It was Stormday the 46th of Frosshar and the party woke to the sound of an exploding blacksmith, and seeing it as a sign from Pyros, vowed to reattempt the task at the earliest opportunity.

The grateful town rewarded the group with a fine draft horse, while Farmer Johns was restrained on the side lines, which the party decided to put to good use pulling Harold’s father’s old cart. When they went to investigate, Charles was ambushed by a ghoul, and nearly lost his life, if it wasn’t for the brave actions of Ruarc and Kalidor. Charles and Ruarc ended up a bit stiff for their troubles.

With the cart laden down with their dream money, and their belongings secured, they began their journey south, only to decide they were under-prepared, and so they returned to Old Elm fro the night. As they slept, a second ghoul revealed itself from its hiding spot beneath the cart, stiffening Charles once more. Kalidor made short work of this one, too, and the party returned to their night of rest. The nearly full moon, Uriel, peeked through the clouds.

The next cold morning, they set off in earnest, laden with supplies and a fine tent, but made little headway, laden as they were with gold and silver, and soon set up camp for the night by the thick forest. They woke to discover they’d got wood. Their dream rewards had all turned to wood, even the coins and even Kalidor’s horse. Ruarc noticed that they were all made of oak, a wood he hadn’t seen since he left his homeland, and the coins all had their tail side replaced with a carving of an oak tree. Deciding these items had increased in value, the party put them back on the cart and continued their journey, suggesting they return to the woods at some later point.

Along the road, they ran into an army patrol, heading west (or was it east?), back to the border. They told the party of increasing pressure from the wild savages, and while they were holding them back, the army was in need of fresh recruits, and the Mercenary General in Red Port would be interested in any warm bodies that were interested. Turning down the offer, the party continued, pressing the march to hope to arrive in Winterhelm before dark.

The Jugged Hare, the inn in Winterhelm, was booming. The tap room floor was packed, and Charles quickly made a stir by buying a full 100 pints of ale for the party. They soon attracted some mercenaries interested in partaking in the obvious wealth, and Charles negotiated the services of one of them for a modest price, before passing out under the table.

That night, Ruarc was robbed, and despite having heard something in his room, Charles did little to solve the crime other than make a lot of noise. Morak promised to lend some gold to Ruarc, and the young acolyte seemed fine with that.

The next day was spent resting in the inn with some wood and some wenches, and the following day, the party continued their journey to Red Port, arriving to find the main city on the east of the Silver River infested with some kind of brain rotting plague. Making friends with the locals of the aptly named Fishport, including a somewhat absent priestess of Ved-ava, who claimed the plague was punishment for those who’d abused her goddess’ gifts, the party decided to leave for the busier Ferry Town.

Arriving in Ferry Town, across the river from the main city of Red Port, the party was pleased to discover that the plague had not appeared to have crossed the river, thanks to the ferry being shut down and the pair of warships posted in the river. Charles seemed desperate to cross over and investigate, but the others spoke reason, suggesting they instead set up a stall in the local market to show off their wood. They had a few commoners and a couple of mercenaries come by, and by the end of the day, they were left with only their valuables, and a pile of wooden items.

Just as they were packing up for the night, a strange man wild man dressed all in green approached, and seemed interested in the wooden coins. He said he had once searched for the Great Tree in another land, but had failed to find it. He suggested the Elves or the “Others”, the Fae, had played some sort of trick on them. Taking a coin, he then left, vanishing around a corner, mysteriously.

Growing tired, the group headed to the nearby inn to rest, on Waterday the 50th of Frosshar.