Pretty gets suddenly angry for no apparent reason.
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Aldifierri looks with concern at the suddenly angry tiefling who's standing entirely too close for comfort. His facade of bravado and forced cheer fades, and he coughs politely. "Perhaps, then, I shall be on my way? I would not like to trouble you good folk any further, and have many miles yet to travel today."
Pretty initially does not matter that Aldifierri feels her rage, but if she were a human he probably wouldn't worry about it. So she gets double mad, but anyway she controls her demeanor and tries to calm down the man, since they needed a little more info. She feels there's something wrong with this man, and maybe it's just because he is a good actor, but still... "Forgive me, sir, I just realized something else that has nothing to do with you. Don't worry we won't harm you. We've been traveling through the stolen lands for quite some time now, but we don't know much of this place in the previous years, can you tell us a little of what problems have you encountered on your journey?"
If he's cooperative she ask some more, one at a time, trying to sound that she is really interested in the story (she is) and not interrogating the man. "How many trips like this have you made so far?
Have you ever had trouble in the next broken bridge to the north?
What is there to the south of the lake?
Did you camp and lit a fire beside it yesterday?
Did you heard any tales about the Stolen Lands among the Mivonesi?"
She also uses the long tale to appraise the man a bit more, searching for standards behaviors and little fumbles that could indicate the man is trying to fool them in some points.
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Aldifierri scratches his neatly shaven face with incongruously chipped and abused fingernails as he thinks for a second about the questions Pretty asks him. From where his gaze lands, it seems he's more concerned with the daggers sheathed on her belt than her tiefling features. "This is my... thirteenth? trip." The actor-turned-boatman thinks it over for a moment. "Yes, thirteen trips. Over the past four years. After "Revolution" a stage-hand clued me in that I had gained the ire of Irovitti, so I hired on as a guard with a southbound caravan. I paid for this good old tub from a priest of Hanspur by doing two months' readings of "The Drowning of Rats" for congregations at the Kallas Lake temple, then leaned on my father for some contracts and was in business."
Aldifierri continues: "Normally, river traffic uses the East Sellen to access New Stetven, but I thought I could get a niche walking the Shrike to Restov. Turns out, there's enough old Aldori blood that wants to talk and trade to keep me in bread."
The thespian courier takes a snag branch from the river and uses it to draw on the silt of the bank. "South of here is the lake, as you mentioned. A few miles past its southern edge is another, smaller lake. After that, the Shrike joins the Little Sellen river, which flows into the East Sellen at Mivon. It's not a bad journey, just tiring going upstream. The worst part is a couple patches of rapids up north that I daren't risk my boat in. Callie and myself have to fais du portage as they say in Taldor. I've got some wooden rollers, Callie does the heavy hauling as I run 'em up to the bow. A nasty hard bit of work, it is."
When you ask about the ruined bridge, Aldifierri shakes his head sadly. "That would be Davik Nettles' place. Poor bastard. Used to stop in whenever I'd make a trip, the only friendly face along the way. Last time I came through, last Rova, I saw all his stuff burned down. Figured something bad happened, never got the details. Figure it might've been those thugs that run around here. I never had much trouble with them - they learned real quick I didn't have anything worth taking. A couple gold pieces for a toll and a couple bottles of something fierce and they let me through. Haven't seen any this trip, though - I understand you performed that deed? I did indeed light that camp fire you mention. Usually brings a couple of those boys out to meet me, makes sure they don't think I'm trying to sneak past. Wouldn't want to end up gutted out here and left for the birds."
Aldifierri chuckles weakly, but doesn't put any effort into it. He eyes Pretty's weapons again.
"Miss cleric, you're welcome to travel with me a ways, but I'm afraid I'd hold you back. Pushing this ol' logpile upstream's a slow, thirsty business. I'd be happy to take any letters you have as well. Normally charge two gold bits for the run, but I'm already out here so I shan't charge you fine folks!"
Seraphina glances around, taking in the expressions of her comrades as to whether they wanted to speak with the man more and again tried to settle his nerves. "We have indeed been restoring peace to these lands. You have nothing to fear from us, and you are free to go on your way if you wish, Master Aldifierri. I will just be a few moments more and we will be moving ourselves. Thank you for the information. I am glad to know the gentleman's name. Davik Nettles... I believe we met him ourselves once, after a fashion."
She excuses herself and returns to speak with Chief Sootscale. She bows and addresses the chief
"My apologies for the trouble, Chief. I was confident my half-orc companion could manage the simpleton. I was not mistaken on that count, but I'm afraid I put too much faith in the big man's mental state. I hope you will forgive us the exposure. The boatman is a simple courier, just passing through. We came today to let you and all of the sootscales know that the Stag Lord's reign has been brought to an end. I have avenged the blood of my family and we have purged these lands of the thieving tyrant. Only one company of his men remain and they have crossed out of these regions into other lands." She proclaimed this all proudly for all those present to hear and allowed for response before continuing.
"We will return sometime soon with trade goods, so I need a good list of the most needed items. A nobleman friend will accompany us at that time who is interested in meeting you, Chief. We have spoken with our human allies and begun preparing for a long future of being good neighbors. Since human and kobold settlements have had conflicts in the past, we must work on building a good relationship and that begins with an introduction. I am confident meeting your uniquely peaceful tribe will do much to smooth relationships with the humans in the area, but I thought advance notice of this visit would be appreciated all the same." She chuckled lightly, doing her best to be charming and cast Kesten's visit in the best possible light.
Pretty choses the cute option to try to ease the man's feelings.
"Common Aldifierri, stop staring at my hips or I'll think you're in love with me." She turns and begins walking away, shaking her tail seductively, and then raises a hand to him. "Thank you for tales, and have a safe journey! If any authority in Restov asks, you never saw a tiefling."
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Guy accepts Akiros' amulet from Maja. "Of course, I'd be happy to oblige you. I usually spend some time in Restov before my return trip, so it won't be a problem at all to nip over. Always happy to help the faith of Erastil!"
He casts a worried glance at Pretty's words. "Indeed, I haven't seen a tiefling at-all, in any of my days out on the river! What a preposterous notion!"
Waving his good-bye, Aldifierri returns to his labors. A sharp whistle and a few clucks informs his mule that the rest is over. With the tremendous patience of the long-suffering, Callie the mule ambles forward and takes the slack out of the lead line. A few moments later, the river boat is crawling up the channel against the current, Aldifierri straining at his beam to both push the boat forward and keep it from swinging out into the main current. It might be that the breather refreshed his energy, or there might be another reason for the pep in his step, but within a matter of minutes the duo are out of hailing distance.
Crisis resolved, you carefully return up the path to the Sootscale warren. There are some murmurings among the assembled kobolds, but with the boatman's peaceful departure and no further action, they seem to be calming down.
Chief Sootscale is glad to see the situation resolved without further bloodshed, and invites you to join him in a meal around his fire in the bedding caverns.
Over the simple but hearty fare of the Sootscale tribe, the Chief hears what you have to say. A shy juvenile kobold serves you flame-cooked river trout and root vegetables on wooden plates. From her red scales and young age, you can deduce that she was probably part of the most recent hatching.
After the food is served, Chief Sootscale dismisses the youngster from the area and listens attentively to your deeds and proposals.
"It is good that you have removed the Horned One and his followers." he says gratefully. "With their removal, and that of the mites, and the cleansing of Tartuk from our midst, the threats that have preyed upon my tribe are gone and we can start to rebuild."
Chief Sootscale pauses and considers his words carefully. "It has been many twoyears since I was hatched, and I am no longer young. In my softscale years I was called Sampik, but I have left that name behind. When a Sootscale is called to be Chief, we abandon our identity. I am Chief of the Sootscales, and so I am every Sootscale - they are I. Every action I take, every breath in my body is for my tribe. You see that I sleep in the common cavern. You see that I eat of the same food, and drink of the same water as my kin, with no benefit of my station. How could it be any other way? To allow the Chief special privileges would be to invite evil into the heart of the tribe. Let the ambitious compete for seats on the Council of Dragons - each seat is given by merit at a task. Should a wood-sage of greater ability than Yatpank arise, he would be advanced in station to the benefit of the tribe. Mikmek surpassed Spur-Spur to our benefit, and Ell-Ell guides our nets to more fish than Tiktik did. The merit of the Chief is not skill at arts, but love of tribe. It is this which sets me to work each morning and it is this which I think upon retiring in the evening."
"Understand then, why I say to you these things: The ways of your kind are not the ways of mine. To be a kobold is to be small in a world of large dangers; to survive by stealth and wits over strength and fortitude; to remain unseen when possible - and die bravely for the tribe when not. Talk of hosting humans in our home, of human settlements nearby, of living in the open, is a frightening prospect for a kobold. You would not place a fish upon the grass, nor a bird into the river - these are not of their ways. I fear that to live among humans, the Sootscales would be fish upon the grass."
Chief Sootscale pauses, but favors you with a gentle smile and continues. "Yet, there are birds which live upon the water, and dive into it, and take fish from it. There are fish which crawl from the river to spawn in the mud, who breathe air when they must. I have seen your generosity, and trust that you would never willingly bring evil among us. We will trade with you, and you may bring those you trust unto us. In time, the Sootscales may learn to be a bird-of-the-river or fish-of-the-mud."
Sicarius suddenly seems very interested in a pile of furs on the cavern floor. A small red-scaled claw pushes out from under the concealment, holding a smoked fish. With a raspy laugh, the juvenile kobold who served the food feeds the fish to the fearsome saurian and then scampers away, having succeeded in her mission of infiltration. Chief Sootscale looks on with approval.
"You have been of great service to the Sootscales," continues the Chief. "With the best wisdom I have, I see your plans as a good thing for my tribe. We may grow stronger, and be more plentiful, and more learned in arts with you and your kin as allies. I cannot proclaim this, however - it is out of my control. This is the task that I set before you then: To make birds-of-the-river of us. What are your thoughts, Lords of Yourselves?"
Kivan simply sits back and lets the others talk to the chief about this grand plan of kobold transformation. He seems much more interested in reading his spellbook and going over his new spell.
Seraphina enjoys her repast with gusto, finding she quite liked the fish and other fare. She listens to the Chief speak intently, finding his outlook on the duty of a leader a refreshing change from those so many 'noble lords' had expressed to her in the past.
"The Sootscales are right to be wary. Humans tend have a pesky habit of killing or driving away that which they view as a threat to their soft-skinned hides. And I tell you honestly that this is why he wants to come, Lord Garess is concerned with the security of his own post. We have explained that the Sootscales are not like the kobolds that raid and rob human settlements. I told him, Sootscales make their own way and earn their place in this world! But he must see with his own eyes so he will sleep soundly in his bed." She grins broadly and chuckles at this joke at Kesten's expense.
"I will take up your challenge, however. I would not see the Sootscales as fish upon the grass. Better to emulate the kingfisher, who flies upon the winds, dives below the waters and even tunnels beneath the earth. Their proud plumage proclaims 'I am here, where I belong!'" Sera flexed her scaly claws and gestured to her travelling companions. "You might have noticed most of us are not precisely human. We are not unfamiliar with how stealth must be used to survive, at times. But what would you normally do when humans discover your presence? Relocate? Leave everything you've built behind? No wonder there are no kobold cities, no monuments to their tenacity and potential! Yours could be the first, and history would always remember that the Sootscales led way to peaceful relations and mutual respect between the species."
Pretty eyes the red-scaled guard until he notices her gaze and realizes that she heard him. Then she turns back to the trail, shaking her head in a clear sign of disappointment.
Pretty continues from where Sera stopped. "But never forget that the humans favor individuality over the tribe. They form small tribes with their companions and children, which they call family, and usually love them, but if they do not match their concept of normal that may change. One could be sent away by his own family..." She swiftly shakes her head, dismissing the reasoning. "I think I'm just lame today. Well, I believe we all agree you are in the right track. Although our costumes are different we agree in the main idea: to live in peace and respect others. Toward that goal we will coexist, each tribe wishing their own growth, but respecting the next. And if by chance an honest tribe like yours make enemies, then they would become our enemies. As the Stag Lord did, and well, we've solved the problem."
"Anyway, in that scenario we usually trade, to maintain the interest of both groups aligned. Once there are no more interest in a trade, both parties can go trade with someone else and eventually reestablish interest. Our society can offer a lot of variety in that prospect, from magic to military services to simple or old knowledge, including how to make a water wheel, for instance." She pauses and look at the other lords. "Am I advancing the topic too much?"
Jegred's eyes flash at the kobold who made the statement before deciding to let it go.
Sicarius gulps down his treat before plodding back to Jegred's side. As Jegred starts talking, he reaches up to Sicarius' sideas if for encouragement.
"I have never had much of a regard for kobolds as many folk do; this opinion has changed since meeting the Sootscales. If a group as ragtag as ours can be accepted within society, a group of industrious kobolds with products to offer should not have any sort of problem.
While there will be prejudices that need to be overcome, I have a strong feeling that the Sootscale future is bright."
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Chief Sootscale nods. "It seems we are of like mind. I will send a group of the tribe with silver and fish to trade at the road-log-house. We will require two lives of the moon to make such a surplus. You are welcome to stay should you wish to rest, or provision yourselves for the next step of your journey. If you will excuse me, I have matters to attend to."
After hearing anything you have to say, Chief Sootscale rises and goes about his business.
Leaving the Sootscale caverns behind, you rejoin Bara and your mounts and head for Oleg's Trading Post, bearing your treasures and victorious news. Bara rides in stony silence.
You ride through the rest of the fine spring day. The pleasant breeze and warm sun shining upon you are a welcome change from the damp and dreary weather from the earlier part of the month. You make camp without fear at a convenient spot as the light fades - you did, after all, clear out the major threats in the area. Despite your ease, you post the normal watch, and the night passes uneventfully.
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Location: Hex S2 (Road, Plains, Oleg's Trading Post)
Date: 1 Desnus, 4710 Absalom Reckoning
Temperature: 60° F
Weather conditions: Clear skies, Light Wind (10 MPH from the west)
Food: 20 days's supply
Dawn breaks on another beautiful day. It is the first of Desnus. Named in honor of the Goddess of luck, travelers, and dreams, the first of Desnus is regarded by the common folk as an especially lucky day on which to begin an important undertaking. You're not that far from the Trading Post, so breakfast is a few bites of something light before departing. Knowing Svetlana, she's going to stuff you upon your return.
You ride through the morning and arrive at the Trading Post around midday. Your approach is obviously watched for and noticed, as the gates swing open while you are still out of hailing range of the Levetons' home. A single rider sallies forth to meet you. From the expensive plate armor and the heraldry of House Garess painted upon the rider's shield, you quickly deduce that Kesten is riding out to meet you. As the distance closes, his features become recognizable. He holds up a hand in greeting.
"Lady Medvyed, worthy adventurers, I bid you welcome back to 'civilization'! I see that all have returned, although a little worse for the wear, it seems. And yet another new companion? I presume to congratulate you on your victory! Please, let us make haste to refreshments and comforts, that the tale be told properly!"
Escorted by the wandering nobleman, you arrive back inside friendly walls again. Oleg takes your mounts for you and starts to tend to them. "I expect a proper recountin' for me later!" he jests as he busies himself with the care and watering of eight steeds. It is evident that he'll have his hands full - the stable will be full at capacity with two horses per stall.
Bara wordlessly swings off her mount, drops her pack under the shelter for Oleg's trade goods, and walks stiffly to the stables.
Inside the common room, Svetlana whoops with joy at your return, favoring the ladies of the party with a quick hug, and a squeeze on the arm for Kivan. She bows slightly to Jegred, and hustles off to the kitchen - no doubt to return with refreshments.
Kesten and his men all join you in the common room, taking seats at tables, in chairs, and on whatever surfaces are available in the crowded area. Svetlana returns with a fizzy, sweet wine and a tray of sweetmeats. Small talk is made as the crowd awaits the telling of your daring deeds.
Pretty is happy to let the kobolds be for now, and so she incites the others to take the road with simple gestures.
Later on, Pretty see signs that they need to deal with a long-delayed subject, and thus when they arrive at the watchpost she suggests to the others in a low voice. "I recommend we part ways with Bara or settle her as a member of this group immediately, cause the current situation is unbearable. Either we trust her and accept that old habits die hard, or we don't want her around and now is the correct time to let her go. Before anyone else gets hurt."
Idris goes to check on Mikmek, and finds him asleep. She smiles softly, and with a gentleness she has rarely shown before, lifts the small man from his desk and helps him to a more comfortable position before silently slipping from the room.
Idris decides not to make mention of Bara's evasiveness, but when Pretty makes her suggestion, Idris nods. "I think she had her reasons -- I don't think she was telling us everything when she said the actor meant nothing to her. Maybe she was afraid Auchs would kill him, and didn't try to pull her sword strike because of that. And after all, Auchs was just an unreformed, violent, stupid bandit when he died -- work could have changed that, but at the moment he was simply a cooperative captive. Hmm... Do you think I should go talk to her?"
"What I think is pretty simple. We don't know her, and the recent events have shown we are not addressing the subject properly." She points in the direction of the stables, where the assassin probably went.
"There's a shadow hanging over her, and that means I have no clue if she will try to slit someone's throat, run away with our belongings, or become a good and merciful person, but I'm not willing to take risks, nor should you, specially this close to the Levetons! Look at the matter from Bara's perspective! We've made a deal to release her for the information about the Stag, but we're still holding her long after she delivered her part and much more! She risked her life with us, and not for a freaking bounty!"
Pretty raises her arms in disbelief. "Now whether we expressly give her the option to follow us willingly and become our ally, or we let her go far far away, as we promised, but don't keep avoiding the subject and thinking there will be no consequences. Either way we have to put things on black an white, to lift this cloud of dark uncertainties that is hanging over her, cause she have no idea of what we are doing about her, and guess what? Nor have we! Until we find someone with their throat slain in Bara's attempt to flee within all her rights!"
"So, lets decide a course of action or I will take care of it myself."
Chief Sootscale nods. "It seems we are of like mind. I will send a group of the tribe with silver and fish to trade at the road-log-house. We will require two lives of the moon to make such a surplus. You are welcome to stay should you wish to rest, or provision yourselves for the next step of your journey. If you will excuse me, I have matters to attend to."
Seraphina blinked in surprise, "Oh! Then you mean to travel to Oleg's Trading Post in two months time? I will be sure to make preparations. I'm afraid we must be journeying on, but thank you for your hospitality. I wonder, do the Sootscales have any means of long-distance communication? We have much ranging ahead of us still and it would be so handy to be able to send and receive messages from our allies while on the move."
She joined Idris in looking in on Mikmek and smiled lovingly as she watched the normally brusque warrior gently lay the exhausted kobold in his bed. She glanced over Kivan's notes, wondering at the complexity of it. When they returned to the group, she commented to the elf with an admiring look in her eyes.
"It was good of you to assist Mikmek with his project. I shall be quite interested to see the school you will create, Master Corsan."
Sera was still concerned over Bara's behavior and her stony manner, but she gave the half-orc her space for now, trying to enjoy the warmth and the breeze as they rode on.
"Lady Medvyed, worthy adventurers, I bid you welcome back to 'civilization'! I see that all have returned, although a little worse for the wear, it seems. And yet another new companion? I presume to congratulate you on your victory! Please, let us make haste to refreshments and comforts, that the tale be told properly!"
She knew she should probably display more decorum, but she could not help but break into an impish grin as the nobleman rode to out to meet them. "Thank you, Lord Garess. Yes, we were victorious in the field and we have added not one, but two impressive allies to our company. Jegred, Sicarius, this is Lord Kesten Garess. He and his 'Irregulars' keep the watch and guard Oleg's Trading Post." Once the introductions were made, she turned to Kesten, her head tilted to the side playfully. "Do you ride out to meet all parties these days, Lord Garess? I trust you were not too concerned... We did try to return in a timely fashion, though we had a few delays."
As Pretty began ranting over Bara, the noblewoman's jaw hardened visibly and her gaze took on a hard edge as she directed it at the comely tiefling, speaking in a rising voice that would carry to the stables.
"Pretty, I have expressly given her the option to follow us willingly and become our ally. She accepted and has performed quite admirably, as you pointed out. I want to be very clear here, so I am not misunderstood. I do not like what you imply in saying 'or I will take care of it myself.' I ordered Bara to keep watch over Auchs and our mounts. Now I certainly didn't expect trouble, but we all agree that under the circumstances, she did well to act swiftly. We only regret the finality of her action. But I am not in the habit of condemning someone for performing too well at a job I give them, especially when I have not given specifics of how the task must be done. Now if you want to make a complaint over how my order was carried out, I welcome your input. But don't disrespect me by casually tossing implied ultimatums at my feet. My order, my responsibility and I will handle it."
She deliberately turned her back on the rogue, haughty in her anger as she turned toward Idris, taking her arm and stalking off toward the stables. With her ire now up, she practically drug the much taller woman off her feet before loosening her grip. She looked for Bara (and assuming she finds her) launches into a diatribe directed at the half-orc. (or to the open air if she can't see her)
"Well, did you hear me, Bara, or shall I repeat myself? I have endured your silent treatment all day and now you are sulking in the stables. I have accepted that you made the best call you could at the time, but I still don't understand why you killed him outright. You don't fear death, you told me that the night we met. And you knew we were trying to salvage Auchs' misled life. Is this your version of 'or I will take care of it myself'? You didn't agree with our call to spare him and so you took the first opportunity to 'take care of it'? I sincerely hope that is not the case, but for the life of me I cannot come up for another explanation! So please, take pity on me and tell me why!"
"Was it Aldiferri? He's more than just a stranger to you -- I'm certain of that, I saw it in your eyes when you were threatening him -- and Auchs was attacking him, so you took action?"
Idris is trying to have as conciliatory and friendly a tone as she can here. Seems to be working.
Kivan hearing the raised voices runs inside, gets the closest food approaching popcorn, and then he rushes over to the stables to enjoy the show. He also has his journal open and is writing in it as the fight begins.
Pretty is seriously watching Serafina's outburst, but then she smiles when the woman mentions her own words. It's clear she believes something to be very funny, but she does not mention, instead waiting until the sorcerer is finished to add something, but since Pretty was further ignored she stopped and closed her mouth, winked to the all-understanding Kivan and followed the two woman to the stable door, smiling for her accomplishing efforts, where she leaned against the wall and listened.
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The group gathered in the common room is taken aback when a drama-storm breaks out instead of the expected revelry and storytelling. As Idris and Seraphina head for the exit, tailed by Kivan and Pretty, Artus half rises from his seat and looks to Kesten. "My lord, shouldn't you - "
Kesten cuts him off. "No, lad. You let a commander discipline his own troops. Besides, I'm sure she can handle herself. Sit snug."
You do indeed find Bara in the stables. Oleg looks at your grim faces, looks to Bara, and gets lost pretty quickly for a big husky man. Your horses, unconcerned with the half-finished currycombing, find solace in their feedbags.
Bara has shed her traveling outer garments, and is clad in a simple white linen blouse and her leather riding pants. She sits reclining in a pile of hay, sharpening her falchion with an old, cracked whetstone. She takes Seraphina's admonishment silently, her eyes on her sword. She slides the stone in smooth strokes down the length of the blade with a raspy hiss, and cleans the edge on an oiled cloth to remove the swarf. Bara sits in silence for a few moments after Seraphina finishes speaking, and nods gently when Idris breaks the silence with her question.
"You are most perceptive," she begins, softly. "I knew as I spoke that you saw my falsehood. You'd make a good guard captain - pity the pickpockets on your beat." Bara looks up to meet Idris' and Seraphina's eyes. "I was false with Aldifierri as well. The nobleman who fell to my sabotage was not my target that day. He was. He had slighted a nobleman, or slept with someone's wife, or something likewise inconsequential - but enough to earn a contract for his head. I traveled to Pitax, and stalked him to his stage."
Bara is silent for a moment. She strops her freshly sharpened blade on a strap of leather. Her sword gleams, even in the low light of the stables.
"But I could not kill him. He was no challenge. In hindsight, it is strange, but my pride got in the way. I'm not a murderer, I'm an assassin."
Bara leaves a moment for you to process that finest of distinctions, and continues. "So I missed. I killed a man at random from the front row, and Aldifierri scattered with the rest. I returned to Daggermark, my mission a failure - not a refusal. The Assassin's Guild has a special punishment for those who refuse a contract: The offender is tortured to death as practice for the neophytes. Far better to make a mess of the job than balk at the kill. This lost contract must have been for a pretty penny, for it was the start of my loss of favor and eventual flight into the wild."
Bara tucks the supplies back in their pouch, leaving her naked sword across her lap.
"Imagine my thoughts when he turns up in the middle of f%$@ing nowhere. I could have killed him and taken proof to Daggermark, and earned reinstatement among the Assassins. I hailed Aldifierri, to sound his reasons for his new trade. Auchs asked me who the boatman was, and I told him. Auchs did not understand, until I spoke of Aldifierri's most popular role. The fool charged and forced me to take action. I was forced into instant action, and acted."
Bara's gaze lowers again. "I will not attempt to deceive you once more. I made no attempt to spare the idiot. The world is better off without his bumbling idiocy. I did not care to maim him and hear his mewling and face him again and again on the trail. I made my choice, and slew him on the spot."
Bara looks back up. "I will accept your judgement on this matter, Seraphina. Idris, you follow a martial code as well, and I will accept your judgement."
Bara's eyes narrow, and get hard and angry. She looks directly at Pretty. "And if your pit-born sneak thinks she can take me, she's welcome to f&*#ing try. I'm in just the mood to destroy something beautiful."
Pretty is not moved nor threatened by her efforts, but she sounds offended. "Although you both seem to think I'm a monster, my way of dealing with this situation would include no blades, but simply inviting you to take a seat on our celebration, since you were part of the victory we had. It would do you good to recall that not everything in this world is steel and blood, that woe you bring to those who seek it, but love and joy to the ones that want you close."
She raises her eyebrows, stating the obvious. "You may not believe it, but I'm also a person, and I've had those dread moods before, and would probably have gone the same path you did, were not for the help and guidance of some good people, who showed me that there are some good things to live for in this world."
Seraphina scoffed at Pretty's words, narrowing her eyes at the disguised tiefling. "Yes, I'm sure that's all you meant. And do not play the victim with me, I have never called you a monster, nor would I. But I do not appreciate your scene-making and maneuvering demands. This...," she indicated the open bickering in front of the crowd, "is unseemly. There was no need to force the matter now beyond your own impatience." Clearly she still seemed rankled over some slight upon her person from the tiefling but unwilling to pursue it further, releasing a sigh composed half of exasperation, and half of relief.
She was eager to move onto more comfortable seating and subjects, but she sensed that this was not a moment to be wasted, and so she settled herself down on the hay beside the troubled half-orc.
"That may be a better tale than the one they are waiting for us to spin inside. So it occurred to you to finish your task and regain the favor of the Guild in Daggermark... and then the perfect scapegoat barrels toward the mark with murderous intent... and still you acted to save the actor." She looked up into Bara's eyes, her own sparkling with amusement. "That must have been quite a performance... You realize, of course, that you could have fumbled your attempt to stop Auchs, leaving me to bear the shame that my folly led to the death of an innocent while you skipped off to Daggermark with his corpse for reinstatement. If I had to wager a guess, I would say that fate is testing your resolve and it's possible that you don't want to be reinstated anymore."
"So you will submit to our judgement, eh? Very well, let me see if I understand the circumstances correctly. In a situation that could easily have been played to the detriment of all but yourself, you acted to save the innocent, slay a criminal in violation of his "probation", and then stuck around for whatever arbitrary punishment we might conceive of for you. Frankly, Bara I'm more concerned that you attempted deception than I am that you killed Auchs. I am not in denial about your past. I trust and respect you enough to be vulnerable here before you and I do not mince my words to spare your anger, either. Why then, do you repay me with doubt and dissembling?" She shook her head sadly and turned to Idris.
"Idris, could you lead some training sessions on how to subdue an opponent using non-lethal tactics? That sounds like the most appropriate consequence for an incident of overuse of force to me, what do you think?"
"Also, I would appreciate it if you would join us inside and at least 'play civil' for our hosts, but I will leave you to your thoughts if you wish it." She patted Bara on the knee and rose to her feet dusting away the hay and dust and finishing off with a prestidigitation to freshen up before going inside. She blinked expectantly at Bara, waiting for her reply.
Pretty still makes an offended face when Sera starts being sarcastic, but she let the offensive drops.
"Common Bara, it will be fun! There's plenty of food and men, and not much to worry about! Don't worry, you will not lose your skill for sharing a meal with other people."
"Bara, I agree with Sera. You did the right thing, and I am sorry that we reacted so strongly and suspiciously at first."
Idris reaches out and takes Bara's hand in both of hers. "I beg your pardon, sword scion, for questioning your honor."
By calling her 'sword scion', Idris is acknowledging Bara's status as equivalent to her as a student of the blade; a title of respect.
She nods at Sera, agreeing to share her martial arts training with any of the group. She also makes a note to check on Oleg and teach him a few more exercises with the sword.
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Bara listens to what Seraphina and Idris have to say, less stonily now. "I do not wish to be among the Assassins again. After they ran me out of Daggermark with every novice assassin looking to make a name in my blood, it soured my desire to climb their ranks. It would, however, be nice to show my face in civilization without being marked for death."
The assassin has the decency to look ashamed when Seraphina scolds her for dishonesty. "I apologize for the deception. Old habits die hard. I will think on your words."
When Idris addresses Bara formally, she gets an odd look in her eye, unsure of exactly what has transpired. She accepts Idris' hands, and lets herself be hauled to her feet. Giving Pretty a hard look as she passes, Bara follows you inside the common room to the waiting crowd.
"No, none have passed through here since you left," Kesten says to Maja as they wait. The mercenary lord and his soldiers tuck into the smoked fish with a will. An ideal trail food, such delicacies are a staple of the life of the campaigning soldier. When you mention that you got the provisions from the kobolds, Kesten pulls a sour face and leaves the fish be. His troops do not seem to share his disdain, and quickly apprehend his portion for themselves.
Kesten rises with a slight grin as the remainder of the group returns from the stables. There's some murmurs as Bara enters with you, but nobody makes too big a fuss about it. "Lady Medvyed, you do us great hurt! We simply cannot bear another moment of ignorance; tell the tale of your deeds!"
Svetlana keeps the wine flowing as you recount the tale of your assault on the Stag Lord's keep and the events that transpired afterwards. The mercenaries are particularly interested in the battle, demanding a detailed recounting and making a mock diagram on the table with candied almonds and plums from the sweetmeats tray. The epic battle proves to be quite a hit in the retelling, and before too long a general celebratory mood hangs over the room. The wine certainly doesn't hurt the atmosphere. Bara sits in a composed fashion at the end of one of the tables, blending in with the party but not being very noticeable.
As the revelry draws down and the afternoon passes into a cool evening, the assembled sellswords and adventurers start to taper down the boasting and storytelling as the drinking catches up to people. Artus passes out with an arm around Pretty's shoulders, and Dhavik boasts obliviously to an unimpressed and uninterested Bara. Kesten nurses the dregs of the wine cask and questions you: "So then, what is next for your merry band?"
Pretty puts Artus' arms over the table in front of the man and lays his head on them. You gotta keep up, Rookie. I'm not your mother!
"I think we still have a lot of ground to cover. She starts in reply to Kesten.
Kivan has a few glasses of wine to simply be polite but his main focus of the evening is to finally get done with those gloves of his. After excusing himself he uses one of the empty tables to get done with the gloves while the others enjoy their party. Placing the newly created gloves in his pack Kivan nods at Pretty's words.
"Exploring seems like what we have left for ourselves mostly. Anything else we will just have to hope we encounter on our travels."
Sensing Bara's uncertainty, Idris explains as they walk from the stables: "A sword scion is the title given to students of the Aldori dueling style, such as myself, to indicate we are in a state of honor. When I and other initiates first appear before the school, all students, masters, and lords either greet them as a sword scion, or ignore them if they think they're unworthy. Obviously, Joanne, the woman you helped us defeat, was one of those who ignored me. It's only a ritual -- the Lords decide who to admit -- but it means a lot to an orphan girl of thirteen. What I'm saying is that I am sorry that I besmirched your honor. I'm glad we met, even if it was as foes, and that you've become our ally." Idris blushes a bit, unaccustomed to sharing so much of her past.
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Bara listens to what Seraphina and Idris have to say, less stonily now. "I do not wish to be among the Assassins again. After they ran me out of Daggermark with every novice assassin looking to make a name in my blood, it soured my desire to climb their ranks. It would, however, be nice to show my face in civilization without being marked for death."
The assassin has the decency to look ashamed when Seraphina scolds her for dishonesty. "I apologize for the deception. Old habits die hard. I will think on your words."
"Good, then. I understand it may have been awkward to tell us all of that in front of the gentleman. And I will think on how we might help remove that threat from over your head. I don't suppose there is such a thing as an anti-writ, is there? We'll talk more on it later... in the meantime, we shall just have to look out for one another." Seraphina said with a wink. To that end, she made sure to cast her newest spell over table laden with food and drink.
She greets Svetlana and Oleg warmly, making apologies for the tenseness of the earlier scene and sinking into her comfortable chair with the relish of one long used to comfort but who has been sorely without it for some time. She held up her wine glass in toast to their victory and caught sight of her reflection and the shining scales that now lined her eyelids. She had noticed no reaction from the Levetons or Kesten, but then she supposed it might seem like some manner of intentional adornment that some ladies painted upon themselves.
Seraphina contributed to the telling of the tale, but mostly let those who were more inclined to describe the action to the fighting men so that the tactics were properly highlighted. Primarily, she basked in the company of her friends and the comfort of this "home away from home". She chuckled inwardly at that, remembering that was how she had often thought of Stoneclimb in the years after the tragedy. Sera realized she still felt homeless after all this time and their constant rambling made her feel it all the more keenly.
Kesten's pointed question stirred her from her personal reverie.
"Well, Pretty is right. While the Stag Lord was the most menacing threat we had encountered thus far, there is still plenty of territory we must yet explore. We will also need to procure some heavy wagons and perhaps oxen to pull them to retrieve the whole of what they had stockpiled. I would much prefer to gather it where it can be guarded by your watchful eye, Lord Garess. Oleg, how long would it take to get wagons like those?"
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Oleg raises an eyebrow. "Well, miss, that there's an undertaking. Have to send to Restov for the wagons, and two oxen apiece for the haulin', teamsters to drive 'em, probably guards to keep 'em feeling safe. Food and water for the whole lot. I've never seen a teamster what won't drink his day's wage in whiskey or gin as part of the deal. Not to mention, tongues would be set a-wagging, who knows what types of ne'er-do-wells would race to claim a fat stack of plunder sitting free for the taking?"
Oleg jingles his coinpurse. "That's why we use coins, after all. Easy to transport and worth the same to everyone."
The common room, cozy in the warmth of the fire and the afternoon, is silent for awhile while people think.
Kesten speaks up. "You said you killed off all the bandits but the one group sent far afield. No real danger of someone stumbling across your cache in the middle of the wilderness, especially if the fort has a reputation for banditry. An already-built fort at a strategic location, even in disrepair, is worth a fair coin. What if you convince the Swordlord council to man it? The fort's yours by conquest, 'you have what you hold' and all. Pitch it to those stuffy fops as being already provisioned. They'll lap that up. You can be safe back home with gold up to your eyelids..."
Kesten looks at Seraphina a little strangely, but shakes it off and continues. "Up to your eyelids in gold and not have to worry at all about hauling all that stuff. You know, amateurs study tactics. Real generals study logistics!" He sits back, tipsy and proud of his pronouncement.
"You Have What You Hold" is one of the oft-quoted River Freedoms, the informal list of sayings that govern the day-to-day relations between the denizens of the River Kingdoms. In a land where so many skirmishes are fought, territory changes hands frequently. The River Folk acknowledge that ownership demands possession, and legal titles don't trump stout walls and well-armed defenders of property.
With all of this new company, Jegred seems a bit uncomfortable. He stays pretty quiet and lingers near Kivan for all of the drama, sharing the elf's sentiment about not getting involved.
Pretty studies logistics, or so she believes. "Indeed selling it to them would be a good choice, but first, they won't have the money to pay for it properly, and second, they will not be able to hold it with merely half a dozen soldiers. But, if we keep the fort and use our allegiance to them to gather some support in the form of a dozen soldiers, it will help us to cover more ground, having a base of operation among the stolen lands, and will increase their influence over the region. It's worth a try."