Tsubasa
There's not really a whole lot here. Some documents that seem to mostly exist to give the "checkpoint" some façade of legitimacy, a bag of shills that weren't taken when the people turned to flee, and... a few weathered tools. A pickaxe in particular stands out.
Weathered Pickaxe
Weight 8.
Level 1 - Deals 3d6+STR Physical Piercing damage to a single target. Half this damage ignores DR.
"It's done a lot of digging... And it's ready to do some more."
Ehto
"I see. If this High Priest is... controlling these creatures somehow... Then that makes their attacks even more concerning. We're basically having to fight three forces at once. Not to mention that I'll need to be careful how large the Bog Expedition is. In terrain like that, getting slowed down means being surrounded. Thank you for telling me this, it's..." Arint takes a breath. "I wish you'd arrived sooner, grifter. Fellemo didn't take the threat of the Bog seriously, and now..." Arint looks relieved, disappointed, frustrated, and worried all at once.
Rory and Friedhold and Nessa
There's a small crack in the door that Friedhold peeks through. Through the opening, he can see a bunch of people in red-dyed clothing and furs, lifting boxes onto the back of a giant snail. They speak to each other in hushed whispers, but don't seem to have noticed Friedhold.
Meanwhile, Rory approaches the figure - a tough-looking human with a scar across her face, dressed in some red-dyed clothing and furs. She seems to be acting as a lookout, though she's also not especially alert. The smell of Spark - oily and acrid - drifts along from the warehouse...