"Eh, you're not getting any great secret here, but I've got a fire going over yonder if you want to sit down while we talk." He jerks his thumb back at the other shepherds, clustered around a bubbling pot and talking trade with one another, and leads you over, squatting down amongst the other shepherds with his mug between his knees.

"When I was younger, I used to wander the heath and woods round here. Got so I know the area better than most, even more than most shepherds would. About oh, twenty years ago now maybe, I was roving about a day and a half's walk north-west of here. Up at the edge of the wood, where there's a swell and then a drop with a little brook in it...

There's an old pagan temple there, you see. Don't know how old, but old. The trees have all overgrown it and it was half-buried, and I doubt it's got any prettier since."

He pauses and quaffs the last dregs of his shandy, smacking his lips in delight before continuing with his tale.

"No one around here will go near the place, because they claim it's haunted or inhabited by some fell beast or somesuch. I didn't see any fell beasts, but there was a queer air to it, something not quite right. And there was something moving down in those ruins. There were snapped branches around and I thought I heard a man walking around in the bushes. I figured it for a robber and crept away. Never had reason to be up that way since, find out what it really was.

But," he says and jabs the air with his walking stick for emphasis, "I did see one thing that might interest you. A silver chalice, big as a man's forearm, sitting in one of the windows. Had the robber not frightened me, I'd've made off with it, I think. Not that I'm a thief, but it was clearly the property of some long dead pagan witch, and free for anyone who could lay hands upon it.

So far as I know, it's still there. It was covered in dust and tarnish when I saw it - looked as if it had lain there for years and years without anyone ever touching it. Somehow I don't think that robber took it, if a robber it was."

Sighard takes a deep draught from his water skin as he joins the shepherds fire. "Aye, I've tracked bounties into such places before." murmurs Sighard, after listening to Burts story  "I haven't been cursed by any pagan witches yet. I'd be willing to look into your tale, and split the finds with the village".

Sighard looks towards the others, interested in what they think of the farmers tale.

Skof> No worries mate. If you're actively looking, feel free to roll. I'll only roll Perception when it's to notice something that you haven't told me you're paying attention for.

Amra squats near the fire craddling the last of his shandy and listens to Burts tale.

"Most fascinating tale sir. Must be potent charm gaurding witch-prize if none have dared to claim." Standing to survey companions and slapping thigh with youthful exhuberance.
" Ancestors protect me from witchery,investigation warranted Hiyaha!" as I gaze to the Northwest...then squat back down to the fire while eyeing companions.

Psuedo.Is there something I can roll against to see if Amra remembers any tales heard during the winter stay that may have bearing in this regard?

No roll needed, mate. Thinking back, you can remember a tale-telling competition the lumberjacks held with each other one rousing night at the inn. The winner, Geraint, told the story of the Mad Monks of Rondag.

It took place in the forest to the north of here, though the location of Rondag itself was vague. The essence of the story was that the monks took over an old temple in the forest and lived in solitude there. But some wicked spirit came and drove the monks insane. The story ended with the monks killing one another off and the demon taking their souls to hell for eternal torment. It was short on details, long on dramatic effect, a classic campfire horror story.

Norel looks at Amrakhan, Bryce, and Sighard, and says, "aye, I will try to find this place with you.  I would split a portion of anything found to give to the village.  It's been a long winter and I am anxious to stretch my legs a bit."

Bryce strokes his beard, as is his habit, while he listens intently to the shepherd's tale.

"Ancient pagan ruins might perhaps contain lost lore as well as silver," he thinks to himself.  "But such ruins may also contain unnatural guardians and tormented spirits, entities not of the natural world.  However, what alternative solution to this crisis is available?"

Nodding at the Norel's declaration, Bryce says, "I would be happy to accompany you in this endeavour, Sir Dwarf.  Any silver we find should first go to ensuring that this village can survive, but beyond that I would be happy to divide any surplus amongst ourselves.  And, frankly, after a winter of tending horses, and the like, I could use a change of scenery!"

Adelbert picks a piece of charcoal from the edge of the fire and draws a simple map on the side of Norrel's waterskin, explaining it as he does.

"Keep north-west towards that hill," he points it out on the horizon.

"You'll come to the pond just north of it. Follow the stream that comes out of it for about a day, until you see this fork. There's a great birch fallen in the water you can tell it by. I made some letters to help here if you can read."

"Once you reach the fork, you go northeast up the hill, to that bit with the 'x'... Ah bugger, I did it wrong on the drawing...There's a path through the brush there. Follow it in for a mile or two, and you should come upon the temple."

He hands the waterskin back with a nod and a grin.

"If y'are worried about witches, you might want to go see the father in Mizzenhall."

While examining at the map Sighard mutters, "Only a days travel from here? If we leave tomorrow morn we could get there, take a day or half a day to poke around and be back the following day. That way we'd be back in two or three days, before the villagers do something desperate."

Sighard squints at Norel, Bryce and Amra, "I have no fear of pagan witches, would any of you care to speak to the Father?"

Norel looks to Sighard and shakes his negatively in response to his question, and says, "I have no fear of witches, nor any need to speak with the village priest."

Amra scoots close to watch Burt draw the rough map.

After Sighards and Norels exchange... :duh: "Ahh me with brain of goat lulled by shandy,remember now a tale heard during dark of winter. Lumberman Geraint tell after much ale a story of woe. Monks gone mad from Demon prodding,souls strait to hell!"  He points to map "'Mad Monks of Rondag' he calls story." (self is thinking Mizzenhall priest might be good idea.)

I look to my companions and back to Burt :hmm:  "Wondering why this map is drawn for strangers and (noding my head towards Keeneyes group) not for kingsman Keeneye? Surely a reward would come for such valuable information" I watch Burt closely awaiting his reply...

"Sir Randall is an exciseman. Greedy bugger would just take it back to King Harold and let them all starve." Adalbert frowns.

"I've heard of the mad monks, but it's just an old wives tale, that bit about the demon. One of them went mad and killed the others is all. And that happened in my great-grandfather's day. If anyone did survive, they'd be dead of old age, or at least a harmless gaffer."

Quote from: Pseudoephedrine;402366"If y'are worried about witches, you might want to go see the father in Mizzenhall."

Any chance for some setting information on this?  It's not clear to me why or how the father might help us with possible witches.

That said, Bryce is a pretty cautious fellow, and likely would be willing to consult with the father for any potential information or aid.

Bryce looks at the shepherd's map, scowling slightly at its crudeness, trying to discern the route.

"I agree with leaving in the morn.  Good Dewin here should be able to do some scouting for us en route."

Sighard nods towards Bryce, "Aye, a mighty fine creature to have. I can walk through the brush like it is clear as an open field as well. We should be able to have plenty of warning if anything wicked comes our way".