Wan smirk turning up but a single corner of his mouth Phillip nods assent at the group's acceptance that he tread into the lion's den of opulence. Words formed to press and clarify "More importantly... what would be said? We were set a task and pledged to fulfil it... and have not yet. I would caution against us sharing much if any of what we have found."
Braddon blinks.
"What have we found? Lil isn't dead yet. I think we've been wasting our time," he grumbles.
"We've made the excellent acquaintance of the Gethers", Gristav says, at once sincerely thankful and hoping to remind Braddon of the farmer in earshot.
"Tendal, I don't make much use of the spell myself, but reading in your text the acetic assault has reminded me, would it be too awkward for you to maintain a scruple of such as a signal source, a ready referent to the desired dire directable?"
"My own most usual similar spell can similarly benefit, but from a far more expensive reagent. I wouldn't suggest it as a crutch, but as a hammer?"
"Oh, and Tendal... let's spend some of these idler hours with the notes we've each made, of the arts we share? And Snake, if you think it might benefit you? You're welcome at my book, at least."
By the light of the campfire, the rabbits turning on spits, Tendal weighs in on the cloak.
"As for examination of the spells that we have each been working on Gristav...of course. I would love to show you what I have devised recently. I think that at the minimum, one of the spells will be quite useful to you when you are in close combat. That examination will have to wait until we have returned to the Gold Goblin however. Quill, ink and a quiet space are best for translation and rumination over spells."
"My only concern with the carrying of acid is that it actually is acid. To be useful as a reagent, the potency must be such that it can etch and scar metals. So it has to be in glass vials rather than the normal tin or steel that most potions are poured into. Glass has an unhealthy problem with breakage, unless made sturdily, which unfortunately makes it a weighty and unwieldly container."
"Also, acid is not come by at the cheap. It seems...impractical at best, to utilize it for mere acid cantrips, which is all I have at the moment. Unless you know of some ability to stretch the use of the reagent?"
"Mr. Hargreaves, do we need say anything to your contact? I think we have an idea of where our quarry has come to roost. Previously, we were in the process of discussing how to best capitalize on that information. My question is whether it is wise to discuss it here, or wait until we return to the Gold Goblin? It would be less than fair to involve Gether in our affairs, however obliquely."
"Well, you are talking to a man for whom best rest is often found under a bough. But I did not mean transcription al fresco, in the ancient elven manner...", Gristav solemnly intoned, with a silent smirk. "Rather, just the examination that might let either of us prepare of either volume. A more communal apbroach than traditional in any collegium. But I believe you'll find it servicable, and if risk is part of your maths, you will find in my later pages, considerable mitigation thereof."
"And of the cost of the acid, or of whatever reagent, I believe the words amortization,catalyst, and focus will be sufficient prompts to your highly-educated memory. Somewhere among dinners at overlong tables, scowls of hired tutors, perhaps the flashing eyes of a scurrying server? Somewhere in there. You might have drowsed, that day."
Casting an idle glance over towards Gether, Phil confirms that the parsnip afficionado is suitably indisposed with the horses before continuing in response to Tendal "If I had my free will with what ensues I'd play to sharing nothing with Saul nor the Silken Veils... I do think it worth putting in an appearance for the whore mistress, to show if nothing else that we are unconcerned and unbowed. Speak to surety that we're resolving upon her request and leave it there."
"All our power and agency in what ensues will come from firstly finding Lil, secondly securing her compliance by whatever means are necessary... and then deciding upon how to dispose of her. Multiple parties have bid us to do their bidding... but absent Lil's personal knowledge of proceedings I don't think we can commit to knowing which path best serves our purpose."
"Well, you are talking to a man for whom best rest is often found under a bough. But I did not mean transcription al fresco, in the ancient elven manner...", Gristav solemnly intoned, with a silent smirk. "Rather, just the examination that might let either of us prepare of either volume. A more communal apbroach than traditional in any collegium. But I believe you'll find it servicable, and if risk is part of your maths, you will find in my later pages, considerable mitigation thereof."
"And of the cost of the acid, or of whatever reagent, I believe the words amortization,catalyst, and focus will be sufficient prompts to your highly-educated memory. Somewhere among dinners at overlong tables, scowls of hired tutors, perhaps the flashing eyes of a scurrying server? Somewhere in there. You might have drowsed, that day."
Tendal thinks for a moment, absently pulling out his pipe, filing it and lighting it with an ember tipped stick from the fire.
"The cape is woven with spells that help one resist magics, I recommend that someone who may have challenges in that regard utilize it. If not, I would like to sell it so I can work on more scrolls. I am running a bit short on my papered spells." he announces.
"I see what you are thinking now Gristav." he continues after a moment. [b]"For the stronger magics, the acid would be expended in the matrix to heighten the effectiveness, however for a cantrip, it merely serves as a foci for the weave."
"It might be better for me to expend funds on scrolls rather than the acid however. I find that my ability to launch magics into melee is somewhat limited by the difficulty of aiming said magical discharges."
"As for my spellbook, yes, we can exchange and peruse in a few moments." he says, and puffs out a bit of smoke.
Braddon mumbles quietly, "The path that best suits my purposes is to strangle her to death with my own hands for what she did to Gramma."
"Ĉu via avino volas vin havi tian memoron?" , Gristav guides gently. "Tio tuŝi belan gorĝo en estonteco eble memoras ke kolero kaj ruinigi? Homoj vicigitaj fari justecon, kaj batalo alkonduku honesta fino. Bonvolu, frato, indulgi vin mem la makulo."
Braddon scowls.
"Vidu vi diras, ke se ŝi mortigis Larur ankaŭ."
Phil allows himself a small internal smile at Braddon's retort, but doesn't seek to impose himself on the conversation. Words would be exchanged if words could, but ultimately a man's vengeance is his own.
Tendal simply frowns and puffs away at his pipe, unable to follow the conversation between his companions.
Braddon scowls.
"Vidu vi diras, ke se si mortigis Larur ankau."
"I don't suspect that. Not her. Style doesn't match. But whoever, did? Yes, I'd avenge. But not slowly, staring at them. Just efficiently. I don't expect anything I can do, is worse than what awaits her. Them. Whoever."
"And if it IS? If they're going to a better place, than under my wroth? Then, maybe I was wrong. And why torture them? Why become, a torturer? Why add, to the evil in the world?"
Phillip merely adds "Each man seeks vengeance in his own way."
"Each instant, is a cradle of the future. A man looks into that cradle, and sees three infants, and must choose, which are his. In the burning house of the moment, how many can he carry? Will he choose for any resemblance he sees? For their beauty? For their manner? What if, he knows their names? Vengeance? Justice? Mercy?"
"You're right, none should judge him, afterwards, on whichever was not saved. The instant was passing. The house, was aflame. But he might still judge himself. That too, would be his choice."
"Maybe, the loud cry of Vengeance, was to help him find the cradle."
Arrus Gether returns to the campfire from his last check on the horses for the night, oblivious to any conversation upon which he may be intruding. "Time to hit the sack. We'll want to be off as early as we can see the road in the morning to be sure and make Riddleport before dark. Sun sets early in the devil's city." He chuckles hoarsely.
"I don't feel that we have resolved anything." Tendal says with a disgruntled moue.
"I think we need a plan before we reenter the chaos and confusion of Riddleport. Do we go to this Boneyard, to get the lay of the land?"
"Nope."
Braddon shakes his head.
"It'll only take a few hours extra to go around it."
"Boneyard?" Gether puts in in an aghast tone. "No one goes through the Boneyard. Your friend here's right." He claps Braddon on the shoulder. "Some shortcuts aren't worth the time saved."
Cutting his eyes from one speaker to another, Snake remarks, "It's just a boneyard. Can't be that bad."
"I'm sure, like most of Riddleport, it's not what it seems, yet worse than it appears. Someone strives to convince travelers of ghosts. The why of that is the real mystery. That they use magic suggests there is magic to be had, for those with more luck than caution."
"I would guess at smuggling, but that's hardly any gamble at all."
Gether grunts, clearly unconvinced. "You want to go hunting ghosts or smugglers, you'll do it without me. I don't care to meet either," he says with an air of finality. "I can leave you on the road to the Boneyard, or I can take to you to Riddleport through Lubbertown and you can go back out; but I won't be driving through it. Oughtn't to be talking about ghosts after dark in the middle of nowhere," he whines, glancing around the shadowed countryside. "It's bad luck."
Cutting his eyes from one speaker to another, Snake remarks, "It's just a boneyard. Can't be that bad."
"It is that bad. I should know. I almost died there. Gether is right. No more talking about it. We take the long way. I'm not being turned green again."
At Gether's return Phillip goes quiet on their intent... taking great effort to not grumble as others fail to follow suit. He keeps words of intent to himself for the moment... set a wonder as to whether it might just be easier to slip from the cart as they passed the Boneyard so as to scout... but that decision is not for the now.
With port nor kahve available, he settles for a mug of stale water - moving to one side to commune with the darkness and his thoughts as others turn to slumber.
"The magic that turned you green was not a magic of spirits, but of men. Remember what you saw, my fine Huntsman, and not what you feared. A man? A human? You would know, yes? And if not a human, then what? Dwarf? Orc? What else have you seen? What else did it move like? What do you know? Not what do you fear?"
"Malkith cast a spell on you, just before, a spell that would protect you from ghosts. But it didn't. Because he was not a ghost."
"And hear now what I saw, and Snake as well, when we walked that same road. Remember, your ghost captain had been thwarted; he hadn't gained a crewman. But he never tried to take either of us. Never made any appearance at all. Because he wasn't some powerful protection-besting ghost. He was a man, alright, not a human, but a man, who had used his magics of the day, just as you've seen Tendal or I wear ours out. And he didn't have what he needed, to challenge even two men afoot, after having only scared, four men ahorse."
"He is just a person. Who likes to fighten travellers, who tries, to rob them? I won't say, such a fellow needs killing, such a fellow bears questioning. He's seen you cowed; I think it's time he sees you bully."
Cutting his eyes from one speaker to another, Snake remarks, "It's just a boneyard. Can't be that bad.""It is that bad. I should know. I almost died there. Gether is right. No more talking about it. We take the long way. I'm not being turned green again."
"That's right," Gether nods in agreement. "Decision's made. Now let's get some shut-eye." He pulls his bedroll a little closer to where the horses are hobbled before climbing in.
"Seeing that Gether has no interest in going along that path, and our own party is none too certain, I sense that we might better be served on the known way, and simply return to town." Tendal says, a thin thread of smoke curling up from the end of his pipe.
"Bah. Magic courses, redoubles again, and 'caution', call the sword and pipe. Was't caution, won you wyrd and wealth and wile? Boredom, brought you boldly to this buckboard bed?"
"Bah."
Taking up his bow and quiver (the staff being slung), Gristav finds a nearby rise to cast a shadow from any fire that might be lit, and settles himself in the shade of it, looking about as if evaluating a hunting stand. Which he was, more or less, for game he hoped not to see.
Returning empty-handed for his bedroll, Gristav reasons aloud, with all the certainty of a teacher at maths, and the same hope of being heard, "Mister Gether, let your worries keep you awake a while, and stir Braddon before you retire. The rest of us have particular needs to rest undisturbed. Snake, is your companion like his fellows, most active in the pre-dawn? His freedom is likely to serve us well."
"Goodnight, all."
Snake shrugs, "Probably." Moving on to the matter at hand, "I'll keep watch first." Snake then settles in and lets the mongoose loose. "Stay close, Luck. Can't afford to lose you, friend."
"Almost died, I say," Braddon grumbles as he settles for the night. "Someone wake me for the deadman's watch. Gently. I'm a light sleeper."
Braddon's snores soon reverberate a few minutes later.
Tendal breaks out his bedroll and finding a comfortable looking hollow between some tree roots, settles down for the evening...making no mention of the watch at all.
Phil looks over towards Serpe as he joins the halfling for the first 'watch'... though introspection rather than outwards inspection seems to be more on the Calistrian's mind.
The quintet of men settle down for the night, some to sleep, some to quiet wakefulness. The uneven ground, baked hard in the summer heat, is far less comfortable than last night's hayloft; the foursome from Riddleport can't help but look forward wistfully to the next night when they will hopefully be back in their own beds in the Gold Goblin.
The sky is barely gray on the eastern horizon before Gether is on his feet, seeing to the horses. "Rise and shine, my gents," he chortles in obscenely good humor for the early hour. "A timely start makes for a timely arrival."
Dark eyed and black of mind Phillip mouths some choice insults in Halfling before stretching and seeking his preferred corner of the hellcart.
Braddon snuffles something, rolls over and snores gently.
Tendal groans as he rises from his bedroll. "When I came up from Sandpoint, I had to sleep in the open every night as well. Once more, I am reminded of why I hate the wilds." Tendal says part groan, part grump.
"I believe that both Gristav and I need to study, and we should break our fast before proceeding." Tendal announces.
And unkinking my back before I get back into the cart may be a good idea...or I will end up permenantly crippled.
"You have to negotiate with the wilds, Tendal. They'll meet you partway. A rounded hollow, instead of a bed of stones, the shelter of a tree that's not dripping sap... I wouldn't call them generous, and, I think the Goblin's bed too soft. Like Elven, it certainly isn't beyond you, just needs habituation."
"My magister, if you like", Gristav approached, setting his trail-wrapped tome within the merchant's reach. "I've been up an hour or more. Very strange dreams. Running breakneck through woods, like these, someone had need of me... In the manner of a dream, though, I couldn't know who."
"But it had me awake in time to steal a march, figuratively... literately. When your own references are done, if I might view your notes? You've got something, in that Armentum Arcanum, better than my own best approach. I'd prepare that, against trouble."
Snake rises as Luck climbs upon his shoulder. The tall man gathers his things, places his hat upon his head and proceeds over to Braddon. Giving the ranger a nudge with his boot - possibly more than one, "Time to go, bub. Nap time's over." He then heads for the wagon and readies to leave.
Gether grumbles over Tendal's requested delay. "We can eat in the wagon. Waste of time to sit while sunlight's burning. The sooner we get moving, the sooner we'll arrive." He sets about readying the horses and getting them hitched to the wagon.
Tendal sighs as if the entire weight of the world was on his shoulders and groans to his feet at Gether's summons.
"Gristav, I believe that is where you and I find our differences. I believe that the wild is just that, wild, and like magic is best when either set orderly and contained or left to itself. Meeting the wilderness halfway leaves neither satisfied. My back least of all." Tendal grumbles, making his way to the wagon.
"The softness of the bed is in direct reflection of the mind's requirements to deal with the problems required of it. In the wild, where intellect is less a requirement than one's intuition, ones connection with the wilderness and what it contains, the bed can be as hard as stone. Where the wilds of city dwelling need be challenged, intellect reigns supreme in matters of mercantile and magic."
"Time to go, bub. Nap time's over." He then heads for the wagon and readies to leave.
"Masnt evn anp."
Braddon struggles to his feet with what appears to be an inhuman effort and collapses into the back of the cart.
After riding all day yesterday and spending the night on the ground, the road seems even bumpier than the day before. Gether hums a repetitive tune that begins to grate on the nerves after the first hour. The sun beats down mercilessly on the uncovered wagon as it snails its way across the open countryside, and every eye is fruitlessly peeled for the rocky ridge behind which Riddleport is nestled to appear on the western horizon.
The road and Gether turn toward the north, however, before it can be distinguished from the Calphiak Mountains beyond the Velashu. "Have to go around and in through Lubbertown," Gether grunts in explanation. Avoiding the Boneyard Cut will clearly add a couple of hours at least to the journey ... but the party should still arrive before sunset.
"I'm fine with going around," Braddon grunts, stubbornly gritting his teeth against the rattle of the cart.
However, from the pained expression on his face, it doesn't look like it would be hard to convince him otherwise.
"It's a man, Braddon. A man who tricked you. I'd like to ask him why. I understand, being afraid of any real ghost. I rode hard past, myself, on my way in. Lost my hat. But it's no ghost, that casts a spell on a horse. And it was no man, stopped arrows without a flinch. Sounds like a big puppet to me. And a man, back in the mist, casting a spell. To make things glow."
"We get there with hours of daylight left, and maybe you find him, make him explain."
"And maybe, I find my hat."
"More coins for Mr. Gether, even just for standing by. 'Hazard' pay. Money his wife wasn't expecting. And all of Riddleport to find something nice in. Or maybe proper carboys for next season's wine? You could take him round to your alchemist friend. Your other, alchemist friend."
To any demurring look, Gristav answers,
"It's a really good hat."
"I would be interested. I need to get off of this wagon before my spine rebels and climbs up to throttle my brain." Tendal says testily.
"Could you", Gristav asks levelly, "Recall the particulars of the case as discussed, and concur with my estimation of the ethereal fluorescence, and it's... presentedly, passed-away patron, assuring our aggrieved aelf-get, that while he may never have been welcome, he was also never haunted?"
After a beat, Gristav reducts, "Tell Braddon, it was no ghost."
Noticing Braddon's "look of excitement", hearing Tendal's complaint, internally complaining himself about how hot it is, combined with the mere idea of having to listen to Gristav for an extra two to three hours, "We're going through the boneyard. You hear that, Gether? The boneyard. None of us want to be on this heap any longer than what we've been." Looking to Braddon, "You're a tough guy, but if things get scary, we'll protect you," he says tongue in cheek and with his typical stone-like expression. Although, one could swear they saw the slightest hint of a sardonic smile for just a mere moment.