The Forbidden Lands breathed a sigh of relief. The colossal undead Rust Brother Teramalda was defeated.
The heroes, with the aid of Veralda Bloodbeak, had achieved a renown likely to spread across the region. In the daylight hours following the battle, the monstrous, hulking husk of Teramalda’s body lay near the heroes’ campsite.
Veralda, after a brief speech, confirmed her departure. She packed away Terramalda’s severed head, announcing she would leave at first light to spread news of the defeat and wreak havoc amongst the Rust Church, but also to broadcast the heroes’ newfound infamy.
The party turned to assessing the situation and their battered state. While investigating the giant’s remains, the adventurers also recovered a prize: a ruin-inscribed spike that crackled with arcane lightning energy, a future artifact.
With several injuries, some severe, the group decided to camp at the battle site for another day — too weary to continue.
Lucia hobbled around, setting up the fire and assembling a tent a safe distance away from the still-menacing Teramalda. The druid gingerly examined her gouged eye and severed ear, hoping that the injuries would heal quickly and that she wouldn’t have to resort to using magic.
Meanwhile, the rest of the group spent their time recuperating or training with their newfound experience. Zarah honed her senses to improve her wilderness skills while Sturmberg let loose his berserker rage that was still seething from battle.
Bloodbeak was gone when the heroes awoke, and Teramalda’s body had been reduced to heaps of ash or rusted armor. However, the smell of cinder and sulphur had been replaced with an unexpected scent in the air.
As the wind slowly drew through the grove, each adventurer could get a hint of freshly baked bread. They followed the smell through the Dankwood until they came upon a strange stone cottage nestled among the trees.
Zarah Wildthorn stealthily crept up to the small house and peered in through a window. Inside, she found a stout halfing clad in baker’s garb. Bowls of dough surrounded the diminutive domestic, and some baking sheets had dough shaped into little men with raisins for eyes. Just as she was about to turn back, the wolfkin could have sworn she saw one of the finished dough men move, but she couldn’t be certain.
Rudever called upon his arcane training to speak with the local forest creatures. He was able to draw a raccoon to the group and converse with it.
The little creature spoke in a broken tongue that was common to little animals enchanted with the magic. It said, “Tasty treats from that house. Tasty treats that come to you. Tasty treats that walk.”
After delivering his testimony, the raccoon stood up on his back legs and pantomimed begging, trying to entice Rudever to give him payment for his information. Chuckling, the half-elf gave the raccoon some nuts and berries before turning to his allies, saying, “The little bandit claims that ‘tasty treats’ can be found at the house. And no less, these tasty treats can walk.”
The ominous description made the rest of the group wary of approaching the home. Such scenes usually meant magic, and magic meant trouble. Despite that, the curiosity of the situation was too much to overcome, and Lucia said, “I vote tasty treats.”
The group approached the door carefully and knocked softly. A mellow voice from inside rang out and promised to come forth quickly. Not long thereafter, a halfling covered in flour and wiping his hands on a cloth opened the door and introduced himself as “Melcar.”
“I don’t get many visitors here. Is there something I can help you with?” The strange little baker asked.
Rudever replied, “We were just resting nearby when we smelled your delicious bread. It was so enticing and strange that we had to see what this was all about.”
Melcar invited the heroes inside, preparing tea and a plate of delicious-looking, normal pastries. He revealed his sad story: He was a former baker from the village of Pery who had been driven out.
“I found these stones and they were they were in such a shape that I thought I could use them to improve my oven,” Melcar said. “And what I found is that some of the things that I made would come to life.”
The villagers, he explained, had not liked his “little dough people,” which he now uses for companionship and simple chores. He trades with elves and makes long treks to distant villages for supplies.
Seeing a startled look on the group’s faces, Melcar clarified, saying, “I don’t sell any that come to life, just the ones that stay normal — just like the pastries you have now. I’d feel a bit awkward to give away my little friends.”
As they discussed the matter, a group of the little pastries—a baker’s dozen— marched into the living area, standing at attention with their raisin eyes peering at the visitors. Zarah tried to recollect if she had heard of any such stones that would bring things to life. She couldn’t recall but was certain that if they did exist, the stones would either be empowered by the dwarven god Clay or under a demonic enchantment.
The wolfkin asked if she could see the stones or how he accomplished the miracle. The little halfling with a flash of anger before delivering a terse response.
“No!” Melcar said emphatically. “They’re mine.”
The halfling quickly composed himself and apologized.
“You’ll have to forgive me,” he said. “Your question just made me think of my village. My kin didn’t like that the dough came to life. They wanted to destroy the stones, and I couldn’t allow that, so I ran away.”
To smooth the issue over, Melcar gave each traveler a loaf of warm bread, promising that it too was normal.
“Please take them and enjoy with my warm sentiments,” he said. “But I really must get back to baking. I need to make another trip to an elven village soon to resupply.”
As the adventurers turned to leave, the little dough boys marched back into the kitchen and started to clean up for Melcar. The baker also assured the group that he doesn’t eat the dough people either — when the magic leaves them, he scatters pieces in the forest for the animals.
Stermberg was the last member through the door, but as he exited, the dwarven warrior caught a final, worrying glimpse of the kitchen. He couldn’t be sure, but he caught sight of more than a dozen of the bread men arming themselves with tiny spears and knives before they marched into the cabinets and shut the doors.
Despite the disturbing news, the party decided to continue, not wanting to antagonize the strange baker and his creations.
“Just keep it moving,” Rudever the druid said. “It’s not our problem, and he was well enough to let us leave.”
The adventurers continued southeast toward the edge of Lake Varda. Eventually, they came across a river that was too deep to cross easily. Lucia Talene had to coax their remaining donkey across with some considerable effort.
Once on the other side, Zarah spotted a strange sight — one even weirder than the magic baker’s forest home. In the distance, she saw what seemed to be a huge green cocoon stuck at the top of the tree. As they got closer, the group could see that the cocoon was a large tarp attached to ropes that ended in a big basket. From inside the basket, they could hear cursing in the rough burr of a dwarf’s voice.
Standing underneath the contraption, Zarah could see that the dwarf was strung upside down with more ropes from inside the basket. The dwarf would alternate between cursing in his own dialect to groaning in pain from an unknown injury.
Zarah and Rudever climbed up the branches to reach the strange dwarf while Stermberg directed the party’s hirelings to use poles to bring down the tarp and basket. The grizzled dwarven warrior quietly assessed the stranger and determined that he must be wealthy indeed to afford such outlandish equipment.
“If he’s rich enough for a balloon and eccentric enough for a balloon, he’s probably got some expendable cash,” Stermberg muttered.
Hearing the accent of a fellow dwarf, the aerialist called down and said, “Instead of muttering, why don’t you get up here and help me?”
By that point, Zarah and Rudever had arrived and were able to cut the dwarf free. He yelped in pain when he fell onto the branch below, but held on and steadied himself. The dwarf looked up and then said, “Ah, an elf. Just what I need.”
Rudever quickly corrected him and snapped back, “A half-elf, if you please. A Frailer if you’re disinclined to politeness.”
The dwarf quipped, “Well, let’s see if you’re half good at anything. Do you think you can get the basket and balloon without tearing them more?”
Working together, the party and their hirelings were able to get the contraption to the forest floor. The dwarf, however, refused to touch the ground.
He introduced himself as Andred and promised a reward if the party would help him repair his vehicle and heal his leg injury. The adventurers quickly agreed, driven more by curiosity than by greed.
“I have to know,” Lucia asked. “Why won’t you come down to the ground to help?”
Andred replied, “I’ve disavowed the god Huge. A tunnel collapse killed my family, and I was on the other side. I had to listen to their screams and cries as they slowly suffocated to death. Ever since, I refuse to touch foot on the ground again.”
Moved by his story, the druidess set the dwarf’s broken leg and patched up his other injuries. Stermberg and Rudever directed the hirelings on how to fix the balloon with advice from Andred.
Finishing the repairs, the group made camp for the night. Andred stayed true to his word and slept in the trees. The next morning, he showed everyone how to light a special fire in the basket that filled the tarp balloon with hot air, causing it to rise.
Before taking off, Andred offered the group a heavy and valuable silver mirror.
“Would you take this as payment?” Andred asked. “It’s honestly too heavy for the balloon anyway.”
Wishing the strange dwarf well, everyone watched as he floated away, seemingly in the direction of Melcar’s cottage as the wind seemed to draw him there. The group was unsure how a meeting between the two would go but turned about and continued on to Ogre’s Thorn.
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