The better not be looking for a fight,
Grungar withdraws his falchion just in case and is solely focused on the riders, until he realizes that Drovic is gone.
Where did the bloody elf go with his finger wagging nonsense?
The riders have clearly noticed you, at least based on their decision to change direction and head towards the party. They haven't sped up, though.
Drovic finds a place to conceal himself as the riders approach. They're all human; their garb and leather armor appears vaguely Qadiran, but their coloration and physiognomy is generally not. They vary in skin tone from tanned Caucasian to one who wouldn't be out of place in the Mwangi Expanse. The apparent leader calls out a challenge in a language that none of you speak (although Conner can pick out a word or two that sound similar to Varisian).
Drovic runs his hand along the body of his shortbow, nocking an arrow and dipping the head of it in blue whinnis poison. He frowns at the foreign tongue. I hope we share a language.
The Cassissian speaks. "She is asking who trespasses on the lands of the holy King Anyamata." At the sight of the angel one of the other riders, who wears what appears to be a holy symbol of Gozreh, tugs on the leader's sleeve and speaks to her in a low voice.
Hearing Besmarial comments then Dashel will cast divine favor on himself, thereafter he holds up his left hand palm forward to indicate slow down and halt at a safe distance.
"Besmarial translate this." He pauses waiting a second to see if they slow down. "We come in peace and mean no offense to the great holy King Anyamata. We are simple travelers, walking across this land, looking for a town to restock food, water and take rest."
Trespassing, I'd show him trespassing with me falchion! I will let the humans and pointy-ears do the talking, us dwarves are for action,
Grungar steps to the side, clearly letting the others do the talking as he withdraws his falchion and stands ready to action.
"We are simple travelers, walking across this land, looking for a town to restock food, water and take rest."
"We are simple travelers, walking across this land, looking for a town to restock food, water and take rest."
As far as Dashel and Conner are concerned, Besmarial essentially repeats what Dashel said. Drovic hears the angel in Elvish, though, and Grungar hears it in Dwarvish.
The bearer of the holy symbol asks something. Besmarial replies, "I serve their purpose willingly; I am not bound." It adds to the party, "He recognized me for what I am, and asked if I was constrained to evil ends."
There is a quick conference between the leader and the probable cleric, at the end of which the leader speaks (eliding the translation). "You may pass. Here." She tosses you a token from her belt, a golden image of a lion's face that whoever picks it up realizes is a miniature representation of an animal mask. "Show this to anyone who challenges you. May your worthy purpose be blessed."
Drovic relaxes, taking out his rubber scraper and returning the poison to it's vial. Good, just simple security measure. I'm glad the area is patrolled.
Drovic waits until the riders pass, then slips back down the hill. "That's a useful trick Besmarial." He glances at the token. "That's going to be equally useful. I'm glad there is a sense of order in this area. Let's keep moving."
Let's get baclk on course, shall we?
Dashel continues to walk towards their destination.
Grungar gets some odd looks from the riders as they depart, but no one says anything where the angel can hear it.
The party walks on. Towards evening, you see a few plumes of smoke rising into the sky from ahead and to the north.
Grungar noticing the passing riders, gets puffy and flares out his chest, but stands his ground until they leave before putting away his falchion.
Angel girl, you speak Dwarf? You must of been around us dwarfs a lot to be able to pick up that language. Grungar is in utter shock that somebody not of dwarven decent can speak "his" language.
Seems those silly humans knew better than to mess with an armored dwarf!
You, pointing to Drovic, Where did you go? I thought you pointy-ears liked to talk and use waggin' finger magic? turning to the others in the party Us dwarves have no need for that finger waggin' stuff, we prefer to fight face to face, man to man, not hiding off in the distance and waggin' darn fingers at each other.
"That many plumes of smoke probably means there is a town or village. Better place to spend the night than in the woods."
Bah, us dwarves are use to sleeping on rocks! They don't make others like us dwarves!
Dashel listens to the dwarf's comments.
"Aye, lets make out way to the plumes and get our bearings." His pace picks up slightly.
"So does anyone know of this holy King Anyamata?"
Drovic looks up at the sky, taking a deep breath. Don't kill the dwarf, don't kill the dwarf, don't kill the dwarf... "Grungar, I understand you are ignorant to the ways of elves and my trade, and that must make me quite a mystery to you, but I would highly appreciate you using my name instead of referring to me as "pointy ears"." He takes another breath. "And to answer your question, I moved to that hill to provide cover should those riders have proved dangerous. I don't fight for honor, I fight to win. In fact, if things go my way it's not even a fight at all." He looks back at the smoke. "If you want to sleep in the wilderness be my guest, but the rest of us have things inside our head that needs protection from rocks."
With a real dwarf it is never a fight! When Grungar, fights he wins! If you be hiding, poin... "Drovic" (said extremely sarcastic) then you better prove useful, don't see how hiding every helped anybody. What do rocks and protection have to do with sleeping in the wilderness? I wont leave me party alone, never know when you will need a dwarf, plus they got beer and maybe even can find me a good bar fight!
Once Grungar mentions the potential for beer and a bar fight, he seems to be much happier and no longer annoyed at Drovic.
Don't let Drovic kill the dwarf. Don't let Drovic kill the dwarf.
Don't let Drovic kill the dwarf. Don't let Drovic kill the dwarf.
Maybe if he just knew a bit more. Drovic takes out a small vial of a pale blue liquid with flecks of black in it. He holds it gingerly. "This is blue whinnis poison. Get it in the bloodstream and it will render you unconscious for hours. I had it on a arrow and was going to shoot their leader should they draw steel on you. No fight is particularly the type of fight I like." He carefully stows away the vial. "Not everybody is born with a thick skull and a strong arm."
Heading towards the fires, you soon realize that it's a caravan camp, fairly good-sized, with the wagons circled. Sounds of laughter and song come from the center of the camp.
Not quite a town, but at least the people seem friendly.
Bahaha, aint that the truth pointy... I mean Drovic, not everybody can be lucky enough to be a dwarf like me.
Grunga smiles and laughs to himself.
Upon seeing the caravan camp, Grungar seems midly disappointed.
Hopefully they have some good beer, as I doubt there will be much of a chance for a good ole fashion bar fight! Hey Drovic you ever been in a bar fight... before Drovic can answer of course not, pointy ears are too scared that they will mess up their little faces and fingers..hahahaha
Grungar is clearly amused with himself, and cannot control his laughing as it turns into a deep, belly laugh, as he slaps Drovic on the back.
Conner just shakes his head at the oddly matched pair.
Let's be on our toes here, gents. We do have a destination to make, and soon.
You are hailed from the camp. Conner, you manage to piece together what's said; the language is fairly close to Varisian, though the pronunciation is not what you're used to. "Hold up, there! Who are you?"
At the sound, the noises from inside the camp die away quickly.
"Perhaps I can interrupt your laughter for a moment...Grungar," he then flashes a quick look of appreciation towards Drovic, "we'll have plenty of battle and fights for you soon enough. There is no reason to cause offense to one of our own comrades...besides, I don't want to burn a precious blessing reviving your dwarf arse." His comment is made without the slightest jest.
Conner steps forward with his hands to his sides, palms out. He responds in Varisian.
We are travelers heading to a nearby town that we were told by passing soldiers, lies ahead. Could we perhaps share your fire, or can you tell us how far off we are from the town?
Dashel,all in good fun, Drovic here knows, no harm was meant. .
Grungar seems confused but stops laughing and gets serious as they approach the caravan.
guess humans have a lack of sense of humors
Conner, apparently a word or phrase you used means something quite different in their version of Varisian. The guard stiffens. "What did you just call me?"
darn humans have too many different languages, not like us dwarves or your kind elf whispering to Drovic, but more likely loud enough for everybody too hear.
As I said, we are not from around here. I meant no offense if our language is slightly different. Besmarial...little help here.
The flying helmet comes to the fore, drawing a slight gasp from the guard. "We are sorry for the inadvertent insult. What he was trying to say was--" and here he repeats what Conner said verbatim, down to the inflections and tone of voice.
The guard relaxes a little. "If you want to come in, you'll have to talk to the master of the caravan. Uncle Tal! Visitors! Strange ones!"
Drovic still seems brooding, but oddly enough Dashel's comment seems to have calmed him down a bit. When he's slapped on the back he stumbled forward and turns with hands on his waist, then forces himself to calm down. I'm never working with a group again.
~~~~~
Drovic remains silent in the back, eyes flicking between the new people.
Dashel looks at the caravan members,
Who is he calling a strange one?! as he puffs up his chest and becomes rather offended.
Easy, Grungar. To them we are strange, especially a translating helmet.
Grungar accepts Conner's response, and steps back and calms down.
Drovic, although you didn't understand the language you could tell exactly when the guard heard something he took as an insult, and his reaction appeared genuine. Dashel, he's still suspicious and not very happy.
An older man in garb that wouldn't be out of place in your Varisia steps out of one of the wagons. He leans on his staff as he climbs down the short steps, looks over the party, and nods to the guard. "You're right." He addresses Conner, speaking slowly and giving Besmarial occasional glances. "You are looking for a stay-place?"
Conner speaks slowly so that Bes can translate. He nods.
Yes, we were told there was a town to the north. How far off is it?
Grungar leans over towards Drovic Does he use your kind of finger waggin' magic, I heard people who have a staff use that?
Grungar appears to be sincere and confused about the matter. There is a slight hint of hesitation as he asks Drovic.
Conner, after a few minutes of conversation you think you can talk without Besmarial translating, if necessary.
Tal shakes his head. "Not much north of here for a ways, unless you count the Gathering--there's a couple of buildings there, if you can call them that, and the Rider's Shrine. No one but the priests stay there year-round, though. Closest real town's likely Shadowvale. That's probably two days on foot. Go west about half a day and you'll hit the Whisperwood. Follow the forest's edge south and west, and you can't miss it. We just came from there, in fact."