"They are not coming in our direction are they? We seem rather far for them to perceive us as a threat".
"Except they are in the direction we are heading. They've probably spotted us by now so changing course to avoid them might look suspicious, and anyway they have outposts all over this section of the mountains so we could miss this lot and fly into another lot." He shrugs. "Just try to look harmless, maybe they've got other things to worry about."
The ship continues on its course, drawing closer to the mountain over several hours. The rocky crags of the truncated foothills region, with its precipitous cliffs of bare rock, jagged ridges and treacherous scree, begins to pass under the hull. In the distance, some giant pterosaurs soar on the updrafts and, if a few places, breeding colonies of the beasts cling to ledges in a melee of scaly bodies, brown striped with yellow and startling pink, long white streaks on the rocks below evidence of their habitation. The crew watch them carefully, a few cradling crossbows - men have been snatched from the decks of airships before - but they do not come close.
The ship climbs into cooler, thinner air, following the flank of Onatar's Fist. A few secondary cones sprout from the mountain's base but only the main crater smokes. The wind blows the column of ash to the north, away from the ship, but the region is still comprised of scorched bare boulders of pumice and black cooled lava, devoid of vegetation. The stink of sulphur is strong, even at this height. A few dwarven fortifications dot the landscape but there is little sign of their movement in the hostile terrain.
Just as it seems that the patrols may not bother the ship, a trio of griffons appears from behind a crag. Their white plumage stark against the dark rock, on their backs they bear riders, the sun glinting from their golden helms. They change course and begin to head towards the airship.
Vaard turns to his companions, "Non threatening. That's the look".
Vaard considers using the hat to take the appearance of a dwarf but this close they may see and if they do such an act may arouse suspicion and so, he remains himself.
"The elves will be back soon!"
With no foes but the triceratops and a single carver at hand, and seeing Wultram focus his minions on the triceratops, and well aware that his cousins are watching, Rehil tries something ridiculous.
He strides up the T-rex's vertebrae and uses its head as a springboard to vault the triceratops.
...
...
In his mind it was a move of balletic grace as he arched over the back of the tricerotops, to land with panther-like grace behind it before delivering the death blow. The reality is somewhat more prosaic as Rehil catches his shoe on the tip of one of the beast's horns, turning his arc into a chaotic aerial cartwheel and then a slide off its back. But somehow he lands with enough composure to carve a nasty slice on the creature's rump.
The tyrannosaur bites deeply again and the tricerotops' blood flows freely. In desperation it lunges forwards again.
Rehil spins, blocks the halfling's strike, and continues his spin to slash again at the Triceratops.
…
Tal tumbles to the ground as the animated dinosaur crumbles beneath him. Luckily his training keeps him from major harm. Finding himself face to face with the triceratops, he fights for his life with three crossing slashes.
As the tyrannosaur skeleton crumbles underneath the others, Rehil's blade slashes through sinew and flesh somewhere behind the tricerotop's frill. There is a spurt of blood and the beast collapses. As it does so it begins to shrink, until a few moments later there is nothing but the bloodied form of another halfling.
Wultram's blast of negative energy takes down two more halflings and the ogre squashes another in the saddle. Then one of the halflings screams and points to the north, gabbling in his language. The earth trembles as the elves return for their second charge.
Sweeping past on either side of the adventurers on the ground in a tumult of dust, pounding hooves and looming equine figures, the Taer Valaes ride with precision and intent. The halfling riders scatter and those that cannot avoid the elves' blades are cut down. As the elves pass by, the area is swept clean of enemies.
Tal stands before the fallen shaman breathing heavy. He nods thanks to Rehil for his skill with the blade.
"Thank the gods. Is everyone alright? That fire blast took a lot out of me. Give me a moment and I'll patch myself up." Tal's eyes glow for a moment as he reestablishes the link to his companions. He begins the ritual rejuvenate himself and those around him.
"..It was good enough." Rehil replies flatly to Wultram.
The elf nods to Tal. "Everyone helped bring it down and we would have been cooked without you." He prods the body with his sword tip. "Or was it a him we killed? Some kind of illusion?"
Rehil cleans his blade while he watches the elves scatter the halflings.
Nalverren does his best to appear nonthreatening.
Most of the elves ride in pursuit of the fleeing halflings, but Torlaes and a few others canter back to find their guest-warriors. The elven leader surveys the scene of carnage, with halflings bodies scattered everywhere. "You fought well," says the elven leader laconically, looking at the pile of bones that was the tyrannosaur skeleton, "A shame about your friend."
The griffin-riders streak past the ship before turning and following. They overhaul the craft off the port side before matching speed. this allows a good look at the riders, all three dwarves dressed in golden armour, their helms bearing stylised wings. Their griffons have bright white plumage except on their heads, which are covered with brown feathers.
The lead rider shouts out as his mount pumps its wings, "You are in the lands of Clan Mrorannon! Explain your business!"
Rehil looks down on the rexage and shrugs. "Wultram can raise another. I thought we'd be riding out on the triceratops, but it's just a halfling now."
"You are too kind," says Torlaes, shrugging off the praise with practiced nonchalance. "Should you fail to find alternative transportation, you may still travel with us back to Valenar. Once my brothers have returned from the chase, we will travel with you for a few days while you make up your minds."
The Taer Valaes return a few minutes later, having thoroughly dispersed the halfling horde.
Captain Moss yells back, “Just passing through, passengers bound for Regalport!”
The shout comes back, “Prepare to be boarded!”
“What do they want?” grumbles the captain, her arms crossed over her chest. She glances over to her passengers. “It’s up to you to do the talking, I just fly this thing.” The lead rider swings about the bow of the vessel and swoops to land on the main deck. The griffon spreads it wings to brake and it touches down with a loud scrabble of claws on the wood that leaves deep scratches. The rider swings a leg over to dismount while the beast glares at the crew with beady yellow eyes. The dwarf removes her helm and shakes out long red braids as she stomps up to the captain, who gazes down at her coolly. The other two griffons continue to circle at a distance.
“Squadron-Leader Ironscar, at your service,” says the dwarven woman formally, hand resting on the warpick at her hip. “There have been reports of airships running supplies to the Jhorash'Tal orcs.” She notices Bokehn and squints at him suspiciously. “We have orders to check all airships entering our territory. Explain what you are doing here.”
“You’d better handle this,” murmurs Bokehn to the others, “I don’t think she’ll listen to me.”
Atsu watches carefully as the dwarves board, and focuses on the commander when she makes herself known.
"We are no friends to the orcs," says Atsu. "Our goal is simply passage, not arming a hostile force."
Vaard nods at Atsu's comment but says nothing further remaining passive at the boarding, after all, the group was not smuggling weapons.
Rehil shrugs. "If we must walk, we will walk." The elf looks around. "They must have come from somewhere. There must be a camp nearby. Maybe there are mounts there. I will look for a trail."
Rehil trots to where the halflings were first sighted. Then he begins quartering the area, seeking their back trail.
The dwarven woman scrutinises Atsu carefully. "You are one of the snake-people. Where are you bound?"
"We are headed to Regalport," the Brelish human says, "We had no dealings with bands of orcs and plan no dealings with anyone other than landing in Regalport. I tire of the wilds, I need a nice city with a nice bath, a nice bed in a nice inn with a nice fire and nice ale."
Ashshar
'...Conflict often aids negotiation...'
More talking. About territory? And Orcs. Ashshar was disinterested in the words, but kept their attention on the tone and posture. The pick they wore was good, though. There was sometimes good in same things.
"Good weapon", they said with a nod of appreciation, a hand resting on their pick and drawing their attention to it, the polished dragon fang weapon's primal appearance serving as a good counterpoint to the quality of the dwarven-made iron and craftsmanship.
____________________________________
"A long hike isn't the worst thing. You are kind to let us travel with you. I will defer to my companions on if we can accept. I'm afraid I don't know the geography of this time as well as I should." Tal begins packing up the items of value from the slain halflings that Wultram identified.
Atsu answers politely, "As my companion says, to Regalport. I've been tasked with aiding these travelers. While my people are normally insular, we... decided to assist these folk in crossing to the city. I am simply here to make sure that no further difficulty arises in the crossing."
Rehil stays well clear of Wultram's necromantic activities. When he returns from scouting, he engages Tal and Torlaes in conversation.
"The halfling's trail is pretty clear. They came from that way. No telling how far to their camp."
The drawf woman squints at Atsu suspiciously.
The elves look on is distaste as Wultram animate some undead slaves, but they don't interfere.
The elves eventually form up once they tire of pursuing the fleeing halflings. The elves suffered no losses, although a few carry wounds. Now without any transport, the adventurers instead have to double up with an elven rider (although the draw the line at undead - the skeleton has to travel on foot). The elves then head south, back towards their homeland. After a few hours they stop and make camp.
That evening there is much drinking and feasting as the elves toast their victory around several campfires, the flickering orange flames lighting up the laughing faces of the normally grim Taer Valaes as they drunkenly sing old warsongs. Then, with a few of the rowdier elements hushed by their fellows, the gathering falls silent. Torlaes then stands and, in the tradition of the bards of Aerenal, begins to recite an epic poem of their most recent victory, composed on the spot but in the tradition of the ancients. The company sit rapt as he tells a tale of their crossing the desert to meet the dark wizard and his strange companions, of the glorious charge of the host, of the giant skeleton's last stand and the death of the shaman at Rehil's blade. Once he has finished the elves cheer in appreciation at the poem, and of the deeds described.
As the party winds on, Torlaes puts a friendly arm around Rehil's shoulder, the other hand holding a skin of wine. "You should ride with us to Taer Valaestas. You have lost your mount and if you walk to gaherhold, not only is it a long way, it will just depress you once you have arrived."
The woman narrows her eyes and turns to the captain. "I order you to change course and head for Mroranon Hold. We can check your itinerary there." Captain Moss scowls and looks at Bokehn, who shrugs and turns to the others. "Looks like we don't have much choice."
The following morning the elves are ready to ride out at dawn, hangovers or no hangovers. The adventurers are allowed to ride further with them until shortly after noon, when Torlaes calls a halt.
"My friends, now is the time of decision. We ride south back to our lands, but if you wish to go on to Gatherhold then you must head west and our paths must diverge."
Torlaes looks at Tal and Rehil expectantly.
"As interesting as it would be to learn more about the Taer Valaes, we must continue our search for whatever released me from my stasis. I believe that path leads to Gatherhold. We could not ask any more of your hospitality though. Being with your war band has felt more like home than I'd have expected."
Nalverren, having no authority on this ship, remains silent on the matter.
Ashshar
Bokehn's shrug did little to affect Ashshar's expression, which seemed bored from all of the talking going on.
Rehil steps forward to grip Torlaes' hand. ".Torlaes, riding with you and your band has been -- good. But I have no skill with words. Just believe it is one of the best things that I have done. I don't know how long our business will take. When it is done I will search for you on the plains of Valenar."
"I will always respect legitimate local authority," says Atsu. "No trouble from me."