Bort Bargith's caravan continued it's slow march through Isger, stopping briefly for a resupply in the capital city of Elidir. There, people joined up and left the merchant, with those remaining looking forward to their final destination of Almas, Andoran's capital. Among the new members were Ayal, a strange, soft-spoken elf who advertised himself as "good at everything," but quickly rescinded that, stating he was "good at everything except playing the accordion." This seemed to please Twig, who was happy not to loose her position in the caravan as the resident bard. The elf appeared to be something of an out-of-place tourist, curious about even the most minor of things. Also joining them was Berk Steelbeard. The dwarf never seemed without his well-polished helmet and a massive shield emblazoned with the anvil and hammer of Torag.

Bort cheered everyone along. "Not much farther ta Almas!" he was heard shouting down the caravan line. "Jus' a brief stopover in Etran's Folly!" The groaning could be heard up and down the line, the more seasoned teamsters less than enthused to be staying in the town. Yet, just as they were approaching the city limits, a trio of wolves lurched out of the tree line, with fangs bared. Ayal was quick to act, his short bow trained on the beasts in an instant. With the crack of his bowstring, two of the creatures were felled before they could even take a step. Qarxa and Twig tumbled out of their wagon, magic crackling in the air around their fingers. Twig twisted the occult energies in her mind, channeling it through her music as one of the wolves began to howl in pain as she played discordant notes on her accordion. Qarxa pulled forth a strange headed lance from the divine aether and hurled it at her new foes.

Qarxa, stomach rumbling and tiring of this battle already, called upon her "gift." Her already prominent teeth grew to horrific proportions, looking like something torn from the nightmares of a young child. She darted after the wolf and sank her new teeth into it's hide. A massive chunk of flesh came dislodged in her mouth, almost sliding off the bone. She chewed greedily, but found herself spitting the fresh meat out. It tasted like... chemical soup. She was busy scrapping her tongue off when the wolf returned the favor, lifting her off her feet and slamming her into the ground. It tore into the goblin while Berk attempted to pull the creature off of her.

Just as the wolf turned to Twig, ready to lunge, one of Ayal's arrows struck it at the base of the neck and the mutant thing fell to the ground, twitching. Berk pulled Qarxa into the wagon, praying over her while she tossed and turned. "What the hell were those things?" Bort's second-in-command Tamli asked.

The dwarf stared for a minute before shrugging. "Dead now, I s'ppose. No one was too seriously hurt. We'd best be off these roads 'afore they get much more dangerous." And with that, the merchant caravan trundled on, though a bit less merry than it was before.

The mood didn't improve upon arriving at Etran's Folly. Abandoned buildings dotted the landscape, which was mostly turnip farms connected by meandering dirt roads. In the center of town was a simple stone pillar standing solitary vigil before the town's only inn, the Feedmill. Inside, things were scarcely better. A watered down turnip ale was served up by an anxious looking goblin named Phinick while the owner, Delma, appeared to be a young woman scarcely over the age of 16. The crew ordered drinks and traded stories while Bort went to unload supplies in town.

Apparently Etran's Folly had been the victim of a horrific plague some twenty years ago, killing off more than half of the population. Since those dark days, the town has been in a downward spiral. Delma seemed excited to see another goblin, smiling widely at Qarxa as the sorceress bit her tongue. The people of Isgeri people seemed ready to put aside the memories of the Goblinblood Wars, but some deep seated prejudices still shone through.

A rough voice of the only man in the tavern interrupted their conversation. A scarred, hulking figure demanded more of the ale from Phinick. He guzzled it down sloppily before exiting the tavern. He didn't leave without shooting a curious glare at the gathered newcomers.

"Who's that?" Twig asked brightly.

"Aw, don't ya mind him," Delma replied from behind the bar. "Tha's jus' Hallod. He ain't exactly what you'd call a... 'people person.'"

Twig and Qarxa exchanged glances at that moment, but their exchange was interrupted by Bort's return. Behind him were other members of the caravan eager for a good meal and entertainment. In the span of minutes, the Feedmill was filled with patrons as Bort told tales and Twig played on stage. Despite the mostly turnip-based dishes, the affair was spiced with Bort's charm and wit, turning the drab tavern into a warm hearth for all to enjoy.

Yet they were too late. Bort Bargith was dead.

Confusion ran amok within the Feedmill while the teamsters tried to figure out what happened to their friend. "Poison," Berk grunted. "And a deadly one at that." The sheriff returned once more, huffing and puffing from the over-exertion. Sheriff Rolth was an old, overweight man who seemed to lack the cunning to put together the pieces of what had transpired. The scuffle in the tavern had thrown matters into disarray, with too many people present to make an easy claim on the poisoner. On top of that, Bort's death was a loss to the community, making motive a difficult thing to pin down.

Ayal was quickly deputized to handle the case. After some explaining of what a "deputy" was, the elf was eager to get down to business. Questioning began immediately as he, Qarxa, and Twig ran down their list of suspects.

• The server who spilled the beer onto a farmer: Kolnral (given alias "Trip" by the group)
• The farmer who threw the punch: Eallom
• A server who went missing during the fighting: Trin (given alias "Punch")
• The drunken out-of-towner: Sir Lawren Krent
• The chef herself: Amora

Initial investigations led nowhere with Kolnral and Eallom seemingly in the wrong place at the wrong time. The both seemed horrified to learn about Bort's death, but neither seemed to have a motive or means to poison Bort. Feeling as though they missed out on something important, the four took to examining the kitchen on the next day. Twig's sharp nose sniffed and smelled around the spices and leftover pots and pans in the Feedmill before she quickly found something amiss.

"Bort's bowl smells... flowery. It's not like any other spice in this kitchen." She scrunched up her nose, trying to get the cloying scent to leave her nostrils. This lead into a discussion about the chef, Amora. If the poison was mixed into Bort's bowl, she certainly had the means to do the deed. Delma confirmed to them that Amora was the one who prepared the food, Phinick was the one who garnished and plated them, and it was Trin who served them.

Ayal shook his head and added the goblin, Phinick, to the list of suspects. However, the goblin wasn't known to have a regular home, so they would have to look around elsewhere. It was at this time that Delma asked for some help in showing her father, Mayor Targen Fulst, around town for a little fresh air. At that point questions about the town were beginning to mount, so they took the time to pry what they could from the aging mayor. As they wheeled him through town, he explained the history of Etran's Folly.

Near twenty years ago, a horrible plague ravaged the town, forcing more than half of its population into quarantine in the northern half of the town. The people of the village set up a stone pillar in the center of town that was used to give provisions and aid to those afflicted. One side of the stone had place for goods to be left for the plagued, while the other side had a small depression that was filled with vinegar to decontaminate the coins given in exchange. Targen grew quiet when he spoke about this, as though filled with a great shame.

As their tour continued, the mayor explained that the plague was the work of an elven witch who was working a hex over the town. She had been discovered by a local priest and was put to the torch, leaving behind a small child, Vilree. The town wanted nothing to do with the witch's child, and she was left to her own devices, even while the people in Etran's Folly withered and died to the plague brought upon them by her mother. Even the priest who discovered the witch's plot fell victim to the plague in the end, passing away fitfully along with more than half of the people of the town.

"Vilree?" asked Twig.

"That's an evil name," Ayal noted down his newest suspect.

With their volunteer work done, the four moved along to their next suspect: the cook. Amora's home was a bit distant from town center was wasn't in anywhere near as bad a shape as most everyone else's. In fact, she even seemed to be doing well, with the exception of her apple trees, which were starting to show twisted cancerous growths along their branches. As Qarxa investigated a particularly sweet smell coming from one of the trees, she spotted a swarm of bees descending from the boughs! She and Twig acted quickly, remembering something they had heard from Kolnral and their own experiences in Shimmerford. The two produced the smokesticks that they had been carrying around to ward off the mosquitoes and kept the bees at bay.

They met Amora not long after. The cook had taken on a side project selling honey in some of the larger cities, knowing full well that she couldn't sustain herself on her wages from the Feedmill. She explained news of someone dying from eating her food couldn't get out. Her reputation would be ruined! She also noted that while she did prepare Bort's final meal, it was Phinick who plated it and Trin who served it. She couldn't be the only suspect (and she certainly only stood to lose if people began to think that her food was poisonous)! This lead the group back to Phinick as their person of interest. Where did he live? What reason did he have for killing Bort?

Twig remembered the stablehand they met briefly when they dropped off the caravan's horses. The gnome figured that maybe she had some hints about Phinick's whereabouts. Her hunch was correct, as the halfling stablemaster, Edra, had allowed Phinick to sleep among the animals on some nights. Ayal's keen eyes caught sight of a smashed glass vial buried beneath some of the hay. Sure enough, Twig's nose revealed the same floral scent coming from it. Suddenly concerned, Edra revealed that Phinick was known to live among the Deadhomes to the north, where few people in town still remained. The hunt was on.

The group split up to search for the goblin, hopeful that they were close to avenging their friend's death. What seemed like a fruitless search at first was suddenly halted by a number of boxes tumbling out of an alley. Behind them, Phinick shrieked and began running as fast as his little feet would allow him. The chase took the four through slippery alleys, abandoned marketplaces, and the dusty streets of the Deadhomes. Yet it was Qarxa who prevailed in the end, tackling her fellow goblin and pinning him while her slower teammates caught up.

"Please!" Phinick shouted, "I didn't mean to hurt anyone! It was a prank! A joke!" The goblin was in tears, knowing that he was responsible for the dwarf's death. "I was told to put the 'spices' into Bort's pudding... y'know, as a way of getting even with him. Hallod made me do it!"

Qarxa's eyes narrowed. "Where does he live?" she hissed.

In no time flat, the group of teamsters found themselves at Dead Willow, an abandoned home set aside even from the rest of the decrepit buildings in the north. After trouble with a handful of traps, they discovered a trapdoor that lead beneath the building. In the darkness, the wet smell of dog and something acrid hung in the air. As Berk pushed open a steel door set into the wall, a gate slowly winched up and a pack of ravenous dogs were set upon them!

The scuffle was short, as Qarxa called upon the dark curse that flowed through her veins and stopped the hearts of the poor animals. While Berk tended to everyone's wounds and gave prayer to Torag, Ayal and Twig investigated a number of empty boxes haphazardly stacked in the corners. Sure enough there were some strange reagents there that could be used for something horrific. "It's a blood of some sort," Ayal muttered, "either mummy or zombie." Twig gave him a questioning look. "Don't ask me how I know that," he added.

Yet still there was no sign of the floral scent. Nothing that would tie Hallod to Bort's death. They stared at the door ahead, unsure of what lay beyond. They steeled themselves for what was to come. Qarxa gnashed her teeth hungrily. The heart of a villain was so much sweeter than the rest.

The mystery of Plaguestone is only beginning. Where does this path lead? To weal or woe? Good luck, heroes. Remember that vengeance does not fill the void within our hearts.

-Dungeon Master