This campaign is set in the Blacktooth Ridge – a corner of the Forgotten Realms.

The town of Botkinburg lies far from the settled lands of the south and the fabled kingdom of Outremere.  It sits upon a bend in the Hruesen River in the shadows of the slopes of the rugged hills of the Blacktooth Ridge, in a land known as the Barren Wood.  However, it was not always referred to in such dour tones.  In happier days this land was a wild, forested country named the Hruesen.  The forest was of an exceedingly large expanse filled with many beasts as well as the settlements of man, halfling, and elf.  The great ridge offered hunting aplenty and was called by men the Highlands and by the elves the Avishean Ridge.  There was peace in the country and little troubled the folk who lived there.  But the world’s ages turned, and so with them the fortunes of those in that wondrous wood.

               Long ago, beyond the memory of most in the Barren Wood, a power arose in the north and the whole part of the world fell under the rueful eye of a great evil, the Horned One.  He turned his armies loose on the lands of the Hruesen.  A great many orcs and goblins issued forth from the foul pits of Aufstrang and laid waste to the lands - driving the inhabitants south into the sea, enslaving them and scattering wide the free peoples that had been living there.  His evil emptied the forests and laid waste to the towns and cities.  For centuries the region lay under the Horned Ones evil shadow.  The ridge now stood forth from the wasteland as a black scar, as the orcs occupied it and made it a fortress of sorts. They tunneled beneath it and built squat towers upon it.  The ridge was renamed the Blacktooth Ridge, as it devoured all who entered it, and the lands about were renamed the Barren Wood. 

               After centuries the fortunes of those lands finally changed with the passing of the great evil in Aufstrang.  The Horned Ones armies scattered and the region around the Hruesen River was given a respite, although for many years it remained barren and empty.  In time, people began to move back into the region and found both the lands and the river fertile.  But so too arrived remnants of the horned Ones armies; for the Blacktooth Ridge lies in the shadow of Aufstrang and the fell pits of that place are a never-ending source of foul creatures.  The ridge itself, riddled with caves and ruins, is a wild land filled with evil creatures.  In it’s shadow along the river and in the woods, civilization has begun to take root.

               The town of Botkinburg is one of the settlements that has been built along the river.  Over the last 50 years it has grown into a community of several hundred and boasts a keep built by Lord Clement Botkin.  Recently something seems to have stirred up the creatures of the Ridge and they have experienced a series of goblin raids.  Messages have been sent out seeking adventurers willing to search the ridge and discover the source of these new raids and put an end to them.  You have arrived in Botkinburg in response to this summons and now find yourself at the town’s tavern:  The Bent Hook, known locally as Ortolf’s House of Sludge. 

               The group approached the town of Botkinburg from the South along a road that passed through the Barren Wood.  In some ways you can easily see how the woods earned their dour name – for over 100 miles the small road you followed encountered only a few small settlements and even those were new.  In terms of civilization the woods were indeed barren.  But in other ways the name seemed misapplied – while lacking in settlements it was not lacking in life.  The birds and beasts of the woods had clearly come back and the woods were alive with creatures.  You saw game and heard predators.  But barren or not, your trip through the woods was uneventful and you encountered none of the dangers you had heard might lurk in these woods. 

               After days of walking your small group neared Botkinburg.  You came because you had heard that the town was experiencing dangers such as goblin raids and might be hiring adventurers to deal with the threat.  Plus, the whole region of the Blacktooth Ridge was a known target for adventurers – an old stronghold of the Horned One’s minions and rumored to be filled with ruins and the gold that people always believed could be found in ruins.  Adventure was something you were seeking.  And money – although each of you had your own private motivations you had come together as a group in hopes that together you would find fame and fortune.  Botkinburg was your first attempt to put that unity to the test.  You were an odd group – a dragonborn, gnome, dwarf, halfling, tortle, and elf.   But you hoped your diverse backgrounds and skills would prove to be an advantage and not just a reason for others to stare as you passed by. 

               The woods as you traveled were thick and frequently dark.  Not usually a gloomy dark or foul, but just lacking in light as in many places the light from the sun had to fight its way through many layers of vegetation to reach the ground and it was often not up to the task.  Because of this there was little warning that you were near your destination – you simply rounded a corner and a little way ahead saw that the tunnel that was the road on which you travelled seemed to emerge into a well-lit clearing.  You had seen these before, although rarely, and were not certain that you had reached your destination.  But when you reached the opening you saw before you the towers of a keep atop a hill and surrounded by an agricultural community.  You sensed, but could not yet see, the Hruesen River which you knew must be on the other side of the town.

               Your first impression of the town was of a thriving community.  You saw many houses scattered around and beyond them fields filled with alternately crops and herds.  To the left as you approached rose another hill that was a bit smaller than the one the keep topped that was filled with what appeared to be halfling holes.  It was early evening when you arrived at the end of a fine day.  The locals seemed to be bringing their herds in for the day and heading for the local tavern.  It wasn’t hard to find.  Near the center of the village was a large, square, two-story establishment with a stone facing on the lower story and wooden planking facing the upper floor.  The roof was made of red slate, steeply pitched as if to spill winter snows, and had a cluster of chimneys and heating pipes poking out of it.  Behind the tavern you saw a stout stone wall surrounding what appears to be a barn, stable and residence.  The sign hanging from the front showed a twisted fishing hook and proudly claimed the name as the ‘Bent Hook’ in freshly painted lettering.  You had previously been told that the tavern in town was known as ‘Ortolf’s House of Sludge,’ but there could be no doubt that this was a tavern and a quick glance around raised doubts that there could be another. 

               A few steps up brought you to a small porch with double doors open on the warm evening.  As you stood and looked around you saw several young local men walk up the stairs and disappear into the interior.  Following them you saw a typical tavern – there was a large fire in the fireplace and various tables and chairs scattered around the room.  In the back near the fireplace a set of stairs led up to the second floor and on the other side of the room two large oaken doors likely opened on the kitchens.  You saw a pair of young women wander out carrying food and beverages to the rooms inhabitants.  On the whole the place seems quite pleasant, although it is rather dark and stained from years of smoke.          

               A few moments after you enter your presence is noted – it is a small town and your eclectic group easily stands out as visitors.  In fact, only the halfling can see any of his race in the tavern – a small group of the little folk are sitting at a table near the front windows.  Otherwise the room is filled with humans.  You sense no hostility, just curiosity.  In particular, the tortle and dragonborn appear to be drawing a lot of curious stares.  You are quickly approached by a middle-aged woman with an apron.  “Welcome to Botkinburg and to the Bent Hook.  We have food, drink and rooms to suit your needs.  What can I help you with?” 

Loradove glances around the room and notices the people staring. Undeterred, she decides this is a good opportunity to make some friends and get a little rest after a long journey. She steps towards the aproned woman with her right hand outstretched and speaks enthusiastically.

"HELLO! My name is Loradove, but you can call me Lora if you like, or Dove if you prefer, or if you don't like those names some people call me Timber or Sprout, you known because I'm so tall, well tall for a gnome anyway, and my brothers call me Chipmunk or Squeaker but I don't know why except maybe because I like furry little critters or maybe because of my voice, but anyway it's nice to meet you! These are my friends! What's your name? This is a nice place, are you the owner? There sure are a lot of humans in this town! Could I get a half pint of cider?! Do you have a menu? Is there somewhere we can sit down? Do you guys want anything?!"

Galydan spends the days of travel getting to know his fellow comrads. He hopes that along their travels he can help bring some peace to the local populace that has been plagued by all the raids. He also hopes that along the way he might find some old magical relics or perhaps even information that could help him answer the questions from his past.Galydan loves nature and along the way as they travel towards Botkinburg he spends lots of time watching the animals and leaves of trees. As they travel he looks around for any signs of elves in the area.

Galydan surveys the room as they enter the tavern wondering if any elves live in town or come through often. "Hello miss I think we were hoping to get a table and rooms for the evening, and I would take a tall glass of milk if you can spare it."

Bogart keeps his eyes trained mostly to the floor. Being so bright in color and large in stature he naturally attracts a lot of attention. Most automatically assume he is mean and ruthless due to his size, but on the contrary, he is very kind and actually kind of shy in unknown surroundings. He mostly prefers to observe; and observant he is. He notices everything from the rif-raf in the back of the tavern to the fly checking out the spilled drops of ale on the bar top. Quietly in his deep voice he mumbles to the middle aged woman, “Can I please get a glass of ice water?”

Ghiberti watched carefully after they reached the clearing, searcing for a place to put himself up for the night, away from the tavern and on the edge of the woods, preferably by a stream or a pond.

When he enters the tavern, he stares back at the crowd, trying to identify any more sinister visiters. He is specifically watchful for thieves or rogues he may have to face during the night.

He shakes his head at the aproned woman. "Is Ortloff present? I have business to conduct."

Piq enters the Inn and makes himself as inconspicuous as possible.  Being only about 4 feet tall and looking pretty much like every other halfling in the world has a least that advantage. After fading into the background Piq makes his way over to his fellow halflings, not for the nostalgia of family ties, but more just to become one more face in the crowd.  While with his fellow halflings Piq tries to pickup on any interesting information they are willing to share.  Periodically though Piq wanders away from his brethren to eavesdrop on other conversations but if noticed just acts like he was passing on his way back to his halfling ‘friends’.  During his wanderings he’s always on a subconscious lookout for ‘unique’ items that might just be laying around.  If people are silly enough just to leave items like that out in the open they must really not want them.  Not that Piq is some common thief picking up coins, he’s just a collector of sorts.

Not surprisingly the groups presence was noted by others in the tavern.  They didn’t seem hostile, just curious.  It was obvious that you were outsiders and equally obvious that you were adventurers of some sort.  There was some whispering.  None of the group members reacted strongly to the attention and the group was quickly approached by a barmaid.  The first to respond to her greeting was the groups gnome.

HELLO! My name is Loradove, but you can call me Lora if you like, or Dove if you prefer, or if you don't like those names some people call me Timber or Sprout, you known because I'm so tall, well tall for a gnome anyway, and my brothers call me Chipmunk or Squeaker but I don't know why except maybe because I like furry little critters or maybe because of my voice, but anyway it's nice to meet you! These are my friends! What's your name? This is a nice place, are you the owner? There sure are a lot of humans in this town! Could I get a half pint of cider?! Do you have a menu? Is there somewhere we can sit down? Do you guys want anything?!"

Galydan surveys the room as they enter the tavern wondering if any elves live in town or come through often. "Hello miss I think we were hoping to get a table and rooms for the evening, and I would take a tall glass of milk if you can spare it."

Others in the group quickly followed with orders and questions of their own although even combined they did not match the little Squeaker in volume.  The woman smiled warmly at all of you.  “Welcome Lora.”  She included the rest in this greeting as well.  “I can certainly take care of your needs.  “Let’s see, that was a glass of milk – and yes, we can certainly spare some fresh milk – and a glass of water.  I am sorry, but ice may be tough to come by.  But the water should be chilled fairly well anyway.”  She then pointed towards a table not far from the fire.  “Any open table is yours if you want it, perhaps that one?  And if you would like some dinner I’ll be over in a minute to help you with that.  We have a stew and a breaded beef roll this evening.  We can make numerous other meals if you have a request, it will just take a bit of time and cost a bit more.”  She then turned towards the tortle. “Ortolf is my father and the owner of this establishment.  He is the large man sitting at the table in the center of the room working on some paperwork.  He is generally very friendly with all comers.”

            She finished with a quick, “I’ll fetch the beverages and be right back.”  Although it seemed unlikely that she was used to customers of your various races she gave no indication of it and was quick at her job.  Your group had barely moved to the table when she reappeared with both water and milk.  “All right everyone, once you make yourself comfortable perhaps I can help you with the rest of your needs.  As I said earlier, we have some stew and a wonderful beef roll for dinner.  And one of you mentioned rooms.  We can do single rooms or doubles.  It is up to you.  The big guy,” and here she nodded at the dragonborn paladin, “will probably want room 6 – it has the largest bed.  It is a single.”

(Assuming Ghiberti approaches Ortolf as implied by his previous post)

            Ortolf was a big man – a little over 6’ tall and with a girth that suggested he had spent his life in a profession that offered plenty of food.  But his eyes danced and he had the pleasant face and ready smile that seemed to be a requirement for the innkeeper’s profession.  When the tortle approached his table he put down the paper he was studying and looked up.  His eyes widened just a bit at the sight of the massive turtle in front of him.  He grinned.  “Now this is a surprise.  I heard of Tortles from a travelling merchant a few years ago, but have never met one.  Tortle, that is the right word, isn’t it?”  Receiving what he believed to be a positive reaction he continued.  “Can I interest you in a Kaiseren Bock?  The locals call it sludge, but it is really just a very good and dark brew.  And then, what can I do for you?”     

            Meanwhile the halfling Piq moved a bit around the tavern in the general direction of the other halflings listening for words of interest and objects of curiosity.  Nothing was clearly being ignored at the moment which was disappointing, and not made up for by the snippets of conversation he heard which included words such as ‘twins, goblins, potatoes, squash and rain.’  A normal small-town tavern it seemed, except perhaps for the word goblin.  And maybe squash.  That word could have multiple meanings depending on the context.  A farm provided a boring, if safe, context.  When he reached the halfling table he found that he was welcomed by the locals who were eager for news of the outside world. 

"Yes, thank you for the brew. But a small one in a large cup. We tortles are very cautious about the drink. And please a mug with a handle. My hands are not human sized. May I sit?"

When invited, Ghilberti moves a chair out of the way and sits, leaning against the back of his shell as a legs sprawl out under the table to balance him. Only his head and a small portion of his chest can be seen above the table.

"My team and I, the group of us, it is not my team but we are a team, have come because of the goblins. The Blacktooth tribes are ranging far, displacing all sorts groups. My own tribe of tortles is being raided by all sorts of creatures. My Tribe sent me on to see if I could help stop the raids and bring back peace to our part of the swamps. My group, our group, is here to help and this town and tavern seems like a place to start. What do you know of these goblins?"

After listening he asks, "Is there anyone here who has fought them recently?"

Ghilberti carefully takes the mug and takes a sip. "Is there someone here in your town we should address for advice to proceed, someone managing groups like us?"

And then: "Could you introduce us? I'd like to begin as soon as possible. There are lives to save, and evil is abound!"

After everyone else in the party speaks, Loradove realizes she has probably talked too much as usual and reminds herself that not everyone wants to hear absolutely every thought that passes through her mind.

Once Ortolf's daughter returns with the beverages, Loradove requests a bowl of stew and a half pint of cider (at a more reasonable volume), then while waiting for the lady to return, wanders over to the table where Ghilbs and Ortolf are speaking and hops onto a free chair. She remains surprisingly quiet and listens as she waits for the lady to return with her stew. 

When the lady returns she asks if there are any places in the town where they should be sure to visit before they leave town.

Tordek has been quietly watching everything going on since entering the tavern.  He decides to himself everything looks fine but misses the solitude of the wilderness.  He moves to the table indicates and in his gruff voice says "Bring me a mead."   He warily continues to watch and listen.

Bogart moves along with his compainions to the table and requests a bowl of stew and a roll. When she returns with the food he says, "I can take room 6. Thank you ma'am." and procedes to eat his food while keeping a watchful eye on everything going on around the pub.

Piq, being little interested in squash, lingers longer around the patrons speaking of goblins.  Once the conversations turn away from goblins, and perhaps back to squash, pumpkins, or other cucurbita, Piq moves back to the halfling table.  There he draws attention to himself and proclaims, to the other halflings, "whats up with the goblins?"

Galydan follows the majority of his companions and sits at the table. After recieving it he takes a sip of the milk and sighs in appreciation. When the barmade returns he asks for just the stew. As he eats he listens carefully to the conversations around the room paying extra attention for anyone mentioning magic, magical items, or magical creatures.

Ortolf couldn’t prevent a smile as the big Tortle took a seat on the floor and poked his head over the table.  The look was vaguely comical, and yet also obviously the most logical.  He listened as the Ghiberti spoke of his team. 

"My team and I, the group of us, it is not my team but we are a team, have come because of the goblins. The Blacktooth tribes are ranging far, displacing all sorts groups. My own tribe of tortles is being raided by all sorts of creatures. My Tribe sent me on to see if I could help stop the raids and bring back peace to our part of the swamps. My group, our group, is here to help and this town and tavern seems like a place to start. What do you know of these goblins?"

Ortlof might have been taken aback by the directness of the turtle’s comments, but it had been obvious from the look of the entire “team” that they were not your usual farmers or merchants.  He pondered the question for a moment and then spoke.  “Personally, I don’t know much detail, as I sit here for much of my day.  But that also means I hear a lot of rumors.  The goblins?  Yes, we have been having some trouble with them lately.  Merchants caravans are getting raided.  Supplies can be hard to get.  Stock has gone missing.  And the Molkin twins, two local boys, up and disappeared a fortnight ago.  That coulda been goblins.  Under the circumstances it seems most likely.  People are blaming goblins for everything right now.”

After listening Ghiberti asks, "Is there anyone here who has fought them recently?"

“Fought ‘em?  No, I don’t think so.  We got a sheriff and a couple deputies.  They have been investigating a bit, but I doubt they have fought anything.  At least I haven’t heard such.   The Baron might know.” 

Ghilberti carefully takes the mug and takes a sip. "Is there someone here in your town we should address for advice to proceed, someone managing groups like us?"

“Well, I guess you got two places to go.  There is the sheriff- that’d be von Bedering.  His place is just a block south.  Or you can try the keep.  No telling what reception you will get there.  The old Baron ain’t well and the youngin’ is  . . . unpredictable.”  He seemed to pause, uncertain if he should go further, but was saved from needing to respond by the Tortle’s next question.

"Could you introduce us? I'd like to begin as soon as possible. There are lives to save, and evil is abound!"

The tavern keeper smiled.  “Introduce you?  To which one?  The sheriff or the Baron?  One, yes, the other, not so much.”  He paused for a drink from his own mug of sludge.  “Anyone can point you to the sheriff or just hang around and likely as not one of ‘em will show up here.  As for the Baron, just go up the keep.  I might wait till sunrise but if the kid wants to meet you he will and if’n he don’t he won’t.  It’s a shame.”

Ortolf s finished his mug at that and raised it with a smile to his daughter who was running around the room working.  She nodded and returned shortly with another.  Lora, who had been listening to the conversation took the chance to ask a question of her own about where they should visit.  The barmaid laughed a little and said, “Are yah tourists now?  That isn’t what I’d have taken ya for.”  But she paused and gave the question a bit of thought.  “Well, we got a keep and a chancel, like most towns in the wilds.  Well, actually, a better keep then most, I suspect.  Not that I’m an expert in these things, but I don’t think there is another closer then Ludensheim.  Not that the keep is anything exciting to see.  Just a pig in a poke.”  She paused again.  “Well, the sacred grove up on the hill might be more interesting then the chapel.  The old oak is quite old.  And there is a tinkers caravan in town at the moment of you like those.  But then you lot may have travelled more’n those tinkers.”

Across the room Piq wandered around listening to conversation and looking for untended objects until his path led him back to the halfling table by the window.  He announced himself with a rather straight-forward “what’s up with the goblins?”

The question caused a bit of a surprise from those gathered who had been busy discussing crops and weather.  Tubers had been the dominant theme before the topic was changed to malignant monsters.  One of the group introduced himself.  “Welcome stranger with even stranger travelling companions.  We were hoping you’d join us and offer some news of the outside world.  Even tuber-talk can get boring.”  He grinned at what he obviously thought was a joke.  “I’m Will Whitfield.  The goblins?  They seem to be raiding more and more frequently lately.  Always a bit of a risk this far out into the woods, but over the last few months they seem to have really come alive.  Caravans and herds, all seem to be getting hit.  Even a couple of local human lads got themselves up and taken recently.  The Molkins.  Everyone’s talkin’ ‘bout it, even if nobody really knows anything.  Where you come from?  See anything of interest on the way in?

The other three members of the group, Galydon, Tordek and Bogart, took less active paths in their information gathering.  As they listened they heard a lot of talk about vegetables, quite a bit about sheep and a bit about goblins.  A few snippets caught their attention. 

“Those Ludensheimer’s want a war!” 

“Daemons is out at night; watch you feed ‘em well!”

“The Baron’s crazy!”

“Ol’ Bills tubers is unnatural big!  The faeries . . . “

“Tinkers is thieves!”

“Ol’ lady Molkin, she been crying most of the last week.  Hard to see it . . .”

“I know one thing only, the Witch King is back.” 

“Never trust them little ones.  Had a wine there once . . .”

“You ever seen anything like those strangers?  Now that’s a sight.”

And many more . . .