Aaaaaand of course it's minimum damage.
A pair of claws scrape furrows in Kaz's armor, but fail to find flesh below. The hobkins gremlin glares at Kazimir, eyes narrowing at the big man's axe thuds into its side, but it stays upright. The momentum of the blow shoves it just slightly to Kaz's left, and it rolls with it, ending up out of easy reach of Cyanne and clawing at Kazimir. Both claws find flesh this time, the first cutting into his forearm and the second slicing a deep wound into his hip.
As abruptly as the hideous laughter began, it just as suddenly ceased. Daen's brow furrowed as he focused in on the fey creatures across the room. "That's not funny." He declared with vehement derision.
Suddenly dashing towards his love, his lingering blue blade arcing toward the grimple. He didn't like the two fey to either side of his angel, and he was looking to diminish the number as quickly as possible.
"Feckin' S%$% Hobkin!" Laliytsa shouts as her arrow slams into Cyanne. She doesn't know if she's madder at the creature for hurting Cyanne, or at herself for not recognizing it was a Hobkin before she took the shot.
Knowing that her bow is more dangerous to her group than it is to the foul creature in front of her, she drops it and grabs her fancy new Cold Iron axe.
Daen's cut slices deep into the last grimple, flopping it down onto the cave floor. For Laliytsa's part, her swearing rush ends with a whiff. In fact, it's such a whiff that it seems to be almost magically spun toward Kazimir, who catches it on a thick, leather pauldron.
From the tunnel to the north, Cyanne has time to hear a sobbing cry, sad yet malicious, and half-turn before a chain whips at her head. She feels her head ring as the chain bashes across her temple, and when she looks, she sees a pair of little girls, both of whom look familiar. She blinks, and the two become one, the little girl who brought her and Laliytsa to this cave to begin with. As Cyanne watches, she quickly transforms into a tiny gremlin with bug-eyes and thumbless hands that somehow still hold the spiked chain.
"Ow!" Cyanne gasps as the chain hits to her temple. "You horrid little deceiver!"
Still, she can't afford to deal with Erinat now. There is still the Hobkin gremlin, misdirecting hits to her and her friends. She resolutely turns to the Hobkin, concentrating on her footwork and steady aim. Breath. Line. Focus. It's like dance, really. Her body, mind and soul engaged in a single deadly purpose.
She lunges forward!
Moving quickly to Kazimirs side, Luthor swept a mote specked glowing hand across his wounds. "Lets end this quickly." He said with a flat, determined tone, patting Kazimir on the shoulder, causing his still glowing hand to shed motes like a dandelion.
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Surpassing the strength of his last strike with a brutal backswing that leaves the gremlin bloodied and broken, Kazimir glances briefly over his shoulder at Luthor, illuminated by glowing motes, determined and hopeful as always. Before his lips can form a thanks, his attention is drawn to the last gremlin, and the spiked chain wet with fresh blood. "Quickly," he agrees, moving in on the last one, the light of his axe already fading, the strength and anger still burning in his eyes.
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Cyanne's thrust finds the center of the Hobkins chest, erupting in a spurt of orange-red blood as she pulls the rapier clear. Only a half-second later, Kazimir's axe thuds into the Hobkins's back. There's a crack as the Hobkins folds over the blade, and when it hits the ground a few feet away, it's clear it's not going to be getting up again.
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Daen, seeing his angel struck by the monster that looked like a little girl decided to go all out. He widened his stance and swung the bluish blade with an artful stroke while tracing a rune with his opposite hand. "They'll be no escape for you troublemakers."
With Daen's blow, the cavern falls silent, save for the panting of the victorious party. However, the cave offers few clues as to what, if anything, the gremlins were doing here. After some thought, the exploration leads north through the tunnels until the party reaches an area seemingly blocked off by a wooden panel with a 1-foot-square hole in it. Inside is shelving, stone-tiled flooring, and what seem to be hundreds of dust-covered books.
In fact, everything on the far side of the panel is dust-covered, sometimes a quarter of an inch thick, with the exception of a path worn into it by little feet of different shapes. A concerted push topples what turns out to have been a bookshelf propped against the tunnel exit. Inside, and past the next row of shelves, is a series of filthy-looking piles of rags that must have served as beds. Near one, the party finds a handful of gems. Next to another, a broken childrens' toy. In each bed, the party finds scattered coins, topping out at 900 gold. And near one bed that seems slightly bigger (and slightly less dirty), the party finds a scroll and four bottles. One bottle holds a clear, almost ephemeral liquid, another a sickly-green brew, and the last two a light pink paste.
"Oh wow, just look at this!" Luthor exclaimed as they entered, entirely disinterested in the arguably more valuable loot scattered about the room. Pulling out a random book, he dusted it off and read the title. "Hmm." Was all he said, before putting it down and picking up another.
"Im surprised these little fiends didnt defile these books more than they did." He said, still looking through them.
The half elf flung the fey blood against the cavern wall and resheathed his weapon as it's color faded. Nodding to Cyanne to make sure she was all right, he went about collecting and codifying all of the various things as Luthor went through the books. "Well, they weren't reading them, that's for sure." He looked about to see if there was anything else hidden that they might have missed.
"Well, with this, we have something to tell our benefactors at the shrine. Now that we've neutralized the Gremlin threat, we have Kaz's healing paid for, unless they try to weasel out of the deal we made. A few more days here, hopefully without as much incident would definitely help us prepare to finish our first job."
The journey back to Our Father of Swords and Plowshares doesn't take all that long, and before too much time has passed, the party finds themselves inside the small chapel, standing between the benches and pulpit with Gustav and Bianca. The gnome looks at the party expectantly, then opens her mouth. "Well? You figured out the problem with the would-be-Swordlords?"
The scroll is beyond your skills to identify, as are the two light pink pastes.
However, the ephemeral liquid is a Potion of Invisibility and the sickly-green
brew is Bottled Misfortune.
Scroll
Bottled Misfortune
2 Pink Pastes
1 Potion of Invisibility
900 gold coins
300 gold worth of semi-precious gems (chalcedony, citrine, onyx, quartz, etc.)
Assorted Rags, Small Red Robes, Childrens' Toys
Numerous Daggers, 1 Tiny Spiked Chain, Other Weapons
Cyanne looks over the various items, seeing if she can recognize any of them.
When they return to the church, Cyanne says, "I believe that we found part of the problem. There were some trouble-making Gremlins on the site that liked to disguise themselves as lost human children. We found a small hacksaw that was used to sabotage the building, evidence of arson, and then patches that they planted from both House Lebeda and House Medvyed in order to implicate them." Cyanne pulls out the various items out of her pack. "I know they were manufacturing trouble, but I wasn't sure if they were doing it out pure maliciousness or at the behest of some other agency. Given what I saw of them though, I doubt they'd work well with anyone human."
Laliytsa adds. "This makes us even, eh? We needa get our stuff together an' head out right quick"
After the items were discovered and identified, Daen spent an hour or two getting their finances in order. The fact that they didn't have to pay for the restoration spells was a definite boon, they could likely afford some other things as well. He put together a tentative shopping list in his mind and moved along with the group back to the chapel.
After Cyanne introduced the solution, Daen chimed in with further explanation. "We did fight some of the gremlins in public, so you could probably ask around to verify our story as well. I hope this satisfies your curiosity. Perhaps you can even use it to cool tensions in town."
Gustav nods sagely, eyes shut, and then walks over to the pulpit. As he does, Bianca looks toward Daen and blinks a few times, then grins. "Good work, then. If it was really gremlins, we should be able to get all the belligerents under one roof to at least talk about their issues. Maybe we can stop them hating each other, or at least limit their vendettas to the Square of Blades."
Gustav takes the same cup, fills it with water, and says a few words before pouring it across Kazimir's head and shoulders. Then the priest nods to the party. "We wish you luck on your mission in the Greenbelt. Perhaps, when it's all settled down there, you'll remember which faith you turned to for help, and which of the divines helped you in your need." He raises his ornamental bow, bows slightly, and turns to his wife, who's already writing out a letter headed
"To Swordlord Jamanda Aldori,
We've been assisted in solving that problem with your various pupils. It wasn't a scuffle between them so much as...
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
The party is eating its breakfast in the common room of the Riverdance Inn, along with A half dozen men in chainmail and red tabards depicting an overly-stylized crown, when Svetlana bustles in. She deposits a large sack that clinks on the table, sits down, and helps herself to some of Cyanne's breakfast. "I've been over at the Blade and Bargain, and they've been more than generous. I'll admit, I had to turn on the charm to get what I did, but that's alright; you can owe me, Cyanne." She bites into a rasher of bacon, chews furiously, and then grins.
Inside the bag 300 coins, silvery in color yet more lustrous and much lighter. Additionally, there's a scroll tube, inside of which is a writ for 300 coins just like the ones in the bag. Svetlana looks sheepishly at the writ. "It's good anywhere in Restov, but if you want to spend it outside the city, it's worth half that. Best I could do."
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"Well I personally already have a suggestion for some of it." Luthor said smiling, looking bashful as he swallowed the mouthful he had just spoken through. "What healing I have only amounts to so much, and id like to be able to branch out a bit in what spells I select." He nuzzled Rikka and looked at her, the two nodding their understanding. "So, a healing wand then?" He asked, pausing with a scoop of food in front of his mouth, looking around the table. "Cant be too expensive...can it?"
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The party's last couple of days in Restov pass uneventfully, though the weather takes a turn for the chilly. Cloudy days and clear nights seem to be the norm in Gozreh, and ice even starts to form on the slow-moving Shrike River, only to melt off each morning. Kazimir's armor is finished, fitting him well (and being quite a bit heavier than his previous sewn hides), and the party is able to shop for whatever else it needs.
Svetlana, for her part, spends most of the remaining time filling her wagon with wooden beams and iron fittings. When questioned, she says they're "For the Trading Post, of course." with a grin on her face.
It's just past sunup when the party, with Svetlana and her wagon, leaves Restov through the Westgate and starts the long journey down the South Rostland Road. Nivatka's Crossing is busy with trappers and fishermen moving in and out, and there's no space at their inn. The guardsmen at Fort Serenko seem more on-edge than normal, however, and one of their timber walls shows a bit of damage, which a handful of workers are struggling to fix.
By the time the party arrrives at Oleg's Trading Post, the shadows are long and a brilliant sunset's to their backs, painting the skies over the Tors of Levenies a brilliant shade of pink. The guardsman on duty blats an awful blat from his horn, the gate opens, and the party arrives, 'home' at last.
Inside, the scene is one of aftermath. What battle there was is over, and Kesten and his guards definitely got the worst of it. The nobleman himself sits on a bench, lets out a belch, and leans back contentedly. His guards seem to be struggling with their gear, one gearing up with bow, spear, and horn, and another pulling off chainmail. Surprisingly, though, there's another figure, struggling gamely with a piece of meat pie much, much too big for her. Tyg-Titter-Tut pops her head out from inside the crusts, burps almost as loudly as Kesten, and waves before continuing to eat.
"If you took care of what you left for, Tyg just got back." Kesten point unnecessarily at the grig. "She's got a rough idea of the fortress and she's going to let us know what she found out once she's done eating. In the meantime, how was Restov?"
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Having procured his own tools fairly easily, and with one fairly straitforward request, he was able to find a place and time to make what he wanted to make. Svetlana's father was fairly fond of the half elf to allow him his forge to work, and he took full advantage of the space after hours and early in the morning for the rest of the week. He worked the metal until exhaustion, making and fabricating, firing and filing.
Then, It was done. He knew it wasn't quite good enough for her, or quite as balanced. It was a good thing he was prepared to have it magically tempered as well. The scroll was expensive, but it really could turn this blade into something much more useful. All that he needed now was to get Luthor to cast it. He didn't have the time to devote to the theory behind this particular spell, but it was something that should come naturally to witches according to his research. After three hours at the forge on the morning of the third, he cornered Luthor at breakfast.
Leaning in and whispering to him, as to not be overheard, Daen spoke earnestly to his comrade. "I need your help with something. I've spent some time putting something together for Cyanne, a surprise of sorts. Will you help put the finishing touch on it?"
Acknowledging Kesten and nearly looking sympathetic for the chaos the grig had brought to the fort, the half elf spoke up. "It was a fair bit more busy than was desirable, but we finished our business, and we're as ready as we're likely to be for the task at hand. I hope, other than hosting our spy, that your time was less eventful?"
Cyanne grins at Tyg-Titter-Tut. "That looks tasty, Tut! When you're done, come out and we can catch up on girl talk and exchange stories of all that we've seen."
She's bubbly, elated, and almost glowing with happiness. The past few days have been good ones for her. She uncovered some meddling fey, and helped put an end to their schemes. She'd gotten to meet Daen's teacher, and finally understand a bit more about where her quiet and sometimes standoffish beloved got his gruffness from.
She'd had a chance to hang out at the Academy with Luthor, and introduced her whole team to Castle Mongoose. The look of dismay on Daen's face when he saw the disorder? Priceless. But so was the longing that he'd felt when he watched some of the magical training in one of Aron's classes. There'd been Aron's homemade cookies, and songs, and a tree that she'd induced Lali to climb with her. And then there was Kaz, laughing as he wrestled with a bunch of small children who all wanted to clamber on him at once.
Then there was meeting her family, and holding Daen's hand while she did so, and Daen not only not pulling away, but kissing her on the cheek afterwards. She wants to dance. She wants to sing. She wants to shout the news of her love to every rooftop, the way she did with Svetlana the night before they left Restov together.
Instead, she settles sweeping Kesten up in a heartfelt hug. "It's good to see you again, Kesten! Thanks for holding down the Fort while we've been gone!"
"Yes, it has been less eventful..." Kesten begins, offering a slow bow to Cyanne. "...and it's nothing to thank me for. I'm just doing my jo-"
"Mmmnph Gnnnnpha ell mmm bou' vrthinnnmph!" Tyg pulls herself free of the meat-pie again, this time with her mouth full, and fires off a string of random, mouth-full sounds at the party. She stops for a moment, realizing that there's probably no one who can understand a word she's just said, and swallows comedically. "I'm gonna tell you everything!"
Before she can, however, Perli tackles her, offering the best hug a faerie dragon can probably give. She scratches his head affectionately, then turns to the party. "You bigginses ent gonna believe none of this. That Stag Lord fellow? He's mad for the bestest reason! The bestest! Perli? He's definitely gonna agree with me! And they've got a something in the basement, won't say what it is! And they're gathering an army about the Stag Lord being mad! Whooo-ieee was he mad!"
She grins up at the party expectantly. "Aren't you gonna guess?! I love guessing games!"
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"It's a girl." Daen stated flatly. "Are there any other good reasons to go mad?" He placed a hand on the small of Cyanne's back as he addressed the boisterous fey.
His mind was already whirling even in the midst of his joy. He still needed to talk to Jhod as soon as he could, if they even had time. But first things first. "If he's gathering an army, can we still make an assault on his stronghold with our numbers?" The half elf doubted he could convince Kesten and his men to come with, although Cyanne might be able to do so. If they already had twenty or thirty at the compound, the extra numbers could by them the time they needed to get the job done. But he still needed more information, and it was agonizingly slow in coming.
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Cyanne leans into his touch, and she grins. "Do all girls drive you mad, or just one particular one?"
"So... We're supposed to come up with reasons one can go mad?" She grins. "Challenge accepted!"
___
Psychics and mesmers who play with your head
Clerics of Lamashtu who just want you dead
Vespergaunts, Allips and Seugathi too
These all can inflict madness on you
Aldori swordlords with political games
Your childhood bullies calling you names
The dark asylum on Carrion Hill
Where they do things to mess with your will
O what fun is there to be had
When we list the ways you can go mad
When bad news hits
Then you lose your wits
There's no time to be sad...
Just simply remember these horrible things
And say your brain's gone bad!
Perhaps you've been kidnapped by orderly thugs
Forcing injections of psychotropic drugs
As the weeks wear on they'll make an art
Of pulling your sanity slowly apart
Say you're a leader of an outllaw band
The heroes have foiled all that you've planned
You know that they're coming to murder you
O what else is the Staglord going to do?
O what fun is there to be had
When we list the ways you can go mad
When bad news hits
Then you lose your wits
There's no time to be sad...
Just simply remember these horrible things
And say that your brain's gone bad!
She pauses. "Is any of that close?"
Tyg's brows furrow as Daen and Cyanne make their guesses, and she stamps her tiny cricket feet in frustration. Nonetheless, she waits for the song to be over before responding. "It ent that kind of mad. I mean, it is, but not really. You should see the drawings, Perli, they're really something. No, he's mad because of the other thing Perli loves, besides me of course. Somebody stole his months' supply of booze!"
Though he complained at first about his new armour - about how it was too heavy, too tight, too stiff, it was such an expense, they really shouldn't have gone to - after the first few hours in it, Kaz had stopped complaining like a child forced into his temple best and simply sat in terse silence as the group rode back to Restov. At least the magic had restored his previous strength and vitality, and his eyes were keener as he rode at the head of the group.
At least Daen and Cyanne had managed to sort out whatever had been troubling them. Though it was with a pang of regret that he watched the small glances and smiles they shared, regret which worked its way into his evening prayers like a worm to an apple core. Erastil had chosen him as one of his holy knights; Cyanne had seen the signs, and he'd never doubted her knowledge and experience, even if he didn't understand his god's ways - but then, who ever did? But why would Erastil choose someone who would never marry, never have a wife, never raise children of his own?
Such were the questions that plagued his mind, even as he turned his head in shame each time he caught himself staring at Luthor across the fireplace.
The armour, though... it was a very good fit, he had to admit. And while Surefoot wasn't used to the weight, the old horse seemed to take it in stride, plodding along as steadily and as loyally as ever. His mind wasn't concerned with such things as gods and blasphemies, Kaz would sigh to himself as he watched his mount graze, and maybe he should try not to think about them so much. He'd been chosen for something, and that was reason enough to keep going, reason enough to occasionally rub the scar on his throat and remember the chill of the Boneyard.
Though relieved to be back at the outpost, Kaz is confused and overwhelmed by Tyg's verbal barrage. "Someone stole the Stag Lord's booze," he confirms, counting off points on fingers that unfurl too slowly in his gauntlets, "there are drawings of something, and there's something in the basement?" His brow furrows as he tries to figure out how these various points intersect.
Daen scratched his chin, hunting for the lone whisker. "Ah, the "Whiterose Chartreuse". I believe it's still among our things. It's not even a particularly good vintage to go to war over. I'm sure the bottles are merely the excuse. He'd go to war whether he had them or not. Akiros said he was going to war, but that it was risky for him. As for the basement, that's a mystery yet, but I imagine we'll discover it when we get there."
He raised his head and addressed the group. "We'll go to the arranged spot in six more days and meet with Akiros there, going to assault his headquarters this week. War or not, we'll strike at his poisoned heart that he will no longer be a blight on the land. Then comes the simple matter of finishing the survey.
We have a slight amount of time to explore before the assault, if we wish to take it. If we do, then we should be able to finish some of the area to the northwest of the Kobolds. If we don't, there's less of a chance we'll be spotted and have them be even more ready for us than they are already, if it's possible. I'm fine either way, but I do hate to be idle."
Another few hundred grueling feet and they finally crested the top, the road ahead straightening out into a perfectly horizontal stretch. Up ahead, the road disappeared into a forest of ancient looking trees. The forest followed the rim of the hilltop, and he knew they circled the entire thing, sheltering the school grounds within. Were it not for Arons tower, stretching towards the sky, looming over the tree tops, it would have been easy to think nothing was even in there.
Still huffing, he caught up to Cyanne who had already stopped to take it all in. "Feels like you never left, right?" He asked, his own nostalgia clear as day. "I mean, its only been a few years for me personally, but still. He said, shrugging. Maybe if im lucky, some of the younger students might even still be here."
"This all seems a bit cryptic for my liking, though its certainly better than nothing." Luthor said, adding the last to placate the fey before they decided to take offense.
He then turned to the fey, a puzzled look on his face. "Something in the basement huh?" He crossed his arms, looking thoughtful. "Not a whole lot of fun trying to guess without clues you know. We could be here all day guessing at random then. He shrugged, trying to look disinterested. "I dont think ill be able to muster up any guesses like that."
"They din't let me in the basement. There ent any ways in but the door, and there ent never a time there's not someone leaning on it. Your biggins went down there, when he got back there. Came out looking even less happy than his whole ride over." Tyg grins. "Guess it's just gonna have to be a surprise!"
The next morning, the party is disturbed from their slumber by the sounds of men and women at work. Svetlana's wagon is completely unloaded, and Oleg and the repentant bandits are loading it with mounds of war paraphernalia. Several dozen staves, each about three feet long, lie stacked in one corner, while lengths of rope and piles of torches cover most of the bottom. Kesten waves the party over. "We've been preparing for most of the dawn. I got orders from Restov three days ago; we're to hunt down these bandits, lay siege to their fortress, and end their menace one way or another. All we needed was for you to come back."
"Ah, my mistake." Luthor said once Tyg explained. "Lets just hope whatever it is isnt too big of a surprise." He shuddered as a serious of very deadly possibilities took turns presenting themselves in his mind. He shook his head, trying to think of something else. "No use worrying about it until we get there." He thought, turning to Kesten to busy his mind with something else.
"A full on siege?" He said, looking mildly nervous as he said it. "Im no strategist, but if this fortress is even remotely defensible, I doubt we have the manpower for a siege." He looked at the others, Daen in particular, trying to gauge if he was right. "Wouldnt a sneakier approach be better? I mean, it will all depend on the layout when we get there, but in general, you know?"
8 Gozran
Daen considered Kesten's orders a moment before answering. Restov and their little group did not necessarily leave on good terms. It was possible that they ordered Kesten to make sure their deaths in the Stolen Lands certain. More likely it was that they'd heard about how underfunded they were and made some concessions that they could while the cyclops was watching. Besides, Kesten seemed the honorable sort. Someone in the party would have picked up on if anything was up, but since things were quiet among them, it was best to take him at his word. "I'd have to say our visit to Restov was more than just a extended shopping trip."
Hearing what Luthor had to say, Daen nodded gravely. "We still have a meeting with the treacherous Akiros. He had promised us a password, we should get them to open the doors, having the extra numbers will be terribly useful. If not, it's best we do some sneaking to get the doors open on our own. If our fae intelligence is right, and we have no reason to suspect it, he's building an army, and we'll need whatever we can get. Striking at their mythical leader will scatter the troops, and they will be far less bold in the future."
The half elf glanced over the preparations, noting their horses, or lack thereof. Without the speed they were planning on, they had no time to waste. "Whatever plans we made last night will have to be put on hold. It will take the extra time we have just to get our small army down to the Stag Lord's stronghold. We'll leave together, and see if we can catch him unprepared."
Laliytsa’s been quieter than usual since the group rescued Emmala. It’s not that she hasn’t enjoyed seeing her friend, meeting Cyanne and Luthor’s people and watching Daen and Cyanne be all twitterpated over each other; that part’s been good. But she can’t get their upcoming battle with the Stag Lord out of her mind.
Honestly it’s been driving her crazy. She keeps going over every bit of information they know about the Stag Lord’s forces, twisting it in her mind and trying to come up with backup plans for her backup plans. By the time they hear Tyg’s information she’s got a dozen half-formed ideas and an overwhelming need to get on the road. She feels like a bowstring being held taunt, just waiting for someone to let her lose so she can fly forward.
This means she’s a little frustrated at having to take a wagon along, but she sees the practicality in having more men and tools at their disposal. ”Yep, gonna take longer haulin’ the wagon ‘long. Oughta leave soon as we can.”
With consensus on moving forward, the little army leaves Oleg's Trading Post, creaking and clattering south away from the South Rostland Road. The relatively lush grasslands that characterize southern Rostland give way slowly but surely to the hill-and-valley Kamelands, and by lunch, the wagon's front wheels sport cracks in no less than three spokes. Oleg takes stock of them, grimacing, then stands, stretching his back. "It's going to need fixing tonight. Splinting along the spokes to hold them together. It'll take a few hours, but they should hold together until then. Hopefully."
The horses plod on, shuffling along with Kesten and his guards riding a bit ahead, then back. There's still sun in the sky, shining down on the green hills, when Mirjam rides back. "About a mile ahead, there's a good sport for a camp. The hills should make a bit of a natural fortress, and might block people seeing the fire. Should give Oleg the time he needs to get the wagon repaired, too."
Oleg nods, and less than an hour later, the guards begin pitching a tent and getting a fire going in a narrow defile. Kesten sheds his plate, working over the horses (though he spends extra with his big black destrier) and making sure they're fed, while Oleg gets to work shoring up the beaten-up wagon wheels. By the time camp's set, the repairs are done, and the horses are taken care of, yawns echo throughout the narrow canyon.
Cyanne ran up the hill, pulling Daen up with her the last of the way. "C'mon! I can't wait to show you all of it!" Tango chittered happily, hanging on to her shoulder. She offered her other hand up to Luthor. "You're right, it feels like l never left." Then she points to an aging mongoose, looking down at them from a tall branch. It nods, then disappears into the branches.
"...And we've been announced. They'll be waiting for us, inside!"
She calls down the road to both Lali and Kaz, who are hanging back.. "You two are coming, right? You promised!"
____
Cyanne helps out wherever she can with the group that Kesten's been training. Light on her feet, delighted with her new armor and with the new blade, she sets even more intensely to the practice schedule that Daen has set for them both.
But mostly, she works to keep up morale. Telling stories, jokes, sharing dances and songs interspersed with the work. When everyone else yawns, she does too. "Wake me up on my watch, Daen. Remember that." She kisses him goodnight, and gives hugs to the rest of her party. Unlike some of the others, she believes that Akiros will carry through for them... No matter what else he's done, he's never been a liar.
Then before going to bed, she visits one last time with Luthor. "This isn't my business... but... Are you ever going to tell Kaz what he means to you? I know you think that now isn't a good time, with us going into battle soon but..." She flails around for a moment. "Love buoys you up. Protects you. I think that more than anything, Kaz needs to know that he is loved."
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Shaking his head, Kaz chuckles and cuffs Laliytsa playfully on the shoulder. "Suppose we can't keep her waiting too long, huh?" he sighs, beginning the long walk up the hill. "If I'm doing this, you have to as well," he teases, determined not to be the odd one out.
So this is it, Kazimir thinks, clumsily shucking his armour before crouching next to the wagon to help Oleg. The old patterns of simple work calm him, steadying his mind even as the word war echoes through it.
Fix the wheels. Set the tents. Brush down the horses. Gather firewood. Old, familiar routines, old familiar activities, and by the time he's finished, his hands and back ache, but he feels better for it. Every now and then, he sings along with one of Cyanne's songs, helps Laliytsa unsaddle a horse, or grunts to Oleg in affirmation or recognition of one of the man's few words. He rubs his worn holy symbol between his fingers, thumbs through his dog-eared text, shapes his lips around the familiar words, and tries to distract himself from the events to come. All things will pass. Crops will be sown, grown, and reaped. The seasons will change every year. The world continues its cycle, and all things will pass. Old words, ones his grandmother would utter in times of hardship, words that reassure him now even as they did then, when he was all wide eyes and scraped knees.
What if we lose? weighs heavy on his mind, as does what if we win? Echoing with both are the words of the Grim White Stag, of those conversations in the Beyond, seeming so long ago.
Will you lead, if the burden is thrust upon you? the Herald had asked. Back then, he'd answered with conviction, without hesitation. It had seemed so easy then; it seems much harder now. All he can do is try to put his mind to rest as he returns Cyanne's hug half-heartedly and tries to get some sleep before his watch.
The watches go smoothly, for the most part. Luthor hears a lone wolf, but its call is faint and distant, and it stops before too long. Kazimir hears an owl near the camp, while Daen is able to make out its silhouette in one of the few scraggly trees growing near the camp. Its round head just covers the bottom of the moon for nearly an hour before it takes flight and glides silently over camp, then away into the night.
It's not until halfway through Cyanne's watch that things start to feel wrong. It starts in the ground, a very faint vibrating feeling in the bottoms of her feet, but before very long Cyanne can hear it, a rumbling and snorting coming from the west...
Before bed, Daen assists with the chores necessary and enjoys the practice session with the troops. They hadn't received the kind of specialized training that he did. He was fairly grateful for what he received, even if it seemed like slumming it to his family, he couldn't have asked for a better teacher.
Noting the jealous stares of more than one guard as the most beautiful woman within two hundred miles sought him out for a kiss, Daen did his best to handle it with a shrug and a gesture that brought out the idea that he was just lucky. The half noble didn't really believe in luck at all, he did not wish to rely on it, one had to take advantage of his opportunities, and that required courage and the will to succeed. But it was enough to get the men to begrudgingly deal with the half-elf's enviable position.
During his watch, Daen flirted with the idea of shooting the owl. As much as he was suspicious of being watched, but he would have to explain it to Cyanne and Laliytsa, and he wasn't quite comfortable with that. He did mention it to his betrothed, between lingering looks and smooching, but then settled down into a fitful sleep for several reasons.
Cyanne leaps to her feet. "To arms! To arms! Rumbling sound coming from the west! Hurry!" Tango heads into the tent, leaping on any who don't wake at Cyanne's call, while Cyanne runs through the camp, waking others, rapier drawn and ready.
If this turns out to be a deer, I'll never hear the end of it.
Whatever they are, they aren't deer.
As the groggy party-members shake off sleep, a trio of huge horned creatures, half-cow and half-bison, thunder into the camp. The lead pauses, blinking beady eyes half-hidden by its matted black hide, and then rumbles toward Cyanne as the rest of the herd fans out behind it.
Cyanne's eyes widen as she recognizes the incoming threat and that her friends's tent is right in the stampeding herd's path. "It's stampeding Aurochs! I'll try to lead them from the camp!"
Now is not the time for half-measures, Cyanne. Do you dare, or not?
Although she could have easily dodged out of the way herself, she wasn't going to let her friends fall to the stampeding Auroch's. With her dancer's agility, she leapt...
...right on to the lead auroch's back.
Gripping the auroch tightly with her knees, she attempted to steer it and the rest of the herd down the road. "C'mon, pot roast! Let's turn! This way!"
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Daen bolts upright, with eyes as bleary as expected for one who went to sleep but a half hour previous. He makes his way out of the tent, sword in hand and looks confused at the cow he sees there. "Shoo." he presents half-heartedly, more annoyed than alert. He channels the eldritch glow into the weapon as a further deterrent.
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She looks up at the school that means so much to Cyanne and Luthor and decides that her ruminations can wait. This place is important to both of them, so it’s important to her. Besides, a place full of rowdy kids? Sounds like home.
Laliytsa bolts out of the tent as fast as she can...just in time to see Cyanne somersault onto the lead cow like this is some kind of circus act. ”Ain’t gotta lick of sense” she grumbles to herself. Once this is over she’s giving the other girl a stern talking to.
EARLIER:
Still not in much of any working shape, Luthor was visibly struggling as he assisted with the work around camp. As Kazimir joins Cyannes songs, he hummed along. He didnt really know the words, and his singing voice wasnt something he was proud of anyway. "Youd think id have atleast gotten decent, being around that many performers back at school." He wondered, as yet another song began.
As Kazimir sat down with his worn book, Luthor joined him, sitting next to him and leaning just a bit to be able to read. "Im not one for empty promises, I really should get to know what that book has to say." He mumbled absentminded as he was reading
NOW:
Getting up and staggering through the camp, all Luthor could think about was getting out of the way. He wouldnt be much help if he ended up getting flattened. As he moved, he almost stopped as Cyanne pulled her stunt, but managed to quell the instinct and keep moving, just gasping in surprise instead. "Careful!" He yelled, knowing it was a futile gesture at this point.
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Kazimir glances at Luthor as the other man sits next to him, eyebrows raised slightly in surprise. "I've never known you to make an empty promise," he shrugs, handing over the rather foxed and dog-eared tome. "It might look like old folk tales and common sense, but there's wisdom in those pages,if you know where to look."
Kaz wakes to Tango pawing at his hair and chittering, and after a half-hearted attempt to swipe the mongoose away, he wakes fully, hearing the yells and cries. He grabs his axe and barrels out of the tent, squinting in the dim light. "Cyanne, get off of that thing!" he yells in alarm.
Cyanne's leap onto the bull is graceful and swift, reminiscent of the art on an Ilybdan fresco, and she sticks the landing beautifully. However, she's not prepared for the hulking black slab of steak to turn into a catapult, its hindquarters jackknifing up into the air and then slamming down into the ground as its front shoots up. Cyanne twists in the air as she comes off the aurochs and slams back-first into the ground on the far side of it.
The bull that threw Cyanne rounds the corner, carried by its momentum, and then turns, pawing the ground and aiming for the fray again. The others adjust course slightly, one rushing toward Kazimir, head down, while another barrels for Daen and the tent.