Dargys is grateful Francoix is taking charge, or at least getting them moving, and supports him, explaining to the others, "You will find it not such a bad place if you wish to stay. Any of you of druidic faiths? Is small shrine to such, and is possibly our main belief system but not a must. The huts may seem small but much better than in the open during a rain. Any of you do stonework or carprentry? You may find yourselves in demand."
The expats remain pliant to authority, even though they are freed from Borjan's. There is scarcely a delay before they snap into action, obeying Francoix's directions. They are likely relieved to face a bit of labor in lieu of physical punishment, or even execution.
With the deaths of Borjan and Tattercoat, you find that the mob numbers some forty-seven souls. Aside from the half-elven girl, Pitch, who seems to have no relations among the group, the rest of the Galtans are entirely human. They are also entirely drawn from the laborer class, representing porters, haulers, drivers, woodcutters, and butchers, rather than artisans or merchants.
Almost all of them are suffering from at least some degree of exhaustion, starvation, and dehydration. When their overtly wounded are presented, you find about sixteen of them with infected injuries on their extremities. Although the initial injuries themselves are minor - cuts and scrapes suffered while marching or foraging for food and firewood - they have been untreated and left to fester beneath sweat and dirt-caked clothing.
Dargys can't help heal , he must leave that to Mia and others, he can use prestidigitation repeatedly to clean the newcomers up, so gone with the sweat and dirt.
"Forty seven of you? We will make room" A nod.
Mia, after seeing the extent of the festering injuries she sets the girl down from her back and transforms back into her natural human form. For several seconds, you can see trepidation cross her face as she touches her mouth before shaking her head.
She goes to speak before stammering slightly, after a small pause she seems to force the rest out.
Alright.. everyone, let me check and tend to your injuries. Thank you Dargys, please make sure everyone is cleaned up before I check them. It helps a lot.
She spends the time pulling them off one at a time to check them over. Making sure to make a note for any much worse off than the others, and tells them to not partake in any strenuous activity.
Dargys and Mia find themselves eyed warily as they employ their magics and medicinal skills. They obviously do not trust you entirely, and to them, you are just as likely to be poisoners as healers - especially according to the lies that linger in their ears, the foul legacy of the dead Borjan.
Mia is certain that she can tend most of the wounds. However, given the constraints at hand - available supplies, time, and the uncooperative nature of the patients - she can't save everyone. Some of the worst off will lose limbs, or even succumb to the infections spreading to their blood of lungs.
Thus, the druid finds herself faced with a choice as she performs triage. She can prioritize treating the largest number of the injured Galtan expats possible, putting aside the worst cases. On the other hand, she could attempt to prioritize treating the worst injuries and saving some of these ill-fated souls, but costing time and supplies, potentially leaving the less injured to worsen in condition.
Darygys makes sure all are clean, which may help a little, and as Mia asks of him to.
He also gets an idea, and if he can, fetches Teriel to assist Mia. Now more than ever, the druid might need her assistant. He also rounds up Obed, if the Barber does more than cut hair but knows how to bleed folks out safely. He might be useful for cleansing out infections.
"Mia, I am getting you help. Should I see if the hobgoblins have any herbalists? They might, but they might also scare these folks"
"You want me to get help while you tend to who you can here?" If ever there were a time to split the party this might be it.
"Yes, please, see if we can round up a cart and horse or two to help the walking wounded. Stop by the inn, tell my wife to start a large stew we have folk who need help."
He nodded to Dargys while he still looked over all the folk trying to just get some idea what they were dealing with. In particular he looked to see how many little ones were still left. It occured to him some may be orphans, that pulled at his heart. He would have made Borjan's death more painful if he could have for that.
The only orphan among the expats appears to be Pitch, the girl you saved from Tattercoat. The handful of children still with the group all have some parent or older guardian with them. Their survival depended on having someone looking out for them; meanwhile, having someone depending on them meant that those parents and guardians found the resolve to survive and keep going.
Dargys hurries back to Haven while Mia finishes her triage and begins tending the wounded.
Mia is visible upset, and frustrated, at the lack of cooperation. How she Wished Kalig was here. The two of them combined surely could have managed this... what would Kalig do in this situation?... After several moments of thought, Mia speaks up. A little meekly at first, but after clearing her throat she continues again.
If we wanted to harm you, we would have done so by now. We came, out of fear, fear that you would threaten our little Haven. We came with hope, that after the deceiver was dealt with you would be willing to join us. I won't force anyone to take my aid. And I will provide aid first to those that ask for it. And if no one asks, I'll start with the worst of ones I know I can keep alive and move on from there. If you ask, I will not tend to you. Its as simple as that.
was this the right choice?.. She waited a few seconds for the first one to verbally accept her aid before getting to work. Should a multitude come to accept her aid, she would save as many lives as she could, even if others ended up a little worse off. Though she would focus on the younger ones before the elderly.
Mia conducts triage while Dargys fetches his horse and rides back to Haven. In the intervening time, Mia does her best to treat the ill-tended injuries despite the reluctance of the crowd and the limited supplies on hand.
Dargys returns straight away with help from Haven. The sudden arrival of more people leaves the expats a little uneasy, but it is when they are approached by the hobgoblins, led by Fendir's shamanic wife, that they suddenly become vitriolic.
They vocally resist any help from such "monster folk," making it clear that more persuasion will be needed.
Dargys' ass is sore after a less than perfect ride. He huffs, "If you wish to live in Haven, you are going to have to learn to share space with folks who are not human. Like you, they want better life for their families, better ways. Some of them are very skilled healers, and trust me, some of you are more likely to die from infection than blade if you don't get help soon. Do you love your fear more than your own families and friends?"
It is a difficult battle. In fact, literally crossing swords with your past enemies was at least straightforward compared to the war of words and wills that you wage with the Galtan expats. Your hobgoblin neighbors aid your cause by highlighting the grim reality that, for these newcomers, the alternative is to waste away out here in the endless plains beyond the map.
You escort the newcomers back to Haven, finding a large crowd assembling to bear witness. Some are curious, others nervous. Others, still, appear quite bitter and angry to see the people who, until only hours ago, sought to subjugate your settlement at the behest of a violent, corrupt demagogue.
Dayrgys looks about "Everyone , please do not fight. Is hard time for us all, mmm?""
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Mia looks around and shifts her feet in the tense atmosphere. After awhile, she speaks up, gathering the attention of the others.
This, this town, our little Haven, is exactly that. It is a Haven for any who would seek it. As long as they bear it no ill will, and are willingly to work both with its people and for its benefit. Enough blood and strife has been wrought by the poisonous lies of one man. Let it not cause further death.
She pauses a moment to look around at those gathered, particularly the newcomers. Giving them a long hard stare. She then addresses the Have citizens.
Time and time again, have past wariness been disproven? When the disciplined and stoic Hobgoblin tribe joined our Family, or the strong and hardened tribe good Dargys hails from? without their aid, Haven would be half of what it is, if there would even be a haven at all... and they, without our aid, may have slowly dwindled as well. I am no asking for you to befriend each other in a day. All I ask, is that you demonstrate what it means to belong to Haven, through actions. These people are no conquering army. They are a group of wounded, hungry and tired evacuees.
She tries to gauge each groups response.
The humans, hobgoblins, and orc-kin need little convincing. The party's exploits ensure that the residents of Haven properly heed Mia's wisdom and accept her judgment. The newly arrived Galtans are the ones in need of convincing.
However, Mia's approach seems to strike a chord with the Galtans. She is essentially arguing on their behalf as they are introduced to the rest of the Haven residents. This gesture does not go unnoticed. Despite the fact that they came here following a man bent on your destruction or subjugation, they find you still willing to advocate for them. Out here, far off the familiar maps and with almost nothing to their names, this goes far to earning their trust.
All the promise and potential that Haven represents has been preserved.
"Mia, that was well said." The Wizard is impressed, "I think in future I should try to shut my yap more and leave talking to you. No promises mind you"
Mia seems to be breathing a little quicker than normal.
I.. I'd prefer not, to be honest. I'm not sure where I found the courage for that, but I couldn't just let things simmer.. Perhaps we should report to Aristide. As things begin to die down, Mia would go and found Aristide. Leaving the rest of the lesser injured in her assistants care.
Aristide? Um, sorry to bother you, but the issue of Borjan has been resolved. Him, along with his foul Final Blade, have met their end. Most of the people following him are in the town, being tended to... I think most would be willing to join us.
"Ah, all the braver that you did it when you are shy" But he follows Mia to make the report.
"yes, they are cautious, but I think they will maybe see we are all just wanting a place to be"
Aristide sighs heavily when you make your report, but the relief is plain to see upon his face.
"I know not what to say. You have done what I thought impossible. I never believed that even Borjan's death could save his followers from his venomous lies. And to have destroyed his accursed Final Blade, no less?
"Friends, you do not provide service to Haven, you provide miracles."
He looks towards the crowd of expats, and the look of serene relief flees from the viscount's face.
"I would seek your counsel, friends. Would you think it wise if I were to address them?"
Stoneriver, as translated from dwarven, is a hidden hold. One might be excused for thinking this foolish, for there is an ancient highway that is carved through the Fog Peaks. Caravan wagons sit parked upon this broad, ageless road, poised to roll through the southern gates into the Whistling Plains on the following morning.
The roads, plazas, and stairs branching off from this road are thronged by dwarven merchants offering their wares, promising they will serve you well on the journey. Smiths offer cutlery of fine iron and engraved silver. Tailors promise to have clothes, woven from mountain sheep wool, let out before morning. And of course, provisioners offer smoked and peppered cheeses, spiced sausages, dried mushrooms, and hard tack and mountain goat butter.
This is the site that travelers think of when Stoneriver is talked of, for how could one not know of such wonders in the wilderness? This is, however, only what is on the surface. It is the 'foreign quarter', as the dwarves would call it, or 'The Tradeway'. While it is true that many artisans live there for months at a time, even with their families, it is not the main Hold. This is a ruse perfected by the dwarves over many a generation, for far too many holdings have been sacked and pillaged by giants, orcs, drakes, aberrations, and even mankind.
Stoneriver is, in truth, location further away from the Foreign Quarter than any but the dwarves who live there realize. The hold itself, if one could call it that, is built further into the fog-cloaked mountains, dug out along an underground river. It is from here that the majority of the dwarves dwell, living in secret. Their tunnels are deep, it is true, but none reach the Darklands. Likewise, while there are a number of tunnels that lead to the surface, all are closely guarded secrets. Even the way to the Foreign Quarter requires a trek across the mountains, out of fear that a greedy invader might sack the Foreign Quarter, and in doing so might find the way to the Hold itself.
It is this secret way in which the merchants of Stoneriver operate. The transport of goods from the Hold to the foreign quarter is an often perilous one, for the mountains have ever been filled with danger. And it is was upon that way in which Varr found himself. There was no fanfare to see him off as he stood by the hidden gate of Stoneriver. He had gone through the hidden gate countless times, but he did not know how long he might be gone this time. There was worry that all of the refugees that had fled through their lands might have learned too much, and that should the refugees fail to establish their homeland, then it would put Stoneriver in peril. To go there would constitute hardship for any dwarf, for it would mean living alongside not just humans, but greenskins. Half-orcs, to be sure, but hobgoblins as well. It was even said that one of the town's champions went by the name of Hungerflame and was a tusker of great arcane power. But that did not bother Varr. If it walked on two feet, then chances are he had either traded with it directly, or goods had passed through it's hands at some point. He was wary, yes, but old hatreds were pointless. Anger, just got in the way of a deal, and truth be told he felt a strange kinship for any who would be seen as an outcast. He had enough experience with that.
He took a deep breath and pulled his hood over his head. His cloak covered his armored body, to hide both his identity and the shine of the metal. Thick leather gloves and boots were, of course, visible, as well as his beard. But beyond that, as much was concealed as possible. He pulled a glove off, put it on the stone wall, and whispered the words needed to open it. There was no time for hesitation. He had a long journey ahead of him...
Aristide sighs heavily when you make your report, but the relief is plain to see upon his face.
"I know not what to say. You have done what I thought impossible. I never believed that even Borjan's death could save his followers from his venomous lies. And to have destroyed his accursed Final Blade, no less?
"Friends, you do not provide service to Haven, you provide miracles."
He looks towards the crowd of expats, and the look of serene relief flees from the viscount's face.
"I would seek your counsel, friends. Would you think it wise if I were to address them?"
"That is not for us to decide. I do not know if you would provoke them or set them at ease, but secrets I think will eventually come out. Perhaps you should decide in what form they do?"
Mia thinks for several long moments, letting Dargys speak first. Finally, she speaks up.
I don't really have much of a grasp on.. politics or leadership really, but, I think that, you being the leader of our town it would be better for you to address them... I do also wonder if the predator that drove Borjon on his ill-fated venture, will soon see us as prey as well... With that possibility, and with other threats we know we will have to confront at some point, I will be seeking out a place of power to attempt to re-imbue magic into some of the artifacts we discovered in the ruins. I don't know how long this will take, but I hope that they will prove useful for the town's longevity. I also had an idea involving Sargon, our dragonling friend. Though that is still nothing more than a few thoughts... If nothing else is too pressing, I would ask to be allowed to leave and pursue the artifacts now. Though, if you wish me to be there when you address everyone, I will be.
"My worry," Aristide begins, clearly weighed down by his thoughts, "is that these new arrivals, even if they are willing to become peaceable citizens of Haven, would never accept me as their leader. I have no doubt that Borjan told them certain details about me and my family, and though he may have exaggerated things, even the truth is enough to cast me as a villain in their eyes."
He looks towards the crowd of expats. They keep to themselves and remain cagey around the other Haven residents as the transition remains tense.
"I wasn't born in Galt. When the Revolution fell upon Galt, my great grandfather spirited the whole family away to Cheliax, where he had cousins and business contacts. It was there that I was born, after our family spent about a generation building back its fortunes. I was almost a man by the time I learned how they did it.
"From the Obari Ocean and across the Inner Sea, my kin trafficked in slaves," Aristide states, grim and solemn.
"I know not how many souls were kept in bondage for my family's enrichment, but it weighs upon my own soul like a lodestone. When I reached adulthood, I began planning how to sever myself from my family's foul enterprise.
"It was whilst studying at Almas University that I first conceived of this expedition. Living in Andoran, sandwiched between Cheliax and Galt, was a perfect metaphor for my life then. I couldn't return to my family's ancestral homeland without being lynched by the mob for being a noble, and neither could I return to Cheliax, lest my kin force me to sell my soul and join the family business. When my father and uncle died, it was almost a mercy.
"No sooner did I inherit the family fortune and title than I set about disposing of it all. I sold off every bit of physical property and real estate. I freed every last slave under our control and did my best to return them home. Then I fled to Stoneriver, to avail myself of the hospitality of the Brightshields, who I had met during my time in Almas. I then dedicated myself to putting together this expedition."
"Given my own family history, I do not think I shall be judging you, Aristide. Indeed you seem to want to disassocate yourself from the evils of those who came before you. How is this a bad thing? I do not know, but if Borjan has seeded hatred against you, you must deal with it anyway. Perhaps I ask this. If you fear you will no be accepted as leader, who do YOU think would be good one?"
"I would think that would be obvious," Aristide says with a wan smile. He clarifies his thoughts by gesturing towards the party.
"By this point, your service to Haven has outstripped my own by leaps and bounds. I think many of our residents already look to you for leadership far more than they do me. And as for our new arrivals...well, considering that you are the ones who've secured them sanctuary, they'd undoubtedly look to no one else for leadership."
The half orc breaks out into a hearty laugh, then realizes something, "Oh," His eyes bulge, "You are the serious." He looks to his companions, "He is serious."
Well, the son shouldn't suffer from the sins of the father. Besides, were it not for you non of this would.. well, be... She trails off, her face frozen in a gentle smile for several long moments before she finally blinked several times in quick succession.
Either way, I've no doubt they, like everyone else, come to regard you as that. They may look to us for aid, but I'm sure they still view you as their founder and leader... Besides, I'm not suited for such things. I can barely hold myself together for the shortest of... speeches, I suppose for lack of a better word... a-anyway, as I said, I have rituals to prepare for. Excuse me. Sorry. She quickly goes to back out of the building.
Dargys watches Mia go, then looks back at Aristide, "She is not too comfortable about public speaking it seems. None of us are how you say, super charming. No offense, to any of us mind you. If you step down, whoever steps up will need your counsel, frequently."
"None of us are not super charming?"
He said with a chuckle shaking his head. That wasnt exactly true. But he wasnt much for leading folk.
"This certainly requires discussion, and no doubt a long one. Let's head to the inn. I will corral up some drinks and we can figure this all out. Im Sure Noemie wont mind the company. I had planned on trying to cycle through the new folk, getting a feel for them and maybe helping them settle in, but that can wait i guess. Perhaps Noemie would be able to get a list of names and professions and the like while we talk."
"You are charming charming, not super charming..." A look left and right, "Please not to be telling your wife I Said that. " a bit of humor in the tone
Aristide's attendants ferry him to the inn to better meet with you in private.
"I extended invitations to some of our other prominent citizens, but they declined. Harkan and Fendir thought it best to keep an eye on their kin, protecting them from the new arrivals, and vice versa. Kalig, Lena, and Valentina likewise declined their invitations. I suspect they would prefer to leave leadership in your hands," he adds with a wry smile.
He also notes that Noemie's natural charm endears her to the new arrivals, and she is able to gather some basic census information about them.
The door to the inn came open, and in stomped a dwarf. He pulled his hood down, revealing a well-groomed brown beard that bordered on black. He took off his cloak, revealing plate armor from pauldrons to greaves. Notably lacking from it were sabatons, vambraces or gauntlets, which were replaced by sturdy leather boots and gloves. From his belt hung a peculiar looking axe, the blade of which shimmered as if though it were liquid.
He had just arrived from Stoneriver, having joined a group of Galtans on way. "So, this is Haven, is it?" He muttered to himself. "Innkeep, I'll only call this place Haven if ye have something to wet me throat. An ale, if ye have it." He said. As he walked forward his gaze lingered on Dargys. Not out specieism, though one could be forgiven for thinking it. Rather he thought back to what he had heard before he had left. Apparently one of the 'heroes' of the town was a half-orc wizard. He nodded at Dargys, thinking to himself that he must be in the right place.
"I extended invitations to some of our other prominent citizens, but they declined. Harkan and Fendir thought it best to keep an eye on their kin, protecting them from the new arrivals, and vice versa. Kalig, Lena, and Valentina likewise declined their invitations. I suspect they would prefer to leave leadership in your hands," he adds with a wry smile.
"Oy. I am not sure what to be making of this still. I will help, of course, but honestly while I have dreams of my own tower, or perhaps a few apprentices to teach manly art of destruction magics too, I think I am to be glad to just assist whoever is..."
Then he turns to notice a dwarf giving him the eye. For a moment, he restrains a sigh suspect some bigotry is at play, but then the Dwarf surprises him by nodding in a most tolerant manner.
He nods back. Forgetting what else he was going to say about potential leader ship roles, he instead greets the dwarf, "Ale here is good enough considering resources." Dabbling in weaponsmith himself, he can't help but gaze at the axe with curiosity, "I recommend the brown sour if they still have some, but that is me."
”The brown sour it is.” The dwarf replied, taking off one of his gloves and extending it. While he didn’t smile, it was a clear sign of friendliness.
”Name’s Varr.” He said, ignoring the gaze at his axe. ”How about I buy a round for ye and your friends? All I ask is your names, and some talk about this town for a new settler. Such as who is in charge around here?”
The half orc chuckles deeply, as if the dwarf has said something truly funny "I am Dargys, called the Hungerlame, a wizard of, how you might say? unsubtle magics. Your offer of drinks are welcome, at least to me. As to your question, that is more difficult than you think to answer." Yes, very amused, but at the situation, not the dwarf. He looks to Aristide, Mia, and Francoix to see if they would like to introduce themselves.
He paused watching the dwarf enter for a moment his breath catching as their was almost a strange moment between Dargys and the now named Dwarf Varr.
"The town still in discussion, as to this Inn.... Im in charge, its mine and my wives. Im Francoix, this is my wife Noemie. Ive still got a few casks of the brown sour left, First cups on my new friend. Welcome to Haven."
He responded to the dwarf offering his hand. He did not the leather gloves over metal gauntlets, but that wasnt entirely too strange.
"Savor your drinks. We may not be able to brew any more for a time," Aristide says, trying but failing to not sound grim. "Our next challenge will be ensuring we have enough food for everyone.
"When we first set out from Stoneriver, our caravan carried enough food for the journey across the Whistling Plains and then to get through our first winter here on the Castrovin coast. Even when Harkan and his kin joined us, it did not overburden our provisions, especially once we earned the friendship of the leshys.
"However, once our second wave of settlers came downriver, our problems began. We had planned to wait until at least next spring to send for them, after our first successful harvests."
He tries to maintain his composure, but despite himself, Aristide cradles the side of his head in his palm and drops a groan.
"We should not begrudge the Brightshields. They bought as much hospitality from their kin and their hold for our people as they could, but I had not anticipated our people being removed from Stoneriver so soon. The Brightshields sent along some supplementary supplies, but it is not enough.
"Our situation was already precarious, but now that we also have Borjan's former followers in our care...as it stands, even with tight rationing, we will not have enough food to last the winter."
At this grim news, Dargys winces, "I see. The first thing we should do is gather up any food that appears to be rotting, and see if the clerics and druids among us can purify the food to make it fit for consumption. Perhaps they could do something with the plant life period, help early harvests? I do not know. How are we for game? I am no hunter, but I see a lot of jerky in our future if we can down some meat."
He looks about to see if Axxa, the hobgoblin huntress is about. She might know.
Even as he looks he talks "of course, we do have some small herds and ..what, two fishermen? Maybe lessons in fishing will be a good idea? We don't want to deplete things but... better they get help."
Varr was perturbed at the talk of his homeland. While it was acknowledged that his people had done what they could, when men starved reason often left them. A solution was needed.
"Aye...can't go back to Stoneriver for food. Hard enough to feed a population that lives underground, aye? Food is the most important import there, afterall. But perhaps we could trade with other towns for enough to get us by? I believe that there be ruins nearby. Is there anything there worth salvaging? Just speaking for meself, I've made a fair few coins in the day from picking through such places."
"Mmm," the half orc is feeding a rat that has crawled out of the tall wizard's tattered brown (With red trim) sleeve, as he thinks over what the dwarf suggests "We have had luck with some ...searches. It might give us more wealth for trade, yes. We should consider what services we do have for trade." He ponders this.
"Young Sargon guided a party across the river and into the swamp to the stores you liberated from the ogres," Aristide clarifies. "Can't exactly say I'm keen to dine upon what a swamp-dwelling ogre considers edible, but we are in no position to be choosy. Still, even the amount of food that would satisfy a trio of ogres would only last our hundred or so settlers for a week or two at best."
Aristide also explains that he did not ask Sargon to pilfer any of his "father's" treasure, lest Haven incur the older dragon's wrath.
"Unless, of course, you have a plan for dealing with this Barthazar."
Dargys rubs at his forehead, "At this point, not to be the gloomiest of gusses, but best plan is keep head low and hope we get more powerful so we can talk from tougher position or at least set up better defenses. Food first though"
"Even putting aside talk of dragons, there is another power we will have to contend with sooner or later. That Keleshite patrol cutter that visited some time ago will have likely reported back to its home port by now, so someone in the Padishah Empire now knows we have settled here.
"Fortunately, based on my understanding of Keleshite politics, it is highly unlikely that we will find ourselves the target of a military subjugation. Instead, we can expect representatives from one of their satraps or numerous merchant houses to arrive, aiming to broker trade deals and lay the foundations of political and economic influence."
”And that is…bad?” Varr asked with hesitation. ”Trade deals are better than starvation. Or do ye expect them to demand fealty?”
"The latter I am thinking." Darygys answers Varr "Eventually. The more successful we are, the more they will eye us with that in mind I am sure. Of course I am no politician. But success creates interest- for good and ill."
The dwarf shrugged. ”We don’t have anyone in charge. We don’t have enough food. That’s a much more pressing problem than someone using trade deals to eventually make the town a protectorate or even part of their kingdom. So…anyone up for some salvage at the ruins? Nay seeing anything else that can be done immediately, unless ye have a druid that owes a favor.”