We set off briskly towards the west and Critwall, daring only to walk, lest a run raise the alarm. My long-legged companion moved with the fluid grace of a hunter. After some time, we stopped in an area of multicoloured fields and tree cover, finally allowing ourselves to exchange names and motives. 

I spoke of my former life as chronicler to the late Duke Edward Ravenguard, my narrow escape from Alexander’s murderous regime, and my goal to forge a new identity as a freelance chronicler, poet, and bard. The Elf, eyeing me with the wary suspicion of a wild creature, introduced himself simply as Crow, a Ranger, a hunter as true as the flight of an arrow, seeking adventure. We set off together, the Bard and the Blackbird. 

What I neglected to share was the full burden of my secret: the detailed accounts of Ravenguard’s overthrow and the incriminating documents hidden in Furyondy that could cost me my life. 

I. The Eye of the Unknown 

Later that day, we were startled by a mighty roar. I was surprised that a storm should roll in on such a quiet day. Crow, his ear bent toward the horizon, turned to me, his brow furrowed, and simply said, “That’s not thunder.” 

We watched as three large, black carriages rumbled into view. They were instantly recognizable as prisoner transports. A cadre of robed mages descended from the final carriage and, linking arms, chanted an incantation that succeeded in calming the unholy ruckus coming from the lead wagon. 

As the wizards drew away, a window was revealed, filling the entire frame with a single, massive eyeball. It seemed to stare right through the night and into the wild grass that concealed us, its pupil dilating and contracting. 

A tightness seized our minds. We were both struck by a terrible psychic blow, the unspoken words ringing in our very souls: “I see you!” 

As the carriages rumbled out of earshot and our minds recovered, Crow spotted a small object fly out of the window and land on the verge. At daybreak, after recovering from the frightful encounter, Crow retrieved a small brown pouch containing a huge crystal, the size of a small fist. We decided to seek out one learned in the arcana to study it. 

II. The Ooze

We continued till midafternoon when, rounding a corner, we spied in the distance an odd black shape on the top of the hill that seemed to erupt and cascade in on itself. I immediately remembered an encounter with Black oozes in the caves that riddled the western Lordmill mountains. I’ll never forget seeing a Ravenguard soldier manically running into the depths of the cave as his helmet and face were eaten away by the acid from an ooze that dropped onto him from the ceiling above. We found what remained of his corpse at the bottom of a subterranean pit later that day. His half plate armor had been corroded to almost nothing, and even his remaining bones were unrecognizable gelatinous globs. Strange, I didn’t think that oozes were to be found topside in the middle of the afternoon heat. 

I stiffened and made to give the hill a wide berth when I noticed Crow with his ear to the earth. He held up a finger as if to beg me to tarry a while. His forehead scrunched up as if seeking to understand the information he was collecting from the natural vibrations of earth and air. Smiling, he proceeded toward the ooze. 

I ran after him and then as we approached within 50 feet, Crow smiled knowingly at the ‘monster’. Just then I thought I heard a snigger coming from the black mass, which appeared less gelatinous and amorphous and more like pieces of black cloth. I made to throw one of my daggers at the clump but stopped before it was released. In that moment yelps came from the black mound which was thrown aside as two bedraggled boys emerged from underneath. 

III. The Farmer

Crow and I stood there laughing and before long the pranksters joined in. We found out that they were once residents of Critwall who had fled with their father to start a new life as farmers outside the city. We took up their offer to stay the night at their nearby farmstead where we met their poor father working in the fields. They had obviously seen better times.  

Crow noticed the plough tethered to the back of the pack horse was had been attached upside down, and the seed the boy’s father was spreading should have been drilled into the soil rather than broadcast on top. He didn’t have a clue. 

We retreated into the farmhouse, where we shared our meagre rations, and Crow gave out some farming tips. This Crow seemed to know a thing or two about anything related to the great outdoors and was more than proving a worthy partner. The farmer was grateful for the agricultural advice and for the fact that we hadn’t cleaved his sons in two during their misguided prank.  

The topic turned to Critwall and its environs. A bustling, friendly, trade city until recently, it seems that the sudden invasion of “Royals” or city guards had upset the vibrant town and driven folks like these away. No one seemed to know exactly why the town had been turned into some sort of outpost, but both Crow and I suspected it had something to do with the transport of dangerous and powerful prisoners to the nearby Orcatraz. We kept our thoughts to ourselves. 

In the morning, while eating a bowl of porridge served with weak beer, we learnt that the Classy Camel was the high-class drinking establishment in town, whereas a drink at the Drunken Dromedary may come with a side serving of gutter.  

Looking around at the furniture, art and upholstery that adorned the farmhouse, it was clear that this family had once had some money, and so it was no surprise when the father presented us with clothing fit for the nobility and a special gift. He placed on the table two well-worn green boots. Crow recognized the craftsmanship at once. These were Boots of Speed allowing the wearer to double their move speed and dodge certain attacks.  

Boots of Speed

IV. The Classy Camel

We thanked the family and set off early in the morning, reaching Critwall by dusk, and only being momentarily delayed by two stalking and starving wolves.  We knew Critwall to be a bustling trading town, a vital node on the route to the capital city of Greyhawk, and not far downstream from where the Veng and Ritensa rivers meet. It was less than a half-day ride from where these diverge once again and pour into the great Nyr Dyv or the Lake of Unknown Depths. Mercantile vessels from the northwest interior of the continent would pass through Critwall and across the lake to the capital city of Greyhawk, and yet there were precious few berthed on the riverbank here.  

Upon entering the city, we immediately sensed something was amiss. The few townsfolk out and about moved quickly, purposefully, and no one tarried on streets and corners. The city was full of the ‘Royals,’ who had turned the vibrant town into some sort of military outpost.

We changed into our noble wear and made straight for the Classy Camel. The place was unusually empty save for a table that held a dozen of the ‘Royals’ we had been forewarned about. I gave them a cursory glance and a polite nod, then headed straight for the bar with Crow.

The barman was amiable, though disgruntled. After he made clear his disapproval of the guards, we summed up the courage to ask him directly about the ‘Relay‘. There was a deafening silence. He looked us over with intense scrutiny before beckoning us down the bar. He whispered, “No relay here anymore, not with the Royals hanging around. Go to the Drunken Dromedary! Find the owner, he’s my brother. He’ll sort you out.”

One of the guards screamed out, “Oi barman, a round of ale for us hard working soldiers.” Sniggers and grunts from their table. “Go now!”, the barman hissed, head down.  

We scurried back out, eyes forward and, in the manner of the other Critwall townsfolk, moved briskly down the street and away from the bright lights surrounding the Classy Camel. Passing an darkened alleyway, we ducked down it, slipped out of our fancy garments and casually sauntered back into the dark streets in our peasant garb.  

V. The Drunken Dromedary

The Drunken Dromedary was far livelier than the Camel, full of drunks, laughter, and argument. We made for the bar and noticed that the barman was almost a spitting image of his brother.

Comforted by their similarity, we came straight out and stated, “Your brother sent us.” “Mmh… he doesn’t normally send unknowns to me unless it’s a shady business they’re involved with.” He cocked his head to the back of the bar, and we moved to a quieter section. I noticed a couple of private bays off to the side. One was occupied by a brooding man, his face shaded by a wide-brimmed hat.

“So, what’s your business?” asked the barkeep. “We’re looking for a relay. Ermm… we have a message for them,” Crow replied.

“Relay’s busy right now,” he said, gesturing toward the brooding man, who appeared to be on his own and was doing precisely nothing at all. “Could be a while too, methinks. Can’t hurry the relay!“

“Come have some ale and we’ve just boiled up a side of beef, if you fancy?” We accepted and as I sat down, I felt the edges of my daggers. Ok for piercing a wolf’s hide but they would be found lacking trying to puncture hardened leather or tougher padded armor. “Is there anywhere around here that sells simple weapons; a light crossbow perhaps?” “I’ll see what I can do,” offered the barman.

Crow took the barman aside and revealed the huge crystal that had dropped out of the carriage. His eyes lit up as he turned it over in his hands. “That looks to me like some sort of memory crystal if my eyes don’t deceive me. Never seen one that big, I ain’t. Beyond that I can’t rightly say.” He handed the crystal back to Crow. “You might want to just keep a thing like that hidden around here.”  

After a good meal of beef and pea pottage, a boy stumbled over to our table carrying a white box. Inside was a Light Crossbow with six bolts. It was roughly crafted but sturdy enough. It would do the job as long as it’s aim was true.

Light Crossbow

“25 gold pieces!” I exclaimed in shock. It was a fair price but I had hoped to evoke some sympathy from the bar keep to help strike a bargain. We were short on funds. I haggled with the barman but couldn’t get him below 23 GP. eventually offering a bardic challenge: “If I get this bar singing and dancing, how about you drop the price to 19?” He countered: “If you can get Grumpy Gwendolen to smile or out of her seat, I’ll drop it to 17!” “Challenge accepted!”, I replied.

I warmed them up with some bawdy sea shanties such as the “Princess and the Pea-nis”. That got a few laughs and people started to gather round. 

I noticed that Gwendolen was looking over, intrigued. Not quite so unattached and unmoving as before. Was that leg tapping along? 

I finished with a joke popular in the taverns of Ulek:

A Wizard, a Fighter and a Barbarian are being chased by the City Guards. They see this old warehouse, so they run in. Inside there are three big empty sacks on the floor. They each jump into a sack.

In comes the Captain of the Guard and sees these three full sacks.

He goes up to the first one and kicks it. The Wizard shouts out, “Woof Woof”, and the Captain says, “It’s only a dog.”

He leaves it and kicks the second sack. The Fighter yells out, “Meow meow.” The Captain says, “It’s only a cat.”

He kicks the third sack, and the Barbarian yells “Potatoes!“

I looked over and saw Gwendolen’s rotten black front teeth as a wide smile broke over her face.

“17 Gold Pieces it is then,” said the bar keep, chuckling. “And well earned.”

I now still had two gold pieces, a solid ranged attack option, and Crow had seven gold left and a swift pair of boots. We had the messages, the crystal, and been witness to a necromantic ritual. Our next task was to approach the brooding man known as the Relay.