Baldur tenses even more at Henry’s first sentence. Why miss him when he’s right here? Fortunately, he calms down a bit after listening to the rest of his kind words and realizing Henry believes Baldur. Still, it is only when Naimar lets out that he can’t converse with the Fae that he relaxes completely. Relaxes is not quite the right word. He slumps down onto the ground, emotionally drained. “I am sorry brother. Once again I let my emotions get the better of me. My first instinct was to leave this accursed place, but hearing the soldier talk of Fae trickery sent me over the edge. But Henry is right… there is nothing but trouble here. Unless…”
Baldur goes over to the boulder and investigates if any parts are lose. Týr is still extremely tense, but he has stopped screeching.
Ah well, if I wanted to be safe I should have stayed at home. Let’s look for a likely-seeming axe, then.
Henry follows his brother over to the stone.
Cover me, Baldur. I’m curious as to what happens if one of us who weren’t mentioned as part of that bargain interact with the stone.
Before anyone, including his brother, can think of interceding, Henry places his hand upon the stone.
Sohan finds what looks to be a new, double-edged steel dagger. Hrothgar takes a massive axe. Nothing seems to happen when Henry touches the stone.
“You think all these weapons…?” Sir Harrow turns in his horse to fully survey the clearing. “Whatever this thing is, it’s been making deals for a long time.”
Henry pulls his hand off:
Nothing more than a rock when I touch it. I guess we Faramonds have fallen so far that even the Fey won’t deal with us anymore.
Shrugs and gets back on the horse.
If we’re quite done here, I’d like to get moving on. Each moment we delay means Shedlund has that much more time to prepare.
*The group continues, leaving the clearing behind them. The afternoon gives way to evening and the temperature once again falls. As eerie as the fae clearing was at least it provided a respite from the Mist. The party is forced to set up camp in the maddening fog. That night’s sleep is a restless one as the characters’ dreams are haunted by strange figures and voices. Cyrus and Hrothgar are used to such things but the going is rough for the others.
When day breaks the Mist seems to have lifted. By late morning on the third day the party has finally cleared the Greatwood with gently rolling, farm-covered hills stretching out as far as the eye can see. Sir Harrow stops at each homestead the party passes, ordering their of-age male occupants to report to Venora. They invariable give simple, dutiful nods and busy themselves preparing.
By mid-afternoon the party has reached Venora. Venora is a log manor built on the crown of a tall and steep-sloped hill. A muddy trench circles the hill and its outer lip is studded with rotting spikes. The manor seems to be in ill-repair, with its eastern wing partially collapsed and the roof crumbling in several places. Goats graze on the hill’s slopes, unfenced and untended.
Sir Harrow seems disgusted.* “The Knight of Blooms has let himself go…”
The party picks its way up to the face of the manor and dismounts. One of the Ironhall soldiers knocks on the manor’s front doors to find it already unbarred and opened. Sir Harrow calls into the manor and receives no response. After waiting a few minutes he and the rest of the party cautiously make their way into the manor. The place has seen better days; every surface of the manor’s interior is covered in dust and several of the walls are molded over. The furniture is in various states of disrepair and by the smell wild animals have been nesting here. There is no sign of Paul D’Bleum or the manor’s staff.
“Now what?” Asks Cutter.
“Only the ancestors know where the old coot has run off to. We don’t have time to play around in the hills trying to find him. We need to get the word out to the serfs in the area and get them on their way to Ironhall. We can enlist some of the locals to act as runners and head back to Ironhall ourselves immediately. Unless anyone here’s got some other bright idea.”
“I need to rest,” Cyrus mumbles, clearly ill. He clutches the wound on his shoulder, which is beginning to fester with infection.
Cyrus, to Hrothgar - “I need help, friend. Sohan might be the only one who can fix this wound, but I want you to watch her with me. Don’t let me end up like Godreck.”
:Sohan will treat Cyrus’ wounds:
“Brother and I approve.” Baldur says to whoever last spoke. “Also, it might be a good idea to ask the nearest serf residence if they know anything regarding D’Bleum’s whereabouts.”
Týr scampers and jumps around the dilapidated old mansion, playing happily.
“Watch me? Why, my Lord?”
I don’t think you heard that remark.
Sohan has super-hearing. I’m kidding. Disregard her question. 
Assuming this is Harrow:
So the Blooming Knight appears out to be not a vary apt ally afterall. In all honesty, what do you think Ironhall’s chances are against Shedlund? It seems to me that he has a better standing army, but Shedlund seems to have more numbers at her disposal. Although, Ironhall is on the defensive here, so that gives him a slight positional advantage. But that’s no doubt significantly overshadowed by Shedlund having time to prepare for the attack.
What’s their history anyway? We know the whole marriage ruse situation, but were there many dealings before that?
:Hrothgar watches, as asked, but discreetly.:
Sohan treats Cyrus with ointments and wraps bandages diagonally across his chest to cover the wounds along his neck and shoulder.
It was Harrow.
“Right. You three.” Harrow gestures to the three Ironhall soldiers. “Head out and start spreading the word. Ask about Sir Paul.” They scamper off out of the mansion.
Harrow responds quietly. “I have great faith in my Lord but I fear he may be underestimating the Baroness’ cunning. I doubt they’ll be able to take the keep but if the town and its surrounds are destroyed there won’t be much left to defend. We cannot just hide behind Ironhall’s walls while they put our holdings to the torch. We must engage them on the field and I don’t know how successful we’ll be.”
“My Lord was a friend of the Baroness’ late husband. This was years ago, before the appearance of my Lord’s condition. He assumed that friendship extended to the Baroness but obviously that isn’t the case.”
After a few hours the Ironhall soldiers return. None of the serfs have seen activity near the manor for a few months. Sir Harrow is eager to return to the keep. “Within a few hours the peasantry around here should be alerted and we can march them back to Ironhall.”
“We’re waitin’ fer 'em? Why not just have 'em walk back on their own?” Asks Cutter.
“If what we saw was indeed Mist we can’t let them make the trip alone and undefended.”
Cyrus shows visible signs of improvement.
“Hrothgar and I know a bit about ‘engaging them on the field,’ if it comes to that,” Cyrus says eagerly. “If I know one thing, it’s how to rouse the rabble. Even peasants will fight like lions to protect their family.”
“Mebbe,” says Hrothgar, hardly brimming over with zeal, “but it don’t take many fully-armed men who know what they’re doing to put a rabble to flight. If’n there’s nothing else for it, then we can give it a go, an’ I’ll do all I can to see what organisation an’ a picked battle-ground can do to mend matters. Just don’t expect villagers with staves and pitchforks to turn into the Iron Legion, no matter what.”
While waiting for the peasantry to assemble, Baldur searches the mansion for anything of interest.
Naimar will follow Baldur