The draft animals are quickly harnessed, and the wagons and carts rumble forward for the first time in several days. In the waning light of afternoon, the caravan progresses towards the ruined gatehouse, using this landmark as a rallying point. Despite how trail-weary everyone had been not too long ago, moving again seems to lift the settlers' spirits after sitting idle for so long.
Connetlie, the tanner with unusually dyed hair, brags loudly about how he intends to build his shop and home beside the ancient gate.
Although most settlers ignore his attempt to be the center of attention, it seems to spark an idea in Fergus d'Beranza. The former noble suggests "Oldgate" or "Eastgate" as potential settlement names, drawn from the landmark.
Other names you hear suggested from your soon-to-be neighbors are inspired by homes left behind in Galt, such as New Isarn or New Edme. Lena even suggests reclaiming the name "Kaskkari."
Soraya's suggestion, "Haven," gains some traction among settlers owing to the simplicity of its meaning.
Into the night, folks begin unpacking their belongings or unloading pallets of lumber in preparation for a storm of swinging hammers and grating saws on the morrow. Daring settlers begin poking around the mossy foundations of ancient buildings near the gatehouse, looking to stake their claims early.
Despite the palpable energy coursing through your fellow travelers, nervous and excited by the promise of setting down their new roots and celebrating the last night spent as wanderers, the dark hours pass peacefully.
Dorick has notions about names, but the simplicity of "Haven" does appeal to him.
"We will build anew! Our Haven it shall be!"
He keeps his wits about him, and his eyes open for danger. But he and Caragus will help move and unload as they can.
Fendir spends his time walking the perimeter of the ruins with his tribe. They mark out spots that would be good places for defensive towers, Fendir using his ability to speak to and control stone to move chunks of earth into a stack atop one another; While they work, he has Axxa on the lookout for tracks that lead into or out of the ruins.
Near the ancient gate where the caravan unpacks, Axxa finds only animal tracks - the largest being antelope. Fendir's affinity for stone helps identify old foundations that can be built atop, including ones buried near the surface.
.....
In the morning, breakfast passes in a flash as the settlers are all too eager to stake their claims and start building new lives.
The party is given two wagons, with oxen to pull them, to attend to the bodies left on the half-finished pyre in the remains of the fishing village a few miles away.
Dorick turns to the others.
"It is a good thing that we will do. Those people deserve better than being left to the winds."
"Build where you like, Connetlie, so long as you keep your lye vats downwind, or you'll drive traders out," Kalig advises the silly blustery man. He's probably so used to the smell he forgets what it's like for everyone else.
Kalig herself expresses no preference for names, but enjoys seeing what others come up with.
She is ready to go in the morning, having done her own morning rituals and helped hitching up the oxen. Matilda brays jealously at her giving the attention to the other beasts of burden.
"Don't worry, you can drag dead bodies too." She pats the silly donkey on the nose.
The land that will become your home is quite fertile, and foraging berries is an effortless task.
It only takes a pair of oxen to pull each wagon as they are unladen, and you make quick time northwards to the ruined fishing village. The desolate sight is little changed from your last visit, aside from the location and number of seabirds, turtles, and crabs you see along the water.
You set about the grim business of completing the pyre to commend the villagers' remains to dust and ash. The sea spray has moistened the charred wood of the original pyre, making it unlikely to complete its task. The timbers of the cove-side cabins, crusted with brine, seem similarly unsuitable.
The boards and thatch of the shanties further up, along the river and lake, present a more promising source of fuel.
"I volunteer to start breaking up the shanties for pyre wood.", Dorick says as he and Caragus make for said shanties.
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As they work, Soraya can't help but notice the various wounds and reconstruct in her head how they were received. Her mental reconstructions of the suffering cause her to need more breaks during this process than she might otherwise have taken. She barely registers Dorick's words, but the idea of moving away from this job is something that catches her attention. "I'll help you," she says, her voice sounding numb.
Kalig points at the crabs and such. "Some must have fallen into the water. I doubt we can really salvage them--but they'll return to the cycle soon enough."
She assists with building the pyre, keeping an eye out for anything unusual (whether items abandoned or critters that shouldn't be there) along the way. If needed, when the time comes, she'll donate 1-2 flasks of oil to the task, and cast spark to get the pyre lighted.
Thankfully, your armor protects you from the blow.
Though the steel bands are left strongly dented, they do not give way, saving you from a terrible gash upon your back.
Recovering from the attack, you quickly turn to find a wild-eyed, unshorn warrior standing before you. He wields a stout, hooked polearm; you recognize it as a guisarme. He is clad in battleworn but well-made armor of studded leather, flecked with many stains.
...
Down in the cove, as the rest of the party prepares the pyre and reexamines the ruins, you hear the sharp clang of metal echo across the cliffside. The sound comes from upstream, where Dorick went to retrieve fuel for the pyre.
From where she was dragging some piece of wood or another, Kalig orders Matilda to stay put. She unleashes her shield and runs toward the noise.
He had quietly been focused on searching bodies for loot, then placing them on the cart. He was so focused on the work that he may or may not have noticed all the others suddenly disapearing from the task at hand.
Dorick grunts with pain and surprise, but battle instincts kick in.
He wears a cestus for the very purpose of always having a decent close-up weapon to hand.
He steps under the guard of the mad warrior and strikes hard!
"Aw hells."
He muttered as he ran torwards the noise!
Soraya's head snapped up at the sound of ringing metal. Turning a corner she sees Dorick facing off against a man with a lethal looking polearm.
"Somnus!" she says, while weaving her dagger in an arcane pattern.
She hopes Dorick is okay. She also hopes he doesn't outright kill this man. It might just be a misunderstanding.
Dorick's strong swing connects, and the reinforced knuckles of his cestus impact heavily upon the warrior's gaunt face.
Soraya's sudden arrival spells the end to this unexpected battle, as her hex plunges the man deeply into sleep.
The rest of the party arrives within a few moments to find Soraya checking on Dorick, the unconscious attacker on the ground, not far from their feet.
Dorick swiftly kicks the man's polearm away, then searches him for other weapons.
"My thanks, Soraya. Now we can question him."
"What now?" mutters Fendir to himself as he starts to head up with the others, then stops himself. This would be a good time to steal all of their equipment, after all, and Fendir would prefer that not happen, so he stays sentinel below.
The snoring man appears to be of mixed Ulfen heritage. His wild hair and scraggly beard, much like his clothes and armor, are unwashed and caked in an amalgam of dirt, food, sweat, and blood.
In addition to his polearm and armor, a few strange oddments cling to the belts that run across his waist and chest: a sturdy sap, a few iron-headed bolas, two alchemical tanglefoot bags, and some small but empty flasks - two of which still exude a sickly sweet aroma from whatever concoction was once inside. Inside one of his belt pouches, peeking through a hole where the leather is worn through, you espy a small disc carved from pink granite.
With the strange man surrounded and restrained, Soraya looks to treating his wounds. Satisfied that he's well cared for, she addresses Dorick and the others. "Try not to be so aggressive questioning him. He probably thought of us as a threat."
Seeing his primitive appearance, Kalig says, "I wonder if he was one of the residents here. Maybe he can explain what happened. Keep him restrained in case he is dangerous, but indeed... he may have seen us as invaders."
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Seraphina smiles as she makes her way into her new home.
It sure has been an amazing, yet terrifying journey. I’m proud that I had the courage to stick with it. I wonder if I could set up a blanket somewhere to start my drawings?
Sera finds a spot, out of the way of people as they unload supplies. She takes a piece of charcoal stick and begins to make a rough drawing of the organized chaos she sees before her.
She sees a man unloading potatoes off of one of the wagons.
"He is defeated, there is no need to further torment him. Let us bind him for our safety, ask him questions, then see if he be villain or otherwise."
"What's taking so long!" shouts Fendir up at the cliff, where he stood waiting for an update.
In short order, the man is bound and propped against the groaning wall of a nearby shanty. When you rouse him for questioning, he lurches with an animalistic growl. He loses his balance and flops onto the ground, struggling against his bonds.
After a moment, though, he seems to regain some semblance his senses and glares up at Dorick, locking eyes with the cavalier.
"If you're going to kill me, get it over with!" he barks.
Dorick shouts back to Fendir:
"Apologies! We found someone, and had to tie them up before questions!"
To the prisoner, Dorick doesn't make any aggressive posture.
"If we were going to kill you, we would have done it already. You attacked me from behind and look half-starved I would like to know why."
"Would you like some water?" Kalig gestures to her waterskin.
He stood quietly by Sir Doick and Kalig, letting them handle things for the most part. He did keep a wary hand near one of his hidden daggers.
Dorick's direct speech seems to calm the man, opening him up to talking, even as he shies away from Kalig's proffered waterskin, viewing the half-blooded woman with suspicion. He introduces himself as Baldruc before answering Dorick's question.
"I thought you were going to kill me. Simple as that," he replies. "I've been alone here for nearly a week, ever since my mates left me for dead, and in that time almost everything I've encountered has tried to finish the bloody job."
Pushing aside the mess with your rapier, you find that it is no animal but one of the centaurs you hunted alongside mere days ago! Even without expert examination, you reason that he was slain as his hunting band passed near this village after parting ways with your group.
As calmly as he can, Dorick asks a further question:
"What happened in this village a week ago?"
"We mean you no harm, truly," she says calmly. Then her eyes take on a harder look. "But please don't lie to us. You're holding something back. I can use my magic to pull it out of you, but I'd rather not. The results are sometimes...unpleasant."
"I will make no lie of it," he starts. "We sailed down the coast from Kridorn and Vladmirr hoping to rob the first Vudran ships of the season, but it seems those fat merchants had already slipped past us. We couldn't return home empty handed, so we settled for raiding this village.
"These fishers and scroungers turned out to be raring for a scrap, though. They battled us, but we inevitably won. We hung around the town for a time, nursing our wounds and taking our victors' share of food. Not long after, as we discussed what to do next, the fishpeople silently but furiously emerged from the sea.
"They fell upon us in the night, slaughtering my crewmates and the remaining villagers alike. I was wounded terribly and certain that I would die, but I awoke a day or two later to find the aftermath of this carnage."
"Thank you for being honest, at least," Kalig remarks. "It's refreshing. So, are there any other survivors that you know of?"
Dorick speaks up, trying to keep growing anger down.
"Aye, or any of your kin. Or word on the fish folk and their arms and tactics."
"When I woke up, the only things left alive were the crabs and gulls. I don't know if the fishpeople took captives to become slaves or to dine on fresh prey, but only the dead were left behind."
Baldruc takes a moment to groan and shake his head.
"I didn't last long in the battle, but I remember them fighting with harpoons, tridents, crossbows, and their own claws. They struck fast and without mercy, like sharks upon bloodied prey. The dark of night didn't even seem to slow them none. I'd heard stories about such 'sea devils' from old sailors back in Kridorn."
Although considered one of the safest cities in Iobaria's desolate lands, it is still plagued by corruption within its walls and corsairs upon its waters.
"Kridorn's a trading port a good ways away. If that's true, those 'devils' occupy a good chunk of these seas."
"I see. What would you do if we removed these bindings?"
He scowled at the mans words but kept his thoughts to himself. Coastal raiding and banditry bothered him. It was one thing to steal when you were desperate or needed to survive another thing to loot and kill and steal as a habit.
When Sir Dorick mentioned removing the mans bindings he stiffened slightly his hand grasping the tip of the dagger up his sleeved... just in case it was needed.
Soraya could never understand how people could possibly turn to piracy like that. Making a living through the suffering of others. I've half a mind to throw him in the sea myself.
"Any idea, Kalig, what kind of creature he's describing?"
These belligerent aquatic creatures can be found in most of Golarion's temperate seas. They build vast cities in the depths of the ocean that rival the air breathers' great metropolises, while near the shoreline they create impregnable fortresses from which to launch raid after raid against land dwellers. It is not just those above the waves whom the sahuagin hate, as they are in constant conflict with other aquatic creatures. Their warlike tendencies have made the sahuagin one of Golarion's most hated races.
"If you freed me, for starters, I would stand and right myself off the dirt. If you're asking if I'll draw steel against you again, then no - I will not attack."
"Nope. I've not been to many coastal areas."
Left to his down devices, Fendir continued to build the mass pyre for the deceased bodies.
And then the man's description clicked in her head. "Oh... he's talking about sahuagin. We will definitely need to ensure our defenses against their menace." For the first time in a while, Soraya begins to wonder if this was a good idea after all.
Once freed from his bonds, Baldruc pushes himself upright with a groan. His eyes roam over his polearm lying propped up against a nearby shanty, but he makes no move to claim it.
"The sea devils didn't even leave our ship," he rues, casting his eyes down towards the cove. "They scuttled it or dragged it down to the depths, it seems. Perhaps I will set my feet northwards, and eventually I will find my way back to Kridorn."
Even beyond the fact that he makes his livelihood as a sea raider, there is something not quite right about Baldruc - something unnerving.
Kalig shrugs. It's hard to get a read off him when he's dirty and hungry. But she has no argument with his wanting to move on--she certainly has no interest in keeping a sea raider close any more than she did the bandits who tried to steal their food (especially since he admits to greater violence than theft).
"Good luck to you then. Kridorn's large enough to offer you a new life if you wanted. The sea perhaps has suggested your current course isn't going to take you anywhere good."
He may seem harmless enough for the moment, but Soraya isn't ready to trust anyone who made his living pillaging villagers along the coast. Especially not after he jumped one of their own. She's quite happy to see him take his leave. In fact, she suggests just that.
"You've got yourself another chance at life. I suggest you don't squander it. Oh, and don't think you'll receive as pleasant an encounter should we meet again. You just keep on heading north, mister."
She may not be a big woman, but the look in her eyes is deadly serious.
"Fare thee well, Baldruc. May your future path be a less grim one."