Iolar purses her lips as she looks at Lothan. Her chin juts forward and eyes narrow.
There is little wonder and less apology in her tone.
She smiles and, unconsciously following the ranger's example, begins to look over her gear.
Lothan turns his attention to the elven woman, shrugging. "None taken. Water off a duck's back." He winks. "The rest of you ready? What's the hold up? I ain't got all day," he says jokingly, grinning from ear to ear.
"Everyone here has a common goal, and Crying Leaf needs all the help it can get," Kwava responds. "Your burden is whatever compelled you to help defend the Mierani Forest, and if that's really what you want, you will show your new companions the way, and you will do what Eviana asks."
Mordecai shakes his head. "Lecian and I have business to take care of here in Riddleport. We won't be going with you this time."
"It'll take a week or more to reach Crying Leaf on foot," Kwava notes. "You should make sure you have enough provisions for the travel."
"Everyone here has a common goal, and Crying Leaf needs all the help it can get," Kwava responds. "Your burden is whatever compelled you to help defend the Mierani Forest, and if that's really what you want, you will show your new companions the way, and you will do what Eviana asks."
...
Once more in elven [spoiler omitted] : "I seek to defend elvenkind whether the threat is from others or our own leadership. How and why should these outsiders know more about what lurks in Celwynian than one of the Free People? By not telling me earlier you reveal yourself as a tool of the queen and her council. I tell you when I reach Crying Leaf I will do as I see fit. No monarch fetters me."
"It'll take a week or more to reach Crying Leaf on foot," Kwava notes. "You should make sure you have enough provisions for the travel."
"If they can not provide for themselves, I can provide for them. Supplies will be no obstacle."
|
Tyrrol remains impassive, almost as if the petty squabbling going on around him makes no difference to him; what care he for the petty nattering of creatures that will eventually succumb to entropy, and become as dust.
"We should leave. The distance will not become shorter the longer we stand here arguing."
For nearly four days, you travel north along a caravan road that runs nearly parallel to the Velashu River on your east, with the Calphiak Mountains creating the skyline to the west. Near the end of the fourth day, after the mountains recede, a hunter's trail branches off to the west. You continue your venture following this new path.
Around noon on fifth day, as you travel west along the trail, you see a cloud of dust some distance ahead of you and somewhat off to the side. It seems to be approaching you.
What do you do?
Four days on the road with Iolar. The elf mostly remains mostly silent, although disapproving sniffs and scowls are frequent. When she does speak, it is in Common. If anyone needs help, she is among the first to offer it, but there is always the tacit implication that a real elf wouldn't have needed aid.
At noon each day she stops "to contemplate nature and this place". During this time she requires that she be left alone and undisturbed.
****
Seeing the dust plume, Iolar looks to her companions for their response. Ordinarily she would conceal herself and judge whether a meeting or confrontation was warranted.
Catching sight of the cloud of dust, Lothan moves up, narrowing his eyes to get a better view of what approaches. "Huh. Hold a moment! We got riders coming our way. And several at that. Ready yourselves; they'll be here in a matter of minutes." Pulling out his bow, he tests the string's tautness. "If any of you have something clever you wanna attempt, better let us know how you want it to play out. Otherwise, if these riders so much as sneeze at us in a way I don't like... I'm fillin' 'em full of holes."
"How many, Lothan? "
Already somewhat accustomed to traveling Vendric offers help where it's needed and tries to strike up conversations with the others, even the stuck-up Elf.
After four days of travel the cloud of dust catches his attention but being unable to see it any better he's not sure what to do. But he still pulls out a Alchemical Allocation Extract and a potion of haste and waits to see what the others do.
Glaring back into the distance, "I can't tell. They're too far away at this point. But I can tell you there are several. Easily as many as ourselves and/or possibly more. Hard to tell with all that dust."
"Only thing I got in mind is to take 'em down before they take us. Heh. But, to avoid the possibility of everyone getting trampled an a whole bunch of bloodshed, I'd say we better find some cover and maybe let them ride on by. If I had a way to find out if they were friend or foe, well now that would just be helpful. I don't guess there's any way that you - or any of the rest of you as far as that goes - have any way to find that out before they get here, do you?"
"Don't have anything to see if they are hostile but I got some things that will help if they are." Ven takes out and offers his 2 true strikes Fire breath and haste extracts. Then if there is time he will down a AA extract then a barkskin potion. Then doing the same for a Shield potion. Spitting both back into the bottles.
"If it is their time to die, I will help them on their way to Pharasma's judgement."
So saying, Tyrrol draws his primary weapon, but rests it nonchalantly on his shoulder, ready to use, but not threatening.
It's sunny and clear. The terrain is hilly and grassy with some trees lying about.
Iolar watches Tyrrol slide his blade free, notes the casual way he handles the long blade, so reminiscent of an elven curve blade. She sees Vendric swallow and regurgitate his potions. She says to him, "I shall not need your potions today." Nor ever if that is how he treats them."
Then her eyes drift over Lothan's magnificent bow. If they want a fight, we shall not roll over. And at least one of us shall fight like one crazed.
Then she replies to Lothan, "Foresight is not among the many gifts Nethys has granted me. You and Zoltan are right. Concealing ourselves would be the most discrete course. Those trees are the closest cover."
Iolar's quick refusal doesn't suprise Vendric but he still turs to adress her. "I undetstand why you may be hesitant to take these but i assure you these were made fresh this morning."
Ven then turns back to the others. [b]"I can provide some aerial scouting but I will most likely notify the men of our presence."[b]
The cloud of dust is at least a couple miles away.
"By the distance I'd say we have about seven or eight minutes before they get here. Maybe a little less. So we can be ready for them when they pass through. Say, why don't we do this: You, elf lady," he points to Iolar, "you like to hear yourself talk. How's about you and my buddy Tyrrol stand off to the side to where they can see you when they pass through. Just make sure you're both off to the side enough to avoid being trampled."
"Now, when they see you both, they'll stop. When they do, find out who they are, what they want, or whatever. The rest of us will take cover. If I see Tyrrol here pull his weapon down and it looks like he's about to crush one of 'em's skull in, the rest of us come out firing -" he looks to Vendric and Zoltan, "or whatever it is you two do to take down the bad guys." Looking back to Iolar, "Simple as that. Sound good?"
"Let Tyrrol stand. I shall have a look at these riders. You will know if I think they are a threat."
Iolar dashes forward three steps and spreads her arms as she leaps into the air. Her form blurs and shrinks into a great brown eagle. Black-tipped pinions beat the air and she begins climbing toward the riders' plume.
Lothan simply stares at Iolar as she transforms into an eagle and takes off into the air. After watching her fly away, he looks to the others, "Okay, now that was just freaking cool!" He turns his attention back in her direction, "Go, elf lady, go!"
Grass and turf rush upward as Iolar begins her transformation, but the first downward beat of her wings begins an upward course that doesn't falter. Three beats and she's moving faster than a man can run; a dozen, and she's climbing freely into the clear blue sky.
A joy too primal to be expressed with words sweeps fiercely through her. Even the strain of climbing, wing arms clutching at air to drag her higher is pleasure. She rides the cresting joy, but holds her self back from the true crest where the joy breaks and tumbles into the world without consciousness, the world of the moment, the world without cares. She holds herself back from the precipice beyond which comfort is unknown, where only warmth, food, danger, and freedom matter. For despite this purging joy, she knows that over that precipice she can lose her true self.
Looking down and back she sees her companions dwindling and the melancholy thought that they will never know what she knows right now almost makes her feel sorry for them. Empathy is not strong in her at any time, especially now, and the nascent melancholia slides smoothly from her mind.
A mouse crouched in the grass below distracts her for a heartbeat. The hunting hunger wills her to dive, but that is nature primordial, not elven and self aware. She turns her gaze ahead toward the rising dust.
Upon reaching the riders, Iolar begins circling above them while climbing as much as she can and examining them.
Their actions don't change and there is no point in time when you can tell that they've spotted the party.
Iolar circles above the riders, watching them.
Everyone:
The cloud of dust dissipates as the riders at its head slow to a canter. They are barbarians by their dress, bearing distinctive patterns of war paint on their faces and, marks repeated in the the same dark color on the necks of their equine mounts. They are twelve in number, although they are followed by a train of two dozen additional horses. As they pull to a stop, they hold up their right hands, showing that they brandish no weapons.
The leader of the group, a tall, sun-tanned man with dusty black hair, urges his mount forward a few steps before speaking. "You there," he points at Tyrrol, "Where are your companions?"
Tyrrol shrugs disinterestedly.
"They were unsure of your intentions, and decided to take precautions. Don't worry - they will be along presently, if required. What business is it of yours?"
Iolar wheels lower, keeping over the herd of extra horses. She watches carefully for any sign that the riders will become aggressive.
Lothan keeps a watch from the cover of the trees, arrows ready to fly just in case. "One wrong move, pal, and you'll make for a nice pincushion," he whispers to himself.
Vendric waits in the bushes looking at the others for any signal on what to do. He hold mutagen in one hand a Haste potion in the other. I hope we don't end up fighting them. It takes forever to get the taste blood out of my mouth.
"I am curious, that is all. Strange days these are when stars fall from the sky and the walled-folk wander the plains of the Velashan."
Iolar beats her wings to regain some altitude, then stretches her pinions wide to glide in a circle over the horses. Beating wings or soaring, there is strain in the muscles of her arm-wings and back. Air is a treacherous friend. It will bear you up only as long as you have the strength to tame it.
The druid looks down with interest. What will they do?
She idly draws that mix of Nethys' and Gozreh's power that is her heritage and daydreams of hurling the storm's power at the horses below, the panic, the blood, the stringy texture of horseflesh that would follow. Her tongue presses the top of her hooked beak.
Not yet. Not while Tyrrol speaks.
"Indeed they are. However, caution is still as warranted, as it ever was. I am sure that you understand. Good Day."
The man smirks. "Good luck on your ventures. You and your companions will need it if they involve stealth." The horsemen and horses continue southeast, towards Riddleport.
Tyrrol watches in a mildly disinterested, until the riders have disappeared into the distance.
When Zoltan joins him, he shrugs.
"They did not explain themselves, but then again, neither did I. Shall we continue? The longer we tarry, the longer it will take to reach our destination."
Coming out of hiding with the rest, "Well that was easy. And yes, let's continue; we've wasted enough time." Looking up, "Hey, bird lady! We're moving out!" With that, Lothan continues in the direction they were heading.
Iolar circles over the party once and then flaps after the departing riders.
The rest of the day is uneventful, as is all of the next day.
On the seventh day, the faint hunter's trail dips under the dense canopy of the forest. Immense firs, pines, and redwoods make up the majority of the flora. The trail becomes extremely narrow as it skirts the edge of the forest.