"Let us find Murob and see if we, with the four of us, can help Breddaric and his Blades out of whatever hole they find themselves in. Gather your gear." What more needed to be said? The road ahead is clear: venture forth, use whatever clues can be found and either find Breddaric's remains or help the man back to First Landing.
And for that, they'd first need to re-assemble their party. With First Landing being anything but a grand settlement, Ehiz hopes it won't take long to find Murob.
Ehiz finds Murob in a state of agitation, pacing back and forth near the ship. "Ehiz! Thank the gods you're here! They took Sorala! They beat her and dragged her on the ship! Perhaps you can talk some sense into them, I have failed."
Hearing his news, alarm and concern replace her frustration. As much as she hated leaving the squire in the hands of the brutish Blades, the new development demanded their immediate attention. She follows Ehiz to where the others are gathered.
"I'll see if I can put together a litter and I'll follow behind."
Sulan cuts some saplings and begins making a litter for the fallen man.
By the time Mogwai gets back from his multi-day excursion of trying to get a better lay of the land, searching for the drowned child's parents (and any other survivors), and attempting to find a sustainable food source, a whole lot of trouble has already occurred.
As Murob fills him in on what's happened, his ears (once heightened with interest) droop further and further, the ends curling in on themselves as they slip lower. "Mogwai not understand. Blades kill druid? Capture Sorala?" He shakes his head with a heavy sigh. "They learning nothing. Perhaps best mngwa end them."
"What is best might not be right, and for me, it definitely isn't right to leave them to their own in the forest without offering any help. We will see if Breddaric is still alive and if so, rescue him and then we can make sure Sorala gets released. It seems the Blades are merely a symptom of a collapsing society that is lacking divine guidance.."
Mogwai nods, feeling a bit rejuvenated by Ehiz's continued faith. "Ehiz smart." He says. "Mogwai help. Where Breddaric left?"
Yosiah sits with Mogwai, listening to Murob relaying information about Sorala. He clenches his fist, staring into the distant horizon, watching the waves of the sea crash upon the shore. "There is nothing we can do for Sorala. These Blades, they have their own justice. We cannot fight them. For now, we must save Breddaric. Perhaps he can owe us a favor."
The Blade you ran into goes back to the ship to rendezvous with his brothers-in-arms.
Are you ready to head out into the forest to look for Breddaric?
For one, the jungle stretches beyond sight in every direction from where you are. Even climbing the highest tree does not see beyond it, for the deeper in the forest you get, the higher and thicker and more verdant the trees get.
For two, he manages to find three people sheltering in a cave near teh sea a few miles to the south, and when he returns to First Landing, he escorts them with him.
For three, he learns that the forest is not only full of regular animals and plants, but also many living plant creatures, gargantuan megafauna and fae. In fact, the jungle positively teems with life the deeper you get inside. It would not be difficult to live here, what with being able to hunt and forage, though clearing out the jungle for farmland may be difficult the soil is good and will support crops well.
"He ought to be just outside the settlement in the nearby forest, where they sought out the druidess to do battle with her. We should be able to find him and his crew" says the farmer-priest in a resolute manner. Surely their combined talents at tracking would suffice?
"Very well. Let us see if we can find him."
It was very disappointing to hear that the druidess had been killed, after all of Murob's efforts for a more peaceful solution. But what was done was done. Now they only needed to deal with the consequences; surely this deed would boost Breddaric's power in the colony.
"Lookin' for tracks? Here, maybe I can help. See those bent grass stalks there?"
"Mogwai spend days in jungle. Maybe also help. Goes beyond eyes in all direction. Must learn paths."
The group heads out towards the farm, following the tracks of the half-dozen Blades that had ventured out there the previous day. It doesn't take long - maybe 20 minutes - and the tracks lead right to the farm. It appears that it has been the site of a significant battle, and the group finds several bodies around the farmland. Several dead wolves, their hides peppered with crossbow bolts, lie around the outside of the farm. Next to the farmhouse, draped with cloths, are the bodies of two Blades.
On a pike in front of the farmhouse is the head of the druidess that the party had met several days prior.
The farmhouse itself is splattered with blood, and inside are the bodies of two more Blades plus the body of Breddaric Valethorn. Braddaric is barely recognizable, as he's been shredded by deep and dire claw wounds, but it is surely him.
Murob shakes her head at the barbaric display of the head-on-spike. Even if a peaceful solution could not be worked out, she deemed the druidess worthy of respect as an enemy, and finds the Blades' practice very distatestful. She moves to remove the head from the pike and searches around for the body, intending to give the druidess proper funeral rites later.
Then, she examines the two bodies outside the farm, checking their wounds.
Inside the farmhouse, Breddaric's body is certainly a shock, and she examines that as well as the other two dead Blades. It would seem that between the stray Blade running for help and their actual arrival the Blades' party had suffered another attack. But by whom? Was it the mngwa?
The druidess' headless body is found nearby, at the edge of the farm's grain field.
One of the two Blades lying outside the farmhouse suffers a bite-mark on his ankle, and his throat has been ripped out. Clearly killed by wolves. The other has a gaping hole in his chest, killed by some kind of serrated spear. They've been dead for half a day.
The two Blades and Breddaric, inside the farmhouse, were all killed by fiercely-bleeding claw-marks. They're all pale from exsanguination. Beyond that, the area inside the house shows signs of wreckage and damage - the front door has cracked from something large squeezing itself in, and something heavy has slammed into several walls.
Those three have been dead for probably about an hour - they were killed shortly before daybreak.
Sulan looks around the battle site.
"Looks like the Mngwa got the last word," Sulan says. "Does that mean it's over?"
"Best gather up anything useful. Should we deal with the dead here? Or will the people in the settlement want to bury them themselves?"
Sulan looks over the body of the druid, to see if she has anything of use.
The farmer priest quietly mourns the loss of the druidess and the blades as tears start flowing down his cheeks, each one quickly disappearing into the man's thick bushy beard. It all seemed so senseless. As if the only way to influence the world around you was through violence and force. In a way, Breddaric and the druidess were two sides of the same coin: using the same tool, violence, no matter the situation.
"This pains me too, Murob. So much potential, all gone to waste. We ought to give every single one of them a proper burial and make sure their spirits find their way to the afterlife."
If this had been Andoran, Ehiz would've cut off a lock of hair from every person present so he could wrap them around a seed or acorn. Everyone deserves to be remembered.
Breddaric used the druidess' own spear to pike her head - it radiates as magical, as does the wolf pelt that she wore draped around her shoulder and a ring carved of wood on her left hand.
Breddaric carried four magic items - his darkwood gastraphetes, his backpack, and two potions in a belt pouch.
Other than that, Breddaric wears a mwk chain shirt, carries two daggers and a mwk machete, a set of manacles with a Superior lock and a moneybag containing 367gp.
Each of his Blades carries a machete, a handaxe, they wear studded leather, they each carry a light crossbow, a backpack, some rope, a grappling hook, and a shovel. Between everyone there are 72 crossbow bolts.
Murob is more concerned with providing final rites for those who had lost their lives here, but when called upon she will examine the magic items.
"We could bury the druidess here. But Breddaric and the others... we should probably bring those bodies back with us. The people will want to know what happened, and his men may not believe us if we do not bring proof."
Sulan looks over the items with curiosity.
"I suppose so. Instinct tells me that it is best we ..." and Ehiz shuts up, wondering why he let such heretical thoughts into his head. But, with those first words uttered, there is no going back. "Perhaps the land demands the taste of his blood. Perhaps I'm just going crazy."
The spear and gastraphetes have just basic enchantments on them - they are merely +1 weapons. The backpack is a handy haversack, the first potion is of invisibility and the second is of cure moderate wounds.
The druidess carried a magic ring and a magic cloak as well (a wolf pelt). However, she was otherwise naked.
"Perhaps the land demands the taste of his blood. Perhaps I'm just going crazy."
"Well, something wanted his blood, that's for sure. The land, or some resident of it."
Sulan looks around the blood-soaked clearing.
"But whatever it was, it got what it wanted. There's enough blood here to satisfy a pack of vampires. Already the ants and other little critters are starting to lap it up."
"Let's hope this episode is finished then. Or do you think there's some kind of ceremony we need to do to satisfy this Mngwa?"
"Let us hope that you are right, and the mngwa is satisfied. What should we do with the body of the druidess, Sulan? Do druids have special rituals for the dead, or do they prefer to return to nature, err... naturally?" asks Murob.
"There is no rule that covers all druids."
"Among my people the custom was to burn the body. Who knows what hers were? The main thing is to keep larger animals from gaining a taste for human flesh, otherwise animals lose their natural fear of people and may begin hunting them. Burying the corpse or piling large stones would do that if we don't care to burn her."
The ring is a ring of sacred mistletoe, although neither Sulan nor Murob can discern the enchantment on the woman's wolf pelt.
As far as you know, there is no ceremony or ritual left to satisfy the mngwa. As long as it has killed its subject of hatred, it will dissipate forever.
Let us bury her then, we have shovels here."
Murob picks a likely spot at the edge of the clearing, under a large tree, and starts digging. It is hard, sweaty work, and by the end of it her arms tremble with exertion. Once that task is done, she sets to gathering the equipment that the druidess and the Blades had left behind.
"Breddaric's men might want some of this, or we might use it to arm the others. What the druidess had they shall not touch, though."
She spreads out the wolf pelt, setting the spear and ring on them, looking questioningly at Sulan. Amongst them, he was the most likely to make use of these items.
Sulan begins looking around for large rocks with which to cover the grave.
Murob takes the magical sack and the two backpacks and begins to stuff items into them. She wasn't going to leave behind anything that could be used, and while this was not the place and the time to divide spoils, she was sure that back at the settlement there would be people who would make good use of these things. Well, perhaps not the manacles, although those might also come in handy.
Now that the two most immediate problems had been resolved, it was time to turn their thoughts again to saving the captive colonists and searching for those who were missing.
Sulan takes one of the shovels, and helps carry what remains.
Once the druidess is buried, he constructs a travois out of a couple of saplings, his bedroll, and some rope. He piles the bodies on until he doesn't think he can carry more, and he begins trudging back to the settlement dragging the travois behind him.
"At least we're not dragging them along the ground this way," he remarks, to no one in particular.
Even though he'd never dare admit it, let alone think it, Ehiz is a sucker for the dramatic. As such, the priest stoically steps forward and then drops on one knee to pick up the spear. In a hushed voice that slithers past his lips under his breathe Ehiz promises he will wield it to defend these lands and its people. Your memory will entwine with flowers of positivity. With no name to tie to the druidess, Ehiz decides that 'wild flower' will have to do.
The farmer priest gives Sulan a nod of approval when his make-shift contraption is completed. "Dignity can be found in doing what you can, not in what you cannot. This will have to do. My heart weeps when I look at these young men and think of that young woman, knowing how much we could've done if only they had embraced Erastil's wisdom."
With that said, this place was best left behind as soon as possible.
The group loads up the corpses onto a few makeshift pallets and decides to head back to town. With their load, it's slow and tiring going, and it takes them about an hour to make it, but when they do, people start to come running once the loggers on the outskirts of the village notice them. One of the young women that you rescued from the wreckage of the ship yells, "What happened?" while a farmer that Ehiz talked to barks, "It's Breddaric and the Blades! They're dead!"
Two of the remaining Blades are in the crowd, and they go boggle-eyed at the sight of their dead leader. Their hands go to axes at their belts, but they don't pull just yet. "Explain yourself," says one of them, a man in the prime of adulthood with a brown beard, short brown hair, and worn leather armor.
"I don't answer to you," Sulan says with a growl.
The man takes his hand off his axe when he sees Sulan's much larger stone one. "Fine," he says. "But it looks f*@~ing bad that you go out to find him and you come back with corpses and then won't explain."
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Ehiz draws in a deep breath and feels how the air, along the way down, has troubles avoiding all the worries and fears that reside within him. Please, no more bloodshed. Erastil, Father, be my witness in this moment. He then slowly raises a hand, palm facing the crowd, as his lips part and the tip of his tongue flicks over them. Words are soon to follow, but catching their attention before speaking was oh so important. Or so an elderly farmer-priest had once told him.
"Calm down everyone, calm down. Don't ride those wild horses called emotions into an obviously difficult situation. Yes, yes Breddaric and many of his Blades have fallen in the fight against the druidess and her wolves." Ehiz gives the crowd a moment to let this sink in before continuing on, riding the gasps and outcries into the latter part of his statement. "Those who survived the fight were then beset by the Mngwa. This otherworldly spirit has, to our knowledge, bested Breddaric and his companions. We know it was of a singular mind to spill blood and take lives, returning to life whenever it was slain to finish what it had started."
Once again, the farmer-priest stops to both take a breath and sort out his thoughts, and give the crowd a couple of seconds to process all this. Now for the most dangerous part. "This, we fear, has been the curse that plagued us all: the Mngwa was out for the blood. Particularly, the blood of some among us for a crime or transgression we still do not fully understand. However, it is our belief that the Mngwa's thirst for revenge has been sated. So while Breddaric has fallen, his valor in venturing forth to meet those who endanger our community, has brought us safety, albeit at a terrible, terrible price."
A terrible price indeed. He did not mention the gruesome wounds inflicted on both the Blades and the druidess and her wolves, and how their ends must have been truly horrible. And how, after all that, Breddaric must not have stood a chance against the Mngwa. Death. Despair. Misery. Erastil fend, please Father avert the gaze of those wicked Gods who would use this moment for their own deviant gains.
"I assume many of you will have burning questions that ache to be answered. Please, we will try and answer any we can, but in this moment, we - the people of First Landing - need to stand as one, as a community, more than ever. Violence will not be tolerated, for that wicked vehicle has brought us where we are right now. No more of that. No more. Let us not bring shame to the memory of those we have lost today."
The people sigh, and talk among themselves, and mutter and babble, but ultimately accept what had happened. Breddaric had not been a particularly inspiring leader, and his death at the hands of a forest monster had been all but guaranteed when he had come here to fight forest monsters for them. The older Blade scoffs, waves a hand dismissively, and walks away.
The other one approaches Ehiz. "What... What do we do now? No violence, so... what, we just farm?"
The other one approaches Ehiz. "What... What do we do now? No violence, so... what, we just farm?"
"No one's saying you can't fight to defend the community. Any tribe needs warriors. But Breddaric did not choose his fights wisely."
"It wouldn't hurt though if you found a trade to occupy yourself when you aren't fighting."
"Alright..." mutters the Blade, at Sulan's vague advice. "Sure. I'll take up basket-weaving. I mean what do we do now."
"Grow food. Build defenses for the town. Help finding missing people. Choose a council to run the colony. Oh, and does anyone know this young woman?" Murob displays the locket they had found earlier; it is time to deliver the bad news.
She turns to her companions. "Speaking of missing people, I think we have done all that we can here. We should set out and try to free those colonists kept captive by the gillmen." She eyes the Blade walking away. "We need to persuade them to give up their captives - Sorala and our gillman guide. Perhaps returning their leader's and comrades' possession will make them better disposed towards us."
"What we do now is to sow the seeds through which this community can grow. Build houses, plant crops, establish workshops for trades and settle into healthy routines. And as much as I might hate violence, I am sure that skill at arms will be needed again in the future. The slave-taking Gillmen are still around, after all, and any success our small society will achieve will draw attention to us. That is why we ought to stand together, as one, no matter our differences."
No matter what, a priest of Erastil must always keep the cup half full. Even if what little resides in the cup consists of hastily distilled hope and dreams.
"Well," says the younger Blade, "I bet some of the others will try to stop you, but as far as I'm concerned you can take the Point Man. Really, they're all good guys and I bet that they'd come with if you asked them really nicely though."
"You said the other colonists are enlsaved by... gill-men? We thought they were all dead." He turns and begins to walk back to town, and indicates that the rest of the party does so as well. The group dissipates to go back to their families and friends and plan what to do next.
Murob nods at the Blade's words. "I am sure that they are good people. I shall speak to them."
Carrying the haversack with Breddaric's belongings and the gear of the fallen Blades, she heads to the ship once more, hailing any guards on the dock or on deck.
"You probably have heard the news by now. I am sorry that they bear sorrow and hardship to you and this place." She stops, pondering whether to point out that this situation could have been avoided, but decides to instead try and put the past behind them. Perhaps the remaining Blades will see wisdom now. "It is very regrettable what has happened to your leaders and comrades. We have buried them where they fell and brought back their possessions. You can do with them as you wish." As she speaks, she pulls out the items one by one and lays them on the ground - everything that had been in the possession of Breddaric and the dead Blades.
She then straightens up and looks the Blades in the eyes, one by one. "We have lost people, and they should be mourned, but we are not defeated and we still have work to do. Many colonists are still enslaved by the gillmen. We can join forces and free them, and end the menace of the raiders and slavers. Even if you do not care for the colonists they keep captive, you must realize the danger they pose to this fledgling colony. They have ships, and they can attack us at any time. Best that we strike first and defeat them."
"...We have buried them where they fell ..."