Gm Aest's Kingmaker: To Forge a Kingdom

Game Master Aest

Kesten waves his men and women over, as well as Jhod, Hanne, and the grinning, triumphant, and soot-covered Oleg Leveton. Despite their best efforts, none of them can quite keep the happiness off their faces even while clearly viewing Luthor's distress and Kazimir's body, and after a few moments, Mirjam (the female guard) grabs Luthor's arm to try leading him back to the gates of Oleg's Trading Post, where Svetlana and Gratia are just arriving.

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Distance Back: 150 Ft.:

"Nope, not listening to you. Curse Erastil, curse the deader, and curse you." Akiros is breathing heavily, urging Surefoot through the knee-deep water, and his words come in gasps. He quickly turns, heading into a deeper section of the creek. There, Surefoot gamely struggles through, one moment swimming and the next trotting through the slimy mire of muck and reeds on the far side. Do you A) head straight through the water (swim for your horse at a +3 modifier (+5 for heavy horses)) or B) ride back up the far side of the defile (ride)?

Also, Laliytsa and Daen can take an action.

Ride: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (19) + 6 = 25

Laliytsa guides Wild up the far side of the defile. As soon as the pair reaches the top she bellows "SUREFOOT. COME HERE."

Handle Animal: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (7) + 5 = 12

Cyanne’s grip on Daen tightened as Akiros’s voice came over the message link, and he casually called Kaz a ‘deader.’ Akiros’s statement was nothing more than a shot in the dark, an attempt to enrage her and get her to leave him alone. But it’s hard to effectively heckle a girl who’d performed in the rowdiest dance halls in New Stetvan and Restov. If anything, the harsh words calmed her. She could concentrate on them and not on the big Kaz-sized hole in her heart.

“If you felt that way, you would have given me to the Staglord. You didn’t.” This is the one thing that still bothers Cyanne about this chase... That Akiros saved her life. “You’ve already told me the part of the story where the Knight fell from grace. But since you haven’t told me the rest, I’ll make it up as I go."

"Rejected by his god and wanted for murder, the fallen knight made a new life for himself amongst the bandits. He had military training, and a grasp of tactics seldom seen in the Stolen Lands. His skills, work ethic and fearlessness caused him to rise to be one of the Staglord’s top men. He told himself that this was his life now. He told himself that he did not care about those that the bandits preyed upon. Most days, he even believed it.”

She pauses here, listening to his ragged breathing. She’s breathing heavy too, but she’s trained to sing for hours, sometimes while dancing. “All this changed when his band captured a girl and a boy whose only crimes were that they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. The boy fought like three men, and former knight admired his spirit, even as he ordered the boy to get beaten each night. The girl... She was a dancer. A nobody. Any other bandit would have tossed her to his men without hesitation. But the girl reminded him of Rosilla, the woman he loved, and then murdered when she betrayed him. He gave orders that she was not to be touched, but knew that this solution was at best short-term. His conscience ate at him, and he began to look for a way to save them both.” She closes her eyes, remembering that night when she begged Akiros for an answer to her future, and he had given her no sign that he’d had a rescue planned. “He kept his plans to himself. Perhaps to protect the secret, perhaps because he’d been betrayed once by someone he’d loved and was determined to never let it happen again.”

“His solution came in the form of an earnest young farm boy who was leading an adventuring party. The former knight saw signs of their presence everywhere. There were new guards on the Fort. Kressie’s band was wiped out. Even more interestingly, the group had spared a bandit named Adrik and set him to honest work again. It would have been easy to ambush and kill the adventurers, but instead the Former Knight sent out riders to create a trail that they could follow. They would be the means for him to save both lives without losing face."

She remembers Kaz throwing aside his weapon to speak with Akiros, putting his trust, as always, in the innate goodness of the hearts of others. "Your choice of protectors for the girl was an interesting one. You chose..." she breaks off, feeling the crest of her grief hit her once again. She fights it, though her heart aches as she thinks of the young farm boy who'd welcomed three strangers with open arms. With a deep breath, she begins again. "You chose Kaz. A young, idealistic Knight of Erastil. Someone who reminded you of all that you have lost."

To be continued...

Handle Animal. Not how I'd imagined this ending, but...

Surefoot hears the familiar voice of Laliytsa and begins slowing down, turning his neck to look behind him. As he does, Akiros curses and digs his heels into the horse's side, struggling to get it moving before turning his head to see over his shoulder as well. He drops over the far side of the horse, landing on his feet, and draws his blade. With a vicious thrust, he shoves it into the ground, letting go of the grip. "Enough. You win."

Chase over.

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At the post, Oleg and Svetlana approach Luthor, looking at Kazimir. After a moment, Svetlana clears her throat. "We can bury him under the gate, if you'd like. He died defending it."

Jhod looks over, a single tear streaming down his hard, harsh face. "No. Let me tell you about a dream I had, one I told Kazimir. I'm riding through the forest, the hounds of my failures in pursuit, when I see Old Deadeye's face carved into a cliff before me. Below his head looms a dark cave, and before it, an ancient pool of water. I enter the cave, and the hounds cease their pursuit. Though untended for hundreds of years, Erastil's power still lingers, and I am redeemed." He stops for a moment, then continues. "Kazimir died in service to Erastil, and the ancient temple of my dreams is where he belongs. Find a guide to take us there and bury him there."

Cyanne blinks in surprise at the sword, buried in the ground. "Are you surrendering to us, Akiros?"

Part of her wants him to fight, so she can kill him cleanly and try to staunch the howling of grief in her soul. But she's conflicted. Kaz would have wanted to save him. But how can we after what he's done?

Luthor looked up, an angry, almost rage-filled expression on his face. "He isnt even cold yet and already you think of burial?!" The last few word rose in volume, threatening to turn into shouting. "Did he mean so little to you?!" When he spoke again his tone was mocking. "Well, thats that I guess, better get him in the ground before he starts to smell!" As the last syllables left his mouth, Rikka interrupted, a loud shrill cry which stunned Luthor into silence just as he was about to say more. His expression went from surprise to shock and finally embarrassment. He turned his eyes to the ground, then started to sob.

"I...Im sorry, its just..." He fell silent for a while, then looked up teary eyed with a half smile. "That is a good idea Jhod, I think Kazimir would have liked that."

A bit surprised about the ease in which Akiros was caught, Daen hopped off Volte, taking the hemp rope she kept in the saddlebag. He knew that Akiros had deat with Cyanne civilly during her capture and though he had slain his friend, Daen wasn't about to allow this lowlife to have the moral high ground. He walked over toward the big man with one hand on his sword hilt. "If you are serious about it, we'll treat you with the same dignity you treated Cyanne with during her captivity. Take two steps to the left and put your hands out to be bound." This man was far too dangerous to leave anything to chance, so he'd take every precaution he could.

He didn't really want to move forward until Cyanne could get a read on the man as well, she knew him best. If he really was willing to surrender, she would know. But he studied the man's face nonetheless, as he didn't want to be caught by some trick. The problem was that he was never really good at reading people, mostly because he'd met more people on his foray into the wilderness than he'd really known beforehand.

Sense Motive: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (19) - 1 = 18

"Not quite the same dignity," she gently corrects Daen. "I won't require Akiros to do a burlesque show for all of us before he can have his dinner."

Cyanne nods to Daen's unanswered question, studying Akiros with a raised eyebrow.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (20) + 10 = 30

Laliytsa still has an arrow nocked. Her arms shake from holding the string back, and it’s oh so tempting to just release the arrow and have Akiros meet Pharasma today. The anger rolls within her; they could have killed him before, back when they first met but they let him go. KAZ let him go, and this is how Akiros repaid that? The man murders the innocent, he is a threat to everyone and he should be put down like the rabid dog he is.

What would Kaz want you to do? A warm voice flows through her mind. She tries to push it away; It’s not actually her uncle, just an annoying thought inside her head. But it won’t be ignored. Come on La-La, you know the right thing to do. He’s surrendering. If you kill him now you’ll hate yourself later.”

“I’m not having an argument in my head with my dead uncle. That’s what crazy people do.” Laliytsa thinks to herself. She lowers her bow and relaxes her grip on the string. But she keeps the arrow between her fingers; if Akiros tries anything she’ll be ready for him.

Intimidate: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7

“Try anythin’ funny an’ I’ll add ‘nother arrow to that collection yeh’ve got.” Laliytsa calls out.

As he slowly edges away from his sword, Akiros laughs bitterly at Cyanne. "No, I'm not surrendering. I'm just taking a breather. What do you think, girl?" He offers his hands to Daen, making an obviously-fake lunge toward his sword before laughing at the half-elf, and he eyes Laliytsa's bow with an appraising eye. "Alright, no more funny stuff. I don't feel badly about your friend, though. That was war. Honorable, really." He allows himself to be led toward Oleg's Trading Post.

By the time the party's returned to Oleg's, darkness has begun to set in. Most of the prisoners have been hustled into the stables, where one of the guards looks over their stall. Meanwhile, Jhod has moved Kazimir's corpse to one of the picnic tables in the center of the stockade, and seems to be going over it with some sort of liquid or oil. "I don't have Erastil's favor, so I cannot consecrate his body against the ravages of time, but if we move quickly, and if the weather isn't too hot, we may be able to arrive at the temple of my dreams before he begins to grow...foul."

Kesten looks less-than-thrilled with the idea of the party suddenly setting off so soon, but seeing Luthor's still-distraught face convinces him to bite his tongue.

After Akiros surrenders, Cyanne can feel her self-control slipping. She's trembling, and needs Daen's help to mount Volte again. If they hadn't been escorting a prisoner, she would have collapsed in a heap there. But she holds on, both literally and figuratively, to Daen's solid presence. The scenery passes in a blur, as she can barely see it, no matter how often she wipes her face dry.

Finally, she turns to Akiros. "You chose well for me when you chose Kaz as a protector. He was like a big brother. He laughed, gave hugs, and cared deeply about everyone he met. He cared deeply about you, too. When he heard your story, he wanted nothing more than to save you. That's why you're still alive. Kaz wanted to give you a second chance." She wipes her face, impatiently. She will not be weepy and weak in front of Akiros. She will hold herself together. "I guess we'll see if he was right. Are you worth saving, Akiros? You better be."

Daen was not really interested in joking with Akiros. He narrowed his eyes at the pride in this circumstance. Cyanne's reaction did seem to believe he'd given up, but he had to wonder if that was truly the case. His mocking of their caution cemented the half elf's will. He would have no trouble killing this one when the time came. The question was, what time would that be?

Justice should be swift. It was a waste of resources when one's crimes were well attested to delay regardless of them. After all, this winter perhaps something may come up and those days of food granted a prisoner who deserved death should be needed, and if found wanting would allow the criminal to cause trouble even after his death.

Justice should also be impartial. It would be a travesty to kill a valuable resource if he could be turned away from his crimes. Kaz did believe in that, and their charter only gave them leave to kill unrepentant bandits. So as much as Daen would have been pleased to run him through when he mockingly went for his sword, he did not. In fact, he actually censured himself for not stating he would do so, because then he would have the excuse to execute him right there.

The ride back to Oleg's was silent and tense. The girls were not in a chatty mood, and it suited Daen just fine. They were prepared for this. At least in word. None of them had experience in open war. None of them had a clue of what that really meant. Life was experienced differently through the books he'd read. It didn't mean they were any less true in their perspectives, but it did mean that he had to deal with things on a more visceral level.

Kaz was dead, and Daen didn't really feel anything at this time. He didn't normally feel anything when anyone died though, so that was typical. When his mother died, he lived on as if she hadn't really died, just gone on a long journey. The books were clear that this life wasn't the end, so what sense did it make to break yourself up over something that couldn't change. If he worked hard enough to honor his mother's name, she'd eventually know. Kaz would eventually hear what happened here as well. So it made sense to continue on in a like manner to if they were still living, which they were, somewhere.

He was well aware that not everyone else shared his viewpoint of death. His half-brother Piotr had broken eight of his ribs when he tried to explain it after mother's death. He'd hoped to put bygones to the wayside and make it up with them like his mother had wanted, but it really was a mistake in both intent and timing. Although it wasn't the first time he'd tried to beat him to death, there was a look on his face that meant it was exceptionally personal that time. He kept it to himself when people were grieving now, no one wanted philosophy when they were set on expressing their emotions.

He did talk to Jhod a little when they got back to camp, and agreed to escort the body to the temple. Checking the sun, he went to work stripping the dead they'd killed and taking inventory of the spoils of war. Funeral or no, they'd still need supplies, and no one else was in the mood to deal with it. After the bodies were put into a mass grave and their gear was tallied and double checked, he spent the rest of the day outside the fort, drilling into himself the mental checklist of his faults in battle, performing the various exercises needed to mitigate them and move forward in his skills. He trained until he was completely exhausted and when he had prepared for bed, he lost consciousness just before his head head hit the pillow.

Cyanne can feel Daen withdrawing from her, from everyone, and she lets him go. This is how he grieves. Alone, setting things to logical order, in the midst of hard work.

She envies him his ability to push his emotions away, but she can't do that. She's shaking as she helps Lali tend to the horses, grooming the large warm creatures, brushing burrs out of Surefoot's mane, checking Volte's hooves. Once Lali is satisfied that the horses are fine, Cyanne finally falls apart, there in the stable, in the other woman's arms. Huge sobs rack her slender frame, and the world condenses to the warmth of Lali's arms and their shared grief.

She lets Lali lead her back to the where Kaz is laid out in state, Jhod oiling him. Kaz looks peaceful despite his wounds, but it hurts to look at him. Everything that she valued about Kaz, his joy, his caring, his laughter, his hugs... it's gone. The body, though still strong and handsome, is just an empty shell, and it devastates Cyanne to see Kaz like this.

Tango squeaks, running up to Rikka on Luthor's shoulder, both mongeese curling around the grieving witch. Seeing Luthor's stricken face, she runs up to him, wrapping her arms around him. "Luthor, I'm so sorry. I dragged Kaz into that final battle. And now here I am, not a scratch on me, while Kaz..." She breaks into ragged sobs. Kaz was dead, and it was partly her fault. "I'm so sorry, Luthor! I'm so sorry!"

Too mentally exhausted to care about bashfulness, Luthor simply met her hug like a statue. Listening to what she said, his rigidness left him and he returned her hug without reservation. In the hours that had passed, he had all but shed every tear he could muster, having finally found refuge in tending to the bandit graves. Despite Daens practical insistence that a mass grave was both more efficient and deserved, he nonetheless dug individual holes, stopping after the second, his hands blistered more than they had ever been.

"I didnt see those last moments." He said, his voice flat and barely above a whisper. He released his hug, pulling Cyanne out at arms length, his hands on her shoulders. He met her gaze with red and tired eyes that yet somehow still radiated an optimistic spark. "But I think we both know you didnt drag him anywhere." He looked sad for a moment, then mustered up a timid yet genuine smile. "I saw the lance you know. Kazimirs charge had so much weight behind it it shattered." He crossed his arms, leaning on himself. "Now Im no weapons expert, but you dont do that if your heart isnt in it."

With a lazy look of realization, he raised his hands to his shoulders, nuzzling the mongeese with a renewed smile. He returned his gaze to Cyanne. "He knew what he was doing, he knew what might happen. We all did, even if some of us didnt want to acknowledge the possibility." He scooped up Tango and Rikka, stepping towards Cyanne and draping them around her neck instead of his own. "So no more of this, "its all my fault" nonsense, okay? I simply wont allow it. So what if you came through this without a scratch? Do you think he would want it any other way?"

He reached out and rubbed her shoulders consolingly, subconsciously mirroring Lirpeth. "We have to be strong and be a peace with things as they are." He looked weary now, his solemn, content expression revealing itself as the facade it was. A tear escaped one red eye, rolling lazily down his cheek. "We wont be today, not tomorrow, not for a good while, but we have to hold it together. We cant afford to be consumed by doubt. You have to be strong. I know you can, and you will."

He suddenly needed to be alone. He was no hypocrite, he would act on his own advice, but not now. He could feel it, the brave outward composure faltering and another bout of despaired grief moving to take its place. Losing his grip after what he had said would do noone any good, least of all Cyanne. She needed time to realize the truth of his words on her own.

"It has been a long day. We should all get some sleep, or atleast try."

The first time I read the last line of your post, Luthor, I read it as "or atheist try". It was a good sign I was too tired to write a post last night. As for a proper list of loot, I'll have it up tonight.

Daen's search of the bodies finds the usual assortment of basic short-and-longbows, shortswords (and a few axes), and leather armor, as well as a couple of pewter toy knights stuffed into the big man's leather. However, the real treasure seems to be the ten two-man tents and the horses, some of which look to be in worse shape than others but none of which are unsellable. Akiros is led to a separate stall away from the others, and the guard is doubled in the stable.

The night passes fitfully for the party, especially for Cyanne and Laliytsa, who both witnessed the actual death. Svetlana does her best to comfort the aasimar woman, even going to the point of bringing her into the house and forcing Oleg to sleep in the guest building, a request he accepts gruffly but without too much argument. Nonetheless, the dawn comes both too quickly and not fast enough for many.

It's a weak, gray dawn, the sun struggling to break through ever-thickening clouds over the plains of the Greenbelt, as Jhod, Hannes, Oleg, and Svetlana greet the party over a bacon-and-herb tea breakfast. Oleg speaks first. "I'm sending 'Lana back to Restov until this all blows over, and Jhod's sending his boy Hanne as well. She'll sell your spoils, buy what you need, and send them back with Gratia. She's going to escort them along the road." He doesn't look happy with his decision as he continues. "Kesten's ready to go to war, but not if the Trading Post has anything worth defending, so we're getting the people out."

Svetlana glares at Oleg, her anger seething. "I'm not afraid, Oleg Leveton! I don't need you rushing me out of danger!" He wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her off, trying to talk to her.

"They'll be fine." Jhod, the former cleric of the god of traditional families, looks on without much sympathy for either. "He knows she's strong, but it's not really about her. I don't think he can bear to lose her, and the baby has to be thought about as well. This Stag Lord is going to be enough of a problem to uproot without worrying about too many noncombatants, if what a few of the prisoners have said is true. Now, we need to get moving while the weather's favorable. That sun could break through at any time."

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Cyanne’s talk with Luthor helped, as does Svetlana’s loving presence, a reminder of everything they fought for. While the men are on burial detail, Cyanne helps Svetlana with chores and dinner. To Lana’s disappointment, Cyanne washes most things by hand rather than prestidigitating them clean. After all the weeping, she feels emotionally drained, but the hard work helps keep her going. Finally though, she has to do something to center herself.

She pulls out her ukelele, and strums it quietly while she keeps watch by where Kaz’s body lays in state. Saying a prayer to Shelyn, she tries to work out her feelings in song:

Source: Piano Man by Billy Joel

It’s quiet tonight at the trading post
The exhausted guard is ready to tuck in
Still up there’s one bard with a song to write
And she doesn’t know where to begin
She wants to play them a memory
And she’s not yet sure how it goes
But it’s sad and it’s sweet and she’ll know it complete
With grace from the Eternal Rose

Sing us a song, sing of Kaz’s life
Sing us of Kaz tonight
Well, we’re all mourning the sweet memory
Of a soul who made everything right

Although she hates to see Oleg tossed from his own bed, it’s good to sleep in her friend's warm arms, however fitfully. She awakes long before the grey dawn, but not to go dance. Instead, she grabs her rapier, practicing her stances again and again. Lunge, parry, riposte. She’s drenched in sweat, blue hair falling in her face, eyes fierce. When Daen comes down to do his early morning practice, and she turns to him. “Teach me to fight. My song isn’t enough. If we’re going to kill bandits, I want to help.”

________________________________

She doesn't say much after breakfast other than a brief word to Svetlana. "Don't leave him angry, even if he's infuriating." She hugs Svetlana tightly. "If it was just you, I'd give him an earful for sending you away, but you have a baby now. I want both of you safe too. Forgive me?"

After Jhod gives his speech, she nods. "I'm ready to ride. I think we all want to see Kaz home."

Daen was a bit surprised to see the state of Cyanne in the morning. Not that she didn't beat him awake sometimes, but that she looked like she'd already been working for at least an hour. He'd rather have caught her dancing, but that seemed like it wasn't as important this morning, especially after what happened yesterday. Of course, Daen was looking to improve on the progress he'd made the night before, but her request was thoroughly reasonable. Both Luthor and Laliysta were better from range, and Cyanne had the proper physique for handling a light blade well. Whereas he was still no master, she had obviously had very little training, and he could at least give her a few tips.

"Very well." the half elf began slowly. He glanced at her with a new look, with a much more appraising and scrupulous eye, focusing particularly at the job at hand. A quick thought of using the opportunity to touch her, adjusting her stance, making sure her hips and back were at the right angles, getting a whiff of her hair... But that wouldn't help her now. She wanted to learn how to fight, not sing songs of love.

Dismissing the misty notions of sentimentality for the business of training, he began with a tone of the semi-playful antagonist. He was being a far cry easier than he had during his own training. He didn't even get talked to for the first three weeks with a willow branch being the only thing used in his training. His master used it for discipline, for light touches to improve posture and even for a sword. Nothing emasculated brash young students by beating them in a duel with a stick. On occasion he'd allow a particularly advanced student to spar with him while he held a butterknife. "I can give you some fundamental things to work on that should improve your technique. I've seen you use it, and quite frankly you'd do just as well with a hatchet. You should not trying to chop wood out there. The rapier is a precision instrument, and you're going at it with all the grace of a toddler with her mother's ladle..."

Overall, the session was pretty tame. She was nearly exhausted before they started, but her heart was in it, so they trained well. Just going over the basics again was good for him as well and he began to understand the portions of his books that encouraged passing on the information he'd learned. One author had particularly belabored the point saying that one did not know something unless they could teach it. Having to explain did focus his mind and flex it in new ways. He would have to begin writing his own book on the art of combat. That would help him organize his thoughts.

---------------

After breakfast, he acknowledged his intent to accompany Jhod to the temple. It would be best to have things finished appropriately. Kaz had always wanted to head into the woods like something was calling him there. The least they could do is make sure he made it.

21 Pharast, 4710 AR

As the party rides through the plains near Oleg's and into the Narlmarches, the weather stays blessedly cool, with clouds blotting out the sun completely and a few isolated squalls threatening rain on the horizon. Jhod rides forward relentlessly, peering around each corner as if expecting to see his mysterious temple, but all that's revealed are meadows between sections of the woods and, once, a rushing stream in need of crossing. Nonetheless, the relatively fresh horses and early start allow the party to ride a good distance of their journey, and by nightfall, they find themselves on the banks of the Thorn River, only a mile or two north of the old bandit camp.

As the Thorn rumbles along nearby, Jhod joins the rest of the party around the fire. Without preamble, he launches into one of the Parables of Erastil.

When he's finished, he stands, stretching and yawning. "I think the Stag Lord and his band have been the cats, and the people of the Greenbelt the mice. However, someone must put a bell to them." Without more word than that, he heads toward his pavilion tent and blows out his lantern, exhausted from the ride.

Will move the party the rest of the way tomorrow.

The scenery is beautiful, and Cyanne's heart feels a pang at seeing it. Kaz would have liked seeing these meadows. This is a good send-off for him.

As Jhod peers around each corner, Cyanne raises an eyebrow. Does this priest with a vision have any idea where he's leading us?

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (1) + 11 = 12

Perhaps he does. Who are you to question the ways of faith?

It is only later, when Jhod launches into the parable, that Cyanne becomes truly annoyed. Bell the cat? As he retreats into his pavilion, Cyanne whispers to the others, indignantly. "Who does he think he is? What does he think we've been doing out here, while he's been holed up, safe and sound, at Oleg's?"

Tango stands up on his hind legs and chitters happily. Cyanne laughs. "Well, of course you liked the story. You think mice are delicious!"

Luthor didnt recover in the days that passed. Kazimirs death had left him in a stupor, performing tasks and conversing with a subdued, detached demeanor. Since consoling Cyanne, he had hardly smiled and had kept quiet unless spoken to.

Around the campfire, Luthor sat and sipped on a cup of prestidigitationed water. "Still not quite right. I wonder how long it took Cyanne to get this down?" He wondered, a whisper of a smile arching the corners of his mouth.

He had only half been listening to Jhods story, realizing halfway through that he had heard it before, or maybe a similar story. As Jhod left, it was more Cyannes tone than her words that made him look up and speak. "I think he was making a comment about Kazs...sacrifice." He said, noticably saddened. Despite traveling with Kazimirs body, saying the words still felt like a sudden, painful reminder. He inhaled deeply, holding the breath before letting it go, steadying himself. "Its a reminder of what he died for, to help make life better for others. Its the very essence of his faith, giving yourself for the community." He took another sip. "In a way its good to be reminded. It helps...a little."

He fell silent, shifting in his seat and looking thoughtful. "Ive never given much thought to religion." He suddenly said, staring into his cup. "At the end of the day, gods are people to. Immensely powerful people, but people all the same." He turned his cup in his hands, circular motions, causing the water to whirl around within. "It seemed so silly to me, paying homage to someone just because they are somehow greater than myself. But I realize now, thats not really what its about." He looked up, his eyes big and shiny in the firelight, a look of realization on his face. "Its about what they stand for. People pay tribute not because of their power, but because they are paragons of an idea, an ideal to aspire to."

He fell silent again, once more looking into his cup. "I...I think Erastil is for me." He finally said without elaborating further. A moment later he got up, emptied his cup, then made for Jhods tent. "Do you have time to talk?" His voice drifted back to the others at the fire, before he a moment later disappeared inside.

Hadnt given any thought to who Luthor might worship and figured he simply didnt subscribe to any faith. Erastil really is the embodiment of everything Luthor would look for if he decided to pick.

Cyanne is stunned by Luthor's interpretation. "I thought he was implying that we hadn't done enough, that Kaz hadn't done enough... I thought that he had forgotten for a moment why we were all here."

And Cyanne had rolled as low as she could go on Sense Motive on Jhod...

But it's Luthor's actions more than his words that strike Cyanne to the heart. Luthor? Converting to Erastil? Luthor? Now?

Kaz would love this. Luthor understands him so well. They were so very close, and Kaz's death has ripped the heart out of Luthor. And then it hits her. She hadn't seen it before because perhaps they hadn't known it themselves, and Luthor had flirted with her. And perhaps because she was so occupied with her own on-again-off-again drama with Daen.

Her hand shakes, her cup falling harmlessly to the dirt by the campfire, the hot prestidigitated water spilling all over the ground. And still she stares after Luthor's retreating back. How could she have been so blind? Luthor... and Kaz? Kaz, who had never once flirted with her, or given her a blushing sidelong glance. Never even looked her that way, really. Who'd always treated her and Lali like sisters. How could she not have noticed?

Because your head was so utterly turned by Daen you hadn't even noticed the other love that was blossoming right before your eyes. The love that was cut short before even they knew...

Oh, Luthor. Oh, Kaz! Her body shakes, and she's weeping again. "How could I have been this blind and stupid?"

Daen only partially listened to the story. His mind was racing with battle strategies. Swords and defenses engaged the theater of his mind and he struggled with proper wording to describe his imaginings. Writing the book about the lessons he learned in physical terms would be challenging. They were entirely different languages with hardly any overlap in culture or trade, so the translation was difficult, but he had made some headway. His understanding of the stars also helped, as he had document angles and timing to make sure he counted them all. In the same way, he found his swordwork in angles and timing, just angles of greater degree and timing of much shorter degree. But it was a bit hard to concentrate at this particular time.

He had no need for empty platitudes from any gods that had forsaken his mother. They had marched clerics from every faith up to her sickbed and all of them marched back the other way having done no lasting change. When he had read further into it, it seemed that although the gods had domain over various planes, none of them distinguished themselves uniquely or especially even over their particular fields of expertise. Some of them were friendly, and some were not. Some of them were spiteful, and some held grudges. In short, they were just people. People he could do without.

You couldn't change people, you couldn't tell them anything they didn't already want to hear. You couldn't reasonably expect anything from them as well, as they generally would let you down. On occasion you'd find some decent friends among them, but they depended upon you as much as you did them, so although the gods' power was vast, it wasn't anything any other sufficiently dedicated or lucky person could attain on their own. So should one wait for divine help or justice? Only if it's convenient.

But considerations of Jhod's profession and Luthor's apparent conversion were not what kept him from thinking clearly. He did not know how to deal with a crying Cyanne. Normally he'd just ignore crying women. In court, tears were a way to manipulate the weak-minded. The trouble here is that these tears were real, at least as far as he could tell. They weren't trying to do anything in particular to him. He felt like he should and did care, but he was in a bind as to how to fix it.

That was the trouble with sickness and death. It rather made a lot of people upset and there wasn't really anything to be done. Crying had never done him any good either, because it would just invite more beatings. The best thing to do was to find something useful to do. So he got up, stretched his limbs and looked out into the woods. "It would have gone much better if they'd poisoned the cat instead of trying the bell."

Walking away from the fire, he kept a look on the surrounding woods. After all, they were still in untamed wilderness. Who knew what was lurking in these woods. It's likely they'd be set upon by some monster or perhaps even malicious fey. The idea set his mind to further action, as swordwork with monsters was a bit different than with other weapons. It would take some time to chronicle all the different options. But quantifying things was something he was good at, and it was likely he'd have plenty of useful things to keep him busy in the coming months.

From the dark of the wood Laliytsa watches Daen gazing out into the trees. She makes a mental note to give him tips about searching for things lurking in the shadows, although right now she’s glad nobody will notice her. It’s easier being out here, merely existing, instead of back in the camp where she’d been putting on a show for the rest of them. A shoulder to cry on, someone to pack the gear and set up camp and volunteer for watches because hey, if she’s not getting any sleep she might as well do something productive with her time.

In the back of her mind she knows it’s bad that she hasn’t felt anything since they captured Akiros. Being numb to emotions is not healthy but it’s also a lot easier so she’s going to ride it out for as long as she can. First they have to bury Kaz, then it’s time to hunt down the Stag Lord and end him. With the losses his band took it’s the perfect time to go on the offensive. Once he’s dead then she can worry about emotions. But right now she’s got no time for that mess.

Alone by the campfire with only Tango to keep her company, Cyanne sobs until she can cry no more. As she wipes her face dry, Tango chitters at her.

"I did not chase them all away with my weepiness!'

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (12) + 11 = 23

She sighs, nuzzling Tango and taking comfort in his warmth. "Oh, who am I kidding? I probably did. Tango, why am I the one who's always breaking down? Why can't I be strong and offer them comfort instead?"

She walks over to Kaz's body, and lays a gentle hand on his cold forehead. In the dark, the curly-haired warrior appeared to be sleeping, not dead. "Kaz, I know you wouldn't want us like this, all broken in different ways. What do we do, Kaz? What can I do to help them heal? For once, I feel like my gift of words is useless."

She pulls out her ukulele, and strums, reaching for the music again. What comes out is not the sad song she imagined would come, but instead a rather silly and fast-paced children's ditty.

It's never easy to be a mouse
Who wishes to bell a cat
It's a lifetime of worrying
Hurrying and scurrying
While the cats in the house
Contemplate currying
All your friends
What do think about that?

It's never easy to be a mouse
Who has to learn how to roar
But it's that or go unheeding
That your friends all are needing
The ferocity only you can arouse --
Fight and leave those cats bleeding!
Will your friends
Know you're a mouse any more?

She turns to Kaz with a wistful half-smile. "That was ridiculous, wasn't it? But I hope you liked it anyway and aren't too offended by my take on your parables. I miss you so much!"

She strokes his hair. "And don't worry. I'll try to take good care of Luthor and the others for you, just like you took good care of all of us."

Luthor was just finishing his discussion of Erastil with Jhod when Cyannes voice drifted in through the cloth of the tent. "Thanks, I will come to you again if I have more questions." He shook Jhods hand, then went back outside. Asking Jhod about becoming a member of Erastils flock had not gotten him the answers he expect. It was really very simple for common people. "You need only know in your heart that he is yours and you are his. Past that its up to you how much of your life he will fill." He repeated what Jhod has said again in his mind, committing it to memory. "I would suggest you observe his holidays, try to attend sermons when you can, and think of him when you rise in the mornings and when you lay down to rest at night. Then decide from there." He nodded to himself. He was going to do just that.

Walking up to Cyanne he said nothing, instead simply leaning on a tree and listening. As she finished and turned to Kazimir, he realized that she probably hadnt even noticed he was there. He managed a smile, nudging Rikka with his head. "Looks like she is going to be alright." He whispered, then walked to his bedroll. Seeing his friends come to terms with what had happened helped assure him that he himself was going to be alright.

Cyanne keeps her word to Kaz, starting to take care of her friends. She let's Luthor sleep, knowing that he'll need the rest. Carrying mugs full of water in her hands, she looks around for Lali just inside the dark woods.

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (8) + 8 = 16

Not wanting to startle the other girl, Cyanne deliberately makes more noise than she normally does when she moves. Sensing the other woman's need for quiet, she doesn't say much to Lali. "Tea?" She hands Lali a cup of the steaming hot lemon honey beverage that the other woman had enjoyed earlier and nods.

Then she takes a deep breath, and brings one, piping hot, to the brooding Daen. She tries to recapture the taste and smells of that aromatic drink that Daen had shared with them one cold and miserable night. What was it called again? Coffee?

"Hey," she says, with a slight smile, handing the mug to him. "I, um, thought you might like this. I got the flavor as close as I could remember."

Hands empty, she returns to the clearing. And she dances. If she's going to care for the others, she'll need to care for herself too. She spins, leaps, and centers herself. Dance and the sword. There's no reason she can't do both, is there?

22 Pharast, 4710 AR

Luthor, if you'd like, we can do a conversation with Jhod in spoilers.

The next day dawns clear, with a few wispy clouds accompanying the party as it rides across the Thorn at the bandit's camp before heading west, ever west. As they ride, the brambles and thorns grow tighter, and one by one, the different landmarks the little fey told you about pass by. The big rock outcrop, the creek, clearing, hill... Everything goes by according to plan. Then, sure enough, is the huge elk head carved into the rock.

A pool of fetid-looking water sits in front of a flight of stairs leading under the elk's outstretched horns and into the cave behind. Jhod points. "This should serve as a tomb. If you'd take a look inside, I can get to work purifying this water."

Map up later...

Before the next morning's ride, Cyanne wakes early to help Lali with breakfast, and then it's back to a few minutes of sword training with Daen. As he's teaching her parries and thrusts, she responds, trying to learn to better emulate the grace with which he moves. Blades dancing, they spar. As he gets past her guard with ease, she reflects that it's always been thus. She had not come to these wild spaces looking for love. Daen had slipped past all her defenses, a complete surprise.

She spins to meet one of his cuts, barely parrying it out of the way. "It's... been... nearly a week!" She doesn't clarify what it's nearly been a week for. She doesn't have to. Daen's mind is a quick one. He abruptly stops his attack, blade lowered. She lowers her blade as well, and says softly, "You've barely spoken to me since then. We used to talk nearly all the time, our words lightly fencing with one another, testing each other's mettle. We don't have to talk of us, but can we still talk? I know you miss Kaz as much as I do. You certainly knew him longer. Can you tell me stories of your expeditions together, before I met all of you?"

__________________________________________

When they arrive at the temple, Cyanne turns to Jhod.

Knowledge Religion: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (13) + 8 = 21

"Do you have any seeds on you? It's planting week. My family always planted something, this time of year. I'd like to plant something in Kaz's memory, here."

Map updated. I'll wait a bit to respond to posts.

I can’t imagine any priest of Erastil not having seeds on him during Planting Week, so...

“The first gift you ever receive is your family.” Cyanne feels odd, quoting the Erastil proverb, but it seems so appropriate now. She carefully counts out five of Jhod’s seeds. “Mine worships Erastil. I’m the only one who...” She pauses, realizing that she’s drifting off topic. They don’t need to hear about her lonely childhood, the feelings of rejection, or why she sought solace with Shelyn. It doesn't matter now. Since reuniting with her family, and spending time with Kaz, Cyanne found that her own stance towards Erastil softening. Should she really keep blaming the god of her childhood for the rejection she suffered at the rough hands of a few of his followers? Perhaps she can bridge the divide in her heart, worshipping Shelyn while still offering honor and respect to the god of her childhood on his holy days.

“Anyway, when I was little, they taught me this rhyme for Planting Week:

Hold your family to your heart;
Everyone must do their part;
Stick ye to the straight and narrow;
Plant five seeds to make an arrow.”

She looks down at the seeds in her hands, and hands them to the others, smiling ruefully as she hands Jhod back one of his own seeds. Erastil may no longer her god, but she’s in his temple, laying rest to one of his Knights on one of his holiest days. “There are five of us, and five seeds. Perhaps we can each plant one part of the arrow in Kaz’s memory? Luthor, as Kaz’s closest friend, would you like to plant the point while Jhod says a few words?”

While the others plant their seeds, she sings one last song for her friend.

Source: Closing Time by Semisonic

Planting time
Sow your seeds to germinate, and then unfurl
Planting time
Say farewell to one friend lost in this lonely world
Planting time
Making whole our fractured souls for our Kazimir
Planting time
Will we be able to go home after we’ve left him here?

Planting time
Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end

She lowers her head, praying to both Erastil and the Eternal Rose. Then she looks up at Jhod. "Alright, I'm ready to explore the temple if the others are."

"Closest friend?" Luthor repeated absentmindedly, looking up with a sort of lazy surprise etched on his face. "I hadnt really thought of it like that." He looked thoughtful, then somehow both sadder than ever yet smiling a genuine subdued smile. "I suppose youre right about that. If anyone would know it would be you."

He accepted the seed, looking around for a good place to plant it. He looked to Jhod. "Religious studies were never my forte, is there any place thats especially suitable?" He turned to look at a nearby oak, a thick stocky trunk topped by a thick tangle of twisting branches. It looked as if it could withstand anything nature could throw at it. "Perhaps here?" He walked into the shadow cast by the trees branches, gesturing at the ground.

As Cyanne began her spontaneous song, he swayed slightly to the tune, joining in the chorus the second time, his voice timid and bashful. As the third chorus came around, he managed to raise his voice, matching Cyannes volume. Luthor had no real musical or lyrical talent, but as Lirpeth had attested, his voice was better than most. Their voices harmonized well, and as the last words were sung, he was once more teary eyed, but smiled happily.

Not wanting to startle the other girl, Cyanne deliberately makes more noise than she normally does when she moves. Sensing the other woman's need for quiet, she doesn't say much to Lali. "Tea?" She hands Lali a cup of the steaming hot lemon honey beverage that the other woman had enjoyed earlier and nods.

Laliytsa’s so focused on her thoughts that she doesn’t hear the other woman coming. She nearly jumps out of her skin when Cyanne speaks but she tries to cover up her surprise; it’s embarrassing to be snuck up on.

”Thanks.” The cup warms her hands, and as she watches Cyanne walk away it also warms her heart. Small gestures are how you remind people you care for them. She’s glad for the reminder that she’s not alone.

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Riding to the Temple

Laliytsa can’t keep her eyes on the path; she can’t stop looking at Kaz’s body. Sure, she can’t actually see it under that shroud but it’s not exactly hiding it either. The whole thing is so surreal; she keeps expecting Kaz to come help her care for the horses or break camp or just be there when everyone is sitting around the fire. It takes her by surprise every time she remembers he’s not coming.

Grief wars with numbness in her; the numbness wins and she’s grateful for it. Mourning can’t, won’t get in the way of her doing her job.

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At the temple

Cyanne and Luthor’s voices weave together in a beautiful symphony. Their voices echo in her ears. She stares at the seed resting in her hand. A seed to bury for Kaz, a symbol of his god. She could give a flying fig about Erastil, he could go jump in a lake as far as she’s concerned, but for Kaz she’ll do it. The soil’s cool under her hand as she digs out a small hole and drops the seed in.

The last time a death hit her this hard was the New Bennent job. The pair of Krenshar that decided it was easier to snatch children instead of attacking adults. Their lair…..she still has nightmares about that place.

She was still working with Krolmnite then. They’d stopped at a tavern on their way back from New Bennent and she’d overindulged. Piss drunk and blubbering on about how much easier it would be if she could just turn off her heart. She’d never seen Krol look so serious.

Your heart love, it’s not a cup of water. You can’t drain it. It’s like an endless well; the more you pour love on other people, the more it pumps out. There are people out there where as soon as that cup empties, BAM, it’s done and gone and there’s no love left in them. Don’t you ever envy those people. They’re worn out husks. You keep your eye on them, you can’t trust them” he’d told her. And he was right. The pain of loss will never be easy to carry. But it means she’s still human.

“Knew yeh wanted to come here Kaz. Ain’t the way we planned but I hope yer happy, bein’ buried here.” Guilt pricks at her; they could have come here instead of heading for the mites. It would have meant so much to Kaz, and it was practical considering-

”AYEUP” Laliytsa yelps. “Daen! Big mean thin’! The fey said, big mean thin’ here! Big mean thin’ in the big buildin’ with the antlers and the Trapper Man close by an’ why didn’ I remember this ‘fore?” The words tumble out of her mouth. She runs over to the horses and grabs her bow and arrow.

Perfect! no-one post until I finish this edit!

As the song finishes and Laliytsa shouts her warning, there's a growling, roaring sound from within the temple. Then, a moment later, the bear appears.

"The horses! Someone has to mind the horses!" Jhod makes a grab for the horses' leads, and just in time. The bear's presence spooks them, and they begin panicking and running, tugging and whinnying in fear.

Cyanne Init.: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 3 = 4
Daen Init.: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (20) + 4 = 24
Laliytsa Init.: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (10) + 4 = 14
Luthor Init.: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (13) + 2 = 15
Bear Init.: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (8) + 1 = 9

Trying a new Initiative setup!

Daen:
Luthor:
Laliytsa:
Bear:
Cyanne:

A bear? That's not what she was expecting. Is it a regular bear, or something more sinister in nature?

K. Nature: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (7) + 5 = 12 Regular bear?
K. Arcane: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 2 = 19 Magical Beast?

Needless to say, he didn't sleep much these days.

The half elf had wordlessly accepted the coffee, but had nodded his thanks the night before. That was probably why she brought up the fact they never really talked much anymore. Regardless of how it all turned out he did wish to remain friends, and friends should probably have conversations. He reluctantly lowered his sword, wanting to bring things back to sparring but finding that he really had no excuse not to address her question. It's likely why she wasn't really into training this morning and he wouldn't get much out of her as far as that was concerned until he let her clear her head.

"I knew Kazimir just a few days longer than you. When we originally started on this quest, it was me and Lali with Luthor showing up a week late. There were others, but it was too much for them and they went home. Since we were low in numbers, Kaz volunteered to go after the bandits, and we let him tag along. We ran into some Kobolds and some fey, and then we found you. That's pretty much it. There's really not much to say about him, other than he was a decent fellow, stout on the front line. He was really good on a horse for a farmboy, and could definitely have been quite the mobile threat with a little experience." He didn't really know what to say after that, so he allowed it to turn into a rather awkward pause.

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Daen ran forward into the fray, casting a defensive spell in case the bear charged. His blade sprang from it's sheath like a rabbit fleeing a snake and it began it's eldritch glow. Overflowing with confidence, he casually remarked to the rest of the group, "Keep back if you can, I'll try to draw it off and you can hit it with distance attacks." At this point he seemed to notice something missing. He expected an axeman on his left that just wasn't there. Perhaps they'd have to do some more recruiting, but that boy would be hard to replace.

ASF: 1d100 ⇒ 27

Move 30', draw sword during move, Standard (Shield), Swift enchant blade.

Thinking much the same way Lali did at the realization that it was seemingly just a bear, Luthor let his eyes move over its shape appraisingly.

Knowledge (Nature): 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (11) + 10 = 21

Knowledge (Arcana): 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (6) + 10 = 16

Still processing the information, he stretched a hand towards Daen, eyes clouding over almost effortlessly this time.

Move forward a bit, then Fortune Hex on Daen.

Whatever Laliytsa says to the bear, it seems to be the wrong thing! The now miffed bear lumbers up to the ranger, beedy eyes squinting, and tries having a taste of her thigh meat.

Bite (laliytsa): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (8) + 7 = 15
Damage?: 1d6 + 5 ⇒ (3) + 5 = 8

Round 1
Daen: Cast!
Luthor: Hex!
Laliytsa: Empathy!
Bear: Chomp!
Cyanne:

Round 2
Daen:
Luthor:
Laliytsa:
Bear:
Cyanne:

Daen's eyes narrowed at the bear's aggression. He wasn't about to have some wild animal eat anyone he was protecting. Lali was quite adept though, sidestepping the angry beast. Daen motioned with his left hand while muttering some arcane words when his sword flashed with yellow energy. He took off with extra speed, reaching the bear on the far side. He reversed his grip spinning and driving the blade deep in it's shoulder. Arcs of lighting spread across the beast from it's wound, singeing fur and burning patches all over it's pelt. "We'll have none of that, bear. You'd best find a meal somewhere else."

ASF: 1d100 ⇒ 43
Spellstrike: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (17) + 9 = 26
Damage: 1d8 + 5 + 3d6 ⇒ (4) + 5 + (6, 5, 4) = 24

If Cyanne does her performance, since I go after her, that would have one more damage. AC=23 Cast Shocking Grasp, Move, Spellstrike, FAQ

Knowledge Arcana: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (1) + 4 = 5
Wow. It's a giant magical pig! Oh, wait a minute. Wrong character. :)

Knowledge Nature: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (15) + 4 = 19

Of course Cyanne sings! Which spoiler, if any, may she look at with those rolls?

It's a big mean thing
According to Tyg and Perli
Guess I'd better sing
It looks kind of surly...

It's hard to lay Kaz to rest
With a bear in your face
Is this all a divine test
Can we chase it from this place?

Inspire Courage +1 to attack and damage

Look under Luthor's spoiler.

Axe Attack + Inspiration: 1d20 + 5 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 5 + 1 = 12
Damage + Inspiration: 1d6 + 2 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 2 + 1 = 7

Laliytsa drops her bow; using it with a bear in her face leaves her too exposed. She goes for her axe instead

Free action to drop the bow, move action to draw her axe and standard to attack

Dang, I knew I was forgetting something.

Attack, Fortune Hex: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (3) + 9 = 12

I guess it doesn't matter, although I was hoping for a crit.

Luthors eyes did not return to normal. Instead he simply moved his still outstretched arm to point at Laliytsa next. He wore a strained look upon his face from the effort, gasping loudly and letting his arm drop to his side as the magic he had wrought finished. Bending over to rest his hands on his knees, he breathed heavily, his eyes returning to normal. He looked around, slightly confused, getting his bearings.

Standing back up, he drew his dagger and ran around the melee, coming up behind the bear, waving his dagger around menacingly.

Fortune Hex on Laliytsa. Move and draw dagger, getting into flanking position for the others.