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Mexus ceases concentration on the portal as his acid misses its mark again. Wheeling around to the east, Mexus pulls out his trusty crossbow and lines up a shot on the southern-most wolf.
I hope that I hit the goblin when I miss. What's it's name Anklechewer? Craptosser? Well, it's not Kella, so it doesn't matter ...
Mexus watches the bolt sail over the goblin ... and the wolf ... and sink into a snow drift.
Well, I'm not finding that bolt until spring ...
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Damn, these wolves are hard to hit. If I could just put one to sleep, I could tie it up and bring it with us to Trollheim. There I could train it to be a powerful fighting pet, or maybe I could sell it ...
Actually, that sounds just like the parable of the Enchanter and the Baby Owl Bear. It's probably not worth the work to drag it back only to find that no one in Trollheim would pay me what it's worth. What a silly idea, Mexus ...
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No, I'm trying to lead the wolves away. Why do you goblins insist on following? I'd better try a different tactic.
Honus retraces his previous steps back toward the group trying to wedge himself between the closest wolf and pursuing goblin. He swings high to stay over his charges, but the risk is too great when Corpselicker begins hopping up and down with arms in the air.
"You're too close! Get back, Frostfur!"
Current HP: 10/11
Current AC: 18
Current CMD: 16
Active Conditions: none
The wolves snarl and dart back and forth, shaking off the goblins as they leap onto their scrawny backs. Honus' blade whistles over the head of one while Zaiharahel steps forward to try and stab another.
His blade stabs into the snow, and the wolf takes the opportunity to leap at his throat.
It's teeth snap futilely mere inches from Zaiharahel's neck. The second wolf lunges forward to bite at Honus' thigh.
It's teeth rake across his armor, but fail to find purchase.
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Honus gasps and repositions his shield.
That was too close! Had he gotten my leg, I could have been dragged to the ground. There would be no way of forcing myself back up in this powdered snow. I can't let that happen. Keep your shield and stance low and swing across, not down.
He bends his knees and slashes left to right, across the front of his body. His shield slides across with the follow through, ending in a slightly lower position between him and the wolf. He rotates his wrist and readies another slash in the opposite direction.
Current HP: /11
Current AC: 18
Current CMD: 16
Active Conditions: none
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Zaiharahel narrows his eyes as he scratches at his thankfully un-ripped throat, then pivots again, sword swinging through the air as he stabs at the wolf standing next to him (yellow dot, assuming flanking, but who knows).
to hit.
Zaiharahel locks his eyes on the wolves, watching for openings through which to stab. "...Do you think there's any more? Don't they usually attack in larger groups?"
Blades sweep through the crisp morning air with glittering arcs that for the most part miss but occasionally connect with a wolven pelt. Beneath the ministrations of Fahim and Zaiharahel's attacks one of the wolves yelps its last, going down in a flurry of blood and snow.
The remaining wolf, hemmed in on all sides, leaps once again with frantic hunger at Honus' throat.
It's jaws snap futily at nothing, and it crouches, whining and snarling at the same time as its eyes roll and it tries to keep all its assailants in sight.
With a whimper the last wolf goes down, Zaiharahel's blade sliding into its neck and finding its heart as he plunges it in almost to the hilt. The silence that follows is broken only by the goblin's wails, as the fall to their knees and raise their heads to the heavens and cry out in loss.
Still, they are quickly distracted by breakfast, and you all break camp as the four of them sit happily on a rolled up tent, munching their rations and occasionally punching each other in the face or screaming for no reason.
According to your calculations you should be reaching Harvest's End today, and indeed by noon you top a ridge and see the Rimeflow River undulating before you like a serpentine dagger, the small village ensconced within a curve of the bank. From where you stand you can make out merchants in colorful garb, easily distinguished from the more drably dressed locals. No sounds of laughter or play filter up to you, and you can see a dozen or so fishermen displaying their catches on the narrow street that follows the river's edge. Smoke rises from the chimneys of uniform but well constructed buildings, most of which are surrounded by white picket fences.
All in all, it's a small but subdued town, neatly arranged but with a dismal air of oppression hanging thickly over it. The goblins immediately thrill at the sight, and Kella turns officiously to Mexus.
"This good place for Kella to eat big meal. Kella approve. She want salt herring and fried kipper and moose liver and pig eyes. Served all at once! Hot! With dwarf ale and elf wine and orc beer to drink! We can go down now, Kella is ready."
The other three stare at her with admiration.
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Merchants deal in more than just wares. They trade information about who or what they see in their travels, and our group could quickly bring unwanted attention upon itself.
Honus looks down at Kella as she begins to drool, then withdraws the map from his pack and uncurls it to review Ragna's notes. Once finished, he addresses Kella and his companions.
"This little town is not worth sticking around for, and they have little to offer aside from trouble. We should look for the ferry and get across the river as soon as we can. Trollheim is a larger city, Kella, and will have a lot more of those things you are looking to eat. Is there anything we need from this town? Is anyone low on supplies? Do we all head in together or should someone scout ahead to find the ferry captain?"
Honus checks his own rations and supplies and feels content with his stock. He looks upon the fishing village and considers it.
This place gives me a queer reminder of Railford. I'm sure the people are nice enough, but I don't care to give them enough time to prove it. After this morning, I'm starting to run low on patience. The sooner we cross into friendly territory, the better, and that won't come until we reach Trollheim.
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Ugh, this whole trip is miserable, wolves, cold, goblins, cold, why can't we stay in the city for a night? Although, the less time we have to look after these goblins, the better...
"As much as I hate to admit it, I think you're probably right, Honus. I'm not good with maps, anyone know how far we are from Trollheim? We could probably use some additional food just in case we get snowed in somewhere."
Zaiharahel furrows his brow.
"...Or, you know, just in case this forsaken cold stops, it magically turns to spring, and we decide to make a picnic to honor whichever god thought that up. Whichever."
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Mexus looks from Kella to Honus and back, considering their words while 'Hel rattles his bone box. After a few moments of consideration he nods to Honus and says to Kella, "Honus is right. There are too many people to there to risk a visit. If we need specific supplies, one of us can in to collect them. Otherwise, I think Zaiharahel should head off to find a ferry, and the rest of us can stay here and make ready to continue on to Trollheim." Mexus looks to Fahim, half expecting him to disagree and justify his stance based on the angle of the sun to the mountains on the horizon indicating a predisposition for infernal beings to spontaneously manifest near goblins, or something equally as ignorant and prejudiced.
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"I agree as well. The brazen Saladin would have never made it to the Floating Palace of Gold, with its many skybound treasures, if he had stopped at every tent and merchant's cart on the way there. I have no need of any supplies. I will wait here with our fellow goblinoid travelers while we determine where our path will take us next."
Leaving the group in the hills just above the town, Zaiharahel descends through the snowy bluffs and quickly finds a decent trail that leads right into the outskirts. The buildings are uniform, built in a solid manner meant to withstand the winter, with high, peaked roofs and somber colors. The townsfolk match the mood, dressed in conservative, warm clothing, and with a sullen and resigned expression to their faces.
For all that, however, there are still signs here and there that evince a certain determination to take what small pleasures they can from life. Small, delicate blue flowers bloom here and there on window sills, and the town is kept scrupulously clean. People seem healthy if not happy, and there is an air of quiet prosperity to the town.
In the near distance Zaiharahel can see the river itself, where no doubt the ferry is located. There's a small central square in which he's standing, with what might be a modest little inn to one side. At the far end of the square a beleaguered looking old man is selling roasted chestnuts, with folks drawing close as much for the warmth of his little grill as the goods he's selling.
The town is clearly clustered around the ferry, which is located in the middle of the bank.
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Zaiharahel takes in his surroundings, and then begins moving down to the river to take a look at the ferry, and attempt to gain more information to bring to the group. If possible, gaining the information without speaking to people, (i.e., posted travel times on a board) but if necessary, gathering information from citizens.
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Honus slowly paces around the group, hand upon his hilt as he keeps a wary eye on their surroundings. After a spell of Zaiharahel's absence, he stops and faces the group.
"I just thought of something. What if the ferry only travels once daily, and it's ready to go when Zaiharahel gets there? He won't be able to delay them long enough to retrieve us. That means we'll be stuck here overnight. Maybe we should head down after him? At least he's had a lead on us to find the ferryman. Unless the ferry has already gone today... then we're already too late and better off not being seen until just before the ferry travels tomorrow. Should we really just wait for him to return, or head down there to find him?"
Zaiharahel drifts down to the Rimeflow itself, and there sizes up the ferry. It's a large, flat vessel, big enough to load a half dozen cows onto but without any amenities. No sail, no benches. There's no board posted with times or anything to that effect, but what he does spot is a large humanoid that must stand almost seven feet tall coiling a thick length of rope in a proprietary manner.
The creature's skin is tinged blue as if by frost, and thickened around the shoulders, elbows, and knuckles as if blue stone had calcified there over the years. A vicious hatchet of a nose extends nearly six inches in a vicious arc, and its eyes are small and beady. Two great tusks extend from his lower jaw, and a thick white wolf pelt is draped over his shoulders, with the wolf's head hanging over his own.
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Fahim is busy inspecting his extracts and powders, Mexus stares intently at nothing with the utmost concentration, and the Frostfur clan lazily attack one another out of boredom. None provide Honus with any attention whatsoever, as if he had never even spoken. He feels his heart sink and a sudden recognition of emptiness in his belly causes him to look down upon himself, not out of expectation to observe visual signs of hunger, just merely a gut reaction.
Why do I bother? None of them care for what I have to say. Probably because I don't offer any constructive opinions. Stick to patrol, Honus. Let the others do the thinking. They are better at it, anyway.
He bites the inside of his lower lip and nods his head slightly with self realization, and continues his slow pace around the camp. His thoughts occupy his focus more than their surroundings, however, impeding the effectiveness of his guard.
The massive creature rears up to its full height, and stares down at Zaiharahel with its piggy little eyes. It's not quite as large as some of its brethren, but up close there can be no mistaking it. This creature is an ice troll, and would have been banished to the wilderness in any other nation but Irrisen. Here, however, it counts as a citizen, and it sneers down at the elf revealing massive incisors.
"An arse-licking elf. Well well well, if it ain't Rimetusk's lucky day. Crossing the river, eh? You and your fancy friends?" His voice is loud and rough.
"This ferry is Rimetusk's. That's me." He jabs a thumb into his chest. "I'm the one the White Throne sent to watch this miserable town, and I'm the one who decides who crosses. And who don't."
He leans down then, grinning with sadistic pleasure. "And I say, you don't get to cross, elf. Got it?"
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Mexus looks over to the goblins and wrinkles his nose as they play some sort of game involving chips of bone and a what looks like the bloody stump of a rat's tail. He then glances to Fahim contemplating his powders and extracts. Mexus then glances over to Honus, taking in his dower and isolated expression, before returning to his quiet contemplation.
Why do I bother? None of them give a damn what the evil infernalist has to say ... maybe after a couple of years, after I save save their lives with the help of a damned soul or two, this sort of blatant prejudice against the demonic will begin to flag ...
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Zaiharahel nods to the troll. "No worries, I understand completely. We hate spending coin anyway." Zaiharahel turns and starts walking away. "...I'm sure someone else will come along and be willing to pay you money for standing on a boat. That'll mean you're not getting paid nothing, standing down here by the river all day coiling and uncoiling the same rope. Best of luck!"
The troll simply watches Zaiharahel walk away, eyes slitted, mouth pursed in annoyance.
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Zaiharahel sniffs, wrinkling his nose at Honus. "...Well, the ferry is run by a troll named Rhyme-tusk. Not very friendly. Also doesn't seem to be interested in money. Especially money held by elves." Zaiharahel scratches his neck in thought. [b]"...His boat didn't look like much. But I guess it's better than nothing. Maybe one of you could talk some sense into him, but he didn't really seem like the sense-talking type. So we may be stuck here until we can figure something out."
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"As my caravan mistress used to say, 'the only people who don't care about money are the dead and the dumb.' I suspect your troll friend likes money just fine, he may just be getting paid more by someone else.'"
Fahim looks to their goblin companions who are currently playing a "game" with a rabbit, though it looks like the only way to lose that game is to be the rabbit.
"Unless someone tells me otherwise, I'm guessing we can't cross the river ourselves. We shouldn't have too much trouble moving through town with our friends, and then its just a matter of convincing the troll to let us pass. I've never negotiated with a troll before, but I do have some experience arguing with stubborn, egotistical monster-blooded individuals, so I'm willing to give it a shot."
Hopefully this troll isn't an infernalist like the last monster-blooded idiot I argued with.
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Honus frowns at news of the ferryman's lack of customer service, but nods at the possibility of Fahim negotiating passage for them... at least at first. His eyes flash wide when he recognizes the passive aggressive comments for what they really are. He risks a quick glance at Mexus, then quickly averts his gaze while clearing his throat.
"Um. Yes, well... We should get into town quickly before another snow storm rolls in. Let's go everyone. Up on your feet and ready to go, right now, please. The sooner we get across that river, the safer we will be. And the sooner we can all get a good meal in Trollheim, right, Kella?"
Okay, keep them all busy. Don't give an opportunity for them to start up an argument again.
Honus hoists his pack and helps everyone to gather their belongings in order to get them moving into town.
The group makes its way into town, descending along the narrow ridge to the path and then through the outlying buildings to the central square. There Zaiharahel leads the group to the Rimeflow itself, where the ice troll can be seen staring morosely out over the lead colored water which races swiftly by.
Noting the arrival of the group, the troll turns and stares, curious and wary, but not yet close enough to both hailing them.
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Well, Zaiharahel has definitely failed to do justice to the impressive stature of our ferryman. There are trolls, and then there are TROLLS. Still, if I can negotiate with a fire elemental for safe passage through the Dunes of Golden Fire, I can negotiate with an ice troll for safe passage over a muddy river. However, before every good negotiation comes good information gathering. Let's see what the town has to say about our formidably fanged ferryman.
Fahim turns to the group after assessing the troll.
"Well, we have found our means of passage, but first let's make sure we have what we need before we cross. This shop over here looks like a general store, let's see if they have what we need inside."
Fahim then leads the group into the store, to see what type of goods they sell, and what the proprietor of the shop looks like.
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"Good thinking, Fahim.
Zaiharahel, maybe it's best that the troll not see you with us. He may be less inclined to take our money if he knows we're traveling together. How smart and perceptive are trolls, anyway? We could try and disguise you. Any magic that could help us here, Mexus?"
Honus tries to picture the lanky, blond elf as anything but.
I don't see us being able to convince a troll that he is an old woman, but maybe someone will have a better idea for passing him off.
"We could pack you in a crate until we get across. Fahim, why don't you check on crate prices while inside that store?"
That might actually be our best bet... unless Mexus can open up a hole to some other plane that pees disguises out. Gross.
Slowly shaking his head, Honus frowns at the thought.
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Honus nods at Zaiharahel and looks at Mexus, then back at Fahim who seems to taking an unusually long time to enter the shop, then across the town square to the troll, and finally he glances toward the sun, peaking its way though thin grey clouds that scatter all the way to the horizon.
"Whatever action we take, we should take soon. We still have ground to cover once across the river."
Honus reaches into a pack and draws out some dry, stringy meat. Pulling it into uniform strips, he hands one to the Kella and each of the other Frostfur goblins.
The interior of the store is dimly lit by the pale sunlight as it filters in through the beveled windows. The room is small, but shelving lines the walls, built from finely carved dark wood. While not exuberantly stocked, the store seems to carry all the basic necessities for life out here in the cold.
A young boy stands behind the counter, playing with what looks like carved wooden knights. At the sight of Fahim, he straightens up, bangs his little hand on a bell, and smiles brightly.
"Welcome to Rorim and Son's Everything Emporium. Here you will find everything that you need, whether it be physical in nature or of a spiritual dimension. My father should be here shortly. In the meantime, please browse to your heart's content, and if you have any special requests, we can place an order for you post haste."
He smiles, proud of his recitation, and a moment later a side door opens and a tall, spindly man enters, adjusting his wireless spectacles. His nose resembles a parrot beak, and the dome of his head seems to have pushed through his hair, which has nestled around his ears.
"Ah, good morning," he says, stepping up next to his son. "How may we be of service?"
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Fahim beams with his well practiced smile, both at the child's introductory recitation and at the greeting of the shopkeeper.
"And a good morning to you both, in return. I had thought, for a moment, that the young man was the proprietor of the shop, given his seasoned greeting when we walked in. I see now that he has a partner in this venture."
Fahim winks at the young boy and gives him another warm smile.
to befriend the shopkeeper and his son.
"My friends and I are looking to refill our supplies, and I will leave them to that business."
Fahim looks to the rest of the group to continue checking out the wares and determining what we need. Fahim then turns back to the shopkeeper to continue talking.
"While they handle that, I'm always happy to hear any interesting news, if you have any."
Fahim raises his eyebrows in interest to see if he can prompt the shopkeeper to start chatting away with his potential customers.
"News? There's not much of that to share, fortunately." The father sits on a stool behind the counter and smiles at Fahim. "There's word of Ulfen raids north along the border, but there's always word of that. They day the Linnorn Kinds accept that this territory has been lost to them is the day they shave off their beards. Let's see, what else. I'm sure you're not interested in farming woes. Is there something in particular you'd like know about?"
The father's eyes gleam with an intelligent look.
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Fahim nods his head in appreciation and returns the gaze with a similar understanding.
"Well, I would be a sorry traveler if I didn't ask for the current travel news. Weather across the river, normal travel routes, distance to the next resupply store, and charges to cross on the ferry. You know, the kinds of things any sensible person would want to know before leaving the safety and warmth of your fine establishment. Now, that being said, I'm not claiming to be one of those sensible people, far from it, but I've had the benefit of knowing a few in my time, and those seem to be the kinds of things they care about."
Fahim gives a small chuckle at his self-deprecating joke.
The father nods. "Weather is treacherous and prone to changing at a moment's notice, though after the storm that blew through yesterday we should enjoy a day or two's calm. A good time to push in whatever direction you're headed. As for the distance to the next resupply store, that would depend on where you're headed. But any any attempt to cross the river will require using Rimetusk's ferry, which... can require a finesse approach. Transport is supposed to be free." Rorim gives an uneasy shrug. "Supposed to be, at any rate."
"It depends on his mood, I suppose. Sometimes he will simply deny passage outright if it suits him. As the official representative of White Throne, he has... a certain authority that he wields with impunity. We simply wait out his moods. Sometimes it takes a couple of days, but it's better than confronting him."
Rorim glances at the party moving through the store then back to Fahim with a speculative look. "Of course, if something were to befall Rimetusk, the White Throne would hear about it eventually through the local tax collector. And our town would be most severely punished. Reprisals in this land are meant to educate as much as they are about justice."