The Gaming Den

It is difficult to get a sense of your surroundings, as the tight press of bodies and the hazy clouds of pipeweed obscure much of the cramped taproom. From somewhere to your left you hear drums and flutes, and an orator retelling a story about Saint Allam. Onlookers are clapping along to the rhythm, offering occasional hoots or boos at the story.
You head for the bar, passing a group of bedraggled travelers who are gathered in a corner. They look pale and shaken, their clothes grime-stained and weather-beaten. They are recounting their story in hushed tones to a smaller gathering, who are all listening intently.
At the bar, a plump woman is serving drinks to the clamoring patrons. She is laughing and joking along with their banter as she hands over frothing mugs of ale. As you near, you realize that it is her face that adorns the sign of the tavern.

Will you:
Speak to the tavern keeper?
Join the travelers?
Listen to the orator?
Leave and return to lower town?

Looks like a standard infodump menu, top-to-bottom it.

I second that.

Always start with the guy who can sell you booze.

'Hello me dear, a new face round here if I'm not mistaken,' the woman looks up from the barrel tap, flashing you a toothy grin. 'I've good memory for a face and a smile. So what's it to be, me sweet?' She slams the newly-filled mugs onto the bar, sending bubbles of froth floating through the smoky air.

Will you:
Ask about local rumors?
Ask what she knows about Carvel?
Ask what she knows of Durnhollow?
Ask if she remembers a witchfinder with gold teeth?
Turn your attention back to the taproom? (leads back to the previous section)

Top down again?

Eat the plot tree.

Local rumors:
The woman throws back her head and laughs. 'What local rumors would you like? That there's a caped vigilante, a vampire they say, preying on criminals and drinking their blood? She sucks at the air, then puckers up her lips and blows you a kiss. 'Or that the prince in his merry ol' castle is hoping to woo every woman in Carvel?'
Her last comment draws a roar of laughter from the nearby patrons. The man next to you gives a snort. 'It's the Wiccans you need to watch. They're the ones what're causing all the trouble.'
The laughter trails off into angry mutterings.
You turn your head, raising an eyebrow. 'You know of the Wiccans?'
The man wipes the ale from his mouth. 'I know what everyone knows. This was their land, once. Then Allam and his army came and took it from them. They worship the old gods, the old magic, see. Allam didn't like that. They're still fighting for their lands now—but the church is having none of it.'
'Humph, what happens outside Carvel can stay outside Carvel,' sniffs the bar woman, tugging a cloth from her apron. 'Men and their quarrels. I'd like to knock some sense into all of 'em.' She rubs the cloth vigorously over the bar. 'Saints, Wiccans, they all as bad as each other.'

What she knows of Carvel:
'What's there to know about Carvel, dearie?' The woman frowns, screwing up her face. 'It's the end of the road—the cross on the map—for those looking for some place better. Allam was the first, a prophet and a king's son. Brought the whole army here on some holy crusade. Well, he pops his clogs and now look what we got,' she nods to her boisterous clientele, who are currently singing a bawdy song about a barmaid and a saint. 'I followed one of them here; a simple man with dreams of making a new start. He didn't find what he was looking for, but I did.' She lifts up her hands, gesturing to her surroundings. 'I suppose love got me something worthwhile, in the end.'

What she knows of Durnhollow:
The woman plants her hands on her hips. 'Now, what are you doing asking me about a place like that for, dearie? Look around you—this is a home of merriment and cheer; me very own church of joy. But that place...I know what it is. It's where the inquisition take those they don't like; those that don't play by their rules.' She dabs at her forehead with the back of her hand. 'You got a friend there, me dear? Someone you missing?'
You shake your head. 'No, I was just curious.'
The woman blows out her cheeks. 'I don't need to tell you this, dearie, I'm sure there's a smart head on those shoulders, but don't be prying into the affairs of the inquisition. Their way of answering ain't going to be as sweet as mine, if you get my meaning.'

If she remembers a witchfinder with gold teeth:
'That would be a pretty picture, wouldn't it?' The woman chortles. 'No, I think I'd remember a set of golden gnashers, sweetie. Though—come to think of it—we did have one witchfinder in, only two days past. He was asking questions about that Blight Haven, down south.'
You frown, urging her to say more.
'He didn't look well, pale and shifty, like all his kind...and didn't stay long. Not welcome here.' Her hand strays to a crucifix hanging about her neck. 'I told him to stay well away from that village. It's cursed—haunted. Really, someone should've done something about it long ago, cleanse it or whatever those inquisitors do.' She releases a heavy sigh. 'Humph, let's not talk of such things. Spoils the mood, dearie.'

Joining the travelers:
'We just abandoned the camp,' sighs one of the men, as you edge into the circle of listeners. 'More than my job's worth to defend it from the likes of goblins.'
His nearest companion, whose arm is bound in a sling, scowls as he glares into his mug. 'They just came out of nowhere,' he mutters. 'We didn't stand a chance.'
You catch the eye of the man next to you, who has been listening to the story intently. 'What happened?' you ask, dropping your voice to a whisper.
He grimaces. 'Goblins come down from the mountains,' he says. 'Raided the logging camp at the end of the Pilgrim's Road. These men did the right thing, downing tools and making a run for it. Goblins are like wolves, cowardly until you face them as a pack.'
The wounded logger beats his fist on the table. 'Where was the inquisition anyway?' he growls. 'I thought they were meant to be protecting us.'
'Yeah,' sniffs the original speaker. 'Left my best sword behind too, Been in my family for as long as I can remember. It better still be there, guarded by me sweetheart's smile—unless one of them stinkin' green-heads got it now.'
Write the word sure blade on your hero sheet. With your curiosity sated, you turn back to the busy taproom.

Listening to the orator:
The performers seem to be a family. The wife is playing a flute, whilst the two sons beat a steady rhythm on their drums. The crowd cheer and gasp as the orator, a thin, balding man dressed in white robes, hops agilely onto one of the tables.
'Come,' said Allam, 'Join my side! Swords are no good, to fight this tide.' He raises a wooden sword above his head, pulling an exaggerated frown. 'We must cast down our weapons to win this day. We must show our faith, to keep them at bay!' He tosses the sword aside as the drumbeat gets louder. 'I call upon your faith. Do you believe? Question all that you perceive? ' He sweeps a hand across the crowd, his eyes sparkling with zealotry. 'What about you? You?' His finger stabs at various onlookers, who raise their mugs and call out, goading him on.
The drumming stops abruptly, the soft notes of the flute rising into a sonorous melody.
'Behold, the light! The One God's might! It will smite our foes with zeal!' With a flourish the orator throws up his arms, sending gold dust billowing into the air. Then he falls into a crouch, his expression serious. 'Our fists are now our hardened steel; our bodies the—' He throws a punch, losing his balance as his foot slips on a patch of ale. With a squeal, he falls backwards off the table, much to the amusement of the crowd. They are all clapping and stamping their feet, although it is clear that the mishap was not part of the show. However the performer skillfully recovers, springing back with a flurry of kicks and punches. 'Behold, my fists of light. With these fair hands, I will bring the fight!' Urged on by the crowd the orator continues to battle his unseen enemy, assuming various exaggerated poses to much cheering and applause.
The show continues, but your attention has already wandered back to the taproom.

Leave the tavern and follow the crooked street to upper town?
Leave Carvel?

Name: [TBD]
Speed: +1, Brawn: +1, Magic: +1, Armor: +2
Health: 30

Slot	Item	Speed	Brawn	Magic	Armor	Ability
Head	Plumed Helm				+1
Necklace
Cloak	Saddle Blanket				+1
Main Hand	Knight's Folly		+1	+1
Left Hand
Gloves
Chest	Rider's Jerkin	+1
Feet
Talisman
Ring 1
Ring 2

Backpack	Item
1
2
3
4
5

Prophecy
bones
sure blade
Money Pouch: 30 Crowns

Guess visit upper town next.

Also...Wiccans are running round fighting people? Huh.

Goin' UP-town.

Onwards and upwards.

(We do not have the word calling written on our hero sheet)

As you make your way through the crowds, you suddenly start to feel faint. Someone knocks into you, sending you into a dizzying spin. There is an angry curse as you stagger into another pedestrian, who pushes you away, forcing you to lose your footing. You topple backwards onto...

Thorns.
You cry out in pain as their sharp points rip through your clothing. All around you, thick branches snake through the dark as if alive. A forest—pressing in on all sides, making you its prisoner. You struggle to free yourself as the barbed tendrils slash and cut at your flesh, but you are powerless; trapped. Then you see a beacon of light glowing through the wall of thorns; a pale radiance that beckons to you. With eyes fixed solely on the light, you find yourself floating towards it, the thorns parting for you like a curtain. The light is everywhere now, pushing back the infernal forest and guiding you to safety...

You awake to find yourself lying spread-eagled on your back. A crowd of people have gathered, muttering and gossiping to one another. One woman, with long blond hair and trinkets about her neck, is kneeling beside you. She offers you her water skin, which you take in trembling hands, greedily gulping down its contents.
'What happened?' you ask hoarsely, handing back the skin. 'I don't remember...'
'I think you had a dizzy spell,' she smiles. 'I saw you collapse; no one else seemed that concerned about helping.' The woman nods to the nearby crowd, who are already starting to disperse.
Taking her hand, you stumble back to your feet. 'Perhaps it's the altitude,' she grins, flicking a stray hair from her eyes. 'Take it easy, okay?'
You thank the woman, watching as she heads back into the bustling throng, a sword swinging on each hip. Still shaken by your peculiar vision, it is some minutes before you are able to regain your composition. Write the word calling on your hero sheet.

The cobbled lane bends back on itself as it winds crookedly up the face of the grey rock. Exposed to the elements, a fierce wind sweeps in from the rolling highlands to batter the awnings and signs hanging outside the buildings. These, you notice, have been cut into the rock itself, their interiors lit by flickering lantern light.
Most of the buildings appear to be hostels or homes, but there are also a few stores. One catches your eye; an apothecary, with an image of a potion bottle painted on its wooden door.

Will you:
Visit the apothecary?
Keep heading to upper town?
Descend to lower town?

Name: [TBD]
Speed: +1, Brawn: +1, Magic: +1, Armor: +2
Health: 30

Slot	Item	Speed	Brawn	Magic	Armor	Ability
Head	Plumed Helm				+1
Necklace
Cloak	Saddle Blanket				+1
Main Hand	Knight's Folly		+1	+1
Left Hand
Gloves
Chest	Rider's Jerkin	+1
Feet
Talisman
Ring 1
Ring 2

Backpack	Item
1
2
3
4
5

Prophecy
bones
sure blade
calling
Money Pouch: 30 Crowns

Go see the doctor, the lovely Samantha (or possibly Mr Patio) is really not 100% right now.

Visit the conveniently-located apothecary.

See if there's a treatment for what ails us.

I wrote up a poll to determine our character's name.

(We do not have the word hallowed written on our hero sheet.)

A bell rings as the door is opened, revealing a small room littered with crates and sacks. Squeezed in amongst the clutter rests a narrow table, covered with various pastes, liquids and powders. An elderly woman appears from a side room, wiping her hands with a cloth. She is short and stocky, with long grey hair twisted into dreadlocks. 'I'm very busy,' she adds curtly, peering at you over her spectacles. 'Everything's labelled, so no need for dawdling.'

The following are available for 10 gold crowns each:
Pot of healing (1 use) (backpack) Use any time in combat to restore 4 health
Pot of brawn (1 use) (backpack) Use any time in combat to raise your brawn by 2 for one combat round
Pot of magic (1 use) (backpack) Use any time in combat to raise your magic by 2 for one combat round

If you have the household spirit then you can hand this over. Otherwise you may now leave the shop and head to upper town or to lower town.

Do we want to buy anything here?

Pot of healing is definitely worth being 10% further from an equipment purchase.

Then go uptown.

Agreed.

(My apologies for disappearing for two weeks. It's been a long couple of weeks for me, but everything's fine now.)

Reaching the summit, you find yourself on a windswept plaza. Various stately-looking buildings crowd in on a wide paved square, dominated by a tall statue of a man. A group of pilgrims are kneeling before the statue, offering prayer. Two guards stand either side of it, watching the pilgrims warily.
To the left of the square, rising high above the buildings, is a church—a sprawling arrangement of golden domes and white towers, glowing with holy scripture. Such a building alone would be the talking point of most towns and cities, but your attention is already being drawn across the square, to the dark castle that juts out of the murky gloom. It is clearly dwarven, with sharp angles and points, making it look more like a vast stone arrowhead than a place of habitation.
Next to it, a narrow bridge leads out across a vertiginous drop to an outcropping of rock. There a single tower stands in eerie isolation, its cracked stonework patched with moss and ivy.
As you ponder your next move, you spot a man weaving between the crowds. An open satchel hangs at his side, filled with rolls of parchment. 'Keep to the path of the righteous!' he calls. 'Let Mendo's maps lead you to the light!'

Will you:
Examine the statue?
Explore the church?
Investigate the castle?
Cross the bridge to the tower?
Talk to the map-seller?
Leave Carvel?

Name: [TBD]
Speed: +1, Brawn: +1, Magic: +1, Armor: +2
Health: 30

Slot	Item	Speed	Brawn	Magic	Armor	Ability
Head	Plumed Helm				+1
Necklace
Cloak	Saddle Blanket				+1
Main Hand	Knight's Folly		+1	+1
Left Hand
Gloves
Chest	Rider's Jerkin	+1
Feet
Talisman
Ring 1
Ring 2

Backpack	Item
1	Pot of healing
2
3
4
5

Prophecy
bones
sure blade
calling
Money Pouch: 20 Crowns

Examine the garden furniture statue.

Statue.

Yeah, statue.

The statue shows a young man in his early twenties, dressed in long decorative robes. In his right hand he holds a staff; in the other a book. A marble plaque at the foot of the statue reads:

One of the guards steps forward, his hand tightening around his sword grip. 'Not too close, stranger. No one touches the statue.' He scowls at the rows of pilgrims that are kneeling in prayer. 'Someone tried to deface it last week. A Wiccan disguised as a pilgrim. Trust no one.' He glares at you intently, until you move away from the statue.

(And we're brought back to the same section as before.)

Explore the church?
Investigate the castle?
Cross the bridge to the tower?
Talk to the map-seller?
Leave Carvel?

Talk to the map-seller, there's no walking involved.

Agreed.