Vladimir continues to slash at the goblin caught in a flank between he and Marisol.
(inspire, flank)
Marisol tries to use Vlad's attack as an opening for her as well.
(inspired, flanking)
(Probably doesn't hit)
The cringing goblin avoids Vladimir and Marisol's attacks... and froths at the mouth a little.
Durielle takes some extra steps to avoid the leader's attacks to once again place her in a position the ranger Balter can use to his advantage.
She attempts to draw the goblin's blood on her blade.
Despite great positioning, the oracle's weakened strength is evident, and her sword barely nicks the raging monster.
With another lazily executed dodge, Balter avoids the goblin's claw. He gives Durielle a quick nod before pressing forward, his swords flying into an artful frenzy.
"Just die, damn you!"
Though Vladimir and Marisol fail to strike the dodgy little goblin, Balter and Durielle bring the enlarged leader to his knees.
"No more!" He raises his hands, then immediately drops one to cradle a wound... seconds later he falls unconscious.
The goblin between Marisol and Vladimir puts up his hands, and repeats his fallen chief's words. "No more!"
Durielle immediately retreats back towards Hrafen but mainly to get her equal distance between the two groups of enemy goblins. Her sword is somewhat clumsily sheathed, her form marred by fatigue. Drawing her bow and a single arrow, she places missile to string without drawing back to conserve her strength. She knows she can't let her guard down, her visions show much treachery possible.
"What are we to do with them?"
The oracle's face seems pained. She fears the answer most likely to be received, but she cannot foresee an outcome which will not prevent future conflict between this race of feral goblins and any settlers that would follow this expedition.
"It would seem that we only have the one to deal with...does anyone speak its language?" Turning his attention to the surrendered goblin he asks, "Do you speak our language?"
The goblin's blank stare implies he does not speak common Taldane. He turns his head a little giving Vladimir an inquisitive sidelong look... as if wondering "am I supposed to say something now?".
A slowly turns a clawed finger toward himself... "Slorsh?"
Marisol stays her blade, though she stays in a guard position. "Not... part of my schooling," she says reluctantly.
Balter sheathes his short sword, but keeps his larger blade pointed at the goblin.
"Is that supposed to be its name?" he asks, though his tone sounds more like he is taking it to be some kind of bad joke. He shakes his head, having no familiarity with the Goblin tongue. " Let's just put it out of its misery. We can't negotiate with something that we can't communicate with."
The goblin suddenly looks queasy... he turns his head toward the swath of filth, and retches. A few moments later, his claws recede, and his face morphs into a normal, less feral goblin visage.
He knocks on his forehead, then nods repeatedly...
He gestures toward the group "Yoomen", then to himself again "Slorsh".
Then, the late morning sun casts shadows down the dirt slope in front of you. Two figures... one goblin, and one bearded and bushy-haired human-looking humanoid carrying a quarterstaff. He yells down from the top... (about 60' from your current position.)
"Good day... what's your business here? These goblins are sentries for Baron Dovan. He holds the Twigjack Watchtower."
Vladimir thinks to himself, Baron Dovan's sentries? Interesting...
Turning his attention to the bushy-haired man, he responds, "We are explorers. I was not aware there were any Baronies in the region. I had been led to believe it was more leaning toward independent small villages here."
Remaining at the top of the dirt slope, the man responds with his voiced raised to cover the distance... "Aye... but he fancies the name. Could take you to him if you like... Better now than later if you've intentions to walk his lands in your exploration."
He hands his staff to the goblin he'd arrived with, then...
"Mind if I join you to avoid straining my voice?"
Marisol seems wary, but says, "If we can have a peaceful meeting with the Baron, that would be most welcome."
Vladimir gestures for the bushy-haired man to join them at the bottom of the slope.
The goblin holds the quarterstaff horizontally above his head. The bushy-haired man leaps off the cliff, and transforms into a large eagle (with the same greying auburn coloring as his hair and beard). He banks around, and grasps the staff in his talons (with goblin dangling) before gliding down near you. The goblin does an inadvertent rolling dismount, then sits for a moment to recover his balance.
The man changes back to his human form... average build, around 50 years old judging by appearance... unwashed, musky.... He is dressed a long grey/brown tunic, bulky boots, and finely crafted leather bracers with ironwood studs and reinforcements. The dead straight dark eyebrows low on his prominent brow, and light grey/blue piercing eyes give him a serious and stern natural expression.
He bows. "Marlbeck Sneeg." He looks around at the goblinoid carnage. "You've no losses among yuh... good. Can be rough sharin the road with weepy folk. Fought fiercely for goblins, aye?"
"Indeed, they were rather fierce for goblins. Vladimir says agreeing with Marlbeck.
"Vladimir Ducheski." the swordsman says extending his hand. "Is there anything we should know before meeting Dovan?"
"If you would be as so kind to give us a few moments to clean up a bit before going, it would be apprecieated."
While waiting for Marlbeck's response, Vladimir casts a healing spell on Marisol and reaches for a potion for himself.
"This Baron won't be upset that we slew his sentries?" Balter asks with a raised brow, making no effort to hide his suspicion. Nonetheless, he finally sheathes his blade, not unwilling to resort to diplomacy. Just so long as he wasn't the one doing the talking.
Marlbeck lightly grunts as he gets down to sit on the ground. "Aye. I've nowhere to be in a hurry."
He gestures to indicate the fallen goblins... "Gave 'em a bit of training. Mosta their nasty comes from this mash they drink. Leftover pulp from Grundy's Green Hammer... few other scraps." He pulls a half-empty corked bottle from his satchel, and shows you the label...
"This Baron won't be upset that we slew his sentries?"
He looks to Balter, and shrugs... "I'd wager not, but.. dunno. Never been too skilled in readin'im." He then makes eye contact with Balter, then Vladimir. "But.. I do know he's one to grant respect to those who show skill with their blade." (as an answer to both...)
Durielle hesitantly lowers her bow and restores the arrow to its quiver. Feeling that Balter and Vladimir have the read of the man who have come among them, she wordlessly approaches Balter and casts a healing spell on him.
Marisol lets out a relieved exhalation. "Thank you, Vladimir." She slowly wipes down her cutlass and sheathes it. She eyes the bottles of mash critically, then turns her head to glance at Balter for a moment with a raised eyebrow, after which she looks back to Vlad and gives him a genuine, relieved, happy smile.
"Thanks," Balter says to Durielle, watching as the claw mark on his arm closes up.
Listening to Marlbeck speak, he exchanges glances with Marisol, offering a stiff shrug. He was not entirely sure of what to make of their situation, but he did not like it. With that all said and done, he looks to Vladimir and nods, indicating that he is ready to move on.
Marlbeck pushes himself to his feet, then says a few things to the goblins in their tongue.. during part of which he gestures toward the bodies. They nod in response to whatever he said.
Marlbeck waves you to follow... "Lets be off, eh?", and starts walking.. eyes fixed on the road... "So which one o'ya draws the maps? This is exploring for maps, aye?"
"I suppose that would be me." Vladimir responds flatly. "Really more sketches and notes in my journal than true maps."
"Ah've always been fond of maps. It's how I like to see the world... from up there." He jerks his head upward. "Ask me... I'd think you'd all but hafta to look from up in the sky to make a proper map." He shrugs. "Guess you'd know better'n me."
"I would not necessarily think that I would know better than you, particularly for this region. In fact having your perspective from above would be a tremendous boon to our efforts."
Glancing around to try and pick up the impressions on the situation from his companions, Vladimir asks, "Would you be willing to help us in that endevor?"
"It's very generous of you to help us find our way. I'm sure that we can find some common benefits - helping with sharing trade route information, perhaps, or making note of areas under the sway of your liege," Marisol adds helpfully.
Marlbeck nods to Vladimir... "Aye. Something to think on, ah'll grant that."
"Rather not wander too far... not any day soon, fair lad. I wish to see my brother well..." he looks side to side.. lowers his voice ".. and done with serving the Stag Lord. I see Dovan as the best shot we have to put that monster of a man down. You be sure to stay clear of there, eh?"
To Marisol.. "No bother muh'lady. Don't expect I'd have much to do with all that, but sounds alright. We don't do much in the way of trading... did with Elmere when we first got here.. up until a couple months back."
Your path reaches and joins a wagon trail which runs along the ridge. To your right (now west) there is a fairly steep wooded descent to the river. To your left are grassy plains. "..halfway there."
"Ah, what else could you tell us of this Stag Lord?" Marisol queries.
Vladimir nods, acknowledging Marlbeck's warning while thinking, Not sure Dovan is much better than his former master, but I suppose we shall see...
"Why the cease in trading with Elmere? I have my suspicions, but would like to hear your thoughts on the matter."
"Ah, what else could you tell us of this Stag Lord?" Marisol queries.
"No one knows where he came from. Some say he was born of the wild. He wears an antlered skull helm... to my knowledge no one has seen his true face. My brother Falgrim and I were recruited by Dovan. I was placed in one of the outer patrol camps... I've only been within the fort once. That was the day a man named Akiros Ashmoor took Dovan's place as second-in-command. This fella Akiros ratted out a supposed betrayer - he was Dovan's man. The Stag Lord crushed this man's hand to pulp in one fist, then killed him with one punch."
"Many of us were cleared out soon after. Stag Lord must be paranoid or somethin. I'd guess he's likely only got a dozen or so men in the fort now... though there's a good chance he's still got a mess more workin for'im who come and go.""Why the cease in trading with Elmere? I have my suspicions, but would like to hear your thoughts on the matter."
"Sorry, not much I can comment on 'bout that. We've had prickly relations with Elmere straight out.. from what I've heard, but I don't have a clear understandin why we stopped trade. Dovan only said we'd be needin to grow our own crops now. A fellow named Topper Red comes by on occasion to peddle wares, but directly with Dovan for the most part."
Durielle seems rather off put by the wild looking man's appearance. She's rather distrustful of him and keeps quiet for the most part. When he mentions Topper Red, she seems to shrink from the conversation altogether.
"You say Dovan is the best shot you have to take down the Stag Lord. Please do not take offense to the question I am about to ask, but given the fact that Dovan once worked for the Stag Lord, what makes him a better option?" Vladimir asks, trying to get a better understanding about the man they are about to meet with.
Marlbeck immediately responds with..."By your asking, I'm thinkin I wasn't clear enough about how monstrous this Stag Lord is."
He then takes a moment, eyes Vladimir, then shrugs.
"Dovan's no prince, but from what I gather, he'd rather be admired than feared."
He gestures ahead... there are a few buildings along the trail nestled in a wooded area at the edge of the ridge to your right.. a smallish farmhouse, barn, and another barn-like structure. Another half-mile beyond these buildings is the tower. To the left of you, the terrain slopes downward slightly toward a few ragged fields of green sprouts - where a half-dozen farmhands are at work.
An older fellow gently rocking on a porch swing at the farm house asks "All smiles, Sneeg?" as the trail leads you past him.
Marlbeck answers, "Aye, Pop."
Then to you "Papa Grundy... master brewer."
Marisol inclines her head gracefully to the elder as she takes in the scenery.
"Quite bucolic, wouldn't you say, Vlad?" she says. "It seems that the harvest this year has been difficult. To be honest I haven't been paying enough attention to the weather to know if it's drought, poor soil, or maybe rampaging goblins or... I don't know, dire weevils."
She fixes her gaze on the tower and says, "Now that, on the other hand, looks like a piece of history."
"Indeed, Marisol, on both counts."
Turning his attention to older gentleman, "A pleasure to meet you, Papa Grundy. I am Vladimir." he says, introducing himself but leaving it to the others to introduce themselves.
"Well-bred fellow you are. Good day." Papa Grundy jerks his head toward a stack of bottle crates beside him - a crossbow and battered spyglass lie on top. "This batch is spoken for, but got another in the works. Take summa that back with ya... wherever ye hail from Sire, and b'm'faith y'll be the talk of the town. Find nothing like it in any'your well-mannered pubs."
She fixes her gaze on the tower and says, "Now that, on the other hand, looks like a piece of history."
Marlbeck follows Marisol's gaze. "Aye. Built by dwarves centuries ago. Infested with hobgoblins for some time I hear.... Restored by men decades ago. Named it Twigjack Tower... come." He continues onward.
"Good day, Master Grundy," the elf says quietly. "Your offer is much appreciated. We will be sure that knowledge of your brew is spread to whence we came. We hope all in your community are as hospitable." She smiles with kindness.
Marisol smiles cheekily and says, "Indeed, the hospitality is greatly appreciated, Papa Grundy." She leans slightly to Durielle and says, "Country hooch and an adventure against marauding humanoids; what more could a girl ask for?"
The pink which suddenly suffuses the oracle's cheeks may indicate she's embarrassed by Marisol's less than genteel references to drinking and fighting. Or perhaps the what more which is so far unspoken may be the culprit.
As it is, Durielle says nothing while blushing prettily.
"Seriously though, Durielle, ancient dwarf tower with hobgoblin brigands! It'll be a challenge. Get your excitement up. A chance for some serious heroics," says Marison, noticing that she's embarrassing her friend and trying to bring the tone back around. "I guess if the hobgoblins were ousted when it was rebuilt, maybe not. But in the meantime, it's quite a landmark."
"We will be sure to stop by again before we leave, Papa Grundy." Vladimir says with a nod of head toward the older man.
Turning to Marisol the swordsman says, "I am not sure how many heroic deeds are to be had in this case, but the tower is indeed quite the sight."
Marisol grins again and says, "Well, I didn't sell the old house and take to a life on the road for it to be boring. I suspect we'll have plenty to keep our hands full soon enough!"
Balter is largely oblivious to the small talk, mostly on account of being too suspicious for his own good. Perhaps at the mention of hobgoblins, a small smirk slips through; it does not take much longer for him to warm to the conversation.
"And we'll be much better off for it," Balter says with a nod, eyeing the tower with more curiosity than admiration. "I don't know about you all, but these countryside politics make my head spin. Here I thought that was the stuff of cities."
"I think the main difference is in the number of farm animals," quips Marisol. "More animals than people, rural. More people than animals, city."
"I agree with Balter," Durielle says quietly as they move along. "When I signed up for this, I expected to find more wilderness that needed exploring and less established communities whose relationships that needed mediating. If there are this many people already surviving despite the beasts and the bandits, it's a wonder Brevoy hasn't simply hired some mercenaries to clear out the bandits with the help of the existing townsfolk."
"I expect with the political tensions back home, Brevoy's mercenary war chest is focused on hiring army support for their own defense. Out here... fractured communities seem to be the norm. Hence why the area has never really been tamed. Nobody's been able to get everyone together under any sort of unified banner," says Marisol.
"In fact," she says, with a thoughtful look, "I expect that's a constant thorn for Kyonin and your people there, Durielle -- having an unstable series of isolated communities, bandits, and monsters nearby is not exactly reassuring. The same reasons that Brevoy engaged us to chart and organize this territory would probably give the elven leaders pause about their neighbors."
Balter snorts at Marisol's initial remark, but at the mention of Kyonin, his expression becomes a little more thoughtful.
"Figures that we have to do Brevoy's work for them... without even getting paid, at that. We just have their permission to pick up the spoils." The half-elf scratches the tip of his nose, before glancing around, as though suddenly remembering to be wary. "Anyway, let's just hope this Dovan doesn't try to kill us on the spot. If the Stag Lord's as bad as they say, then being half as bad is not much consolation."
"Quite right, Balter," says Marisol soberly.