Bern

We traveled further south and encountered the town of Blackeswell, which was very fishy. All the food and drink smelled strongly of fish and was quite green. We refused to take more than a single sip or swallow of the stuff, fearing we would turn as green as most of the populace. We spoke to a priest who claimed to serve St Gondyw, but he was completely unwelcoming and would rather be rid of us. He also seemed to have an unholy interest in one Mr. Clep, who (according to other townsfolk) had recently arrived in the city and was buying up property rapidly for unspecified purposes.

Blackeswell has only one inn; we stayed the night there, eating our own rations rather than the local fare. The locals did direct us to a nearby tavern with more of an active nightlife where Gillian, a waitress who had seen better days (and kept looking back on them), fed us the local rumors. Supposedly there is an evil hag living on an island in the black.

We also got directions to Prigswort: “Take the Black Path to Orbswallow, then go down the Mulcher’s Path to Swinney Road and take a right. Prigswort is there.” What an odd name. Supposedly there is a “good” hag nearby who may be able to help with my arm.

We left the town of Blackeswell heading south along the Black Road, and were treated to a majestic sight: three bronze dragons playing hide-and-seek with each other. As impressive as it was, we kept our distance. Our foraging netted us valuable herbs: Writhing Mandrake (100gp) and Angel’s Lament (200gp).

Once the dragon trio moved on, we continued our travels until a pervasive tick-tock noise seemed to fill the air around us. Searching for the source, we came across a small hobbit-hole made of oily mushrooms, occupied by a dwarf made of fungi who claimed to be the caretaker of some kind of mighty clock of fate. He called himself Briglomb the Clockmaker. Notably, he claimed that Meagre’s Reach was supposed to be a town filled with undead, rather than … whatever weird things were actually happening. He offered to make inquiries about getting my arm fixed if we fetched oil for his clockwork device from Mr Clep in Blackeswell. The task seemed simple enough, so we agreed. It will never actually be that simple, of course.