Catching my breath as I relaxed following this epic encounter, I moved towards Larrakh to examine his body, checking that he was really dead and this wasn’t some devious and underhand trick worthy of such an obviously evil and depraved villain.  He proved to be truly dead; Arielle muttered something about having struck to merely knock him out, but Thorg had no such qualms and the large axe wound in his chest removed any lingering possibility that he was merely faking his demise.  He proved to be equipped with nothing other than some small metallic bars, which Thorg identified as Mirabar trading tokens.  We took them anyway, although I usually have little truck with fiat currencies.

A search of the room proved similarly futile, apart from these 6 stone slabs, each with a human skeleton on it.  Investigation revealed that each skeleton had some kind of injury, and Thorg ventured, from his first hand experience, that these were the sort of injuries that would occur in mining or rockfalls.  These skeletons then appeared to be the mysterious delvers.

I dispatched Sorrel and Thorg to fetch our two prisoners, the cryptic old man in the corridor and the single remaining cultist from the chamber with the statue.  Sorrel returned swiftly, bearing one in paw (bearing – get it), and we started to re-interrogate the old man.  He seemed discombobulated by the death of Larrakh, although continued to sing his praises as a prophet who could interpret the messages from the delvers.  I suggested that his powers of interpretation would be strictly limited from now on, and that possibly more co-operation would be helpful, especially since he had warned Larrakh of our presence.  I mentioned the murdered bodies that we had found, and inferred that things might look bad for him with the local authorities.  He claimed to have nothing to do with any kind of violence or murder, just being part of a local charitable organisation that revered the delvers and sort to do good deeds, organise tombolas, and stuff like that.  I did manage to get to start naming some of the members, reluctantly, when suddenly Constable Harburk burst in with several deputies, and a craven looking half-orc.  He seemed confused to find us, but recognized us and thanked us for our role in rescuing the children.  We explained our role and actions in this underground complex, and he dispatched a constable to investigate our claims of murder victims.  He explained that he had ventured down the main corridor and the ceiling contained a number of cage traps, which had pinned them, but that the half-orc had released them when he realised the importance of whom he had trapped and didn’t want to take responsibility for that action.  The constable returned and confirmed our story, so we jointly exited through the quarry entrance.

Over the next couple of days, we were universally praised as the rescuers of small children and harbingers of all that is good and right in the world.  Not that this seemed to wear off on Sorrel, who has become increasingly grumpy and aggressive since the bear incident.  If I didn’t know better I would say that she was actually becoming part bear.  Certainly the way she tears into her food and devours it raw is enough to unsettle even the most broad-minded and would make her presentation in polite society completely impossible.

I dropped in on Endrith again and updated him on our subterreanean progress.  It was notable that certain senior members of the village ‘vanished’ over the next couple of days, so it seemed that Constable Harburk was obviously following up on the information we had gathered for him.  I was reassured that my original concerns that the good Constable might be in some way associated with this organisation and that its tendrils might have completely ramified Red Larch were not realised, and that he was obviously a dependable servant of law and order (or possibly playing an even deeper game, so completely embedded that his reveal as the evil mastermind behind the who organisation would be even more devastating when it came).

Anyway, Endrith seemed little interested in my conspiracy theories, which he referred to for some reason as ‘advanced paranoia’.  Apparently greater things were afoot – an embassy from Mirabar to Waterdeep had gone missing, and he would like us to investigate their whereabouts.  Of considerable interest was a dwarven scholar who was travelling with them along with a library of ancient texts of inestimable value.  Enderath was concerned that he had only that day purchased an ancient dwarven tome from a passing merchant who in turn had bought it from a mysterious stranger in Womford.  Ancient tomes sounded very interesting to me – I know that some wizards will pay a fortune for old tomes.

I returned to my companions and related the tale of the missing manuscripts to them, and announced my intention to travel to Womford to see if we could locate the rest of them.  I made no mention of how valuable I thought they might be – no need to raise expectations that I might not intend to meet later on.  The ladies however, led by Sorrel, who now insists on being called ‘Storm’, and such a name certainly matches her new temperament, insisted that they would do no such thing.  They had heard also of this missing embassy, but also from some old shepherd of some newly dug graves on the Sumber Hills.  They demanded that we go and investigate them, and then go on to Beliard, which apparently was where the embassy had last been seen.  It was apparently on the way from there to Summit Hall to deposit the body of a knight that they were carrying from Mirabar to be buried in honour there.  Given the appearance of the manuscripts at Womford, which was on the road beyond Summit Hall, it seemed to be that starting at Womford and working back up the road was the obvious and intelligent route of investigation, but Storm was obdurate on the matter, and so I acquiesced gracefully and agreed to accompany them for their own protection and safety.

We departed Red Larch and proceeded, guided by the shepherd up the Larch Path, and then westwards into the hills.  He showed us the graves, which had obviously been recently dug.  There were four graves, each containing a body, covered in stones to stop the scavengers reaching them.  We found some artefacts around as well; an old grey cloak, a broken arrowhead and a javelin, which suggested there might have been a fight here.  The four bodies were:

These were obviously not the members of the embassy.  Two of them appeared to be cultists of some sort – one from the Howling Hatred based on his symbol, and obviously one from some other related cult based on his similar but different symbol.  We surmised that the other two might have been their victims – a battle must have taken place here between cultists and non-cultists, and two of each must have died and been buried.

Feyabelle ranged around and found tracks leading off to the south and the south east.  Away over to the west we saw a tower among the hills with birds wheeling around it.  The shepherd identified this is Feathergale Spire.  The mention of feathers could not but help remind us of Larrakh and his feather masked allies, and we wondered as to the coincident location of this tower so close to Red Larch.  The name of Feathergale also reminded Thorg of something.  He had heard of an organisation of nobles in Waterdeep called the Feathergale somethings, and was keen to find a member called Thurl Merroska.  I assume he must have owed Thorg some money as he seemed quite insistent on finding him.  Storm decided however not to investigate the tower and that we should proceed directly to Summit Hall.  I pointed out that the Dessarin River lay between us and Summit Hall, and the shepherd concurred that it could only be crossed by bridge or ferry.  We decided therefore to proceed southward towards Bargewright Inn and Womford, where there was a ferry apparently.  I agreed readily, since I had always wanted to go to Womford anyway.

We reburied the bodies, and encamped uneventfully for the night with the shepherd.  Our journey southward proceeded at a good pace, as we knew we had many miles to cover to reach the Bargewright Inn before nightfall.  After a few hours though, we saw that we were being pursued by 3 avian shapes.  As they came closer, we realised that there were giant vultures of some kind, and that each had a rider as well.  Their attitude did not look friendly so we decided that to start shooting.  Feyabelle cast Hunter’s Mark and shot the middle one, hitting him squarely in the chest.  Thorg shot with his crossbow and missed.  Arielle hit one of the wingmen with a dart and I then used my wand to send three Magic Missiles after him.  He fell lifeless from the back of his bird.  The leader though swooped down on Feyabelle and hit her with a javelin.  We returned fire, although Feyabelle missed this time because of the javelin wound.  Thorg hit, but only a glancing blow with his quarrel.  I used another Magic Missle and Arielle hit with another dart.  Storm stepped forward as the leader flew over and cast Thunderwaveat him, but this failed to unseat him although it did cause him to miss with his second javelin.  The other wingman also cast a javelin, but missed.  We returned fire again, and managed to kill the leader by combining on him.  The last wingman broke off and left, but we also felled him before he could escape out of range.  The three birds flapped off.  We examined the three bodies.  The leader looked well dressed and elegant, obviously a man of breeding an importance.  The two wingmen on the other hand looked starved and emaciated.  Each of them was dressed in a white cloak with black feathers and blue leather armour with the symbol of the Howling Hatred.  We took the cloaks and armour and left the bodies for the buzzards.

Pressing on, we reached the Bargewright Inn just as they were shutting the gates for the night.  We entered and found the inn itself, in the centre of a gaggle of lesser dwellings and hovels that had gathered around it and immured themselves for their own protection.  The inn seemed seedy and run down, a hive of scum and villainy that reminded me of some of the less salubrious places I had frequented when short of funds in Waterdeep.  The barkeeper seemed friendly though, although not forthcoming on the subject of manuscripts or tomes.  We settled in to spend the evening in pleasant company, while keeps ours ears and eyes open for any strange rumours or stranger folk.  We shall certainly take precautions against having our throats cut for our valuables this night.