

Arriving at the Fraston’s house, knocking the door produced a weary looking Niles Fraston. The man was dishevelled and had obviously slept little in the past few days. Verne introduced the party and told Niles that they were interested in finding his daughter. Then he accidentally insinuated that the young slattern had disappeared into the woods with a bunch of randy men for some sort of arboreal orgy and could Fraston tell them where such a bacchanal was likely taking place, or should they simply follow the sound of his daughter being pleasured by a succession of filthy farmhands? I mean, not in so many words, but Verne is from Galt and they have some pretty expressive shrugs out that way. While he didn’t directly say that Adelind was off for some sylvan debauchery, that was the distinct impression he unintentionally gave. The other members of the party stepped in and bombarded Fraston with questions so that Verne’s – oh, if only there was a French term for faux pas – wasn’t so much unnoticed as noticed-then-quickly-buried. Adelind, they discovered was the apple of the cider maker’s eye (get it?), 15 years old, tall for her age with long dark hair. She was wearing a pale blue dress and a raincape when she went missing eight days ago. She had been picking mushrooms in the nearby forest and never returned. The forest can be dangerous, especially far from the town, but Adelind knew better than to stray too far and was a clever girl who knew when to turn for home. She had no particular friends in town as the town is… well, it’s a villainous shithole and a terrible place for impressionable young girls. That information gathered, they went back to their lodgings and geared up for their first foray into The Halls Under The Hill.






Those faces might be a little goofy looking but that might be an actual case of a woman in sensible armor. Funny how easy that happens when you have a female CEO.