongue of the lizardfolk.  Jacob couldn't tell if it was the pale mist that colored Yugrim Ironsbane or encroaching death that had drained all of the fire from the mastersmith's face. 

More pistol shots and clashing metal brought Jacob's mind back to Nevil.  The dirt slave had run north.  With heavy limbs, he rushed forward and across the fog.

"I did what you asked!  Take me with you!"

Parting through the edge of the enchanted fog, Jacob saw Nevil reaching towards the rider of a great winged lizard.  A dafan as he had heard Remenik call it.  A beautiful predator, the beast had the slick scales of a snake or lizard.  Its limbs were slender and delicate, ending in small grasping claws to simple to serve as weapons.  The head, near the size of a horse, resembled the great lizards of the Wraith Isles.  Ancient and powerful, a set of brilliant  sharp teeth shone as its serpent tongue licked the air.  Most astonishing was its wings.  Like a dragonfly, an iridescent blur which kept the dafan and rider hovering ominously just above the ground. 

And set between the dragonfly wings was a Darmic elf.  Dressed in green silks and gold ornamentation, she held a slender longsword in one hand and the reigns of the dafan in the other.  This was not a shaman, but a Maji.

The jerule rushed forward in rage, gripping his axe in both hands.  As he lifted the weapon to strike the rider, she swung her blade faster.  From it escaped a frozen wind, grasping the lizardman in an icy grip and holding him fast.

"Take me from here... quickly, I beg you!"

Nevel pleaded before the maji, desperate for escape. 

"Did you kill the smith?"

The question was calm and simple.  The wings of the dafan shielding her from the divine blades of Rikus the younger keymeister, Colm, had been attempting to smite her with. 

"Yes! Yes!  I cut him deep.  He never suspected me, now please!  I need to escape!"

"...and you will."

With that, the dafan lunged forward.  It's jaws unhinging as a serpent before a mouse, snatching Nevil between its perfect teeth.

"Tell that fat architect to stay away from this.  The Entropy Engine will never be his."

A wind stirred the leaves beneath the maji as they ascended away from the dwarven caravan.  Jacob could still hear Nevil's screams as the dafan held tight, still dodging Colm's divine blades.

Drauk rushed out from the mist, raising his rifle skyward. 

"He took Nevil, Drauk!  We need to stop her!"

Drauk aimed, the maji squared neatly amongst his scope's crosshairs.  Taking a deep breath, he paused and centered his fingertip on the trigger.  He didn't take the shot though.  Too many musket balls had been wasted on this same image held in the rifle's scope.  Instead, he shifted his aim and completed the trigger pull.

The round rocketed towards Nevil, striking him cleanly in the skull.  The screaming ceased as the dafan flew north and out of range of the Rikian blades.  Having no more use for the dead dirt slave, the dafan dropped him.  His body falling to the entangled vines still grasping the wounded and dying golyn archers to the north.

Jacob watched the dafan fly north, in the direction of the Vernfal Mountains.  Nearly all of the golyn lie dying.  To the south, he could still hear some kind of fight.  It was only a few though and he was certain the scouts could handle it. 

In the mist, he could see numerous shadows kneeling around the broken smith.  A sad puppet show, all shadows and no heroes to be seen.

But then another, more frightening thought emerged.  Jacob could still hear the drums.  In the distance, the same beating which had been heard before the first arrow landed.  Its rhythm having never changed, signaling that this story wasn't over.

Iok Session 10 – Ambushed

‘Smoke and Fire’.  If you asked what flowed through the heart and lungs of a Forgen Sapper, he would stand tall and proclaim ‘Smoke and Fire’.  Days like today are where such a motto are born.

The scent of black powder was heavy in the still air, leaving an eye-high haze around The Northwinds mercenaries. 

“On your left!”

Drauk Northwind kept a tree to his right, its trunk taking the brunt of the Golyn volleys.  Moving behind him and east, Volimak and Culnen took their positions to the left of their commander.  Pistols flared and angry musket balls tore through the haze.  Sometimes, the ball would strike true… black blood polluting the forest floor.  Most of the time, the shot blasted tree bark from the still mountain pines.  A forest is a difficult place for direct fire combat.

Monitoring the south of the mule train, Drauk counted at least a dozen archers.  They launched volleys at the miners, allowing for the arching angle to account for the lack of a clear shot.  He knew that the miners carried no shields.  He had lost that argument when it came to accounting for inventory.  Shields did not dig mines, move stone, or support shafts.  Bolan reminded him that it was the job of the Northwinds and the rag tag group of half-breeds to address direct threats.  If they couldn’t stop a couple Golyn archers from killing miners, what were they paying them for?

“Keep low and stop the archers.  Let the axmen approach.”

The tactic was to take out the present threat… the axe wielding golyn warriors appeared to be without a ranged weapon.  They needed to close before they would become a threat. 

From the corner of his eye, Drauk saw the priestess rush to the brush behind him.  The hynid was with her.  Seemed the little beast had taken a liking to the lizardwomen.  Unlike the miners, this was added support… not responsibility.  Reaching to the earth, Drauk heard the Srylian tongue of the ancients call out for aid.  A vast field of vines and entangling brush erupted from the ground, halting many of the rushing axmen.  Very useful.  To the north, the half-beast scouts were employing the same tactic.  Locking down half of their foot soldiers greatly evened the odds, which until now had been largely in the golyn’s favor.

With the hynid watching over the priestess and the jerule and Covalian pirate watching the Nine Hammers, Drauk was free to focus his attention on the southern wave of archers.  To the north, he saw as the hynn and the Traton merchant guard rushed their attackers.  Amongst the golyn archers was a massive creature wielding a long hafted war axe.  Not another ogre, but just as bad.  Back in Drauk’s army days, they called such a creature a ‘Grudger’.  Seemed the golyn shamans knew much about how to breed their own, and this was a creature bred for war.  Gar, the massive hynn, charged past and directly into the swarm of golyn archers.  He would take a beating for that… a hynn is a powerful thing, but for every swing of his axe the golyn would take a dozen stabs at him.  Drauk would have to have a word with this young beast once the smoke cleared… teach him some tactics.

The guard seemed to be in his element.  Better defense and faster than the hynn.  Also, lucky… the grudger had found itself tangled up in the srylian’s vine-field.  This didn’t stop such a brute, but did slow it down.  Made it’s swings awkward and slow.  The guard positioned himself at the edge of the srylian magic, forcing the grudger to stay within or risk dropping its defenses for an opportunistic stab.  Clever.

Drauk drew his powder-horn and reloaded his long rifle.  He needed steady aim to cut through the trees and brush.  The archers were also taking cover, and pistols just weren’t cutting it here.

To the east, the flatlander had wandered into the trap.  Drauk had seen the baiting goyln before the battle began, mostly because the goyln wanted to be seen.  It had ducked behind a tree and waited for the wagon train to send a scout.  This was classic and fortunately the flatlander managed to avoid falling into the hidden spike pit.  The maneuver is a win-win situation for the ambusher… you dig a spike pit in the path of a caravan.  For the bait, you want a minor threat.  Something you wouldn’t send more than a scout or two to recon.  As they approach, they fall into the trap and you take out a scout.  Immediately after, you trigger the pincer and attack from the flanks with your main army.  If the scouts don’t see the bait, then the caravan stumbles into the pit instead.  This usually takes out the lead horses.  Same effect of stopping the caravan, but costs the raiders more as you typically lose a horse or two.

The flatlander was still tied up with this one golyn and separated from the main fight.  Drauk frowned.  These scouts don’t seem to fight as one unit, each attempting to be a hero in their own spotlight. 

“Change tactics… need to approach round the vine-field.  Take out the archers.  Stay close and cover each other against any axmen that break free.”

The other sappers moved as one, staying within each other’s primary pistol range.  They followed along the cover of the trees, saving their load for a clear shot.  Hammer in their offhand should they need to face a golyn directly.  Drauk used his rifle to cover them, picking off the open golyn as they drew their bows.

Behind him, the jerule charged to the west and rear of the caravan.  Past the cowering miners, desperate to find cover from the rain of arrows.  They could have been carrying the damn shields this whole time.

Shifting so as to see to his right, Drauk caught glimpse of a previously unseen band of axmen descend upon the hobok and the other srylian druid.  Another vine-field was laid down, but perhaps too late.  The ax wielding butchers charged through the field and attacked the hobok. 

Drauk caught Shipworth eyeing the scene.  Till now, he had been standing guard over the Nine Hammers... the last guard.  The Jerule had rushed to protect his own, leaving only the pirate remaining.  To the head of the mule train, Skinner and Nutcatcher were doing their best to calm the animals.  Seemed Skinner had already dispatched the baiting golyn with a pistol shot, but otherwise these two were too occupied with the mules to be of any further use.

Shaking his head and attempting to catch Shipworth's eye, Drauk willed him not to leave his post.  The pirate seemed not to see or not to care.  Drawing his bow, he moved to rear of the caravan. 

Quick evaluation of the scene… Drauk saw that he had soldiers at all key directions, but they were widely spread.  No one was in the center, and that is where the asset was.  The Nine Hammers family and the senior Keymeister.  Old Ironsbane drew his blade and took a stance, but the smith hadn’t swung it in anger since before Drauk had a beard.  Several of the miners had taken superficial wounds as had the dirt slave, Nevil.  The young darian cried out when Shipworth left his side, and Drauk could see a wide-eyed panic beginning to set in.

Though he had heard the whistle, he wasn’t fast enough to react.  Drauk’s head snapped back and struck the bark of the tree.  He heard the crack of both his nose and the shaft of the arrow that had struck his helmet.  Recovering, blood now pooled into his mustache.  Had he not been wearing a helm, that shot would have been a career ender.  Dropping his visor to shield against the next, he scanned the treeline.  This was a professional that had just entered play.  Looking skyward, he sought out the tree tops for the hidden sniper.

What he saw was not his anticipated hidden archer though.  Silhouetted against the clear blue sky was the shape of a mounted rider atop a flyng lizard.  Not a wyvern, something obscure and foreign to these woods.  With the sun at its back, it was near impossible to make out detail, the rider held still... calm.  At its own pace, it observed the violence below.

If this was the shaman, then the Nine Hammers expedition was in a vulnerable state.  The flying beast could pass quickly over their line and into the caravan center.  If it was an arcanist, it could rain fire down upon them in the manner of the Rikians.  A summoner had clear view in order to conjure some evil.  Even a simple well trained archer could end the Nine Hammer's patriarch.

The options were endless, and Drauk still had to find his sniper.  Raising his rifle, he decided to shoot the sun and bear his heart to the next arrow from the shadows.  If it held fire, may the next arrow burn before he died.

IoK Session 9

It’s an unfamiliar feeling.  You know that what you are doing is innately wrong, while at the same time it is the most natural thing there is.  I find it amazing that I’ve never experienced this before. 

Well… that’s not entirely true.  I found a dead cat several years back.  The skinny thing looked as though it had been washed up from the city sewer and lived just long enough to drag its way to our back steps.  When I found it, the flies had already set upon the cat’s hide.  Horrid little things, but again… natural.  It’s what flies did, they ate the dead.  Their children, the little white maggots, they ate the dead as well.  I watched this cycle of life for a few mornings… checking on the cat each day before heading down to the wharf.  There was a peace to it, to watching the once living cat now nourish a lesser generation of life.  With one cat’s death, dozens of flies birthed hundreds of maggots.  If there had been enough time, I imagine the maggots could have grown, morphed to flies, and began the cycle again on the same dead cat. 

To the flies, this dead cat must have been the world.  The source of all their basic needs.  The center of their existence for the duration of their little lives.  They mined it for sustenance, they hid amongst its matted fur for shelter, and they protected it from other vermin much like nations warring over hills and fields.

Then one day, I grew bored.  While the sun was still low and the air still chill, I scooped the dead cat into a crate and walked it down to the wharf.  The flies buzzed angrily around my head.  The maggots clung to the cat’s fur in desperation.  Some dropped through the crate and onto the pier.  Exposed to the rising sun, they would shrivel and die without the protection of the stinking animal corpse.  I stood for a moment at the edge of dock, sea water gently lapping the wooden posts at my feet.  I stood long enough to watch the flies settle above the cat again.  To watch the maggots crawl from the crate back to the corpse.  Gave them just enough time to return to the gentle patterns of the meaningless existence, then I dumped the crate into the sea.

I watched as the fish devoured the maggots.  The cat floated for a bit, before some large fish snagged it dragged it under the waves and with it, the world of the flies.

I felt like a god.

Slaughtering the swine, I felt that same sensation of power and righteous judgment flow through me again.  It was more visceral this time, more ‘real’.  The blood made the knife slick, but it also felt warm.  The knife felt alive, like it had stolen the essence of the swine and taken some within itself.

I was a merciful god, and ended the swine quickly… though not that I wanted to.  The dwarven kitchen master was watching, judging me.  I wish he would have left me alone so I could have enjoyed the pig’s sacrifice.  It was an injustice to the animal not to appreciate its death.  Just as it would be a waste to feed this ‘world’ to those abominations returning from the forest.

This collection of man-beasts was a never ending source of amusement to the mountain folk.  The swapped stories while intoxicating themselves.  What a tedious existence… awaken just to drink yourself into a stupor.  Move this rock from here over to there… chop down this tree, split this wood, drag it to the pit, light it on fire.  Repeat.

Benjamin understood my frustration.  Perhaps it was because he also grew up on the docks… he knew what it was like to labor for others, gaining little but survival for yourself.  Knowing that your efforts were not your own, but to ensure that some fat merchant would be able to wipe his ass with the finest silks this evening.  All while you entertain yourself watching a dead cat rot.

The scouts returned and the camp rejoiced, and this pig died… just so that the dwarves could celebrate the ability of upright animals to successfully live in the forest.  Is that an actual deed for a man-wolf… is anyone surprised that the flatland savage didn’t die when he slept in the woods?  Maggots don’t die when they crawl about the cat’s flesh… they thrive.  Nobody threw a feast for the maggots though.

I threw the maggots in the water.  I threw them to the fish.  If the maggots and flies survived the fish, then they’ve earned a celebration.  I would slaughter a pig for the first maggot that crawled back from the sea and returned to my doorstep.

If the dwarves want something to celebrate, let’s throw them to the fish.  Cheer any who swim home.

 

 

Game note – The party has had 1 week of down time back at the miner’s camp.  This has allowed for full healing and anxiety reduction.  Also, the party received several rewards for a successful scouting mission.  After the week of down time, the camp has been packed up and the party is beginning to move to the cleared grid identified by the scouts.  Once there, they will reassemble camp and begin to survey the mountain side to identify a mining site.

At start of game, party will be in marching order moving through the previously scouted forest.