Downtime
The days following the party’s escape from Mira’Thar and subsequent internment by the orcs, goblins, and hobgoblins settled into an uneasy rhythm.
The party’s wounds were treated—not lavishly, but competently. Goblin herbalists cleaned cuts and applied magical unguents with practiced efficiency, hobgoblin surgeons stitched what needed stitching, and splints appeared before anyone thought to ask for them. No one spoke unnecessarily. No one gloated.
Note was made of Corvin Hale’s unsettled mental and emotional state and he was gently but firmly escorted elsewhere.
Ostensibly the party were prisoners…. yet somehow… that wasn’t a precise description of their situation.
They, Professor Harrow, and Blackvein Company were quartered together in a spacious chamber carved from the ancient stone surrounding Mira’Thar. Once, perhaps centuries earlier, it had served some forgotten purpose of the old Orcish civilization. Now rough cots lined the walls, blankets had been laid out, lanterns burned steadily in iron brackets, and a heavy wooden door stood at the entrance. It remained open, allowing fresh air to circulate through the chamber.
Two guards were always stationed outside and although the party was permitted to keep their weapons, armor, and other possessions, no one attempted escape. In fact, no one even suggested it inasmuch as they were told that Colonel Varnes would speak with them once circumstances permitted.
For the moment, however, their hosts seemed occupied by matters of greater urgency. Even underground, it was impossible not to sense that history was moving. Booted feet echoed constantly through the corridors beyond, goblin runners hurried past carrying sealed dispatches, and companies of soldiers marched past their door with disciplined purpose.
Occasionally, the distant concussion of powerful magic rolled through the living rock itself, sending fine dust drifting from the ceiling. No one offered explanations, and none seemed necessary.
What had begun as a search for two missing people had become something far larger.
Beyond the stone walls of their chamber, kingdoms were shifting.
Culinary Considerations
Meals arrived with dependable regularity. Though plainly prepared, they were filling and surprisingly varied. Thick, dark cakes of ground cave fungus and root flour took the place of bread, accompanied by hearty stews whose ingredients seemed to change from meal to meal. Some contained broad slices of mushrooms nearly the size of a man’s hand, others pale cave roots or smoked blind fish from underground streams. A thick, black paste with a pungent, earthy aroma accompanied nearly every meal, and every goblin seemed faintly offended whenever any of it remained untouched.
Most curious of all were the tiny bowls of brightly colored pickles that appeared beside each tray. Some proved pleasantly sharp, others unexpectedly sweet, while one glowing blue variety left the tongue tingling for several minutes afterward.
Wolfgang regarded one particularly rubbery slice of blind fish with obvious suspicion.
“I’m reasonably certain this was still alive even after cooking.”
The goblin serving the meal paused, studying it thoughtfully before nodding.
“It alive earlier,” he agreed. “Now mostly dead… and delicious.”
The explanation failed to reassure Wolfgang.
Another day brought roasted cave crickets dusted with fragrant spices. Wolfgang eyed them in silence for several long moments before sighing theatrically and taking one.
There was a pause.
“…Well,” he admitted reluctantly. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
The goblin positively beamed. “Good, yes?”
Wolfgang frowned. “I refuse to encourage this.”
Professor Harrow, meanwhile, seemed utterly captivated. Before long he had abandoned all reservations and began questioning anyone willing to indulge him about subterranean agriculture, fungal cultivation, underground fisheries, and the remarkable logistical challenge of feeding such a large military force beneath the earth. The answers, while enthusiastically delivered, generally required considerably more Orcish than anyone present possessed. More than once Harrow found himself sketching diagrams based on what he thought a particularly animated goblin was attempting to explain.
The Blackvein mercenaries accepted every meal with the calm resignation of professionals who had spent years eating whatever happened to be available.
“I’ve eaten worse,” one observed after sampling a bowl of glowing blue broth.
Another peered into his own.
“I’ve served worse.”
A third shrugged and reached for another helping of the fungus cakes. “Honestly,” he said between bites, “That black paste is growing on me. Or maybe within me. Either way, I’d pay good coin for a second helping.”
The goblin cook, who happened to be passing at that moment, straightened with unmistakable pride.
“Family recipe.”
Future Plans
As the days passed, everyone found ways to occupy themselves.
The Blackvein Company spoke quietly of contracts, supply lines, and rumors filtering through the camp. If the whispers carried by passing soldiers proved true, armies were already beginning to march. Wherever armies marched, there would soon be demand for scouts, engineers, caravan guards, and professional soldiers.
War was, indeed, terrible. But, on the plus side, it also paid remarkably well.
Professor Harrow, meanwhile, approached his captivity with the enthusiasm of a scholar who had unexpectedly been granted the opportunity of a lifetime.
Whenever meals arrived, he peppered the goblin cooks with questions about ingredients, cultivation, and preparation. He patiently practiced Orcish and Goblin words with passing guards, comparing dialects and jotting down pronunciations in the margins of his notebook. Hobgoblin soldiers, initially puzzled by his curiosity, gradually found themselves explaining military ranks, customs, and even the proper etiquette for addressing one’s superiors. More than once, an animated discussion over the meaning of a single Orcish word continued until both participants were laughing at the other’s inability to grasp what seemed perfectly obvious.
By evening, page after page of Harrow’s notebook had filled with vocabulary lists, sketches of unfamiliar tools, observations on military organization, fragments of songs, recipes, children’s games, architectural details, and comparisons to accepted histories. Every conversation seemed to generate three more questions.
“If only I could secure a university appointment in Manchester…” he remarked one evening while carefully labeling a page of Orcish idioms.
“They’ll dismiss my conclusions at first.”
He smiled to himself. “Naturally.”
Another note found its way into the margin. “But eventually…”
He gently closed the notebook. “…they’ll realize how little we truly knew.”
A Subtle Message
One evening, while absentmindedly reorganizing her belongings yet again, Cassyndra’s fingers brushed against a stiff rectangle she was certain had not been there before.
Curious, she withdrew it.
It was a divination card – not one of her own – but one of Grelda’s. Or rather, one of the cards Grelda had once used before her arrest. Cassyndra had not seen one in nearly a decade. She had assumed the entire deck had been confiscated and destroyed along with the rest of Grelda’s possessions.
For several moments she simply stared.
The painted face depicted a lonely road winding through rolling hills toward an unseen destination.
She frowned.
She didn’t recognize it.
Grelda had never owned such a card. This one was new.
As Cassyndra watched, the painted landscape began to shift almost imperceptibly. The hills settled into familiar shapes. The road curved gently around a stand of trees she recognized at once. There could be no mistaking it. The road led to Dolven’s Hollow.
The image shimmered once more.
Grelda now stood in the doorway of her cottage, hands folded comfortably before her, wearing the faint smile Cassyndra remembered from childhood—the one that always seemed to suggest she knew considerably more than she intended to say.
Instead, the words simply arrived in Cassyndra’s thoughts with the quiet certainty of a memory returning after many years.
Return to Dolven’s Hollow as soon as you are able.
A heartbeat passed.
Then, with the same calm assurance,
They’re ready.
Grelda’s smile broadened ever so slightly and the image dissolved.
Once again the card showed only the lonely road disappearing over distant hills.
Only then did Cassyndra think to turn it over. The reverse bore the familiar design of Grelda’s old deck, precisely as she remembered it. Yet something had changed. The card carried the unmistakable scent of lavender and woodsmoke—the comforting fragrance of Dolven’s Hollow.
When she looked up, the chamber was exactly as before. Lantern light flickered across the ancient stone. Somewhere beyond the doorway, soldiers shouted orders that echoed through Mira’Thar’s halls before fading once more into silence.
No one else had noticed anything.
Cassyndra could not have imagined Grelda doing it any other way.
“The Colonel Will See You Now”
The following morning Professor Harrow was politely escorted from the chamber to meet with Colonel Varnes.
He gathered his notebook, adjusted his spectacles, wished everyone good fortune, and disappeared into the corridors accompanied by two guards.
He did not return.
An hour later, Blackvein Company received the same summons.
Serik Johnson merely shrugged.
“Well.” He hefted his pack onto one shoulder. “Here’s hoping negotiations go better than the last contract.”
The mercenaries departed under escort and also did not return.
Two days passed, days in which the sounds and sights beyond the chamber gradually changed. The earth-shaking concussions of great magic ceased altogether. The columns of soldiers marching outward dwindled until they disappeared entirely. In their place came work details—engineers, laborers, miners, and wagons laden with timber, tools, and supplies. Military companies still returned through the tunnels, but now they marched at a steadier pace, their armor scarred, their equipment well worn, and their bearing carrying the quiet confidence of soldiers who knew they had prevailed.
The hurried pace that had characterized the previous days slowly gave way to something steadier. The sharp urgency of an army in the midst of an offensive had become the ordered activity of one consolidating its gains.
Late that afternoon, footsteps approached and an Orcish guard stood in the doorway inclining his head respectfully.
“The Colonel will see you now.”
The waiting was over.
Ant’s Letter
GM Note – after you leave Hollowmere, you’ll probably find yourself in Harrowden where you’ll receive the Crown’s response to Ant’s letter. Remember that Ant’s patron left her the following instructions,
You must acquire the following.
- A written judgment bearing your full name and the Crown’s seal.
- A fragment of Orcish script older than the Conquest.
- A promise freely given to someone who later betrays you.
- Blood willingly taken from your own hand.
- A document intended to erase someone you care about.
- Your signature on a document you knew was wrong.
You will later learn a ritual that requires all of them.
Do not attempt to substitute.
Do not attempt it early.
Wolfgang then put her up to sending a letter to the Crown which read,
Petition to the Governor of Cambria
Submitted by Antoinette Bramblebee, in Good Faith and Under No False Name
By Hand and Witness, Before the Chamber of Messengers
To His Honor the Governor of Archea,
I, Antoinette Bramblebee, do hereby present myself in petition before the Crown, not as one who defies its authority, but as one who seeks to uphold it where others have faltered.
It has come to pass that the individual known as Wülfgang Spicebeard, presently entered into the Imperial Rolls of Wanted Persons, stands within my reach and—by his own word—declares a willingness to surrender himself into lawful custody. Yet such a surrender, if made without recognition or protection, risks collapse into bloodshed, fear, or opportunistic violence before the law may properly take hold.
I therefore seek from the Crown not pardon, nor absolution, but clarity of process and assurance of lawful conduct, so that I may deliver this man alive, unbroken, and answerable before the proper court.
To this end, I humbly request,
- That the Crown issue formal written judgment acknowledging this petition, bearing my full and proper name, that there be no doubt as to who stands accountable for this act.
- That the Throne extend its word—freely given—that lawful hearing shall precede any final sentence, so that surrender is met not with chaos, but with order.
- That I be permitted to bind myself to this task by oath, and to carry that oath in visible and undeniable form, my blood, that all who witness may know I act under solemn obligation.
- That I be granted authority, under seal, to enact such measures as are required to see this surrender completed—even where such measures may weigh heavily upon me or mine.
- That the Crown recognize that I undertake this burden with full knowledge of its moral cost, and that I affix my name to it without coercion, compulsion, or ignorance.
I do not claim righteousness. I claim only resolve.
If the Crown finds merit in this petition, I ask that its response be issued in clear and binding terms, that neither I nor the accused may mistake its meaning. Should I fail in this charge, I accept that the consequences shall fall upon me as surely as upon him. I place this request before the Throne with open eyes and an unguarded name. So witnessed, so written, and so bound,
Antoinette Bramblebee
By her own hand, freely given
And here is the Crown’s response which you’ll receive as you pass through Harrowden,
Office of the Governor of Cambria
Judicial Correspondence Office
By Authority of the Crown of Archea
To Antoinette Bramblebee, whose petition has been duly received and entered into the record,
The Governor acknowledges receipt of your correspondence concerning the individual known as Wülfgang Spicebeard, presently entered into the Imperial Rolls of Wanted Persons.
Your declaration has been reviewed and your stated intention to assist in the lawful apprehension of the above-named fugitive is noted. The Crown commends those citizens who voluntarily aid in the administration of justice and the preservation of public order.
Should Wülfgang Spicebeard surrender himself through your efforts, or otherwise be placed into your custody, you are instructed to present both yourself and the accused without unnecessary delay before the Imperial Magistrate of Manchester.
The several assurances requested within your petition have likewise been considered.
The Crown cannot negotiate criminal sentences, guarantees of pardon, or conditions of imprisonment in advance of lawful proceedings. Such matters remain solely within the jurisdiction of the courts and the Throne.
Accordingly, those requests are denied.
The law shall proceed according to law.
Administrative Judgment
Let it therefore be entered into the public record that Antoinette Bramblebee, acting under her own name and by her own declaration, has voluntarily declared her intention to assist in the apprehension and lawful delivery of the wanted person Wülfgang Spicebeard to the authorities of the Crown.
This Office finds said declaration to have been submitted freely, under the petitioner’s own name, and without evident coercion.
Any person knowingly obstructing the execution of this declared undertaking, whether through fraud, concealment, intimidation, or deliberate interference, shall be liable under the laws governing obstruction of Imperial justice.
Nothing contained herein shall be construed as deputizing the petitioner, nor as obligating the Crown to provide military escort, compensation for injury, or protection from any risks voluntarily assumed in carrying out this judgment.
This judgment is entered under the authority of the Governor of Cambria and bears the Seal of the Crown.
Given under the Seal of the Crown this Fifteenth Day of December, 973.
Edmund Sprock
Third Assistant Deputy Clerk
Judicial Correspondence Office
By Order of the Governor of Cambria
(Affixed beneath is the impressed seal of the Crown.)
Administrative Notice
During routine review of records associated with this correspondence, the Revenue Office has observed that neither Antoinette Bramblebee nor Wülfgang Spicebeard submitted the required Annual Declaration of Taxable Income for the present tax year.
Failure to file such declaration constitutes a civil violation under Sections XII through XV of the Revenue and Excise Code and may result in penalties, interest, or further administrative action.
Should either party survive the present matter, both are directed to rectify this deficiency at the earliest practical opportunity before an authorized tax collector.
Any lawful bounty payable in connection with the apprehension of Wülfgang Spicebeard shall remain subject to applicable taxes, filing deficiencies, outstanding penalties, and all other lawful deductions.
The Crown thanks you for your continued cooperation in the maintenance of lawful order and imperial revenue.