So Lyrian and I got to drinking and talking (in that order) and decided to go investigate the strange lack of rumors from Helix, seeing as I grew up there. We signed up with a caravan heading to Ironguard Motte, and managed to get there in just under two weeks. A glorious dinner at The Bloated Halfling led to an attempt at a conversation with the wizard Mazah, but he wasn’t in. The rumor mill suggested that the undead in Helix are seasonal; the winters slow them down, apparently, and then the spring thaws bring them up out of the earth again. Weird.

The last day of travel to Helix we took by ourselves, and didn’t quite make it before nightfall. We camped overnight, but our rest was interrupted by travelers from Helix – on a wagon, at 2am. As if that wasn’t odd enough, they were attacked by two giant spiders. They fled. The humans, I mean; the spiders chased, and won, wrecking the wagon. I was in favor of intervening, but Lyrian was reluctant; there were two giant spiders, in the dark, likely poisonous, for no one we knew, and given the hour they might well have been up to no good. There was almost nothing left. Almost.

We found a kid. Infant really. Fed her some oatmeal meant for the mules, who would certainly not be needing it. Turned around and went right back to Ironguard Motte, baby in tow. Dumped it – her? – at the temple of Crom in return for Ragnar and Hagetha, two followers with an interest in going to Helix. We planned to return to Helix in the morning, and maybe we would find out what was going on in my old hometown.