D&D | Settlers: Spring Forward

There must be a reason that so much lumber is missing. I need you to find it. 

Eamon’s orders had been succinct but clear. As the party made their way toward the mines so that the priest could issue his blessing, Iramo broke away, vanishing into the welcome shadows of the woods.  Flitting amongst the trees as only a fleet-footed halfling like himself could do, the intrepid young thief took himself ahead to scout out the mine area unhindered by prying eyes and incessant questions. If there was one thing Iramo didn’t care for it was too many questions. Some things were best left unanswered. 

Thanks to the rains the previous day, there were plenty of tracks and footprints in the mud. Too many, perhaps, due to the regularity of the movements of the miners but those were easy and predictable to pick out amidst the muddy slurry. As Iramo inspected the area where the lumber had been kept, he found the expected footprints of the various folk one would expect, but the man’s keen sense of observation and investigation caught sight of something one might not: minuscule faerie footprints. Many of them, in fact.  

Following them through the woods, the creatures didn’t seem to make any effort to hide their trail so plain was it for the man to track them. It took him into the depths of the forest, farther than Iramo himself had ever been. The faerie trail continued onward until at last it broke into a clearing fed by a small rivulet and spring.  Once, a majestic tree had occupied the center of this clearing, but all that remained now was a rough-hewn stump.  The pile of stolen lumber lay nearby, a group of fae creatures: faeries, brownies, even a gnome or two, stood near it all of them in some state of distress. 

“The equinox will soon be upon us,” one of the gnomes said, pointing toward the heavens. “It is a time of renewal, perhaps the Auld Gods will see fit to heal our sacred tree and we can undo the ruin these mortals have wrought!” 

Iramo kept himself hidden, embraced in the shadows of the forest, obscured by the bracken and brush as he listened to the fae bicker amongst themselves.  

“We should fight these mortals, hurt them for the wrongs they’ve done us!” One of the brownies said, punching one fist into his other palm. “They don’t speak any other language but violence!” 

“No!” One of the faeries protested. “If you do that, they’ll only bring more pain and suffering to our woods. Better we trick them and drive them from the canopy, keep them away from what is ours!” 

“Nay, friends, nay…” The gnome said, trying to placate his comrades with gentle waves of his hands. “We will let the Gods decide the fate of these interlopers. T’was they who hew down the Sacred Tree, so no doubt someone on-high will see fit to punish them for it. We must simply be patient.” 

Iramo scowled. He didn’t like the sound of any of this, as it seemed like more trouble might be coming their way than they bargained for out of this mistake. Still, if it dealt with placating Gods and appeasing spirits, that was more of a job for Eamon than him.  Mortal, mundane problems Iramo could solve, but matters like these were not his element. 

Backtracking the way he’d come, Iramo tried to make mental note of where the clearing was, taking stock of any landmarks like the rivulet and its spring, the shape of the clearing and the surrounding woods.  He made note of piles of stones, or downed trees, anything notable that would lead him back to this place if necessity provoked it.  

Even as he stood trying to get his bearings, a man materialized out of the shadows as if he’d been one with them – quite a feat given Iramo’s own skillset, that a man should come upon him unawares. The halfling drew a knife, ready to defend himself, if need be. 

“Whoa there, young man!” The man boomed in a hearty baritone, lifting both of his hands up in a show of peace. “You have the look of one who’s lost their way. I can show you back to town, if you’d like.” He offered. “The name’s Sir Gareth, I’m the Master of the Hunt for Lord Arion.” 

Iramo knew of Lord Arion, of course, as he knew of most of the nobility and notable names throughout the city. He could hardly keep apprised of Eamon’s enemies and obstacles if he didn’t.  This, of course, was Sir Gareth as he’d stated, the Lord’s Master of the Hunt, a jovial and affable man whose woodslore and survival skill in the wilds were a prize like no other. It made him a sage source of counsel for any who would try to make their way in these woods. 

“Iramo.” He provided, sheathing his knife. “I seem to have lost my party. We were on our way to the mines, my priest, Eamon, was to bless the lumber there.” 

“Ah, then allow me to show you the way, friend!” Sir Gareth said, flourishing an arm in the appropriate direction. “We’ll have you back among your comrades in no time at all.  I hope you haven’t had much trouble in these woods, hm?” 

Iramo looked back behind himself in the general direction of the clearing and its ruined Sacred Tree. 

“No, no trouble at all.” He replied.   

At least not yet…