Finding himself in front of his foe, Kazimir has to take a moment's pause. The talk of the bandits had led him to believe the Stag Lord was some kind of otherworldly creature of extraordinary cruelty, but standing before him, he finds his foe clearly just a man. A man, he could deal with. Even as Luthor's spell erupts around the archer, he's following him, ready to strike.
As the party begins its charge up the stairs, Akiros explodes from the room he ducked into. "He's not here! Where is he!?" The sounds of fighting outside the fort can be heard from the east.
The Stag Lord blinks off the dust from his eyes, then shifts his bow to his off-hand, drawing his longsword and moving into a fighter's guard before slashing at Kazimir's face. The paladin manages to get an arm in the way instead of catching the blow with his face, and the Stag Lord takes a step back.
Seeing the fight taken out of the surprisingly resilient bandit, Graelem notes the fighting sounds that are growing louder. Picking up the man's weapon he inclines his head to the doorway. "My advice to you, my friend, is to offer a quick surrender to my fellows." He then lumbers after the other party members as fast as his legs can carry him.
Laliytsa sprints up the steps, stopping when she's next to Nah. She's not letting the Stag Lord out of her sight, not when she's been waiting for this confrontation for so long, but something about this bothers her. "Careful. Don' know where the other guy went. Don' know what he's leadin' us towards, eh?" she says as she launches an arrow at the Stag Lord
Bleeding and battered, Kazimir faces down the Stag Lord, throwing his arm over the face of his helm as the longsword swings toward it. As he throws down the arm, his eyes flash golden behind the visor, the colour of wheat just before sunset. "Stag Lord, you have violated the peace and security that Erastil stands for!" he growls, before lunging forward with sudden speed and strength, his axe swinging in a short, brutal arc at the bandit leader's shoulder.
The Stag Lord ducks Laliytsa's arrow, his helm seeming to grin at her as he comes back up into a fighting pose, only to take Kazimir's blow on the shoulder. Surprisingly, the big man is seemingly unfazed by the gash, though he shifts his stance to protect that shoulder a touch.
From the door to the south, you can hear a panicked-sounding breathing for just a moment before it gets under control. After that, a few scratches and a thump can be heard before the sounds of fighting drown it out again.
Annoyed by his spells failure, Luthor stepped up behind Kazimir as he engaged the Stag Lord. "Ok so maybe I lied just a bit." He said, producing another glowing hand, the intensity of the glow much more potent than usual.
Nah's bomb almost catches the Stag Lord's arm, but instead falls short, smashing down into the ground below with a loud *BANG*. The shrapnel momentarily engulfs Graelem, opening a number of small, but painful cuts.
The Stag Lord, for his part, lets out a single laugh at Kazimir's speech before delivering a pair of blows, one against Nah, and one against Kazimir.
Graelem jumps up in surprise as the flaming missile impacts next to him. "Watch it up there!" He exclaims as he hustles next to Laliysta. Once he can spot all of his compatriots he holds aloft his holy symbol, calling upon his divine mistress to heal them.
"No talking, then," Kazimir growls. The impact of the longsword rattles his ribs, but a sudden wash of healing energy from Graelem helps the pain to ebb. Tightening his grip on his axe, he steps toward the Stag Lord and swings again.
Lali nocks another arrow, readying herself for another shot, when her trained ears catch the sound of someone else moving about. She switches her focus away from the Stag Lord. "Hear ya in there! C'mon out NOW, hands up, 'fore the Kobold starts throwin' fire bombs at the tower!"
If whoever is in there comes out swinging Lali's going to fire an arrow at them.
"I...I literally have nothing left!" Luthor called, looking about as if he would somehow discover something which would allow him to be useful. "What do I do? He added, sounded more than a little distraught by the situation.
This time, Nah's bomb goes where she wants it to, momentarily covering the Stag Lord with smoke, flame, and shrapnel. Meanwhile, Lali's target switch goes unrewarded for a moment before, from inside the locked room, comes a familiar-sounding, slimy voice. "Ma'am, I can't do that right now, actually."
For his part, the Stag Lord takes a swing at Kazimir before trying to gain a little distance on the narrow pathway.
Graelem lumbers up the stairs moving in front of Laliysta. He sees the Stag Lord fleeing away from Kazimir and again call upon his goddess to wash away some of the wounds suffered.
As the sound of the man hiding in the tower reaches his ears, his jaw sets in determination. "Yes...you...WILL!"
Again, the Stag Lord swings his longsword, and again, Kazimir grunts under the impact, feeling the creeping pain somewhere near his liver. Nah's bomb sails over his shoulder, and Graelem again bathes the area in a gentle radiance. The Stag Lord darts back, and the farm boy strikes out with his axe, delivering a weak but decisive blow. After taking a moment to shift his stance, he follows his foe, hastening over the bridge and taking a guarded swing.
Kazimir’s first blow knocks the Stag Lord off-balance as he retreats across the narrow wooden bridge, and his follow-up charge and strike catches the bandit in the chest, pushing him even further off-center. Even before he careens off the edge of the broken stone floor, it’s obvious that he’s not conscious, and when he hits the ground, his hands open reflexively, his sword and longbow popping a few inches in the air before clattering on the gravel and packed earth floor.
A moment later, the voice from inside the room speaks up again. ”No, I didn’t say ‘won’t’, did I? I ‘can’t’ do that right now. In fact, if you’d open up the door, I would be more than happy to surrender if you’d give me a hand. There’s probably a key somewhere in the Stag Lord’s room.” The voice is still quite slimy and sarcastic, but there’s a tinge of pain in it as well.
”He’s not here anywhere.” From below, an exhausted-looking and sullen Akiros pokes at the door frame of a room, door hanging ajar. ”He was down there when I left. The Stag Lord must’ve let him out for some reason.” He gestures toward the room with his sword. ”I expect you’ll be wanting to take a look inside. It could be...enlightening...somehow.”
The first thing that strikes anyone entering the room is the stench; unwashed man mixed with stale alcohol. The second is the wallpaper. The wooden walls of the room are covered in lurid images of a beautiful woman in seductive poses, all nude. It’s obvious that each of them are hand-drawn, and some have been colored a crude green with grass or other plants. The floor is covered in bottles, some of which Laliytsa recognizes as Whiterose Chartruese, 1684.
Aside from the bottles and the drawings, the room contains a filthy bed and a trio of chests.
Graelem's ears perk up when he hears Akiros's words. "Was it that man we saw earlier? The one who released the owlbear?"
Peering inside the room he quickly averts his gaze, a look of revulsion on his face. "Pure filth." He looks up at the others, "I still need to find Sir Walhem. He must be held in another part of this...keep."
Luthor walked to the edge, looking down at the Stag Lords body below. He grimaced, then sighed. "Do we...Do we keep him alive? I mean the end result would likely be the same, but seems like an opportunity to have a proper trial." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then Rikkas."I mean, if this land is to be tamed there needs to be a message sent to those who would oppose it or want to aid." He shrugged. "Seems to me an actual trial would satisfy that. It tells everyone that the rule here is hard but fair."
"No." Akiros looks into the room, then moves aside a tattered pelt, revealing a trapdoor. "He kept some old man down there. Called him Nugrah. He used to patch up our wounds, whenever we ran into something too big to tangle without getting too hurt. People would beg to die rather than visit Nugrah." He stops, then spits on the trapdoor. "If the Stag Lord let him out, he must have been truly worried about you; otherwise, he'd never have let him out of the box."
"I don't think pursuing him would be the best course of action. To begin with, you're not sure where this 'Nugrah' is." Kesten walks in through the gates, armor dented and battered, and his remaining guards look quite the worse for wear. "Second, I'd imagine that Oleg is going to panic when a handful of refugees show up with a couple of guards at his post, so it might be wise to head back there. And third, if you're going to have a trial, it'd be best to do it at a more accessible place. There's no witnesses to the process here, and no one to impress."
Hurrying down below, Luthor applied a spell to the Stag Lord. "There, if he hasnt already left us, he wont for the time being. Hes still going to need help to not die though. Eventually."
Seeing so many wounded enter, Luthor quickly lost all interest in the conversation, instead busying himself with applying his healing gifts to each of them in turn. "How did your fight go Kesten?"
Kazimir's head spins as the Stag Lord falls and the rage of battle clears his thoughts. He sits heavily, bracing his head on his knees and trying to stay conscious as he feels his strength ebbing. His entire body aches, his hands feel numb, but it's over.
After taking some time to catch his breath and shake off the worst of the aches, he stands and tries to think of the next best course of action. There's so much to do. The realization hits him with a wave of fatigue, and it's several seconds before he can get his thoughts straight.
"Lali, tie him up," he says finally, nodding to the unmoving Stag Lord. "Luthor, watch the soldiers. Make sure you see to the worst of them first. Nah, see what you can dig up - anything of use or value, we take it. Kesten, see that our prisoner doesn't escape." he nods to the door where who he assumes Dovan is trapped. "Graelem, you're with me. Your lord is here somewhere, and we should find him sooner rather than later." Delegating responsibility still feels unnatural to him, but he reasons it's something he'll have to get used to.
"Any questions?" Waiting a moment for objections to be voiced, he nods and makes his way back down the stairs, beginning the methodical process of searching the fort.
Kesten shrugs. "I don't think this is all that defensible. The gate clearly doesn't work and there are holes in a good bit of the walls. If you let me keep your bandit friend and send the guards I sent back with those travelers, plus maybe those reformed bandits, I can get a good start on repairing things. If not...well, with three of us, we won't be able to hold this place all that well." Turning to Luthor, the ex-noble nods slowly. "Well, they had a party waiting to get behind you when you went in, so it was a good fight, but we seem to have won."
Kazimir and Graelem eventually find a key ring buried under some of the bottles in the Stag Lord's room. Four keys, three of which have complex teeth with angles, grooves, and ridges, hang from the iron loop. The fourth is simple, with only two square teeth. When they try it on the locked door in the upstairs, they come face-to-face with a large man. His wrists and ankles are tied together, his eyes are blackened, and it's clear from the smell coming off his gambeson that he hasn't cleaned up in a while.
He nods at Graelem. "Excellent timing, lad. Judging by the noose-" He points at a loop of rope that's hanging from one of the logs making up the half-walls of the watchtower Sir Walhem's been kept in. "-they wanted to hang me. I can't imagine why. If you're looking for the last bandit, he made his way out the window a couple of minutes ago. He caught his arm in between a couple of the logs on his way out; I heard it snap."
Nah, for her part, finds a wide assortment of goods in the chests in the Stag Lord's room, as well as plenty of equipment that could be salvageable from the dead bandits.
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A tall and leggy girl with long blue hair wraps her robe tightly about her. "Daen, are you coming to bed?"
She comes up to him, where he sits, perusing his notes by the fireplace and brooding. She kneels down next to him. "We won't get this mess solved tonight... You know that, right?"
Tango runs down her arm onto Daen's shoulder, chittering and chiding him.
He looks up at her, dark circles under his eyes. She strokes the dark hair out of his face, tucking it behind his long, exquisite ears. He smiles at the gesture, then sighs. "Not tonight, no. Just a few minutes longer?"
"Alright. I'll go back to the letter I promised that I'd send Luthor, while I wait for you."
She gracefully sinks to the floor, pulling over a short step stool to use as an improvised writing desk. Her words have to be carefully chosen, for she knows not how many eyes are going to read her manuscript before it reaches its destination.
___
Luthor,
Daen and I have arrived in Restov. We've been given every bit the warm welcome that we expected from Daen's cousin...
___
She snorts and throws musical notes into the margin, along with the current lyrics of a rather inane ditty. The song is so sickly sweet that she trusts Luthor will look past it to recognize one of Aron's best musical codes. It'll be just like school days.
The rolls you requested:
Laliytsa hog ties the Stag Lord, humming to herself as she works. Sure she's got a few more holes in her armor than she did a day ago, and yes she'll have some fun new scars and extra bruises for weeks, but today went better than she could have ever hoped. The Stag Lord is going to be brought in and face justice, and none of her team died during their assault on the keep. She wishes Daen and Cyanne were here to see this.
When she's done tying the former Stag Lord up she steps back and surveys her work. On a whim she plops down, pulls off her boots and removes her socks. A little bit of extra rope and she's got a pretty nifty gag. It might be juvenile but it definitely lifts her spirits even more.
She treats the man's equipment far better than she does him. The bow she's been using is the one Happs had on him when he attacked the outpost; that feels like a lifetime ago. It seems fitting to replace it with one used by the Stag Lord himself.
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It takes the Stag Lord a few hours to regain consciousness, even after Luthor’s magic helps him avoid death. During that time, Akiros gives Kesten a tour of the fortress he’s supposed to defend against...who knows what. The common area, a filth pit filled with dirty sleeping furs. The armory, where a few old swords and axes lean against the wall. Each of the watchtowers, obviously relatively new compared to the rest of the fortress, and with a commanding view of the lake to the west and the Kamelands to the east. By the time everything is done, the sun has set over the Narlmarch, and the night has descended upon the old fortress.
That night around the fire in the common room, Perlivash clears his throat. ”I knows a sort of, uh, song.” Without waiting for a response, he dives right in.
”At the edge of the First World where the chompy-plants grow,
And you can see the great forest far down below,
If you look very closely you might see from afar,
The court of the dancing lady.
Hope you don’t see the lady, don’t knock on her door,
She lurks in her throne watching her ballroom floor,
Though in other worlds her court seems quite bizarre,
It’s the court of the dancing lady.
Just who is the lady, and why is she here,
Both far beyond far and near beyond near?
If you want the answers you’ll just have to go,
To the court of the dancing lady.
The tapestries sparkle, the ceilings all shine,
And starlight infuses the raspberry wine,
But go to the ballroom and terror you’ll know,
In the court of the dancing lady.
Her daughters they turn, twist and pirouette,
You might realize not that you’re caught in their net,
So venture with care into the lady’s ball,
Through the court of the dancing lady.
And once you have entered it’s harder to leave,
For the dancing’s designed to your senses deceive,
So my friend, please be careful, or be trapped in the hall,
Of the court of the dancing lady.
With his song finished, Perli falls immediately into a deep sleep. Tyg, for her part, rolls her eyes dramatically. ”He ent the worstest singer, but he ent a grig, either. Never heard that one, though!”
The Stag Lord proves to be singularly uncooperative in crossing the Kamelands. His resistance isn’t violent, at least not in comparison to how hard he fought in his fortress. Instead, it’s petulant, almost childish. He pulls on the rope securing him to Svetlana’s cart, twice letting it drag him across the plains, and eventually manages to stop the wagon completely by getting a branch caught up in the spokes of its wheel. The hills of the Kamelands are covered with tall, greening grasses and wildflowers, but the party doesn’t have the time to take it in properly, so busy are they with managing the Stag Lord.
Fortunately, the weather holds for most of the journey. The days alternate between sunny and cloudy, but it’s not until the last day that the clouds burst, sending torrents of rain down onto the Kamelands near Oleg’s Trading Post. Compared to the broken walls and crude wooden watchtowers of the Stag Lord’s fortress, Oleg’s looks both humble and proper, and the gates are open as the party approaches.
In point of fact, the gates are partly opened because the trading post is filled with people. The various travelers the party had encountered with Graelem mill about, wringing out soaking travelling clothes, cooking by the fire, or, in the case of Hanna Weib, taking care of her loudly-crying son. Oleg looks at the party as they make their way through the gates, silently mouthing a question. ”What did you do to my quiet?”
The recovery of Sir Walhem, the securing of the fort, and the trip back to Oleg's all pass in a sort of blur for Kazimir. They have a fortress now, a place to secure and build. The temple of Erastil is still out there in the forest, secured now and seemingly calling to him, as if the Elkfather himself is beckoning to him. The axe at his side is worn, and Surefoot is old. There is much to do, and time to do it in. His dog-eared and underlined copy of the Parables keeps him grounded, as does the regular healing magic from Luthor, but he frequently finds himself remembering warm green eyes and a gentle voice in his head, mingled with the chirping of Perlivash's victory song.
When Surefoot strides through the familiar gates of the trading post, it's almost without his rider noticing, and it takes the noise of the gathered people to draw Kaz's attention back to the present. He dismounts, helps Nah off whatever horse she's riding, and greets Oleg with a handshake and a tired smile. "Sorry about this," he says in a low tone, "but we had no other safe place to send them." Nodding in the direction Nah had pointed, he adds, "We found the source of all this trouble. Is the stable still capable of holding a prisoner?"
Oleg looks at Kazimir incredulously, eyes narrowing as he processes what’s being asked. ”Are my stables...the rooms you were using are full-up with people. I’ve got an old man sleeping in my office. I had to turn out the horses to pasture and ask one of Kesten’s people to watch them so I could house this many, and you want to turn someone out for...who is this, anyways?”
”What Oleg means to say is that there’s just not enough room here.” Svetlana looks up from near the fire. ”And he’s getting impatient-”
”Damn right I am!”
”-And if you could do something with these travelers to get them on the road again-”
”Say, tomorrow morning!”
”-we’d both very much appreciate it.” Svetlana scowls at Oleg in warning, then brings her eyes back to the party. ”Oleg and I really are grateful for everything you’ve done to keep us safe, but it’s just getting to be too much for us.” She stops, a sudden spark in her eyes. ”Besides, didn’t you get a charter to clear the Greenbelt of banditry? If you took him to Restov, presented him to the Swordlords, and had a trial there, they’d probably be impressed. And you could take all these people with you!”
”A fancy human...snarl…” Oleg looks at Nah as if seeing her for the first time. After a moment of blinking, he shakes his head rapidly back and forth, then continues, his voice louder and slower. ”Restov. Is. A. City. Where. People. Live. Away. From. Monsters.” He steps in close to Laliytsa and Luthor, lowering his voice. ”Where did you find that, and when did you find the time to teach it to speak?”
Svetlana continues working on her impromptu plan, chatting with Kazimir. ”I’d even be willing to drive the wagon up to Restov. There’s always some needed supplies we could do with some restocking on, especially with this many mouths to feed.”
Laliytsa crosses her arms and scowls at Oleg. "HER name's Nah, didn' hafta teach her anythin', an' she helped us capture the Stag Lord over there so mebbe show her some respect, eh?"
She looks at Stag Lord then spits on the ground."Bastard. We're takin' him in, so yeah, we'll escort yer 'guests' too.
As if in agreement with Lali, Boo utters a series of rather triumphant beeps and boops as he lazily buzzes around the group.
Kaz holds a hand to the side of his face to block Boo from his peripheral vision, rather more flustered than he'd prefer to be. "This was the only safe place we knew of," he explains in a low tone, hoping to ease Oleg's temper somewhat. "I'm sorry for dropping them on you with no warning, but we can leave in the morning and take them with us." Glancing down at the remarkably unperturbed Nah, he adds, "And Lali is right - Nah has been as valuable as she is articulate."
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The next morning’s dawn peeks wanly through heavy clouds and driving rain as the party and the travelers pack up to head toward Restov. Svetlana drives her wagon, guiding Claptrap the horse down the South Rostland Road while Oleg, the last remaining guards, and Jhod stay behind, standing on the towers to watch the group leave for Restov. Following the wagon walk the dozen or so travelers from Graelem’s party, carrying their assortment of bags, bundles and other traveling supplies.
It’s a long, muddy day to the first night’s camp outside the masonry-and-timber walls of Fort Serenko, where a single rider, lightly armored and on a light horse, leaves the gate heading east as the party nears. The commander exchanges a few words about a recent centaur warband from the Nomen Heights and his concern about ”that Swordlord brat” not being able to handle them. The next day, the group pushes on through a much better day, and though the road is muddied from the previous day’s rain, they make it to Nivatka’s Crossing well before nightfall.
The final day on the South Rostland Road proves to be quick, with everyone’s spirits rising as the sun falls to their backs and the towers of the Rock of Restov rise in front of them. It’s not until the party arrives at the livery just outside the Westgate, however, that they realize there’s a small welcoming committee waiting for them. Sitting atop a chestnut horse is a face that’s familiar to those who were with the party their first visit to Restov; Jamanda Aldori. She’s accompanied by a handful of city guards, one of whom looks over to the party. ”The messenger out of Fort Serenko said you might have a prisoner for us. Shall we take him off your hands?” Jamanda, for her part, waits quietly for the Stag Lord and the travelers to be dealt with.
”...And of course, I don’t need to tell you how important the Swordlords are for securing some sort of peace in Brevoy.” Sub-Bishop Alexi Seltov moves quickly through the passageway inside the Rock of Restov, nodding at the guards and castle staff as he makes his way toward the Lord Mayor’s offices. ”However, in the interests of efficiency, a quick refresher. The Swordlords could easily push the Rostlandic Houses into some sort of rebellion against Regent Surtova and the Issian Houses. It’s happened before, even when House Rogarvia was around, so it wouldn’t surprise me if...wait one moment…”
Down the hallway comes a man dressed in finery and wearing an eyepatch, accompanied by a pair of guards wearing Surtovan heraldry. He grins smugly as he passes Alexi and Valeriya, continuing down the hall without sharing a word. Once he’s past earshot, Alexi continues. ”The game deepens. That would be Leo Surtova, a cousin of the Regent.” At a guard’s signal, he stops outside a thick wooden door and takes an offered seat, gesturing for Valeriya to take the other one, then settles in to wait, writing all the while in his notebook.
From behind the door, you can hear the sounds of a heated discussion between two men within the office. The first, a slower, lower-pitched voice, questions what to do about the plan now that House Surtova is involved, while the other, a louder, more aggressive personality, advocates pushing forward. There’s a rustling of papers, and then the lower voice speaks up. ”We’ll wait for Jamanda. Two of these are blank; the only one we have to follow is the Hooktongue.”
Kazimir passes the time by answering Nah's questions when he can, leaving some to Lali and Luthor as anything they're more familiar with comes up. During the nights, he helps to set up the camps, easily handling the harder labours, and tends to the horses. He keeps his armour clean, his axe sharp, and his prayers soft.
At the Westgate, he glances over his shoulder, back at the prisoner. "Is it alright if we accompany you? After the trouble this particular prisoner has caused us, I wouldn't feel comfortable until I see him in a cell."
”Not exactly far and wide.” Jamanda gestures to one of the gaggle of children dressed in dark wool-and-silk outfits. ”Tiphane, go back to the Rock and let the Lord Mayor know that we’ll be heading to the dungeons first.” The girl, perhaps nine and with dirty blonde hair and a chipped tooth, grins cheekily and runs off toward the city gates, eliciting a shake of the head from Jamanda. ”Cestmir, Orrel, take care of their horses. See that they’re given fresh hay, stalls on the lower sections of the livery, and a good solid grooming. You can take care of it yourselves, or ask one of the stable-hands to do it.”
The city still stinks of pigs, fish, and smoke, even in the evening light, as Jamanda and the remaining two children lead the party, the guards, and their prisoner through the streets and to the base of the Rock of Restov. Inside the curtain wall, the stone walls and wooden hoardings loom overhead, and a small wooden door leads to a room with a desk and chair, and a tired-looking old man in a guard’s uniform who wordlessly extends a ring of keys to Jamanda, then lights a lantern for her. The cells below aren’t what stories say a dungeon should be; no rats, no rotten hay, and no torture devices. Instead, each cell has a bedroll, chair (bolted to the floor), and a barred window that would allow sunlight in during the day. It’s into one of these that the Stag Lord is taken, his bindings cut, and a bucket of water given to him. That done, Jamanda jumps right into business.
”We’ll be putting you up in the Riverdance Inn for a few weeks. The top floor has been rented out for you. For the next week, the Swordlords would like you to catch up with old friends, see that your travelers are safe, and take care of any business you might have.” She interrupted by a young man with a shock of blood-red hair, who whispers something in her ear. When he’s finished, she looks at the party sharply. ”Kazimir, Luthor, Laliytsa, do you trust your lizard friend?”
Valeriya walks with a straight posture, eyes straight ahead. One hand holding her holy text steady in it's strap, the other held properly to the small of her back.
"Of course Sub-Bishop" she says dutifully as Alexi fills her in on the goings on. She knows it all of course, she was always thorough in her research, but she enjoys talking to the man, and a refresher can never hurt. She nods grimly as he states the situation. A war in Brevoy. It would be a horrible eventuality. The grinding halt of civilisation could not be allowed. It was hardly Valeriya's role to hold the country from conflict, but she would do all she could to do so.
What's this now? she wonders as she nods at the passing man, noting his cocky smile.
"Interesting" she says at Alexi's explanation. She muses partly to herself and partly to the Sub-Bishiop "I wonder what he's doing here in Restov. This is hardly a cosmopolitan locale." She smiles somewhat ruefully, only partially joking. She knows full well that Restov is an important city, but part of her wishes she could be back in the capital. Oh well, better to be where I can be useful she thinks as she takes a seat.
Seeing Alexi writing in his notebook she takes the time to open her holy text. Not only does it contain the commandments by which she lives her life, she also keeps many of her legal notes in a large pocket in the leather cover. She begins reviewing the notes on a current case -a simple property dispute - comparing them with both The Manual of City Building and the local bylaws.
However she cannot stay focused as she hears an argument from behind the door. Her ears have always been sharp, trained by a few years on the watch in her early years in the clergy, and she can easily hear what is being said. She wonders what the plan that they voices are discussing is. Whatever it is, it seems they are opposed to - or at least not allied with House Surtova. I wonder if this is something to do with the swordlords?
With the conversation dying down she quickly checks the name Jamanda against both her notes and her memory. Then she returns to her legal studies.
Laliytsa sticks close to the Stag Lord for most of the trip to Restov; now that they have him in custody she's not going to risk him making an escape attempt.
The city still smells as bad as she remembers, but she's hopeful that this trip won't be as messy as the last one. Besides, watching the cell door close on the Stag Lord is very, very satisfying.
Her response to Jamanda is a simple "Yep"
Kazimir pats Surefoot reassuringly on the neck as the Cestmir and Orrel lead the horses away. The city reeks, but it barely bothers him, being used to the smells of the farm. He shows little sigh of discomfort until he's inside the curtain wall, and then it's only slight - the barest dropping of the shoulders, the occasional glance at the sky.
With the Stag Lord locked away, he visibly relaxes, though still seems uneasy in the dungeons. He blinks in surprise at Jamanda's question, glancing down at Nah. Thankfully, the kobold didn't seem bothered by the intrusive question.
"Of course we do," he replies, face furrowed in confusion. "She's an unofficial emissary of the Sootscale tribe, and she helped us capture the Stag Lord himself. Her methods are... unusual, I'll admit, but she's given us no reason to distrust her."