The Threshold IC II (D&D E6, low-op, story based)

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Despite the drizzle Bobin feels in hight spirits as he helps to pack up camp and begin their last day of travel. From time to time he whistles a little ditty from his childhood. His thoughts stray idly from his home village and his parents, to musings on what new oddities have crossed through from the portal in the party's absence. "Do ya think there might be any new emissaries that have come through while we were away? Maybe folk who look like owls, or crocodiles! Can you imagine?"

When Silverbrook finally appears through the slight haze of drizzle on the horizon, it takes Bobin nearly a full minute to notice something amiss. He stands bolt upright on the seat, nearly losing his footing. He rubs his eyes and exclaims, "By Yondalla's shield, do you see that!? I'm not seeing things, am I?" Bobin continues to stare at the iron finger that rises above the surrounding landscape. A worrying ache snakes up his spine, and Bobin gives a little shiver.

"Mayor Finnigal wasn't planning on building a tower while we were away, was he? I know he made mention of arranging to build a storehouse for the grain which Silverbrook is trading to the Giff, but that doesn't look like a granary to me. I think we'd best hurry home."