This is the social RP thread for DM Immortal's Reign of Winter campaign.
Dotting
Sounds good to me...
Dotting.
Burp
Is this the gameplay thread? dotting it is not adding it to my list of campaigns so I can see updates.
It isn't adding it to mine either, Venja.
I just noticed that I can't see this page on the threads.
What's up with that?
Not sure why. It's set up as a gameplay thread.
It's up and showing in campaigns now... don't know what was wrong yesterday.
It's working properly now.
Gabryjel's eyes flick to Variel's for a moment, than back to Aneira.
"It could be done, but leaving a man bound tied up in the snow is one of the fastest ways to end him. And even if he doesn't freeze to death, he's likely to lose body parts from frostbite," he says.
"I already recommended doing what we can to pitch in and heal 'em anyhow; but everyone already told me that we got no time on account of the fact that we don't know what's happening up the path as is."
"The longer we wait with these lads, the sooner it's likely that the others are long gone and that includes escaping and possible harm to the lady."
He takes a deep breath.
"I reckon the best thing for it is to plan for this happening in the future and coming up with a good solution every time we fight folks in advance, so as best to avoid it."
He kicks the snow in frustration a moment.
"Ah hell, I know it would have been easier if we dropped 'em clean in combat; but that didn't happen and now we got to deal with it."
"And I know they're mixed up in bad stuff, too... but, well... who knows how things turned out in their lives to make it that way?"
"Hell, I had a buddy awhile back named Rob Tyrell - he was a pretty tough customer, they called him "The Drake" 'cause he was so "ice-cold" in battle."
"He needed money and soldiering didn't pay well. He quit the army I think and he tried to be a trapper to earn some cash for his family's house, on account of the fact it fell on pretty bad times... but trapping money ain't much bettering than soldiering, and it sure as hell weren't enough to do what he needed to do... anyhow, I hear at some point he went to do banditry or some such thing."
"But he was a good guy; just got on the wrong path, I reckon. Ah hell, I like to think that maybe that's not true, but if it was, maybe he might change his ways if folk find him and convince him to get his act together again."
He raises his gaze, his eyes moving from Beck to stare at Aneira and he shakes his head.
"Yeah, that's on my mind for sure; but the thing is - these lads ain't Rob "The Drake" Tyrell; and I reckon all the talking in the world won't change that, no matter what you or I try doing here."
He stares at her, trying to explain what he's thinking and tries another tactic.
"Look, Miss Whitestorm - the gods put us on a path and we're walking this trail now, and with the magic and sorcery around us - like the enchanted snow - I reckon that's a lot of stuff on our plate. The gods are giving us just this path alone to deal with, not lots of other little ones on account of the fact that I reckon that even the gods have their own problems to deal with, I reckon."
He shakes his head.
"For me I'd rather do what my heart tells me to do with these folk; but my brain's telling me I can't do that. If I step off the trail to do what my heart wants, than that just means we can't move forward down this trail, y'know?"
"I mean, what I'm saying is - if I want to help the team move forward to get this path walked, I gotta turn my back on a lot of who I am to do that. But I reckon that what your husband is saying is that's just how things roll when Fate comes calling - sometimes we gotta turn our back on who we are just to move on with the path the gods gave us, or we'll never come to the end of it, no matter what our hearts tells us is right, y'know?"
He shakes his head, his eyes showing a completely understanding for how Aneira feels at this moment.
His own heart, like hers, would rather spare the bandits and try to reform them, hoping something good may come of it; and if not, then just hang them and be done with it.
But his brain has argued heavily against his heart in the last few moments; Variel's own logic and intelligence offering weight to his brain's own arguments - and his heart bowed to the inevitable.
They could stay to heal these bandits; to talk them into a better life, to help them; perhaps Gabryjel and his friends may find that because they showed mercy, they'd have a group of willing lads to aid them in a battle in rescuing the lady - insight on the enemy camp; extra men on their wing for help; and possibly friends to return to town and warn their neighbors at home what they've already found.
All of those possibilities sounded great and wonderful, true. But he knew now that logic was against such high hopes.
They had to rescue the lady and they were on a deadline. All those things to do to help these bandits would unfortunately waste resources.
Also, such a project would take lots of talking, and lots of discussion and the chance for opinions and the time for the bandit types to make up their mind, and than hear them pledge their loyalty, and than try to read these newly "reformed" men and gauge if they were trustworthy or just trying to con them to get away and cause mischief, and so on.
And while all that was happening, these lads had a lady stashed somewhere safe that needed saving before she came to real harm when they all got her back to their lair.
And even a few real good minutes talking to these men might seem like days or weeks to the lady in such a predicament; with rough man all around her whether she liked it or not...
Gabryjel knew Aneira knew all of that, though; even as he did. His gut told him that she - like him - would take the chance of delay if it meant so much good help could come of it; and he knew that she - like him, wanted to stay true to who she was.
But being true to oneself didn't always get things done, and though it rankled Gabryjel heavily, he realized that was simply a truth in life.
After all, if a person constantly stayed true to who they were, there's no telling where that could lead them and their companions; unexpected twists of the strings of Destiny could unravel to a journey that led them far from where even the gods had planned them to walk, simply because of the decision to spare a bandit's life...
But if they were resolved to stay on the path Fate gave them, as Variel suggested, than it was clear to Gabryjel that there were times when he would have to turn his back on his heart and who we was as a person to get the job before them done.
It wasn't who he was or what he liked - but it was the path put before him and he had chosen to walk on.
He looks at her helplessly, then sighs, accepting what needs to be done.
"Hell Miss Whitestorm, sometimes you gotta walk the hard path no matter how much it hurts; otherwise we'll never see the end to the path before us, y'know?" he says finally, hoping that even though his brain and his words disagreed with her ideas, that she knew in these matters his heart and very being agreed with her need to stay true to herself completely.
But if they did, they wouldn't be able to get this path walked; and as rough as that was - this was the path they had chosen to walk on.
"There will be times when a healer is limited by skill and magic to save a life. It is not easy, but it has to be accepted for we are not gods nor do we possess their omnipotence. It would have been better had they died cleanly in battle with us. Yet, I will not sit in lofty judgement in ending two lives swiftly and painlessly because we must consider the other factors along this journey. I hear your heart beneath the logic of your words, Gabe. I hold faith in my husband and you in undertaking this task so we may continue on to the Lady Argentea and her surviving retinue. May the gods be understanding and forgiving to all of us. May we be forgiving to each other."
"May the gods be understanding and forgiving to all of us."
Gabryjel looks at Aneira with a little sadness in his eyes.
"That's mighty white of you Ma'am," hey says sincerely, but a touch of guilt colors his expression as well now.
"The truth is, I'll be judging myself on it likely the rest of my life. I reckon I'll also spend my life asking myself if we stayed true to who we are and if we let 'em live, what might have happened next? Would they join us - aid us; become an unlikely but helpful ally? And if they did - what then?"
"Would they return to town; build a house, find a woman and settle down and live peacefully as a happy member of our community; to one day step up and do what they could to help us in the long gray winter ahead?"
He shrugs helplessly.
"It ain't saving some lass in the wilderness by defeating a bunch of bandit lords; it's just helping some beat up lads reform from their bad path, and those kind of tales ain't worth much if they're going be sung by a bard on some stage."
"Still and all; I would have liked to see it happen; but it ain't going to happen here; more's the pity."
"But that's the hand we got dealt. We have to move on forward on the path we got in front of us, that's just how things are, whether we like it or not."
"As for me, it don't make me happy; hell, it makes my stomach sick... but what has to be has to be, I reckon."
"Anyhow, thanks for listening," he says with a nod.
Aneira did not know what to say to Gabe to settle his anxious heart and mind, and, she wondered if there was anything to say that could achieve such a thing if he believed mercifully killing the bandits was the wrong thing. By the gods, she was not sure on the matter either and it weighed on her but not so openly. They had no indication whether these men could be reformed and lead a different, productive life after what they had done thus far. But then again, they had not spoken with them - only overheard a conversation where they had admitted to attacking Lady Argentea and her guard.
In quiet voice, Aneira continued the conversation,
"I am no priest, who can advise the right and wrong of a situation. These men have chosen this life they lead and attacked on certain promises from the Fey. They did not consider the lady's life or her people; they only looked to their own desires. Now we must decide their fate and we must look to our own needs. Call it fortune, fate or destiny, each of us reap what we sow. I am saddened by the predicament we face, but with no law man or cleric to advise us more profoundly, we must forgive ourselves and attempt to do better next time. Would you see us keep them bound and watched as we bring them forth with us, until we find another village and leave them there or return with them to Heldren once the lady is discovered? Do you truly believe they would renounce their bandit ways and join us and our community? Would you extend your trust and faith in such people with no guarantee and possibly bring more harm to Heldren? There are many questions in my mind and no ready answers, Gabe. If it is decided they are to die swiftly, then let Variel or one of the others do it and save yourself the darkness to your heart. I would not see you do something that you cannot reconcile."
Aneira did not want blood on Variel's hands either, but what could they do. She knew Variel did not savour the deed and was simply considering the most practical solution under the current circumstances. She respected his ability to do that, make hard decisions in the moment.
"Do not misunderstand, Variel is not keen to end their lives. But he takes the responsibility of it on behalf of the group for its safety and welfare."
Her husband was a good man and he did not take killing lightly. Variel had sworn to protect her and the others and he was attempting to carry out his duty. She respected such a heavy responsibility and would support her husband to the best of her ability.
"Now, let us hear what the others have to say." Aneira squeezed Gabe's arm in a gentle, reassuring manner before indicating they should direct their attention to the others. Aneira's light blue eyes search out Variel's and she draws breath once their gaze connects.
As his companions readied themselves to head out on the bold quest, Gabryjel continues to check over his goods and gear. Seeing the packs are cinched tightly and that the weapons are in good condition, he eases himself into a comfortably sanded down bench and drinks a cup of summer mead.
The beverage is sweet and light; and it goes well with a small loaf of bread; clustered with diced apples, raisins, and crumbled walnuts. As he sips his mead, he pauses to smear a liberal dose of clotted cream and honey on the bread, than takes a large bite and chews it slowly and with some relish.
Taking another drink of the mead, he looks around the tavern; noticing the fine woodwork and the cozy nooks that travelers gather at when having discussions or meals.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he stretches out his booted feet under the table and lets out a sigh, wondering when his companions will arrive. And when they do – what, if anything, they would discuss before they all head out…