"Are we really in a hurry? A rock cairn seems sensible enough."
"Say we ever manage to bring in some people to exploit this .. mine, we wouldn't want them to be haunted by an angry spiritual horse, right? " Aivar isn't grinning nor smirking. "It is what we would do for a fellow Brevan. Why not for a loyal companion, such as Sasha's horse? Besides, the horse is right in front of a rich gold vein. We will have to move the remains at some point. Why not while there is still some dignity left?"
Nariel's keen elf-sight pierces the gloom easily, picking out details that she previously missed.
The tunnel at the base of the pit-shaft extends for perhaps 50 feet or so before abruptly ending in a mass of rock and earth - there was evidently a cave-in, long ago. It's beyond your skills and equipment to remove such an obstruction at present.
She also spots, at the far end of the tunnel, the skeletons of a number of dwarves; their rusted metal weapons lie alongside them. The injuries that she can see suggest that they died of violence rather than from the cave-in.
Finally, she notices on the wall of the tunnel, daubed in what looks like long-dried blood, a crude symbol of an archway over a flame.
While finishing her notes, Nariel addresses the others without looking up "This was a dwarven mine I believe, or at least the corpses down below are dwarven. There was a cave-in here as well, but I believe the dwarves that died here might have actually met their end violently." Glancing up, Nariel looks puzzled as she holds up her notes "This marking is on the wall tunnel below, written in what I believe might be blood; does anyone recognize it?"
When Nariel describes the symbol, Raquel perks up. "Oh! I know that one! That's the symbol of Droskar, an evil dwarven god of toil and cheating. He believes that sufficient toil leads to eventual success, and that those who fail simply weren't trying hard enough. In the pursuit of this goal, Droskar believes that one should be free to do whatever is necessary to accomplish one's goal, even if that includes lying, cheating, the exploitation of others, or even worse crimes. He's not a very nice guy. If this place was built by his faithful, it would explain the shoddy construction and poor workplace safety regulations."
"Droskar huh? Never heard of Him, but I assume your average dwarf won't exactly hold a lot of love for Droskar. I know I don't like him, going by your description."
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After supper that night, Tristan is quietly humming and playing his violin by the fire. Suddenly he looks up, his head bobbing as he counts out rhythms. He speaks up again, to no-one or to anyone who desires to listen, a habit he's been developing as the group travels.
"I suppose I've death on the mind today, with that poor creature's fate. I finished a bit of a dirge for our mutual acquaintance, the thoroughly-unrepentant Happs. Not to explain, or even to mourn, really... I don't know. If we're to be fighting banditry, we might need to know exactly when we will forgive, or forget, or at least have a better idea. I know were weren't all onboard with giving the Petrov lad a chance at life."
Tristan strums a low, somber intro.
"I rarely think about laws. Or good and evil, all that grand, important stuff. Seems I'll need to start."
Tristan lowers his head and begins singing as he accompanies himself in a slow, macabre tune.
"'And who, are you,' the dead man said,
'To pass judgment on me?
Neither a devil nor a god,
'tis just a man I see.
Both Kings, and bandits take their want.
You say I should feel shame?
if you had lived the life I did,
you'd have done the same.'
And so he spoke, and so he spoke,
as the knot's tied round his throat,
an' whatever truth was in his words,
could not convince the rope."
"Look, ghost horses are a valid concern, but I really don't think it's a good idea to go down in that pit," Arianna says. "That has bad news written all over it."
Aivar grimaces when Arianna speaks. Not because she was wrong, on the contrary. She was a hundred percent right. "You're right yet there's a nagging voice inside my head that says it is the right thing to do. If someone has to go down to make sure we get our loyal companion out, I will go."
Clearing the debris away from the pit shaft has revealed a set of stone steps carved into the sloping wall down. Even after the centuries, most of them are still good enough to stand on, although some have crumbled away. It's a straightforward matter to descend and ascend, provided you are careful.
An assembly of ropes and some brute strength is all that's needed to extract the luckless horse, and then some elbow grease to dig out the turf and bury him.
That evening, it rains - not the thunderstorm of some weeks back, but a continuous, sodden, heavy rain that soaks into every nook and crevice in your clothing. It makes fires impossible, and mealtimes a misery of cold food.
It keeps raining for the better part of the next week.
Animals under normal circumstances seek shelter when it's wet, and your horses seem to look on you with barely-suppressed hatred every morning once it becomes clear that no, you're not returning to the warm and dry of the trading post. Demo bites at Arianna's arm one afternoon, and Thunder accidentally-on-purpose treads heavily on Raquel's foot when she dismounts one evening. Hrive, meanwhile, sighs heavily each time that Sasha climbs up, as though he carries not merely another person, but an existential burden that no mere biped brain could possibly understand; while Ayluin simply refuses to acknowledge Nariel's existence altogether, burrowing deeply into the folds of her cloak and pretending pointedly to be asleep (except when it's mealtime).
As if picking up on this mood, your own interactions are increasingly fraught with fractious disharmony, both in the little things (who snores; who treats their own possessions as more important than other people's; who dropped who's cloak in the mud and won't admit they did it; who didn't fold the tent properly, so that it's soaked inside and out) and the bigger things (who thinks that keeping the goldmine a secret is a good idea; who thinks that publicising it is a better idea; who keeps coming back to the charter and whether it brings with it the obligation to report back to the Swordlords; who grouses at Raquel's side deal with Clan Golka).
Good cheer is difficult when you're soaked through.
Arianna only once, briefly, tries to take out one of her books, and quickly realizes just how bad of an idea that is, and she puts it back away and hopes that the ink doesn't run.
"I've been thinking," she says, a few days after burying the horse. "Money can make people do stupid things sometimes. Greed is...well. I'm not gonna try to pretend I'm an exception to that. Money is the whole reason I'm out here. So, it's kinda gone unsaid, but I think we should make a pact. Everything we find out here, we split, six ways evenly. Insoluble wealth, we work it out. You wanna give part of your share to somebody else for something, fine, but nobody deserves more'n their share. Is that...alright, with all of you?"
After the cairn for the horse is built, Sasha takes a moment offer a silent prayer to Erastil on behalf of her mount. This is why father told me to never name a horse. When you lose it, it makes it that much harder.
---
Despite the rain, Sasha tries to keep her spirits up. She apologizes to Hrive when she mounts up for the day, resolving to reward the horse with apples when possible.
Arianna's musings on wealth - and your possible replies - are interrupted when Sasha and Nariel spot two men hiding in the treetops. Before they can warn the rest of you, the two men fire their bows, hitting Raquel!
The air is filled with the sound of shrill whistles as the two tree-bound sentries signal to the rest of their group, and several more bandits, led by a fierce-looking woman, appear on the other side of the river...
Petrov spoke of a bandit camp by the river - it seems that he was telling the truth.
Raquel does her best to remain in good spirits, but the thorough soaking she has to endure leaves her a bit more sullen and withdrawn than usual.
She's about to respond to Arianna when the warning comes too late. Her armored coat stops one arrow, but the other pierces her side. She cries out in pain. "Argh! Why does everybody attack me? I'm so lovable!"
Raquel staggers towards a nearby tree, taking cover behind the trunk. She grasps her holy symbol and prays to Cayden, surrounding herself with a shimmering, magical field.
Aivar was just about to reply to Arianna when suddenly the rain intensified, becoming ever more violent. Something about fairness had been on his mind. "Fai-fu-foes!"
"Lower your weapons, no one has to die today!" He tried. Oh, he tried, but deep down he knows how this is going to end. That sorry lot of bandits had most likely followed their trail and, knowing what they had done to their comrades, are looking for vengeance. Blood for blood, an endless cycle of loss and destruction.
"If they don't, target th'ones on our side first!"
Realizing that they were in danger, Nariel called out quickly to her companions "Bandits, across the river!" Making a quick incantation in elven, Nariels hair seemed to raise slightly on its own in an unnatural way as she lifted her hands. Suddenly the river near by quickly produced a haze that seemed to coat them in fog, providing some cover.
The rain takes its toll on the spirit of man and beast, but Tristan manages to keep Able from too much irritability by humming the horses' favorite tunes. It seemed to have a taste for sprightly patter-songs - a horse after Tristan's own heart. "Just keep your mind on that warm bed and glass of wine... er, I guess dry stable and crunchy hay, for you," Tristan tells his mount.
"I agree," Tristan says. "No bothering about who is owed what. Simple and equal, no arguments."
When the arrows come flying for them, Tristan leads Able to cover and slips from his mount's back.
Sasha draws her bow and drops from Hrive, keeping low to avoid any arrows coming her way. Seeing that Narièl has blocked line of sight from the river, the rogue takes position behind a nearby oak and draws a bead on the river, ready to loose at the first bandit to cross through the fog.
Arianna dismounts and takes up a defensive posture, arms up covering her face and vitals.
After casting her defensive spell, Nariel oddly blinked out of existence only to reappear on the ground dismounted a split second later.
Grabbing Hrive by the reins, she quickly moved him behind nearby cover. Realizing that she was vulnerable if the bandits moved on them, Nariel drew a piece of hardened leather from her belt and whispered a quick incantation. Suddenly faint shimmer washed over Nariel, before disappearing a moment later.
The men in their treetop positions fire a hail of arrows, but rate of fire seems to be their preoccupation rather than accuracy, and they sail past you harmlessly.
With another series of whistles, the grim-faced woman directs the bandits under her command and they split up, fording the river at two separate points, attempting to catch you in a pincer movement.
Hunkering down behind the tree, Raquel raises her holy symbol high. "Fight bravely, my friends! In Cayden's name!" She then draws and readies her crossbow.
"Thus Brevoy condemns you," says the paladin before throwing his javelin at the approaching bandit menace. One toss alone wouldn't turn the tide. For that, he'd have to muddy his boots and so, the paladin dismounts.
Arianna steps up and strikes out through the mist at one of the bandits, angling to punch him in the throat.
Summoning up his magic, Tristan bellows an improvised lyric, less singing than shouting:
"Because their boss was pissed,
They crossed the riverbed.
They walked into the mist,
and now the river's red!"
Leaving her bow behind, Sasha draws her rapier and moves towards the bandits threatening to surround Arianna.
Grabbing a parchment from her scroll case, Nariel reads a quick incantation from it. The parchment suddenly evaporates, and Nariel draws her bow.
Aivar's javelin lands with a sickening thud in the shoulder of the man he aimed it at. The thug winces, but keeps moving. Arianna's attack connects solidly with her opponent, driving the air from his lungs as bones crack under her assault, but the man is still standing.
Tristan's words have a chilling effect on his opponents, especially on the woman; her face turns pale and she flees as fast as she can into the woods! Her departure has a marked effect on the morale of those still in the fight, and they too flee into the woods - running from these terrifying, mist-wreathed enemies - except for the one in combat with Arianna and Sasha, who throws down his weapons. "I surrender!".
As you look around you at your newly-won battlefield, hearing the cries of your enemies retreating into the distance, you feel something - a surge of pride in your abilities, and the knowledge of how far you have come from those callow novices who partied the New Year away in luxury. You are now well on the way to being seasoned, hardened veterans.
"Yeah, you'd better run!" Raquel yells after the fleeing enemies. She channels positive energy to heal herself and claps Tristan on the back. "Nice one!"
She lets Arianna and Sasha do the interrogation honors while she searches the bandits' camp.
Raquel's search of the camp reveals a stash of assorted treasure: 321 sp; 90 gp; a pair of silver earrings worth 150 gp; a wooden music box worth 90 gp; and three crates of furs and hides worth 50 gp (per crate).
The sole bandit you captured has: leather armor; a longbow with 20 arrows; a short sword; and 10 gp.
Almost as importantly, the camp itself has an area covered by a tarpaulin, where the bandits had managed to get a fire going, despite the rain! The remains of a couple of deer sizzle gently atop the glowing embers, giving off the tantalising smell of roasted, red meat.
To the victor, the spoils.
Tristan has a moment of pride as he feels his magic overcome the woman's resistance and send her fleeing. Then he has a moment of confusion when all of the bandits follow her in retreat. "Well then. A spell well-cast, I suppose," he says as he re-sheathes his unblooded rapier. He is entirely content with not having to spill any blood.
"Awful kind of you blokes to set dinner out for us," Tristan remarks to their new captive. "Shame the others couldn't stay."
Your captive spits on the ground. "Yeah. Whatever. Listen, I know how this goes, OK? Sword or rope, make your choice, but just make it quick. Seen too many bad deaths." He shudders.
The man is most likely a veteran of the Ninth Brevan Army, which was known as the 'Rogarvian Eagles.'
An Eagle, man of the Ninth. He's fallen far, Tristan thinks to himself.
"I'm not sure we've decided how we execute veterans. Hadn't had enough of fighting when you mustered out of the Ninth, eh?"
The (former) soldier sneers. "Right. 'Mustered out.' You thick or what? I deserted."
Aivar fights the urge to sigh. The mind's eye ain't happy to see the writing on the wall, but is there an alternative? Perhaps. Clearly, Tristan is busy trying to find one. Shouldn't I try to help him with that?
Desertion. Banditry. No sign of remorse. No, this man has gone beyond the Pale and he knows it. Gods Below, what drives a man to such depths?
Quietly, Aivar observes the scene, wondering what the others think. If it were up to him, he'd give the man his wish, hoping that in Pharasma's arms he'd end up finding peace. Death, the great redeemer.
When he does speak, his voice is solemn. There's no joy in it, nor pride. It is the voice of someone who knows they're doing what's right, even when everything about it feels wrong. "You should've known that, sooner or later, Brevoy would strike back. The Stag Lord and his wicked Queen, they're ready to tyrannize Brevans again and again, but here we are, true Brevans, victorious, as Brevoy is the strongest. Embrace this fact, in heart and soul, and when you travel to Pharasma, soldier, know that your faith was inevitable the moment you took up arms against Brevoy. We are going to raze his forts and then march for his Queen. Brevoy is the strongest."
The man's death was only a matter of time now.
Arianna is visibly skeptical of Aivar's declaration. "Right. A quick death, then," she says.
As the bandits flee, Nariel shakes her head somewhat incredulously "Well then, that was a craven display." With a shrug and a sigh, Nariel closes up her scroll case.
Leaning against a tree, Nariel listens to the conversation somewhat passively until the captured man admits his desertion. Furrowing her brow, she looks to the bandit and shakes her head "Why on earth would you admit to desertion? You have effectively signed your own death warrant." Shaking her head in disgust, Nariel adds "Why is that some humans are so eager to die?"
Trying to take her mind off the subject of another execution, Nariel flips through her spellbook and starts making some notes. Still leaning on the tree, she raises one eyebrow and glances up from her book somewhat skeptically as Aivar pronounces the strength of Brevoy. Those paying attention to her body language even notice a slight air of disapproval, or maybe it's fear... whatever it was, it lasts but a split second before she returns her attention to her spellbook.
"You should've known that, sooner or later, Brevoy would strike back. The Stag Lord and his wicked Queen"
The world seems to fall away, and you find yourself in a snow-blasted landscape. It looks... oddly familiar, somehow, although it's hard to think over the cold that seeps deeply into your bones, a sluggish cold that makes it hard to think, hard to move...
Someone is moving, though, positively dancing across the snowy wastes as she approaches you, naked beneath a wreath of dancing snowflakes. Her skin is the colour of ice, but it doesn't seem to bother her at all. As she moves closer, you see that her eye sockets are empty - they weep bright red blood, that steams and congeals on her frozen face.
It takes a moment before you recognise her: Gailis. Your long-dead sister. She smiles, clearly able to see you. "Hello, brother mine. Call upon Her Majesty once more, as I have. Give her your loyalty and worship, as I have. Give me your warmth, as I have given mine to her..."
Her hands slip inside your clothing as she draws you against her, the cold of her flesh burning you as it comes into contact with your bare skin.
And then it's gone, and you're back in the present, feeling sick to your stomach - to your soul.
The man looks at Aivar. "Right. You gonna try talking me to death, then? I'm pretty sure it's working." He shrugs at Nariel's question. "Been a long time coming. You could say the Ninth deserted me, but what I done since I ain't proud of. Been a long ten years, but I served well at the time." He pulls himself to something resembling attention. "Corporal Jonas, serving under Captain Ismort and Lieutenant Garess, in the damned, doomed Ninth."
Raquel holds up the silver earrings and smiles. "Ooh, pretty!"
She tends to the roasting deer while the others question the bandit. When he mentions Lieutenant Garess, she perks up. "Kesten Garess? Well, isn't that a coincidence! Maybe we ought to turn him over to the lieutenant and let him decide the man's fate?"
A sudden headache descends upon Aivar and he shoots the deserter a pained look. Some defy death till the very last moment whereas others start emptying their heads to prepare for what's to come. Perhaps attending all those executions over the years was now finally coming to use. "I'll prepare the blade", says the tall man as he's off to find a secluded place to sit down at to inspect his glaive, not wanting for this to get messy. Well, messier than a final sentence ought to be.
The man looks astonished at Raquel's words. "He - he's alive?! **** me, I always knew he was a tough old bastard. If anyone could survive the cluster**** of that expedition it would be him. You could drop a building on him and he'd probably walk away."
Tristan knows that the Ninth was commanded and led predominantly by officers from House Rogarvia (hence the 'Rogarvian Eagles'). When House Rogarvia disappeared in the Vanishing, the remainder of the Ninth was absorbed into the other Brevan regiments.
At least, that's the version Tristan knows.
"Maybe we ought to turn him over to the lieutenant and let him decide the man's fate?"
Tristan nods. "That sounds right. This man may be a bandit, but once he was a soldier. We're not too far out from the Post - I say we hand him over to Kesten."
With a shrug Nariel responds back to the soldier, though seemingly impressed at his disposition facing execution "You remain accountable for your actions these long years, that is admirable in the least. Most condemned men might not face death so resolutely."
Glancing through the loot, Nariel winked at Racquel as the cleric held up the earrings "They will look nice on you. You should keep them Racquel." Nariel's own eyes traced toward the longbow, which she picked up to inspect. Drawing on the string, she titled her head and stared in the direction the other bandits had fled "Anyone mind if I acquire this? It has more range than my current bow."
Letting the string relax, Nariel lowers the bow and frowns slightly and adds plainly "Before talk of return to base camp, might we consider pursuit? Though they have most likely scattered to the four winds, so news of our appearance will make it back to the Stag Lord one way or another I suppose."