Crytalis' smile shifts into one of genuine warmth for the woman. "Oh how lucky! We are off to kill some now." The warmth in her face stays about as long as it takes for Colin to beam at Muadhnait, then chills. "Will you come help?" she asks, her look now reserved but still friendly.
Muadhnait seems to ease as the young man's smile is cast down toward her, and she lifts a hand to accept the scroll. "Five against nine?" She queries, gaze shifting to Crytalis as her own query issues. They had asked for her help. Could she trust them? Perhaps it was lack of sleep, but she decided that she could. Deliberation is evident in her expression, but disappears near as quickly as it came. "Do you have a plan?"
Oblivious to any subtextual conversation going on between the two young women, Colin says, enthusiastically, "We have an idea where their campsite is. We're going to head south to the river and then follow it. Brumir, here..." he indicates the man who has yet to speak, "... can scout ahead."
"He was with the bandits we defeated yesterday at the Trading Post but he's seen the better path to follow. My plan is to give these other bandits the same opportunity. To surrender and give up their evil ways and make something positive from their lives."
He straightens up in the saddle and then adds, "If they don't, then they must be taken down, alive if possible, to face justice. There are nine of them including their leader Kressle, a woman skilled with handaxes and who possesses a cruel streak. With you, Cry, Brumir, and Joyous Storm, we are five. So we will likely need a plan once we learn the layout of their camp. I believe if Joyous Storm and I charge in and try to draw their attacks then the rest of you can keep out of immediate danger. What can you do to fight? Do you need a bow?"
Brumir nods when Colin mentions him, but remains silent. As they are talking he turns a furrowed brow to the south west, keeping an ear to the conversation. He draws his hand up to one of his rounded shoulders and scratches it.
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Meanwhile...
Guillame smooths his moustache and squats down to study the trampled grass.
"Is curious, non?" he muses to Grognon, his dark-maned travelling companion. "Heavy boots, a fire, deep prints, I would say ... a small company, of armed men. They broke camp this morning, they go that way perhaps, and yet..." He stands, lifting the wide brim of his hat to stare across the grassy plain. "Where to hide in this bare land? There is nowhere. Is mysterious, e'?"
Grognon, implacable and silent, lowers his head to graze a little, then looks up and away from Guillame, surveying the plain, as if bored. Guillame, annoyed, narrows his eyes.
"Hm. So you are still not talking to me, e'? It makes no difference to me. No difference at all! So, we shall be silent. Silence complete. Very good." Guillame walks away, feigning indifference.
Grognon continues his steady stare across the plain. Guillame grumpily fills his pipe.
In a minute, Guillame is squirming with the urge to say more. He turns back to his horse, pointing his pipe for emphasis. "You know Grognon, I know patience. I am one who can bear silence. You do not know this, but I once went three weeks without speaking to a living soul! Three weeks! Like the monks on the mountain, e'? Like the prisoner in the pit! It is easy for one strong of will, such as myself."
Warming to his theme, Guillame struts a little, wagging a gloved finger, and puffing out his chest."You do not understand, because horses are stupid, non? Cheval obstiné! Not a snicker from you, e'? No whinny, no neigh? Always so superior you are, as if... " Guillame pauses his building diatribe, his eye fixing on the ground once more. He crouches, then creeps slowly eastwards a few paces, moving from tuft of grass, to mud patch, to low bush.
"Ohoho!" he says to Grognon, annoyance apparently forgotten. "More tracks, Grognon, you see? Lighter, much lighter, and heading away from the others. A woman?" His eyes light up, and he smiles a crinkled smile, turning to look Grognon directly in the eyes. "A damsel, perhaps?"
Grognon cocks an ear, then turns away again unconcerned. Guillame puffs busily on his pipe, eyes narrowed, arms folded, considering his options.
“Well, a choice now, Grognon. A parting of the ways, e'? We go to the men, that is perhaps the way of safety in numbers. But ... perhaps they are bandits, and we go to our deaths, many against two. Or we go to the woman, we find out why she flees from many men. Perhaps there is danger? Perhaps she is needing help?”
He gives Grognon a sidelong glance. "Perhaps she is needing help, we help, perhaps she is grateful e'? Like in the tales! Perhaps she has wine? Perhaps she, unlike a horse I know, knows the art of conversation, non? Never was a choice so easy to make!"
Without delay, Guillame taps his pipe out, strings his bow, mounts up, and follows the tracks as best he can towards Oleg’s Trading Post.
The lone woman's tracks lead back to the "road" which is no more than a wide strip of packed dirt spanning east to west. Guillame cannot find the footprints on the road, but he does not see them leave the road again, concluding that she must have followed it west.
Moving west, Guillame sees a wooden palisade emerge from the horizon just north of the road. Then he can begin to make out the forms of three mounted figures, a fourth horse and a fourth humanoid standing beside them. They are turned towards each other as if in conversation, standing at the place where the path veers from the road some three hundred feet to the palisade gate.
Guillame stands up in his stirrups to better scan the gathering, then sits back heavily, deflated. "Pah! Too late for rescues. Bandits are not ones for pleasant morning chats, I think, so these are not bandits. Our damsel has found her own saviors."
Grognon snorts a little, and stamps his feet. "E'? What's this now? It speaks!" says Guillame, puzzled. He looks back and forth between the gathering ahead and his horse, and at last realization dawns.
"Oho, I see how it is!" he says, with playful rancor. "When it is but Guillame, lifelong friend and companion, Grognon has nothing to say. But then a pretty mare flicks her tail, and ...well then, all is forgiven Grognon, all forgiven. Is natural, e'? But I would give a little advice" Guillame leans close to Grognon's ear. "If I am honest, and I do not mean to be indelicate, but even from this distance, she seems a little ... fierce and heavy for you, non?"
Grognon snorts louder, and pulls at the bit. He looks like he would kick someone, given the chance.
"Oh, I meant no disrespect my friend, none at all." says Guillame, fighting to regain control. "Just be careful, e'? I would not see your heart broken. Or your back! Hehe. Let us make a good impression, together, you and I. Allons-y!"
Guillame spurs Grognon to what he hopes is a striking parade-ground trot...
When a stone's throw distant, Guillame cries out "Hail fellows! I seek the trading post. Is it this place yonder?"
If he is not directly challenged, Guillame trots close the gathered party, then dismounts and sweeps his hat off in a deep bow to one and all, his eyes low in apparent deference. He seems much shorter out of the saddle, and his dark hair falls forward to cover his face.
"I am Guillame DeMille." he says, still bowing. "I have traveled from Restov, and I am most pleased to make your acquaintance." He waits for a response before lifting his gaze to appraise the gathered party.
Muadhnait's lips part with a soft click as a sound of disbelief issues forth. He's got to be kidding. "You believe they'll reform? Rather than lie for the sake of survival?" Her focus slides over to Brumir then, narrowing in sudden and obvious suspicion. It looks as though she might say more, but her continuance is cut off before it even begins when another rider arrives. She jumps in a side-step, taking on a defensive stance and turning so that she might keep all of them within her view. Short in stature though the newcomer is, he still has enough height on Muadhnait for her to feel the need to lift her chin in a (futile) bid to appear larger.
That same suspicion that was once aimed toward Brumir is now directed at Guillame as she wordlessly appraises him.
Not seeming to take offense, Colin replies enthusiastically, "Yes! Both Cry and I are very good judges of character."
He beams, "Brumir never actually was a bandit, either. He'd just been cornered by them the day before and given the choice to join them or die. Now, he's got his whole life ahead of him. Think about how many people he might help over the course of his life rather than if he'd just been killed or captured, or if he'd helped them defeat us. People aren't born to do evil, Muadhnait."
He spreads his arms in a self-deprecating shrug. "Look, I know I can't out-think a goat as my mum always said. But I'm not deluded. If the bandits see they outnumber me nine to one, they're far more likely to be honest about their actions." He frowns. "And then we take them down. But at least they'll have the choice." Straightening up a bit, he continues in a more-practiced tone, "I am a cavalier of the Order of the Shield. I'm pledged to protect the weak from evil. Even those who..."
His voice trails off as he hears Guillame's cry. He watches the man's inexpert attempt at show riding. As the rider approaches, his right hand lowers to be near the handle of the stirrupped lance. He returns it to Joyous Storm's reins when Guillame dismounts and bows. He gives Crytalis a questioning glance to see her reaction and then speaks to the man.
"Um... hi! My name is Colin. I'm from Restov as well. My family runs Courneye Stables. And yes, that's the Trading Post."
He introduces the names of the others and then asks, "Have you traveled far, sir?"
Guillame raises an eyebrow when Colin mentions the Courneye Stables, then straightens as Colin begins to make introductions. He smooths his moustache, smiling amiably and inclining his head a little as each is introduced. He seems to ignore Brumir, and spends most of his time frankly admiring Muadhanait and Crytalis. When Colin has finished, Guillame speaks up.
"Courneye Stables you say!" he exclaims. "Why, Grognon and I have enjoyed hospitality there many times. There was a young lad there named Colin, I recall… but that cannot be you! He was but a stable-hand, and you are obviously a strapping chevalier, e'?"
Guillame pshaws loudly, throwing up his hands, as if the idea that these two people are one and the same is thoroughly ridiculous.
"But in answer to your question, for which I thank you," he continues. "I have not traveled far this morning. Such manners you have, to ask so nicely! Manners and decorum, they are important out here, non? On the frontier? Manners, they make the difference between … er … pleasant conversation, such as we have now, and … er … a sword-in-the-eye!"
Guillame mimes being stuck with a sword in the eye, sticking his tongue out as if dead, and chuckling at his own "humeur". He recovers himself, and tries surreptitiously to gauge whether he has amused the ladies present.
"Hehe. Would be nice if it were all the jokes, the manners, the pleasant conversation, e'? But … I travel on important business.." His face darkens, almost to the point of being comically grim. In a solemn tone, and sneaking more furtive glances to see if anyone is impressed, he continues. "I am charged by the Swordlords of Restov to seek out brigands in this region, and bring them the justice. It is a task full ... of danger. Now I wonder to myself, armed as you are, perhaps you are charged with the same quest? E'? Have I guessed it right?"
Golden eyes shift between Colin and Muadhnait at their brief conversation. Occasionally, she sends Muadhnait random friendly sorts of smiles in an attempt to seem normal and sane. She remains silent, however. She opts instead to lift the small thrush upon her hand to her cheek, comforting herself by brushing his sand-hued feathers against the pale smoothness of her skin.
The arrival of Guillame sees her sending Pim off with a quick flick of her wrist and a whispered warning of potential danger. Those golden eyes of hers narrow to slits as her hand drops down to trace the blade of the scythe at her side, a light and loving caress.
As he speaks her tension eases, giving way first to incredulous bemusement and then, at the invisible stick to the eye, to delight. Her hand shoots up from the scythe to catch the laughter spilling from her lips, " Oh yes, conversation is far the better of the two." she agrees, once she can speak again. "And yes, you have guessed right, even now we head to fight a group of nine that were harrying the couple that run the trading post." Her eyes narrow upon him once more."How is it we know you are not actually a bandit, trying to trick us? Have you a charter as proof?
Guillame is caught short by Crytalis's question. For a moment his brow furrows, as if he might take offense. Then his eyes widen as he mulls it over, and he blinks and nods slowly, pursing his lips.
"Is a good point, e'?" he says, nodding his head around the group to check for agreement. "You, madamoiselle, are clever, so to ask! I did not think of this. All tales agree - the brigand, he is notorious for the deception, the subterfuge, e'? Is wise to have caution. A moment …"
Guillame turns to his saddlebags and rummages around in them. Eventually he produces a scroll. Noticing a similar scroll in Muadhnait's hand, his tries to bop his own scroll against hers.
"Ha! Snap! Same-same! You know this game? I bet a cup of wine my scroll reads just as yours."
If no one stops him, Guillame then plants his feet in a wide town-crier's stance, and reads the scroll aloud. When he is finished he turns the scroll to show one and all.
"So is legitimate and true, just like myself." he concludes. "Let us join our forces then, and be companions on this quest! And if we are companions, I wonder …" he lowers his voice conspiratorially. "Do any of you perhaps ... smoke the tobacco? E'? I am all out, alas..."
Colin beams a smile at Crytalis. "Six against nine now, Cry! We shall surely prevail!"
He turns again to Guillame. "I'm afraid I don't have any tobacco but Oleg probably does for trade." He gestures back towards the Trading Post. He gazes more intently upon Grognan. After a moment, he adds, "I think I remember you, sir. I remember you cared well for your steed." He says this with genuine warmth. "I don't recognize your gray, here, though. He is new to you?"
"And," he concludes, turning toward the first new arrival and gesturing to an empty-saddled chestnut mare with a white stripe down her face. "Speaking of mounts, we have a spare, miss. We have most of a day's travel to reach their camp so you'll likely want to ride her."
Guillame's antics earn no more than a raised brow from Muadhnait - drawing her own scroll toward her chest in his attempt to touch the one in his possession against it. She hasn't uttered a word throughout all of this, defensive stance remaining as her focus darts from speaker to speaker. When the mare is offered, her shoulders slump as though in defeat. She hadn't agreed to join them, but she couldn't find the energy to argue. Besides, what good could she do on her own anyway?
"Of course," she says in response, head dipping in a quick nod. She starts toward the mare - cutting the motion short, however, when a thought strikes her. "Where is your charter as proof?" The query is directed at both Colin and Crytalis.
Colin's smile falls as his gaze drops automatically to the woman's boots. "Oh... yes, miss. Sorry, miss."
He fumbles with a pouch at his belt, one arm still bound to the back of his shield. He produces the document, which has some unidentifiable food stains on it along with a poorly-drawn heart shape ensconcing the letters "C" and "C", and holds it out to Muadhnait, his face crimson and not meeting her eyes.
Colin's expression earns another arched brow from Muadhnait. She lifts a hand to accept the scroll, and glances it over. Her expression eases as she takes note of the hearts around their initials, understanding dawning, and a small huff of a laughter issues forth - so quiet it could almost be missed. The smile that lingers, however, would not.
"Thank you," she drawls, a trace of humor coloring her tone as she passes the scroll back to him. Afterward, she continues making her way toward the mare - a hand lifting to trail along her neck in greeting. She hoists herself up with little difficulty, and situates herself atop the saddle.
The half-orc Brumir jostles a bit and the horse sways slightly. Either he or the horse snorts. Brumir's gaze wander's to Muadhnait and his eyes sharpen slightly. When her eyes meet his he looks away. He holds up his hand and spits into it, then rubs it on the other. Then he grips the horn on his saddle. His face is turned to the south west, with his nose turned up slightly to the light, cool breeze blowing past.
"It ain't getting any earlier." He says abruptly, but barely loud enough to be heard by all.
Crytalis suffers through a faint blush of her own, the pursing of her lips betraying her ire at the coloring. She nods to Burmir. "He is right, we should be off. We killed three of their party yesterday and I worry they might come looking for them. Best if we find them before they find us, or worse the unprotected trading post." she looks up in the sky to locate the tiny speck of bird. "Pim, my thrush, can scout ahead and let us know if he spies them. I imagine you all know..." her hand flutters about as if trying to catch a word, or brush the wrong ones away. " Fighting type stuff."
"Is a magic bird?" says Guillame, trying to see whatever Crytalis is looking at. "Is remarkable! With such magic on our side, we cannot fail, non? There is time for the tobacco on our victorious return, I have no doubt!"
Guillame mounts up ready to follow Brumir's lead.
"I don't know, Brumir," Colin says. "Perhaps if we wait a few more minutes we'll have a whole army?"
He laughs a little and looks at Crytalis. "You're right of course, Cry. We should not delay any longer. Let's go."
Colin maneuvers Joyous Storm near Guillame and Grognon. Noticing the bow on his back, he says, "I'm not much of an archer, sir, but I did pick up this bow from the leader of the bandits who attacked yesterday. It has quite a strong pull to it. I'm glad he didn't get a shot off at us. You might make better use of it than I would."
Muadhnait looks to be about as ready as she can be - content for her horse to remain secured to another... Assuming that's how it was? She's likely far too tired to maintain control of any reigns, anyway.
Her hand tightly grips the horn of her saddle - and once travel has begun, she can be caught nodding off from time to time. Her dozing sees that she nearly slips from her seat on several occasions, startling her awake.
"Is a fine weapon, e'?" says Guillame, leaning over to accept the bow from Colin, and testing the draw. "My thanks to you! Two bows is too many - let us make the exchange..."
Brumir kicks his horse into motion and leads the group to the south west, sweeping head slowly from left to right, eyes watchful. The grasslands stretch in all directions with no creatures or landmarks in sight, save for Oleg's behind them.
Pim flies on ahead, far up and off towards the horizon to the south-west. He returns after a short while and lands on the head of Crytalis' horse. He chirps out a tune.
Yonder a greenish line
grows widely from the earth
leaves and wood entwine
with folk and road a dearth
Guillame guides Grognon to match pace with the others one by one, trying to decide who to chat to first. Eventually he falls in line beside Muadhnait. He chews his lower lip while thinking of a good opening line.
”Perhaps a long journey before us, e’? he says, keeping (what he hopes looks like) a steely gaze on the grasslands ahead. ”With much danger to come, is good to pass the time pleasantly, non? Take our minds off … the worst of things. I wonder, mademoiselle, did you ever hear the tale of …” Guillame looks over at Muadhnait, and stops short when he notices her nodding in the saddle.
”Hm. A tale needs an audience I think…” Guillame moves away, a little embarrassed, and checks to see that no one noticed his mistake. He drops back besides Colin and Crytalis, and tries again.
”So - Colin! Or perhaps should say … Sir Courneye! I did not answer your question before. My apologies, it was my excitement to meet fellow travelers, e’? Grognon is both new and old to me. I have known him since he was a foal, but we ‘ave only traveled for a few months as fast companions. No one else wanted him, because … he kicks!” Guillame scratches at Grognon’s ears with apparent affection. Grognon shakes his head as if to ward off an annoying fly.
”Hehe. He is of what I would call … a vicious temperament. And very superior, e’? Sometimes I think he would make a good fighting beast. Like your mare here! Quelle bête magnifique! What is her name?”
Colin reddens at Guillame's address. "Just Colin, please, sir. I'm not a noble like Crytalis. Or..." he indicates the dozing rider who trailed behind Brumir's horse with a tilt of the head and lowers his voice. "...her. Medvyed is a noble name north of Restov, you know. Many of them Medvyeds and Orlovskys and Lodovkas and Surtovas don't think regular folk are worth their while, so they can keep their 'Sirs' and 'Ladys' and all that."
He smiles warmly at the girl speaking to her small bird. "Crytalis is different, though," he confides.
At the mention of his mount, he eagerly will speak to Guillame for as long as he'll tolerate it about Joyous Storm, her foaling (with which he'd assisted as a mere stripling), her training (which he'd done himself, a feat which he is not shy about showing his pride), her lineage, her gait, her strength, her performance at competitions, her temperament, her likes and dislikes, how he'd given up his inheritance of the stable business for the coin to gird her in barding, et cetera.
When he finishes, he offers Guillame any assistance he'd like in training Grognon.
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Crytalis lifts her ear from Pim to pass along his message, “I think there a forest ahead, though he sees no road through it or people.”. She nuzzles him once more before singing softly to him, allowing him his rest and a palm full of seeds from her pack before sending him back out.
search for a camp along the shore
Count the humans that can be safely seen
Then return to me once more
At Guillame’s approach she paints on her prettiest smile, mind desperately searching for words, any words, to contribute to their light conversation. Words that would be witty or put the man at ease, words that would bring laughter and from that laughter friendship. Finding none she edges Bandit closer to Colin, her shield, and allows herself to sink into the thoughts and hauntings that his words jar loose.
No, most of the Surtovas didn’t think those beneath them worthy of time. They managed to find time for a bastard such as she, however, much to her misfortune. She pulls herself from her revery for long enough to study the sleeping woman, and steal appraising glances at the man. The long familiar pain of awkwardness creeps up in her, the kind that only a desperation to be included can bring. And just like that she is a child again, standing and watching others out the window as yet another illness robbed her lungs of breath. Even now there was a lingering of that illness, a twitching of pain deep in her lungs that could be brought about by the deepest of breaths.
They spun stories of her, the children did, of how her mother’s body had already grown cold. Stories of how her grandmother had cut her from the womb, breathed life into her again. The truth was not so dramatic, but still the fact remained, her mother had not lived to see her born. When she was very young she would escape the house and seek the children, slipping past the ever present guard, the only sign of a father she didn’t know. There was no welcome for her, though, among the hale children of the town.
Yet, there was always welcome with Grandmother, who nursed her through her many ailments. And welcome also in the fevered dreams, so vibrant and real. She could lose herself in those dreams, sink within them happily, but Grandmother always brought her back. Death must be one long dream. The thought flits through her mind as she returns to the now. She wonders briefly what pretty Katty dreams of, buried under so much soil.
She catches up with the words spilling from Colin, and easy task as he speaks of Joyous Storm. Familiar words. Her smile comes again, there is welcome for her with Colin, for the parts of her he knows, at least. And Pim who loves her despite her. And perhaps a welcome in these three people as well, once Brumir got over her deception. And so, she carries her smile over in Guillame’s direction, finally finding words. “What is it that brings you south? Beyond a charter, I mean. What is it you seek?” She sets her tone at curious, allowing warmth to color it.
Guillame listens amiably to Colin's horse talk, interjecting an occasional "Oho!" or "Is remarkable, e'?".
At the offer of help training Grognon, Guillame smiles broadly. "Is very nice of you so to offer. And for free, for one you just met! He's a good one, e'?" he says to Crytalis, nodding in Colin's direction. "I accept your offer, Colin - together we will make Grognon into a fearsome soldier! Had I wine, I would drink to that!"
Guillame, feeling that he is on good terms with his fellow travelers, settles back into quiet riding. He pulls out his pipe, pats his pockets, and finding them empty of tobacco, he puts his pipe back in his pouch, with a weary, resigned sigh. When Crytalis addresses him, he pulls the wide brim of his hat up, the better to look her in the eye.
"What do I seek?" he says in reply, eyebrow raised archly as he considers his answer. Eventually he shrugs. "Oh, I seek what many men seek, I think. A place in the world, some coin, good companions, good conversation. Perhaps a little adventure...or a lot, non?"
He laughs at this, then his laugh tails off sharply, and Guillame frowns. He remembers a commotion, a terrified neigh, and blood on cobblestones. "Should I speak of the trouble last time in Restov?" he thinks to himself. "No, be wise Guillame. Even with good people, confessions do not make the good introductions, e'? Do not spoil the good cheer with dark tales. Perhaps another time..."
Guillame abruptly sheds his frown, and spying Pim flitting nearby, he stands tall in his stirrups to point at the bird.
"To be honest, mademoiselle, this is what I seek the most. A magic bird - is remarkable! Is wondrous, e'? My grand-mère, she would tell me the tales of the days when animals talk. To hear this one sing so beautifully to you, to hear you sing back to him, I would say those days live on! I would see more of this - the wondrous, the spectacle, things such as these."
Guillame fishes around in his saddle-bags, and produces some trail rations, and holds them out for Pim hopefully.
"Pah! I made the mistake buying these, e'? I was in a hurry, I did not check. They say 'trail ration', but is no meat, no bread, is all the nuts, the dried fruit. I said to Grognon but yesterday 'Is bird food!'. But perhaps this one would like the bird food, e'? What is his name?"
Colin happily settles into the saddle feeling like this is much more like what he'd imagined when he and Crytalis had set forth. He keeps a wary eye on Muadhnait dozing ahead of him, ready to catch her should she overbalance, trusting in Brumir to keep an eye out for external threats.
His thoughts idly drift around wondering what Muadhnait might do to help fight the bandits. She carries a sickle like Crytalis but also wears light leather armor. Cry had said that armor would interfere with her spellcasting, so she probably isn't like Cry in that way.
Well, he reflects, we were going to go against the bandits even without her or Guillame so surely just having someone else there will be of use, even just as another pair of eyes.
"Mister DeMille," Colin interjects during a lull in the conversation, "You should know that there are a few rewards posted for this area at the Trading Post. Svetlana Leveton, the wife of Oleg, has had her wedding ring stolen by these bandits we seek. We've told her we will return it to her."
"Also," he adds, "there is a large boar running around that there is a bounty on. And, we'd planned to stop to harvest some moon radishes on the way back to the Trading Post by request of Svetlana to make a special dish."
Guillame listens attentively to Colin's news. "Pah!" he says in reply, nose wrinkling in contempt. "A wedding ring? Is just like the bandit to take the personal things, the important things, and treat them like the common dirt, e'? We must avenge this theft!" Guillame leans over to spit heartily into the mud, for emphasis. There is a thick wet splat. It seems years of smoking have made Guillame an expert (and expertly disgusting) spitter.
Guillame coughs a little to clear his throat, and seems not to notice that his spitting might be bad manners. He lapses into silence, searching his memory for what he knows of moon radishes and wild boars...
Moon Radishes are a particularly spicy radish that is known to rarely grow in southern Brevoy and only slightly more commonly in the Greenbelt.
Boars typically live in forests and are omnivorous. An ordinary boar is much more dangerous (and ill tempered) than his domesticated cousin- the pig. Boar meat is considered delicious by many, so they are hunted often. They can also be sought for their tusks, which are their primary offense. Boars can also continue fighting long after an ordinary creature would have fallen unconscious. It is said they will fight until the last beat of their heart. A single boar is as tough as a lightly trained hunter, so a good strategy is required if one is to fight a boar on his own.
Brumir stops and lets the group catch up to him, having been only fifty or so feet ahead. He is looking at a deciduous forest that emerges from the horizon, first as a band of grey, dotted with green stretching far in both directions across your sight, then it grows wider, the wild twisted fingers of the trees becoming clearer. They approach small, scattered, brown and grey oak trees at first, which grow more dense the further south-west. The grass grows higher and a few game trails can be seen through the weeds. The tall grass twitches now and then with the movement of small wildlife. A few tiny birds chirp out sparse songs and flutter between the branches. Pale yellow flower buds stand on the top green stems.
"The Gnarlmarches. This forest reaches many miles to the west and much farther to the south." Brumir says.
Colin grins like a schoolboy on Nameday at Crytalis. "The Gnarlmarches! We're finally going to see the Gnarlmarches!" He reaches out to take her hand in his anticipatory excitement. "The Gnarlmarches!!"
What are the Gnarlmarches? he thinks.
At Guillame's praise of Colin Crytalis nods in agreement, turning a look that borders on obsession towards the young cavalier. “He is all that is good,” she agrees.
Crytalis waits until Guillame is again distracted before sending Pim flitting his way. The little thrush darts around him, snatching bits of the trail rations and tugging at his hair. “I might be able to teach you it, how to speak to birds I mean...Pim taught it to me when we were young.”
As the forest comes into view she gasps, excitement lighting her up. “Oh we get to go in there!” She squeezes Colin’s hand and smiles around to the others. “I bet there are all manner of things in there.” She bubbles out naively, turning to Brumir. “Have you been here before? What do you know of what lies within?”
She once again sends Pim out through the forest, with the same message as she gave him before she got all distracted with play.
Colin once heard that a cult worships an animal demon in the woods known as the Narlmarches. It was said that the cultists capture folks and perform dark rituals that merge their forms with those of animals.
"Wait, Brumir!" calls Colin, a hint of alarm slipping into his voice. "Did you say the Gnarlmarches or the Narlmarches without a 'G'?"
Upon hearing the half-orc's answer, Colin's smile melts away and he lets go of Crytalis's tender grip. At her inquiring look, he shudders and whispers, "I'll tell you later... let's just be sure to get out of these woods before the sun sets."
Crytalis gives him a mutinous look. "But all the most magical things happen after the sun sets. Night is better than day. And, I don't know if making it in, killing bandits, and then making it back out is even possible before the sun sets." She says with no little satisfaction.
Colin bites his lower lip, shifting his gaze from Crytalis to the approaching landscape, letting Joyous Storm roll under him with solid, trustworthy steps towards that disquieting, shadowed wood.
Shame at the idea of keeping his thoughts from her wars with fear of frightening (or tantalizing) her unnecessarily and he starts and stops to speak several times before finally offering, "It's just... well, I don't even know if it's true and it's a big forest, like Brumir said..."
He hesitates again and then says, with conviction, "If we have to stay there, we'll post watches. I won't let those cultists sacrifice you to a demon and turn you into a wild beast. By my life, I won't."
Buoyed by a wave of confidence at hearing his own words, he turns once again to look at the Narlwood as if to spot any cultists attempting to hide behind the outlying oaks.
At Crytalis's offer to teach him Auran, Guillame nods agreeably. At first he seems quite charmed by Pim's playful attentions. But after a few minutes, his smile begins to seem a little forced.
Guillame cocks a curious eyebrow at Crytalis's enthusiasm for the night. When Colin mentions demons and wild beasts, Guillame pulls on his moustache thoughtfully, absently holding out a cupped hand for Pim, and frowning in mild annoyance when Pim darts at his hair.
Les cultistes? he thinks to himself. They like the night too, I think. Is good for the secrecy, the ritual, the sacrifice... I wonder what this young mademoiselle would make of them...A little caution Guillame, there is more here than meets the eye..."
Guillame dismounts, and readies his bow.
"Grognon has worked hard today." Guillame says to the rest of the party."In the forest, I will not slow us much if I lead him, e'? Perhaps I join you Mr Brumir. Four eyes are better than two!"
Guillame is apparently unconscious of the fact that this is the first time he has really acknowledged Brumir's existence.
Crytalis is completely put at ease with Colin's reassurance, "Well, see, if you won't let them sacrifice me there isn't anything to worry about. I trust you."
Brumir nods at Guillame, then gets off his horse as well. He strings a short bow and holds it in his massive hand, the bow seeming more like a twig than a weapon. Leading the horse, he makes his distance ahead of the group and continues towards the forest.
Four stags appear to the south, staring at the group from a distance, completely still. One by one they turn and bound off in the opposite direction.
"Hold fellows!" says Guillame in a very loud stage whisper. "Four stags! Do you see them? And all together too! There they go - one two three four. It is ...a portent!"
Guillame raises one hand, portentous finger pointing to the heavens. "A portent of ... " Here he slowly turns to face the others, giving his cloak a dramatic swish as he does so. "... venison for the dinner perhaps? Hehe. Mr Brumir, we must be more alert!"
Colin rides, his mind focused on the difficulty ahead of riding Joyous Storm through the trees when they enter the forest, their combined height assuring him of a few hours of whip scratches to any exposed skin. He is reaching back to take up his helmet when he hears Guillame.
"Where?! hissts Colin, instinctively looking frenetically to and fro at the branches of the trees above.
Upon regaining himself after being surprised, he says, superstitious dread, "But Mister DeMille, what if those stags were people who have been cursed by the animal demon?"
"Cursed by ze animal demon?" says Guillame, a little incredulously, his accent thickening. "Why then, if they are the people and not the stags, and I shoot them... why then I will have made a big mistake! They will think 'Oop! Guillame is a pain in my behind!' Haha!"
Guillame mimes getting shot in the behind by an arrow, and chuckles. When he notices that Colin seems serious, he stops laughing, and seems just a little bit annoyed.
Guillame turns back to face the woods, then sighs. This Colin is a tender-hearted one, non? he thinks to himself. Is not the worst way to be, Guillame, e'?
Relenting a little, Guillame looks back over at Crytalis and Muadhnait thoughtfully.
"In any case, Colin," he says. "I have no talent for the magic. Perhaps these belles mademoiselles can tell us when it is the magic curse and when it is just dinner, e'? If one can speak to magic birds, magic stags is easy, non? Then it is all right. So - let us go on."
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The transition from plains into woods draws Muadhnait back toward wakefulness - as does one more near-slip from her saddle. She straightens up, clears her throat, and glances around to see if anyone had taken notice. It was likely they had, but she couldn't find it within her to care; she had needed that sleep, she wouldn't have been any good to them without.
She takes a moment to listen in an attempt to decipher their discussion, and catch herself up in it. The snapping of a branch, however, draws her attention upward. Rather, a more apt verb would be 'wrenching' - as some unseen force literally tears the limb from its core. It's certainly not a heavy enough branch to fall on its own.
"Watch out!" she calls in sudden alarm, eyes widening. She should have known better - it had been quiet for far too long, and was bound to cause some sort of mishap. Her pulse quickens as she watches the branch being severed at what feels like snail's pace - when in actuality it all happens rather quickly. It would be flung, she already knew, she just didn't know in which direction.
Thinking quickly, she raises a hand and flicks her finger in its general direction as though to send it off in the opposite direction - away from her and the party.
The branch is flung clear of everyone in the party, sticking into the soft dirt a few feet away.
Colin's reaction is slow enough to catch only a glimpse of the branch as it lands in the dirt away from Muadhnait's outstretched hand and pointing finger. His jaw drops and he turns to Crytalis, speaking in amazed respect. "Did you see that, Cry?"
"You're a wizard!" he declares to Muadhnait. "That's great! What other magics can you do? Maybe we could just use magic and we won't need to kill the bandits."
He smiles at Crytalis, plunging on. "Crytalis can make their leader stop fighting with her spell like she did to Happs and then you can fling all their arrows away. They'll have no choice but to surrender! Erastil is really looking out for us putting you in our path, Muadhnait. Plus, Cry is pretty tricky with turning fate in our favor."
He reaches to proudly take hold of Crytalis' hand, fully confident in the idea that she had somehow arranged for their run of good luck.
Muadhnait slowly lowers her hand, turning an expression of disbelief toward Colin. "I'm not a wizard," she says rather defensively - but, in truth, she'd be far happier if she were. It would be easier to explain, wouldn't it? Wizards weren't possessed, and then haunted by the very same spirit that had once inhabited their bodies. She supposed not all oracles were, either - but her circumstances had been particularly unfortunate.
Once more, she straightens up a bit in her saddle and clears her throat. "I'm an oracle," she admits - perhaps a bit too softly to be heard, and focus redirecting toward whichever point is least likely to allow for eye contact.
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Crytalis blinks a few times at Guillame before nodding in complete agreement. "Oh yes, I can tell which beast are beasts and which are really humans." she says reassuringly. "And really, they would probably be happy to be freed into dreams in any case. Not that that matters since I can tell, mind you."
Her rambling reassurance might have continued save for the branch, as it flies she drops down to clutch at Bandit's neck, giving a shrill outcry. She waits until the branch is safely away before straightening back up. A look of guilt comes and goes, quicker than a heartbeat at Colin's confidence. "Yes, you will not fall nor fail." she tells him.
Her ears strain to catch the woman's words and as she does she turns a worshipful look on Muadhnait. "An Oracle you say? So you knew that branch was going to break? Why that is grand, do you know everything? How is this all going to end? Will I have a kingdom one day? That means you already know how odd I am, doesn't it." her questions shoot out quickly, one after the other. "I just knew I would like you."
Colin's outward look of befuddlement at Muadhnait's unfamiliar word inwardly focuses upon an image of a small round boat. Enlightenment comes with Crytalis' breathy exhortations of prophecy.
"But," Colin asks when there is a brief cessation, "if you already know what's going to happen why didn't you know who we were?"
Guillame is a bit bemused by all the goings on and conversation. He turns his head from one to the other, trying to catch up. Eventually he turns with a raised eyebrow to Brumir.
"We are a fine company, e' Mr Brumir? A tender-hearted chevalier, a sorceress who speaks with the animals and calls death a dream, a dependable half-orc, and a seer who orders the trees to jump! I begin to think I am the only one who is an ordinary sort, non? Hehe."
Guillame chuckles and makes to elbow Brumir in the ribs. He seems quite unconscious of whether he might have caused offense.