"You can surrender and talk to us, or we can raise your spirit and talk to that," Svarog snarled as he came up behind the half-orc. He didn't think the priests in Trunau could actually do that, or their search for the murderer would have been considerably shorter, but it illustrated his frame of mind well enough.
Kira nods towards Trianne and steps forward, moving down the hall until she rounds the corner to find Daktani surrounded. Taking the time to press her crossbow to her shoulder, Kira lines up her shot and takes it with a loud twang of the crossbow strings.
Daktani can't help but smile at the fusillade of fruitless blows, which may prove his undoing.
Round 6 (ongoing):
Initiative order
Daktani-acted
Party
The half-orc attempts to snatch a pellet from a belt pouch without drawing any attacks, but fails.
If he survives the attacks, he smashes the pellet on the floor, creating a cloud of smoke around him that conceals him while he stands up.
Jarrek smashes his huge blade down at the prone half-orc while he's distracted.
With mighty effort...
...Svarog managed not to lop off his own head or leg, directing a heavy blow at the snickering half-orc with strength born of anger at his many failures.
"Torag take you, then!"
Jarrek hits the other half-orc solidly, but the foe does not fall. Then Svarog's blow lands, cleaving into Daktani's skull and spilling his brains out onto the cracked stone floor.
Searching his body, you find leather armor, five daggers, a short sword, a well-made morningstar, a crowbar, a set of thieves' tools, a key, a half-full jar of charcoal chunks that Kira will tell you have been alchemically treated to burn with a bright blue flame, a magic belt, three potions, two smoke pellets, a garnet worth 50 gp, and 30 gp in miscellaneous coinage.
Breathing hard as he sought to rein in his temper, Svarog passed a hand over his face as the others searched the half-orc's body.
"Maybe we can still track the troll," he grumbled, making for the stairs.
Jarrek nods at Svarog. "I wish this one hadn't made us kill him. I'm with you."
The party returns to the main floor and starts a search for the troll's trail. At first it's not hard to find; when the creature leapt to safety from where it had climbed the wall, it left claw marks on the wooden floor, and the marks continue towards the main entrance.
Once outside, though, no trace of the troll's passage can be found.
Having no talent for tracking, Jarrek just tried to stay out of Svarog's way as the other man did his work.
Trianne nearly jolted Svarog when he came into view. His countenance was almost menacing enough to warrant her reflexes coming to bear, but she coiled her fingers at the last moment, recognizing the after battle sounds that trailed him.
As they navigated the building looking for troll tracks, Trianne provided or shielded light as requested. When they paused to determine what to do with the body, the transmuter reflexively let words of power slip from her lips. She scanned the various items that had been added to the party gear beyond those to which she had become accustomed.
“Would you like me to take a look at any of those?” she offered to the various individuals carrying the magic laced items from their deceased foe.
The belt is a belt of tumbling, and Trianne is unsure about one of the potions. One of the other two is a potion of cure light wounds, while the second is a potion of pass without trace. Interestingly, the potions were in a holder on one side of the half-orc's belt...and there was space for a fourth potion in the holder.
When told about the potion of Pass Without Trace, Jarrek laughed. "A troll's so scared of us he drinks a potion to escape?" He shook his head. "They're right to be afraid!"
Svarog raised an eyebrow at Trianne's reaction as he passed her, perhaps more eloquent than whatever words he might find.
Outside, his face wrinkled into a snarl when he couldn't find the troll's tracks. He paced back and forth, trying to think where the creature might have gone, its immediate path in fleeing...
There are, unfortunately, a whole lot of possible places the troll could hide in the hills around Trunau. From what Jarrek knows of the creatures, it would prefer a river, but there aren't any of those nearby.
Trianne waved the third potion under her nose and coughed and grunted in disgust. Rinsing her mouth with water, she spit it out and grimaced at the bottle like it was alive and slithering.
“Wow, I am not tasting that,” she said, recapping the vial. “That must have been strained down an owlbear's ass crack.” She shook her head and snorted breath out her nose again. “Wow…such horrible brewing practices.”
“Oh, whoever takes this.” She held up the magical belt. “Gets to carry this too.” She waggled the stinky vial in her other hand.
“So, what now?” she asked, nodding in the direction of the corpse. “Was this the guy you were looking for? Or was it the other?”
The party returns to Trunau, carrying their hard-won loot and the body of the half-orc. Although the hour is late Kurst comes to meet you there, though his frequent yawns and the disorder of his clothing suggest that he was already asleep when you arrived.
"I recognize that half-orc--he's from around here, but I don't know his name. I'll have one of the guards run it down. And this hopeknife--this is the one Rodrik had been carrying, I'm sure of it." He sighs. "I was sure before that he hadn't killed himself, and with this and your identification of the knife he had with him I can prove it, even to Father." He relaxes, some of the tension of the past few days leaving him.
"Thank you. Now we can put my brother to rest. Let's meet again tomorrow morning, and I'll tell you if we learned anything about that one." He indicates the body.
Jarrek nods at Kurst. "Glad to be helping lay his memory to a proper rest. We'll see you in the morning."
As they leave to head back to the longhouse, the big half-orc grins and looks around at the others. "So who's ready to drink!?"
"It is well that your brother's name is cleared, and he be given his due respects," Svarog rumbled.
"Drink will be welcome," Svarog agreed when Jarrek spoke of it. His gaze grew distant as he scowled in the direction of the Plague House. "If only to drown the thought of what that wretch the troll was up to. Dwarf ale will do the trick."
Haftor grumbles. "I think we've done a good thing here, though I'll be damned if I understand what's going on. This Rodrick fellow, though he was a disobedient son, didn't deserve to die for it, rest his soul. I hope his father finds some peace." He nods, then adds, "A drink would be a fine thing."
He ruminates as the little group walks to the nearest tavern. "I'd sure like a reason to track down that troll, but I can't think of one. What have we forgotten?"
Jarrek shook his head. "We've run down most of our leads. If Kurst can't come up with anything, we can go back to the Plague House and try tracking again." He pauses for a moment, thinking. "Or we can try to find those half-orcs who were bringing things into town in carts." He takes a few more steps in silence, thoughtful. "And we still haven't found face tattoos yet- the one who paid to have us killed."
The big half-orc shook his head and laughed. "I guess we haven't run down all our leads after all!"
The night passes uneventfully, but for a decent amount of drinking. Next morning, Kurst has some information for you regarding the dead half-orc. "His name was Daktani, and he'd been living here for about five years. Claimed to have been a treasure hunter in Belkzen and wanted to retire. He hung around with some other layabouts, but we were only able to find one of them--the others had all left town in the last week or two. The one we grabbed was on her way out this morning. She claims that Daktani had gotten some kind of job a few weeks ago--kept him out most nights. She didn't ask for details, but she could tell he was getting kind of nervous about things. One night a week or so ago he was in town and they were all drinking together. He told them to run--that there was going to be a big orc raid on the town soon, and that there was already a group of infiltrators in Trunau. He also told them to watch out for a half-orc with lots of tattoos on his face, and that the half-orc was named Skreed.
"So I've put the militia on alert. I'm afraid the infiltrators she was talking about were the ones at the Ramblehouse, so they're gone by now. I don't have anything more for you to do today. Come see me tomorrow after the funeral, though, and I may have some other leads to track down."
"You don't have this woman in custody anymore? I would've loved to talk to her." He shakes his head. "Did she mention where her friends were going to meet up?"
Jarrek grunts. "We can try to track down this Skreed. A stranger half-orc with face tattoos shouldn't be too hard to remember in a town this small. We can at least try to figure out where he hung out, where he shopped, who he talked to."
"They weren't going to be meeting up. She was going to give it a couple of months and come back if Trunau was still standing, but she didn't know what any of the others were going to do."
Trianne winced at each word as the conversation droned on. She should have known better than to drink the local spirits with such accomplished carousers. The first had been to wash that gods forsaken taste from her mouth. The second was in celebration. After that, she had lost count, but it had felt good to celebrate.
Now she was salty on the outside but glassy and delicate within. She hadn’t even memorized all of her materials for the day. She had convinced herself that she was keeping some space open for versatility…and that the nausea had had nothing to do with it.
“Infiltrators,” she said with some effort. “Don’t just leave. They either met with conspirators or laid groundwork to aid the raid. Or both.”
Jarrek nodded at Trianne. "We can try to run down where tattoo-face was and what he did in town. Even if he wasn't in charge, he was involved, and he sounds pretty memorable."
The big man didn't seem any the worse for wear after the night of drinking. In fact, he seemed almost energized by it, as if a night of carousing had reinvigorated him. At any rate, he was in a better mood this morning than he had been in days.
It only takes the morning for Jarrek to establish that half-orcs with facial tattoos are extremely thin on the ground in Trunau. The bard figures that he's talked to most everyone who spends a lot of time outside, and none of them have seen a half-orc answering Skreed's description.
“Well, I have to say that wrapped up quicker than expected,” Trianne said, then clarified. “Helping out that Rodrick fellow.” She scratched at her brow and ran her tongue across her teeth in thought.
“In truth though,” she said. “If there’s going to be an assault of some sort, I’d rather have some familiar faces in the offing during the defense. If you don’t mind me sticking around, that is.”
“Just,” she added with an upheld hand and a dry smacking of lips. “No more ale, for a day at least. Even my constitution has its limits.”
Jarrek grinned at Trianne. "What are we supposed to drink in the middle of a fight? Water?" The towering half-orc laughed. "Ale's a meal in a cup! Thickens the blood! Nothing better for replenishing the healthy warrior in the middle of a pitched battle!"
He sighed and shook his head, his grin fading a little. "I wish we'd been able to find out anything about Skreed or those half-orcs. I can't believe they were able to move in and out of the town without ever talking to anyone." Jarrek grunted. "Makes me itch, knowing they were here, doing something, and we can't find out what."
Rodrik's funeral is going to be in the evening, so you have the afternoon to sell items and look for things to buy.
Kira shakes her head and quickly regrets it as she rubs her throbbing forehead. "We'll find out soon enough Jarrek... and all their plans will be for naught. Trunau has withstood raids before. We should make ready for the funeral however."
“If we can’t find them,” Trianne said. “We could always look for the weak points they were seeking to exploit. Access tunnels, gate mechanisms, sabotage on any key defenses?” She looked around at the group as she spoke, hoping for any insight on potential trouble spots in defending Trunau.
“The only reason to send advance scouts,” she reiterated. “Would be to lay groundwork to facilitate the coming raid.”
Jarrek is unable to find anyone who saw the crosses being painted.
Just before sunset, a somber party gathers at the Flame of the Fallen, the town's shrine to its dead, next to the Longhouse. In addition to Kurst and his father Jagrin, Brinya and Omast are present (though from the latter's unsteadiness, he is still attempting to drown his grief in drink). He and Jagrin are trying to stay as far away as possible from Brinya and Katrezra, who has joined his fellow half-orc.
High Priestess Tyari Varvatos officiates. After consecrating the Flame of the Fallen with sacred herbs, she performs a traditional reheating and quenching of the deceased's hopeknife. In addition to providing a sweet smell as they burn, the herbs also cause the knife blade to emerge from the quenching and tempering a black that seems to soak up the firelight. Tyari at first goes to offer the hopeknife to Jagrin, but he shakes his head even before Brinya can protest. He accompanies the priestess as she crosses back to Rodrik's fiancee and presents Brinya with the hopeknife. They exchange a few words--too quietly for anyone to pick out over the wind and the flame--then he clasps her shoulder and turns away.
Kurst comes and joins you after seeing his father off. "I'm convinced there's another attack coming, but if we can keep the town locked down none of the enemy half-orcs will be able to signal from inside Trunau without being detected, and the alarm raised. I've doubled the guard at the beacons and the watch towers on the palisade. Even if the agents manage to signal from outside the walls, we'll still have time to close the gates. Tomorrow, I'd like you to--"
What he wants you to do will remain a mystery for now. As the sun sinks below the horizon, the evening's calm is shattered by the brazen call of orcish signal horns. Shouts and screams from the town's lower quarter join the clamor, followed by a crash as an airborne boulder smashes into the watch tower on the other side of the Longhouse from the Flame. Trunau is under attack!
Jagrin and Omast immediately take charge of the militia members at the funeral, rushing off into the night. Other townsfolk move with purpose to their assigned positions. Kurst stares, slack-jawed, for only a second before shaking his head and returning to himself. "Well, I got that one wrong. I'm going to need your help sooner than I thought--can you light the other three beacons? On your way, I need you to save as many of the people here as you can. Killing invaders is good, too, but that's really the militia's job. You send the noncombatants here, to the Longhouse. Will you do this?"
One of the other militia officers shouts for Kurst. He waves to the woman. "Be right there!"
Svarog's expression was thunderous as he gazed toward where the boulder had come from. A boulder. Unless someone had somehow managed to sneak a trebuchet or catapult within sight of Trunau's walls, that meant giants.
Working with orcs? Odd...
"I will aid you in this," he agreed, drawing his bow and nocking an arrow. He glanced expectantly at Haftor; surely no dwarf would say no to aiding a community in battle? He would know as well as Svarog what the flying boulder meant.
As the others voiced their agreement, Svarog looked on them with approval. "Let us be quick," he said, breaking into a trot towards the nearest beacon.
The few hours of afternoon recovery had allowed the throbbing in Trianne’s head to diminish. She had finished her studies and identification of the valuables that had been made available.
Then she had gathered with the others for the funeral. When the attack began, she rolled her eyes in disbelief. The timing was too coincidental, and the savagery of attacking during such a time did not speak well of the invaders.
“So be it,” she responded as much to her internal musings as she did to Kurst’s request. Then she followed Svarog’s lead as he cut through the town proper, and she lashed out with her magics whenever the situation demanded.