"Antlers! Oho! So there are stag people in these woods. Don't tell Colin, or we'll never eat the venison again!" jokes Guillame.
Guillame considers the liquor bottle. "Hm. "Stag Lord". Is a good name for a drink, e'? Guillame must remember this for later."
He offers the bottle to the bandit.
"Very good. Now, the harder questions. There was a wedding ring one of you stole. From the trading post, non? But we do not find it here. So, do your companions have it? Where are they? How many?"
The bandit takes the bottle and a swig. He winces.
"I wouldn't normally be so quick to spill all this, but you and your crew clearly mean business, and I ain't dyin' for no drunk demon, couldn't give two s##*s about me." He winces again, but this time at the pain from his wounds, takes another swig, winces a third time, then hands the bottle back.
"A ring? Was likely with the bags some mites stole yesterday. Little bastards snuck in and ran right off when we spotted 'em. But we didn't chase after because they didn't take much of value. As for companions... eh there's maybe eight others? About a dozen or so around this camp. Plenty more back at the boss' fort."
Mites are one of the least powerful fey creatures. Small and so ugly as to be mocked by goblins, Mites cowardice is often overcome by anger at their position and interaction with other creatures. They befriend and occasionally ride spiders and favor living underground. They have no lack of evil intent against other creatures that dwell beneath the earth, as well as those on the surface. They can cast minor magic tricks and occasionally draw doom onto the victims of their violent outbursts. They have a minor reduction to damage, unless struck with cold iron, like many of their fey type.
"You chose the wise course brigand. If you are lucky, it will be Colin who decides what to do with you. And if not..." Guillame takes another draught of "Stag Lord" and considers Crytalis from across the campside. He doesn't finish his sentence, and leaves the bandit to consider his fate.
Guillame returns to the others, and with more than a little regret, puts a cork in the bottle and returns it to the case.
"Well, I think Guillame has solved a mystery! It was not the thieving gnome before, it was the thieving mites! This bald brigand says they have stolen the wedding ring. Nasty creatures, all tales agree. Evil and small. We keep an eye out for them next time we set out to explore, non? If one of them has the long toenail, perhaps they live to the southeast, where these tracks lead."
Guillame tells the others everything the bandit told him, even the bit about the stag lord. He goes to find the horses and makes ready to set off back to the trading post when everyone else is ready to do so.
Colin listens to Guillame and replies, "Before we return to the Trading Post, we should try to track these... mites? They can't have gotten very far if they stole the wedding band just yesterday. And if we're close, I don't want to return to Svetlana without it."
He looks at the prisoners. "I think, for now, we could safely stow them up on the platforms with some food and water where beasts won't bother them. They won't be able to move well for days, even if they wake up and try to scarper. Plus they'll be unarmed."
He adds quietly, "I think at least some of them, we could let run away, or do some service for us to return to good graces with the law. Perhaps that might tempt them from opting for being hunted like dogs or worse out in this wilderness."
Guillame listens to Colin's suggestions. He shrugs in easy-going agreement, and quietly puts the suggestions into action. He manhandles the bandits up onto the platforms, leaves some water and food, and then loads up Grognon and the other horses with loot. Then he turns his attention to the tracks.
Tracking...
Before assisting with hauling the bound men, Colin takes a few moments to remove his armor, asking Crytalis to help with some of the straps. If she does so, he asks her to tell him what she learned from him.
When the task of carrying the bandits is done, Colin says to the conscious men, "I suppose you could try to figure your way out of those ropes. But you're not in any shape to travel far just yet and you know these lands are dangerous."
He looks them over and then admires the view from the platform. "This is a clever stand you've built up here. You can see really far. Neat!"
He asks Guillame, "We could probably use this to catch the rest of them, right?"
Turning back to the bandits, Colin crouches down. "Look, you'll be safe up here for now. We're just going to get Svetlana's ring back. I don't... blame you particularly for what you've been doing out here. I hope you can see that you have an opportunity. We're going to end the banditry in the Greenbelt. We're going to make it a place where people can try to find a life they want. We can't do it all ourselves."
"If any of that appeals to you," he adds, "Help us think of ways you can assist with that while we're gone. It's in your own interest."
Quietly, after climbing down, Colin says to Guillame, "We'll make sure to take all their weapons with us, right Mister DeMille?"
After Colin's speech, the bald bandit responds. "If you're looking for that ring in the stuff the mites took... I think their lair is a bit of a ways off across the Kamelands to South and east a bit, under a big old sycamore tree. I don't know if you can make it there by sundown. Might you could make it to the old bridge, south down the river. Then head southeast from there in the morning."
Another bandit that has awaken, the one that has not yet spoken, shoots him a glare. "Shut up, damnit! These are our captors here."
"Maybe he's right, though. About the opportunity and all that." says the first.
The second bandit grunts. "One captor's as good as the next. Can't we ever not have someone orderin' us around, puttin, ropes and chains on us, one kind or another. Killin' us, or workin' us to death."
The bald bandit looks at the second with a confused expression.
"Nevermind." The second says.
Crytalis fills in both Colin and Guillame as she works on the straps of his armor, a secret little smile playing about her lips as she removes one of the layers between him and her. She lets her hand linger a bit here and there against him, but behaves herself for the most part."I think him false in his words of remorse and change, but also think that he can."
She climbs up the platform after the men carry bandits and settles them in as comfortably as possible, offering water to those conscious, checking wounds, and balling up fabric to stick under their heads for pillows. "We could attach a rope to each of their necks, so if they try to roll or move to much they will swing instead."
The only time she turns mutinous about Colin and Guillame's work is when they come to the still unconscious form of Kressel. She follows after whoever carries her, reminding the poor man to "Watch her head" and "Don't jostle her so." Once the woman is deposited on the platform she fusses over her, checking each wound for renewed bleeding and smoothing back the woman's hair. "No dying or escaping, Sweetling. I've plans for you." she whispers to her softly before hopping her happy way down the ladder.
She practically dances her way towards the horses and then to where Guillame works pestering him with endless questions about the process of tracking.
Colin turns towards the bald bandit with surprise and a smile. "Thanks! What's your name, sir? Mine is Colin."
He adds, "And I know this man's name is Semper. And, Kressel, of course. How about the rest of you? It's easier to speak to one another once you know a man's name, isn't it?"
At Crytalis' suggestion, Colin is startled. "Cry, I think that is too dangerous for accidents...." Then he laughs and shakes his head. "Oh, you must be kidding again!"
He turns back to the bandits, still shaking his head as his smile gets progressively less pronounced. "She's kidding. She's a kidder! She kids. Heh. Heh. Hmmmm."
He thinks about the idea of leaving the campsite for a day or more. He says to the grouchy bandit, "Sir, our charter compels us to kill you. I'm trying to give you a chance to earn a reprieve. A second chance I might add. Your well-being matters to me, even if you do not appreciate the fact."
Finally, upon climbing down, he sees if the silent Muadhnait might be willing to stay and watch over the bandits and be wary of the return of more of them.
"He's Hanull," Says Semper, gesturing towards the bald one. "Those two are Callub and Tiran. I think they'll come around." He lowers his voice. "I'll talk to them while you're gone. To make sure."
Crytalis laughs right along with Colin."Of course, it was a jest only. Have we not seen to your wounds? Offered you a new life, one of honor? Be a shame to kill you now." She studies the bald man, intently.
She turns the full force of her smile on Semper in gratitude before then climbing down to pester poor Guillame.
Colin assists with packing up the spare weapons on the horses and struggles for a while trying to take down one of the tents as well. He makes a bit of a hash of it but manages not to break anything.
Realizing that they'd be coming back for her, he makes use of Muadhnait's horse he'd led as she'd slept through the forest as a spare pack horse. "He's probably used to being led by now," he jokes.
When gathered up to his satisfaction, he asks Guillame, "Mr. DeMille, do you think we should try to follow their tracks or go right to the lair that Hanull described? Maybe safest to see if the tracks coincide. Maybe these thieves haven't gotten back yet. You know... little legs and all."
The damp ground makes it easy for Guillame to follow a group of about three or so Mites through the woods. The stream by the bandits camp had merged again with many other smaller streams and make the Thorn river proper, about forty feet wide to their South West.
As Guillame is standing up from a set of clear tracks, he moves forward taking his eyes off the ground. Just as he does, an area around him suddenly becomes covered in an amber hued oil that seeps up out of the ground.
Throwing out his arms for balance, his quick reflexes allow him to stay balanced and upright.
As far as he knows, the oil is not a natural occurance
Birds chirp unknowingly in the trees. The branches clatter about in the light wind. The sky above the greening branches is cloudy, with patches of sun falling through.
Guillame backs up slowly to his fellow travelers.
"Is perhaps the mites, e'?" he mutters to them. "Magic mites? This oil is unnatural... it springs up in the abundance, from nowhere, is disgusting... like my sister's pimples! Hehe."
After a quick chuckle, Guillame just as quickly frowns, as if surprised by his own mention of family. He grunts as if to say "Enough!", readies his bow, and looks for a way around the amber oil.
Guillame navigates around the oil, but only finds the same tracks for the Mites, and no sign of them laying in wait or having set traps.
The Mite trail continues through the woods.
Colin leads Joyous Storm and the pack horse around the oil pool after Guillame has pointed it out to him. He asks Crytalis if it seems to be magic in any way. "What a strange thing," he mentions.
When no ambush is forthcoming Guillame just resumes as normal.
Crytalis studies the oil, trying to tell if it is of magic or not. She gives it a look of disgust that only a teenage girl can muster. Eventually she makes her way to her horse, waiting for Colin to lift her up into the saddle before riding at his side as they make their way past the oil.
Crytalis detects a single, faint magic aura emanating from the oil.
About two hours from the camp, Guillame spots the edge of the woods. The trees give way to a flat, grasslands, with the river flowing out into it.
"I say we follow the magic mites, e'? Get the wedding ring back?" says Guillame to his fellows, peering from beneath the brim of his hat over the expanse of grassland. "We explore another time perhaps..."
Guillame pushes on...
As Guillame makes to head out away from the tree line, a huge swath of roots begins to writhe and grow underfoot, as if animated by an unseen force, or gaining a life of their own. Vines emerge to join the roots as they reach up from the ground and grab at the arms and legs of Guillame, Grognon, Joyus Storm, Bandit and the pack horse. The total area of the roots are 80 feet in diameter.
Joyus Storm, the pack horse and Grognon all become entangled by the roots and vines as they wrap around their ankles and knees. The others are free to move as normal, the vines not finding purchase on them.
Nothing else is present in the vicinity of the group. There is only them, the trees and now the wild, seemingly sentient roots and vines.
The pack horse struggles to break it's legs free.
Eyes wide, the horse whinnies while jumping and bucking it's hid legs. It bucks it's way out of the tangled area.
"The blazes?!" sputters Colin. He relaxes the reins to give Joyous Storm her head to get herself slowly away from the tangled area.
Colin draws a javelin and keeps his eyes open for a foe to target.
"Is more tricks!?!?" hisses Guillame, darting for the open grassland, leaving Grognon to struggle out best he can.
Guillame turns to face the forest, infuriated by magical taunting. He cups his hands around his mouth to call out a challenge. "Is very cowardly, e'?! Show yourself - ghost, gneume, mite, whatever you are! Is not polite to trouble travelers so! Is *very* rude!"
Guillame draws himself up to his full height, and puffs out his chest. "You make the jokes today, e'?" he says, wagging his finger. "Very funny. Well, take note - you also make an enemy of Guillame DeMille. And I do not forget!"
Grognon, skittish, tries to break free all in one go (rather than slowly moving out of the area).
Quickly moves her horse and herself away from the entangling vines.
Guillame receives no response from the woods to which he issued his challenge. The trees simply wave lethargically back at him, as if saying 'goodbye... for now.'
The group heads out onto the grassland following the Mite's trail, with Guillame and Grognon in the lead.
A few clouds roll peacefully across the sky. The land is mostly flat with small hills scattered about. The occasional copse of a few trees sprout from the grass, which is reaching up towards three feet in some places. The Thorn river recedes slowly into the distance to the south, maintaining it's considerable width after leaving the woods.
Eventually, the sun begins to fall and the light fades. There is still no sign of the Mites, but by Guillame's estimation based on the size of their stride and what he knows about them, they can not be too far ahead.
Colin rides up to join Guillame. "Strange terrain, eh, Mr. DeMille?"
He eyes the darkening sky and adds, "Do you think we are close enough behind him to justify pressing on?"
"Strange indeed, Mr. Courneye." says Guillame, eyeing the grasslands warily, and turning in his saddle to glower at the forest tree line. "I like not these tricks. Let us pray they are found in the forest only."
As the light fades, Guillame begins looking for a place to camp.
"Is best to rest, e'? Who knows how far to catch up to the mites?"
Colin seems a bit surprised at the older man's addressing of him formally. He makes a sound as if to correct him but then realizes it is for him to do as he wishes. It's strange to think of myself as a "mister," Colin ponders.
Then he sighs and looks around the grasslands. "I suppose you are right. It might also take us some time to find a suitable place of shelter. I worry about all of the things that might happen, though. We need to get those bandits somewhere, but we can't let the trail go cold when the ring is so close..."
He pulls his fingers through his damp mop of brown hair. "At least we have a tent this time," he grins.
Crytalis moans in relief as the men mention stopping, more concerned with getting off the horse than finding mites, or camps or tents. She perks up considerably thereafter and begins humming to herself as they look for a likely camping spot. "Maybe since we are so close they will just come find us at the camp!" she bubbles out happily to Colin. "Why then we can trade for the ring back and not have to find them after all! Oooh and I can spend time with Pim." Having suddenly remembered her poor bird she calls out to him in his lyrical tongue.
Guillame found no signs of the Mites having set up camp or stopped to rest, so they must have pushed on through the night.
They find a copse of trees on a small rise, with good visibility all around them.
"I can take the first watch," Colin says upon reaching the rise and glancing around. "And Cry should again be last, so she can do her..." He wiggles his fingers. "... you know."
He asks, "Is that all right with you, Mr. DeMille? And, may I use your whetstone again?"
He dismounts and sets the horses to grazing. Then he attempts to set up the tent, which he manages to do just about competently.
Guillame wordlessly flips the whetstone over to Colin. After a quick meal and a few shots of Stag Lord, he tilts his hat over his eyes to rest until his watch is up.
Crytalis crawls into the tent and instantly falls asleep.
Colin watches Crytalis' disappearance into the tent with a disappointed sag of the shoulders. But it only lasts a moment and with a shrug and half smile, he sits down on a rock where he can keep an eye on the camp and the environs, and sets to whetting his lance with youthful resilience.
His thoughts about having some privacy with Cry lead him to consider what a strange series of evenings the past few have been. From four nights ago, sleeping on the road with Mr. Crumbs and Cry, to three nights ago, with Mr. Crumbs, Cry, and the Leventons, to two nights ago, with Brumir, Happs and the other bandit mixed in, to last night, with Cry, Brumir, Ms. Medvyed, and Mr. DeMille.
As strange and varied their own bedfellows have been, he realizes, it must be even stranger for Muadhnait, now resting alone with the very bandits she'd helped defeat. A pang of protective regret strikes him but then he shakes it off, telling himself that she can take care of herself with her strange powers.
Realizing the lance is as sharp as it is going to get, he stretches his legs and takes a walk in a circuit around the camp and quietly tries to return Guillame's stone to his pack.
The night passes without incident.
The morning comes with a bit of dew on the grass. Clouds moved in over night and now cover most of the sky, dulling the light.
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Crytalis sleeps deeply, oblivious to Colin's disappointment. When she is woken for her watch she slips silently from his side and from the tent. She whistles softly for Pim and sits beside the fire for a time, telling him sweet nothings as she sketches at a crude map of where they have been. She draws a squat square fort, inside of which two figures stand. Outside the walls a little cat lies sleeping in a copse of trees, tiny flowers surround her. She winds the path to the Gnarlmarshes and a band of blue river. She sketches out the tiny camp, where a half-orc crouches.
As the night gives way to the early hours, just before light, she pulls small slivers of bone from her pouch. She turns them over and over in her hand. Taking her carving kit from pack, she slips out a slim almost needle-like awl and burrows a hole in the end of each bone. Four small bones from one small finger, which get stung on a thread and placed back in the pouch.
When the first streaks of light break through the clouds to dapple the ground she sneaks back into the tent. There she wakes Colin quietly with teeth and tongue - heralding in the dawning properly.
Drowsily, Colin draws Crytalis next to him and mumbles something about waking up in five more minutes. As time stretches past that limit, guilty thoughts of seeing Guillame's sleeping form being gagged and bound and carried off by a troop of evil fey lead him to sigh and roll out of the tent to relieve himself, splash some water on his face, see to the horses, and get dressed again in his armor.
Fuelled by too much venison and green liquor, Guillame dreams of being gagged and bound and carried off by a troop of evil, inexplicably sexy, fey. In the dream, they tie him to a stake, light a fire at the base, and dance around him, provocatively showing a bit of leg or a bit of butterfly wing. They taunt him with a sultry chant: "My toenail, it's too long! Cut my toenail, Guillame! Go on, cut it!"
In the midst of them, a bandit with a sword in his gut appears, and raises a glass of foaming green beer in a toast. The bandit whispers conspiratorially to Guillame "I think they like you...but they'd like you better if you had the face of a stag.". Finding his arm free, Guillame twists his moustache a little, raises an eyebrow, and responds with an "Ohoho..."
The dream is cut short with the noise of Colin bustling about. Guillame yawns, rolls into a sitting position, and grunts in disappointment. Then the morning hacking ritual begins.
Once he's coughed up enough of his lungs, Guillame helps pack up the campsite and picks up the trail again...
"We close on our quarry, e'? Is a good feeling to be hunting again! And hunting magic mites! Is better than to hunt the deer, more ... erm... heroic, non?"
Guillame picks up the trail easily, despite it now being a day colder. The ground is a bit soggy from the recent rain, and the tiny, long nailed foot prints go erratically to the south east.
After about an hour, Guillame spots some figures laying motionless a hundred feet ahead. A small murder of crows hops about on the figures, seeming to have not yet noticed the group.
Guillame turns and whistles low to his companions. He holds up his hand, gesturing for them to wait a moment. Then he leaves Grognon, nocks an arrow to his bow, and scampers quietly closer, keeping his eyes peeled.
One of the crows scatters as Guillame approaches, but the others remain, but hop out of of the way if threatened. He finds the bodies of three mites strew in the grass. Dried blood on them and in the grass indicates that they died in combat. They have been stripped of their belongings, as far as a cursory glance reveals, their tiny blue bodies wearing little more than rags. Their over-sized eyes seem to be bulging from behind their puffy eyelids, leaving some of their eyes visible, but staring lifelessly into the sky.
Guillame notices that their tracks seem to stop, while other tracks appear and leave in a more southward direction.
Guillame waves for the others to approach. He squats down, points at the new tracks with his bow, and guffaws.
"See fellows - is absurd, non? We have brigands that rob the brigands that rob the brigands that rob the trading post! Is a wonder there is room for anything but brigand in these lands!"
Guillame pushes the brim of his hat back to better scan the grasslands to the south. He squints at his companions, the sun in his eyes.
"So what do you say, Colin, Mademoiselle? We go south, e'?"
Crytalis slides off her horse in answer to his question and goes running over to the blue bodies."Oh, those poor little things! We can't just leave their bodies to be eaten by crows...look how cute they are." she makes some soothing clucky type sounds at the lumpy blue creatures. "Whatever do you suppose did something like this?"
Colin trots up, pulling the extra horse behind. His expression is grim. "This must have happened last night. And close to where we'd camped. Was it an ambush? Or did they come across each other in the dark? Or did the mites try to rob the wrong people, who also camped?"
He takes a deep breath and sighs, "The gods are toying with us to chase this ring. Is the trail still fresh, Mr. DeMille? Are they on foot?"
Colin leans back and looks south, then a long look back to the north. "If we can't catch them soon, I think we need to go back to the bandit camp."
He punches one gauntleted fist into his open palm in frustration.
"Well let us see, e'?"
Guillame pokes around at the tracks trying to determine how old they are.
And if they seem relatively fresh, he starts following them.
The tracks are very fresh. As Guillame finds them and begins to follow, Colin recognizes them as humanoid and not fey, like the Mite tracks.
Colin recognizes the tracks as from a small group of Kobolds. Kobolds are known for laying ambushes.
The group heads out across the grasslands in a more southern direction, with Guillame out in front keeping their bearing.
Colin sits up from leaning down to look at a long-toed reptilian print in the mud. "Mr. DeMille?" he calls. "Hold up a minute."
When Guillame comes back, Colin beckons Crytalis to ride closer to him. In a low voice, he says, "I know those tracks. Like a big chicken. They're kobolds. A posse of us once headed out where they'd been trapping sheep and shepherds."
He looks over at Cry with a glance of concern. Then he adds, "They're nasty, evil, and tricky. Let's keep a bit closer together and keep our eyes open. They'll probably see us way off and will try to ambush us since they can't outrun us."