our last session with the defeat of six wereboars at the hands of our party of four (plus our newly hired noncombatant innkeeper). Three of the wereboars remained after the quick killing of half of their group led to their surrender.
Delvin, my dwarf, was all for finishing off the other three. They gutted my pony, after all. I liked my pony. I judged my pony to be a better person than most people (at least most human people...and all elven people).
My mood softened as we heard the wereboars' tale of woe. They had been set up by their boss and captured by some sort of witchy woman. She was living in the foothills about 10 miles or so to the west of our current location. This caused a bit of concern, as we are preparing to build an inn just down the road. No one wants a witch or nymph or other troublesome female type, lurking around and turning men into pigs (well, okay, that is not really not much of a stretch when you consider it). We did our good for the day by sending the three piggy guys to the north with a few coins and the name of a temple that we hoped could help them.
Once they hit the road, we gathered up the three remaining bodies and built a nasty hot fire. The more magically paranoid members in our group decided that leaving bodies of suspected lycanthropes lying around could come back to haunt us and our inn. You never know who might be looking for a meal and end up with a case of recurring indigestion every full moon. Yes, I did detect a note of bacon in the air.
The site for our inn was just down the road. It turned out to be an excellent location to build an inn. Plus, the natives like us. The dozen or so locals--freehold farmers and herdsmen--welcomed us. The prospects of prosperity and the tale of our victory over the wereboars won them over.
The next day, our master mason arrived. He and Kermit set about the site, doing whatever prep work needed to be done. Actually, Kermit and the mason seemed to be working on two different projects. There was a lot of bickering, so Durgo and I decided to ride out for a bit, making a circle around the inn to get the lay of the land. Bickering loses its interest when it cannot be settled by a well-timed axe swing.
We encountered a woman herding her flock. She threatened to plug us with an arrow. I wasn't too worried about our safety but we did want to make a good impression on our new neighbors. Wooing strangers does not play to my strengths, unless the wooing involves cleaving them from head to toe. Durgo is no social butterfly either. It was a bit awkward. However, once she realized that I was, in fact, a real live dwarf her countenance turned from hostility to an equal mix of wonder and greed. Apparently, here was another human who believed that dwarves, when held upside down by their feet and shaken, shoot gold nuggets out of our asses. Really...what is with you humans? After trying that trick on two of my cousins, an aunt, and our clan's priest, I can tell you flat out that it is an old elve's tale. I never saw a single nugget, although my aunt did let out a few poisonous toots.
We explored the handful of farms to the west of the inn site. Beyond that we could see the foothills and the likely home of the witchy woman. To the east, we found ancient stone megaliths and lots of cairns. Not surprising, given that we were on the western edge of the Plain of Cairns. Clever namers, those humans.
We arrived back at the inn site. We could hear the bickering long before we could see the bickerers. Fortunately, Kermit is a good sport and a quick learner. That boy has the magic touch when it comes to construction...something that I lack despite my dwarviness.
Alas, no fighting. However, the witch to the west and the cairns to the east promise plenty of future excitement.