The man gives Nariel a look: "I was a soldier. Saw most of my friends and comrades die a horrible death out in these cursed lands. Whatever you have planned for me, can't be worse than that."
As Nariel predicted, pursuit proves to be fruitless. Not only did the bandits scatter in all directions, but the rain has washed away most of the evidence. Also, the bandits are not unskilled at woodcraft themselves: once they had recovered their wits, they put some effort into covering their tracks.
"They will look nice on you. You should keep them Raquel."
Raquel blushes at the elf's comment. "Oh, thank you," she says with a smile. The cleric heads down to the river to look at her reflection as she affixes the engraved silver earrings to her ears. She undoes her ponytail and reties it more tightly to show off her new bling more.
Look at me, playing dress-up. If father could see this, he would have some very choice words!
"What do you think?" she asks the others, though she looks pointedly at Tristan and Aivar.
"A vision of beauty to bring light to a somber time, my dear priest," Tristan says with a bow.
Raquel's eyes widen and her heart beats a little more quickly in her chest. Damn, that bard is smooth! "Fl-flatterer," she stammers, lowering her eyes and blushing profusely.
Sasha sheathes her blade and approaches the bandit. "What happened to your fellow soldiers?" she asks, her voice gentle. "I'd heard stories of the 9th, but that was little more than hearsay."
The man gives a sour laugh. "You want the truth? Be careful what you ask for, little girl..."
He looks away for a moment, and when he turns back his gaze is focused somewhere else, lost in the past.
"Ten year ago, or near enough, the King - curse him and his idiot offspring! - gave in to his oldest son's demands for more land, and decided to claim the Stolen Lands. Huh, not like anyone's had THAT idea before. But we were the Ninth, and House Rogarvia's finest, so off we went." He sighs. "Went OK, at first - no bandit's dumb enough to mess with an army, and we made it deep into the hills. Built a fort, even, right by the lake. Got a new owner now, of course."
He spits. "Then one morning we woke up... and most of the army was gone. The Vanishing, you know? All the top officers, of course. The Lieutenant and the Captain, they was the only officers left, plus a buncha wet-behind-the-ears subalterns who never been on campaign before. And of course, the Captain'd bought his commission rather than earned it, so he hadn't a ****ing clue how to lead. So we stay in that fort, those of us that are left, doing guard duty, doing our shifts, doing our patrols, pretending like nothing's ****ing happened, while we wait for the Captain to get his **** together - and he never did. Gets more and more obsessed with discipline, like he knows he's not up to the job, so he starts having men flogged for all sorts of imaginary crap - like looking at him in a funny way. He hanged a man for that, at the end... but I'm getting ahead of myself."
"Where was I? Oh yeah, so we're still going through the motions of being a proper army, and morale's gone, along with the food supplies. You can't forage with an army, you know? So the men are starving, and getting ill with the s**ts - you can s**t yourself to death, did you know that? And all the while, Winter's creeping over the horizon - and we're still in our Summer uniforms!
He sighs. "Of course, the Lieutenant had packed Winter uniforms for his platoon - he always plans for the worst - but the Captain made us throw em in the lake." He shakes his head in disbelief. "Said it would be bad for morale to have some men in one uniform, and some in another. Morale! And of course, the whole time, he knows people are really looking to the Lieutenant, the only man in the whole place who actually knows what the **** he's doing and actually gives two **** about his men. So one day, he has us all assemble on parade, in the freezing snow, and he tells us that he's sending a squad back to Brevoy to get reinforcements. Asks for volunteers."
"Course, he knew damn well the Lieutenant would volunteer first. Got him out of his hair. The rest of us knew it was a death sentence, but some of 'em went with him out of loyalty. I nearly did. Wish I had... these last ten years, what I done, woulda been better if I'd died out in the cold." He clears his throat. "Anyway, the Lieutenant goes and the rest of us just bide our time, waiting for Winter to end... and one night, a group of us on watch, we snuck in and stabbed the Captain, took the rest of the supplies and the officers' horses, and we ran like ****. Didn't stop till I got to Mivon. The rest of it, well, you can guess."
He takes a deep breath. "So that's the story of the Ninth, and how nearly two hundred men met their miserable ends for some titled peacock who didn't have a clue. Shoulda known the Lieutenant would survive. Shoulda gone with him. Shoulda done lots of things different."
He turns back to face you, his expression anguished. "Look. You don't owe me a ****ing thing, I get that. But don't make me go back and face him. I don't want him to see what I become, you know? You're squeamish about doing it, and I get that too. Just - just give me a knife and I'll do it myself, OK? I can do it quick, I know what I'm doing."
He bites his lip. "Please. Don't - don't let him see the way I ended up... I was a good soldier once, I served well. I'd prefer he remember me that way."
Tristan is quiet for a moment following the soldier's tale. "Make sure the blade is sharp, Aivar," he says at last. "The man deserves a quick end, at least."
And beheading is - heavens! - somehow more dignified than hanging. Faster, anyway.
Tristan resolved to watch the execution, despite his distaste for it.
Raquel's good mood vanishes abruptly when she hears the bandit's tale. She sits quietly under the tarp, not making eye contact with any of her companions. One hand clutches her holy symbol while the other fiddles with something in one of her coat's pockets.
"What's your name?" Arianna says. "If I may ask."
She keeps her demeanor stony. Once more, she realizes just how unworldly she is.
Listening to the ex-soldier tell his story, Nariel appears passive and quiet. When he concludes his story, Nariel only manages to nod sadly "Well, I think that is settled then." Taking her new bow and slinging it over her shoulder, Nariel appears melancholy and reflective.
Taking a few steps, Nariel crouches down beside their prisoner and gives him solid eye contact, placing a hand on his shoulder. Displaying an unusual amount of empathy, Nariel quietly whispers "Fate and circumstance dealt you a poor hand, but for what it is worth, I believe you were a good soldier." Standing up, Nariel glances over at Aivar with a long expression before returning her attention to the prisoner "Do you have any last requests, or is there maybe someone you wish to write?"
Sasha crouches by the bandit, her expression cold. "You're right. We don't owe you anything." She jerks a thumb towards Raquel. "One of your comrades shot my friend, and that makes me want to tie you to a tree and see how many arrows it takes before you die."
"You don't want to face the lieutenant? Tell us everything you know about the Stag Lord. Do that and we'll let you off easy."
Tristan mostly just wanted to end it - if they'd made the decision, then have done. But Sasha was right - if the man was to seek some manner of repentance in death, it was only right that he help them as much as he was able before the end.
Tristan leaves the woman to her questioning and idly inspects the wooden music box they'd found in the bandit camp.
"What's your name?" Arianna says. "If I may ask."
The man shrugs. "I am - or was - Corporal Ivan Jonas. Vanya to my friends, who are all dead, most like, by now. Which answers your question, Miss." He nods toward the elf.
"You don't want to face the lieutenant? Tell us everything you know about the Stag Lord. Do that and we'll let you off easy."
Jonas nods. "Deal. But I don't know much, alright? He turned up out of nowhere, oh, maybe 3 years back. Made quite an impression, just walking into our camp with that stag-helmet and armour all made of ice, and that vicious spear..." He shudders. "He'd killed our sentry and he tossed the frozen body to the ground and it shattered. Said we could join him, or end up the same way. Not a tricky decision. Even Kressle was shook, although she'd never admit it."
He looks at you. "Here's the point though. He may be insane, but he's also a genius in his own way - we've gone from robbing whoever crosses our path to taxing them. The trappers and suchlike might scowl, but they can make 10 gold easy in the riches of this place. I've seen barons in the River Kingdoms with less of a hold on their land than he has here."
Raquel suppresses a shudder when she hears of the Stag Lord's powers. She's not looking forward to a showdown with him. She distracts herself from her dark thoughts by looking over Tristan's shoulder at the music box.
"What song does it play? Something we can dance to?"
Sasha watches the bandit's eyes, trying to see if he's lying. "How many men does he command?" she asks. "Any magic users besides himself?"
Standing up, Nariel watches quietly as Sasha interrogates Jonas. Listening to his description of the Stag Lord, Nariel suddenly appears intrigued. Raising one eyebrow characteristically, Nariel quickly scrawled down some notes in her journal. Ice armor, stag helm, ice-based magical powers. Glancing towards the others, Nariel states in a matter of factual tone "Impressive. We will have to learn to counter such power before we encounter him. It is possible to dispel such powers, if only temporarily."
Turning her attention back to Jonas with a nod, Nariel adds "Title does not necessarily confer obedience, your Captain found that out the hard way. Power is too often derived from fear, and philosophically speaking, rule of law is rooted in the simple acceptance of legal authority, or an unwillingness to challenge it." Appearing somewhat reflective, Nariel adds "Based on those tenets, the Stag Lord would appear to have entrenched himself as the defacto ruler here, emboldening him to the point of actually collecting taxes. Fascinating."
The man considers the question for a moment. "Numbers is tricky, because we're rarely all gathered in one place. Say, maybe fifty? Probably less than that right now: the sweating sickness came up from Mivon over the Summer, dropped a lot of people. And nobody has any magic like what you used on us. Never seen anything like that before."
"What song does it play? Something we can dance to?"
Tristan looks up as he winds the box mechanism again, then lets go of the key. The tune that comes forth is slow and languorous. "Not much of a dancing tune. Some sort of lullaby. Doesn't sound like Brevic music - maybe Kyonin?"
One ear is still listening to the conversation of the condemned man. The Stag Lord sounded formidable, but if none of his servants sported such mysterious powers perhaps they had a chance at defeating him after all.
"Ah," Raquel says, slightly disappointed. After a beat, she adds, "I think I much prefer your singing. You have a wonderful voice."
The once-corporal looks at Sasha. "Right. I kept my end of the bargain. Now you can keep yours."
"I can," Sasha replies. She draws her blade and regards the captive bandit.
"How do you want it to go?"
The man bows his head. "Just make it quick."
"May Pharasma judge you justly," Sasha intones before plunging her blade into the bandit's heart. She wipes the sword off on his clothes and sheathes it, doing her best not to tremble.
She had never killed a man in cold blood before.
Raquel winces when she hears the man's body hit the ground. She doesn't look in that direction, but she offers Sasha her flask when she joins the rest of the group.
"So, let's camp here tonight and head back to Oleg's in the morning."
A man lets go of a long sigh as he gets up, looking about to find something like a shovel. Since Sasha had taken up the responsibility of doing what needed to be done, Aivar feels like it is his duty to ensure the man gets a proper resting place. Perhaps Raquel could even say a prayer of sorts, to ensure his spirit finds its way to Pharasma.
When asked about saying a prayer, Raquel stands over the bandit's grave. He's wasn't a Caydenite, so she's not sure how much good her prayers will do, but she offers a short one anyway. "May you find freedom from the burdens of your mortal life." She raises her flask in salute and takes a swig.
Thank you! It certainly has my life easier, and more eventful, to be an able singer.
Tristan helps Aivar dig the grave. It makes him feel better to help put the man at rest. He chose. He chose. He chose, repeats a voice in the bard's head.
"I had assumed that with no prisoner to deliver, we would continue on with exploration. Though it would be nice to offload these crates. No sense in letting valuable goods rot."
"I suppose we could fashion a sort of travois so the horses can haul them along," Raquel muses as she inspects the crates. "So long as we don't travel across terrain that's too difficult, we should be okay to explore a bit more before we return to the trading post."
Sasha mutely accepts Raquel's flask and takes a swig from it. She grimaces as the fiery liquid works its way down her throat and into her stomach. She hands it back to Raquel with a grateful nod.
"Could we hide them? And send the captain's men to gather them when we return? If we're to continue exploring, there's little sense in letting them slow us."
"That might work. But we should move several miles away before hiding them, so the bandits don't come back and dig them up."
Tristan nods. "That seems sensible." Then he sighs. "It seems to be a day for burying things."
Watching quietly as Sasha thrust her blade into the chest of the former Corporal Jonas, Nariel was struck by grief. That sadness was in part for the death of a man who once held strong convictions, and seemed to have found them again in the face of death, but also for Sasha, who at such a tender age had taken on the heavy task of executioner.
Holding her gaze long on the burial place of the deceased man, Nariel managed only to bid him farewell "Esta e' seere, Ivan Jonas."
As the others discuss what to do with the loot, Nariel nods at the final suggestion "We are down one horse as it stands, so I aggree... we bury the goods and retrieve them at a later date as discussed."
Arianna absorbs herself in logging the items of value they found, and making copies of the list, one for each person. I should send some home. Can't send a lot, but a few platinum pieces to take some of the burden off of dad and Sig. Make sure the baby is well taken care of, and Clara could get a new dress this year.
Aivar cleans the shovel's blade with a rag before adding its weight to the gear his horse is carrying for him. "Perhaps we can help create something beautiful with some of the wealth we take away from this place. Plenty of suffering people and causes out there that can use some gold. At least that way, it wasn't all in vain. But alright, let's lug those goods along and bury them somewhere else while the sun still shines. Sasha, want to ride on my horse? I don't mind doing some walking today."
A donation to an orphanage. Some coin to any remaining family of Corporal Jonas. There were plenty of seeds to plant with the coin they'd take away from here. Plenty of opportunities to have something beautiful come out of it, at the very end of it all.
"Sasha, want to ride on my horse?"
Raquel raises an eyebrow at the paladin's phrasing. In respect for the gravitas of the situation and Sasha's inner turmoil, she refrains from commenting on it. Barely.
With the late corporal buried, it's time to move on. It's clear that any travois you could fashion together wouldn't survive the rigours of a journey through the trackless forests of the Narlmarches. You can however put together some makeshift concealment that will (you hope!) keep the goods from prying eyes until you're ready to collect them.
Travelling on, you continue Westward. The forest here is dense woodland, elm, oak, beech - old and gnarled, untouched by the logger's axe. The leaves are fresh and bright green, alive with the hope of Spring ascendant; the grass is wet with dew every morning. Shafts of bright sunlight pierce the forest canopy, creating patches of illumination. Always now in the background you can hear the chatter of birds, and the scampering of squirrels and other creatures. You see sign of larger creatures - deer and elk - but they keep their distance, out of sight.
You continue on your journey without difficulty.
Late one afternoon, you pick up the unmistakeable smell of rotting eggs, carried to you on the breeze. A short while later, the source becomes apparent: two hot springs bubbling up from the ground, creating a fog of steam and the stench of sulfur.
You have found the source of the aptly-named Skunk River.
Raquel enjoys the peace of the forest. Much of the previous day's tension drains away as they explore the pastoral woodlands.
She wrinkles her nose when the sulfuric smell permeates the air. "Sweet barleybrew! What an incredible smell we've discovered!" A grin breaks out in her face, though, when they reach the hot springs. "Aha! Now that's what I'm talking about! Anybody keen to take me up on that skinny-dipping offer now?"
She searches the area to be sure no creatures are lurking about, and she carefully checks the temperature of the water.
Dismounting from Hrive and landing lightly on her feet, Nariel approaches the spring. Glancing it over approvingly, Nariel responds to Raquel quite seriously "I will Racqel. Springs like this are common in Kyonin, and are known to have therapeutic properties." Pulling her right glove off, Nariel runs her hand through the water with a content expression, while also inspecting to ensure the springs safety.
Standing up, Nariel throws off her cloak and plainly adds "After weeks in wild, I need this." Whistling for Ayluin, her hawk companion suddenly lands on her shoulder "Keep alert Ayluin for any potential dangers my friend."
"You and me both," Raquel agrees. She kicks off her boots and shrugs her armored coat off onto the ground. Her shirt, pants, and undergarments soon follow.
Standing naked by the pool, she casts a coy look over her shoulder at the rest of her companions. "Last one in is a rotten egg!" She steps into the spring and lowers herself into the warm water with a content sigh.
"Hrm, yes. Pungent. I too have heard of the great good hot springs can do for you, but I'm not entirely sure I'm ready to brave the smell," Tristan says. Of course, neither he nor the others smelled particularly fine after their days of exploration.
"Last one in is a rotten egg!"
"But the first one in will smell the most like one."
Aivar grimaces when a couple of his companions rush headfirst into the spring. How can something that smells this foul possibly be good for you?! With more than a pinch of reluctance to his step, he wades forward until he's a good meter away from the water. There, he pulls a funny face, one you'd see a little boy make when he needs to do something he doesn't want to. "Therapeutic you say?"
Slowly, but steadily, Aivar starts to undress before inching into the hot spring. Ugh!
Raquel whistles as Aivar strips, thoroughly enjoying the show.
"You know I heard about this guy who died cause he went in a hot spring that was literally boiling. Oh, wait, no, that's happened literally thousands of times over the course of human history," Arianna deadpans.
She stays out of the water to keep watch, with the expectation that somebody will return the favor.
Raquel rolls her eyes. "Tell you what, Ari. If I get cooked in here, you can have my boots."
Glancing over at Tristan with one raised eyebrow, Nariel flatly responds as she begins to disrobe "That would be a misconception." Folding her cloak, gloves and boots neatly and setting them aside, she continues "The smell has to do with the sulfur billowing from the earth and the minerals in the water. While foul, the odour does not subsist after bathing, so you need not worry about smelling of rotten eggs."
Removing the rest of her garments casually, Nariel folds them and sets them neatly aside near Hrive before heading towards the water. Passing Aivar at the waters edge, she responds in a matter of fact manner "Yes, therapeutic. Aivar, you have been in the saddle for hours and weeks on end, this will help relax you."
Entering the water, Nariel immerses herself fairly quickly before coming up near Racquel, looking very blissful and relaxed. Sinking to near shoulder depth again, Nariel murmurs in elven "Diola quel ai alya seasa" **
Relax?!
The paladin finally dips in properly and, with much hesitation, dives forward so that the water encapsulates him from feet to shoulder. The man's initial boyish frown quickly disappears as the warm water works its magic on his taxed muscles. "Alright, I must admit, it isn't half as bad once you're in and your nose has wisely decided to stop functioning."
Raquel takes in the sight of Nariel's naked body with a smile, though she feels some pangs of jealousy over the elf's perfect figure. The cleric has always believed herself too broad in the hips and wide in the middle.
She looks between Nariel and Aivar, both of her companions a feast for the eyes. "Would either of you like a massage?" she asks innocently.
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"Oh, oh, I does! I does! Is amasaj like snuggling? I likes snuggles!"
The familiar form of Tyg-tytter-tut materialises out of thin air, the cricket-bodied girl talking nineteen to the dozen as she does so: "See, Perl? I told you they looks like that once they takes their outer-skins off! You shoulda believed me!"
Her faerie dragon companion Perlivash reappears beside her (he has the good grace to look slightly embarrassed at having been caught peeking) and coughs. "Well, alright, Tyg. You win this round."
Tyg folds her arms across her chest and beams at you all. "So - we's been talking - Perl an me - an we's decided that we's happy to be friends. Which means no more tricks - if you dursen't talk about... you know. Her." The tiny fey shivers, despite the hot steam rising from the springs. But almost immediately her mood brightens. "So, howja like this place, huh? We lives here - at least as much as we lives anywhere - we moves around a lot - but inna winter this is best place to be, you know? So - we saw you fight the bad bigginses - we was pleased to see them gone - meanies! We hopes they dursen't come back, not ever-ever-ever!"
She shakes her tiny fist in their general direction.