A halfling man walks into the dining hall. Only one of his brows raises at the chaotic state of the things. Then he walks back outside to get a large wagon pulled by a sturdy pony. No reason to worry about damaging the floor with wheel or hoof when the whole place looks destroyed anyway, he figures. With some struggle, the halfling coroner begins to load the bodies into the wagon.
Quiberron returns to the hall. He goes over to speak with those gathered around Terrence. “I have consulted with the Lady Arabella; the plant that produced the primary toxin is called Kitsune Tail, and unfortunately only grows in the Wilds and western South Urbane. It seems that getting some may not be possible in the short term. On a more positive note, there is a good apothecary in town called Bot’s Bottles and Baubles. There is a good chance that they will have either the antitoxin for the giant scorpion venom or the ingredients to create it.
“I wish to do some more research on the stag skull brand in the library. Perhaps one of you could go to the apothecary? See if Rallaak made it?” he suggests to the group.
"I've seen that mark before," Flynn tells Quiberron, motioning to the bodies, even as the coroner struggles to load the corpses. "I've lived with my brothers on a large farm near the edge of the Wilds for a long while now. We dealt with an incursion several years ago with a similar brute carrying the same brand. Violent, nasty thing.
“It feels too much of a coincidence to show up here, especially with this same poison from the same place. What are your thoughts?"
Sabal chimes in, “I spent many years living with a human clan in the southern forests, and I have no recollection of seeing that sigil before. Perhaps it is not a widespread organization?”
“Fascinating,“ Quiberron replies. “Whoever is behind this has been operating for a while. Do you know if the expedition our host was advertising was to the Wilds? It seems logical to suppose so, but I do not know for sure.
“Another possibility,” the wizard Quiberron continues, “is that someone else is behind the attack, and that our stag-branded friends are muscle for hire who are expanding out of the Wilds. Given that the source of the poison was also from the Wilds, I am inclined to think that the stag group is based in that area. Even if they are acting on someone else’s behalf, any clues to the mastermind would be best found by tracking them down.”
"I would be willing to accompany someone to the apothecary,” Sabal says with a two fingered gesture. “I can likely avoid being identified as a pale elf... as long as I can stay in the background."
"I will live to regret this,” Flynn states, “but perhaps we drag Terrence to the apothecary with us. He makes a natural distraction, and it may be that we can administer whatever we find to him on the spot. He glances at where the noisy young man lays. "Coming with? Or would you rather lie there miserable?"
"I believe I can manage to come and be miserable." Terrence stands, using the mop to prop himself up. "Tally... ho."
"And now I'm beginning to see the person behind your character. Come on then," says Flynn.
“Good luck. Remember to bring some back for Lord Fennix,” says Quiberron.
"Just strap me to a horse!" Terrence groans.
Flynn sighs. "No need." He squats and slings Terrence over his shoulder, hoping he has nothing left to spew. "Let's go. Sabal, stay by my other shoulder. With him wailing, no one will pay you any mind."
Little Terry pipes up from Terrence’s side. “Thanks for the ride, mister!"
"Shut up, Little Terry!” Terrence snaps.
In a dangerous political climate, several expeditions are made to the infamous Wilds in hopes of expanding the country, Urbane, and avoiding an all out civil war. But, when the lord in charge of the excursions is almost assassinated, tensions increase and put new pressures on the brave explorers.