Barons of Bellevue

[Ancalagon]

A short while later, the party discovered a room that appeared to be prepared for a sacrificial offering. There was an altar of sorts upon which was draped some cloth with a ceremonial dagger atop it. Several alcoves, two per wall, were present. The room had a weak bluish glow to it though no source of light was apparent. The most unsettling feature was a 2’ diameter, roughly circular, stone colored portion of the wall opposite the PCs that opened upwards to reveal a sinister red eye with a cat-like slit of a pupil which bathed the room in with red light and a feeling of malice!

The characters and the eye watched each other for a few seconds. Unknown to the party at the time, the eye was conjuring a stone wall to seal the passage some dozen paces behind them. It then conjured a mystical shaped vaguely as a scythe which quickly moved to attack Rif. The warrior-priest, protected by his armor and defended by his faith gave not an inch of ground. The other characters launched missiles at the Eye and prepared a small cask of oil then hurled it into the room so that as it spun oil was splattered over a sizeable potion of the room, including the altar. The oil was then set ablaze. In short order half the room was on fire and smoke began to fill the air. Elimar retreated down the hall only to discover a stone wall now blocked the way. Short Shanks fired bolts at the Eye while Eribus also combatted it with his magics as Rif continued to resist its conjured weapon’s attacks.

Without Gritznak and his minions to offer protection for the Eye, the numbers weighed in the party’s favor. Being embedded in a wall, the Eye was quite immobile and was struck by multiple bolts and blasts of magic. It’s blood ran profusely down the surface of the wall and pooled upon the floor. A foggy mist began to issue forth from the pupil of the Eye which quickly filled the portions of the room not ablaze, which included the party and the passage behind them. A final bolt from Short Shanks seemed to spell the end of the Eye as it quivered as though experiencing a seizure, the mystical scythe attacking Rif vanished, and the lid of the Eye slid down until blocked by bolts. Elimar and Menlaus then slumped to the floor unconscious. Ulrich and Short Shanks soon followed. Eribus and Rif were left staring at their unconscious companions for several seconds before they, too, began to feel fatigued and heavy. Though they struggled valiantly, the foggy mist overpowered them and they knew no more.

[Ancalagon]

The characters awoke in the midst of a dismal swamp. They were divided into two separate groups upon floating rafts. In addition to Rif, Erebus, Ulrich, Elimar, Short Shanks, and Menlaus, there were two other characters: Hazel and Slog, human and half-orc respectively. The new characters were played by two new players interested in trying C&C. Introductions were made, questions asked since none of the characters’ last memories included being anywhere near a swamp. None of them had any idea where they were. Erebus noted that the few constellations he could see through the tree cover did not correspond to any he knew from Aihrde. Rif offered a prayer to Augustus to sense the presence of evil and everything around him, save for the other characters, was tinged with evil.

Each raft had a pole laying across it. The characters decided to try and find their collective way out of the swamp. Someone suggested that perhaps Elimar, being a ranger, could guide them out of the swamp. This immediately prompted a dog pile of jokes about the numerous failed tracking checks for which Elimar was well known. Nevertheless, the raft upon which Elimar, Rif, Erebus, and Menlaus stood took the lead. Thick clouds soon covered the sky and the swamp became very dark.

For a while the characters used their own means to produce light as they poled through the swamp. The water varied between two and five feet deep. In some spots no bottom could be reached with the poles. They navigated around floating trees that had rotted and fallen, vines hanging from gnarled trees whose branches seemed rather claw-like and whose trunks appeared to possess twisted faces. Occasionally something would bump against the bottom of a raft prompting more than one anxious expression. For hours the characters poled but found no egress from the swamp not patch of land upon which they could make camp. Already weary from their experiences before arriving in the swamp, the characters decided to try and sleep on the rafts.

At once the trailing raft upon which Ulrich, Short Shanks, Hazel, and Slog travelled lurched upwards about a foot then five barbed tentacles emerged from the stinking water and began flailing in all directions seeking something to grab and pull under the water. Erebus was immediately struck as the others fended off the attacks. Ulrich spoke the command word to ignite the blade of his broadsword and fought back. The other party members drew their weapons and defended themselves. Erebus summoned a magical shield which deflected more tentacles. Eventually the characters severed several of the tentacles such that whatever controlled them decided to move on.

Hazel and Slog had no rations with them (they were on the donkey, Lady Fern) so decided to try eating some of the tentacles. They worked with Ulrich who allowed them to slide the tentacles over the length of his sword blade. Ulrich then ignited the blade and cooked the tentacles until Hazel, Slog, and Short Shanks (the hungry hobbit) were ready to try them. The meat was bitter but it was preferable to going hungry. From time to time a silent but terrible odor drifted across the raft causing noses to wrinkle in disapproval. Each time it occurred, the odor seemed to originate from the part of the raft where Short Shanks stood but when the hobbit caught the stares of Hazel and Slog, he quietly pointed to Ulrich who was looking elsewhere.

The loud noise of the various swamp bugs and other assorted critters combined with flying, biting insects made for a poor few hours of sleep before enough light penetrated the clouds to make it known that the next day had arrived.

[Ancalagon]

The party poled aimlessly about the swamp for another day. Just as the characters were about to stop and try to sleep for the night, they noticed a flickering light in the distance. They decided to make for it as quietly as possible. After many delays and detours around impassable locations, they moved close enough to see a small patch of land, roughly a dozen paces wide, rising above the surface of the water. In the center of the island stood a garishly-colored covered wagon and two horses. To the right side of the wagon, the side facing the party, was a campfire around which sat an elderly man and woman and a younger couple. A small child chased after lightning bugs. All were garbed in the same garishly-colored patterns that decorated the wagon.

Eribus wondered how a wagon got into the midst of a swamp. Short Shanks wanted to feel the grass beneath his feet. Elimar was suspicious. Rif scowled. The party spoke quietly among themselves then decided to make for the island in the hopes that the people there might know a way out of the swamp. When the rafts moved to within thirty-five to forty paces away from the island, Eribus called out to the strangers. The younger couple stood quickly. The child stopped chasing bugs. The elderly couple remained seated. They spoke in low voices for a few seconds then the old man invited the party to approach and share the fire with them.

Introductions were made. The old man’s name was Scarengi. He seemed in good health other than his left eye was clouded over with a light gray film. When Scarengi spoke, he sometimes looked at people with his clouded eye. The younger couple, Scarengi’s son and his wife, appeared to have seen forty winters. The child belonged to them. Food was shared and the he characters relaxed a little after being on rafts the last two days… except for Rif who still scowled and spoke little. The strangers called themselves “Vistani” which didn’t help much as none of the characters were familiar with the term.

Eribus could contain his curiosity no longer then asked, “How did you get a wagon to this island in the middle of a swamp?”

Scarengi peered at Eribus with his clouded eye, winked, and replied, “By strange highways.” He said no more and the topic was dropped.

Through conversation the characters learned they were in the great swamp region of Souragne. The nearest settlement was a village called Marais de Tarascon which could be reached by raft by poling to the northeast for “a day or two.”

After an hour or so, Scarengi clapped his hands once and stood. He said, “Now we will have fortunes told! This,” as a shapely, young, dark-haired beauty with red lips emerged from the back of the wagon, “is my granddaughter, Valana!” The young beauty kissed Scarengi on the cheek, smiled at the party members, then set up a tray upon which she cast a handful of tiles. She stared at them for a few seconds before her features changed to show fear. “No! NO!! The dead will walk with the coming storm. You must find a way to put them to rest. If you cannot, the rain will turn to blood! It will drown you and all of Marais de Tarascon!”

The Vistani made protective gestures at the fortune. The horses neighed. Scarengi stood and ushered his family into the back of the wagon. “No charge for your fortune! It is time to rest after the toil of the day. Be our guests and sleep by the fire.” The characters asked a few more questions but no answers were given from within the wagon. Elimar and Ulrich wanted nothing more to do with the Vistani or the island so returned to a raft to sleep there. The remainder of the party placed bedrolls upon the ground and dozed. Rif remained on watch. Midway through the watch, Valana peeked out from the back of the wagon and whispered to Rif, “Beware the madman. Beware his blood.” She then disappeared back in to the wagon. A while later, Rif woke Short Shanks to replace him on watch duty.

The party awoke the next morning to find Short Shanks asleep, the wagon and horses gone, and themselves alone again in the dismal swamp.

[Necron 99]

Oooooooo....aaaahhhhhh....ooooooohhhhh!!!

Very interesting....mwahahaha.

[Ancalagon]

Some of the characters were a bit uneasy with how the Vistani seemed able to come and go without a trace. The group decided to pole northeast as Scarengi advised to try and finally escape the swamp. It was slow going as the sky was completely obscured by dark gray clouds. Much of the weak light that managed to penetrate the clouds was blocked from reaching the surface by the canopy of trees covering much of the swamp.

The group trusted in Elmar, a ranger, to guide them. Elimar is a good man, always ready to combat marauding humanoids and defend settlements against the same… but he has struggled more than once to locate and follow paths (chronic low die rolls by the player when attempting to track). The other characters remind him about this fact on a somewhat regular basis. Fortunately, Elimar is a good-natured man who doesn’t let the ribbing upset him.

Many times, the party had to alter course while working its way northeast to avoid groupings of trees, vines, and shallow water that blocked the way. By the end of the day, determined by how very dark the swamp had become, the party was about to stop for the night when they noticed three lights some distance from them. The lights appeared to be stationary several feet above the water’s surface. Was it a settlement or a group like the Vistani? The group’s curiosity was roused and they didn’t like the notion of not investigating what could be a possible threat in the night.

Slowly the party poled their rafts towards the unmoving lights. At least one character suspected the lights were some monstrous manifestation meant to lure unwary (or overly curious) travelers to their dooms. That particular fear was unfounded as they party discovered the lights were actually two windows and the open doorway of a small shack that hovered about ten feet above the surface of the water… until the party poled close enough to discover that the shack was supported by four black-barked trees. They then noticed a rope ladder, the end of which dangling a few inches above the water, hanging from the narrow ledge in front of the open doorway.

Rif and Eribus decided to climb up first and investigate the shack. The wizard called out a greeting which received no response. Rif quickly reached the doorway and made ready his morning star. The shack was little more than ten feet by then feet in area. Two crates of food sat to the right of the one-room dwelling. A cask of fresh water was to the left. A pile of folded blankets sat in a corner. Two lit lanterns, one to the right of the doorway and another to the left, hung from nails in the walls. A third lit lantern rested upon the floor, almost in the center of the shack. Next to the lantern was a wooden chair. In the chair sat a young man of perhaps twenty winters though haggard and gaunt. He had shoulder-length blonde hair that hung limply from his scalp. His clothes were clean. Clutched in his hands and resting upon his thighs was a book with a worn leather cover. No writing could be seen along the spine or the cover. The young man stared motionlessly, looking at nothing in particular, eyes bloodshot and tired. Eribus attempted to speak with the young man to no avail. He tried waving a hand in front of the gaunt face but the eyes did not respond. The two party members referred to the eyes as the “thousand-yard stare.”

Eribus tugged at the book in the young man’s possession and it came loose from the grip. The wizard opened the book and found an inscription that read, “To Luc, my beloved brother” and it was signed “Marcel.” The contents of the book consisted of children’s poems.

By this time, Short Shanks entered the shack and started helping himself to the crates of food.

Eribus returned the book to the young man who accepted it with no change in expression or any movement save for his hands.

Hazel entered the shack to explore. Space was now quite limited with half the party in the confines of the dwelling. The bard tried communicating with the young man assumed to be the “Luc” named in the book.

Eribus removed one of the lanterns from a wall and, since there were two others burning, extinguished its flame. At this occurrence, Luc’s eyes opened wide and horror filled his features. He bolted from the chair and ran into the wall where the lantern had been, screaming in terror and anguish. He fell to the floor then began beating head against it while continuing to scream. Hazel and Eribus immediately thought to relight the lantern. Rif thought to restrain the lad if necessary. Short Shanks looked on with a puzzled expression and a half-eaten baguette sticking out of his mouth. Once the lantern was relit, Luc resumed his quiet state and returned to his chair. As he settled into the chair, Luc spoke for the first time since the party’s arrival by saying, “The on descend shall evil of night the land, at near is signs of hexad this when hand.”

The utterance caught all of the characters off guard. Combined with the non-sensical jumbling of words, more than one player asked for me to repeat the line so they could try to write it down. But Luc wasn’t talking now and none of the players had stated they had produced paper, ink, and quill so I declined their requests.

Several party members helped themselves to the food stores (there was more than enough for Luc) and made their ways back to the rafts so the other characters could take their turns inspecting the shack and taking food. After eating food other than “roasted swamp critter,” the characters decided to make camp at the shack. Several characters decided they would sleep in the shack but some, Elimar and Ulrich in particular, wanted nothing to do with being inside the creepy dwelling. They, along with Short Shanks and Slog, spent the night on the rafts, taking turns on watch.

At dawn, or what passed for dawn with the ever-present overcast skies, the party woke then made ready to depart, hoping to find a way to the village Scarengi discussed two nights prior. The group decided to leave Luc in the shack, having surmised someone must be supplying him with food as he appeared incapable of caring for himself in his current state. As the characters departed the shack, Luc stood and followed them. There was no change in his expression. This weirded out some of the characters. Luc climbed down the rope ladder after the PCs and stood upon the raft with Eribus, Rif, Elimar and Menlaus. Without losing his “thousand-yard stare,” Luc repeated his twisted phrase from the night before, “The on descend shall evil of night the land, at near is signs of hexad this when hand.”

As Luc spoke, Eribus and Hazel scrambled to produce paper and quill but they were too late. The players were determined to record the ramblings and try to make some sense of them. The characters discussed what to do about Luc. Hazel persuaded the group that Luc was no danger to anyone but himself so they decided to let the young man accompany them. After several more hours of poling in the direction Elimar deemed to be northeast, the party found the shoreline. A clear trail led away from the swamp in the general direction of the village Scarengi called Marais de Tarascon.

[Ancalagon]

The party walked several hundred yards through woods until finally emerging within sight of a simple village with many buildings lining dirt roads. There were many trees in the village located between several of the structures and clumped together on the far end of town.

What immediately stood out was the large cemetery that rested upon a hill to the right of the road that led into town. The cemetery was roughly ten feet above the ground upon which the other buildings rested. It was surrounded by a wrought iron fence through which many vaults could be seen. One corner of the cemetery contained some sort of structure with a roof that could not be made out due to a tremendous overgrowth of vines covering it. None of the vines covered any of the other features of the cemetery.

A funeral procession was underway as the party emerged from the tree line and continued walking towards town. The line of people extended gate of the cemetery, down the hill, and some ways onto the main road of the village. The procession had stopped at the cemetery gates. One man, a priest by the look of him, stood at the rear of a horse-drawn carriage in which a coffin sat. For some odd reason, the coffin was wrapped in chains.

The priest addressed the townsfolk with a fairly standard speech for mourning the departed, hastening the spirit to the afterlife and, oddly enough, a warning that he would not be welcomed back into town. At that moment, an audible BANG emanated from the chain-wrapped coffin. The priest flinched. Several of the townsfolk closest to the wagon stepped back a pace or two. The priest spoke loudly toward the coffin, “Go with the gods!” and then another BANG rocked the coffin. The priest waved his hands over the coffin and said, “Jeremiah be still.”
While all of this transpired, Eribus, Rif, Hazel, Slog, and Menlaus walked past most of the townsfolk towards the priest and the wagon. Eribus was the first to reach the priest. Without introducing himself or begging pardon for the interruption, he began peppering the priest with questions. As he did so, Slog walked straight to the coffin and knocked upon the lid as if he were knocking upon the front door of a house.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing!?!” the priest shouted (mostly at Slog). “I don’t know who you are or where you come from but this is a funeral procession for one of our departed folk!” The priest’s face began to flush with anger as he turned his gaze to Eribus. “If you wish to converse with me, you can wait until after the service. And you,” turning back to the half-orc, “can just leave. Now! GET THEE HENCE!”

Hazel, being a bard and much more practiced at social interaction knew that the party had spectacularly blundered its initial meeting with the townsfolk of Marais de Tarascon. Eribus realized he had behaved quite poorly. He walked some distance away to wait for a moment to try again with the priest. Slog slumped and stared down at his feet with embarrassment. He walked back to the tree line where the other party members had remained. Elimar and Ulrich were no longer there. Slog didn’t stop walking until he had returned to the rafts where he found the ranger and the dwarf.

“Looked like some trouble was brewing so I came back here hoping to not end up fighting the whole town,” Elimar said.

“I meant no harm but I guess I really stepped in it. I’m going to go into the swamp a while and give a little time for things to calm down. And who knows… maybe I’ll find some information why there was pounding coming from inside a coffin,” Slog replied as he walked off into the murky swamp.

“Walking back into the swamp we just spent days trying to get out of,” Ulrich quipped. “Wonder if we’ll be seeing him again.”

The funeral concluded with no further disturbances. Seeing that the strangers were still hanging around, the priest told them to meet him at the church, one of the larger buildings in the village which displayed all of the holy symbols for the gods of good. The characters practically followed him there.

Once inside, Eribus offered an apology for his behavior then introductions were made. When the priest, now identified as Father Brucien, learned Rif is a follower of Augustus, a lawful neutral god of combat, his response was, “Ah, yes. The Blood God. I am familiar with that faith none of us here follow it.” The statement possessed no mocking tone but Rif did not look kindly upon anyone referring to Augustus as The Blood God. A short debate ensued with Father Brucien reasoning that the result of combat is usually pain followed by spilled blood thus the use of the term The Blood God. Rif was not impressed and ceased discussion with the priest.

Eribus spoke at length with Father Brucien about where they were from, all they encountered in the swamp, and what they witnessed at the funeral. Father Brucien knew nothing of any place called Aihrde or New Aenoch even though he worshipped gods from there. He was the spiritual leader of the village of Marais de Tarascon which was part of the kingdom of Souragne. None of the characters were familiar with any of those names.

Father Brucien then gestured to Luc (who had silently followed Eribus and Hazel into the church then sat down). “This is Luc Tarascon, the youngest of the Tarascon brothers. Yes, that is right – Tarascon. It was his ancestors who founded the village some two centuries past.”

“What is wrong with him?” Hazel asked.

Brucien hesitated slightly before answering, “He is lost. When a person sees something no one should see, something truly horrible, sometimes the mind retreats from the world in an effort to protect itself. I thank you for treating him kindly and pray that he returns to us some day. Leave hm here and I will watch over him.”

“Someone was already watching over him in the swamp. He had food and water in the shack in which we found him,” Eribus said.

“The he was, indeed, fortunate,” Father Brucien replied.

Brucien shared that dark times had come to Marais de Tarascon. About three weeks ago, people from the village started disappearing. Worse, murders had occurred. Worse still, occasionally a normal healthy person would simply collapse in place then die on the spot. Within minutes the person would rise as one of the Restless Dead then either attack onlookers or flee the village. Dark times indeed!

Hazel, Eribus, and thus by default, Menlaus, wanted to try and help how they could. Rif scowled and asked Brucien in his usual blunt and unsympathetic manner, “Why do you not destroy the dead before they become restless? Why do you put them in coffins so they can most likely escape?”

Brucien sighed softly then replied, “Most people are never ready to see a friend or a family member or a loved one pass, especially the younger they are. They can’t bring themselves to condone the mutilation of their loved one’s remains so we do what we’ve always done in Marais de Tarascon. We place them in burial vaults and pray for them. The chains are a recent addition, of course.”

Rif judged the town to be filled with weak, simpering fools unable to defend themselves and did not bother hiding his disapproval. This revelation, combined with the priest’s “Blood God” comment gave Rif the thought to have a seat on a porch somewhere, light a pipe, down a pint, and watch the village come to its end.

Eribus and Hazel were determined to find out what was going on in the village. Due to the respect Rif has for Eribus by proving himself in combat against Gritznak, Rif went along with the wizard’s course of action. But Rif still scowled.

By this time the other characters, save for Slog, made their way into the village. Having not heard nor seen signs of a mob, they figured the other party members had not been tarred-and-feathered, lynched, nor burned at the stake. Soon they were reunited at the Full Moon Inn, a two-story structure with a stable, all of which was surrounded by a six-foot fence of wood planks.

The party rented rooms, cleaned up, then had a remarkably good meal which piques Short Shanks’ curiosity as to what temperature had been used in its preparation. When asked, the innkeeper gave a half smile and said, “Fire.” If a cook gives away how to prepare a popular dish, some folks may not return to buy more of it by trying to prepare it themselves. Short Shanks smiled and did not press the issue.

Hazel made a deal with the innkeeper to play and sing in exchange for room and board. She hoped to lighten the mood of the townsfolk and perhaps foster some good will towards the party after the events of the day. The evening crowd proved receptive and somewhat appreciative of the entertainment.

Slog returned late in the evening under cover of darkness so as to not anger townsfolk whose memories of his rude behavior might still be fresh. He had found no clues in the swamp to the goings on in the village.

The characters retired for the evening and, with greatly varying degrees of enthusiasm, determined to get to the bottom of things in Marais de Tarascon starting in the morning.

[Arashi]

The funeral concluded with no further disturbances. Seeing that the strangers were still hanging around, the priest told them to meet him at the church, one of the larger buildings in the village which displayed all of the holy symbols for the gods of good. The characters practically followed him there.

Little good the gods of good did this pathetic, miserable village. (Said in Rif's voice.)

Once inside, Eribus offered an apology for his behavior then introductions were made. When the priest, now identified as Father Brucien, learned Rif is a follower of Augustus, a lawful neutral god of combat, his response was, “Ah, yes. The Blood God. I am familiar with that faith none of us here follow it.” The statement possessed no mocking tone but Rif did not look kindly upon anyone referring to Augustus as The Blood God. A short debate ensued with Father Brucien reasoning that the result of combat is usually pain followed by spilled blood thus the use of the term The Blood God. Rif was not impressed and ceased discussion with the priest.

One of Rif's lifelong regrets will be not having reinforced Father Brucien's connect-the-dots logic between blood and Augustus... by inflicting a little pain and spilling Brucien's blood all over the temple floor.

Hazel, Eribus, and thus by default, Menlaus, wanted to try and help how they could. Rif scowled and asked Brucien in his usual blunt and unsympathetic manner, “Why do you not destroy the dead before they become restless? Why do you put them in coffins so they can most likely escape?”

Brucien sighed softly then replied, “Most people are never ready to see a friend or a family member or a loved one pass, especially the younger they are. They can’t bring themselves to condone the mutilation of their loved one’s remains so we do what we’ve always done in Marais de Tarascon. We place them in burial vaults and pray for them. The chains are a recent addition, of course.”

This is where Father Brucien -- and the remainder of the town -- lost whatever respect Rif might have perhaps had for it. Testing Brucien's theory about pain before bloodshed was certainly looking like a viable option to save the town... from Brucien. If Rif ever finds his way back at later levels he may just pursue this route. The town will be much better off without Brucien.

Rif judged the town to be filled with weak, simpering fools unable to defend themselves and did not bother hiding his disapproval. This revelation, combined with the priest’s “Blood God” comment gave Rif the thought to have a seat on a porch somewhere, light a pipe, down a pint, and watch the village come to its end.

This is Rif in a nutshell. He's not interested in defending those unwilling to defend themselves. He's got no time for people who seemed as apathetic as the villagers did about what was happening to their home and their fellow townsfolk. If they're not willing to act on their own behalf, why should anyone else? Let whatever evil is coming claim what it wants and then smother the pipe and have a good fight. Unfortunately for Rif, Eribus took a much greater interest in solving the riddle.

Eribus and Hazel were determined to find out what was going on in the village. Due to the respect Rif has for Eribus by proving himself in combat against Gritznak, Rif went along with the wizard’s course of action. But Rif still scowled.

That's not a scowl. That's a natural feature of Rif's facial musculature, same as a hill or mountain might be a natural geographic feature.

Hazel made a deal with the innkeeper to play and sing in exchange for room and board. She hoped to lighten the mood of the townsfolk and perhaps foster some good will towards the party after the events of the day. The evening crowd proved receptive and somewhat appreciative of the entertainment.

Hazel was quite the interesting rub-Rif-the-wrong-way intra-party foil by this point. Too much talking, too much negotiating, too much wearing of kid gloves interacting with everyone from the Vistani to the locals. All completely opposite of how Rif approaches things. Eribus may be a thinker, but he's also fact-based and doesn't let pitiable villagers overcome common sense. Also, he's proven gnoll slayer, a wizard capable of wielding a sword with what must be great skill.

Hazel however, showed much concern for the... feelings... of the townsfolk. For befriending them. Whereas Rif just wanted to stove in the skull of one of them and thus solve the town's core problem.

Rif had already been coming together nicely in my mind prior to the party's arrival in Marais de Tarascon, but it was here that Rif's personality actually began to truly form into what it is today.

[Ancalagon]

Eribus and Hazel were determined to find out what was going on in the village. Due to the respect Rif has for Eribus by proving himself in combat against Gritznak, Rif went along with the wizard’s course of action. But Rif still scowled.

That's not a scowl. That's a natural feature of Rif's facial musculature, same as a hill or mountain might be a natural geographic feature.

Hahaha! Niiiiiiice. :wink: