It wasn't much fun for Alaric lol.[/ooc]
The next morning as time permits Gideon and Smendor go a short distance away from camp and have a tumbling lesson. Gideon shows Smendor how to soften a fall, tumble between enemies, and other useful tidbits. The two return covered in dirt and sweat, but otherwise unharmed.
During the lesson Gideon can see Smendor has some ink work on his back and shoulders. The most prominent image between his shoulders is a large set of war hammers setting atop a large stack of other weapons, goods, and items. The war hammers themselves are decorated with gems, silver, and gold. They have a very similar look to the items holding his beard in place. On the upper right side of the hammers is an image of a dwarf watching over the loot. The dwarf is missing his right eye and has a very grim, aggressive, and almost intimidating scowl on his face. It would be an easy conclusion this dwarf is also a member of the iron-face clan. Both his shoulders are marketed the same with a list of maybe names and other text. All the lettering is done in dwarven so knowing what it is written would be tough.
Smendor also has some very prominent scars. It seems he has been flogged a few times over the years. Everything is fully healed, but the deep cuts will be with him for the rest of his life.
** spoiler omitted **
** spoiler omitted **
Gideon speaking to Smendor as they start to head back to camp
"You have interesting tattoo's. What is there significance?"
Smendor replies to the question, "I really cannot give you the details, but it is a way to keep all me kin and friends organized. If a dwarf or man on the streets has the right marks than I know he can be trusted.
Smendor replies to the question, "I really cannot give you the details, but it is a way to keep all me kin and friends organized. If a dwarf or man on the streets has the right marks than I know he can be trusted.
** spoiler omitted **
"Your secretes are your own to keep. Out of curiosity what's to keep an untrustworthy man from mimicking your marks?"
Smendor pulls back his shirt and points to a spot on his shoulder, "What does that mean?" Smendor waits for a second to get the answer. "The meaning behind the ink is important not the ink itself. Any symbol is nothing more than a memory of past events. Without the memory this ink is nothing more than root sap, and oil."
Now if you where to have the same marks, and not know the meaning I would need to remove your head.
Brett is looking troubled and frustrated by the sparring done by the others at this time. He keeps giving them glances as they move to tangle, even as he begins to fry up some nice crispy bacon in a pan that he has brought in a roll wrapped in some thick cloth.
As it simmers and cracks, Dior moves forward carefully to watch him cook, each pop and snap of the bacon dancing in the grease causes him to jump somewhat at the sound, as if he is expecting... trouble.
But he just can't shake the smell of the frying meat.
Meantime, Brett has a kettle over the fire and is boiling water for a tin of tea. He is currently slurping the cold soup, and watching the sparring a little longer; the disquiet evident.
He catches Ariarh's eye and knows she is equally aware of what he has discovered; but there is little to do now. So, shrugging his shoulders, he begins to set to for his breakfest and tosses little scraps of the bacon to Dior; who eats them, but only when the valiant beast is sure no one is watching him eating these scraps... though they ARE tasty...
Finally, as Brett downs his tea and lights his pipe he leans back and calls out to the others...
"Ho there, I see you lads feel good enough to be on yer feet and dancing about. Good, good... I be right pleased on that account. But meantime, I think ye ought to be knowin' I found the meaning of that letter I done took from our friend the squire."
He exhales a furious stream of smoke.
"Best fer ye lads to look it over; I don't think ye be overly happy on what ye be finding..."he adds and tosses the translated copy to the nearest member of the group.
"Meantime lass,"he says to Ariarh "ye've more knowledge then woodsy stuff then I; but what do ye make of little elven lass running off with all them naked maids? And the one that did speak to her... can't get my ear 'round that lingo... but whatever she said to her was a fine piece to make our girl run off. I mistook it to be magic, though, 'cause I couldn't move to halt it or nothing, but it were uncanny as ever may be. What do ye suppose it were?"
His attention is now completely on Ariarh as he notices the others gradually moving over to examine this mysterious letter that he took and copied from the squire... and it's even more cryptic translation.
He catches Ariarh's eye and knows she is equally aware of what he has discovered; but there is little to do now. So, shrugging his shoulders, he begins to set to for his breakfest and tosses little scraps of the bacon to Dior; who eats them, but only when the valiant beast is sure no one is watching him eating these scraps... though they ARE tasty..."Meantime lass,"he says to Ariarh "ye've more knowledge then woodsy stuff then I; but what do ye make of little elven lass running off with all them naked maids? And the one that did speak to her... can't get my ear 'round that lingo... but whatever she said to her was a fine piece to make our girl run off. I mistook it to be magic, though, 'cause I couldn't move to halt it...
"The language she spoke was Sylvan as correctly observed by Alaric upon Tess' departure. It was an older version of it, however. The female speaker is, I believe, a goddess, an avid huntress and patroness of wild animals, the forests and hills. My mother told me stories about her when I was a little girl. She asked Tess to join her and the other maidens under her protection for all eternity. She pretty much denounced the rest of us as 'beggars'. I think that is how the goddess saw us and probably a good selling point to entice Tess to join her/them." Ry chuckled softly and then quietened for a moment before continuing.
"Did you see Tess' face upon the Lady's words? There was the pure joy of meeting a kindred spirit. As if one has found their true destiny. And, Tess heeded the call without hesitation. It seemed the natural thing to do ..." Ariarh let the sentence trail off, lost in her own thoughts, again. That kind of knowledge is the most beautiful thing, Ry thought to herself.
"Well, fer elves there be talk of moons gods and goddesses and fer dwarves there be gold... Men talk o' kingdoms but OUR folk talk of a good pipe, food, and a bitty garden to work in; beggin' yer pardon. But me dad also told me "It's the job never started that takes the longest to get done"... and I reckon on truth to them words..."Brett adds.
"I be hearing yer piece on the letter that I done broke last evenin' time. And I know me own mind on it..."Brett adds, speaking to Ariarh as he moves to begin to break camp. "I wonder what the other lads be having to say on it, when they take the moment to glance it over..."he adds.
He's eaten his fill, sun's up, and he's ready to move on.
"You lad's may as well put up yer fists and help out a piece; I be right tired o' waiting here longer. We need to be gettin' back to Oleg and claim this bit o land... though if ye want MY advice we keep the place of the gold mine to ourselfs, till we get a bit o' better boys to gaurd it... I be fer going on, while the weather's with us. We still got to finish sploring this here bit o' land."he continues even as he begins to load up his sturdy pony.
"Ho there, lads! Shake a leg, why don't ye? And while we're on the trail, mayhap ye be lookin' o'er the letter I done broke open,"Brett adds even as Ariarh, seeing the good sense in his planning assists him in breaking camp and getting ready.
Soon they are finished packing and everyone begins to move out, heading over the next hill, ready to chart a new course.
The time is now morning, and by your calculations you will have finished exploring this "hex" by around 1:00 pm, then move on to the new one. The day is cold and chill... but there seesm to be no sign of rain on the air. Brett has handed the letter around as you continue to move over the "hex". You all have time to look it over and make comments while you ride...
"I agree keeping the existence and whereabouts of the gold mine quiet for now is a good idea."
Ariarh rides beside Brett with Dior seated in front of her, quiet and observant.
"Who is this victim with the mark that is mentioned in the letter? I think we need to figure out who this person is and find them before the scheduled sacrifice one month hence."
"And in regard to the mark, is it a birthmark or ink?" Ry's thoughts were flowing in quick succession.
"I wonder if Dasha could enlighten us further. I haven't had many dealings with the girl. Tess mentioned she tried learning more but unfortunately we can't ask her now that she is gone. Drake, as her protector, seems to have some sway with the lass. Hmm..."
Ry realises she has asked questions and given opinions without waiting to hear from her companions. She stops her talking and waits for their thoughts on the matter.
"I agree keeping the existence and whereabouts of the gold mine quiet for now is a good idea."
Ariarh rides beside Brett with Dior seated in front of her, quiet and observant.
"Who is this victim with the mark that is mentioned in the letter? I think we need to figure out who this person is and find them before the scheduled sacrifice one month hence."
"And in regard to the mark, is it a birthmark or ink?" Ry's thoughts were flowing in quick succession.
"I wonder if Dasha could enlighten us further. I haven't had many dealings with the girl. Tess mentioned she tried learning more but unfortunately we can't ask her now that she is gone. Drake, as her protector, seems to have some sway with the lass. Hmm..."
Ry realises she has asked questions and given opinions without waiting to hear from her companions. She stops her talking and waits for their thoughts on the matter.
in response
"She did seem quite happy. I've heard stories of maidens being chosen by goddesses for verious reasons. I just never thought I'ds wittness it myself. Regardless, she is lost to us. I suggest we be happy for her."
"I agree keeping the existence and whereabouts of the gold mine quiet for now is a good idea."
Ariarh rides beside Brett with Dior seated in front of her, quiet and observant.
"Who is this victim with the mark that is mentioned in the letter? I think we need to figure out who this person is and find them before the scheduled sacrifice one month hence."
"And in regard to the mark, is it a birthmark or ink?" Ry's thoughts were flowing in quick succession.
"I wonder if Dasha could enlighten us further. I haven't had many dealings with the girl. Tess mentioned she tried learning more but unfortunately we can't ask her now that she is gone. Drake, as her protector, seems to have some sway with the lass. Hmm..."
Ry realises she has asked questions and given opinions without waiting to hear from her companions. She stops her talking and waits for their thoughts on the matter.
Alaric wakes feeling much better than the past several days. Once he has heard the translation of the letter he will respond.
Well there is no question now that there are larger issues at hand. We knew that others would have designs upon this area but to have a force of cultists of Urgathoa would be terrible. We need to see if we can find more allies in the area. Ry speaks wisely about asking Dasha about what she knows. As for the marked one, that could be anything. It could be a literal mark or something more subtle. My recommendation is to finish our exploration and head back to Oleg's. We need to find a way to get more information. We are traveling blind right now and that is no way to travel.
"Alaric be right true on the mark, lass,"I mutter to Arairh, lost in my own musings.
"Be it brand, or scar, or some weirding power that only a priest may see; or maybe an odd eye color, or something of the like... I be wondering either way... I be also in a bit of a bind; if the mark be on the good squire, I'd feel right guilty in wanting to give him back fer sacrfice... well, ALMOST guilty... but I wonder... the coin be meant for Brevoy noble folk, to buy out their bleedin' favor. So doubt it be him. But as fer this "Dasha" lass... what do we know on her? I mean, really... She be done comming as far as Ustalav, she said so; no mistake! And while she being so, she also be having a weirding way on her... mark how the horse be acting 'round her, and the chickens, and all o' them strange things that be going on... Even Oleg's old woman be fearing she be got some devil in her; Drake lad did have to speak fer her on that matter, too; IF ye recall... But then, that mean she be alive, and that ain't safe fer her."
Brett scans the skies for a moment.
"Still, it be a long time fer the sacrfice, so be saying the letter, says near a month, and they won't be knowing their whole team be wiped out right quick, not fer sure, unless this bastard Baron be watching them in some magic crystal or some such thing... but even if he knew the day it done happened, and he dispatched a group of riders fer the girl... if it BE the girl... it'd still take a fortnight at least to get from Ustalav to here, I'D think... but that means we got no more time fer dallying about. Let's do like Alaric be saying and pick up the pace, eh?"
Brett kicks his ponies flanks and with a thunderous charge it goes rushing forward with a nice steady "clip-clop"... as ponies are wont to do. Brett just let's out a muttered curse at the lack of a dramatic exit.
I am going to say we go back to Oleg's right now.
I am going to say we go back to Oleg's right now.
I second that. We should ride as quickly as we can. We should ask Dasha what she knows about this also.
If we are holding some cultist sacrifice in the Trade Post we really need to know. It does seem like we are going to be fighting this group, and if they get the chance to sacrifice her on the land it will give them a strong emotional advantage. It really does not truly matter if the sacrifice really gives them more power or not. We all know it will make them think they have more power. A strong ideal is greatly more powerful if everyone believes it to have power.
"So will we finish exploring this new area before heading back to Oleg's?"
Ry squeezes both her legs on her horse and Tal responds to the pressure, breaking into a gallop so she can keep pace with the other riders.
"Hold on, Dior!"
No we go right now back to the Trade Post, and I am not running anywhere with 3 pack horses.
"Second heard and noted... but we aint' be going back that way; not yet anyhow... "Brett adds, his pony jogging forward.
"Not fer nothing, but I read the whole letter, as ye may have too, seeing that I gave it to ye. They be saying the "sacrifice" on the full moon of Neth... Neth be a whole month away, and a bit. Meantime, the girl ain't going nowhwere, else she would have had lit out with the squire... Nah, she be staying with Drake lad, and be there in plenty o' time fer us to harrangue when we get back. Meantime, we just found a bloody gold mine, and I be thinking we keep going. Who knows, the next hill may have a bleeding SILVER mine... or Mithril, if we be lucky... but in either case... leaving this here place and high-tailing it back to Oleg helps us not at all... I don't be caring much on that..."
"So we be going on, finish the task at hand, then back to Oleg's in a wee bit, maybe by the end of week we be back there, but not today,"he adds tersely. Turning back, he glances at Alaric...
"Well, lad, you backing on me this talk, or what?"he says to the silent sorcerer.
Very Well
I vote for going back now anyway. You said it yourself just last night we should get back and lay clam to this area.
Hermia looks up from the map and find herself quite alone in the leader, Kressle's boudoir. The dashing young gentlemen had opened the chests in the room while she studied the papers strewn about the desk, and several sets of women's clothing quite haphazardly discarded for the more alluring treasures beneath. Hermia recognized her backpack set to the side of one, along with a much smaller pack. She looks down at her filthy rags, and thinks on the bandit's breath as he hovered over her, leering and shivers. The clothing appears clean she muses, and brings it as close to her stinging face as she dare to test her assumption by smell. Well, Mother, she says to herself, if the lady without would fight you for a clean shift, she is certainly welcome to after you have dressed yourself appropriately.
Remembering her manners in polite company How long has it been? she wonders, she peaks her head out from around the door to the luxurious shelter."Excuse me, sirs? Mistress?" she calls in the sweetest voice she can muster given her thirst and the acute aches in every muscle in her body. The position in which she had been tied had not been kind in any way. It was not yet agony to move, but she suspected that after she ate and rested, it might be. "If you do not mind terribly, I will just close the door a moment to change my clothes. You might post a guard without if you think me untrustworthy," she suggests.
When no one answers, it appears as though they've wandered off Hermia pushes the door almost fully closed, then claims her focus, a cast silver pendulum bearing a stylized representation of a fertile woman hastily stuffed into the bottom of her backpack and channels water into the leader's wash basin. For a moment, she considers ripping a part of the sheets on the crazed woman's infuriatingly luxurious and comfortable bed to use as a wash cloth, but just splashing water against her battered face feels like spraying it with acid. She hisses, but continues, finally shedding the filthy rags clinging to her dehydrated and clumsy limbs and washes her neck, and beneath her arms and every other crevice filth accumulates, and draws back from the exploration of her functions with a sharp exhale. Her ashen hair is nearly matted in place against the side of her head, but she hasn't the strength to pull at it with her clubbed hands. Several days at least, she gathers, her head beginning to spin slightly from expending so much effort so quickly, but then, no one had offered to help. Slightly rude, she thinks to herself, but they might have left you there as well, Mother.
Lacking any viable alternative, save dampening another set of clothing needlessly, Hermia dries herself with the least soiled corners of her former clothing, and dons the clean set. The woman, Kressle, must have been a beast, she recognizes as she slips the things over her head. The neck hangs perilously low between her breasts, and the sleeves are far too long. The pants are completely unsuitable, clinging to her thighs like vices, cutting off circulation. And there, it's begun to hurt she grimaces as she pulls them off again, head swimming. Not enough energy to search through the remainder, she decides. Mother, you need to eat! The hem of the shirt reaches mid thigh on Hermia. It did seem that tall, blonde and gorgeous had some manner of training in the healing arts. If they all ignore her they will likely excuse my lack of propriety. She stuffs her feet into the overlarge boots, however. It is winter, and cool, and in her weakened condition, she would only pose a further hindrance to these people if she were to fall ill.
Strange that, she hums as she shifts through the smaller bag of things. Within she finds some rather tiny items, as though sized for a much, much smaller hands. Likely Pucks, she thinks. What were I thinking about just then? It seemed important. Her mind swims with fatigue and a host of questions likely severely silly because of her condition. Where was the woman now? My horse? Where... Why was I brought to this place? And why hit and bind me? I could have been useful to them!
"You can still be useful," she reminds herself, digs out and slides her padded armor on over the blouse for more security "There are injured people out there, injured helping to free you. And that heroic Puck creature. Pull yourself together, Mother."
Having not heard or, indeed, noticed anything stirring for some time, Hermia hoists her pack over her shoulder, then wraps her aching hands around the edge of the door and peers out again, calculating. I cannot see an ambush, her mind whispers, then she shakes her head. In that event, Mother, there would be so little you could do about it... She pulls the door open and steps outside in the ill fitting blouse and boots, her holy symbol firmly in hand.
"Sirs, lady?" she offers brightly. "I have recovered my things. I am able and willing to examine and heal you for your efforts."
Hermia looks up from the map and find herself quite alone in the leader, Kressle's boudoir. The dashing young gentlemen had opened the chests in the room while she studied the papers strewn about the desk, and several sets of women's clothing quite haphazardly discarded for the more alluring treasures beneath. Hermia recognized her backpack set to the side of one, along with a much smaller pack. She looks down at her filthy rags, and thinks on the bandit's breath as he hovered over her, leering and shivers. The clothing appears clean she muses, and brings it as close to her stinging face as she dare to test her assumption by smell. Well, Mother, she says to herself, if the lady without would fight you for a clean shift, she is certainly welcome to after you have dressed yourself appropriately.
Remembering her manners in polite company How long has it been? she wonders, she peaks her head out from around the door to the luxurious shelter."Excuse me, sirs? Mistress?" she calls in the sweetest voice she can muster given her thirst and the acute aches in every muscle in her body. The position in which she had been tied had not been kind in any way. It was not yet agony to move, but she suspected that after she ate and rested, it might be. "If you do not mind terribly, I will just close the door a moment to change my clothes. You might post a guard without if you think me untrustworthy," she suggests.
When no one answers, it appears as though they've wandered off Hermia pushes the door almost fully closed, then claims her focus, a cast silver pendulum bearing a stylized representation of a fertile woman hastily stuffed into the bottom of her backpack and channels water into the leader's wash basin. For a moment, she considers ripping a part of the sheets on the crazed woman's infuriatingly luxurious and comfortable bed to use as a wash cloth, but just splashing water against her battered face feels like spraying it with acid. She hisses, but continues,...
"Lady, are you well enough yourself to be trying to heal our wounded lot? Please know I am grateful for your generosity, as I'm sure my companions are, but none of us would see you worse off for trying to aid us at this present time." Ariarh gives the other woman a gentle smile.
"Oh. I haven't properly introduced myself. I'm Ariarh. My friends call me 'Ry'". Ariarh extends her hand out to the woman before her.
The End of the Battle
The battle was completed. The final bandit was slaughtered, and the weary group wipes the mud and the grime from their features. Many of them were bloodied and covered in gore, either their wounds or that of the enemy still rampant upon them.
”Gods damn whore,”Smendor muttered ”You almost have to admire the bastard,”he adds about an extremely tough piece of scum that lay in the ground, dead; finally destroyed by a massive blow to the skull by the dwarven axe.
Even as they spoke Ariarh made her way across the sturdy bridge and dragged the mud soaked body of the wounded half-orc from the riverbank and forced a bottle into his mouth, pouring gently of the healing draught until its magical powers began to refresh the brave and reckless warrior and he was healed of his wounds.
”My thanks, lady,”Gideon said to Ariarh as he staggered to his feet, still aching from the brutal wounds, even as the Griffon paused to urinate on the corpse of one of the nastier villains that he himself had brought down with a tough rendering of flesh and body.
The party was fairly quiet as they advanced forward into the main gate of the encampment. When they entered they saw the entire area was planked with heavy wooden boards; no doubt to offset the mud and rain (of which there was much) and provide more sturdy footing. In a heap was the body of an archer who had fallen from the tower, his neck broken. No doubt he collapsed after a magic sleeping spell was cast upon him by the sorcerer. Moreover, another body lay on the boards; this one still showing the remains of a smoking mark on his chest where a blast of energy had crumpled him and sent him also reeling to his death, again, a parting gift from the wand of their magi.
Surrounding the area was a sturdy palisade wall made of mud and lumber, roughly seven feet in height. Inside were log buildings. Two of them stables, with enough room and supplies for eight horses, though there were only three horses there now. A fourth horse was outside, and no doubt belonged to the bandit chief who had been slaughtered in combat.
There were two locked cabins and a tower that reached up about twenty feet into the air. A third cabin was unlocked and the door ajar. A quick examination revealed that it was most likely an all purpose room; four bunk beds, various chests with clothes, blankets, a long table with benches and a high, well-made chair at its head. A fireplace surrounded by more tables for preparing meats, barrels of beer, apples, and rows of dried meat, and a bright fire in the hearth.
Moving on the party divided and Brett moved to begin the task of gathering the horses with Gideon even as Alaric, Ariarh, and Smendor tried one of the locked doors. After some exploration, and a well placed kick in the door, they made their way inside and found a room with supplies. There were more barrels of flour, clay jars of honey, clay jars of tobacco, a few small casks of wine, and a shelf with rows of glass vials.
”What, pray tell, is this…”Alaric asked, his eyes adjusting to the dim light as he saw a small figure pulling himself slowly to his feet in a tiny cage. The figure was bloodied and bruised, yet valiantly tried to smile.
”Evening, gents, and to you my fine lady,”he said weakly ”Puck Sparrow’s the name… purveyor of fine tales; enchanter of the fair sex; and singer of beauteous ballads… and… one who would be… well helped if you would please share a wee bite of some food…”he added the last gamely, as he slumped forward.
The group moved in even as Alaric fiddled with the lock; they saw that the bottom of his cage was filled with tiny shavings of strange metal that seemed to prick an slice at his flesh.
”Unless I miss my guess…”Ariarh said, staring at the small person inside ”This strange fellow is called a “brownie”… they’re said to possess magical abilities… but they have strong aversion to a particular type of iron… even as these shavings seem to be…” she mused the last almost to herself.
”Yes, my dear, well I know it,”Alaric said, even as he jerked his hand away from the cage, wincing slightly as a piece of it rubbed his thumb and cut him sharply. ”Cold Iron, they call it, and a terrible bane against those of the Fey Folk… of course, I know a bit about myself… you could say it’s in the blood,”he adds the last with a wink.
”Oh pipe down with all the blather,”Smendor interrupted. ”This is a fine amount of gear, and the light won’t last all night. We may as well start cataloging and ordering and… what the blazes! What is that?”he asked with surprise, looking down at a young human woman, hogtied, gagged so harsh that blood clotted her lips; her hands bound tightly in leather mittens of a sort that prevented her to move even a finger.
”My gods… lady, my pardon,”Alaric said gallantly as he brushed past Smendor and began to cut her bonds, even as Ariarh helped the tiny man out of his cage. He had bright green eyes and a shock of silvery blue hair that dangled long and tied back.
Cutting the bindings and cord from her mouth Alaric helped the lady up, and someone offered her water.
”My thanks,”croaked the woman. ”Who are you… I am so hungry… so hungry,”she added, almost to herself, even as Alaric offered her another sip of water.
”It’s alright, miss; you’re among friends now. The scum that held you here, they’re already dead, they’ll trouble you no more,”he added.
”Thank you,”she said.
Ariarh was in the newly discovered “common room”, helping to feed the little brownie, even as he asked her to let him swim in a beer barrel. She didn’t think he was being literal… until she watched in horrified fascination how he swam on his back and blew a stream of beer from his lips like a floating fountain of beer.
While this occurred Brett returned with Stybba, Tal, and Arvakur, and he led them into the warmth of the stable. Smendor was examining the door to the final room; but it was made of solid brick and had a heavy wooden door with metal latticing. Brett fished from his pocket a set of keys, and tossed them to the dwarf.
”Here, found ‘em on the little harlot that done be running this place. No doubt it was she who be hanging that “Happs” fellow out in the trees with the sign, I’d warrant. See if ye have any luck on the door with them,”he added as he took the horses into the stable.
Smendor easily agreed and after a few tries found the right key and unbolted the door. Inside was a well furnished room; it had its own fireplace, a comfortable bed, not bunk, with a real down comforter. There were various chests and crates around the room. And after an examination they discovered that there was a chest that contained the goods and gear taken from the captured lass and the little brownie who was speaking very highly of her.
On the table was perhaps the most useful item of all; a small map of the surrounding area, with various hexes marked out, already mapped out. Most of them were north of this position, the gold mine not even displayed or marked, but if the map was accurate (and it seemed to be) then they had successfully saved themselves much time and effort in exploring the surrounding terrain.
By now, under the suggestion of Smendor, the bodies of the dead bandits had been stripped of valuables and gear and were burned; the majority of the horses were stabled, and the rest that couldn’t be were taken around back and tied under the trees; Gideon using some rope and dead branches to fasten a quick “make-shift” corral for them to huddle in.
”Well, lads and lasses, we ain’t be finding a better place then this to be staying tonight. And why not? Because there ain’t one!”Brett said looking around the compound as he came in and stamped his feet from the chill of the cold outside.
Then, the outer gate of the small compound was shut, and the party retired inside the common room, were Brett began to prepare a rather hearty feast for the group. It was well after sundown by now, and they all knew they wouldn’t find a better place to rest in the dark. Moreover, a dark cloud moved over the sky and boom of thunder alerted them to the encroaching presence of a new rainstorm.
Further, they knew that the storeroom had enough gear for a score of bandits to last them a month at least. And the private chamber in the brick walled room… it had more valuable gear in there beyond the map. There would be ample time to explore tomorrow, but for now, there was food, warmth, fire, and safety. And there were also small chests of treasure and goods… Smendor was eager to catalog it, but didn’t mind cocking an ear to hear the tale of the young lady they had liberated.
She was still weak from the abuse and lack of food, but had brightened considerably at her treatment. Even the young brownie… this “Puck Sparrow” looked much better. He had found his gear as well, as wearing a suit of red… leather… but it was, in fact, made of some sort of scarlet colored rattlesnake skin. A bright yellow cape dangled from his shoulders with a boastful flair, and it hung down to his calves, contrasting finely with his bright blue beer-slicked hair which was brushed back in a colorful way. A tiny rapier hung at his side and he removed from a small pouch a beautifully carved “pan pipe” and started to play a gentle melody.
”So, lady, would you tell us of your tale?”Alaric asked, even as the woman responded.
Wow, Hermia thought, sitting across from her dashing young savior in an ill fitting shirt and her light armor he's gorgeous! She studied his face for a time, fine lines of his features, his milk pale skin, dark hair and brooding green eyes. Like the princes in the Aunt Luda's novels! He even has one of those rugged little beards!
"My tale?" she demures, and looks away, only to find her attention once again diverted by the gorgeous blond. The dwarf is safer surely, now that he is not covered in gore... She shakes her head and focuses on her aching hands, letting the silver chain slip between her fingers soothe her.
"I can only speak to what I know," she begins. "I was riding in the wood when I were ambushed. They blocked my way, and hit me on the head real hard..."
Come to think on it- "It seems like there were two groups," she says. "Them that ambushed me, they were surprised that I was a spellcaster," she smirks. As though it were not painstakingly obvious."There was no way that they wouldn't have told this group. They were using this one," she gestures with a nod to Puck, "to wash the place. What kinda group living out here like this can't use a healer?"
She looks up at the group and tries to study the other faces. So gorgeous! she hums as her attentions wander again.
"When I woke up, I was like how you found me. The man... Hops? Happy? He came back, and they talked for a while, and the woman killed him. Something about north, and west, and some truck that needed unloading," she shakes her head. "I feel dizzy, things aren't all that clear, besides. There's names, gods and demons." she shrugs.
"I am sorry I can't be of any more help, right now," she apologizes. "Say, can I have some of that beer I smell on my little friend Puck? It would be a shame to waste it, and I'm awfully hungry. What are all your names? Oh!" she appears to blush, her deep olive complexion reddening. "My manners. Auntie Luda would be enraged. I am Hermia Robin. Thank you for saving me, gentlemen, and lady."
"I am sorry I can't be of any more help, right now," she apologizes. "Say, can I have some of that beer I smell on my little friend Puck? It would be a shame to waste it, and I'm awfully hungry....
Ariarh rises from the table, grabs an empty mug and moves to the beer barrel. She comes back to where their new companion is sitting and hands her the beer with a warm smile.
"Well met, Hermia Robbin. My name is Ariarh Kane, but my friends call me 'Ry'." Ry extends her hand to the lady. She finds a handshake a good way to start off things.
"I'm glad we found you alive. You were treated abominably but I am thankful you have survived to tell the tale."
Gesturing over to the halfling by the fire,
"You see that fellow over there, Brett, he's a mighty fine cook and soon you'll have some good food filling your stomach." Ry winks up at Brett, enjoying the lovely aroma coming from the pot he is stirring.
Gideon spends the evening quieter than normal. Any task he is given or see's needs to be done he does with greater speed and efficiency than normal. When asked to coral the horses he simply nods and gathers the necessary materials with great zeal. He's always a bit quiet, but even this is odd.
WHile in the common room Gideon introduces himself.
A large reddish skinned man rises then bows slightly to the former prisoners. He's quite obviously of orchish blood, but tends to favor his human parent. He's well muscled and wears well tailored, but simple clothing. He wears no armor and has no visible weapon other than a well carved quarterstaff that is usually within arms reach. In a smooth Baritone Gideon says,
"I am Gideon Samus Shaw, Master of the Staff and a minor magic user. It's my pleasure to meet you."
After having spent an appropriate amount of time with everyone in the common room Gideon excuses himself. Gideon then spends several hours painstakingly searching every square inch of this base starting with the leaders bedroom. (taking 20 on search check for several hours until it's time to sleep. This includes a detect magic sweep, as usual)
Then just before he retires for the night Gideon takes the Lotus position and concentrates.
Gideon is attempting to commune with his master. He wants to know how he might avoid such embarrassing situations in the future. His master will discuss with him the finer points of snatching arrows out of the air. (He'll be taking deflect arrows at earliest convenience)
Alaric breathes heavily after the exertions of the battle. Looking at the carnage, he reminds himself that this death was necessary to rid the land of these bandits and the scourge they represent. Still, I wish that some of them would turn back to a better path as Drake has. he thinks moodily.
Meeting the lady Hermia and the brownie Puck lifts Alaric's spirits greatly, for now there mission was not an extermination of the bandits here but more a liberation of those taken without cause.
Saesa omentien lle. Cormamin lindua ele lle. Mela essa naa Alaric Winter. Looking at Puck, he gives the traditional greeting. Aa' lasser en lle coia orn n' omenta gurtha, Toror'Orn. Taking the young woman's hands in his, Alaric says Cormamin lindua ele lle mae, lirimaer. Jhaer ti cyrn ais saesi air eiloriel o baer.
"Well met, Hermia Robbin. My name is Ariarh Kane, but my friends call me 'Ry'." Ry extends her hand to the lady. She finds a handshake a good way to start off things.
"I'm glad we found you alive. You were treated abominably but I am thankful you have survived to tell the tale."
Hermia beams Ry a smile, deeming the gorgeous blonde woman? No, not quite human, is she? at least for the moment, a willing and obliging conversational partner. Still, she looks at the ruin of her hands, and shakes her head apologetically.
"I am sorry, Ry, they do hurt quite a bit. You see I am keeping them busy to restore circulation. It is not the most pleasant feeling, but it must be endured."
Hermia looks across the group again. "My Auntie used to tell me my vulgarity was one of the few things that would not be stemmed by trauma. Do you mind me asking how you have assembled such a diverse group?"
Hermia carefully lays her pendulum on the table and reaches for the mug Ry offered and takes a sip. The heady ale fills her mouth with the pleasant tumult of flavors associated with the drink, bitter, sweet and effervescent, and she hums happily. Not overly confident that she can maintain her grip on the vessel, she sets it back on the table with a dull "thud" but regards it for a time though it were a lost relic of civilization.
Strange that you would think so, Mother, her mind teams, given... She finds herself staring at her dashing hero again. So like a character from one of her novels- "My books! she gasps suddenly. "I kept them in bags tied to my horse's saddle. Did anyone recover them?" she asks.
The realization appears to dawn on Hermia, then, and she looks to the fire to conceal her grief. "Those animals!" she hisses in Sylvan, and silently mourns the destruction of her most precious treasures.
When Alaric takes her hand and responds in kind, a manner of charge flows through her, as though all of the nerves in her skin suddenly fired at once, raising each and every one of her delicate hairs.
"You have met them, too?" Hermia replies in kind. She looks to Puck and smiles. "In truth, you are the only who do not disturb my meditations. Oh, but it is too late and cold for that now," she frowns.
Hermia spares a very sad smile for Puck Sparrow. "Well met, my little friend. I should have addressed your heroism earlier. It made my heart ache to see you so poorly treated, and me unable to assist you. Thank you ever so kindly for your assistance," she sneaks another pointed glance at Alaric. "I believe he was beaten because he acted in my defense."
in response to Hermia's question,
"We all answered a charter to explore this area. We assessed the it would be beneficial to travel together and share the spoils. We'e actually only just met a short time ago. Though our camaraderie has been forged in a few skirmishes already. All members seem quite capable in their various specialities."
Hermia beams Ry a smile, deeming the gorgeous blonde woman? No, not quite human, is she? at least for the moment, a willing and obliging conversational partner. Still, she looks at the ruin of her hands, and shakes her head apologetically.
"I am sorry, Ry, they do hurt quite a bit. You see I am keeping them busy to restore circulation. It is not the most pleasant feeling, but it must be endured."
Hermia looks across the group again. "My Auntie used to tell me my vulgarity was one of the few things that would not be stemmed by trauma. Do you mind me asking how you have assembled such a diverse group?"
Hermia carefully lays her pendulum on the table and reaches for the mug Ry offered and takes a sip. The heady ale fills her mouth with the pleasant tumult of flavors associated with the drink, bitter, sweet and effervescent, and she hums happily. Not overly confident that she can maintain her grip on the vessel, she sets it back on the table with a dull "thud" but regards it for a time though it were a lost relic of civilization.
Strange that you would think so, Mother, her mind teams, given... She finds herself staring at her dashing hero again. So like a character from one of her novels- "My books! she gasps suddenly. "I kept them in bags tied to my horse's saddle. Did anyone recover them?" she asks.
The realization appears to dawn on Hermia, then, and she looks to the fire to conceal her grief. "Those animals!" she hisses in Sylvan, and silently mourns the destruction of her most precious treasures.
When Alaric takes her hand and responds in kind, a manner of charge flows through her, as...
"I'm sorry about your books, Hermia", Ry quietly consoles.
"I'm sorry too for not thinking of your hands. The whole handshaking thing is a learned response and it's become instinctual. Back at my parents' ranch that's how people meet and greet." Ry is embarrassed by her thoughtlessness. She also understands the attachment one can feel regarding certain possessions. The three carved horses given to her by her father were still wrapped safely at the bottom of her backpack.
In Sylvan she discreetly continues,
"Hermia if you need anything, please ask. I'm not sure if you have spare clothing and I know I'm taller than you but it would not be hard to alter the clothes to fit if need be. I think Brett or Alaric has a sewing kit." Ariarh gives an encouraging, honest smile, hoping to emote that she means no disrespect to the lady.
Hermia nods at Ry's sympathy. She understands, she muses two kindred spirits? And Puck?
"Thank you, friend," she says softly. "Though, to be sure the bulk were garbage - you know, from Pitax, they entertained in the very least. But they burned our, er- my anatomy tome. It was my Auntie's precious treasure, a text from the Veniciaan medical college. The amount of thought contained in one page..." she trails. "It is a sad day for progress, having lost one of its champions to such unnecessary violence."
Hermia looks a bit forelorn for a time, then lifts her shoulders and brightens. "I suppose if anything good is to come of this, though, it means that I have an excuse to be anti-social, now," she jests with a smile.
in response to Hermia's question,
"We all answered a charter to explore this area. We assessed the it would be beneficial to travel together and share the spoils. We'e actually only just met a short time ago. Though our camaraderie has been forged in a few skirmishes already. All members seem quite capable in their various specialities."
It all seems a bit fantastic at the moment, she muses, what manner of entity would believe that exploring this area would be a worthy expenditure of effort? Between the bandits, and the monsters... the demons? Why can't I remember?
Hermia shakes her head, clearly frustrated. "Likely you'll want to study the map we found more closely, then" she offers. "Their leader, the woman, Kressle, she did not seem to me to be the type to invest much in expendable-" she arrests herself and shudders.
Hermia had seen no short supply of blood in her years as a healer. And she'd watched animals being slaughtered for the meals she would often take in lieu of fiscal reimbursement, but she had never before seen a man murdered, and so cruelly, right before her eyes.
Bandits, the map, the murder... "That's it!" Hermia exclaims and rises from her chair suddenly, causing it to make a dragging sound as it crosses the plank floor. "Peace, friends, pardon me. Before she killed the man, they spoke of his mission. He was escorting a group of men from the West and their priest - Sven? north. They were ambushed, assaulted by archers from the hills. I," she looks around "I gather that was not you lot, then. Something about some sort of demon that killed them all-"
Hermia shakes her head again and seems to deflate. "Kressle was not overly sympathetic," she sighs and sits back down, carefully, her body aching considerably to resume a prone position. "Curious, though," she continues and casts a glance at Puck Sparrow. "It's not often bandits in this area are sophisticated enough to know overly much about little creatures of the wilds, much less their weaknesses. And the smelly man did say that he was a particular joy to Kressle. Her 'special toy,' he said."
Gideon says to the group sitting around the table. "I am still badly injured, though my pride more so. If anyone has extra healing magic's I would be grateful. Spells though, not potions. I don't want to waste valuable resources." His expression is solemn and anyone can tell from his tone and posture he's somewhat embarrassed to even ask.
Hermia nods at Ry's sympathy. She understands, she muses two kindred spirits? And Puck?
"Thank you, friend," she says softly. "Though, to be sure the bulk were garbage - you know, from Pitax, they entertained in the very least. But they burned our, er- my anatomy tome. It was my Auntie's precious treasure, a text from the Veniciaan medical college. The amount of thought contained in one page..." she trails. "It is a sad day for progress, having lost one of its champions to such unnecessary violence."
Hermia looks a bit forelorn for a time, then lifts her shoulders and brightens. "I suppose if anything good is to come of this, though, it means that I have an excuse to be anti-social, now," she jests with a smile.
in response to Hermia's question,
"We all answered a charter to explore this area. We assessed the it would be beneficial to travel together and share the spoils. We'e actually only just met a short time ago. Though our camaraderie has been forged in a few skirmishes already. All members seem quite capable in their various specialities."It all seems a bit fantastic at the moment, she muses, what manner of entity would believe that exploring this area would be a worthy expenditure of effort? Between the bandits, and the monsters... the demons? Why can't I remember?
Hermia shakes her head, clearly frustrated. "Likely you'll want to study the map we found more closely, then" she offers. "Their leader, the woman, Kressle, she did not seem to me to be the type to invest much in expendable-" she arrests herself and shudders.
Hermia had seen no short supply of blood in her years as a healer. And she'd watched animals being slaughtered for the meals she would often take in lieu of fiscal reimbursement, but she had never before seen a man murdered, and so cruelly, right before her eyes.
Bandits, the map, the murder... "That's it!" Hermia exclaims and rises...
Actually I believe that was us. As far as the demon goes I believe that may have been my doing. Alaric looks rather sheepish for a moment before saying I summoned an illusion of an avatar of Erastil. I had him do some things that may have given them the impression that he was eating their companions.
Hermia chuckles at Alaric's flustered reaction to admitting his part in terrifying the bandits who had taken her captive. "That was exceedingly clever," she says happily. In the books, princes almost always are.
Hermia answers Gideon's call for healing. Though weary and malnourished, she is eager to show her appreciation for the group's efforts to free her, if only indirectly. She rises slowly and gathers the pendulum into her hand.
"As you are all gathered," she says and allows the weight on the pendulum to drop from her hand. The recoil sends a slight jolt of electric pain up her arm, but, she considers that when it is done, that they will all feel much better.
A little push is all that is required to start the pendulum in motion, and guided by its perfect balance it begins swinging freely in a concentric pattern that resembles a star. The pressure of the air changes, a faint sensation of humidity pregnant with electric charge like the prelude to a thunder storm presents itself, and in a moment is expended in a flash of healing light.
"Really, it is the very least that I can do," she says confidently and smiles.
Channeling the power of her faith has a profound effect on Hermia. To summon the spirits of nature's raw force and contain it within herself, just to touch it again, makes her feel far more at ease, and almost complete.
She gathers the pendulum in her hand again and approaches the Gideon. "In the interest of conserving resources, I will cure you once, and then, treat your wounds with poultice and bandages, as well. Unless you have an aversion to the attention of a very pretty girl?" she suggests bawdily, her spirits returning.
"I noticed the bed in the lady's boudoir is very comfortable," she continues, and glances at the bunks about them. "And the only suitable for attending a large man like yourself, lest you believe that I am being too foreword," she teases with a smile. "If you would prefer that Ry accompany us and champion your virtue, I understand that, as well."
With the magic's cast Gideon's arrow wound (his only wound) is reduced to a small bruise.
Gideon then speaks,
"Thank's to your magic my wound is barely noticeable. The rest will heal with a good nights sleep. Though, I never have an aversion to the attention of pretty women." A wolfish grin crosses his face with that last comment. Then fades back to his normal thoughtful look.
"The sleeping arrangements are a formality and can be set as best benefits the group. The bedroom is large enough that it can be shared by whomever isn't on watch. That's only fitting. Having been prisoner for as long as you have I feel that you should take the bed. If you choose to you could platonically share the bed with the brownie. He's had a hard time of it as well. Of course I would not request either of you take a shift at the watch."
"I think I will at that, thank you," Hermia replies, and turns out her left hand to offer it to the brownie as a perch. "If you are willing, Master Sparrow, and don't find the task too tedious, my hair is a wreck. Yours, on the other hand, is quite vivid! Is it natural?" she only half jests. "If you do care to join me, perhaps you'll astound me with the tale of how you came to be a captive here, amongst such uncouth brutes."
As the conversation starts Smendor makes his way into the room. He is dressed in less than normal, but he is fully clothed. Other than Gidean no one has seen Smendor’s scars, which are deep and common. It really seems like Smendor has been the recipient of some very aggressive thrashings.
He starts into his armor cleaning which he has meticulously done over the days, with the small bottle of oil. His armor encompasses.
* Scale Mail Armor
* Armored Kilt
* Two heavy gauntlets
* His blackened steel boots
* Bronze Shield.
He oils each leather strap, iron hook, clasp, or brace, the ends ever tip and curve, and finishes the process by oiling his shield, and putting it back into its leather covering.
He then turns to his weapons being the Dwarven War Axe and his Morning Star, which he again cleans them until they shine. He has not said much at all during this process it seems to be more of his post combat mediation if anything else.
Smendor speaking to the new person, ”The name is Smendor Iron-Face merchant, trader, and hard headed dwarf. He extends a hand in greeting. The handshake is very firm not in a mean way, but you can see Smendor is considerable strong and hardy.
Speaking back in his normal ruff way he takes a small twig from the end of the fire box, ”A look I am Gideon” making it seems like the twig is Gideon and tosses it into the fire. “I think ya need to use that stump on top of your shoulders next time. Jumping into a fight with your back to a river was not a wise choice friend. Yes that is something I would do if I could jump, but I have that mound of steel covering everything. He is pointing to his newly polished armor setting in the corner.
Gideon gets more of feeling the comment was to mean do not go off killing yourself.