Anton shrugs as if to say; Yeah you're probably right in response to Drosil`s comment.
Still, after all that riding you need a bath Dros, the wolves would smell you a mile off! Anton jokes. So what say you, Duristan?
"I'm sorry, but I'm not so easily frightened. My team and I will be staying the night here, whether you do or not. I had hoped you would honor me, but I will understand if you're too scared," Duristan replies, sounding disappointed.
Dantrian looks back at Anton and arches an eyebrow. "Indeed."
Anton cannot help but burst into gales of laughter. He cannot tell if the man is serious or poorly attempting reverse psychology.
As he wipes a tear from his eye he glances over to Dantrian.
What do you think, Dan? he asks, knowing that in all seriousness the alchemist might have the best idea of the danger they would be putting themself in by camping outside the Lodge
At Anton's question Dantrian looks to Duristan and frowns. "I did not question your determination, Duristan. I inquired into your provisions." He waves his hand, already tired of the noble's response before the fool even has a chance to voice it, "Regardless, if you do not find a werewolf this night, how long do you intend to remain in the wood hunting your quarry?"
After Duristan answers, Dantrian excuses himself to confer with the others. In muted and hushed tones he states, "This pompous, self-aggrandized fool is going to get himself and his retinue killed. If whatever he is hunting, lycanthrope or not, shows itself, we are cleary their best hope for survival." He pauses as a somberness settles into his expression. "If the worst should happen though," his glances clearly indicates that he thinks his curse is 'the worst' of which he speaks, "I do not know. I-" He takes a leveling breath. "The risks are building." He then looks at each of the others, willing to go with their decision.
Feeling like a swaying pendulum B'yelka stays silent while her friends discuss the merits of staying. Here in the woods, we could achieve some measure of influence with Duristan. Back in the lodge, we would be viewed as a bunch of overblown cowards and chances are we would be unwelcome, and unlikely to find any allies or information about the Way.
Clearing her throat B'yelka finalizes the groups decision. "Duristan. We will stay, but only for one night. If this loup garou shows itself, then you will be vindicated. If it does not show, then we go to the lodge in the morning. And I for one need a good hot bath."
I think this man's opinions of his own abilities far outstrip the reality. I think I will stay with him, even if it is only to make sure his retinue get home safely tomorrow.
"Who doesn't like the idea of staying in the woods, surrounded on all sides by whatever the night can throw at us? I wouldn't miss it..."
Janos shakes his head, but sighs. "Duristan, you're content to endanger your entire group out here? A werewolf is nothing to trifle with if it even is a werewolf. Delgros has the right idea."
Seeing that his companions are going to stay with the nobleman, the Ranger simply looks at Delgros. "I suppose I'll stay with them. Otherwise they'll get lost and wander even deeper into the forest. You get yourself back to the Lodge, though I could always use an extra set of watchful eyes if you want to stay."
He looks to the other six men. "I would suggest you all go with Delgros if he leaves. We'll watch the nobleman on this fool's errand."
B'yelka laughs at Drosil's sarcasm, "Oh Drosil! So dramatic!"
"I would thank you not to command my slaves to leave me, ranger," Duristan says cooly. "No, you lot will be staying with your master and his brave companions. Isn't the thought of such adventure wonderful?" he asks the peasants lugging his extravagant amount of hunting gear.
"Yes, sir," the oldest man says in a monotone, looking more terrified than excited. He won't meet any of the Six in the eye.
"Excellent, it's decided then. Set up our camp, the traps, and make us some food!" Duristan commands the servants.
Delgros spits into the dirt, shaking his head. "Good luck then, y'all. I hope to see you alive at the lodge tomorrow." He mounts up his horse and rides off into the woods, in the direction of the lodge.
Two pair of Duristan's servants pull out several silver toothed wolf traps and set them around the perimeter of the camp, while the other two go about setting up tents. They then fill the traps with hunks of raw meat and begin standing watch. Duristan meanwhile retrieves some crystal glasses and a small camp table. He sets it up and then puts the glasses on it. He fishes around in a different bag, and produces an expensive looking bottle. "Brandy! Can't leave home without it," he declares. He pours everyone a glass. "Come, drink, regale me with your past exploits!"
Uncomfortable with Duristan's attitude towards his servants B'yelka chooses her words very carefully. Picking up a glass and examining it she addresses Duristan, "Of course it is a great privilege to be high born and have the loyalty of the people, but when danger raises it's head, it is to the able, the noble, to face it." The Diva inclines her head a degree to indicate the men working to set up the camp, "These men are not bred to courage, nor to skill, it would have been best for them to go with Delgros." She tries her most charming smile and seemingly apologizes for her directness, "If they are hurt it will be you responsible. No matter how much glory you earn in your hunt, the people will not love you more. It's the lives you protect that mean the most... to history and fame. And how damning fame, or infamy can be." She reaches out to Duristan and touches him lightly on the arm. "Next time, you leave the bold to do courage's work and the peasants to theirs."
Oh, my! What would father say that I seem to care so much for these simple men? I don't know which is worse, Anton's or Dantrian's influence! Still, she smiles knowing that Duristan will either snub her, ignoring her words, or he will see in the danger that the servants are not arrows to be loosed to the wind and forgotten. Most likely the former.
Dantrian frowns as Duristan seems to ignore his question regarding how long he is willing to let the so called hunt drag on. Shaking his head, he turns aside and leaves the story telling to the others, his growing anger and frustration with the foppish noble threatening his already frightfully tenuous control.
With a precision and fluidity that only comes from long practice, Dantrian sets up his small lab and ensures the table top is leveled before turning his attention to his equipment. In the midst of it all, he sets his usual tea to brew then turns his attention to some of the notes Caromarc had gifted him before their departure.
Perhaps there is a key to understanding you somewhere within these notes, Mosswick.
Mosswick climbs up Dantrian's back and peeks over the alchemist's shoulder, his tail wagging gently.
Janos turns his head away from Duristan as he admonishes the Ranger about the slaves. Slaves. I have never understood the penchant to own another human. Even Alicia didn't own me. I suppose I'm lucky she didn't try to sell me.
Allowing B'yelka to redirect the nobleman, Janos returns to inspect the area where the stag was killed. He looks for any wolf-like tracks leading away from the killing ground.
Duristan looks cooly at B'Yelka, "I'll thank you kindly not to countermand my orders." He pauses. "These men have already accompanied me on three successful werewolf hunts. They may not be brave, but I'm hoping that will come with time, and the nobility of our work. They are paid for their services, though I need not do so, and if they fall their families will be compensated." He nods and wipes his hands on his coat as if that puts an end to it. Seeing Dantrian busy with his alchemy, and Janos wandering off to ignore him, he gets a glum expression on his face. "I guess you all aren't going to tell me any stories about your adventures?" he asks, draining his brandy. "Like I said, I've already taken down three werewolves with this very team! Look..."
The nobleman pulls off his jacket and his shirt to expose his shoulder. There is a strange spiral scar, covered by another X-shaped scar. "It's called a scar-ward, it protects one from the curse of a werewolf's bite. I will gladly hire the local witch to do one for all of you as well." The noble is clearly trying to get the Six more enthused for the "glorious hunt".
"A mere suggestion, sweet Duri." She then changes the subject as the wind would change direction, "Our exploits? Well, never anything like a werewolf. In fact, that is something we know relatively little about. I have heard silver, wolf's bane and curses. I have read that they heal from catastrophic wounds in a matter of minutes!" Smiling she says "But ask us of ghosts, monsters made from the flesh of the once-living. These things are stories we know to be true. We have seen them, and defeated them. We have also brought one back from destruction!" Her enthusiasm rising, she relates the tale of Aaron, "Have you heard of the Beast of Lepidstadt?" She nods as he says yes and continues, "Oh, what a fearsome reputation he had-grave robber, arson and even child-murders! But there is a twist in the tale. We were on business, concluding the last will and testament of a dear friend. We were asked by someone of great influence-no, we won't say who! A vow was made to secrecy! We were approached by someone of influence that asked us a favor. You see, the Beast had been captured in the middle of one of its nefarious affairs. It had broken into the Lepidstadt University, and truly, what manner of beast would destroy a place of knowledge? So, we were engaged to ensure a fair trial. How could we do that? This was the Beast of Lepidstadt! Caught red-handed! But, some of us felt that law should be applied to even the most heinous of criminals. That without that, lawless-revenge killings could become the order of the day. And that is where the story turns...
B'yelka takes Duristan on the quest with them, embellishing and redacting to ensure the Six are seen as noble and honorable as is possible. Finally, after hours of entertaining Duristan B'yelka stands, stretches and says, "Off to sleep, hopefully without interruption from any dirty werewolves." She pats Duristan on the cheek and then makes herself ready for bed.
Anton chews thoughtfully on a piece of jerky as B'yelka relays the story. Hearing her tell it, it almost doesn't seem real, and he has to remind himself that every glorious battle they fought was in reality a drawn out scrap for survival where blood and pain were the common themes.
Still, he supposed that wasn't the kind of story this nobleman wanted to hear.
He looks at the mass of scarred flesh of the man's shoulder and then, catching Dantrian's eye, raises an eyebrow.
Is that a real thing? Can it help you? he thinks, wondering if the alchemist is having similar thoughts to he.
Where are you from, Duristan. I hail from Varisia, a fair walk as you know! Did you travel here just to hunt werewolves? And what of the others in the Lodge, do they share your passion?
Duristan makes sure everyone has brandy that wants it while B'Yelka spins her tale. Though with only a single bottle nobody gets drunk. He listens intently to the diva, genuinely taken in by the group's adventures. His crew produce a delicious stew and stone-baked buns partway through the story. By the end of the story everyone is full and warm if they want to be.
After the story Duristan answers Anton. "I'm from Ustalav, near Caliphas. Yes, I came here to hunt werewolves and the other unnatural beasts of the Wood. Unfortunately the only appetite most of the lodge's guests share with me is for brandy. There are are few if any real hunters among them." He looks at the paladin. "What brings great warriors such as yourselves out to the Lodge? Surely people of your stature are beyond mere hunting for pleasure?"
"And yet here we are with you, Duristan." Dantrian's reply is voiced over his shoulder as he mixes the contents of one glass vessel into another. Setting it down, he turns to face the noble and continues, "But no, we did not come to the Shudderwood out of lust for thrills or adventure. We are on a hunt of sorts, though it is not for beasts and game. Our quarry is responsible for the death of a friend of ours and, I believe we would all agree, that we wish to see justice served."
"Oh yes, indeed. Justice for some, but I think there is more to it than mere justice. We have all agreed to keep the culprit from ever being a threat to anyone else, ever." Her last word is its own punctuation. Flat, final.
Dantrian starts to speak but seems to think better of it before uttering a syllable. He closes his mouth, his lips drawing into a thin, tight line, and shakes his head softly as he turns back to his equipment.
I have little patience for the drama B'yelka so loves to inflate, Mosswick. She makes us seem like bloodthirsty fools seized by our passions and bent on murderous vengeance.
Mosswick frowns and offers a consoling pat to the alchemist's shoulder.
No. Though it is obvious to me now that participating in that discussion will only serve to exacerbate my frustrations. Hand me that small bundle of wolfsbane, would you? Thank you.
Drosil partakes in the brandy, though keeping to a single glass, and makes appropriate sounds of gratitude at the presentation of the stew and rolls. However, he doesn't pay much attention to B'yelka's tale, having lived through it himself.
Once he has finished his repast, he makes his way to the edge of the campsite and peers into the darkness. "We should set a watch - I will take the shift before dawn."
Janos returns to the group to see Duristan pouring Brandy for people. He simply shakes his head to indicate he doesn't want any. Seriously? Spirits at this time? No hunter would want his senses dulled and his reactions slowed if he were serious about his quarry. And with a 'prey' this dangerous, an addled head could be enough to get you killed. He rolls his eyes when the nobleman has his back turned and glances to Dantrian.
Well, at least he's not foolish enough to drink either, though I hope he can keep his control... Janos hovers near the alchemist, both seeking to remove themselves from Duristan's invitation. He takes the bowl of stew graciously and wolfs down the meal, using the bread to sop up the remainder of the sauce. It was far better than the rations they had been eating, and out here Janos' pays little mind to manners.
"I can take the midwatch. Anton, will you take the first?" He gives Dantrian a look, indicating the alchemist should not be on watch.
Dantrian returns Janos' look and seems about to argue but instead simply nods his head, conceding the point and accepting the wisdom in the ranger's implied suggestion.
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Emerging from the treeline, Ashan's silhouette is as wraithlike as ever. With his patrol of the immediate environs surrounding the group completed, he enters the warm glow of the campfire and somehow becomes more material, even if that is just a trick of the light; always had he been flesh and blood of some sort. "I have a tale," the otherwise quiet figure offers, his shadow cast long and dancing behind him, far more animate than the man it belongs to.
"There was once a fertile valley south of what is now called Cheliax." Ashan folds his arms within the deep sleeves of his robe while he talks, his silhouette now resembling more of a bird-like form than that of a man. The mantle of black feathers at his shoulders adding to the avian presence. "Largely open land, rolling hills dotted with farmhouses and tall spires of rock nearly a quarter-mile high. Each crowned with a terrifying plume of fire on the northern-most side." Peering down into the fire, Ashan's eyes are briefly visible in the firelight, though they seem to have no normal shape or definition, just glassy black beads.
"Not far from one of these Flumes, there grew a forest. Mostly old elms and oaks, bristling with palmettos and rashvine at less frequency. The village here, Ansalana, belonged to the elves of Kyonin. It was remote, so very remote, and peopled mostly by the rough sorts of spirits who did not do well in cosmopolitan environments. Most of the villagers did not know that some of their residents were spies tasked with watching the Flumes, but that was neither important to them or this tale."
Ashan takes another step closer to the fire, his mask now glowing with the reflection of the flames and his glassy, black eyes dancing with tongues of firelight. "Ansalana had a veteran hunter, a stubborn elf full of pride and independence. No one in the village knew that his claim to fame was a lie, for the people of Ansalana believed that their hunter was bravely responsible for the death of a dreaded creature that stalked their sub-tropical forest, a man-eating beast called Banal'raslin."
"The Hunter reportedly slew Banal'raslin, but at the cost of his younger brother's life. When the Hunter returned to the village with tales of Banal'raslin and how the dread beast ate his brother alive, the people were stricken with twinned grief and relief." Ashan glances over to Janos, briefly, then back to the fire. "It was all a lie."
"Three years after the Hunter's bravery the people became troubled by the apparent return of Banal'raslin. The Hunter was as horrified as the people, and pledged to return and slay the beast again. This time, however, the people sent more with him, many more volunteered to avenge his brother's death and destroy the beast." Now Ashan's stare drifts among the hunters from Ascanor, his fire-reflecting stare slowly drifting from one unremarkable face to another.
"The Hunter protested, but the village's elder refused to budge. With great reluctance, the Hunter returned to those woods and stalked the Banal'raslin. But more to the truth, was that the Banal'raslin was stalking the Hunter and his party. More truth, was that the Hunter was not as adept as he told, he was only of middling skill and lived by the good graces of his legend." Ashan unfolds his arms, gesturing towards the fire as if it were to reveal something important. It chooses not to. "When the Banal'raslin ambushed the Hunter's camp, it was nearly a massacre. But the people that came with the Hunter saw something odd about the Banal'raslin—it had shackles around its wrists, now broken and dangling loose."
"When Banal'raslin had slaughtered nearly all of the hunting party, saving the Hunter for last, a young elf who had accompanied the group as his first hunt ambushed the Banal'raslin from beneath a pile of his dead kin. The young elf, baring only his father's mithral hunting knife, drove his blade into the Banal'raslin's eye and into its skull. The beast howled in betrayal and pain, thrashing wildly. It fell backwards, fur sloughing off of it like autumn leaves from a dying tree. And soon, the Hunter's shame laid as naked as his brother's body did before them all."
Waving his hands apart, as if to reveal the truth of his story, Ashan considers the group before continuing. "To the shock and horror of the survivors, the Hunter's brother lay with a knife embedded in his eye. A bite mark, sore and infected looking and ringed with old scars lay on his right leg as though it never healed. A bite that matched the maw of the Banal'raslin perfectly. A story, much like this one, became clear to the hunting party. The Banal'raslin was not immortal, not truly. For it had passed its curse down from victim to victim. The Hunter had not just slain the beast, but abandoned his own flesh and blood to a torturous fate."
"But the shame of the story does not end there, for the Hunter was discovered to suffer twice. In the melee, he had been bitten on the arm by the Banal'raslin and carried now within him its blood curse. The Hunter pleaded with his kin, to spare him, for he would be different." Ashan claps his hands together slowly.
"They burned him alive."
With that, Ashan takes a step back from the fire and settles down on his knees, back straight. For a time there is awkward silence across the campfire, just the chattering of bats and night bugs through the forest. Then, finally, "I will take first watch."
_____________
Ansalana: Far home
Banal'raslin: Blood shadow
Dantrian's face darkens at the conclusion of Ashan's tale, the alchemist unable to ingnore it as he toiled with his mixtures and powders. If they were not sure to kill me before, then they most certainly will now. Mosswick's frown matches Dantrian's as the little creature nods in agreement with his master's unspoken thought, his eyes glittering in the firelight as he wacthes the masked elf from his perch on Dantrian's shoulder.
Be careful what you wish for. Anton muses, idly poking at the fire and sending embers dancing up into the night air. Because the things we hunt end up being the things that destroy us.
I wonder if the same can be said for our pursuit if the Whispering Way.
Wake me when it is ny turn for the Watch. he says, throwing his stick onto the fire.
As he passes Dantrian on his way to his bedroom he offers a reassuring nod before passing B'yelka and touching her lightly on the shoulder.
Don't keep our host up too late, songbird. he says with a smile. For a moment it seems like he is going to say more but simply bids them all; Good night.
I must remember to ask Dantrian about that scar in the morning...
Later in the evening, as the brandy in the bottle gets lower and the conversation with Duristan dies down, a short, horrid snarl pierces the night, followed by a smothered scream.
Drosil leaps to his feet, grabs his weapons and points to the southwest, "That way!" He makes sure that the others are ready, then proceeds to lead the way.
When he sees the scene before him, he tastes bile and his hand begins to draw his rapier, but he pauses. I'm sure we could take the thing down, but at what cost? Better to parley and try to keep our headstrong nobleman from making things worse. He removes his hand from his weapon, then turns and looks pointedly at Duristan and shakes his head. Once he's sure the nobleman has taken the hint, he turns back to the werewolf.
"Please forgive my ignorance, but what is the Vollensag? We did not intend to intrude on...your?...territory; we were merely trying to investigate some strange activity, because it is so close to the settlement a short ways off." He points in the general direction of Ascanor.
Dantrian's stride falters as the werewolf comes plainly into view. All his research and years of study, all his discipline and his many concoctions and elixirs couldn't prepare him for the bloody scene before them now, for what he would soon himself become. His face goes white and he is barely able to discern Drosil's words, the churning knot of hopelessness and horror rendering the sounds of diplomacy into little more than a muddied, garbled buzz.
Following the others Ashan allows himself to be outpaced, fading to the back of the group by the Duristan. When the massive frame of the werewolf comes into view, Ashan's back straightens and he becomes motionless. When the fetchling speaks, trying to parley with the lycanthropes, Ashan begins to make his way forward again with slow progression. Focusing on the bloodied man laying on the ground, the masked elf pauses in the middle of his companions—directly beside Janos—and waits silently.
______
Anton's eyes fall upon the scene of grisly death, the men - who not long ago shared the warmth of their fire and their concern that this exact thing might happen. He shoots an accusatory glance at Duristan, his lip curled in indignation.
He'll keep. But we shall have words about this.
A silver arrow is nocked and drawn in a flash, the bow pointed at the wretched creature's heart.
You slay our fellows and have the gall to accuse us of wrongdoing? the paladin growls. We know nothing of the Vollensag, whoever they are. Any trespass is accidental, but your actions befit you perfectly, animal! These men were little more than helpless, they did not deserve this.
Janos rushes after Drosil, about to call for him to slow down and watch for treats when the werewolf comes into view. He glances to his left to see Ashan standing right by his side. When did he learn to move that smoothly? The Ranger sees Anton with his bow drawn and Drosil attempting to parley with the creature.
He draws his sword, content to allow Anton and Drosil to parlay, but prepared for the worst. He catches sight of Dantrian, pale as a ghost. Well, talk about facing one's demons. I don't even know if he'll be able to help here. The half-elf tries to step out to the side to begin to circle the werewolf. The forest part of his instincts suddenly reminds him: Wolves hunt in packs. He quickly looks around for evidence of other werewolves.
The werewolf bears her teeth and hisses. “Your false explanations are meaningless. Go tell whoever sent you to stay out of wolf affairs! Let him know that his dealings with Mathus Mordrinacht and the Silverhide pack do not sit well with the other tribes of this wood. There shall be much blood spilled between our kin before a Silverhide packlord sits upon Highthrone. Mathus the betrayer shall never claim the title, and should you and yours continue to support him, the wrath of the wolf packs shall fall upon him! Now leave our territory and return to your cozy wooden den, or share the fate of these poor little sheep!" she roars in a growling voice that rebounds off the surrounding tree trunks.
Janos spots another pair of golden wolf eyes well-hidden in a nearby bush.
Duristan blanched at the sight of his dead companions, and visibly flinches when the she-wolf roars at them. He maintains his grip on his bow, but barely. The other four hirelings cower behind the adventurers, looking abjectly terrified. "Perhaps we should just go...she's huge...never seen a wolf so big..." Duristan stutters quietly, almost as if he's talking to himself. He looks wide eyed to the Six to see what they will do.
Janos nods at the second set of eyes. "Who leads your pack, and what name does your pack take? We'll vouch for your power here." He gestures towards the eyes, for others to take note. "I see you have packmates here. We want not trouble. We can leave."
Anton looks left and right and sees the pairs of glowing eyes in the undergrowth.
Wolves do hunt in packs, of course.
If there is rivalry between your packs it is nothing to do with us. But if you move against us for some unintentional trespass, it will go the worse for you. the paladin says calmly.
Whatever the situation with the Silverhides, Mordinacht and whoever else; those 'sheep' were men with families and you have taken that. Aye, we’ll leave. But if we ever meet again it is that I shall remember.
Let us take our dead before more blood is spilled unnecessarily.
Slowly, Dantrian reexerts control once more though it is not easy, seeing his worst fears actualized before him in this woman. He holds his tongue, though his mind quickly begins to swim with questions as the enormous werewolf speaks.
Mathus Mordinacht? Who is he and why is he important? Highthrone? They have a government? A cultural society? This is... alarming.
Holding his peace, the alchemist banishes the swirling thoughts and refocuses on that delicate mental lock, weakened dangerously by fear and dread, which is all that keeps his own curse at bay.
What a wonder, and a terror! B'yelka holds her tongue, not sure how the others want to deal with this beast. Apparently we don't want to deal with it.
After some thought she says out loud, "Well, we can help maintain the sanctity of your lands. To do so we will need more information. For example, we will need to know what your claimed borders are, who we can talk to in order to pass through or even initiate commerce if such a thing were desired. But, let's be honest, slaughtering our peasants and threatening the first emissaries to approach you is hardly going to help! And now, the next question: as you are so clearly bent on violence, will you let us leave in peace, if that is even your desire?"
The werewolf glares at the group, expecting them to leave and return to the lodge. When they begin threatening, asking questions, and trying to be diplomatic she looks even more enraged. The second werewolf emerges from the bushes with a wicked-looking greatsword in hand. Together the wolves howl. Almost immediately, another wolf echoes their cries, then another, and another, spreading through the darkness until the entire wood
seems to resound with bone-chilling howls.
the she-wolf shrieks, pointing towards the lodge.
Duristan whimpers. "Please, let's go! There are too many of them."
His remaining hirelings wail quietly. "Yes, master, let us flee. Don't make us die for these fools' questions."
B'yelka backs up a step, Ah, that didn't work out very well...
Janos takes a step back at the werewolf's outburst. "Everyone out, now! Back to the Lodge!" the Ranger orders. He remains only so long as to be the last member of the group to turn away.