Entry 31: of Dogville and Geese

Dear diary,
 
It was early morning, the day after the palace party, when a messenger knocked on our door. He carried a summons from Nordic, the royal administrator, requesting us to meet him at the old keep in Dogville by noon. There, he promised to give us a tour of our new domain and hand over the keys.
 
After a much-needed breakfast of bread, cheese, and eggs—meant to ease the lingering effects of all the wine we’d consumed the night before—we gathered at Erna’s Wish. Climbing atop our newly gifted warhorses, we set off towards Dogville. The crisp morning air helped clear our heads as we rode, the rhythmic clopping of hooves providing a soothing backdrop to the anticipation bubbling within us.
 
When we arrived, Nordic, an old man leaning heavily on a weathered walking cane, was already waiting for us outside the keep. His face broke into a pleasant smile as he greeted us warmly. With a grunt, he pushed open the heavy doors of the long-abandoned stronghold, guiding us inside for the tour. Dust lingered in the air as we walked through the halls, but despite years of disuse, the place was in remarkably good shape. It would take some work to turn it into something livable, but the bones of the keep were strong and sound.
 
After the tour, Nordic suggested a walk around Dogville, where we could meet the few inhabitants that still called the quiet village home.
 
Our first stop was at one of the two farms in Dogville, this one owned by a burly, friendly man named Darrion Farik. He greeted us with a wide grin, his massive arms still dusty from the fields. When we asked if he had any concerns, Darrion mentioned a long-standing dispute with the other farmer in town, a man named Dresner, over a particular fishing spot. His tone was light, but there was an edge to his words that hinted at the depth of the rivalry.
 
As we made our way to the next stop, the old Royal Kennel, Nordic took the opportunity to advise us on a less pleasant matter—taxes. Apparently, in order to rebuild the keep and breathe life back into the estate, we’d need to start levying them. I stayed silent on the matter, leaving it for my companions to decide. I’ve never had much interest in the day-to-day workings of estates, and this one was no exception.
 
My friends, equally hesitant, agreed to discuss it later. By the time we arrived at the kennel, we were greeted by a half-elf tending to a group of sleek hunting dogs. He spotted us immediately and approached with a casual swagger, introducing himself as Thomas Teller, the kennel’s owner. Thomas was quick to share his ambition—to restore the kennel to its former glory as the Royal Kennel. Apparently, after the Revolt years ago, the court had stopped using his dogs, and while he wasn’t sure of the exact reasons, it was clear that the turmoil had something to do with it.
 
As we spoke, it became clear that Thomas still harbored hope, a quiet determination to see the kennel regain its lost prestige.
 
Our next stop was the Rusty Crab, a small tavern that only had outdoor seating, packed with travelers. The half-orc chef, Ayza, seemed too caught up in her work to even notice us. The place was buzzing with people, and I couldn’t help but be curious, so I queued up for a takeaway portion of her food. It wasn’t anything extraordinary, but it was good and reasonably priced—perfect for the midday rush.
 
While I snacked, we continued our little tour, heading toward the Grubby Gryphon, Dogville’s local inn. The place was nearly empty when we entered, save for a lone bard in the corner, tuning his instrument, and the inn’s owner, a halfling named Gideon Mudfoot. Gideon welcomed us with enthusiastic energy, but it didn’t take long for him to dive into his grievances. He believed Dogville needed a "firm hand" due to the number of travelers and criminals passing through, and his bitterness toward Ayza and her popular tavern was almost laughable. I rolled my eyes when he suggested we investigate her as if her success was somehow criminal.
 
Gideon’s problem was clear—his place catered to a different crowd with pricier food and drink, while Ayza’s Rusty Crab offered a quick, cheap bite for travelers. Instead of realizing there was room for both, he seemed determined to turn it into a competition. Still, he tried to sweeten the deal by offering a "substantial donation" to help repair the keep—a not-so-subtle attempt at buying our favor.
 
After the inn, we made our way to the ferry, where we were greeted by an unexpected but familiar face—Tevon, the bugbear ferryman who had helped us during our mission to intercept the Fenhunter’s army. Tevon smiled as he spotted us and casually let slip that he was running a side business, smuggling people and goods into the city after hours. The bugbear offered to cut us in if we allowed him to continue operating without interference.
 
As we headed toward our final destination, the second farm, a heated discussion broke out amongst us. Alistan, ever the paragon of law and order, argued we couldn’t allow Tevon’s illegal activities to continue unchecked. He was adamant about putting an end to the smuggling. Luke, on the other hand, took a more pragmatic approach, insisting that shutting down Tevon’s operation would only create a vacuum that someone worse could easily fill. I sided with my brother. In a city like Keralon, smuggling wasn’t something you could simply eradicate. If we removed Tevon, another smuggler would take his place, and we’d lose the small bit of control we currently had.
 
I saw it as a tax, an unspoken agreement that allowed us to keep one foot in the underbelly of the city while maintaining some oversight. Alistan, with all his time spent among the nobility, hadn’t quite grasped how the real world worked—the shadowy undercurrents that governed life in places like Dogville. My time in the less savory parts of Keralon had taught me otherwise.
 
We decided to table the debate for later, as we approached the last stop: the Dresner farm. However, just before we reached the farm, we were ambushed—by a small child brandishing a wooden sword. The little boy, no older than six or seven, introduced himself as none other than the “famous knight Bas,” demanding we surrender. Alistan, bless his noble heart, played along perfectly, pretending to be intimidated by the tiny knight’s bravado.
 
Not long after, a woman hurried over, clearly flustered. She introduced herself as Leen Dresner, Bas’s mother, and apologized profusely for her son’s antics. We assured her it was no trouble and even gave the boy a small treat, which earned us a wide, toothy grin. Leen led us the rest of the way to the farm, which was old and clearly in need of repairs. The roof sagged, the walls were worn down, and the whole place had an air of neglect.
 
She explained her husband, Tommel, was bedridden with illness, and their daughter Noira was tending to him. There was a heaviness in her voice when she spoke of Tommel’s condition, and though she tried to put on a brave face, it was clear that running the farm alone was taking its toll on her.
 
Liliana and I decided to check on Tommel, while the others stayed with Leen. Inside the dimly lit room, we were greeted by their daughter, Noira, who looked worried. She explained that her father had been suffering from a high fever for over a week, and none of the remedies they had tried made a difference. They’d even sent for healers from the city, but nothing had worked.
 
Something about the situation didn’t sit right with me. I suspected there might be more at play than just illness. After a quick glance at Tommel, pale and barely conscious, I brewed two of my witch’s potions. The first, designed to cleanse the body of poison, slid down his throat without any immediate effect. But when I administered the second brew—crafted to lift curses—something changed. His pale cheeks flushed with color, and the fever that had held him in its grip began to break. The curse, whatever it was, had been removed.
 
I told Noira to keep an eye on him and to let me know if anything changed, then left him to rest. When we rejoined the others, Leen had just finished sharing some troubling news. Apparently, travelers passing through had been causing problems, particularly with their daughter. That was something we’d need to address—perhaps establishing a guard or watch around Dogville to keep the locals safe. But that wasn’t all. They had a painting of Sylvesse, the ancient elven hero. I could already imagine Gael’s excitement once he learned about it. I was sure he’d have plenty of questions for Tommel once he was well enough to speak.
 
After I told Leen about the curse that had afflicted her husband, her expression darkened. She got up and fetched a basket of apples from a nearby cupboard. She explained that a strange old woman had given her these apples a few weeks ago, but Tommel had chased the woman away, feeling uneasy about her. I couldn’t help but wonder if these apples were linked to the curse. I asked Luke to check them for any lingering traces of magic, but all he found was a simple preservation spell. Nothing uncommon or alarming.
 
Still, the timing of the curse and the appearance of the strange old woman felt like more than just coincidence. I’d have to keep a closer eye on this and make sure we weren’t dealing with something darker than we initially thought.
 
I made a mental note to check on Tommel every day, and I’d be sure to ask him about the old woman once he was well enough to talk. If she was behind the curse, we’d need more information about who she was and what her motives might have been.
 
Leen, clearly grateful for what we’d done for her husband, offered us Noira’s help to clean up the old keep. It was a kind gesture, and it would certainly help us get the place in shape. When Leen mentioned the keep, Alistan, ever the curious one, asked her about the previous nobles who had ruled over Dogville. She told us they were called the Crestfall family, and from her description, they sounded like your typical detached and arrogant nobility, more concerned with collecting taxes than the well-being of their people. Apparently, they had dealt with some unsavory characters from outside the city, which didn’t surprise me. Nobles with dirty hands were nothing new.
 
Their downfall had come some twenty years ago, when they were arrested for treason. The father had been executed, and the rest of the family imprisoned. The Crestfalls had left behind a tainted legacy in Dogville, and it seemed like the village had struggled ever since.
 
We thanked Leen for her help and said our goodbyes, promising that I’d check back in on Tommel the next morning. As we mounted our horses to head back to the keep, I couldn’t help but feel like there was more to uncover here—about the Crestfalls, about the old woman, and maybe even about the curse that had struck Tommel down.
 
On our way back to the keep, we decided to stop by the Rusty Crab again since the crowd had thinned out. Ayza was much less busy, and I took the chance to compliment her on the food. The way her face lit up told me she truly appreciated it. She was a friendly soul, one I could see myself chatting with more in the future. In our brief conversation, she mentioned that fixing the windmill should be a top priority and suggested we check out the old church in the woods near the keep.
 
We bid farewell to Ayza and Nordic, who told us he needed to return to court now that the tour was over. As we parted ways, I suggested that we check out the church before heading back since the day was still young. With Gael and Dadroz’s sharp tracking skills leading the way, we found the ruins easily enough, nestled beside an ancient, overgrown graveyard. The place was a relic of the past, its stones weathered by time, but Luke recognized the markings. He mentioned it was once a site dedicated to Belenos, but not the modern-day god—this was for a far older version, one long forgotten by most.
 
As we stood there, taking in the eerie quiet of the place, someone pointed out strange tracks leading deeper into the woods. They were enormous—goose tracks, but far too big for any ordinary bird. If this goose was real, it would be the size of a horse. Curiosity got the better of us, and we decided to follow the trail into the thick underbrush. The forest resisted our passage, with thorny vines and dense foliage, yet whatever beast made those prints had cut through it like it was nothing. Something strange lurked out here, and we were determined to find out what.
 
Suddenly, the tangled undergrowth parted to reveal a small clearing, bathed in sunlight. At the heart of it lay a tranquil pond, its surface shimmering with faint ripples. By the water’s edge stood a quaint cottage, nestled beneath a sprawling apple tree. Across the pond, three enormous geese wandered aimlessly, but one among them stood out—the largest, and strangest, goose I had ever seen. It had five heads, each snapping and hissing in a way that reminded me more of a hydra than any bird.
 
As soon as the geese spotted us, their cacophony filled the clearing, a mix of hisses and honks. The ruckus summoned an old woman from the cottage. She shuffled out, a hunched figure with a worn apron, immediately calming the geese with a wave of her hand before her eyes landed on us.
 
Gael, ever the diplomat, stepped forward, offering an introduction and explaining why we were there. The old woman listened, then introduced herself as Patty. At the sound of her name, something clicked in my mind. Luke and I exchanged a glance—this wasn’t just any old woman. She had to be Auntie Patty, one of the six hags protected by royal decree. Dangerous, yes, but untouchable by law. The revelation sent a chill down my spine.
 
I decided to press her gently, asking if she had visited Dogville two weeks ago. Her reaction was odd—she seemed genuinely confused, or at least put on a good show of it. But there was something off. Was she truly disoriented, or simply lying to us? I couldn’t be sure. She was too far away for me to probe her mind, and I hesitated to move closer. One wrong step might rile the geese—or worse, the hag herself.
 
Luke ventured to inquire about the apples, and Patty confirmed that they were indeed preserved by magic—though only after being harvested. She offered some to my brother, but I could feel a sense of urgency pulsing through me, urging my companions to back away and head back to the keep. Hags were dangerous and fickle creatures, and I feared my friends might unwittingly provoke her. I needed to talk to Tommel first to confirm that this was indeed the woman he had chased away before we made any hasty decisions.
 
When we finally returned to the keep, Dan was waiting for us, excitement shining in his eyes. He informed us that many of the people from Ravensfield were already making their way over from Keralon, and he requested permission to restart his project and build a barn here in Dogville. Alistan and Luke were immediately opposed to the idea, citing the ban on guilds in Keralon. My blood boiled at their dismissal, especially considering how much Dan had done for these people.
 
He attempted to reason with them, and Liliana and I joined in to support him, emphasizing that the Consortium he worked for wasn’t a guild and wouldn’t cause any issues. I could see my companions wavering, but it would take more than a simple discussion to change their minds.
 
While they debated, I sought out the newcomers from Ravensfield, looking specifically for the miller. I found him and sent him to the windmill, explaining that it was in dire need of a new occupant.
With the most pressing matters attended to, we finally retreated to the keep, dedicating the rest of the day to organizing our space, or at least unpacking and arranging our respective bedrooms. The keep might have been abandoned for years, but it was beginning to feel like home.