Kylar listens as the woman named Delilah speaks to the barbarian. Intriguing manner about her. Reminds me of that halfling girl down in... what was that town? Her name was Tinga, that I do remember. Amongst other things. He shivers a bit in the crisp morning air. Warm memories; I'll need those in the time ahead.
"Nothing left to waste, no?"
Kylar slaps the big man on the back.
"Not while there is room on the mule," he says with a smirk. Then, with a look about at the others: "Are we ready?"
...but if what I fear has happened has come to pass, all we'll find is bones."
Kylar frowns. "Corwin said the victims vanish without trace. You fear something else, then?"
At the answer () Kylar gives a nod and a shrug. Soon enough he would have the chance to investigate these events first hand.
"Aye, lad. Bandits ain't known to keep to just robbin' and thievin'. If we do find those that went missin' it's likely goin' be their bones."
Kylar trudges along behind Wilhelm, close enough to the front of the group to keep an eye out for anything odd. The old soldier looks sharp-eyed, but Kylar prefers to trust his own senses. He loses himself in the rhythm of march and passive observation.
Kylar's eyes are draw to the tracks in the road ahead. He kneels down with Wilhelm to study them.
"The patrol, I assume. Five people." he says aloud, pointing to the obvious impressions. Then his fingers drift to smaller marks. "These, though. Something followed them? Many somethings."
After another second of examining the tracks, Kylar looks up and back at the rest of the team. "Goblins," he announces. At least a dozen."
Walking into the gloomy woods, Delilah couldn't help but think, Ah, this reminds me of home. Hearing the words goblins snaps her out of her inner thoughts. "Goblins? What are those?"
Wilhelm lets out a low growl as he stands up.
"Goblins, miss, are horrid little creatures. They live only to kill, maim, and destroy. What troubles me is goblins haven't been seen in these woods since I was a lad."
His eyes move along the trees. His gaze like flint.
"Be careful. There are vile things afoot if those little monsters have come back to these woods."
"That's strange." Rayla steps a little closer to have a look at the tracks as well. "Goblins are sneaky, but not exactly renown for their subtlety - I find it hard to imagine that they would let so many people disappear and this would be the very first trace they leave. Do you notice some strange atmosphere in this place? It feels somehow colder and there is a strange silence... I am not sure whether it really means anything but it is somewhat unusual."
She draws her greatsword and drops her backpack before she bends down to the tracks to have a look herself.
"Hm. Can't make anything out of it. But I'll just keep my sword ready from now on. We better keep moving." She picks up her backpack again and lets her gold brown eyes glide over the trees and leaves as though she tried to stare the forest itself to the ground.
"Ah well, in that case..." Delilah said as she pulled out her crossbow and loaded it. There came a chirping sound from one of her belt pouches. Looking down at it, she says, "Shhh، آرام آدا. ما لازم نیست شما دادن دور موضع ما."
Helena nods at Rayla's query. "I am happy to share a tent. Though I fear there would be no room sharing with one of our large friends." That odd smile graces her pale face as she nods her head slightly in the direction of the two huge Northmen.
Helena stays close to the middle of the group, feeling safer when she can keep everyone within her limited vision. It's probably safer for them, as well, she thinks, keeping one gloved hand tight on her spear.
At the mention of goblins, she frowns, looking around for any further sign of them - but her clouded eyes see little.
Björn looks sidelong at the oracle as she nods to them. Muttering to himself, he moves away never losing sight of the pale woman.
The shaman looks down at the tracks that have been pointed out. He shows no concern over the news that goblins are in the area. Suddenly, he picks up his head, staring ahead. Pushing past the others, he begins to move quickly, his massive stride eating up the trail.
Seeing one of the big men moving forward with fervor, Delilah followed suit, crossbow loaded and ready to shoot at the first sign of trouble.
Oblivious to his friend's behaviour, Skäne grins at Helena. "You should not fear sharing my tent. Know you fear when you see how the Bear sleeps. Har!"
Skäne peers down at the tracks left by both the patrol and the goblins. He knows their sign well enough; even in the north such vermin infest the woods. Turning to remark upon the similarity, he goes still. Cocking his head as though listening to the wind, he turns to look up ahead. At Björn's headlong rush, he springs into action, spear in one hand drawing his battleaxe as he goes.
Rayla looks with slight surprise after Björn. She quickly closes in to Helana. "Let's try to stick together as much as possible, I'll take the left flank. Björn ran into that direction." She points with her blade. "Let's go."
"Blasted northmen, coulda told us what set them on this merry chase." Wilhelm mutters as he follows the to men, jogging to keep up with their strides.
Less than thirty yards away, Bjorn and Skane come upon a small knot of pines that tower into the sky. Within they find a strange woman with hair that looks like pine needles and skin that has the appearance of the polished pine wood. Her clothing is in tatters and her body is covered in cuts and gashes that weep an amber liquid that looks like sap.
Taking off after Wilhelm and the others, Kylar arrives to the scene to see an obviously-wounded... not-quite woman.
"A dryad!" he realizes. "Poor creature. Trouble abounds indeed when such a being suffers attack in her own woods."
Her wounds are grievous, but Kylar knows nothing about how to offer aid to such a creature. He hopes that the big northlander druid has greater knowledge in that area. All Kylar can hope to do is gather more information in pursuit of their mission. He steps forward to ask a question while the dryad is still capable of answering.
"What did this to you?"
"Oh my gods! We need to help her - whatever it is - and quickly." Rayla bends down besides the strange woman and starts to clean and bind her wounds with whatever clean cloth she can find and tear into stripes. "Helena, is there anything you can do for her?"
Turned to the woman: "Hold on just a while longer, whatever you are. We're here to help."
At Helena's words, Kylar realizes he hadn't spoken his knowledge aloud.
"She is a dryad," he says. "A protector and caretaker of forests."
Helena falls to her knees beside the Dryad, dropping her spear and spreading her hands. She speaks in a lilting, musical tongue, her fingers shaking as a pale green light springs from the tips, covering the woman in an ethereal glow.
"Oh biotáille, cneasaigh do leanbh anois."
The dryad cringes and curls tighter around herself when the party approaches. Wilhelm stands there dumbfounded as he spots the fey.
Helena's spell closes some of the wounds but she is still injured and afraid.
"C-cé go bhfuil tú?"
Hearing the dryad respond in the same tongue, Helena continues in Sylvan. "Bí ar a suaimhneas. Tá muid cairde, ag iarraidh ar cheann de na ár gcuid féin. Ciallaíonn againn go mbainfidh tú aon dochar." She points at her own chest. "Tá mé Helena. Seo iad mo chompánaigh. Cé chomh holc tá tú Gortaítear?"
"Be at ease. We are friends, seeking one of our own. We mean you no harm."
"I am Helena. These are my companions. How badly are you hurt?"
Seeing the others crowding around the dryad, the þursfyrðar growls. He stalks forward to stand astride the fey, his towering bulk looming over her as he brandishes his fearsome warscythe. "Ég hef fundið þessa veru og það er mín með hægri. Ég krafa það er lífið, vegna mér í blóði, vatni eða weregild."
Rayla sighs in relief as Helena heals the strange woman of the forest and while she doesn't know any details about the fey, Rayla does speak their language. She reaches her hands out for the creature - careful not to touch her again without permission, fey can be very particular about that - and speaks in a strangely fluent language with recurring patterns and only subtle variations, which at times sound a little like a forest river or wind in the leaves.
She turns to Björn: "If you look at her like that you might be scaring her... She has just been attacked. Could you stand a little back, please?"
Looking at Björn, Delilah couldn't stop herself from saying, "You know, some of us can't speak...whatever the hells it is you're speaking. Would it kill you to talk in something we can all understand?"
When Bjorn towers over the dryad, she quickly curls back up and whimpers in fear.
"What in tha blue blazes are ye thinkin'? Can't ye see she's scared enough without ye standin' o'er her like that?"
Wilhelm hisses at the northman.
"Might you want to take a step back from the Bear. We are 'aviking, and while it's no huldra, it is a fair catch all the same." Skäne drolly advises the others.
Rayla rolls her eyes. To Helena she says:
She turns around and steps right in front Björn, with the a hint of her celestial fury and a strange, unearthly echo in her deep yet feminine voice, she pokes the two feet higher man with her finger. "What, by the beauty of Calistria's beaver are you thinking? Don't you realize how threatening that looks when you tower over someone like that and wield your scythe like that? I know she's cute but that's not a way to impress a woman - neither an experienced warrior like myself, not a spoiled princess and certainly not a fey of the forest!"
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At Bjorn's words Kylar sighs audibly.
"This again? The giant men have such convenient definitions of 'rights.'"
Still, Kylar hadn't much concerned himself with the practice in his past association with Bjorn and Skane. The world was often nasty and brutish - there were worse things than to be claimed as property, so long as you had value as property. He had even taken his cut of the gold from the bargained freedom of such figures in the past.
But looking at the dryad before them, something in him was moved to object. Perhaps it was some echo out of his elvish blood, whose kind shared a kindship with such creatures. Or perhaps mere pity. Either way...
He stirred. "No, Bjorn," he said. "Not this one. I contest your claim."
Then, to the Dryad:
"Nac ofna ef. Eich bod yn ddiogel."
Helena attempts to help the dryad shift away from the large men, constantly talking in Sylvan - general phrases of reassurance and promises to keep her safe. She shoots a hard, warning glare at Björn, hissing and making a shooing gesture with her hand.
Skäne waves a dismissing hand at the barbarian woman. "He wouldn't know the difference anyway. Har!"
The freebooter shakes his head at their friend, "Nei, elfur, the Bear isn't claiming her. That would be too easy for the einfaldur bjáni. He is holding her to weregild. 'blóði, vatni eða weregild' Her choice. Very fair of him, if overly complicated."
The Dryad looks around, confused, but follows Helena's guiding hand.
"Bhí deamhain beag sin iontas orm. Hacked siad ag dom le lanna agus d'fhág nuair a shíl siad go raibh mé marbh."
Wilhelm's eyes turn to flint at the Dryad's words.
"Damned beasts." he mutters as he fishes out bandages from the pouch at his hip.
Kylar shrugs at Skane's words. He had known as much from his past association with the brothers - he simply cared little for the semantics.
"Make what distinctions you wish."
With the dryad being drawn away from Bjorn and towards the shelter of the other group members, Kylar turns his attention to the scene of the attack.
"An bhfaca tú nuair a tháinig siad as? Nó cén bealach a ndeachaigh siad?" Helena nods gratefully to Wilhelm as she takes the bandages, attempting to bind the dryad's wounds with gentle hands.
The haft of Björn's warscythe slams to the ground between the dryad and Helena. "Ég sagði að láta hana velja." The towering giant quietly intones to the alabaster woman.
Skäne steps forward, with a hard look in his eyes;
"He asks the dryad to choose. A price must be paid in either blood, water or weregild... Best save any healing until we settle on which...eh?"
The lesser of the giants then turns to his brother with equally hard words;
"Ég hef sagt þeim bróður, en þeir vita ekki af breytni vorri ... hefðum. Þeim weregild kann að virðast sterk eins vetur. Við gætum þurft að þíða í orðum okkar!"
"I am a healer by trade, and I will not stand by while you attempt to extort this beautiful and noble creature of the forest." Helena stares down the two large men with ice in her milky eyes. "If you claim the life of a dying creature, you are little better than scavengers, no matter how proud you claim your culture to be."
Delilah just rolls her eyes at the two large men.
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Kylar sighs again.
"Skane, do me the favor of telling your brother he is a fool."
The wizard nods towards the dryad, then looks Bjorn in the uncomprehending eye. "This creature knows this forest. She can give us information to help our mission. Our mission will bring us gold. There is your weregild."
"Stone-brained shrunken giant..."
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Rayla exhales frustrated, makes a soothing gesture, more for herself than for the others and begins talking relatively calmly. But the longer she talkes the more her inner rage gets hold of her and she speaks faster and faster. Some words and fragments sentence fragments even slip into celestial, the language she has never learned but simply knew when her angelic ancestor first spoke to her in her dreams. Several times during he speach her right ends up suspiciously close to the hilt of her greatsword, but she does not touch it yet.
"I don't know what weregild is, but it eludes me how you can honestly believe the dryad would owe you anything. You just ran off, stood there and stared at her, you didn't even call for help. If we hadn't followed you on our own, and Helena hadn't saved her, she would be dead by now! What makes you think she would owe anything to you? Helena is right, if we take advantage of the wounds struck by others we're even worse than the goblins or whoever did this, we're just scavangers. There is no honor in taking advantage in the misfortune of others, that's a perversion of everything that's just and right!"
She needs a moment to catch up with her breath. "Alright. Nice and slowly. For what exactly do you think she owes you, how much of whose blood, what does the water mean and what's a weregild?"
Dryad recoils when Bjorn strikes the ground between her and Helena, she tries her best to protect herself and a soft melodic voice can be heard between her whimpers of fear.
"Cén fáth go bhfuil an mór mheabhair amháin ag dom? Cad a rinne mé?"
Wilhelm glares at Bjorn with an intensity so fierce, it is a wonder that the large man is not needled through by the guard's gaze.
"Ciallaíonn an leathcheann a éilíonn tú mar chuid."
As the others rail against the Northmen, the giant warrior looks genuinely taken aback, afore scowling, then shaking his head with a hard smile he claps his brother on his forearm;
"Bróðir. Ef þú ýtir á weregild þá mun þetta enda í blóði. Þeirra og okkar. Þetta er ekki að norðan. Lögum okkar halda greinilega litla sveifla hér í þessu veikburða landi. Láttu skógur-mær fara ... Við munum ýta kröfu okkar og Count Vinlander þeirra verður ábyrgur ... einn eða annan hátt ....blóð, vatn eða weregild! Har!"
Brother. If you press the weregild then this will end in blood. Theirs and ours. This is not the North. Our laws clearly hold little sway here in this weak land. Let the forest-maid go... We will press our claim and their Count Vinlander will be accountable... one way or another.... blood, water or weregild! Har!
The vikingr spits as he barks a bitter laugh, then turns slowly to the others;
"Your words have been heard my friends. But know this... He is a force of the wild... not mine to control..."
Skäne fixes a cold stare onto Wilhelm before continuing in a flat tone:
"... Know also my words are not borne of weakness or civility. Force my red hand at your cost."
"An' know that I don't take kindly ta men that would force themselves upon another. I agreed to guide you so we could find a missing lady, not so you can claim whomever tickles yer fancy." Wilhelm replies in a tone edged with ice.
Turning to the others he says, "Patch her up as best ye can. An' see if she can remember where tha damn goblins went."
Rayla watches Björn seemingly calm, though any experienced warrior could see the low mass center of her stance and her readiness to jump. She doesn't look straight into his eyes but instead seems more concerned with his hands and the motion in his thighs and hips. Her hand touches the hilt of her greatsword tenderly as if to caress it while she waits for Björn's decision. She really hopes that uneasy agreement that seems to be in the air would hold, but it's out of her hand now; she has clearly where she stood in this and there is nothing left that words could add.
Helena nods at Wilhelm's words, trying to soothe the dryad, taking both hands in her own gently. "Síleann sé gur féidir sé a éileamh tú, agus íocaíocht éileamh - i fola. Ní bheidh mé in iúl dó. Tá sé ceart go leor. Le do thoil, déan iarracht agus cuimhnigh - i gcás ina raibh an 'deamhain beag' dul?"
The dryad looks at the cuts on her arms and shivers.
"Theas, ar feadh an chosáin. Go raibh beagnach dhá lá ó shin."
The fey woman looks to Bjorn, her eyes twin pools of fear.
"C-cén chaoi a mian sé a éileamh dom?"
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Kylar chuckles briefly at the northman's braggadocio, then turns his attention once again to the wilderness, looking for anything out of place.
"Take heart," he says over his shoulder to Skane. "With luck, he'll soon be able to claim all the goblins he pleases."
"Níl mé cinnte, tá mé eagla. Tá a chuid bealaí coigríche dom. Ní bheidh mé cead a thabhairt díobháil a thagann chun tú, cé."
To the others, Helena adds, "The goblins went south, along the path, but that was nearly two days ago. What are we going to do with her? I'd like to make sure she's safe." She says this last with a pointed glance at the two northmen.
"Nú deyr hún." The druid replies to his oarbrother.
Taking up the warscythe in both his massive fists, he swings around and stalks off down the trail.
Skäne shakes his head at the situation and spits with disdain;
"Feh. Southern ways... I'll never understand them."
The big Northerner then hefts his ax and makes off after his fellow þursfyrðar.
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