Approaching Barg along one of the region’s muddy, rutted dirt roads, the first thing a traveler is likely to notice is the tall, steep sided hill rising up behind the village. High atop the hill, a castle made of dark stone perches like a hunched predatory bird, looking down on the burg below. A long, switchback trail rises up the rocky face of the hill to the castle gates above.
The village itself is walled in a somewhat haphazard manner, here with a head high wall formed of mismatched stone blocks, there with a tall fence of sharpened wooden stakes, and in places simply by the sturdy, windowless rear side of buildings. Rickety gates are pulled shut across the three roads leading into town from the surrounding farmlands (one from the south, one from the east and one from the north-west) as night falls, but are left open and unguarded from just before dawn.
The tallest structure in the village proper – taller even than the three functional wooden watchtowers overlooking each gate – is the bell tower of the small stone clad Artonite church which faces the village square. Few other buildings in town, including the Crow’s Call, the village’s only inn, rise above two stories in height. Sharing the frontages of the square with the inn and the church are the town hall and constabulary, a small general store, and a few other small shops and businesses. Near the north end of the village are two other important businesses, a livery stable and the town smithy. Most of the rest of the village consists of houses and various small businesses and light industry supporting the surrounding farms. The best houses line the four wide, cobblestone streets that radiate out from the square, whilst the others are packed tight around the maze of smaller, unpaved streets behind them.
Ash Walker / Laithe:
You have been in town for several days now, after the events you described in your character background. You have tried to keep a low profile, although your appearance marks you as being from one of the wild nomadic clans. Still, even the nomads visit the villages from time to time, and you yourself are not totally unknown here.
Although you have seen soldiers from time to time since your arrival, they wear the brown tabards emblazoned with a stylized black two headed bird of the local baron. The soldiers who were previously looking for you in town wore red tabards with a gold star emblem – and the ones who ambushed you wore black cloaks with no markings.
There are a number of families in the village who still know the old ways, and even worship the old gods – in secret – but few of them are willing to risk helping you in your search for revenge. However, you spoke last night to a fellow traveler at the bar of the Crow’s Call, a sellsword named Troy. Although he appeared somewhat indifferent to your plight, you noticed something in him, some spark which made you think he may be able – and even willing – to help you.
AWED / Jirkin:
Your training is over, and it is time to make your way into the world, to prove yourself and your family name.
Your old master has given you one last task as you leave you’re apprenticeship behind. You are to deliver a rare scroll to a woman named Gosia Troskie, a half elf like yourself, who lives somewhere near the village of Barg.
You reached Barg as sunset approached, getting into town just before the gates were closed, and found lodgings at the village inn, The Crow’s Call. Too tired from your long journey to make enquiries of where the woman may be found that evening, and fearing that the mostly human locals may be startled by your half elven appearance, you keep your cloak pulled tight about you and retire for bed early, planning to get an early start in the morning.
Vendle / Troy:
Making your way north from Trescent, you reached the village of Barg in far northern Mabvoria a couple of days ago. You had vague plans of continuing up to the North Sea, and signing on with a merchant vessel there, but reaching Barg you discover that the way north is not as easy as you were led to believe in Trescent. The north road through the Dimwood has fallen into general disuse over the last several years, with rumors of fey creatures and hungry ghosts waylaying travelers.
In fact, it seems that the north road has seen some use in recent months, but in the wrong direction. Word in Barg is that a small but steady stream of refugees have been making their way south, with vague and conflicting talk of raids and war amongst the northern villages – and confirmation of the dangers on the road.
As your supply of coins from your last big win dwindle, you plan your next move. Last night you met a man named Laithe in the bar at The Crow’s Call, a druid or shaman apparently from one of the wild nomad clans. He spent a good deal of the evening talking of adventure, vengeance, goddesses and rebellion, and although you feigned indifference, his words have begun to grow on you. Adventure…
TwiceBorn / Keildrithe
You finally reached the village of Barg last night, but the gates were shut by the time you reached them, and the night watchman would take no chances with letting an armed stranger – even a lone traveler such as yourself – into town after dark.
You managed to find hospitality under the roof of a local yeoman and his family, paying for your lodgings and meal with a tale in the traditional manner.
Having been informed by the farmer that the village gates open at sunrise, you made sure to rise early, hastening your way to town, anxious to find the druid Laithe. The guard by the gate eyed you suspiciously as you – and your sword – suspiciously as you passed, but an armed traveler is not so unusual in these times, and he let you pass without a word.
Within a few moments you arrived at the village’s central square – where it seems that even at this early hour of the day, quite a commotion is taking place…
Arctaris / Alton:
Your travels have taken you far and wide across the northern parts of the Atuscan empire In recent months. Wherever you have gone, trouble and prejudice have followed you – but unfortunately fame and fortune have not.
Now, down to your last few copper pennies, you have arrived in the backwoods village of Barg. You have heard that there is money to be made and adventures to be had in this part of the world, but as you approach the small and uninspired looking village, your hopes fade.
Or maybe there is something? You have arrived early in the morning, having spent the previous night sleeping in a farmer’s hay loft – and there appears to be some sort of commotion or excitement in the center of town…
On this Highday the eighth day of Gerron, in the year 1197 of the Atuscan Calendar, the village square is alive with activity within an hour after sunrise – highly unusual for this hour on a Highday morning, when most folks with no goats to milk or such are inclined to lie in for an hour or so before making their way to the Artonite church, dressed in their oft patched, freshly scrubbed Highday best.
Today though, a crowd begins to gather in the square. The Crow’s Call does a brisk breakfast business, and folk spill out from the inn to the square, eating their meals at makeshift tables of crates and barrels. Women gather in small groups, chatting animatedly, their young children chasing around the through the circles. Men smoke their pipes, stroke their beards and nod sagely at each other.
Two soldiers wearing brown tabards emblazoned with an insignia of a black, two headed crow stand watchfully outside the front doors of the constabulary. An old man with a straw broom sweeps down the raised wooden platform at one end of the square. Three strapping young farm boys assemble a pile of logs and branches, with a tall wooden stake at its centre.
There is, of course, a reason for all this activity. A witch is being burnt this morning.
Wherever one might happen to be in the village on this brisk yet sunny morning, it would be hard to miss the commotion. However, the astute observer would notice the undercurrent of tension beneath the almost festive atmosphere – not everyone is happy about the anticipated event.
Here a young mother holds her bright eyed baby tightly to her, weeping quietly. There, two old farmers argue heatedly, looking about to come to blows. Here and there amongst the conversations and busyness are grim, set or sad faces.
It also appears that there is some confusion about when events are due to commence. Rumors ripple through the crowd. It will begin in ten minutes; it will begin in an hour. They are awaiting the arrival of the Baron; the Baron is not attending. There has been a problem with the condemned. They are waiting for the Artonite priest to finish his meditations.
Despite the contradictory rumors, the crowd is expectant – things are sure to begin soon.
I stand in the shadows near the inn, judging that this would not be the best time to draw attention to myself. I consider freeing the witch about to be burnt and decide to see how the situation plays out before I do something that could be construed as rash.
A description of my appearance: I am about 3'3, with black hair, blue eyes and an intensley curious and observant demeanor. I am wearing a slightly worn traveling cloak with a dark red tunic and black breeches. An elaborate silver gilded scabbard hangs from my waist.
Laithe walks hurridly through the crowd, a look of concern and urgency on his face. "Who are they planning to execute today, and for what supposed crime?" he thinks to himself.
A vivid image of chard bones and skulls among a pile of ash is in the forefront of his mind. "I'll not stand by and let that happen again" he mutters to himself. Approaching a couple gossiping among the crowd he stops and questions one of them:
"Who is it being exectued today and what charges have been laid against them? Are they Karandic?" In his agitated state, his question is blurted out in a somewhat harsh and abrupt tone.
All the while he scans the crowd for familiar faces, hoping to find someone who may be willing to help out if push comes to shove.
Ash Walker / Laithe:
You have been in town for several days now, after the events you described in your character background. You have tried to keep a low profile, although your appearance marks you as being from one of the wild nomadic clans. Still, even the nomads visit the villages from time to time, and you yourself are not totally unknown here.
Although you have seen soldiers from time to time since your arrival, they wear the brown tabards emblazoned with a stylized black two headed bird of the local baron. The soldiers who were previously looking for you in town wore red tabards with a gold star emblem – and the ones who ambushed you wore black cloaks with no markings.
There are a number of families in the village who still know the old ways, and even worship the old gods – in secret – but few of them are willing to risk helping you in your search for revenge. However, you spoke last night to a fellow traveler at the bar of the Crow’s Call, a sellsword named Troy. Although he appeared somewhat indifferent to your plight, you noticed something in him, some spark which made you think he may be able – and even willing – to help you.
I thought I posted this earlier, but it seems to have disappeared. My apologies if it shows up twice.
I listen to what is being said by the crowd, trying to gain information about the general situation in the town.
Laithe, you see a bareley concealed look of distaste for the proceedings on my face. My hands are resting on the hilts of my weapons and my eyes dart around the crowd; looking for escape routes, possible foes and anything else that might affect a battle.
Troy wanders through the crowd, scanning noncommitally for an easy target for a lift. He didn't have much natural talent for picking pockets, but by necessity had learned enough to get him a good meal now and then. He also listens to the gossip going around, and makes an inquiry or two to see if anyone knows the 'witch'.
Just then, he hears a familiar voice and lifts the front edge of his worn black cap to see Laithe not far away. Giving a wave, he brushes past a few people, ignoring their possessions for the moment, to come closer.
"Hail, friend. What's about this morning? You look troubled."
Spotting a diminuative figure in the shadows, and noting the expression on his face, Laithe abandons his attempts to find out what is going on and begins to head in that direction.
He stops abruptly, hearing his name and turns to see Troy approaching. "Troy" he says and draws the Karand over out of the direct bustle of the crowd and closer to the figure he in the shadows.
Speaking quietly (though not quiet enough for those close by and paying attention not to hear) he says to Troy "Friend, I like not what I am seeing here today. It brings back painful memories of the remains of my people. I fear I cannot stand by and watch while someone is burned to death. Do you know who the victim is and what they have been accused of?"
He glances towards the figure in the shadows, looking for a reaction.
I listen to what is being said by the crowd, trying to gain information about the general situation in the town.
Your efforts to listen for information are somewhat hampered by the fact that much of the discussion is in languages that you don’t understand.
However, you do pick up that there is a woman accused of witchcraft, and something to do with a dead girl and missing children.There are four main avenues out of the square. Three appear to lead in pretty much a straight line to the various gates out of the village, whilst the fourth leads towards the tall hill and the castle far above.
He also listens to the gossip going around, and makes an inquiry or two to see if anyone knows the 'witch'.
The witch that people are heatedly discussing would seem to be a local woman named Gosia Troskie, who lives in or near the Dimwood. You have never met her, but hear her referred to derisively by one man as a “breed”.
People do not seem particularly attentive to their surroundings this morning, there are several potential easy marks if you are so inclined.
Here a young mother holds her bright eyed baby tightly to her, weeping quietly. There, two old farmers argue heatedly, looking about to come to blows. Here and there amongst the conversations and busyness are grim, set or sad faces.
Keildrithe quickens his pace as he enters the town square. He approaches the young woman with the baby (assuming he knows her and that she is a Karand sympathetic to the old ways... if not, he'll approach someone else who would fit the bill).
"What is this I hear about a witch burning, [name of young woman]? I have been away from Barg the last few weeks, and return to find that some greater madness than usual has overtaken the town... Who is this witch they intend to burn, and why? She had better not be one of ours, or I swear..."
Keildrithe scans the scene, trying to spot others he might know, while also trying to determine the allegiance of those in the crowd: how many are pro-Atuscan, and how many show antipathy toward them?
Seeing that Laithe appears to have a similair opinion of the approaching witch burning I begin to make my way stealthily through the crowd, considering the possibilty of joining forces with him and interfering. Also aware of my shortage of coin I attempt to palm a few coins from those who appear pro-Atuscan and in support of the witch burning.
Troy shrugs at Laithe, and rests his left hand on his sword hilt beside his waist.
"I suppose we should find someone to talk to, before you get some foolhardy idea in your head about a rescue." Troy's eyes follow Alton's approach, although he misses the man's attempt at larceny.
Troy addresses Laithe, speaking loud enough for Alton to overhear.
"Not everyone's happy with this show; Gosia Troskie was the name I heard, along with 'breed'. I do not know the girl or the crime except that they brand her a witch." He pauses to stroke his chin thoughtfully, turning to scan the erected platform and woodpile. "It may be well to find someone in authority to sort this out, but I don't do well with armed Atuscans." He points briefly in the direction of the two guards in brown tabbards. "Someone might talk with those fellows there."
He does his best to look uninterested, and folds his arms to check the dagger in his sleeve.
"What is this I hear about a witch burning, Keira? I have been away from Barg the last few weeks, and return to find that some greater madness than usual has overtaken the town... Who is this witch they intend to burn, and why? She had better not be one of ours, or I swear..."
Keira turns, startled, then relaxes somewhat when she sees who has addressed her. Her son reaches out a pudgy hand towards Keildrithe and giggles.
“Oh hedilye, you have returned,” says the young woman. “If only you had been here – people listen to you. But perhaps it would not have mattered, as the trial – if there truly was one – happened up at the castle. Who? Missy Gosia who lives over by the wood. She delivered my Rolf, and you know it was a difficult birth. I know that she had nothing to do with the girl. Oh, you haven’t heard? Another two have gone missing, but they found the body of young Feile, torn and bloodied in the woods near Gosia’s cottage. And graves too, with more bodies they say.” She pauses to wipe her eyes. “And people talk of course. All the old rumours again, why she lives in the woods, the sidhe blood, the magic. But…” she trails off and shrugs, as if to ask “where is the crime?”
You have heard of, but never met Gosia Troskie. She is a midwife and herbalist who lives on the eaves of the Dimwood forest, not far from the village. If rumour is to be believed she is also a magic user of some type, and has fey or elven blood, and is of Karandic descent you understand, one of the far eastern clans.
Of the sixty or so people in the crowd, you believe a third or so are Karand’s who follow the old ways (at least in part) or are antipathic towards the Atuscans.
aware of my shortage of coin I attempt to palm a few coins from those who appear pro-Atuscan and in support of the witch burning.
Between your natural agility and the distraction of the crowd, slipping a few coins from purses should pose little problem for you. Of more difficulty is picking the pro- from the anti-Atuscans: everything is a babble of foreign accents and languages high above your head.
One sure way would be to pick people of obvious Atuscan ethnicity, but you do not see any nearby – you would need to head further into the crowd, away from Laithe and Troy. Or you could just pick pockets indiscriminately on your way towards them.
Wherever one might happen to be in the village on this brisk yet sunny morning, it would be hard to miss the commotion. However, the astute observer would notice the undercurrent of tension beneath the almost festive atmosphere – not everyone is happy about the anticipated event.
Here a young mother holds her bright eyed baby tightly to her, weeping quietly. There, two old farmers argue heatedly, looking about to come to blows. Here and there amongst the conversations and busyness are grim, set or sad faces.
It also appears that there is some confusion about when events are due to commence. Rumors ripple through the crowd. It will begin in ten minutes; it will begin in an hour. They are awaiting the arrival of the Baron; the Baron is not attending. There has been a problem with the condemned. They are waiting for the Artonite priest to finish his meditations.
Despite the contradictory rumors, the crowd is expectant – things are sure to begin soon.
"is that the woman that i have to give the scroll to?
“Oh hedilye, you have returned,” says the young woman. “If only you had been here – people listen to you. But perhaps it would not have mattered, as the trial – if there truly was one – happened up at the castle. Who? Missy Gosia who lives over by the wood. She delivered my Rolf, and you know it was a difficult birth. I know that she had nothing to do with the girl. Oh, you haven’t heard? Another two have gone missing, but they found the body of young Feile, torn and bloodied in the woods near Gosia’s cottage. And graves too, with more bodies they say.” She pauses to wipe her eyes. “And people talk of course. All the old rumours again, why she lives in the woods, the sidhe blood, the magic. But…” she trails off and shrugs, as if to ask “where is the crime?”
"Madness."
"Keira, you and young Rolf should not stay here--there is no telling what kind of unrest may come of this, and I would not want to see you or your babe hurt in a riot... A witch burning is a sight no eyes should ever have to witness, especially those of women and children. I give you my word that I will do everything I can to prevent that accursed Baron and his men from burning Missy Gosia. Now please, Keira, go find shelter from the crowd..."
Keildrithe scans the crowd for influntial community members (e.g., an elder?) who is of Karandic origin but also sympathetic toward the Atuscans and the Church of Arton.
Once/if he spots those influential community members, Keildrithe moves toward them through the crowd with determination, trying to reach the person he knows best and/or would have the best chance of influencing...
I don't try to pick any pockets. I continue on my way towards Laithe.
As soon as I reach him I whisper "You seem disatisfied with present events. Are you willing to help me stop them?"
Jirkin walks away from the crowed making sure he is not seen,but not too far away from the crowd Making the sound woman who has just lost her sanity screaming " A Witch is burning my house!" Jirkin then making sure that he is not found to be the culprit of this trick and hides in the shadows
Jirkin walks away from the crowed making sure he is not seen,but not too far away from the crowd Making the sound of a woman who has just lost her sanity screaming. Jirkin then making sure that he is not found to be the culprit of this trick and hides in the shadows
Sorry Arik is for another campaign i am in a rush sorry again
I don't try to pick any pockets. I continue on my way towards Laithe.
As soon as I reach him I whisper "You seem disatisfied with present events. Are you willing to help me stop them?"
Laithe turns to face Alton, ushering for Troy to wait a moment before heading towards the guards. Speaking softly, he says to Alton "I cannot in good conscious stand by and allow this to happen. I've heard tell of this women, and she does not strike me as a murderer. If you were planning to try and prevent this then I would certainly do what I can to help you. But first I should ask your name and give you mine - I am known as Laithe Greycoat."
He turns to Troy - "I'm definitely not the best person to be talking to soldiers at this stage, but it would be useful to find out where they are holding Gosia. I would assume the constabulary or the church? If we are going to stop this, perhaps it would be best to get to her before they bring her out into the square? Not everyone in the crowd seems pleased with these events, but I'm not overly confident many will help out if things turn to blows."
"is that the woman that i have to give the scroll to?
Jirkin, the crying woman you see in the crowd (now talking to a slender, unshaven, brown haired man) does not appear to be half-elven – you doubt, therefore, that she is the woman you are looking for.
Jirkin walks away from the crowed making sure he is not seen,but not too far away from the crowd Making the sound woman who has just lost her sanity screaming " A Witch is burning my house!" Jirkin then making sure that he is not found to be the culprit of this trick and hides in the shadows
Sorry Arik is for another campaign i am in a rush sorry again
"Madness.""Keira, you and young Rolf should not stay here--there is no telling what kind of unrest may come of this, and I would not want to see you or your babe hurt in a riot... A witch burning is a sight no eyes should ever have to witness, especially those of women and children. I give you my word that I will do everything I can to prevent that accursed Baron and his men from burning Missy Gosia. Now please, Keira, go find shelter from the crowd..."
Keildrithe scans the crowd for influntial community members (e.g., an elder?) who is of Karandic origin but also sympathetic toward the Atuscans and the Church of Arton.
“Some Karands and a Thuringian. The Baron decreed as we should all assemble here this morn … but I think you are right hedilye, I will go. Thankyou! Be careful.” She curtsies briefly, then hurries away.
There is an old, old man, a farmer by the name of Dras Relyin, sitting outside the Crows Call. His eyes are fading, his fingers gnarled and his voice hoarse – but many members of the Karandic community hold him in high regard, viewing him as an elder, and, almost, a Storyteller. However, he attends the Artonite services every Highday, and the Atuscans have never seen fit to harass him, not seeing him as a threat.
Looking around, you see the bard Keildrithe Oldsun striding through the crowd towards the Crow’s Call – not far from where the three of you are lurking in your quiet, shaded corner.
Apart from the two guards outside the constabulary, you spot another two standing somewhat unobtrusively just inside the laneway beside the church. They are not standing to attention, but leaning against a wall, one smoking a pipe, but with eyes scanning the crowd in the square.
It is always a pleasure to meet an ally; I am Alton Hilltopple. We should find out from which direction the 'witch' will be brought into the square and we should then prepare an ambush of the guards. I am quite adept at skulking and so could easily jump out from the shadows and ambush a few unprepared guards. We should prepare an escape route. I am skilled in drawing attention to myself and so perhaps I could serve as a distraction. We must prepare quickly, I feel that it won't be long at all before we must put whatever plan we come up with into action.
"Likewise Alton, it is good to see know not everyone has lost thier senses in these troubled times."
Scanning the crowd, Laithe notes the 2 guards by the church. He turns to Troy and Alton "Looks like the guards might be expecting some trouble; a couple of guards over by the church seem to be keeping a close eye on the crowd."
"A distraction would be of use, though we must decide on a spot we can meet should we get seperated once things start moving"
Brushing his hair back from his face and continuing to scan the square, he spots Keildrithe. "Ah, here is someone else who might have some sanity left about them, and may know a little more than us. Come and we shall see if we can secure another ally"
Keeping close to the buildings, Laithe moves to intercept Keildrithe before he can enter the pub. Drawing near he reaches out and says:
"Good hedilye, my name is Laithe - I think we have met at least once before. These are some friends, Troy and Alton." Turning to take in the crowd he continues "What is the world coming to where Karands turn out to watch a hanging of one who has not been properly tried before the people?" He turns back to Keildrithe "we need to put an end to this, can you help us?"
All of a sudden the general hubbub of voices and activity in the square is pierced by a soul rending shriek, seeming to come from somewhere near the southern edge of the square. People pause in mid conversation, and look around in confusion. Two soldiers run from the mouth of a laneway beside the church, drawing their swords and looking about. The other two soldiers outside the constabulary look at each other in confusion.
The shriek is followed by a screaming woman’s voice: “A witch is burning my house!” The voice sounds so anguished as to be almost inhuman. For a few seconds, the crowd is frozen in fear and confusion…
Troy has followed Laithe over near the pub, and gives a nod toward Keildrithe when his name is spoken. Shortly after, the sound of the scream sets everyone on edge. Relaxing his grip on his longsword's hilt, he curses under his breath in Karandic.
Then he speaks clearly, offering "If any of you gentlemen are so inclined, mayhap we should seek a stay of excecution from the Baron? We need to keep our heads about this."
Troy didn't really like the idea of talking to people who could put him in prison, but he preferred it over directly combating Atuscans in public. It wouldn't be the first time he spent a night locked up for disobeying a local authority.
Startled by the scream, Laithe spins around and scans the Southern end of the square and the building tops beyond, looking for a pillar of smoke.
"Where's the smoke?" he says to his companions. He then turns to Troy "It may be of use to talk to the Baron, though I am loathe to leave the square lest they bring her out while we are gone. I am probably also not the best suited for the job".
Seeing the 2 guardsmen move away from the mouth of the ally he says quickly "This could be an opportunity to get in behind those guards or even make a visit to the priest. What do you think?"
Keildrithe walks with a firm step towards the Crow's Call, a look of determination in his eyes. Then, his eyes widened, startled, as he recognizes Laithe. He flashes him a smile, which quickly fades into a look of concern, as he hears the screams coming from the southern edge of the square.
"Friend Greycoat, it is a relief to find you here. For several weeks have I sought to find you again. The words you spoke in Barg the last time you were here have changed my life... have awakened me, so to speak. But more on that later. It is good to see you again, and I am glad to see that you remember me, and that you have brought friends. There are many in this crowd who despise the Artonites, though more yet, even among the Karands, who side with them. I was on my way to speak with one of the town's respected Karand elders, who also happens to attend Artonite services, in the hope that he could help us sway the tide of hostility that is aimed at the witch... but???”
A look of confusion clouds his features, as he follows your gaze to the church…
I suggest that two of go out to find out where the 'witch is being held and while one of us finds an advantageous position from which they can lay down cover fire into the square should things go badly while I either skulk in the shadows waiting for a good time to strike or distract the crowd by displaying in a non-violent demonstration of my martial skills. I could easily pose as a minstrel, as I have some talent singing.
"Friends, before we do anything rash, let me suggest the path of diplomacy. I have been a resident of these parts for many years, and think I have a few things to say that may enable us to prevent this so-called witch from being burned, without having to confront the Artonites... If we are lucky, the Baron and the priests might even be interested in my proposal..."
EDIT: "But first, I must speak with Dras Relyin, who is a well-respected elder in Barg..."
Keildrithe pushes his way through the crowd toward the old farmer.
"Respected elder, may I have a word with you?"
Taking his suggestion into consideration I revise my plan. "Very well, whoever is most likley to succeed should go speak to the Baron while one person looks for the accused and the rest of us set up in the square as I suggested, just in case. Does this meet with everyone's approval?" as I look around to see if this will be agreeable to my fellow adventurers.
A diplomatic resolution may have just become more difficult, with the panic that the strange scream has caused. Behind the small group of huddled conspirators, the square begins to erupt into confusion, as already high tensions are pushed to breaking point by the eldritch voice.
The hubbub starts anew: “Who was that? Has the witch escaped? Where did it come from? I don’t smell smoke! Will the flames spread? Fetch the constables!”
Some people begin to hurry from the square, others rush to the south end, searching the sky for smoke, or to the well at the centre of the square. Most mill about, confused.
One of the soldiers by the church hurries towards the ornate timber doors of the building and pushes them open, slipping within, whilst the other stands where he is, hand on his sword hilt, looking worriedly about.
The two soldiers by the constabulary react in a similar manner, one rushing into the small building, the other, the tall Thuringian, drawing his sword and remaining on guard outside, staring grimly at the confusion.
---
At Keildrithe’s approach, the old man stands up slowly from his seat, narrowly missed by a younger man hurrying out of the inn beside him. “Who approaches?” he asks, his rheumy eyes squinting. “What is happening my son?”
At Keildrithe’s approach, the old man stands up slowly from his seat, narrowly missed by a younger man hurrying out of the inn beside him. “Who approaches?” he asks, his rheumy eyes squinting. “What is happening my son?”
Keildrithe gently takes one of the old man's hands between his and kneels before him:
"Respected elder, it is I, Keildrithe Oldsun. Please forgive me for troubling you in this time of turmoil. I do not know what new chaos has just erupted south of the town square... but I would appreciate your guidance and wisdom on the impending witch burning, before we allow something to happen that we all will regret. I have reason to believe that Gosia Troskie is not responsible for the slaying of young Feile, nor for the other deaths and disappearances that have occurred previously in the region, and therefore think it is wrong to condemn her to burn for those crimes. I fear that this so-called witch burning could create an even deeper rift between the peoples of Barg and the Church of Arton, deeper than that which already divides us...
In the interests of peace and justice, I propose to find those responsible for the unforgiveable slaying of maid Feile and the others before her, in exchange for the Baron and Church sparing the life of Gosia Troskie. Should I fail in this endeavour within an agreed upon period of time, I will forfeit my life in exchange of Missy Gosia's... What think you of this, wise and respected elder? I intend to make this proposal as the authorities bring Miss Gosia to the stake... but will you speak up and back my proposal in public? The people of Barg must know the truth, and for the Baron or the Church to listen, we must have our peoples speak out with one strong, united voice... Else I fear that many more in Barg will burn at the stake, while the slayer continues to roam free... The people of Barg know you and respect your counsel..."
"Diplomacy is always the best option, but we need to be ready in case it fails" Laithe follows Keildrithe over to speak to the town elder, all the while listening to Alton's proposal, and looking around in some concern as the square errupts into chaos.
As Keildrithe speaks he spots the guards slipping into the church and constabulary respectively. He turns quickly to Troy and Alton. "I think speaking with the Baron may be out of the question, at least for the moment. Troy, if you will stand by Keildrithe, and stay close to the wood pile in case the witch is brought forth. Alton, you get where you need to be in order to create that distraction."
"I'll head to the inn and get a spot on the upper floor to offer some cover with missile fire and magic, if I can. We give Keildrithe the chance to settle this peacefully, but if things go awry, we act."
“Ah, Keildrithe. It seems that the boy left the village, but the man has returned.” The old man settles back into his seat and sighs. “But I fear you may be too late my son. I don’t believe that Gosia Troskie was responsible for those girl’s deaths any more than you do. But I do believe that if she is put to death, the killings will stop… for some time at least. I fear this has become political my son.
“I once believed that the Artonite church was right for us, that it would save our people from the internal strife and conflicts that beset us. But the church is changing, and I fear that change is for the worse. This thing … is, at least part I believe, a symbol of that change. It is not common knowledge, but an Inquisitor has visited our village church lately…
“Gosia is a symbol of the old ways. That’s why she is being put to death. In some ways, you and I are similar symbols too…” He sighs again. “Whatever you choose Storyteller, I will help if I can. I have lived long, and I believe you will do the right thing.”
Old man Relyin’s thin voice is becoming hard to hear over the noises of the crowd.
"I'll head to the inn and get a spot on the upper floor to offer some cover with missile fire and magic, if I can. We give Keildrithe the chance to settle this peacefully, but if things go awry, we act."
You are familiar enough with the layout of the inn. A rickety timber stair accessed from one end of the taproom leads to the upper floor. A single corridor runs the length of the building, bending to follow the line of the “L” shaped building. Small rooms line both sides of the corridor, three or four of them facing out towards the square. Most of the rooms do not have locks on the doors.