Rayla relaxes a bit as the tone of the guardsmen becomes a bit more friendly, even though she still has a bit of a panther in black and gold ready jump. “Sir Corwin? I am not familiar with the local nobility ‒ is he a knight in responsibility of defending this city? Or a local lord? I wonder why he would summon travelers in such a haste, solely based on the time of their arrival, but I oblige and hear what he has to say. Whatever it is, it must indeed be pressing. You seem to be quite agitated.”
She grabbed her greatsword by the sheath, careful to let the guards see exactly what she is doing and slings it across her back. To Gawain she calls: “Gawain, would you do me a favour and take care my equipment is brought to my room? What do I owe you? The guards, soldiers or whatever here don’t seem to be particularly patient. Who knows, maybe there is a job for me in it after all.” She puts some coins on the table.
She turns back to the guard that speaks in a business like attitude: “Off we go… sergeant? lieutenant?”
Skäne remains sitting and cocks his eyebrow at pseudo-amusement as the women in the room comply with the summons.
He grumbles a comment in his native tongue...
"Ég treysti ekki þessum stefnuför bróður. Þetta "Ser Corwin" má vel vera að leita konum og drengi að Rut með..."
I trust not this summons brother. This "Ser Corwin" may well be seeking women and boys to rut with.
... afore questioning the armoured heralds once again;
"Rewarded? Tell me, little one, the quality of this Ser Corwin... So Bjorn and myself may measure his intent and worthiness of our red hands."
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Responding to his friend's statement, "Ef hann vill drengi, hvers vegna að senda drengi að finna menn?"
"That's why we're here, Miss. We don't expect traveler's to know their way wherever they go." answers the man, who must be the leader of the group.
"As for Sir Corwin's character, he is a brave and loyal knight in the service of Count Vinlander. He was sent here to give aid to the town, and is now offering coin, good coin, to any who come with us to meet with him."
"You could say that it's pressing, yes," he says, "As for Sir Corwin, he is a knight under Count Vinelander, and a brave and loyal man. The Count sent him here to help Hammenholdt get to the bottom of... something." He finishes, picking his words carefully.
Gawain shakes his head when asked how much was owed, "Payment can wait. I'll make sure your things are taken care of while you're gone."
"Not as such. I am simply a man-at-arms. If you'll follow me, miss." answers the man with a chuckle at Rayla's question. He leads to a study looking building with golden light pouring out of its narrow windows. Inside, the smell of sweat, metal and leather overpowers everything else. The escort leads to a feast hall, one that had seen a battle or two from the look of the timbers in the ceiling and the walls.
"Please wait here. We're hoping a group from the Snow Dragon's Den shows up. Sir Corwin will meet with you once the others return."
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"I hope this won't take long..." says Rayla as she wanders smooth like a cat of prey in slow circles through the hall, accompanied by the soft tingle of the scale mail pieces of her mantle and skimpy armour beneath. 'They seem to be well in training by the smell of it. I wonder what problem there could possibly so demanding that the knight and his men can't deal with it themselves... It must have been a while since this hall has seen a celebration.' She looks at the decorations and the battle scars of the hall to get an impression; the atmosphere is thrilling and for a moment she considers to draw her sword and swing it, but she discards the idea again since she has a feeling she will have the opportunity to honour her ancestors - angelic or otherwise - soon.
While on the way to see Sir Corwin, Delilah stuck closely to one of the guards escorting. "So, is there anyone...special?"
Helena starts as the vision hits her, staggering slightly and gripping the back of a chair for balance. After a few moments, she straightens once more, eyes shaking slightly in their sockets before stilling. Pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders, she says, "I will accompany you with as much haste as I can muster." Though the film makes it difficult to see, she can't help rolling her eyes heavenward slightly at the actions of the other woman who'd apparently been summoned. "And please, none of this 'Miss'. My name is Helena, and you may use it."
looms above the guard wearing a stoic expression. He again mutters to his larger comrade..:
"Hann segist Ser Corwin er ríkur suður riddari óflekkað mannorð. Við munum heyra hvað hann hefur að segja en ef tala snýr að sheathing sverðum okkar í honum við að taka hauskúpuna fyrir sigurtákn bolli!"
He claims Ser Corwin is a rich southern knight of good repute. We will hear what he has to say but if talk turns to sheathing our swords in him, then we take his skull for a trophy cup!
... before replying to the herald;
"We will measure the weight of your knight's words little one and the luster of his gold..."
"Who of you came in this day?"
From where he was enjoying both his dinner and the conversation with the Kobold, Kylar turns his head to see the speaker but makes no move to draw attention to himself. When others stand - including the Northmen whom Kylar had met - he does as well.
"And who is this Sir Corwin?" he asks at the summons, almost on top of a wild-looking woman with similar questions. At the answer - and after getting a confirming look from his kobold host - Kylar gives a mental sigh.
"Ingratiating one's self with a local noble never hurt, but can't they ever have their crises at more opportune times?"
Then Kylar turns to his host and bows.
"It was my pleasure to speak with you." He places a number of coins on the table to cover the meal he had eaten and the room he still hopes to make use of before the night is out.
Then, to the messenger.
"I will come."
The guards lead you to a stout wooden building that looks like it was a fort at some point. Inside the signs of old battles make the timbers and the stink of sweat, leather, and metal overwhelms everything else as the group walks in. They are escorted to a large hall that has only a single woman in it waiting patiently. The guards leave and a few moments later, a man clad in well-maintained scale mail walks in. He is taller than most, almost six and a half feet. His dark hair hangs in greasy strands and bags hang under his eyes.
"My apologies for the late hour. I wish we could have met under better circumstances, but things have grown desperate here. I promise five score of crowns to each of you if you accept the task I have for you. You have made it through the Blackwoods, and that means you have skill or luck with you. You will need it if you accept."
His eyes lock with each of the six before him, cold as hardened steel and unflinching despite the man's obvious fatigue. He nods to himself before continuing.
"What I am about to tell you does not leave this room. The roads into and out of Hammenholdt are dangerous, and I fear they will become more so if people begin to panic and flee. If you choose to not accept this, then I can only wish you luck and pray that Iomedae watches over you as you continue your travels."
He pauses, his shoulders slumping before continuing on.
"About a year ago, traders and travelers began disappearing on the roads around Hammenholdt. The occasional caravan and lone traveler has gone missing before, but not like this. These vanished, no blood, no wreckage, no bodies. The town sent patrols out, but they either came back with nothing, or not at all. A few couriers had managed to avoid whatever it was that kept getting the others. They brought word of what was happening and two months ago, Count Vinelander sent me with a score of men of my choosing to investigate and help defend the town. We have found nothing despite constant vigilance on our part."
The man sighs, something deep within him seeming to darken as he stares off into the distance.
"Or that was the case until today. A patrol lead by one of my best fighters, a Lady Gweniver has not come back and I fear the worst. Your task is to go out and search for what happened to them. They were covering a game trail to the west of the main road, and unfortunately that's all we have. Knowing this, do you accept?"
Sounds like home. Delilah thought before answering, "Well I have nothing else better to do, and I could use the money. Sure, I accept."
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Kylar listens to the man's story and proposition with motionless attentiveness.
"The pay is good, the job is clear enough if not definite," he thinks. He gives a sideways glance to Bjorn and Skane. "If I remember them well enough, they'll go for it because of the money and the scent of danger. I think I would enjoy working with them again. The money certainly is attractive, but methinks I smell something other than danger... something to excite the mind. Just what I've been wanting."
The half-elf gives a shallow bow to the knight.
"I will aid you."
Helena stays close to the guards as she travels, remaining quiet and compliant. Upon reaching the hall, she stands somewhat uncomfortably in the open, her discomfort caused by not being able to see the entire room at once.
So this is Ser Corwin, she thinks, looking the scale-clad man over, feeling a familiar pull from somewhere in her chest. She listens to his speech attentively, shifting her stance on her spear slightly. When he locks eyes with her, she straightens unconsciously, lifting her chin by a few degrees.
When Ser Corwin falls silent, she looks around as the half-elf man and the coquettish woman responjd, before adding her own voice to the chorus. "I will accept. I am sure my particular skills will be of use - if my condition will not make me a liability."
Rayla nods to the newcomers and is about to greet them as the knight enters. She listens attentively as he speaks. She returns the impressive man's fixed stare with a warm look but sometimes her eyes would stray as she is considers possibilities. There is something more devious than raw violence going on here.
“I will certainly help you. The darkness is less of a hindrance to me and we can't dally until the track gets cold, but it has been a long journey, I had a few drinks..” for a moment she considers, running her armoured glove through her hair, which sparkles even brighter than the armor plates. “Anyway I would be willing to leave at once. Is Lady Gweniver special to you? Your associate, protégé or maybe your daughter? I'll do whatever I can to find her and the men and women lost, may Desna help us and guide us to them.”
She waits for Sir Corwin's answer.
Then she looks to the other side of the room to the strange, blind woman who is like a second pole opposed to Sir Corwin in the room. “What skills would that be, my lady?” The 'my lady' has slipped on its own, she doesn't really know why. “I am Rayla, by the way.” She offers her hand and, having a closer look at the woman's eyes, adds: “I am offering you my right hand, an armoured glove in fact – about one and a half foot in front of your belly.”
The knight starts in surprise at Rayla's question, he sighs and looks at a place on the floor about six inches from her feet.
"She is indeed. She's like a little sister to me." The man shakes his head and returns his gaze to the others.
"I cannot ask you to go out tonight. The hour is late and I am sure you would appreciate a night's rest before heading." Sir Corwin's eyes grow dark as he continues. "Besides, if this time is like the others, it may not matter how soon you head out."
Skäne stands stoically listening to the knight, taking measure of both his words and bearing, afore doing likewise to the others assembled as they offer their services.
The tall Northman turns to his giant kinsman, offering comment in their native tongue;
"Orð hans hafa heiðarlegur brún gott blað. Við ættum að taka þessa vinnu..."
His words are honest like the edge of a good blade. We should take this job...
The warrior gestures to the others assembled as he speaks to Bjorn;
"...Auk mynt er góð, það eru nógu konur til að hita rúmið þitt, og við vitum að álfur blóð hefur dýrmætur færni í fjölkynngi. Já?
...besides the coin is good, there are enough women to warm your bed, and we know the elf blood has valuable skills in sorcery. Yes?
Skäne nods to the weary knight, before bellowing an oath to all assembled;
"I am Skäne Snjármǫn and my bear-blodded giant beside me is Björn Arinbjörnson! Whatever ails this place auld man has never faced two such Sons of the North! Fret not for we will find your missing shield-maid and end this threat. So tell your Count to make preparations to honour our deeds and those of our companions!"
Kylar is surprised by the blind woman with them, but keeps his reaction hidden. He smiles lightly at Skane's answer, and nods when Corwin urges a delay until morning.
"I agree. None of us know these woods, I think."
Then he considers for a moment.
"Perhaps a guide with us at first light?"
"I'm afraid beyond the promised gold that is almost all I can offer. The town guard was short-handed even with our numbers. Now it is more so."
Sir Corwin Stands and looks at each in turn before continuing.
"I am grateful to all of you. We will have some supplies ready for you at dawn. If you do not have any other questions, you may return to the inns and rest for tomorrow. I will come get you at first light."
"Ah, excellent then. We shall see you on the morrow." Turning to the two large men she was eying earlier, "Would one of you big, strong men care to escort a lady back to the Snow Dragon's Den?"
"Thank you, Sir Corwin," Helena says, bowing slightly to the knight. I feel as though I am meant to meet Count Vinelander... but not today. "I am no stranger to woodlands. I will be ready to depart when summonned."
When Rayla offers her hand, she takes the gauntleted hand in her own leather-gloved one. "I am Helena, and I am a simple healer. I understand such things are valued among those of an adventuring persuasion."
When the tiefling woman voices her request, she smiles warmly. "Why, it's most kind of you to voice that request on my behalf! Yes, I could use an escort back to my lodgings."
With a slightly mischievous grin, she asked the blind woman, "Which one you want? I have a feeling they're both equally, 'talented.'"
Björn rises as much as he able, following Skäne after the guardsmen. Once outside, he rises to his full height, shortening his stride to keep from overrunning the others. Upon entering the old timber fort, he snorts, Að minnsta kosti get ég staðið hér án þess að berja höfðinu á mér á geisla.
As the southren noble enters, the druid looks down at the man's feet. Nudging his companion with his elbow, he asks, "Ert þú Taldi hann gengur á stultum?"
At Skäne's judgement of the lord's worth, the bear-kin adds in a low growl, "Ef hann er að halda aftur, ég mun bæta húð hans í feldinum mínum."
As the assemblage breaks up, Björn actively avoids the pale woman with the milky eyes. He waits for her to pass him through the door of the fort before leaving. As he waits, the near giant is brought up short by the horned lavender woman's request. Visibly sniffing as though he can glean knowledge of her just by her scent, he turns his head and spits. Sneering, he says, "Illt blóð norn."
Feining a hurt look on her face, Delilah replied, "I don't know what you said, but it sounded rude." She turned, pulled her cloak about her and headed to the Snow Dragon.
Rayla smirks at the little barter. To Helena she says: "A healer is always most welcome. Most monsters and creatures of hero tales have the habbit of not standing idly by while they are slaughtered. And it's not always the true heroes the songs are sung for... Only a fool or a coward believes they are untouchable." She offers her arm. "I can guide you if you like, since I need to go down to the village anyway. My left arm is in front of your right hand." As opposed to the right, the left arm is mostly naked below the part covered by her cloak; while it appears soft and round as long as it isn't stressed, the muscles right beneath the skin are remarkable.
She has no idea what the two giant warriors said either, but doesn't really care about. If they don't want to be understood she would try to spy on them. But she certainly didn't want to drive the refreshingly wolfish woman away. "Wait..." she calls after Deliah. "If you feel you need someone to scratch an itch, or just need to go wild and dance on the tables before we go face the unkown evil, you might wanna try the Hobbled Hobbit. I don't think anyone would hold it against you there. I will go to bed right away, since we get up early, though, but I think you might find good company there." She really doesn't like using euphemisms and can barely stop herself from becoming a lot more explicit, but the way humans treat a woman a who stands to her desires and embraces the beast inside frustrates her. And the night before one goes to an adventure that may very well be one's end is a bad time to hold back unfulfilled desires.
Stopping in her tracks and turning to the barbarian woman, she said with a playful smile, "Why thank you...Rayla, was it? I just might take you up on that." Delilah continued on her way to the Snow Dragon.
Skäne nods at his comrades comment and eyes Delilah curiously afore answering Bjorn in a flat tone;
"Það skiptir máli ekki við mig. Hér á Suðurlandi þetta veikburða menn óttast jötna, en óttast einnig þeir sem bera blóð risa í stoltum æðum sínum. Hún mun sanna gildi sitt held ég."
"It matters not to me. Here in the South these weak folk fear the giants, and fear also those who carry the blood of giants in their proud veins. She will prove her worth I think".
To Delilah he merely adds;
"Worry not little one. Like his namesake, if Björn truly wished ill on you, then the ravens would be gathering to pick at your bones."
then noticing an old friend the warrior's eyes take on a lighter look as he claps Kylar on the shoulder;
"Hoi Kylar Álfur-blóð! It seems fate have drawn us all together again my friend. What does your keen mind make of the mystery we face?"
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The wizard suppresses a chuckle when the voluptuous woman is spurned by Bjorn. "Odd, seemed like his type. 'Alive and willing.'"
Kylar nods his greeting to the northman. "Good to see you again." he says, then tilts his head as he considers the question. "Danger present for a year, maybe more. Still hidden, unknown."
He glances to the knight who had brought them there.
"Corwin seems competent; still empty-handed. I think we have a challenge ahead."
Rayla leads Helena back to the Snow Dragon's Den and then goes back to the Hobbled Hobbit, where she goes to sleep right away.
Seeing Helena walk in, Delilah sat next to her and asked, "Did I do something to offend you? I get the feeling you don't like all that much."
Skäne nods sagely at Kylar's words before breaking into a broad grin;
"Oh aye. We have a challenge ahead indeed... keeping Björn from drinking the Snow Ormur's Den dry! Har!"
Kylar chuckles briefly. He has no doubt Skane means to attempt exactly as he boasts.
"I claim the best wines," he says. "They help me think."
Making a mental note to stay out of projectile-vomiting distance once the heavy drinking begins, Kylar accompanies the big men back to the Snow Dragon's Den.
The dawn comes with a harsh, cold light that twinkles off the patches of frost from the night. As promised a couple of guards show up to escort you to the same building you were at last night. The light of day has done nothing to make the imposing structure less so. If anything, it has taken an ominous air.
Sir Corwin meets you outside beside a neatly stacked pile of supplies and the older guard from yesterday. The guard looks worried and is talking to the knight when you arrive in hushed tones. Sir Corwin, on the other hand, looks exhausted, his hair is lanky and the dark circles under his eyes almost black. He does manage a weak smile for the group.
"Thank you for coming. We have the light, but winter is coming and we can not afford to waste any more than we absolutely have to. I need whatever you can find, but I don't need you to put yourselves at risk unnecessarily." Gesturing for the familiar guard to come forward, he pause for a moment. He gives the man a hearty clap on the back, and to his credit, the man doesn't even seem to budge.
"This is Wilhelm. He knows the woods better than almost anyone else and volunteered to be your guide. I believe you have all met?"
He waits for a moment before pointing to the supplies. "It's not much, but it is all we could gather during the night. The lack of trade has hit the town hard, and we are almost out of many supplies that are normally in plenty. Take what you need and find what you can. May Iomedae protect you."
Helena stays close to the escorting guards, her pack on her back and her spear in her hand. She walks with more confidence today, the steps becoming somewhat familiar, though she doesn't seem quite accustomed to the other adventurers yet.
"Sir, you sound weary," she says, inclining her head slightly in Sir Corwin's direction. "Were you up the night worrying?" She makes no move to the pile of supplies, though she can see them clearly enough. She manages a small smile for Wilhelm, glad to see a familiar face.
Kylar studies Corwin's appearance.
"If that is the cause of worry alone, it's indicative of more than simple loyalty to his lost people," he thinks, then gives a mental shrug. Whatever Corwin's mental state, Kylar had a job to do now.
Looking through the provided supplies, Kylar takes the additional food and water and the additional - if somewhat worn - blanket. He could feel the chill in the air and didn't relish the thought of having to camp outside, but such was the life of a mercenary.
The wizard looks to the soldier who will be their guide, glad that Corwin changed his mind about providing one.
"You know the history of the disappearances? Location? Identity of the vanished?"
Looking at the pile of supplies, Delilah moved forward and picked up some more trail rations and put them in her pack. Looking at the rest of the pile, she decided she was loaded down enough already and didn't pick up anything else.
"And may the Accidental God grant us luck on our expedition."
Rayla looks over the equipment and picks up a few items including, after a quick glance into the round, a tent. She doesn't really engage in the conversation but seems busy distributing the weight of her gear and then redistrubting it until she can carry it half conveniently, but she listens closely to the conversations and questions asked.
Whether or not the tents are big enough for the þursfyrðar remains to be seen, but she wouldn't be surprised if they wouldn't bother with such luxury anyway.
Seeing the barbarian woman pick up a tent, Delilah asked, "Do you think we could share that? I'd have grabbed one myself, but it'd only make me slow the rest of you down." Her tone turned slightly innocent, "And I don't want to be a burden."
A loud *crack* resounds through the dawn quiet immediately followed by a bellowed curse as the first of the northmen staggers out of the inn. Holding his head, a knot forming on his forehead from the collision with the door's lintel, he winces from both the pain of the impact as well as the sound of his own voice. Muttering, he waves behind him at the door, "Hurðin ramma ... hugur dyrnar ramma."
Squinting at the wan morning light, he exclaims, "Guð! Við drakk nótt þurru."
For the second time in a span of mere seconds, the sound of a skull cracking against a beam announces Björn as he too staggers out of the inn. Bellowing his own curse, the hirsute man nearly drops at the pain from his own yelling. Calling out to his shieldbrother, he implores, "Hvers vegna gerðir þú ekki vara mig á þá fordæmdur dyr?"
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The two northerners lumber down the road to the keep, only occasionally crashing into each other. Once before the town's lord, they stand shoulders slumped blearily looking out at the others. At his offer, they sullenly take up rations and water. Björn picks up one of the piles of canvas, asking, "Er það rúm lak?"
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Looking to the bear shaman, Skäne slowly shakes his head, "Nei, bróðir, ég held að það er ætlað að vera tjald."
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The man giant shakes his head and drops the canvas. He takes up the remaining bundles of rope and tosses one to Skäne. Unspooling the rope to respool it to his size, he drapes them over his head to hang from one shoulder.
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Hearing the witch's question, Skäne shakes his head and picks up one of the tents. Motioning to his companion, the viking tells him, "Grípa þau. Aðrir geta ekki virðast til að bera þá og þeir geta komið sér vel."
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Seeing the barbarian woman pick up a tent, Delilah asked, "Do you think we could share that? I'd have grabbed one myself, but it'd only make me slow the rest of you down." Her tone turned slightly innocent, "And I don't want to be a burden."
"No problem, I was wondering whether I'd share with either you or Lady Helena. It would be best if the strongest of us carried those..." she says with a glance to the giant kin."Would each of you guys carry one? I don't know how you people see it, but it might be best if someone carried one for Helena." She doesn't want to interrupt Helena's conversation with Sir Corwin, so she waits for a moment.
"Excuse me, Helena. Those tents are meant for two... would you be willing to share a tent with any of us? Delilah asked me to share one with me and I can't carry a second. With us being seven and room enough for eight there should be a tent for you alone, if that what you prefer."
There is a certain restlessness about Rayla. It's aparant she can hardly wait to face whatever is behind all this.
"Oh thank you Rayla, I promise to not try and keep you up, too much." Delilah said with a slight grin.
At his fellow viking's suggestion, the pale, fur clad giant-kin picks up the remaining two tents asking, "Sem? á rúm lak eða einn af þeim?"
Looking to the wild woman, Skäne nods, "Ja, we are already doing that."
Seeing no one else has picked up the remaining supplies, he grabs them up and arranges them in his backpack. "Nothing left to waste, no?"
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Sir Corwin looks at Helena with dark eyes.
"Miss, I have spent many nights awake with worry. I hope that you can find out what's going on, and I thank you for what you are doing. I am truly in your debt."
Wilhelm returns Helena's smile with one of his own before turning to Kylar.
"First 'twas the caravans and travelers, then when we sent patrols out to see what was going they came back empty-handed, or not at all. I knew many of those that went missing on those patrols, but if what I fear has happened has come to pass, all we'll find is bones."
Turning to the others, he calls out.
"If ye got everythin', then let's get movin'. The days already short enough without dawdlin' here."
Wilhelm leads the group out of the town walls and towards the forest. About 500 yards away, he takes a faint trail that leads to the east of the main road. The clear skies darken as you approach, as if the forest itself was looming over you with barely restrained malice.
Under the boughs and limbs that blot out the sun a gloomy silence smothers the place. The chill in the air seeps into the skin and goosebumps come unbidden.
Wilhelm kneels and looks at the tracks, his bow in hand. A frown wrinkles his face and he mutters under his breath.
"That can't be right."
The tracks of the patrol are easy enough to spot, despite being at least two days old. Five sets of heavy boots left prints deep in the ground.
These tracks, however are much harder to spot. They look like they were made by children, if the children had sharp claws on their toes. What ever they are, there appears to be a dozen of them.
These are goblin tracks.
You hear what sounds like a woman crying up ahead.