Raquel quickly discovers two things. First, it's still over a mile to get to the fort: distances from horseback can be deceptive. Second, controlling your mount at high speed over rough and uneven terrain is a hell of a lot harder than the novelists and playwrights would have you believe...
Raquel's enthusiasm greatly overshadows her skill as a rider, and her new armor doesn't help matters much. A spectacular failure is on the horizon...
Thunder, who has a great deal more sense than his rider, eases into a bouncing trot that ends abruptly the moment he puts one hoof straight through the turf and into a hollow in the ground.
Coming to a dead stop, he cranes his neck to look back at Raquel, giving a derisive snort before continuing forward at the same easy pace as the rest of the party.
Raquel snorts back at Thunder. "Stubborn horse! Fine, be that way."
Aivar manages to not roll his eyes at Raquel's quip, but unlike the priest, he doesn't feel the need to laugh his nerves away. He calmly brings Romas into a trot by gently squeezing his thighs into the animal's flanks. "Stick together, keep your eyes open for shenanigans and most importantly, don't rush into things. With them fleeing the fort, the initiative is now on our side. No need to be hasty," he says with a blank face as Raquel's horse nearly breaks a leg.
Tristan lets loose a burst of laughter when the bandits begin to flee. "Anticlimactic. I suppose I have grown rather terrifying, though."
He follows Aivar's lead. "Aye, no sense in assuming they all fled, just to be stabbed in the back by the one bastard who stuck around."
"Reputation ain't a bad thing," Arianna remarks, as she spurs her horse along. "They go running off and spread the word, 'don't f&~~ with these guys.' That and Tristan's songs can do a lot for making ne'er-do-wells reluctant to make trouble in these parts."
"I do hear that being a propagandist pays well. Though I don't know who exactly will be coughing up the coin."
Watching as the bandits flee, Nariel raises one eyebrow curiously as she observes their haste. Glancing over her should towards Ayluin with a nod, Nariel takes a breath and adds "Fly ahead Ayluin, let us be sure that they have fled."
Nariel senses Ayluin's vast sense of satisfaction as the falcon soars high, watching the fleeing bandits scurry like field mice through the rough terrain as they scatter in all directions. His talons flex. If they were just a bit smaller...
As you pass through the crumbling stone archway of the fort's main entrance, Arianna and Nariel spot a faded seal set into the vaulted ceiling: the flag of Taldor, chipped and weathered but still visible, and a date: 3895.
The interior of the fort is one large courtyard: the guardrooms, barracks and so on that were once there have fallen apart, the stone of their walls lying fallen on the ground, or reclaimed to try and patch the outer wall. It has a certain squalor that you recall from the last bandit camp you dispersed by the Thorn river all those months ago.
The two things that strike you of note as you enter are a number of freshly-dead bodies, the blood barely congealed, lying in a heap to one side; and a very-much-alive girl of no more than 12 or 13, currently using a scavenged knife to cut the ropes tying her feet.
She freezes as she sees you, and then jumps up, although her ankles are still bound together. The hand holding the knife wobbles in a dangerous arc as she waves it in your direction. "Get back!"
Tristan quickly sheathes his rapier so as to appear less threatening, at the same time motioning to his friends to keep an eye out for anything threatening. Then he approaches the girl carefully and slowly. "Young miss, please, have no fear. We're not with the previous residents. In fact we're pretty much the reason they scampered off. May I cut those ropes for you?"
As he speaks, he flashes his most winning and reassuring smile, so as to put the girl at ease.
Feeling the grand sense of satisfaction that only flying could bring her familiar, Nariel's spirits are lifted higher. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she allows the exhilaration of flight... or at least the emotions it brought, wash over her. One day, I will take to the skies too. Such thoughts were not an idle dream; Nariel had seen skilled wizards take to the sky in Kyonin as a child, she knew it could be done.
Entering the fort, Nariel ran her hand along the deteriorating structure. Glancing upwards, Nariel raised a brow inquisitively as she was oft to do when something caught her attention. Without taking her eyes of the vaulted ceiling, she announced to her companions "The fort was likely a Taldor structure, and an old one. If this marker is to be believed, this fort is 824 years old." Letting that sink in a moment, Nariel dismounted from Hrive and gathered the reins from his bridle, leading the white horse into the fort. Glancing at the interior court, Nariel shook her head and added "Well, judging by the state of disrepair, the fort very likely is centuries old."
Glancing about at the carnage, Nariel shook her head disapprovingly and muttered "Such savagery, how disgusting." Taken by surprise at the sight of the young survivor, Nariel quietly stepped back and put up her hood and listened as Tristan spoke to her. In Nariel's mind, the girl had likely suffered enough trauma, such that speaking to or seeing an elf would only confuse or frighten her further. Best let her more affable (and more importantly, human) companions approach her.
The girl's eyes narrow as Tristan talks to her, but she gives him a second glance and clearly sees that he's not dressed like the other bandits she's encountered. "Huh. Well... just keep your distance, okay? I've got this."
It takes her a few more seconds to cut her ropes, and then she stands, rubbing her ankles and wrists to restore the circulation. She gives Tristan a mistrustful stare. "Right. Which way's the nearest town?"
"Quite a long ways from here," Raquel tells the girl. "But there's a trading post a bit closer. We'll be heading back that way once we finish here, and you're welcome to come with us. I'm Raquel. What's your name? How did you get here?"
The girl's expression changes rapidly as Raquel steps forward. Ignoring Tristan completely, she addresses her remarks to the cleric. "Oh - hello, miss. I'm Merrim. I'm - I was - with ... there was a bunch of us. We're from Touvette - we were hoping to escape to Mivon, but they've had a plague there and nobody was keen to stay. So we got out of Mivon, and we were headed for - well, there was some argument about that. Brevoy's closer, but Pitax... you've heard the stories of Pitax, miss. Even the privies are made of marble, they say.." She sniffs. "Didn't get there, though. One night we were attacked by wolves - huge, grey wolves with red eyes. I swear I heard them laughing as they came for us."
She sniffs again and wipes at her eyes. "The horses were going mad with panic, but I jumped on one and didn't look back. I could hear the screams, but there wasn't anything I could do. I saw a light on the horizon and I just headed for it. Ended up here. They weren't really sure what to do with me, but the one with horns on his head said they'd decide later. But he never came back. Some of the women were nice to me, kept me fed, but I didn't like the looks some of the men gave me." She gives Tristan and Aivar a suspicious glare, checking that they're keeping they're distance.
"So anyway, that's me, miss. What are you doing here if you aren't with that lot that just ran off?"
Raquel lays a comforting hand on Merrim's shoulder. "It sounds like you've been through a lot. Don't worry, you're safe now. The horned man--the Stag Lord--didn't come back because we killed him. He lead an army against our friends and allies, and we were forced to fight to defend ourselves. We came here to ensure that the bandits who followed him would no longer threaten these lands."
Merrim gives a sigh of relief at the news. "And the necromancer, miss? Did you get him? He gave me the creeps." She shivers.
At Raquel's statement of intent, she gives a dubious look. "If you say so, miss. But this bit of land has always had bandits - we had some coin ready to pay for safe passage, if the wolves hadn't got us." She shivers, again. "I'd like to go back and bury them, but... I've no idea where it happened. I just ran. They could be anywhere out in those hills."
Raquel grimaces at the mention of the necromancer. "Bastard blinded me. He's dead now, too."
Her expression softens again. "We'll help you look for them and pay them the respects they deserve."
After hearing the girl's words, Tristan backs further away. Raquel could do the speaking.
At her mention of her homeland, Tristan cannot help a question. "Are things getting worse in Touvette? I admit I've heard little about how events there are going for the common folk. Not that anythings tends to leave them unscathed, of course."
Aivar's glaive isn't exactly the sort of weapon you sheath and so he holds on to it, trying to do so in a non-threateningly manner. Since Raquel seems to have the situation under control, Aivar starts scanning their surroundings. The first thing he notices is the stack of bodies and he fails to look and think past that ghastly sight. Warily, he approaches the bodies - the Stag Lord's arcane companion had just been called a necromancer, after all - to try and find out who they were before being sent to the afterlife in a cruel fashion.
Who had killed them? And with what? And how? These are the questions Aivar seeks to answer. "The good Gods above have their souls," he says with a voice cracking with raw emotion. What madness had befallen the Stag Lord and his band?
Walking up beside Aivar near the pile of bodies, Nariel reluctantly studied it further. Was this the work of the Necromancer, possibly planning to raise them as a slave army for the Stag Lord? It would be diabolical and horrific if true. Cryptically, Nariel responded to Aivar's send off for the souls of the deceased "Maybe not Aivar..."
Crouching down to inspect the bodies more closely, Nariel added "Pray this is not the work of the Stag Lord's sorcerer. Necromancy is one of the dark arcane arts, one that I personally eschew. It has a tendency to corrupt those who wield it, and anger Pharasma as it interferes with the natural order." Looking about the courtyard, Nariel sought out signs of necromancy. Realizing what he might possibly have been up too, Nariel suddenly grows very cautious, even alarmed.
Turning her attention to the girl with a serious tone, Nariel addressed her calmly "Merrim, the Necromancer, was he up to anything that might have seemed strange to you here? I know I am asking a lot of you, but try to remember, it might be important."
Sasha swallows drily at the sight of the bodies. She had a suspicion what was happening, what they might have interrupted with their arrival.
She approaches the bodies cautiously, looking for any identifiers. They could be dead bandits, killed in a power struggle after the Stag Lord's death, or—she suspected—they were the remains of prisoners like Merrim.
Loose ends to be tied up. Empty mouths to feed now that the bandits had no leader. The rogue suppresses a shiver.
Nariel and Sasha clearly see that the bodies are maybe a day dead, if that. The necromancer was facing Pharasma's judgement before they were killed.
Who had killed them? And with what? And how? These are the questions Aivar seeks to answer. "The good Gods above have their souls," he says with a voice cracking with raw emotion. What madness had befallen the Stag Lord and his band?
Merrim shoots the paladin a contemptuous glance, before replying to Raquel and Nariel: "Don't feel too sorry for them, they had a little disagreement about who was in charge once they came back, didn't they? Typical men, really. Nobody'll miss them."
Her expression softens again. "We'll help you look for them and pay them the respects they deserve."
She grimaces. "You're not a country girl, then, miss? I mean, I appreciate the thought, but this was five, six, days ago... maybe a week. Whatever the wolves left will have been got by other scavengers. It's just how it goes. Besides, I really don't know where it was. It was dark, and I ran like hell. That's hundreds of miles of wilderness out there you're offering to search. I'm sure you've got better things to do, miss."
At her mention of her homeland, Tristan cannot help a question. "Are things getting worse in Touvette? I admit I've heard little about how events there are going for the common folk. Not that anythings tends to leave them unscathed, of course."
That earns another contemptuous look, although her remarks are again addressed to Raquel. "Us common folk sure don't merit much attention, do we? Tell your over-dressed friend that things in Touvette are bad, miss. Whatever he's heard, it's worse. Some man came by last year and took both my brothers for the army of the local lord. They both died. My da worked hisself to death to keep the farm going without them, gotta pay taxes, see? My uncle took me in. He's the one suggested that we make a run for it with some likemindeds, see what life's like on the other side of the border. We got away with it too, guess nobody figured a bunch of Indentureds would ever run aw-"
She looks momentarily horrified at her admission, but then shrugs. "Ah, you'd of figured it out sooner or later. But if you're planning to send me back I'd just as soon stab myself with this." She waves the dagger again.
"We'll do no such thing! You deserve a better life than what you've had so far. A life of freedom. Come with us to Oleg's trading post. I'm certain we can find you some honest work. At the very least, you'll have a roof over your head."
Tristan grimaced at the news from Touvette. Upheaval of any kind tended to take its worst tolls from those with the least to give. He paid the girl's attitude little mind - if he'd been through the same as her, he imagined he'd have a few rough edges as well.
Merrim nods placidly at Raquel's assertions. "Right you are, miss."
A search of the fort reveals the following areas of interest:
A makeshift stable, where one horse is currently nibbling on some days-old grass. He seems placid enough, and from his reaction to Merrim they seem to know one another, which corroborates her story somewhat. There's no saddle or bridle to be found.
An atrocious-smelling walled pit, scattered with bones and dung; this is apparently where the bandits kept the owlbear before they unleashed it on the trading post.
A secure room with a locked door, which does not manage to resist Sasha's lockpicking skills. Inside, you find a large amount of stolen wealth, mostly in the form of mundane trade goods like pelts, furs, tobacco, iron, bronze, miscellaneous weapons and armor (none masterwork or magic), and miscellaneous adventuring gear and tools worth a combined total of 3,500 gp.
In addition, there's a smallish wooden chest with a lock, which takes Sasha perhaps a few seconds longer to unpick. Inside are 15 velvet bags in blue and black velvet, with a green trim. Each of the bags holds 100 gold pieces (so 1,500 total).
From the imprints in the dirt, it looks as though at one point there were several more of these wooden chests, but there is no sign of them now.
Arianna doesn't react much until Merrim lets slip that she's a fugitive Indentured. "It's a crap lot in life. My, uh, little brother and sister, half-siblings really, both got born into it." She rubs the back of her head awkwardly. "Just so there's no painful misunderstandings, we're out here on behalf of the Swordlords of Restov, mapping the land and clearing out bandits. Even so, I don't think any of us are overly...patriotic, in regards to such things."
The paladin lets the girl vent her anger and doesn't offer a word in reply. Even when Arianna casually mentions that they're in the employ of the Swordlords of Brevoy and aren't overly patriotic, he stays quiet. Getting the girl to the point where she won't steal some valuables at night and ride off to only the Gods know where is more important than being right, right now. Perhaps she'll bond with Arianna and or Raquel, and get the healing process started.
It is when they collect all the valuables that the fort holds that he does speak, for the velvet bags pique his curiosity. "These strike me as being ... payments or bounties. Look at that, fancy velvet in color schemes that might indicate who they came from. Black and blue with a green trim - does that ring a bell for anyone? Perhaps a petty baron from the River Kingdom?"
The notion that it might be from a Brevan source is wholly unfathomable.
When they open the door to the treasure room, Tristan gives a low whistle, which quickly turns into the melody from The Riches of Lady Tuckaway, an uncharacteristically somber tavern song about ill-gotten gains.
"Payments, you think?" he says to Aivar. "Not just thievings? It's possible. The Stag Lord was certainly something of a robber baron, to hear the trappers tell things. Perhaps he was drawing tithe from richer folk than them alone."
Entering the treasury, Nariel puts quill to parchment and quietly takes inventory of ill-begotten goods. After finishing, Nariel rolls up the scroll and puts it away for safe keeping while shaking her head astonishingly "Quite the racket the Stag Lord had going here."
Moving in beside Aivar curiously, Nariel ponders and asks rhetorically "It is suspicious, is it not?" Picking up one of the bags, Nariel frowned as she tried to discern any possible signs of connections to the nobility as Aivar had suggested.
Turning her attention to the girl with a serious tone, Nariel addressed her calmly "Merrim, the Necromancer, was he up to anything that might have seemed strange to you here? I know I am asking a lot of you, but try to remember, it might be important."
Merrim shrugs. "Dovan, his name was. And he was a creep, I mean he was creepy and he was a creep. I heard him boast about raising the dead, but I don't think the others believed him. But maybe they didn't disbelieve him, either." She shudders. "He was from Nidal, so anything's possible, I guess."
Tristan doesn't see any recognisable maker's marks on the stolen goods. But the bandits had control of the trading post for quite some time, so it seems likely that this was taken from traders passing through.
Nariel is aware that there are a limited number of heraldic colours (green, black, blue, red, white and yellow). A number of noble houses (including some in Brevoy) use black, blue and green - without a heraldic device, it's impossible to know what significance (if any) it holds.
Aivar nods at Nariel, his head bobbing up and down as if he is having troubles swallowing down the notion that it is, indeed, suspicious. "Perhaps it is the pile of bodies and the general odious nature of this particular endeavor that has put a streak of paranoia and distrust in my thinking. Maybe it's nothing but coincidence and happenstance. Still, it might be wise to hold on to at least one of these velvet bags. Just in case."
Then, for the first time, Aivar addresses the young girl. He sinks through his knees to get to her level and waves an open hand at the veritable treasure trove. "Merrim, are any of your possessions amongst these items?"
Arianna doesn't react much until Merrim lets slip that she's a fugitive Indentured. "It's a crap lot in life. My, uh, little brother and sister, half-siblings really, both got born into it." She rubs the back of her head awkwardly. "Just so there's no painful misunderstandings, we're out here on behalf of the Swordlords of Restov, mapping the land and clearing out bandits. Even so, I don't think any of us are overly...patriotic, in regards to such things."
Merrim gives Arianna a glance that has a flash of empathy, before reverting back to her cautious expression. "Huh. Swordlords. Never heard of anything good happened to anyone who claimed the Stolen Lands. You do know that's what they're called, right?"
She just barely meets Aivar's eyes, and that's only because he's directly in front of her. "Nope. Ran with the clothes on my back. Grabbed this dagger just before you arrived, when everyone ran in a panic, so I'm holding onto that. And for all of me, you can keep the horse. Once is one times more than I ever intended to ride."
Raquel helps the others inventory the loot. Once it's all accounted for, she looks at the group. "Looks like everything's wrapped up here for now. Shall we return to Oleg's?"
"I see. Well, you best take this." Aivar fills a pouch with some coins and hands it over to the girl. It contains a mix of gold, silver and copper pieces - some odd twenty gold or so in total. "Brevoy is not like the River Kingdoms, but the poor suffer just the same. Feel free to pick up a backpack, some spare clothes, and camping gear. If not for you, do it for us."
Something about her defiant nature reminds him of Arianna. If anything, Merrim deserves something she can hold on to, something that gives hope. Aivar hopes that the wealth-filled pouch does just that. "Raquel, if you don't mind, but I'd like to either bury the bodies or burn them. Same goes for the bones and bits in the owlbear pit. I'll do it, if you'll give me the time to do so."
Raquel nods. "Aye, I'll help you with the task. Probably best to burn them, so as not to attract scavengers like those wolves that attacked Merrin. We'll say a prayer over the pyre."
Merrim looks at first as though she's about to fling the coins back in Aivar's face, but ultimately she gives a grudging nod of acceptance. "Alright. But I'm poor, not a beggar. I'll not take charity, this is for work. Lessee, that's - twenty gold -" she almost chokes on the words, this is more money than she's ever had in her life "so that's, oh, six, seven months, give or take. Not working for you though. I'll work for her." She points at Raquel.
She shakes her head in disbelief as Raquel and Aivar start talking about burial of the bodies. "So you soft bunch of slumhearts came out into the wilds and took down the bandit chief and his men - and you all survived?" Her tone is a mix of respect and polite disbelief. "Best if you give me the spade, miss. You look like you could hurt yourself with it."
The grave is very efficiently dug once she's left to get on with it. Afterwards, she wipes the soil off her hands onto her leggings, and looks up at the sky to get her bearings. "Which way did you say the trading post is, miss? Northeast or Northwest?"
"Aye, we're aware of the name. Funny, every kingdom around seems to think they were stolen directly from them."
I'd like to either bury the bodies or burn them.
"Just like the bandits to leave a mess for us to clean up," Tristan mock-grumbles. "We ought lock away any valuables we can't bring with us this time, as well. No sense in letting the bandits come to reclaim their spoils when we've gone. We scared them away fair and square."
Raquel laughs at Merrim's no-nonsense attitude. "Oh, I like her!"
She points to the northeast. "It's that-a-way. Let's ride!"
Tristan's plan turns out not to be needed: you are able to put the various bits of acquired loot onto your horses. It won't help them win any races, but (as Raquel has demonstrated) galloping in this terrain is impractical anyway.
Merrim flatly refuses to get on a horse. "Nope. Not happening. You want something fed, pastured, lambed, foaled, calved, harnessed to a plow, shod, sheared, skinned, butchered or gelded, I'm your girl. But unless you can whistle up a wolf on command, once on a horse is one time too many."
She gives you a side-eye glance. "I'll walk alongside. Bet you one of them shiny gold coins your horse tires before I do. "
Setting the velvet bag down, Nariel shook her head "Well, there is not enough information here to determine the origins or destination of these sacks of gold. These are common colors among the nobility."
Preparing Hrive's harness and bridle for the journey back, Nariel glanced back at Merrim with a neutral expression Her walking will slow us down significantly. Taking a deep breath, Nariel decided to let it go; the girl had proved to be something of a delight, and she had clearly taken a liking to Raquel which was helpful. Pulling her hood back finally, Nariel decided to take one stab at convincing her "Merrim, are you sure there is not some way we convince you to ride with one of us? Hrive here is very gentle?"
Hrive sighs and gives his mistress a (very gentle) reproachful look as she proposes to add yet more weight to the burden he's already carrying. Merrim shakes her head. "Nope. Tell you what, though. Anything we need to run away from and you won't need to ask, I'll be on that horse faster than lightning."
When he realizes that getting all the worthwhile goods out of the fort will require them to load up the horses considerably, Tristan opts to walk as well.
"We should indeed be on the lookout for those wolves, now that you mention it. By the way you told it, they might be wargs. Smarter than wolves, and crueler. At least, so the stories have it. Most of the accounts I've read have been second or third-hand, as you can imagine. Not the sort of thing I'd want running around out here if I can help it."
Aivar decided to walk as well but does so unarmored. Most of his heavy scale is packed into his backpack, giving the paladin a chance at a proper workout without further burdening his trusty steed. He isn't entirely sure what to do with the story of the wargs. Should he doubt the girl's story? He sees no reason to. "It will be hard to get any advance warnings of wargs in this area if they do decide to come and terrorize us, so yes, it might be wise to have a chat with the hunters, Garess and Oleg when we return. Just in case. Also, Tristan, I've been working on a song ..."
It is then that Aivar's confidence takes a backseat and a more reluctant version of the paladin comes to the forefront. "Mind if I sing it for you later at the campfire, have you give me some feedback? It's in honor of Whiteleaf and the battle we fought against the Stag Lord. I ... well, I had a moment with Petrov after the fight, and the sacrifices made have been weighing heavily on my heart since. Ah, I'll stop babbling, just say yes and you'll get to hear this fool attempt to do what you do so well!"
4 SARENITH (VI) 4719
With the slight encumbrance of the additional wealth you've acquired, it takes you a little longer to make the journey back. In your absence, Captain Garess has kept his men busy by returning the trading post to its former state: the ground by the gate has been raked over and packed down, the gate itself has been repaired and the inside of the fort shows no evidence whatsoever of the bloody conflict that raged there a short week ago.
The atmosphere inside the fort seems to have improved, as well: Petrov is still there, although there is a slight tension between him and Oleg; and Svetlana is there to greet you with her usual smile as you arrive, although her eyes are still sad. She swoops on Merrim when the girl is introduced, and proceeds to mother her relentlessly; something that Merrim seems oddly willing to accept. She is wary of everyone else, including Jhod, although she mutters "Finally, someone else who talks properly!" once he introduces himself.
Her good humour greatly restored, Svetlana clucks over the rest of you like a mother hen. "Well, my dears, and what a few months it's been! But all's well that ends well and I'm sure we never thought to see the end of those bandits, did we dear?" Oleg nods with a grunt but doesn't voice a reply.
"Well I'd say this calls for a celebration! It's a shame there are no moon radishes left, but one of the trappers brought in a deer yesterday and I think that will make a marvellous feast! Come on, my dear..." She puts one arm round Merrim's shoulders and the two of them wander into the main house.
Jhod looks at you keenly. "Well, tha's done what tha came for, and tha's all survived. So what next?"
"Huh. Good question," Raquel says, scratching her head. "I guess we go back to Restov and revel in the glory of victory? Maybe crash a royal wedding? Sounds like fun!"
"Well why are you holding back, man! No need to wait for the campfire!" he grins.
"Industrious as always, Captain Garess. It's almost like a horde of bandits didn't try to murder us on this very spot only a short time ago," Tristan remarks as they arrive. Then he moves closer to the captain and whispers. "Any further trouble between Oleg and Petrov?"
"A feast? You hear that, Aivar! You'll get to sing your ballad!"
With the question of what the group would do next, Tristan, too, is momentarily taken aback. "Ah... well, yes. Home again, I suppose. The task is done, and more that satisfactorily I'd hope. I have to admit," Tristan says ruefully, scrubbing at the few days' worth of unkempt beard on his face, "I'll be almost sad to leave. Singing for nobles and drunk tradesmen won't be quite the thrill it used to be."
Home, Sasha thinks, a weight forming in the pit of her stomach. Back to father and my brothers and the family business. She swallows drily and pushes the thought from her head. That part of her life was over. It was over as soon as she stole from them and left without a word.
"No going back to Restov for me," she exclaims with an uneasy smile. "When I left, I had hoped to start something new here. Now that the bandits are gone, there's only more work to be done." If her voice takes on a hint of mania, it is only because the thought of abandoning this life terrifies her.
Jhod looks mildly dismayed at having so clearly stirred some not-so-positive feelings in some of you. "Nay, but tha's accomplished much! Tis something to celebrate for tonight, and the morrow can take thought unto itself. At the very least, tha's richer by far than tha was. Taking the ill-gotten gains from the bandits' own fortress and purposing them for the better - tha can take pride in that, surely?"