An apple a day...

Dear Diary,
 
The morning after the celebration at the palace, a messenger arrived with a letter from Nordic, the administrator. He invited us to visit the old keep in Dogville, our new territory.
 
We set off, our journey taking us through the countryside. Dogville, while part of Keralon, was a bit of an isolated outpost, accessible only by road or ferry. As we approached, we saw the distant landmarks – the decrepit windmill and the bustling farms. The old kennel, the origin of the district’s name, still stood.
 
We arrived at the keep, a small, stone structure that had seen better days. Nordic, a man of routine and efficiency, had been waiting for us, his pen poised over a notebook. He greeted us warmly, his eyes scanning our faces.
 
Nordic handed us a bundle of keys, the keys to our new home. He led us on a tour of the keep, pointing out the various rooms and their state of disrepair. It was clear that the keep hadn't been used in a while, the air thick with dust and neglect.
 
Nordic read from his notebook as he took us around, following a tiny map scribbled with notes. He explained the history of the keep, its purpose, and the challenges we would face in restoring it. However, his eagerness to move on was evident.
As we entered the keep from the courtyard, a wave of dust and cobwebs enveloped us. The once-grand space was now a neglected ruin, the tapestries rolled up and discarded, the furniture covered in cloth.
 
Nordic led us around, pointing out the various structures. There was a small walkway leading to the first floor from the outside. The entire area was in a state of disrepair, a stark contrast to the opulence of the palace.
 
After Nordic spent the next hour showing us around, he then allowed us to explore the keep, our footsteps echoing in the empty halls. When we returned, the administrator prepared us for the next part of our tour, the residential area of our domain. Nordic explained that the population of Dogville was small, but there were plans to expand the housing to accommodate the refugees from Ravensfield.
 
Nordic led us to the first farm, a modest dwelling nestled amidst the rolling hills. A burly man, Darion Faric, greeted us, his face etched with lines of hard work and experience. He apologized for his rough demeanor, admitting that he wasn't accustomed to noble company.
 
Alistan assured him that we were new to this as well, our nobility a recent development. The sound of children's laughter reached our ears, but we couldn't see them. Darion introduced us to his wife, Sala, a kind-hearted woman with a warm smile.
 
He offered us mugs of ale, which we accepted gratefully. The awkward silence that followed was broken by Liliana, who inquired about any issues we should be aware of. Darion informed us that the ferry was operational, the threat of the dragon cult neutralized. He mentioned a minor dispute between him and a farmer called Dresner, a disagreement over a fishing spot.
 
Liliana, her curiosity piqued, asked if there were any other problems, any monsters or unusual occurrences. Darion assured her that the area was peaceful, the old windmill, despite its spooky reputation, not haunted. The previous owners had simply passed away, and no one had stepped up to take over the mill.
 
Alistan suggested that one of the refugees might be interested in operating the windmill. He mentioned the resettlement plan, the influx of new residents. Darion's face lit up at the prospect, the possibility of growth and prosperity a welcome change.
 
Darion then slowly broached the topic of taxes, a delicate matter. Alistan explained that a 10% tax was typical, but we were still exploring our options. It was clear that while Alistan and Liliana were nobles by birth, they lacked experience in managing a district.
 
Nordic, sensing the awkwardness, urged us to move on. We had other visits to make, other responsibilities to attend to. With a nod of farewell, we left Darion's farm, our minds filled with the challenges and opportunities that lay ahead.
 
Nordic led us to the kennel, a bustling hub of canine activity. Dogs of all shapes and sizes barked and played, their enthusiasm infectious. A half-elf emerged from the canine mass, dusting himself off. He introduced himself as Thomas Teller, the kennel's owner.
 
With a proud gleam in his eye, Thomas explained that he had the best dogs in Keralon. His ancestors had supplied the royal court, their reputation for breeding exceptional dogs unmatched. However, after the revolt, the royal family had ceased their patronage.
 
Thomas hoped that we, as the new nobles of Dogville, would consider using his services. With the revival of the district, there might be a renewed demand for quality dogs.
 
Liliana, her love for animals evident, jumped at the chance to explore the kennel. She spent the next half hour playing with the puppies, her laughter a welcome contrast to the seriousness of our recent endeavors.
 
Nordic eventually interrupted Liliana, reminding us that we had other places to visit. With a sigh, Liliana reluctantly pulled herself away from the adorable canine companions.
 
Nordic led us to the Rusty Crab, a bustling tavern known for its seafood. Unlike the inns, the Rusty Crab didn't offer lodging. It was primarily a restaurant, with a large kitchen and a spacious courtyard for outdoor dining.
 
Inside, a middle-aged half-orc woman was hard at work, juggling the demands of her customers. The tavern was packed, the air filled with the aroma of freshly cooked food.
 
Hayley immediately joined the queue for food, as expected of my sister. With a few copper coins, she secured a steaming bowl of crab, the aroma enticing.
 
The half-orc cook, her attention focused on the never-ending stream of orders, didn't even notice us. Nordic tried to catch her attention, but she was too busy to spare a glance.
 
Hayley suggested we move on, allowing the cook to focus on her work. Nordic agreed, apologizing for the inconvenience. As we left, he mentioned the cook's name, Aisa. We promised to return at a less busy time, eager to sample the tavern's fare.
 
Nordic led us to the Grubby Griffon, a stark contrast to the bustling Rusty Crab. The tavern was deserted, the only sound the gentle strumming of a lute. A halfling, his eyes wide with excitement, jumped over the bar, introducing himself as Gideon Grubfoot.
 
Gideon, eager to impress his new landlords, offered us drinks and food. Hayley ordered a bottle of wine. Gideon, his eyes sparkling with pride, presented the bottle, a rare vintage he had been saving for a special occasion.
 
With a flourish, he proposed a toast to collaboration, his enthusiasm infectious. He outlined his plans for the Grubby Griffon, his passion for the establishment evident. He had made renovations, improved the facilities, and even imported food from the main city.
 
However, he lamented the lack of customers, his business overshadowed by the Rusty Crab. He claimed that the food at the Rusty Crab was subpar, the ingredients contaminated with sand and dirt. He warned us of the potential health risks, his words laced with a hint of malice.
 
Liliana, her curiosity piqued, pressed him for details. Had anyone actually gotten sick from eating at the Rusty Crab? Gideon, caught off guard, admitted that he hadn't heard of any such cases. He quickly changed the subject, his eyes scanning the room.
 
The halfling then mentioned that he had passed by our new keep and had seen its dismal state. He then placed a gold coin in front of us, a donation to help with the repairs. My companions and I shared a disappointed glance. It is clear what kind of person Gideon was, and none of us were inclined to take his bribe. In fact, each of us probably had already acquired a thousand-fold in money from our adventures.
 
I did feel sorry for Gideon, it was clear that the halfling was ambitious, if a little misguided. If we were planning to grow Dogville to a proper district of Keralon, these were the people we would have to deal with sooner or later. So I suggested that Gideon might see a spike in business with the arrival of the Ravensfield refugees. He seemed intrigued, the possibility of increased clientele a glimmer of hope in the midst of his struggles.
 
We also discussed the idea of organizing a small festival for our new subjects in Dogville. Gideon, his eyes lighting up, offered to provide a tarp, a makeshift stage for the festivities. With a renewed sense of purpose, we left the Grubby Griffon, smiling about the naivety of the halfling.
 
Nordic led us next to the ferry, a small vessel that plied the waters between Dogville and the main city. To our surprise, we encountered an old acquaintance, Tevon the bugbear, who had helped us escape Keralon weeks earlier.
 
When Liliana informed him of our new status, Tevon erupted in laughter. He joked that we had been rewarded for our efforts in negotiating with the Fenhunter army, but that the contributions of the "little folk" like him were often overlooked.
 
He revealed his smuggling operation, a lucrative business that brought goods into Keralon at a lower price. He claimed to be doing it for the good of the people, but his greed was evident. He offered us a percentage of his profits, a tempting proposition.
 
Liliana and Alistan, their instincts sharp, hesitated. The idea of working with a smuggler was morally questionable. I suggested an alternative, a favor-based arrangement. Our influence could protect him, our connections a valuable asset.
 
Tevon agreed, his eyes gleaming with excitement. With a handshake, the deal was sealed. As we walked away, we discussed the implications of our decision. The ever pragmatic Hayley pointed out that even if we arrested Tevon, someone else would take his place. The smuggling operation, based in the main city, would continue regardless.
 
The decision was a difficult one, a compromise between our ideals and the realities of the world. But for now, we had to make a choice, what kind of rulers we would aim to be, a decision that would shape the future of Dogville.
 
As we continued our journey, we encountered a small child hiding in the bushes. With a mischievous grin, he jumped out, brandishing a wooden sword. He declared himself to be the "great knight Kas," a fearsome robber.
 
Hayley, her laughter infectious, played along. She feigned surprise, her eyes wide with mock terror. She then pushed Alistan into engaging Kas in a mock duel, their wooden swords clashing harmlessly.
 
Kas, his confidence bolstered by his victory over Alistan, demanded a toll. Alistan, with a knowing smile, handed him a few copper coins. Kas's eyes widened in delight, his earlier bravado melting away.
 
Just then, Kas's mother appeared, her face flushed with worry. She apologized for her son's behavior, explaining that he was a mischievous child. Alistan and Hayley assured her that it was all in good fun.
 
The woman introduced herself as Laine Dresner, her eyes filled with concern. She explained that her husband, Tommel, had been ill for weeks. Her daughter, Naira, was taking care of him, but his condition was worsening.
 
Liliana and Hayley offered their assistance, their medical knowledge a beacon of hope. Laine led us to her home, a modest cottage nestled among the trees. As we entered, we heard the faint sound of a cough.
 
Naira, her face pale and drawn, was tending to her father. Tommel lay in bed, his skin clammy, his eyes sunken. Hayley approached, her medical expertise honed by years of experience. She examined Tommel, her brow furrowed in concentration.
 
The diagnosis was grim. Tommel was gravely ill, his condition deteriorating rapidly. The healers from the city had been unable to help, their remedies ineffective. Hayley, her heart heavy, administered a potion, a glimmer of hope in the midst of despair.
 
Tommel coughed, a violent spasm wracking his body. A cloud of flies erupted from his mouth, a repulsive sight. Hayley, unfazed, continued to treat him.
 
As Tommel settled back into bed, his breathing steadier, Naira let out a sigh of relief. Hayley instructed her to let Tommel rest, to call for help if his condition worsened. Naira, her eyes filled with gratitude, nodded.
 
While Hayley and Liliana attended to Tommel, Alistan spoke with Laine. He inquired about the town, the recent events, the ongoing disputes. Laine, her voice filled with frustration, explained the conflict between her husband and Darion, a petty squabble over fishing rights. She claimed that the two used to be friends and fished together, but after falling out, they no longer wanted to see each other. Each now claimed the fishing spot as their own. Her face almost broke in a sigh of relief as she explained that the situation was simply ridiculous, given the current state of her husband. It is clear that she longed for a time while husband was well enough to pursue petty feuds.
 
As we were speaking with Laine, Gael started impatiently scanning the room and was soon drawn to a painting sitting in the corner of the living room. It depicted a young man with a majestic stag, a familiar image that sparked his curiosity.
 
He approached the painting, his eyes scanning the details. The stag, he realized, was Sylvesse, his former mentor. Laine, noticing Gael's interest, explained that the painting was a memento from her husband's time in the city guard.
 
Intrigued, Gael asked about the stag, its significance in her husband's life. Laine, her voice filled with a hint of mystery, revealed that her husband claimed the stag could speak. If Gael wanted to know more about it, he would have to ask her husband himself.
 
Hayley and Liliana returned downstairs, their faces filled with relief. They explained that Tommel's condition was improving, the curse they had removed taking effect.
 
Laine, her eyes filled with gratitude, thanked them for their help. She then mentioned a strange woman who had visited the farm, selling apples that seemed to defy the laws of nature. Her husband had chased her away, their argument echoing through the quiet streets of Dogville.
 
Intrigued, I examined the apples, my magical senses tingling. The apples, despite their age, were perfectly preserved, a testament to the woman's magical abilities. I took the apples with me, eager to study the magic behind it.
 
As a token of her gratitude, Laine suggested that her daughter, Naira, could help us at the keep. We agreed, our need for assistance growing with each passing day.
 
Hayley assured Laine that she would check on Tommel regularly, her medical expertise a source of comfort. Laine, her eyes filled with gratitude, thanked us for our kindness.
 
As we prepared to leave, Alistan inquired about the previous nobles who had owned the land. Laine, her voice tinged with bitterness, explained that the Crestfall family had been typical nobles, distant and uncaring. They had only visited the town to collect taxes, their presence a fleeting shadow.
 
She mentioned the shady characters who had frequented the Crestfall estate, their activities shrouded in mystery. I remembered the news of their arrest for treason, a scandal that had rocked the kingdom. The patriarch had been executed, but the fate of the others remained uncertain, likely simply imprisoned.
 
Nordic, sensing the time, urged us to move on. Our duties awaited us, our responsibilities calling. With a final farewell to Laine, we left the Dresner home.
 
As we made our way back to the keep, we passed the Rusty Crab. The tavern was less crowded than before, the once-bustling atmosphere replaced by a sense of tranquility.
 
Aisa, the half-orc cook, approached us, her face flushed with embarrassment. She apologized for her previous behavior, her focus on her customers preventing her from acknowledging our presence.
 
She introduced herself and her restaurant, her pride evident in her voice. Aisa mentioned that the old mill and the church in the forest were in need of restoration. The church, in particular, had become a haven for shady characters.
 
Intrigued, we listened to Aisa's suggestions. The restoration of the mill and the church could revitalize Dogville, attracting new residents and boosting the local economy.
 
We accepted her offer of food, our hunger piqued by the tantalizing aroma. As we enjoyed our meal, Nordic grew impatient, his desire to return to the palace evident.
 
With a final farewell, we left the Rusty Crab, our bellies full, our spirits lifted. The future of Dogville was uncertain, but with our leadership and the support of the townspeople, we believed that we could create a thriving community.
 
Nordic, his carriage waiting outside, urged us to hurry. He had other responsibilities to attend to, the affairs of the kingdom demanding his attention. With a nod, we bid him farewell, the weight of our new responsibilities settling upon our shoulders.
 
With the day still young, we decided to investigate the old church mentioned by Aisa. The journey through the forest was peaceful, the sunlight filtering through the dense canopy.
 
Emerging from the woods, we found the church, a crumbling ruin surrounded by a overgrown cemetery. The once-grand structure was a shell of its former self, the windows shattered, the roof partially collapsed.
 
We ventured inside, the fallen door providing easy access. The interior was a stark contrast to the vibrant life of the city. Old benches, chopped into firewood, littered the floor. Bedrolls and half-eaten food scattered throughout the church, evidence of its occasional inhabitants.
 
Liliana, her curiosity piqued, urged Dadroz to search for hidden corridors. Despite her brief tenure as a landed noble, she was already eager for adventure. Dadroz began his search, his eyes scanning the walls and the floor.
 
He found nothing of significance, just strange tracks leading away from the church. The tracks, large and distinctive, were clearly not human, but more fowl-like in nature. Liliana joked about being on a wild goose chase.
 
Following the tracks, we emerged from the mist into a clearing. Our eyes widened in surprise. Two giant geese, their feathers ruffled, stood guard over a small cabin. A third, even larger goose, with five heads, towered over the others.
 
As we approached, the geese became agitated, their hisses a warning. An old woman emerged from the cabin, her voice filled with annoyance. She scolded the geese for waking her, her words laced with a touch of magic.
 
The woman turned to us, her eyes narrowing. "Visitors?" she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.
 
We introduced ourselves, our new status as nobles of Dogville. Aunty, as she was known, congratulated us, her tone a mix of sarcasm and indifference. She made it clear that despite our titles, she wouldn't be taking orders from us.
 
Hayley inquired about the apples that had been sold to the Dresner family. Aunty dismissed the question, her eyes darting around the clearing.
 
I decided to investigate, my magical senses tingling. A quick spell confirmed the presence of the same preservation magic within the cabin. The apples, a gift from the mysterious woman, were the missing piece that tied Aunty to the scene of the crime.
 
The others, sensing the tension, urged me to drop the matter. Aunty was not someone to be crossed. We decided to let the matter rest, focusing on our exploration.
 
As we left the clearing, we discussed the woman, her identity shrouded in mystery. We suspected she might be Patty Gravehand, a hag known to reside in the nearby woods. Her connection to Keralon, her dealings with the supernatural, made her a figure to be wary of.
 
The king's order was clear: we were not to interfere with her or her coven. But as we walked away, I couldn't shake the feeling that Patty Gravehand was a threat, a danger lurking in the shadows.
 
As we returned to the Bastion, Dan, the representative of the Consortium, was waiting for us. He engaged us in small talk, his eyes scanning our faces for any signs of fatigue.
 
Eventually, he got to the point. He requested a piece of land within our territory, a place where he could rebuild his consortium. Liliana and Hayley, fierce supporters of the people, immediately agreed. However, Alistan and I were more hesitant.
 
Guilds had been banned in Keralon, a decree issued by the king. The Consortium, while technically not a guild, operated in a similar manner. We were torn between our debt to Dan for his help with the cult and our adherence to the king's laws.
 
Dan, sensing our hesitation, excused himself and headed towards the clearing where the refugees from Ravensfield were arriving. We followed him, our curiosity piqued.
 
The refugees, their faces a mix of hope and uncertainty, greeted Hayley with warmth. She singled out a man with experience in milling, her eyes filled with purpose. She explained the need for a new miller to operate the old mill in Dogville.
 
The man's eyes lit up, his excitement evident. He gathered his family and headed towards the mill, eager to inspect their potential new home. The other refugees began to discuss their plans, plotting out their new lives in Dogville.
 
We returned to the Bastion, our hearts filled with a sense of accomplishment. The future of Dogville was taking shape, the refugees a beacon of hope in the midst of the ruins.
 
As we prepared for bed, we cleaned up the Bastion, our efforts a small step towards restoring the once-grand structure.
 
The next morning, as we gathered in the common area, Liliana looked pale and exhausted. She confessed to falling out of bed several times during the night, her sleep disturbed by unsettling dreams.
 
Early in the morning, Hayley and Liliana set off to check on Tommel Dresner.
 
As we enjoyed our breakfast, Dorr, our former Deurgar companion, arrived, offering his services. He lamented the state of the Bastion, his expertise in construction evident. He suggested that with the help of local dwarves, he could restore the keep to its former glory.
 
Alistan suggested that we discuss the matter with the others. Dorr, his stomach growling, helped himself to Alistan's breakfast, his manners not having improved since we last saw him.
 
When Hayley and Liliana returned, they shared a troubling discovery. The Dresner family had captured a goose a few weeks ago, a creature that seemed to have a connection to the mysterious woman who had cursed Tommel.
 
The realization struck us like a bolt of lightning. The woman, likely a hag, had probably cursed Tommel in retaliation for the captured goose. It was a classic case of magical retribution.
 
We then moved to the subject of our Dwarven friend and agreed, our decision unanimous. The bastion needed to be restored, a symbol of our strength and resilience. With Dorr's help, we could transform the crumbling structure into a valiant fortress. I am very keen to make the keep worthy enough to hold the former heart of Cairn Fussil, so that I can repay the debt to my Amarra.